by Tom Holt
‘Wrong,’ said Malcolm. ‘Wrong on every point.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Where you go wrong is, you think that she’ll give the Ring to her father. She won’t. Never in a million years. You see, it’ll be a present from me, the best present I could possibly give her. She’d never give it to Wotan or anyone else. She loves me, you see. In fact,’ Malcolm said dreamily, ‘she’ll probably give it straight back again, and then everything will be all right.’
‘I perceive,’ said the Rose, rising to her feet, ‘that I have been wasting my time with you, Mr Fisher. You have failed to grasp the significance of anything I have said to you. I can only implore you to reconsider your decision with the utmost diligence.’
‘What do you actually do?’ said Malcolm. ‘What’s your job?’
‘Mostly,’ said Mother Earth, ‘I sleep. My sleep is dreaming, my dreaming is thinking, my thinking is understanding. Consequently, my normal role is consultative, not executive. Only in exceptional circumstances, such as a threat of universal oblivion, do I undertake any active part in the day-to-day running of the world.’
‘Yes, but what do you actually do?’
‘I advise people,’ said Mother Earth.
‘Like the United Nations does, you mean?’
‘There is, I suppose, a degree of similarity.’
‘You’re still fired. Now get out of my house.’
‘Mr Fisher,’ said the Rose, sitting down again, ‘before I go and attempt to reason with my daughter, on the unlikely chance that she might listen to sense, let me explain to you the nature of what you call love. It is a purely functional system in the human operational matrix. With the lower animals, the urge to reproduce is a purely instinctive thing. The human race, being rational, requires a distinct motivation to reproduce. It has therefore been programmed to process the reproductive urge in a unique way.’
‘Just out of interest,’ said Malcolm, ‘did you design the human race?’
‘Correct. As I was saying . . .’
‘Ten out of ten for the Ears and the Eyes,’ said Malcolm, ‘the Feet and the waste disposal system not so hot. Friday afternoon job, I always thought.’
‘You are thinking of the hardware, Mr Fisher, which is the result of the evolutionary process, and for which I claim no credit or otherwise. My work was entirely concerned with the software, what you would call the feelings and the emotions. As I was saying, the human race needs a reason for everything it does, a reason it can understand within its own terms of reference. Love, companionship, sympathy, affection and understanding are simply the rewards that human beings must receive if they are to be motivated to do something that creatures of their intelligence and sophistication would normally regard as below their dignity. There are so many better things they could be doing. How long does a human being live, Mr Fisher? Between seventy and ninety years, given optimum conditions. Without some powerful motivating factor, they could not be expected to devote a major proportion of their extremely short lives to the creation and education of other human beings. Therefore, it was necessary to provide them with an incentive, one which they are programmed to accept as worthwhile. Love is nothing, Mr Fisher. You would do well to ignore it completely.’
With that, the English Rose departed, leaving Malcolm alone. His only reaction to these revelations, straight from the horse’s mouth, was that it was a dirty trick to play on anybody. But the fact remained that he was human, and he was in love, and that nothing else mattered. If that made him a fool, then so be it; blame the person who invented the state in the first place. But he knew all about love; it was as real as anything else in the world and he could not deny its existence. He resolved to find Ortlinde and give her the Ring at once.
But she wasn’t in the library, or anywhere in the house. Perhaps she had gone away. Perhaps her mother had sent her away, or taken her away by force. In his confusion, Malcolm did not use the Tarnhelm to take him to where she was; instead, he ran through the house and grounds calling out her name at the top of his voice. At last he saw someone sitting on the riverbank and ran across. The figure turned and, to his despair, Malcolm saw that it was only Flosshilde.
‘Have you seen her?’ he panted.
Flosshilde could not read people’s thoughts like Malcolm could, but she could guess who he was asking after. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I saw her just now down by the little wood, where you get that nice view over the valley. Not that she’s looking at the view, she’s sitting there looking at her feet again. Size six, at a guess. Mine are size four.’
‘Thank you.’ Malcolm turned to go, but the Rhinedaughter called after him.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘What is it? I’m in a hurry.’
‘I know,’ said Flosshilde sadly. ‘I’ve just got back from Valhalla. I was trying to get Wotan to send her away.’
‘Not you as well.’
‘It’s for your own good.’ Malcolm scowled at her, and she felt suddenly angry. ‘Well, it is. But I failed. Wotan tried to turn me into a hedgehog and it was all for your sake.’
‘A hedgehog? Why a hedgehog, particularly?’
‘Fleas and things. But he didn’t manage to do it for . . . for some reason or other.’ Flosshilde had been wondering what had prevented Wotan from making that transformation. The one plausible theory she had come up with was what had given her hope.
‘I’m sorry he failed,’ Malcolm said, and started to walk away. Flosshilde waited till his back was turned, then deliberately pushed him into the river.
As he hit the water, Malcolm’s mind was filled with images of the fate of Hagen, whom the Rhinedaughters drowned, and he instinctively turned himself into a rowing-boat. But the water was only two feet deep at that point, and after a moment he turned himself back again. For all her grief, Flosshilde could not help laughing.
