Wraith

  The guard in the middle lifted the visor of his helmet. ‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled, in heavily accented English. ‘What do we have here?’

  I flicked a nervous glance at him and his two companions, then smoothed down my dress and swallowed. ‘My name is Saiya.’ My voice was high-pitched and squeaky. ‘I’m here to see a goblin.’

  ‘I’m a goblin,’ he said, raising a twisted eyebrow.

  I couldn’t use Boxburn’s name. At this hour he would still be in front of my block of flats, keeping an eye out for little Becky in case she reappeared. I prevaricated as best as I could. ‘He’s about this high,’ I said, raising a hand to indicate the height of ninety-nine percent of all goblins. I swept my hands downwards as I continued. ‘With a beard, a well-built body but a small…’ I blinked and dropped my hand from my crotch area, permitting myself a brief blush, while my fingers twitched at the faded lace around the hem of my dress. ‘I don’t know his real name.’

  The three guards exchanged knowing glances. Without alluding to anything directly, I’d planted a seed in their minds as to my reason for being here in the middle of the night. God knows, there were enough of us down in the depths of the Stirling streets who would sell ourselves for an extra scrap of food.

  ‘If you don’t know his name,’ the goblin on the right said, ‘how are you going to find him?’ He looked me up and down and licked his lips. ‘I’m sure we could come to some kind of alternative arrangement.’

  There was a nasal snort from the third goblin. ‘She’s a bit scrawny. You’d probably break her.’

  I flinched deliberately and stepped back.

  ‘I like a bit more meat on my women,’ he said. ‘And a bit more fire.’

  ‘Have you ever actually had a woman?’

  Unwilling to let their banter descend into argument, I reached for my backpack. Almost immediately, all three of them stepped forward, fell silent and glowered. I froze and stared at them, wide-eyed. ‘I have a thing,’ I said. ‘A token. He said I was to use it to get in and then meet him at the front of the guards’ quarters at midnight.’

  ‘Throw me the bag,’ the middle one commanded.

  I did as he ordered, making a very poor effort so that the bag fell about a foot to the side instead of in his outstretched hands. I was so weak, I projected, that I couldn’t even manage to get a small throw right.

  The guard rolled his eyes in disgust, scooped up my bag and ripped it open. He tossed aside the bottle of water and drew out the first-aid kit. ‘Well, well, well. What do we have here then?’ He reached for the bottle of iodine and unscrewed it, sniffing and smacking his lips as if it were a particularly fine bottle of Bordeaux. I stared at the bottle. Bloody Marrock. That was nascent iodine for drinking, not the sort I wanted, which cleaned wounds.

  I wrung my hands and continued to look pathetic. ‘He gave it to me. He said…’ I licked my lips and dropped my voice to a whisper ‘… he said I’d need it.’ I banked on the guard not recognising what sort of iodine he was holding.

  ‘You like it rough then?’

  As if. I fidgeted some more. ‘I … he … um…’

  Growing bored, the guard rolled his eyes. He glanced down, obviously clocking the few precious paracetemol that Marrock had granted me. For a brief moment, a lascivious gleam crossed his expression then he looked back at me and, wonder of wonders, I noted a small flicker of sympathy. He abandoned the kit and rummaged some more, finally pulling out the token that Boxburn had given me.

  ‘Fine,’ he grunted. ‘But keep this closer to you for when the next person asks.’ He threw it towards me and I fumbled the catch and had to run after it as it rolled away. Panting, I clutched it to my chest and straightened up again.

  The guard threw the bag towards me with enough force to make me stagger . Pain flashed through me and I let out a small gasp. De Florinville had done me more damage than I’d realised. That wasn’t good.

  The guard’s two companions gave him identical sidelong looks. Gruffly, he muttered, ‘What do I want with that pathetic lot? She can keep it.’

  Breathing out, I retrieved the fallen water bottle and bobbed my head. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Apparently, I’d roused his protective instincts. Thanking heaven that I’d had the foresight to put on my old dress – and worried that I was becoming almost as weak as I was pretending to be – I scurried past the trio before they changed their minds.

