by T C Shelley
Yes, those were the words: ‘sky’, ‘lamp’, ‘building’.
A movement whipped past him and made him shiver. He didn’t like it.
Wheedle laughed at his grimace. ‘It’s called wind. Also, you’ll know “building” already, but this one specifically’s a cathedral.’
‘What are you doing?’ Bladder asked Wheedle.
‘Don’t you remember how few words you knew when you was hatched? I remember my first cathedral, my first morning. It won’t learn if we don’t teach it.’
Bladder grunted. ‘Go on then, teach it its last words.’
The imp boy straggled behind as the gargoyles slouched towards the building. Bladder tapped his front paw on the footpath in front of the cathedral.
The imp boy put his hand on the wall. The building seemed black against the sky, but up close, it was stone grey, the same colour as the gargoyles.
‘We’re going up there,’ Wheedle said.
Spigot flicked out his wings to balance himself.
The imp boy opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had to think of the right words to fill his question. When he’d picked the best ones, he said to Spigot, ‘Do you wing?’ His voice sang as it bounced off the walls.
The gargoyles stopped.
‘Oh, it’s found its tongue, has it?’
‘Hush, Bladder.’ Wheedle turned to the imp boy. ‘Do you mean “fly”?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded, and he felt warm at being understood. ‘Fly.’
‘Spigot might have wings, but he’s a stone eagle. He’s too heavy to fly.’
Spigot stretched out his impressive expanse of granite wings.
‘Gargoyles don’t fly,’ Bladder said. ‘Only wholesome little whatsits like butterflies and fairies do that, and don’t get no idea you can neither, or you’ll fall down and break that scrawny neck of yours.’
Wheedle patted the imp boy’s back. ‘It’s good to know you can talk.’
‘Enough now. If we’re gonna do this, up you get,’ Bladder said.
The pack climbed the walls of the cathedral. The imp boy felt the stones again, bigger bricks than the sewer, but solid and safe. He followed the gargoyles to their perch high on the top of the building.
‘This here’s a pinnacle,’ Wheedle said. ‘You can see everything from one of these. The spire’s even higher.’ The imp boy followed the direction of Wheedle’s hoof-toe as he gestured at a tall roof.
The building’s sharp peak pointed into the sky above as if wanting him to see the wonderful colours. The imp boy looked back down into the street below, distant shapes in the darkness blurred, squared and pushed up against each other. A regular series of lamp posts lit up the space between the blocks, shedding twinkling white light. He couldn’t find a word to express it, but it made him feel a bit like he had when Wheedle smiled.
‘So, what does it know?’ Bladder asked. ‘Do you know who’s in charge?’
The imp boy frowned and the warm feeling fled. ‘Thunderguts.’ He shook to say the name. ‘The ogre king.’
‘An’ you know where we gargoyles belong in the pecking order?’ Bladder asked.
The imp pondered this, gathering words to himself, working to put them in the right order. ‘Big monsters at the top, then witches. Imps lower down, and gargoyles at the bottom. Gargoyles are … odd.’
Bladder grunted. ‘Yeah, Thunderguts would breathe that titbit in. What else you know?’
‘Ogres, goblins and trolls only come out at night. They can’t stand the …’ The imp boy frowned. He couldn’t find the word.
‘… the sun. Remember? We told you this,’ Wheedle said. ‘Ogres don’t think real monsters should like the sun, let alone be able to live in it. Makes us almost human to them. The more you like it, the more they think you’re pond scum.’
‘Imps like pixies, brownies and leprechauns can come up when the sky is … is soft?’ the imp boy said.
‘Dusk, dawn. Bad weather,’ Wheedle suggested. ‘Not sunny though – even they can’t do sunshine.’
Yes, that was also part of the imp boy’s knowledge. ‘There was a time when it was always dark, even during the day?’
‘Oh yes. The Dark Ages, they called it,’ Wheedle said. ‘Dark minds and dark days. Ogres loved it back then.’
‘When the sun comes, I might turn to ash?’ The imp boy nodded and looked down at his body paling in the new sky.
‘Too late to run now,’ Bladder said.
Wheedle harrumphed.
Bladder’s voice softened. ‘S’pose you might be a gargoyle. Got up the church wall all right, and it’s only gargoyles can climb as good as that. Now we just need to wait and see if you can survive the next few minutes. It’s almost dawn.’
Bladder and Spigot turned to the horizon. Traces of gold poked over the edge.
‘Here we go,’ Bladder said.
The imp boy leaned into Wheedle, who gently pushed him away. ‘If you do turn, I don’t want soot all over me. Hard to get it off. Good luck though, ay?’
They sat on a ledge of the pinnacle and watched the golden glow spread above the horizon. The warm colours settled on the dark blocks and the imp boy could see they were buildings too, little light ones.
