Wraith(22)

It occurred to me that I’d achieved the impossible – I’d broken into Stirling Castle and stolen back what was mine from under the noses of a thousand goblins and one strange Dark Elf. If I didn’t have more important things to do, I’d be composing ballads about my heroics. I’d saved myself; now I had to save Becky’s mum.

I raked through cupboards for five minutes in search of food but there wasn’t so much as a dented tin of Pedigree Chum. That was hardly surprising but the search was worth the effort because I found a wardrobe full of clothes. I stripped off the grubby shirt in favour of more suitable attire. The designer black trousers and grey jumper were ridiculously large for me but the muted colours would help me blend in. I unearthed a narrow leather belt to stop the trousers falling down.

I suspected that the Filits would do their best to conceal that they’d been infiltrated by a wraith so, despite last night’s searches, once de Florinville had gone things would probably die down. There was every possibility that I’d get away with my adventures scot-free – after all, the Dark Elf was on a ticket out of here this evening. I remembered the odd look of tenderness in his expression as he’d tended my wounds then I pushed the image of him away. He was no longer my concern.

Jamming an old baseball cap onto my head, I glanced briefly in a dusty mirror. I reckoned I could pass for a bloke unless under close inspection. Deciding that my appearance would have to do and that I couldn’t afford to hide until nightfall, I shoved my hands into my pockets and left the house, trying to appear casual and unworried. All I had to do was to blend in with everyone else and I’d probably be safe. Probably.

I was making a beeline for the Tolbooth via the narrow back streets when a crowd of about fifty people passed in front of me, all of them chattering excitedly. I jogged to catch up and fell in beside one of the friendlier-looking faces. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

The woman beamed at me, her eyes crinkling. ‘There’s a Dark Elf in the city! He’s on a tour right now. We’re going to see him. I knew the Prime Minister hadn’t forgotten about us. I just knew it!’

I bet that if I’d spoken to her yesterday, she’d have cursed Prime Minister James and everyone else who had made the decision to let Stirling rot under both goblin rule and goblin siege. If this woman was expecting Gabriel de Florinville to save us all now, then she was sorely mistaken – he was leaving in a few hours. I didn’t have the heart to destroy her hopes, though.

‘A tour where?’ I asked carefully.

‘All around! He’s at Mercat Cross now.’

Ah; that confirmed why the goblins had removed the gallows. It was a temporary measure to make it appear that they didn’t execute their citizens when the mood took them.

Hearing her words, a gaunt man leaned across. ‘I heard it’s Gabriel de Florinville. He’s important, you know. He’s bound to help us.’ Optimism laced his every word, making my spirits sink. This is what we did, I thought despondently; we clung fiercely to every scrap of hope. Time and time again we were disappointed but hope always remained even though it didn’t put food in anyone’s belly or keep people like Ange Horrocks safe. I sighed while pasting a smile on my face.

I slowed my steps, letting the excited group pull away in front of me. False hope aside, I could use this. The Filits would be doing everything they could to keep de Florinville away from the seedier parts of town and its grubbier, more dangerous citizens. The citizens, in contrast, would be doing everything they could to get close to him. The ruckus might provide me with the distraction I needed. Heading for the Tolbooth meant I’d be veering dangerously close to the Dark Elf but it might also give me a greater chance of success. It wasn’t just the people up ahead who were feeling hopeful now, I realised.

By the time I reached the front of the Tolbooth, the clamour from Mercat Cross was ricocheting through the streets. I passed more people, all of whom were clearly hoping to catch a glimpse of de Florinville or to beg him for help.

As I passed through the Tolbooth’s entrance, I wondered if the Filits or the Dark Elf had a clue as to what kind of monster they’d unleashed with his walkabout. I shrugged and relaxed my shoulders, before pulling off my baseball cap and approaching the front desk.

‘Hey!’ I chirped, aiming for a light, easy-going manner but with a hint of vacancy in my expression.

The Filit behind the counter glared at me. ‘Whaddya want?’