  ‘You can always come and meet us when you’re done,’ the most irritating goblin called out. ‘Sloppy seconds aren’t usually my thing but I can make an exception.’

  I skittered forward, almost slipping on the dark cobbles. He let out an uproarious laugh. He could enjoy himself at my benefit as much as he wanted to; I’d already achieved what I wanted. I was in.

  I didn’t look back. In case the guards decided to watch me, I veered to the left as I crossed the courtyard so it looked as if I were heading for the gloomy barracks where I’d find most of the slumbering goblins.

  From somewhere behind the first buildings there was the smell of meat roasting on a barbecue. I dreaded to think what kind of meat it was. De Florinville and Ghrashbreg might have been dining on chicken and chocolate cake but I wasn’t naïve enough to think that the troops could expect such delights; if that were the case, the goblin guards on the streets wouldn’t be such bastards.

  When I was sure I was out of sight, I changed direction and skirted round the back of an ancient stone outhouse. What I needed now was to get a good view of the King’s Old Building.

  From my few ventures within the castle walls, I had a general understanding of where everything was located. Keeping to the shadows because that’s where I felt safest, I darted round to the Inner Close, narrowly avoiding a sleepy-looking patrol marching past me. I found a dark corner and then peered up.

  Light still blazed unhelpfully from most of the Old Building’s windows. Fortunately the building was only five storeys high and was dwarfed by the other castle buildings. Its slate-grey stone walls extended out in an irregular fashion. Finding the room I needed wouldn’t be easy.

  I started at the east side, scanning up and down before discounting all the visible rooms and shuffling to a different vantage point. A human servant scurried out from an open doorway at the foot of the building; she would have spotted me if she hadn’t been carrying a bundle of dirty linen that obscured her view. I waited until she’d disappeared before I started my search again. Ten minutes later, I thought I had it.

  The light shining out of the window seemed brighter, as if there were more candles in that room than were necessary. Although several of the walls curved slightly, this seemed to match the one I’d noted from the interior. The clincher, of course, was the panes of glass in one of the windows: fifteen in total and, if I squinted, one of them looked newer than the rest. That had to be it.

  I watched the window for several moments, hoping that de Florinville might amble past and glance out. The light would frame his glowering, good-looking features extraordinarily well. Unfortunately there wasn’t even the glimmer of a shadow and I couldn’t wait forever. I was as sure as I could be that I had the right location. I smiled grimly to myself.

  I sidled up to the nearest door and paused to listen. There were people inside, and I could almost make out their conversation. From now on, I was in serious danger of being exposed. Boxburn’s token was useless here. Even the stupidest person wouldn’t believe that I’d stumbled by accident into this building instead of the goblins’ barracks.

  I waited until there was a sudden surge in the chatter, hoping that the participants would be too occupied with their gossip to see me, and entered.

  My corporeal form might never have been inside the King’s Old Building before but I knew that there would be several staircases. There would be a grand main staircase, which I wanted to avoid at all costs for obvious reasons, and a cramped servants’ one, which no doubt also received considerable foot traffic. I was about to search for a third more viable option when I spo
tted a crumpled ball of fabric a few feet away. It had probably fallen from the basket of dirty linen that the servant was carrying. With a sudden grin, I grabbed it, shaking it out. A grubby chef’s jacket: it wasn’t ideal, but it would do.

  I shrugged it on and smoothed it down, my mouth salivating at the whiff of food that clung to the material. If it looked rather daft with the skirt of my old dress flapping around underneath then tough. It would pass any cursory glances from curious eyes. Let’s face it, if anyone looked at me too closely, I’d be swinging from the gallows in town before you could say the words ‘wraith’ and ‘cautionary tale’.

  My confidence buoyed slightly by my makeshift disguise, I forced my steps into a brisk but unhurried walk. A door ahead opened and a figure wandered out. As they turned in my direction, I forced myself to keep moving. Just my luck: it was a goblin – and a particularly grumpy-looking one at that. I dipped my head as he strode towards me, marching down the centre of the corridor. I flattened myself against the wall, much as my shadow self would have. The goblin passed me without a word but, at the very moment when I thought I’d succeeded in sliding by, he came to a sudden halt and spun round.