A low instinct told the imp boy to run, to get into the deepest, darkest place he could, but stronger still was the desire to feel the sun on his skin, and it held him there. Anyway, he thought, if the sun did turn him to ash, he could float away and never worry about being hunted or having to go back to The Hole.
The sudden radiance hit the cathedral, spilling over them all, and the gargoyles glowed in soft grey.
The imp boy waited to burn, to break apart. He wondered how long it took and if it was painful. The gargoyles stared at him, three pairs of eyes wide and waiting. His skin glowed gold and precious.
The imp boy turned his paws over and over. They hadn’t changed at all. He guessed that was good.
After a short time, Wheedle smiled again. ‘He’s still soft and pink. There you go, he copes with sun. Must be a gargoyle.’
Bladder rolled his eyes.
Wheedle grinned. ‘I bet he’s got our ears and nose too.’
The imp boy touched the soft nub in the middle of his face.
Bladder snorted. ‘He means, can you hear and smell as good as us? Necessary when all monsters wanna stomp you.’
‘Why do they stomp you?’ the imp boy asked.
‘We like it up here,’ Bladder said. ‘Once we come up, gargoyles only go back to The Hole for Hatching Day. Makes ’em all mad.’
‘An’ cos we got …’
‘Don’t tell it that, Wheedle, we still don’t know what it is. You really can’t keep a secret.’
Wheedle stopped talking and looked at the gold spreading towards them. He grinned. ‘Right, can you hear that squirrel?’ Wheedle pointed down at the square of green boxed between the cathedral and stone walls.
The imp boy saw a leafy structure, a tree. In the branches, a flash of grey movement and, inside that, a whirring sound. He listened and breathed, taking his time to understand the noise until he could make out a pitter-patter. He touched where his own body thudded.
‘A …’ He tapped at his chest.
Wheedle stared at the imp boy’s chest. He turned to Bladder. ‘See?’
Bladder glared at him. ‘He’s not a gargoyle. Keep your mouth shut.’
Wheedle coughed. ‘Still, not bad hearing. Especially at this distance.’
‘Well, he’s survived sunup and he’s not totally useless. Your pet can stay.’ Bladder grimaced at Wheedle’s big grin. ‘… For now. Alrigh’, no more playtime, get to work.’ Bladder turned to move down the pinnacle.
‘Work?’ the imp boy asked. ‘What’s work?’
‘We guard this building from anything that’ll harm it. Some places there’s vampires and werewolves every second night.’ Bladder sighed. ‘Not a lot of activity here though, so we just annoy humans during the day.’
‘They don’t pay much atten
tion,’ Wheedle said.
CHAPTER 4
The imp boy surveyed his new world. The cathedral guarded a gated ground. Hanging seats chained to a frame swung in a playful wind. Beyond it, he saw a town stretched out in soft grey buildings. Vibrant colour reflected from trees and grass into windows, and litters of thin-boned bicycles leaned against brick walls.
He watched a creature take hold of a bicycle and jump on, before moving off at a great speed. He wondered if the creature was human. It had yellow hair and a pink face. The rest of it was white and grey and it looked like it might be as tall as a witch, but with a similar body and paws to him.
No, not paws, hands. The imp boy clapped his own at understanding. A white wave – fabric, he thought – spread out behind the human as it cycled by and the imp boy applauded. The drum inside him startled awake at the sight.
The imp boy climbed the spire. It was higher than everything around and he could see broken tiles on the houses below, and in one direction a stretch of lively green, in the other a blue expanse. Then he turned his attention towards the golden face of the sun and blinked as bright gold poured from it.
‘It’s …’ he started, speaking out at everything curving off towards the horizon. He knew lots of names for things but few words to describe how they made him feel. He wanted to describe the bright vision before him, to tell this new upstairs world that it made him feel different to the way he had when the ogre king was yelling or when the crone chased him. In fact, if anything, he felt utterly the opposite.
He stood on the ledge, spreading his arms out to embrace the skin-gilding rays. ‘It’s … not … It’s really not … AWFUL!’ he yelled.
He knew he wanted to say more, but stood there hoping the sun-covered earth would be satisfied with his effort.
‘Ahhh,’ said a voice close by. ‘It’s wonderful. Tell yourself how wonderful it is. Tell yourself it makes you glad to be here.’
‘Wonderful?’ The word sweetened his mouth, and the imp boy turned to see a figure standing next to him. It had arrived without sound. At first he thought the word ‘human’, but it was much taller than the one he’d just seen, maybe eight feet tall, as big as a small ogre, and it balanced itself by stretching out wide, white wings. They were feathery, not stone or concrete. It glowed softer than the sun, golden-red hair floating over its shoulders. The imp boy put a hand up to his own matted head. His hair was more like this creature’s than Bladder’s.
