Wraith(37)

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.’