I reached the last of the flaming torches that were hooked high on the wall, came to a sliding stop and concentrated on my shadow. This was the most dangerous part. I squeezed my eyes shut and pictured my hand in front of me before flexing my fingers and testing my grip. When I thought I had it, I opened my eyes to look at the torch. With my heart in my mouth, I stretched until my shadowy hand covered its conical wooden base. With slow deliberate movements, I lifted it up and pulled it free from its wall bracket.
It was so heavy that I knew I couldn’t hold it for long. Shadows, even sentient wraith shadows, aren’t built for lifting physical objects. I had no idea whether it was down to physics or magic but a flaming torch was more than a match for me. As I felt it already begin to slip from my grasp, I turned towards the closed door and concentrated even harder. By myself, I could have slipped underneath the gap at the bottom but I had to bring the torch with me, and that meant forcing open the door.
If shadows could sweat, I would have been dripping wet. Gripping the torch tightly, I used my free hand to turn the doorknob whilst slamming the rest of my shadowy body against the edge of the door. Thankfully it gave way and I stumbled forward but the momentum made me lose my precarious hold on the torch. It dropped to the floor, the flames flickering and dying against the cold stone flags. Panicked, I threw myself after it and scooped it up again. The last thing I wanted was for the fire to go out.
The room was exactly the same as it was the last time I’d ventured inside it. It didn’t appear as if anyone else had been here. The same cardboard boxes lay stacked all around, with the same faint stench of old clothing lingering in the air. I opened the nearest box, double-checked the contents, then shoved it so that the old clothes, rags and bits of paper were strewn across the floor. I did the same to a second box and then a third. By the time I'd done that, the torch was sliding from my fingers again. This time I let it fall.
There was enough rubbish on the floor for my plan to work. The flames started to lick at a mothballed tartan blanket. I'd been nervous that damp might have set in and the material would not ignite. Fortunately, this entire room didn't look as if it had been used for years and its contents were drier than Sally Slate’s wit. The edges of the blanket caught light almost immediately, the fire running along the fringed edges before leaping to some pieces of paper and an old ball gown. As the romantic hopes of a wealthy socialite went up in flames, I backed away. It was imperative that I kept an eye on the fire until I was sure it was properly ablaze. I couldn't afford for it to fizzle out. I needn't have worried; there was so much junk in this room that it transformed into a mini-inferno.
Thick, dark smoke seeped out into the corridor and the orange glow from the flames leached away behind me, as if pointing towards my shadow’s only escape route. The smell of burning was strong and pervasive and I'd barely gone three metres from the room when a goblin guard came to investigate.
Her attention was caught by the flames rather than by my dark shape. Her expression quickly turned to one of horror and, while I skittered above, she threw back her head and yelled. Moments later, more goblins appeared. As they took in the situation, panic quickly escalated. Stirling Castle was made of stone but there were plenty of wooden rafters and flammable structural additions that could throw the stability of the King’s old building into doubt, not to mention the valuable items dotted around all over the place. As several of the goblins began screaming for water, I nodded grimly. The more of this the better; Gabriel needed the diversion.
With the goblins focusing on the fire rather than on the dancing shadows, I sneaked past them without difficulty. I was on the look-out for a certain grape-carrying nymph. While Ghrashbreg came storming down the corridor and the goblins finally organised themselves into getting hold of some much-needed water, I located the statue snug in its alcove where, half a lifetime ago, I had hidden my backpack.
Using the same technique I’d employed with the torch, I transformed my hand into a three-dimensional form and snagged the bag from its hiding place. The one good thing was that the bag’s shape made it easier to carry than the torch had been. I was also fortunate that the fire was growing in intensity and all eyes were focused on it. If anyone saw a shadow transporting a backpack along one of Stirling Castle’s corridors, I dreaded to think what might happen.
My energy was draining with every step but I heaved the bag up the staircase until I was outside Gabriel's door. I dropped it with a loud thump and sagged in relief. A moment later my shadow altered its shape and I slipped under the tiny gap at the foot of the door so I could return to my physical body, move the chair, open up and retrieve the bag.
