The Gargoyle Overhead Page 2

  “So, I’m going to miss the best soccer camp ever, and we’re kind of stuck about Gargoth…” Katherine finished.

  They looked over at the gargoyle, who was deep in thought, struggling with an armload of smiling pump-kins. The crate was half empty, he had used so many.

  Cassandra put down her knitting. “You know, you could both stay here for the week. Gargoth could stay up here on the roof, doing whatever it is he’s doing with the candles. And I have an extra bedroom in my apartment downstairs for you.”

  Katherine gasped. “Do you think so, Cassandra? That would be so great. We’d have to ask Mom and Dad…it might not be so easy to convince them…”

  Just at that moment, Gargoth waddled over and stood before them with a single smiling pumpkin candle in his claw. He turned it over and lit it with the coals in the stump of his pipe.

  “I’m finished,” he said. “Could you help me set my beacon ablaze?”

  Chapter Six

  Gargoth's Beacon

  Katherine had a confused look on her face. “Beacon? What do you mean? Do you want us to help you light the candles, Gargoth?”

  “Yes, Katherine. Here,” he handed her the candle. He offered Cassandra another lit candle.

  “The three of us can light them quickly together,” he said. Katherine nodded and began lighting candles. “He wants us to help him light them all,” she translated for Cassandra, who followed along, a little confused but happy to help out.

  For the next several minutes, the three of them went from candle to candle, lighting smiling pumpkins. With his clumsy, leathery claws, Gargoth found it hard to light the candles easily and kept scorching himself.

  THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT: try to avoid the scent of scorched gargoyle, if you ever happen across it. It’s a little like overcooked cabbage and cat-box, with a dash of moldering dead rat thrown in for good measure. Pretty much the exact opposite of anything nice you’ve ever smelled in your life. Both Cassandra and Katherine tried to hide the fact that they were holding their noses, which made lighting the candles very difficult. Gargoth didn’t seem to notice.

  It took them ages, but despite the horrible stench of burnt gargoyle and the fact that the candles were hard to light, they did finally get them all lit.

  Eventually Cassandra’s rooftop was alight with one hundred and forty-eight shimmering orange-scented pumpkin candles (which strangely did little to mask the stink of burned gargoyle flesh). They looked very pretty glowing softly in the dark night, but the reason for their arrangement was still a mystery to Katherine and Cassandra.

  Gargoth climbed back up the ladder on the chimney to see the candles better. He climbed down and waddled to a few candles, moving them slightly. He returned to the chimney to look again. Eventually he flopped onto his small cushion beside the lemonade pitcher.

  He poured himself a long drink, refilled his pipe, then wiggled comfortably on his cushion, blowing smoke rings toward the stars.

  Eventually Katherine couldn’t stand it any longer. She looked over at Cassandra, who was knitting again, and who could only shrug.

  Katherine had enough. “Okay Gargoth, what’s going on?” she asked. “What’s this ‘beacon’ for?”

  He propped himself up on one elbow and sighed. “We have to be patient, Katherine. It may take a long while, but my beacon may bring the one I wish to summon.”

  “Which one? Who do you wish to summon? What are you talking about?” Katherine was demanding again, which was never good with Gargoth. If you got too snoopy, or too direct, he’d stop talking altogether, which was very annoying, since it usually only happened when you were excited. And you were probably excited because something interesting was about to happen, which hardly seemed fair.

  Gargoth blew out a long stream of smoke. “You’re overexcited, Katherine,” he said quietly. “Be calm, child.”

  Katherine frowned and turned to Cassandra. “He’s teasing me. He says his ‘beacon’ may bring the one he wishes to summon, whatever that means…” She stopped in mid-sentence.

  Then she knew. The other gargoyle. The one who had flown away from Cassandra’s shop just days before she and Gargoth had entered it last spring.

