The Gargoyle at the Gates (5 page)

The Watching Man

Katherine put her hands on her hips. “Christopher, what are you doing here?” she demanded. She didn't seem very happy. Christopher tried not to look worried.

Cassandra came to his rescue. “I invited him, Katherine. He was in the park last night and met the gargoyles by accident. I invited him to come today for tea.”

Katherine walked over to Christopher. She stood before him and looked him steadily in the eye, crossing her arms. He tried not to flinch.

“Well, Christopher Canning, it seems we have no choice but to be friends. How are you with keeping secrets?” she asked.

Christopher thought about all the times his older brothers had kept secrets from him (but never his sister, who didn't care much for secrets). He was never allowed in on any of them. It would be a pleasure to have a secret of his own, a big one, which he wouldn't share. It would be just his.

“Okay, I guess. I don't usually have anything to keep secret.”

Katherine looked at him a long while and finally said, “Come up to the roof.” Christopher followed her up the small staircase to the top of the store. She pushed open a squeaky door, and the two of them stepped out onto the rooftop.

Christopher thought the view from his bedroom window was good, but this view was incredible. The city was bright and sparkling off to the west, the huge towers glinting in the afternoon sun. The shining lake at the foot of the city was a bright green pool, disappearing into the distance as far as he could see. The CN Tower was like a huge sentinel, standing watch over everything.

On the rooftop there were tiny trees in buckets, apple trees like the one across the street in the park, bearing ripe fruit. There was a rain barrel brimming with fresh rainwater, a tin cup attached to the side. Pillows and blankets and comfortable chairs waited in a circle under an awning, so you could sit and talk there any time, rain or shine. There was a propane heater to warm up the space.

A small garden gnome statue stood off by itself in a corner against the chimney. It looked badly battered, and Christopher noticed apples smashed at its feet and on the wall behind it. Someone was a good shot.

The rooftop was a friendly place. Katherine sat in one of the comfortable wooden chairs and pulled a blanket over herself. She beckoned Christopher to a chair beside her.

“Sit,” she said.

He perched on a lawn chair, but he couldn't relax. He really just wanted to run away.

“It's okay, Christopher. I don't bite,” she smiled then added, “The gargoyles might, though, you should probably watch out for that.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” he stammered. The thought of explaining to his mother that he had a gargoyle bite made his head swim. He had the sudden horrible desire to giggle madly. Instead, he forced himself to say something. “What do you call the gargoyles?”

“Their names are Gargoth and Ambergine.”

“Have they always lived in the park across the street?”

“Oh, no! They're over four hundred years old, they've lived a lot of places. They want to live here in Toronto now, near Cassandra and me. The park is perfect for them … but I don't think they can stay.” She paused, suddenly quiet.

“Why not?”

She sighed. “They have an enemy, Christopher. An obsessed old man who wants to steal them and lock them away … he's done it before. He locked Gargoth up for seventy years.”

“An enemy? Locked him up?”

“Yes. He's called the Collector. He's sitting right over there,” Katherine said nonchalantly. She waved over her shoulder in the direction of the library, a few rooftops away.

It was getting dark, but Christopher squinted and could make out a figure sitting on the library rooftop garden bench. It was an old man wearing thick glasses, a hat, and a heavy brown coat. And he was staring straight at them.

Christopher found it creepy. Slowly he realized that he recognized the man. “I … I've seen him before. He sits outside the park in the mornings sometimes, on that bench down the sidewalk, and I think he was in the store this afternoon. Cassandra yelled at him,” he whispered.

“That's him. And most nights he sits over there on that rooftop staring at us, until the library closes.”

“Aren't you afraid of him?” Christopher asked a little nervously, trying not to glance over at the silent figure.

Katherine shook her head. “No. He just makes me mad, actually. All he wants are the gargoyles, and he can't get them.”

“But why not? I mean, he could grab them any time, couldn't he? What's to stop him?”

“They aren't helpless, you know. For one thing, they can fly. For another, they have each other. Plus, they have us to help them. Cassandra and I keep watch over them in the park, and they can always come up here to the store rooftop. They're pretty safe up here. They used to stay in my backyard at home, too, but the Collector knows where I live now, so it isn't safe anymore. Other than me, Cassandra and my parents, no one else knows about them. Oh, and now you.”

Christopher was awestruck. He couldn't believe that he knew something so important, and so secret. Suddenly he had a million questions about the gargoyles, which Katherine answered very patiently (and if you've been following their story, you already know most of the answers). He wanted to know all about them, what they ate, drank, where they came from.

Christopher's last question took Katherine by surprise: “Why are the gargoyles alive?”

She shook her head. “No one knows. We
do
know that the man who created them was a mysterious French stonemason named Tallus. Gargoth and Ambergine both have his stonemason's mark, on their backs between their wings.” Katherine dug a pencil and a piece of paper out of her backpack and quickly drew an image, which she showed to Christopher. It looked like this:

“His stonemason's mark was a circle with two diamonds inside. If we could find out more about Tallus, we might be able to discover more about the gargoyles, but there's no trace of the Tallus family anymore.”