Gabriel hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes were closed and his skin looked even paler but at least he was still breathing, his chest falling and rising. Harsh, guttural gasps emitted from his mouth. I should have been relieved but I felt a pained lurch deep within my heart.
‘If you die,’ I whispered, ‘I'll raze this castle to the ground.’ Then the world – and the goblins – would really know what wraiths were capable of.
I fumbled with the bag, finally opened it and pulled out the bottle from the first-aid kit. When I'd asked Marrock for the iodine I didn’t know what I would use it for. It had seemed like a sensible precaution at the time and if the wee man had been here now, if he had still been alive, I’d have kissed his lips for arranging it. At the very least.
The fact that the iodine inside the bottle was potable was a boon. I didn't know whether it would do Gabriel any good but it could hardly harm him. If this went as I hoped, the healing properties of the iodine would cancel out what the poison had done to him. It wasn't an antidote and it wouldn't work miracles but if it only halted the poison’s effects there would be hope.
‘Gabriel,’ I said softly.
All I received in response was a faint moan, barely audible over the sounds of shouting from the frantic goblins trying to put out the fire below us.
With no idea whether he could hear or understand me, I explained what I was about to do. ‘I’m going to give you something to drink, Gabriel,’ I said. ‘It probably won't taste very nice but I need you to drink it. I need you to do your best because,’ my voice dropped to a whisper, ‘I need you.’
I unscrewed the top of the iodine bottle. Should I give him a few drops or should I throw caution to the wind and dump all the contents into his mouth? Darn it. I gritted my teeth and went for it.
The liquid was almost black and more viscous than I’d expected. At first, I allowed only a tiny amount to pass his lips then I leaned back on my heels and watched him carefully. Nothing happened: he didn't rise up and proclaim himself cured but neither did he choke or cough or die. That might be the best I could hope for.
I bent forward, gave him some more and again pulled back and waited. I let the iodine drip into Gabriel's mouth until more than half the bottle had gone. For good measure, I followed it up with a couple of the old paracetemol to help with the pain.
I stared at his chest. Was it my imagination or was he finding it easier to breathe? I put my ear to his heart; its beat seemed steady, if a little weak. It would have to do – I couldn't delay the inevitable any longer.
I stood up, taking Gabriel's heavy body with me. I hooked one of his arms round my shoulders to make it easier to carry him but I still staggered under his weight. This was going to be bloody hard.
‘Gabriel,’ I murmured, ‘I need you to try and walk. One foot in front of the other. One small step at a time.’
He groaned.
With forced cheerfulness, I said, ‘I'm going to take that as your version of, “Why yes, Saiya, I would be delighted to walk. What a perfect evening for a stroll. And is that a barbecue I smell?”’
He didn't say anything; he didn’t even groan. I steeled myself and shuffled towards the door, dragging Gabriel with me. ‘Come on,’ I muttered. ‘We can do this.’
The shouting from the floor below was increasing in intensity and the burning smell was growing stronger. Maybe I should have felt guilty at setting an ancient building full of extraordinary history alight but I didn’t.
Avoiding the closest staircase that led down next to the burning room, I heaved Gabriel to the stairs at the far end of the corridor. My throat was beginning to tickle. We’d barely managed a few steps when tendrils of yellow smoke snaked their way around us.
Gabriel groaned. ‘Fire,’ he muttered. ‘Not safe.’
Yeah, yeah. I tried to ignore him but he dug in his heels, refusing to go any further. I turned my head towards him, registering the pain in his normally bright eyes. ‘We have to do this,’ I said firmly. ‘The fire is at the other side of the building. We need to get out of here and you need to cooperate.’
He gazed at me for a moment as more smoke filtered upwards. Finally, he blinked in acquiescence. Thank goodness. He couldn’t do much to move himself forward but at least he was no longer resisting.
When we reached the third floor where the fire was, at first I was grateful that the smoke was thick and visibility was virtually nil. Three goblins sprinted past with wet cloths covering their faces. They were less than two metres from us but they didn’t even register our presence. My gratitude didn’t last long. By the time they had disappeared into the corridor, my eyes were streaming and my lungs were burning. I dreaded to think what effect the smoke was having on Gabriel in his already weakened condition. I had to get him out as quickly as possible.