  “Do you mean the lost gargoyle?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “It is a beacon for my greatest friend, the only one who can help me, the gargoyle Ambergine.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ambergine:

  Among Angels

  The little gargoyle was perched up high, looking over the dark water…

  The moon was setting and reflected off the surface of the lake in shiny splashes. She could see waves and boats at anchor in the harbour nearby. Her search in the backyards, churches and parks near the giant hot dog eater had failed. She’d spent the last few days sleeping hidden in the wings of an angel over a great arched gate. Many busy roads met at the angel’s feet far below. She’d overheard someone call this place “The Prince’s Gates”. It opened onto a wide open space with a long building and horses inside.

  Below her, the city streets were still—it was five a.m., after all. There was no one around except an old beggar with a baggy brown jacket and a white straw hat, a pair of thick glasses on the ground beside him, sleeping under a tree. Even a big city is still sometimes. She knew that soon the great red locomotion machines would start rolling by her, then she would have to hide for the day once again.

  “Perhaps tonight…” she whispered as she dozed against the great angel. “If you grant me one wish, sweet angel, please let me find him tonight…”

  With that simple prayer, Ambergine fell fast asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Mark of the Stonemason

  A few nights later, Katherine was standing at the bottom of the stairs to Cassandra’s rooftop once again. Without saying it out loud, Katherine and Gargoth had reached an agreement about the stairs: Katherine now carried Gargoth up in the backpack. He didn’t get out or even let on that they had arrived at the store until they reached the rooftop.

  Cassandra greeted them happily at the top of the stairs, standing amid a blaze of one hundred and forty-eight flaming orange-scented pumpkin candles.

  “Hi, Katherine! Hi, Gargoth!” she said. “I lit your beacon.” She exchanged a glance with Katherine.

  “Thanks, Cassandra,” Katherine breathed, very relieved that she and Cassandra would be spared any more exposure to the delights of scorched gargoyle flesh.

  Gargoth climbed out of the backpack, waddled across the rooftop, and flopped onto the soft cushion. He looked dejected.

  “What’s the matter?” Katherine stood over him with her arms crossed. She was so used to his moods, she barely even noticed them any more.

  He was silent for a while. As usual, he wasn’t going to be rushed into anything. He pulled out his pipe and lit it, then slowly wriggled himself into a comfortable position on the cushion, blowing puffs of smoke up into the night. A streetcar rumbled loudly as it passed by far below them. A police siren wailed somewhere nearby.

  Katherine sighed and went to sit beside Cassandra, who was knitting something that looked kind of like a giant green scarf. Being a giantess (or something pretty close), Cassandra had huge hands, and knitting wasn’t all that easy for her. But she never gave up, even if she maybe should have.

  Katherine was about to say something when Gargoth cleared his throat. “I would tell you the beginning of a long story tonight, I think. But I fear it will be difficult for our friend Cassandra to follow along,” he said.

  “I’ll translate for her, don’t worry,” Katherine answered. “It’s okay. Are you finally going to tell us what the candles are for?”

  “Yes, Katherine. That and more. But first I must tell you that I fear the beacon will fail. It has taken me a long time to regain any hope…” He paused, struggling for the right words, then continued. “I think she has gone. I think Ambergine has abandoned me and will never see the beacon, and I will be forsaken here forever.”

  Ka
therine felt a jab of sadness, hearing the longing in Gargoth’s voice. It was very rare for him to be so open with her. “Maybe if you tell us the story you want to tell, it will make waiting easier,” she said. “I really want to hear whatever it is you have to tell us.”

  It was true. She really did want to hear. Gargoth was nothing if not interesting. His stories were always worth the wait.

  “But first, please tell us one thing right now: what is the beacon? How is it a beacon?” she said, sounding a little desperate.

  Gargoth sighed again. “Humans are so impatient!” he said, shaking his head. “Okay, Katherine. Go and climb up the chimney at the edge of the roof and look down upon the lit candles. I think you will see then.”