  ‘Oi!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Yes?’ I squeaked.

  ‘Lord Ghrashbreg wants his coffee and there’s not a servant in sight. Come with me and you can get him what he needs.’

  I stared at him, momentarily flummoxed and unsure how to react. He tapped his large foot impatiently and glared. ‘What?’ he snarled. ‘Don’t tell me that because you’re a cook, you’re too good to sort out the coffee. It’s all food at the end of the day and you work for us. If you want your extra rations at the end of this week, you’ll do exactly as you’re told. If you don’t,’ he sneered, ‘then I’ll have to and I’m damned if Ghrashbreg is going to treat me like the hired help. I’m not a human.’

  My mouth was dry and I felt unpleasantly shaky but I had no choice. While it was tempting to draw out my dagger and stab the ornery bastard through the heart, I’d never have the strength to hide his body so I could avoid detection for long enough to retrieve my shadow. And that was even if I managed to kill him rather than just graze his nigh-impenetrable goblin skin. Meeting more goblins, including Ghrashbreg, meant I was less likely to slide through without my crappy disguise being questioned but what else could I do? I weighed my options but there wasn’t really a choice.

  The angry goblin strode off. When I didn’t immediately follow, he glanced over his shoulder and scowled. I scuttled after him, pausing for a moment to stash my bag behind a stone statue of a naked nymph holding a basket of grapes. If only it had been Gabriel de Florinville who was demanding coffee, I thought mournfully. That would have been almost too good to be true.

  My temporary new master kept up a long diatribe as I followed him along a series of long and winding corridors and up several sets of stairs. Most of it was a series of complaints about his poor lot in life. Under normal circumstances, I’d have been thrilled to have such an insight into the Filits’ way of life but I couldn’t afford to listen to him. I zoned him out while I trotted after him and focused on my surroundings. I needed to be sure I had several exit plans in place, as well as understanding where he was taking me. I had mapped out a good half of the King’s Old Building in my head before we reached the third floor and he began to slow down.

  ‘… Because of that, and the way she spoke to me, I just don’t feel valued,’ he said, as he stopped outside a solid oak door. ‘I’m a quarter Gneiss. If we weren’t so close to success, I’d have left to join them outside the city walls months ago. I still might,’ he added darkly. He raised a clenched fist and for one bizarre moment I thought he was going to smack it into my face. Instead he turned and knocked on the door.

  Once inside, he was a different goblin. With his shoulders drooping and his arms by his sides in a classic Filit submissive pose, he murmured apologies to the assembled dignitaries. From behind him, where I was trying to hide, I spotted several big names including Ghrashbreg. Talk about walking into the lion’s den. About the only thing in my favour was that the lighting was dim. If there had been more candles and lanterns, my lack of shadow would be obvious and I’d probably already be dead.

  Noting the sideboard with several cups and saucers laid out, I nipped over. Perhaps if I took the initiative and was a good little human, they wouldn’t examine me too closely. One could only hope.

  There was already a large silver jug of steaming coffee next to the china. Clearly, these goblins thought too highly of themselves to pour their own drinks; they’d rather wait until a suitable servant could be found. While my escort was brusquely dismissed, the seated goblins continued talking.

  Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, I carefully turned all the cups in their saucers. Despite the precariousness of my situation, professional pride was kicking in. This was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to miss, even if my life was hanging in the balance and I normally never used my corporeal form for this kind of snooping. I checked the pot before pouring coffee into the first delicate china cup. I also listened.

  ‘The wealthy human families will stay on board. We don’t have to worry about them. When the truth is revealed, they’ll know what to do. Once we have them, the rest will be forced to fall into line. Regardless of what happens, once we have the Stone—’

  Another goblin Lord interrupted. ‘If we get the Stone. We’ve been close before.’

  ‘It’s within our grasp. We’ll get it.’

