The Gargoyle at the Gates (12 page)

The Almost Very End of the Story

A few days after their meeting in Candles by Daye, Gregory Tallus and his grandson James gathered everyone in the park. It was a beautiful spring day, sunny and warm without being too hot. No one else was in the park, so everyone sat on the park benches around the bubbling fountain. The bushes were starting to turn green and leafy again, so the little crowd was out of sight of the street.

Cassandra and Stern sat happily on one bench together (it slowly dawned on Christopher that perhaps Cassandra and Stern were meant for each other). Christopher, Katherine, and her parents sat on another bench, and Claire and James (who had discovered that they were in the same high school chemistry class) sat together on the third. The gargoyles were there too, resting in the huge leather bag that Gregory Tallus carried with him.

Gregory had switched his cape to bright purple today, but he kept the green, floppy hat. Katherine found him astonishing and couldn't take her eyes off him.

After saying hello to everyone, he took a long sip of mint tea from a thermos he carried with him under his cloak. He cleared his throat (which Christopher thought sounded very theatrical) and began. “My friends. It is remarkable, astonishing, that we are here today, in the presence of these two wondrous creatures. Two gargoyles we only supposed
might
exist.…”

“
We
?” a chorus of voices asked. Everyone on the benches had a lot of questions … and Gregory had promised he would answer them all, but he hadn't told them much until now.

“Yes, we, the Tallus family. I'm the last Tallus by name … James has his father's last name. Our ancestor was the French stonemason Tallus, who was a gifted sculptor and created many gargoyles in his lifetime. Here is his symbol: the circle with two diamonds inside, one on top of the other. As you know, his gargoyles carry his mark.” Gregory pointed at the golden symbol on his leather bag.

“Tallus died in England over four hundred years ago, but his family has always known about his gargoyles, and we have searched for them for hundreds of years. Gargoth, Ambergine, and the others in England.…”

“OTHERS?” Katherine's mother and Cassandra said together, rather loudly.

James broke in then. “My grandfather is trying to say that Gargoth and Ambergine aren't alone. There are more gargoyles like them in the world, three more, in fact.”

The friends sitting around the benches all looked at each other.

More gargoyles? Like Gargoth and Ambergine?

James went on. “My grandfather has known the other gargoyles and cared for them all his life. I met them this summer, and one of them, Theodorus, made me this statue.”

Theodorus
?

James took the statue from Theodorus out of his pocket and handed it to Claire, who studied it with care. It looked almost exactly like Gargoth. She passed it along for the others to see.

Gregory Tallus continued. “Tallus hid his gargoyles well, to keep them safe. He hid them in lonely churchyards in out-of-the-way little towns, some in France, one in England.

“For generations Tallus family members quietly talked to villagers and listened to old stories and folk tales about creatures living in churchyards. We travelled throughout France and England and scoured newspapers and journals until my great-great-great grandfather and his granddaughter found Septimus. She and her grandson found Theodorus, then finally, my grandfather found Arabella. And in turn, my grandson James found Ambergine a few months ago … and she led us to Candles by Daye and to Gargoth.”

The friends on the benches all sat stock still and listened intently, looking much like a group of statues themselves. Gregory took another sip of tea and continued:

“The Tallus family has created a sanctuary for the gargoyles in a garden in England. There is water and apple trees and ponds. The three gargoyles there have a safe place to live together if they want, though they are free to come and go as they please.

“The garden is far from any towns, far from any roads, there is no one who knows about it other than those whom we tell, and those are very few indeed. And now we are telling you, the friends and protectors of Gargoth and Ambergine. You are all welcome to the garden.”

There was a gentle murmur. Cassandra cleared her throat. “Mr. Tallus, that's a wonderful invitation and I would love to meet the gargoyles living there. But what about Gargoth and Ambergine?” she asked.

