Expecting Someone Taller by Tom Holt

right now?’
    Alberich laughed. ‘You?’ he said incredulously. ‘Who do you think you are, Jack the Ripper?’
    â€˜I could be if I wanted to,’ said Malcolm. The Nibelung ignored him.
    â€˜You wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ he sneered. ‘That’s your trouble. You’ll never get anywhere in this world unless you improve your attitude. And did no-one ever tell you it’s bad manners to be invisible when someone’s talking to you?’
    â€˜You sound just like my mother,’ said Malcolm.
    He reappeared, and Alberich glowered at him. ‘Still pretending to be who you aren’t, I see,’ he said.
    â€˜I’ll be who I want to be. I’m not afraid of you any more.’
    â€˜Delighted to hear it. Perhaps you’ll fetch a doctor now.’
    â€˜And the police,’ said Malcolm, to frighten him. ‘You’re a burglar.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t dare,’ replied Alberich, but Malcolm could see he was worried. This was remarkable. A few minutes ago, he had been paralysed with fear. Now he found the
whole thing vaguely comic. Still, it would be as well to call a doctor. He went to the telephone beside his bed.
    â€˜Not that sort of doctor,’ said Alberich, irritably. ‘What do you think I am, human?’
    â€˜So what sort of doctor do you want?’ Malcolm asked.
    â€˜A proper doctor. A Nibelung.’
    â€˜Fine. And how do you suggest I set about finding one, look in the Yellow Pages?’
    â€˜Don’t be facetious. Use the Ring.’
    â€˜Can I do that?’ Malcolm was surprised by this.
    â€˜Of course you can. Just rub the Ring against your nose and call for a doctor.’
    Feeling rather foolish, Malcolm did what he was told. At once, a short, stocky man with very pale skin materialised beside him, wearing what appeared to be a sack.
    â€˜You called?’ said the Nibelung.
    â€˜Where did you come from?’ Malcolm asked.
    â€˜Nibelheim, where do you think? So where’s the patient?’
    The doctor did something to Alberich’s leg with a spanner and a jar of ointment, and disappeared as suddenly as he had come.
    â€˜That’s handy,’ Malcolm said. ‘Can I just summon Nibelungs when I want to?’
    â€˜Of course,’ said Alberich. ‘Although why you should want to is another matter. By and large, they’re incredibly boring people.’
    Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. ‘Anyway, how’s your leg?’ he asked.
    â€˜Very painful. But it’s healed.’
    â€˜ Healed? But I thought you said it was broken.’
    â€˜So it was,’ replied Alberich, calmly. ‘And now it’s unbroken again. That’s what the doctor was for. It’ll be stiff
for a day or so, of course, but that can’t be helped. If you will go around kicking people, you must expect to cause anguish and suffering.’
    Malcolm yawned. ‘In that case, you can go away and leave me in peace,’ he said. ‘And don’t let me catch you around here again, or there’ll be trouble.’
    This bravado didn’t convince anyone. Alberich made no attempt to move, but sat on the floor rubbing his knee, until Malcolm, unable to think of anything else to do, offered him a drink.
    â€˜I thought you’d never ask,’ said Alberich. ‘I’ll have a large schnapps, neat.’
    â€˜I don’t think I’ve got any of that,’ said Malcolm.
    â€˜You’re supposed to be a German. Oh well, whatever comes to hand, so long as it isn’t sherry. I don’t like sherry.’
    So it was that Malcolm found himself sharing a bottle of gin with the Prince of Nibelheim at three o’clock in the morning. It was not something he would have chosen to do, especially after a tiring day, but the mere fact that he was able to do it was remarkable enough. Alberich made no further attempt to relieve him of the Ring; he didn’t even mention the