‘Shut up,’ Malcolm snapped.
‘I didn’t mean it unkindly,’ giggled Flosshilde. ‘That was very resourceful of you.’
Malcolm had got his shoes and socks wet. He applied to the Tarnhelm for replacements. ‘You just watch it in future,’ he said sternly.
‘You watch it,’ said the Rhinedaughter. ‘And look at me when I’m talking to you.’
It was true that Malcolm was looking at his shoes, but only to see what the Tarnhelm had provided him with. ‘Have you been listening to us?’ he said furiously. ‘When we were talking just now?’
Flosshilde sat down on the bank and combed her long hair with an ivory comb that Eric Bloodaxe had given her many years ago. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than listen to that sort of rubbish.’
Malcolm sat down beside her. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I went to see Wotan,’ she said, putting the comb away. ‘I tried to get him to call Ortlinde off. But he said he could-n’t. I don’t know if he was telling the truth or not, actually. Because if you go off with her, you’ll be terribly unhappy, honestly you will. Even if it does work out, and you give her the Ring and she accepts it and all that . . .’
‘How come everyone knows about that?’ Malcolm said bitterly. ‘You must have been listening.’
‘It’s the most important thing in the world right now,’ said Flosshilde gravely. ‘What do you expect? Like it or not, you’re dealing with the Gods now. I know you don’t like us very much, but we’re important people. But never mind about the world and things like that. I couldn’t care less about the silly old world, or the Ring, or anything. If you go off with her, you’ll be utterly wretched. She’ll make you miserable, I know she will.’
Flosshilde tried to open her mind to make it easier for him to read her thoughts, but apparently he wasn’t interested.
‘How the hell could you know?’
‘Because you’re not like that. You think you’re in love with her, but you’re not. You think that because she’s in love with you, you’ve got to be in love with her. It doesn’t work like that.’
‘You’re ta
lking nonsense. It’s not like that at all.’
‘Shut up and listen, will you? You don’t understand the meaning of the word Love. It’s not that great big romantic thunderbolt you think it is. You saw her, you fell for her, your heart went mushy inside you. That’s all totally silly; it doesn’t happen that way. You don’t know the first thing about her. How could you, you’ve hardly got two sentences out of her since you met. What are the two of you going to do for the rest of Time, sit around staring at your shoes, trying to make conversation? You both think you’re in love, but you’re deceiving yourselves. She thinks she’s in love because she’s always been treated like a piece of old cheese, and then you come along, looking like Siegfried himself, the most important man in the world, and start adoring her. And you fell in love with her because she’s there and you thought she was a human being and so she counted. There’s me, you thought; a real live girl, not a Goddess or a water-nymph, is actually in love with me. Whoopee, I’m not a failure or inadequate or as boring as hell, let’s get married.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘No. You’re stupid and silly and romantic, and you deserve to be miserable all your life. What sort of a world do you think you’re living in? You’re only fit to mix with Gods and fairies. You don’t stand a chance in the real world.’
‘Now have you finished?’
‘You think you’re strong and marvellous, don’t you? But you’re as blind as a bat and they’re leading you by the nose. It’s them, don’t you see? It’s Wotan’s grand design, and you’ve fallen straight into the trap. I thought there was more to you than that, but I was wrong.’
Malcolm did not even bother to unravel this skein of metaphor. He stood up and walked away. When he was safely out of earshot, Flosshilde began to cry. As she sat weeping, her sisters put their heads above the water.
‘You’re just as bad as he is,’ said Wellgunde.
‘What sort of a world do you think you’re living in?’ sneered Woglinde. ‘You’re stupid and silly and romantic, and you deserve to be miserable all your life. Very well put, I thought.’
They laughed unkindly and swam away.
‘Hello,’ said Ortlinde.
‘Hello,’ said Malcolm. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to be on my own,’ she replied.
‘I love you,’ said Malcolm. He had grown used to saying that, and he no longer felt any embarrassment as the words passed his lips.
‘You mustn’t,’ said the girl. ‘Really, I’m not a nice person.’
‘You said that before,’ said Malcolm angrily. ‘Don’t try to be clever with me. I drank Giant’s blood, remember? I can read what you’re really feeling.’
‘I’ve got no feelings, really. No emotions, no anything. Don’t you see? I’m a Valkyrie, I’m Wotan’s daughter. I can’t be anything else, however hard I try. And if you try and make me be something I never can be, you’ll only hurt yourself. I can’t be hurt any more, I was born hurt. But I don’t want to hurt you. So please leave me alone.’
Malcolm could not understand, but that was all right. He didn’t want to understand and he didn’t need to. He knew that she loved him, and this knowledge was like a gun in his pocket. So long as he was armed with it, no-one could touch him.
‘If I give you the Ring, you’ll take it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you love me?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is so bloody fascinating about your bloody shoes? You love me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, good. That’s settled, then.’ Malcolm shut his eyes and sat down, exhausted.