  Obediently, she got up and tiptoed through the lit candles across the roof. As she laid her hand on the short ladder attached to the chimney, Cassandra looked up in alarm.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “He wants me to look at the pattern of the beacon.”

  “Be careful! Your parents won’t be happy with me if you get hurt.”

  “I’ll just be a second,” Katherine answered.

  She climbed the rungs of the ladder and leaned against the old chimney, looking down over the rooftop of brightly lit candles. There was a pattern, but it didn’t mean much to her.

  “What do you see?” Gargoth asked from his cushion.

  “Well, I see two diamonds on top of each other, inside a giant circle, I think. It’s kind of hard to tell for sure…” she finished.

  “Excellent, Katherine,” Gargoth said.

  She climbed down from the chimney ladder and brushed red chimney brick dust off her hands and shorts. She carefully navigated through the candles back to her lawn chair.

  “Okay, but what is it?”

  Gargoth slowly got to his feet and waddled over to his friends. He turned his back on them and opened his little wings wide. “See there, between my wings, is there a mark?” he asked.

  Katherine moved in closely to see what he meant. She held her head close to the little gargoyle’s back (but didn’t breathe in too deeply, Gargoth’s burnt flesh smell still lingered about him). Then she saw it: a small mark about the size of a coin, right between his shoulders, slightly closer to his right wing.

  It was two diamonds one on top of the other, inside a circle, like this:

  “I see it, Gargoth. But what is it?”

  “It is my beacon, Katherine. It is also the mark of my creator, the stonemason who made me. He carved one on every statue that he made. But in the whole world there are only two living gargoyles who carry this mark, as far as I know. I have one…and Ambergine has the other.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ambergine:

  Among University Students

  The little gargoyle shook her wings...

  They were heavy and tired. She huddled deep into the marble wall behind the soldier from a long-ago war. She was looking out over another busy street, but far from the water now. She had looked for days in the houses and backyards and gardens around the angel but found nothing. The statues she had found to hide her this time were in the middle of a large university. It was a group of soldiers and angels, some with wings like hers, or with guns or swords. She liked the students walking below her: they all looked busy and had much to say.

  Tonight she was going to search along the road called Queen Street, where she knew there was a store called the Golden Nautilus. She had already seen it from overhead, and it looked like the kind of place that had gargoyles.

  She yawned. She would have to get ready to fly soon. Night was coming.

  If Ambergine had peeked out from her hiding place, she might have noticed an old man standing at the foot of the soldier statue she was hiding in. But it’s just as well that she didn’t.

  He was wearing thick glasses, a white straw hat, and a big baggy brown jacket. He was looking straight up, right at her hiding spot, as if he were waiting for something. The setting sun shining right into his eyes didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

  Chapter Ten

  The Story Begins

  The candles blazed.

  Katherine and Cassandra were seated on their lawn chairs, Gargoth was on his cushion looking up at the sky. “Are you ready then?” he asked.

  “Yep. Are you ready for Gargoth’s story, Cassandra?” Katherine asked.

  Cassandra didn’t even look up from her knitting. “Yes!”

  “Here it is then, a long story, about a time long ago,” Gargoth said. And with that simple introduction, he began. “As you know Katherine, I was created in England in 1604. I was made by a master stonemason, a Frenchman. He travelled far and wide through villages and towns, using his skill to make beautiful statues, or to add elegant finishing touches to buildings of stone. His name was Tallus…”

  “Oh! That’s why you’re Gargoth of Tallus!” Kath-erine exclaimed.

  Gargoth shot her a dark look and said, “That’s correct. Now quiet please, Katherine. This is a long story, and we’ll never get through it if you interrupt me.

  “I believe I may have been his final creation. No one ever heard of the master French stonemason Tallus after 1604.

  “The little churchyard where I was created was a beautiful place. There was once a brotherhood of monks who lived in the church, and they planted an apple orchard and many beautiful flowers and bushes, but the brothers were all gone by the time I arrived. King Henry VIII didn’t like monasteries and had shut them all down years before.”

