Expecting Someone Taller by Tom Holt Page B

and paid the strictest attention as Philip Wilcox and his tired but determined horse entered the ring. As the horse went past her, Flosshilde suddenly started forward, but Wellgunde nudged her and she composed herself.
    â€˜You see,’ said Aunt Marjorie, ‘he’s building up his speed nicely, he’s timed it just right, and - oh.’
    â€˜Why’s he stopped?’ asked Woglinde. ‘I thought you said he was going to jump over that fence thing.’
    Aunt Marjorie, raising her voice above the gasps and whispers of the spectators, explained that that was called a refusal.

    â€˜Does he lose marks for that?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Liz, crisply.
    â€˜He’s still got points in hand,’ said Aunt Marjorie, trying to stay calm in this crisis. ‘I expect he’ll go round the other way now. Yes, I thought he would.’
    â€˜He’s stopped again,’ said Woglinde.
    â€˜So he has,’ said Liz. ‘I wonder why?’
    â€˜Is he allowed to hit his horse with that stick?’ asked Flosshilde. ‘It must hurt an awful lot.’
    â€˜I think it’s cruel,’ said Wellgunde.
    â€˜I think he’s going to try the gate this time,’ said Aunt Marjorie nervously. ‘Oh dear, not again . . .’
    â€˜I think it’s his fault for hitting the horse with that stick,’ said Wellgunde. ‘If I was the horse, I’d throw him off.’
    â€˜Thirty-three faults,’ sniggered the tannoy.
    â€˜Is that a lot?’ asked Flosshilde. Aunt Marjorie confirmed that it was, rather.
    Philip Wilcox was obviously finding it hard to think straight through the buzz of malicious giggling that welled up all around him. About the only jump he hadn’t tried yet was the water-jump. He pulled Mayfair’s head round, promised him an apple if he made it and the glue factory if he didn’t, and pressed with his heels in the approved manner. Mayfair began to move smoothly, rhythmically towards the obstacle.
    â€˜Come on, now,’ Aunt Marjorie hissed under her breath, ‘plenty of pace. Go on . . .’
    There is nothing, nothing in the world that amuses human beings more than the sight of a fully grown, fully clothed man falling into water, and sooner or later the human race must come to terms with this fact. But, to the Rhinedaughters (who are not human, but were created by a unique and entirely accidental fusion of the life-forces) it
seemed strange that this unfortunate accident should produce such gales of laughter from everyone present, including the tannoy. Even Wellgunde, who thought it served him right for hitting the horse with the stick, was moved to compassion. She looked round to see if she was the only person not laughing, and observed that at least the girl sitting next to the fat woman did not seem to be amused. In fact, she appeared to be perfectly calm, and her face was a picture of tranquillity, like some Renaissance Madonna. Perhaps, thought the Rhinedaughter, she’s an immortal too. Or perhaps she’s just annoyed.
    â€˜I’m so glad Joe won in the end,’ said Liz, getting to her feet. ‘Shall we go and find some tea?’
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    Restored to human shape once more, Malcolm crawled into the house and collapsed into a chair. He was utterly exhausted, his mouth was bruised and swollen, his back and sides were aching, and he had pulled a muscle in his neck when he had stopped so suddenly in front of the water-jump. The whole thing had probably hurt him just as much as it had hurt Philip Wilcox, and he had a terrible feeling that it hadn’t been worth it. A minute or so of unbridled malice on his part was probably the worst thing that could happen to the universe, and his original argument, that anything that humiliated Philip Wilcox was bound to be good for the world, seemed rather flimsy in retrospect. He could only hope that the consequences would not be too dire.
    With an effort, he rose to his feet