Then Katherine told Christopher the long story of the gargoyles' lives, together and apart. She went right back to the beginning, to the English churchyard in 1604 where Gargoth was created, then to France where he met Ambergine in 1665, then to Paris in 1778, then to New York City in 1860. Christopher sat listening to the gargoyles' story, entranced.

Afternoon turned to evening as Katherine talked and Christopher listened. Cassandra came up to the rooftop and had Christopher phone home and ask if he could stay for dinner, which was lentil stew (something he'd never had before and wasn't entirely sure he ever wanted again). After dinner, Cassandra switched on the portable propane heater, and the rooftop turned into a cozy place.

Cassandra brought armloads of mismatched candles up from the store. Her store was Candles by Daye, after all, and they sat among the glowing candlelight, Katherine telling a long story, and Christopher listening and occasionally darting uneasy glances over at the library rooftop.

It would have been perfect, except for the dark figure sitting there, watching them, still as a statue the entire time.

Welcome to the Rooftop

It was getting late. Christopher shot another nervous look at the library rooftop, but the old man was gone. The library was closed for the evening, and somehow listening to the gargoyles' story, he hadn't noticed the old man get up and leave the rooftop.

BANG! A loud thump made Christopher jump. A gargoyle had landed on the roof and smacked into a lawn chair, which fell over. Another gargoyle landed quietly behind him, a sweeter-looking one, gentler and smaller. Christopher was surprised how similar they were, with the same leathery skin, the same wings, the same pouches at their side. Now that he could see them up close, he could easily tell which was Gargoth and which was Ambergine. The girl gargoyle was somehow more girlish, a little more pretty (if you could ever call a gargoyle pretty).

Ambergine waddled up to Christopher and put out her claw. Christopher hesitated then shook it.

“Snarthen freema olat,” the gargoyle said in her breezy, whispery voice, but Christopher heard her say, “Did you get your orange ball?”

Gargoth stomped to the apple basket and started lobbing apples carelessly at the gnome statue. He was an amazing shot, and the poor gnome didn't stand a chance. It was rocking back and forth on its pedestal in grave danger of being smashed to bits.

Christopher turned back to Ambergine. “Yes, I got my ball back, thank you. My brothers and I use it for ball-hockey but it actually belongs to my dog. Sorry if he scared you last night. You must be Ambergine, nice to meet you,” Christopher said, still carefully shaking the gargoyle's claw. It was cool and leathery, and looked VERY SHARP.

Then Gargoth spoke in his growly, raspy voice, like winter leaves shaking in the breeze. He spoke in gargoyle, and this is what he said: “Margo beshu vaunt.” Christopher heard him say, “The Collector was watching.”

Then Gargoth picked up an apple and threw it so hard at the gnome that the top of its peaked cap broke into pieces. Christopher jumped, but the others didn't seem to notice.

Katherine scowled. “Why won't he just go away?”

“He's not going away, you know that, Katherine, not until he gets what he wants,” Ambergine said quietly in gargoyle. Gargoth came and joined them, sitting on a cushion at Katherine's feet. The candles were getting low, and it was so late that the city had fallen quiet all around them. Christopher realized he was tired and cold.

“I … I guess I should go. Thanks for telling me the gargoyles' story. It was nice to meet you,” he said to the gargoyles, but Gargoth just scowled and turned his back. Christopher thought he heard him mutter “blethem” and “imbecile” at the same time, but he couldn't be entirely sure.

Ambergine, on the other hand, hopped down from Katherine's lap and waddled up to Christopher. She beckoned to him to bend down, which he did.

She whispered in his ear in gargoyle, “I'm glad you've come, Christopher Canning. Katherine is going to need your help, I know it. We all will.”

It was time to go. Cassandra and Katherine walked Christopher to the door, and Cassandra said, “You should come again tomorrow. Katherine will be here.”

He said thank-you and crossed the street to his house. He was burning to know more about the gargoyles and couldn't wait to go back to the store. More importantly, though, he noticed that Katherine smiled at him, just a little, when she said goodbye.

The English Garden: Goodbyes

James stood beside his packed suitcase. He was wearing his travelling clothes, and he was waiting. He'd been waiting for some time. He looked anxiously at his watch. If his grandfather didn't hurry up, he was going to miss his flight back to Canada. He had enjoyed his summer in England, but it was time to go home to Toronto. School had already started.

He looked into the beautiful autumn sky, azure and golden and white with clouds. He cast his eyes over the pretty thatched cottage and quiet grounds. The garden was in its full, last days of glory, with asters and late-blooming flowers. The apple trees were literally groaning with heavy fruit. He heard a noise behind him and turned.

The three gargoyles were standing on the gravel driveway before him.

The first was squat and very weathered and ancient-looking, wearing a naughty grin: Septimus.

The second was large and heavy and had a gigantic ram's head framed by curly horns: Theodorus.

The third was the smallest and daintiest, with tiny horns and leathery arms folded across her chest: Arabella.

All three had wings, and each wore a pouch at their side bulging with intriguing shapes. James hadn't seen them all together at once. Now they were standing before him, he could see they were each very different.

But there was a sameness there, too.

They seemed shy and reluctant to speak.