‘No, it’s not.’ The tone of her voice had not altered, and she was still looking away. Malcolm could only feel frustration and anger, and he wanted to break something. The clouds grew dark, and there was a growl of distant thunder.
‘You see?’ said Ortlinde, sadly. ‘That’s why it wouldn’t be any good.’
Malcolm could not understand this at first; then he understood. The storm was gathering fast, and rain was beginning to fall.
‘Wotan never did it better himself,’ she said.
‘But I’m not like Wotan. He’s a God and he’s mad.’
lf only you’d seen my mother when she was younger,’ went on Ortlinde. ‘But they tell me I’m just like she was at my age.’
‘One thousand two hundred and thirty-six?’
‘More or less. That was before she left my father and went to America, of course. And my father was a nice person then, everyone said so. Do you know what he did to convince her that he loved her? My mother, I mean? You see, there was some sort of difficulty about them, just as there is about us. Anyway, to prove he really loved her, my father deliberately put out his left eye.’
‘How could that possibly have helped?’
‘I don’t know, he never told me. We never talk about things like that. Besides, everything was different then, so it probably had some special significance. Anyway, that’s how he got like he is now, that and marrying my mother. That’s what love does to people like you and me and him, if we let it take over. The best thing to do with all feelings like that is to wait until they go away. They don’t mean anything, you know. They hurt, but they’re only feelings. They don’t draw blood or make it difficult for you to breathe. They’re all in the mind. Life is about eating and drinking and sleeping and breathing and working, and not being more unhappy than you absolutely have to.’
‘For crying out loud,’ said Malcolm. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘What’s it like, then?’
‘I don’t know, really.’ Malcolm was unable to think for a moment. ‘But isn’t it just two people who love each other, and they get married and live happily ever after. I mean, so long as we love each other, what the hell else matters?’
Ortlinde made no reply. It was raining hard, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was very, very beautiful, and Malcolm wanted to hold her in his arms, but on reflection he realised that that would not be a good idea. He called upon the Tarnhelm to provide him with a hat and a raincoat, and when they materialised he gave them to her, for he did not want her to catch cold. Then he walked away.
A pair of ducks had settled on the surface of the river, and as Malcolm walked back to the house they called out to him.
‘Thanks for the weather,’ they said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nice weather for ducks,’ explained one of them. ‘Get it?’
‘Very funny,’ said Malcolm. He stopped and looked at the two birds, male and female. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘Excuse me asking, but are you two married?’
‘Well, we nest together,’ said the female duck, ‘and I lay his eggs. What about it?’
‘Are you happy?’ Malcolm asked.
‘I dunno,’ said the female duck. ‘Are we?’
‘I suppose so,’ said the male duck. ‘I never thought about it much.’
‘Really?’ said the female duck. ‘I’ll remember you said that.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said the male duck, pecking at its wing feathers. ‘You don’t go around saying “Am I happy?” all the time, unless you’re human, of course. If you’re a duck, you can be perfectly happy without asking yourself questions all the time. I think that’s what makes us different from the humans, actually. We just get on with things.’
‘But you do love each other?’ Malcolm asked.
‘Of course we do,’ said the male duck. ‘Don’t we, pet?’
‘Then how in God’s name do you manage that? It’s so difficult.’
‘Difficult?’ said the female duck, mystified. ‘What’s difficult about it?’
‘So you love him, and he loves you, and you both just get on with it?’
‘Do you mind?’ said the male duck. ‘That’s a highly personal question.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Malcolm, ‘I meant that because you love each other, it’s all right. That’s enough
to make it all work out.’
‘What’s so unusual about that?’
‘Everything,’ said Malcolm. ‘That’s the way it seems, anyway.’
‘Humans!’ laughed the male duck. ‘And it’s the likes of you run the world. No wonder the rivers are full of cadmium. ’
At the door of the house, Malcolm stopped. He did not want to go in there, and there was no reason why he should. After all, he had the Tarnhelm, so he could go where he liked. He also had the Ring, so he could do what he liked. This was not his home; it was only a tiny part of it. He owned the world, and everything in it, and it was high time he looked the place over. He closed his eyes and vanished from sight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When sufficiently drunk, Loge will tell you the story of the first theft of the Ring by himself and Wotan from Alberich. According to him, when he realised that the Giants Fasolt and Fafner were determined to exploit his clerical error to the full and claim the Goddess Freia as their reward for building the castle of Valhalla, he decided that the only conceivable way out of his difficulties would be to find an alternative reward which the Giants would prefer.
Finding an alternative to freehold possession of the most definitively beautiful person in the universe, the Goddess of Beauty herself, was no easy matter, and Loge searched the world in vain for anyone or anything who could think of one, starting with human beings, going on to the lower animals, and finally, in desperation, trying the trees and the rocks. The only creature, animate or inanimate, who could think of anything remotely preferable to Freia was the Nibelung Alberich, and when Loge asked him to explain, Alberich rather foolishly told him about the Ring, which first gave him the idea of stealing it.