The old man smiled. “Yes, Ms. Daye. I'm getting to that. You have, of course, noticed that Ambergine is very unwell. Her trauma in the snow before James found her, well, it has weakened her considerably. She cannot speak, she is partly blind, her wings were frozen solid. Over the centuries, my family has learned many secrets for restoring gargoyles to good health. I can help her regain her voice and her sight, and I can ease the pain of her frozen wings, which will heal in time. Gargoth's wing will heal, also, with the right care. I'm sure they will both fly again, sooner than you think. But they will need my help to do so.

“That is why Ambergine and Gargoth are invited to come to the English garden. They have agreed. They will meet Theodorus, Septimus, and Arabella. They will have company and safety, and good health that they can't find here. So you can take some comfort in this news, here are pictures and my journal, all about the gargoyles and the garden.”

Gregory reached into the leather bag and pulled out papers, photographs, and a heavy journal, which he passed out among the friends.

Katherine was holding a photograph of a naughty-looking gargoyle smoking a pipe. A name was written in the space at the bottom of the photograph: Septimus of Tallus. He reminded her a great deal of Gargoth, and she couldn't help it. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“But the Collector is gone! The park is saved!” she blurted out. “They ARE safe here! We CAN keep them safe now!” Katherine's mother put her arm around her daughter.

Gregory Tallus nodded. “I know you don't want to say goodbye to them. You don't have to. They'll be there, in the garden. You'll know where to find them. And they could come back one day, when they are ready.”

The group of friends was very quiet for a long while, looking at the photographs and the journal that Gregory had handed around. The journal was a heavy, leather-bound book with pages and pages of notes and stories about the gargoyles. It had gold letters on the cover and was titled “The Gargoyle of Tallus,” because as Gregory explained, when the journal was started by his great-great-great grandfather, there was only Septimus in the garden.

Katherine's mother was turning the pages and looking with wonder at all the gargoyle statues and notes Gregory Tallus and his family had made.

James was murmuring in Claire's ear, and she laughed out loud. They were looking at a photograph of a large, dark gargoyle with a ram's head and curly horns. Christopher could see the name, Theodorus of Tallus, written underneath the photograph, and the big gargoyle looked like he was laughing.

That was something that Christopher suddenly longed to hear: a laughing gargoyle. He knew Ambergine and Gargoth well, but he had never heard them laugh. Why not?

At that moment, Katherine passed along another photo: Arabella of Tallus. This gargoyle was clearly a girl, smaller than the other two, and she looked a lot like Ambergine but a little sadder.

Here was proof of three more living gargoyles, all similar to Ambergine and Gargoth, yet all three somehow different, too.

Christopher wanted to ask a burning question that had been on his mind since the moment he met Cassandra and the gargoyles in the park that night, so long ago. He cleared his throat and tried not to let his voice sound sad (although he had noticed that since the night in the snow with Gargoth and the Collector, his voice seemed older and stronger).

“I have a question. Can you tell us why the gargoyles are alive? I mean, why they aren't just statues? How did Tallus, your ancestor, do that?” He looked around. He realized by the looks on everyone's faces that they had all been wondering the same thing, but no one wanted to ask. It seemed almost rude, a bit like asking about where babies came from or how people felt about religion.

But Gregory Tallus nodded again (which made his bizarre green hat wobble dangerously). “Ah, yes. At some point we've all wondered that, Christopher.” The old man looked at him kindly and smiled.

“I can tell you that each of the gargoyles was created in a churchyard, and each was carved freely, meaning they weren't part of a building or anything else. They were all carved from a single, freestanding piece of stone, probably a leftover from a restoration that Tallus was working on. All five have the same stonemason's mark: a circle with two diamonds inside it.

“But I've often wondered myself how, exactly, a lump of stone comes to life? I don't know the answer to that, honestly. Perhaps the simple love and care that Tallus gave his creations was enough? A spark of love, or joy, or individuality that the artist gave to his statues as he laboured over them and created them. That's what creation is, after all, isn't it? A passage of something special and personal from creator to creation?