James's grandfather walked up to them, dressed in a black leather jacket with huge leather gloves, his First World War flying ace leather cap, and the giant, bug-like goggles (for the bugs).

“Ready to go then, Grampa?” James asked, since none of the creatures nor the old man seemed inclined to speak. He hated goodbyes, and there was a plane to catch.

“I think Septimus, Theodorus, and Arabella would like to say something to you first,” his grandfather answered. His eyes looked enormous behind the goggles.

The old man glared sternly at the gargoyles, who reminded James for all the world of a troop of actors gone slightly wrong. There was much sighing and rolling of eyes, crossing of arms, and scowling, until finally Theodorus spoke.

“Wegoth merry fleg,” he said in his deep, booming voice. James heard him say, “You've been interesting.”

The boy wasn't entirely sure if this was a compliment, but he inclined his head and politely said, “Thank you, Theodorus. So have you.”

The ancient and weathered gargoyle stepped forward then, and muttered, “Blegem thents brog.” But James heard this gargoyle say, “Sorry about interrupting your reading all summer.”

Again, James very respectfully inclined his head and answered the creature: “Thank you, Septimus. I managed to get my reading done, despite your … piles of leaves.”

Finally, the smallest of the three gargoyles spoke. She said impatiently, “Gorgen ballia treshie. Alia morim.” Which James heard as, “You're still a terrible shot. You've been a great target, though.”

Grampa Gregory said, “Arabella,” very sternly, and turned his bushy eyebrows and hugely magnified eyes down upon the gargoyle, who fidgeted.

She dropped her head and said very softly, “Beffi morgaunt,” which James heard as, “And I shall miss you.”

There were a few moments of surprised silence, since this gargoyle had barely spoken to James all summer and had only engaged him by pelting apples at him. He'd wondered about this. It had taken a while for them to warm up to him, but eventually the other two gargoyles spoke to him now and then. Septimus even sat and smoked a pipe around him in the evenings, and spoke occasionally of history and past friends and adventures (most of which centred around people named Elizabeth and Napoleon). But this little gargoyle hadn't sought him out all summer. She seemed more thoroughly alone and somehow sadder than the other two.

For the third time James bowed his head and again said graciously, “Thank you, Arabella. I'll miss you too. I'll miss all of you.”

There was a long, awkward silence between all five, the old man, boy, and three creatures, until Theodorus suddenly stepped forward and crunched across the driveway on his heavy, taloned feet. He pulled something out of his pouch, which he dropped into James's hand. It was a small stone carving of a gargoyle, with wings, a leathery head, and a pouch at its side. It looked similar to the gargoyles before him, but not exactly like any of them. It had its own look.

The boy studied the little gargoyle statue for a moment, amazed at how intricate it was. It was made from soft, greyish stone and was carefully tooled, with a naughty face, wings, and a tiny pouch at its side. James had seen Theodorus carving a small piece of stone all summer, but had no idea until just now what he'd been creating.

He was touched at the gargoyle's gift.

He looked up to say, “Thank you, Theodorus,” but there was no point. The gargoyles had all vanished back into the apple trees and the surrounding garden. He placed the little stone gargoyle carving into his pocket and carefully patted it.

“Never mind, James. It's a great honour to get a gift from a gargoyle.” Grampa Gregory placed his gloved hand on his grandson's shoulder and passed him a heavy leather bag with the initials “G.T.” on it in gold lettering next to some golden symbols.

“I have a gift for you, too,” his grandfather said.

James took the bag and almost dropped it, it was so heavy. It was the size of his hockey bag at home, but three times heavier.

“Thanks, Grampa. What is it?”

“Open it, boy!”

James gingerly peeked into the old, musty leather bag, and blinked. It was filled with tools, old, old tools. They looked like … hammers and chisels and sharp saws of different sizes and shapes. There was a three-sided file that looked like something a prisoner would use to break out of prison. There was a chisel, or maybe it was an awl (a term he'd learned from his reading in
The History of Stonemasons in Europe
), which looked wickedly sharp.

James looked up politely at his grandfather for some explanation.

“Stonemason's tools! They were mine when I was your age! You never know when you'll need the right tool for stonemasonry!”

His grandfather seemed very proud of his gift, his enormously heavy gift, so James could only say, “Great, Grampa, thank you. I'm sure these will be … handy.”

His grandfather beamed then strode across the gravel driveway, jumped into the 1920s road car and revved up the engine (with much black smoke belching out the back). James strapped on his own goggles. Much as he hated them, he didn't want to be picking bugs out of his teeth on the plane all the way home across the Atlantic Ocean.

“Come on! Let's go!” the old man shouted.

James picked up his modest suitcase and hoisted the heavy bag of stonemason's tools, then took one last look at the pretty thatched cottage and the English garden with his grandfather's half-finished statues and soothing fountains. He knew the gargoyles were probably peeking out of the trees at him (perhaps with an apple at the ready), and he made a promise to himself: he WOULD come back next summer, and he WOULD continue to look through newspapers and report to his grandfather anything he found out about statues … and gargoyles.

Although in Toronto, that really didn't seem very likely.