Wraith(28)

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 na?ve 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 spotted 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.