“Or perhaps it was the gargoyles themselves who wanted to come to life. Who knows? The magic of their existence will remain a beautiful unsolved mystery, for all time.”

The friends were silent for a long while considering this answer, then Cassandra spoke. “There are just five gargoyles then? For sure?” she asked, almost wistful.

Gregory grew thoughtful and frowned. “I believe so … if there are others then they were so well hidden by Tallus that they are probably gone forever. But these two gargoyles appeared in the most unexpected way, so one never knows, I suppose.”

He took another sip of tea from his thermos and smiled at the group before him. It seemed that something final had been said, and an end was drawing closer.

“And now, Gargoth has something he wants to say to each of you.” The old man lifted Gargoth gently out of the bag, then Ambergine after him.

Gargoth took Ambergine by the claw and the two creatures waddled around the benches, from friend to friend. When Gargoth took Christopher's hand in his claw and said, “Thank you for all the beautiful music, Christopher Canning, I will always think of you whenever I hear a guitar,” Christopher's eyes grew blurry and his glasses steamed up, so all he could do was nod. But no one seemed to notice, and he found he didn't even mind that much.

Katherine and her parents were the last to say goodbye. Katherine's mother held Gargoth the longest, and had the hardest time putting him down. She put something in his claw as she did.

“It's an apple, Gargoth, from the tree in our garden. The last Cellini apple tree in Toronto, maybe anywhere, from the tree you grew when you first came to us.”

Gargoth looked a long time at the apple in his claw, then back at Katherine's mother. “I'm glad I followed you home so long ago. I'm glad I chose you, Mother Newberry,” he said simply.

Then Gargoth led Ambergine to the spot in the park where the apple tree once stood, and the gargoyles planted the apple in the soil together.

They were going to the English garden to meet Theodorus, Septimus, and Arabella, to a life of good health, safety, and comfort. You should know that they both heal and fly once again. You might also like to know that despite some gentle bickering between Gargoth and Septimus about who tells the best stories, they all get along quite well.

Their old friends will visit them now and then. They will see Katherine and her parents, and Cassandra Daye and Stern-the-reporter. James will visit his grandfather and the gargoyles every summer, and eventually his friends Claire and Christopher Canning will visit, too.

It may be a little while before you see them again, though. Oh, they'll continue to have adventures, but quiet ones which they'll keep to themselves, at least for now.

Still, if you ever find Gatepost Park in downtown Toronto, say hello to the gargoyles at the gates, then sit and let the fence and fountain harbour you. You'll find a glorious apple tree waiting for you, in all seasons.

Think well into the future, past the time when young children have grown to become grandparents. It is a beautiful summer day, and you are standing looking at an English church. It's an ancient place, hundreds and hundreds of years old, with a little stream running beside the courtyard and a small apple orchard nearby. It is quiet, quiet, and the wind gently blows the leaves in the trees.

You let your eyes pass over the lion statue with its left ear broken off, the piece lying still in the grass at the statue's feet. You may lift the piece and fit it perfectly onto the lion's broken ear, where it will perch until wind and time topples it again. You see the old church walls and the ivy clinging to the sides of the ancient stones.

You will likely see (because you are curious and can still hear the language in the rustling winter leaves) the outline of a wing and a leathery head chasing through the ivy. You will hear a trill of laughter and look on in amazement as an apple core lands at your feet. There is something here that you can't quite name, but you DO know without being told that this is a place of stories, a place of friendship and magic.

Because that's really what this story is all about.

You have followed them from the very beginning, and by now you know the truth off by heart: somewhere, maybe closer than you think, a gargoyle waits.

Thank you to Allister Thompson, my wonderful editor, and to Emma Dolan for capturing the right tone with her talented illustration and design. Also special thanks to Sylvia McConnell for setting me on the path, and to the good folks at Dundurn for the continued wisdom and support. Finally, thanks to Paul and Ben for living so well with a writer, and an extra hug to Sarah, who first told me to write it all down.