  ‘Our Gneiss Brethren might still argue with you on that point.’

  ‘In another few weeks they’ll be left hanging in the wind. Don’t worry about them. They might be suspicious but they won’t risk an all-out incursion without evidence first.’

  I finished pouring the coffee, scooped up a handful of gleaming silver teaspoons and lay one on each saucer. The aroma of the coffee was almost overwhelming. I couldn’t help noticing the mound of perfectly formed sugar cubes. I could buy a dozen first-aid kits with what was in front of me. A gnawing physical ache I’d learnt to quash many moons ago returned to the pit of my belly, like an old friend who I didn’t really want to see.

  ‘What about de Florinville?’

  ‘He’s leaving late tomorrow night so he’ll be long gone by the time we get it. We’ve had the gallows temporarily removed so he can tour the city tomorrow without any further complaints or unwelcome suggestions. He’ll be appeased enough to give his report to the Prime Minister. We’ll have the time and peace we need to finish up.’

  There was a growl from the far end of the table. ‘We’d better have. I have no desire to put our contingency plan into place if he gets too close.’

  Ghrashbreg’s response was smooth. ‘We’re ready if he does. If there’s any suggestion that he’s learnt more than he should, then he won’t leave this castle.’

  ‘Are you going to use pois—’

  ‘Shh.’

  Suddenly, without turning around, I realised the goblins were looking at me. I froze for a beat. Act normal, Saiya. I leaned across the sideboard and picked up three cups and saucers, turned to the table and walked over. Without looking directly at any of them, I placed the cups in front of the nearest three goblins and returned to the sideboard fetch more. The silence was deafening; not one of the goblins said anything until they all had steaming coffee in front of them. When Ghrashbreg cleared his throat and began to speak it was almost a relief.

  ‘I’ve not seen you before.’ The goblin lord might have believed that humans like me were beneath him but his sharp eyes missed little. I angled my body away from the light to make my lack of a shadow less obvious but it was touch and go and I knew he’d noted my strange attire. He examined me carefully before speaking again. ‘Who are you?’

  There were many reasons to lie but I knew from past experience that sticking closely to the truth would be better. ‘My name is Saiya Buchanan.’

  ‘I suppose you work in the kitchen?’

  I offered a tiny
nod. ‘Yes.’ I didn’t say anything else. I was determined not to give more information than was asked for. Many a person had come unstuck by babbling too many untruths and spinning too many tales, especially to the goblins.

  ‘Do you keep your hair short like that for sanitary purposes?’

  Sure, why not? I nodded again.

  ‘And,’ he drawled, ‘judging by your strange dress underneath your chef’s whites, you were on your way home when you were ordered to come here and pour our coffee.’

  Another nod.

  A well-dressed goblin woman spoke up. ‘That Shantash is becoming a liability.’

  Ghrashbreg’s response was mild. ‘He has his uses.’ He kept his gaze trained on me, pinning me to the spot. ‘There’s no need to be afraid of us, Saiya. We don’t bite.’ He bared his sharp teeth as if making a joke. Playing along, I offered a weak smile. Maybe there was a way out of this and, if that meant massaging some goblin egos along the way, I was more than prepared to be that oily masseuse. ‘Come here, Saiya,’ he said softly.

  My feet were heavy with the weight of my reluctance. I shuffled over, keeping my head down. Perhaps if I made a show of hiding my face, Ghrashbreg would be more curious about that than anything else. I stood next to him, aware of the goblins watching me.

  ‘There’s something not quite right about her,’ another of the women said.

  Shut up.

  Ghrashbreg smiled. He lifted up his cup and held it out to me. ‘Would you like some coffee, Saiya?’ He kept repeating my name, as if that would encourage me to trust him.

  ‘No, thank you.’ I folded my hands together and kept my head bowed.

  ‘Go on. I insist. It’s the real thing, you know. Imported from Columbia via the only open supply line. How long has it been since you had a real cup of coffee?’

  At least he wasn’t pretending that good coffee was easy for us to come by. ‘A long time,’ I mumbled.