  “Why?” Katherine asked.

  Gargoth shot her another dark look and sighed. “Look, if I go into all the ins-and-outs of English history, we’ll never leave this rooftop. Look it up—it was called the Dissolution of the Monasteries. That ‘net’ on the box you like should be able to tell you about it.” Katherine knew that Gargoth was referring to the Internet and her computer. She made a mental note to learn more about King Henry VIII.

  Gargoth took a few puffs of his pipe. “It was a lovely place, but I was completely alone. There was another statue in the churchyard, an ancient stone lion, but I hated it. It wasn’t alive like me, just a lump of cold stone. How I would rage at it! How I wished it were alive, just to have someone to talk to. It reminded me, every day, of how lonely I was.

  “I was alone for years, decades. England went through a terrible civil war, and still I hid in the church tower, all alone.

  “Then one day, a young boy arrived in the church-yard. He came with his father to pick the apples in the old orchard: people were starving in England at that time and had to eat whatever they could find. They came year after year. Winter would come, and I wouldn’t see him again until late the next summer. Finally, when he was almost a man, I decided I would speak to him.

  “His name was Philip, and he was the first friend I ever had.”

  Gargoth’s Story, 1664

  The Empty Basket

  The boy reached gingerly into the grass and picked up the half-eaten apple core. He left the basket of apples he was collecting at the bottom of the apple tree and walked toward the church.

  “That’s the third time this week,” he said to himself. “Whoever is doing this is a really good shot.” As if to remind himself of this fact, he rubbed the back of his head where the apple core had just hit him.

  He brushed off his breeches. He looked carefully up into the church tower, still holding the apple core. He raised his hand to shade his eyes from the glare of the setting sun.

  “HULLOO,” he finally shouted. “I know you’re up there. There are plenty of apples for everyone; you don’t have to throw them at me.”

  He waited and listened, but there was no answer. So he tried again.

  “HELLO! Whoever you are, you’d better come out now and give yourself up. I know you’ve been throwing apples at me when I’m out here in the orchard.”

  ZING! An apple core whizzed right at him. He ducked behind a tree just in time to hear it smack the other side, hard. He stuck h
is head out from behind the tree, and shouted, “STOP IT! What are you doing?”

  At that moment, he saw the basket of apples he had just picked disappear behind a tree. He jumped up to run toward it but quickly had to take cover.

  Someone was throwing the entire basket of apples at him! Each time he stuck his head out, trying to catch a glimpse of the culprit, an apple whizzed by, sending him ducking for cover.

  ZING! ZING! ZING! A torrent of apples flew at him. The entire apple orchard was ringing with the sound of apples smashing against the trees.

  His heart was starting to pound. Who was doing this? Who was wasting an entire basket of apples throwing them at him, and why?

  And who was such a good shot?

  Suddenly the apples stopped flying, and the boy heard someone calling him. It was his father.

  “Philip! Philip, where are you? The cart is loaded, we’re ready to go! Where are you hiding, boy?”

  Philip stood up and peered around the side of the tree. “Here, Father! I’m over here in the orchard.” He moved away from the tree and ran toward the spot where he had left his apple basket. He and his father reached the basket at the same moment.

  It was empty and lying on its side. A few trampled apples lay nearby.

  “What happened here?” his father asked, concerned.

  “I…I really don’t know, Father,” Philip stammered.

  “Well, where are the apples?” His father crossed his arms, never a good sign.

  “I...I don’t know. They’re everywhere. They’re all over the orchard, Father,” he said, confused and upset.

  His father looked around. He saw apples everywhere, smashed against the trees, and many piled up and ruined at the bottom of one particular tree. He gave Philip a hard stare. “If you’re going to do target practice, Philip, please use the river stones and not food for our table. Every apple you’ve wasted here could have been saved and dried for food in the winter ahead. You will have extra chores to do tonight.”