I knew from Marrock to appreciate that asking for Ange would garner me more trouble than I could handle but I needed to get into the cells. It was the only way I’d find her. ‘I’m here to see my brother.’

The goblin rolled her eyes to indicate just how dumb she thought I was. ‘I’m not bleedin’ psychic,’ she muttered. ‘Whatsisname?’

‘Eric. Eric Quiddle.’

‘Stupid name.’

She had me there. I smiled at her. ‘I’m Erica Quiddle.’

The goblin grunted. Her mouth twitched at the corners as if she were trying very hard not to laugh. It was kind of her to attempt a straight face; it reminded me that while many goblins were gruff, they weren’t all bad. Not every Filit was cut from the same cloth as Ghrashbreg.

I was aiming for ridicule, of course. The dafter I appeared, the less any goblins like the one in front of me would consider me a threat. It’s odd but people are also more likely to believe the unbelievable than the mundane, as if they can’t imagine that you’d make up something outlandish out of thin air.

‘Did your parents not like you or summat?’

My eyes went wide. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Eric and Erica. S’bad enough when your last name is summat like Quiddle, but Eric and Erica?’

‘I don’t know what our parents thought,’ I said in a small voice. ‘We were brought up in an orphanage.’

Sympathy flooded the goblin’s expression, with a hefty sprinkle of guilt at her own words thrown in for good measure. She pursed her lips and scanned the clipboard in front of her. ‘He’s in cell fifty-six,’ she told me. ‘It’s one floor down. There’s no one available to escort you right now though. All spare hands are dealing with the Dark Elf.’ She said this with a derisive sniff and I liked her even more. It had been a while since I’d felt kinship with a goblin.

I wrung my hands. ‘I have to get my rations later. I’m scheduled for two o’clock and you know what’ll happen if I’m late. Please. This is the only chance I have to check up on Eric and make sure he’s alright. He’s such a hothead and I don’t want him to get into even more trouble while he’s here.’

I must have sounded overly whiny because a brief moue of distaste crossed the goblin’s face. She sighed and gestured irritably towards the door leading to the cells. I bobbed my head towards her gratefully and hastily scampered through before she could change her mind.

I’d been in the bowels of the Tolbooth before and every time I told myself I’d never return. A lot of that was to do with the reek of urine, faeces and vomit, mixed with the sweat of terror. Not everyone who ended up in here went to the gallows but the threat of execution – and worse – hung over the inmates’ heads. Even if you were only imprisoned here for a few days for a small misdemeanour, it meant that your card was marked. Once the Filits had your name on their blacklist, they didn’t forget it. I’d prided myself on staying under their radar but obviously that had changed now. I scowled to myself. Half the bloody city probably knew my name by now.

I strode along the narrow corridor, breathing through my mouth. The first few cells were unoccupied but soon pale faces were staring out at me, their expressions entreating me to help them. It was hard living on normal rations outside these walls; living on prisoner rations in here meant balancing on a knife edge between starvation and survival. I bet that Gabriel de Florinville wouldn’t be wandering around here any time soon.

Hearing my footsteps approaching caused a few of the bolder inmates to step up to the bars of their cells. Hands stretched out towards me, attempting to snatch at me. One or two even called out. ‘Hey pretty! Got any food on you? I’ll make it worth your while.’

I closed off my emotions, detaching myself as wholly as I would detach my shadow, and continued walking. When I reached Eric Quiddle’s cell, I glanced in although I didn’t slow my steps. He was curled up in a corner, his chest rising and falling with gentle snores. His infraction was minor, at least in the eyes of the goblins. He’d be released before too long. Probably.

At this point, it was tempting to send off my shadow self to find Ange. Given what little I knew about the circumstances of her arrest, I was sure that she’d be held at the furthest, most secure point in the Tolbooth. The further I got from Eric Quiddle, the harder it would be to explain away my presence if any goblin guards noticed me. But I was still wary of being apart from my shadow for too long after what had happened with de Florinville, and I was conscious that the goblins would probably be conducting sweeps for wraiths after what had happened in the castle. I had to bank on there being only a skeleton crew inside the Tolbooth as the guard at the front had intimated.