The figure was terrifying. He wanted to hug it, or run and hide. He couldn’t decide and gulped instead.
‘Wonderful?’ he asked again. The creature might know lots more words. It had already taught him one; maybe it could teach him more. ‘Are you … human?’ he asked.
The winged creature stared at him, frowned, looked over its shoulder and looked back at the imp boy. ‘Can you see me?’ it asked.
The imp boy scratched his ear. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’re very big.’
Its feathers ruffled. ‘Well, goodness me! Are you feeling all right? You’re not up here doing something … dangerous?’
‘I don’t think so,’ the imp boy said. He stared at the being. ‘What’s “wonderful”?’
‘Oh, you know, it makes your insides lift, makes you happy to be alive? You are happy to be alive, aren’t you?’
‘I think so.’ The imp boy held his stomach.
‘Well, what an odd little creature you must be. Standing naked on top of a church is not an everyday activity.’ The creature chuckled to itself. ‘So, you don’t know “wonderful”? Someone has been quite remiss with your education.’
The imp boy slumped. ‘I know other words. I learned some new ones today.’
‘Like?’
‘Cathedral, house, windows, squirrel.’ He listed them, but didn’t want the being to think he was stupid so he mentioned the essentials too: ‘I also know blood, meat and maim. Pus, grime, dirt.’
‘Oh dear.’
The imp boy cocked his head. ‘Bulldozer, gun, building, car, bicycle, police. I learned lion and bull earlier.’
‘Your childhood hasn’t been pleasant, has it? Do you know what a dog is? Every child should know at least one good dog.’
‘It’s a biting animal that guards humans.’ The imp boy clapped his hands at his own knowledge.
The figure frowned. ‘Not the best definition. What about “bird”?’
‘No. What’s that?’
The figure gestured to a swirling, living cloud celebrating morning over the city. ‘Those types of birds are called starlings.’
‘I know Spigot’s an eagle.’
‘Spigot? You mean the gargoyle?’
Before the imp boy could answer, someone coughed. Loudly. He looked down to see Bladder and Wheedle’s faces below, staring up at them from a pinnacle.
‘Isn’t it a bit early for you to be annoying us?’ Bladder yelled up at the figure.
‘You know this lot?’ the winged being asked, pointing at the gargoyles.
The imp boy nodded.
‘How do they know you?’ The figure seemed to be asking the sky. It turned to the imp boy. ‘Shall we go down and talk to them?’ it asked, and fluttered down, while the imp boy scrambled after.
When he arrived on the pinnacle, the winged figure sat stretched out with one wing around Wheedle and the other squashed and tucked up trying to avoid touching Bladder.
‘It’s an imp,’ Bladder was saying.
‘A gargoyle,’ Wheedle added.
‘No! Really? Made from misery?’ The figure leaned forward, pulled the imp boy closer and sniffed his hair. ‘Unbelievable! You smell human. Well, not quite. There’s a touch of baby laugh, and … other smells, but the mix is perfect. You could pass for human. You certainly fooled me.’
‘Are humans made of last sighs?’ the imp boy asked.
‘Humans are born,’ the being said.
‘What’s that?’
The gargoyles sat up at this question and stared at the winged figure intently. The figure opened his mouth, closed it, held up a finger, then put it down again. It pulled a face, then blushed. ‘Maybe another time.’
The gargoyles groaned. ‘He’s never gonna tell us what that means,’ Wheedle complained.
The imp boy sat down. His tummy rumbled.
‘Are you hungry?’ the winged figure asked.
‘Hungry?’ The imp boy thought of Thunderguts. Was this grumbly-tummy sensation what he had seen on the ogre’s face? He shuddered.
‘If it steals some chocolate we can all eat,’ Wheedle said. ‘Chocolate’s lovely.’
‘You’re stone and you eat chocolate for pleasure. It’s more than likely he needs real food,’ the winged figure said.
Bladder glared at Wheedle. ‘If it was a proper gargoyle it wouldn’t need food.’
‘What’s food?’ asked the imp boy.
‘It sustains body and mind,’ the winged figure said.
‘Do you need food?’
‘Of sorts. Not the same as you. Though a good Eton mess is nice.’ His golden-red hair caught the light. ‘But angels live on faith, hope and love.’
‘Angels?’ the imp boy asked. It was a pretty word.
‘Yeah, Angels feed off humans like leeches,’ Bladder said. ‘Sucking ’em dry.’
The imp boy stepped back.
‘No, Bladder,’ the angel replied. ‘It’s like mother’s milk. It’s not painful. It makes both parties happy.’
‘An’ …’ Bladder crawled to the imp boy and purred into his face. ‘… when angels want to breed, they lay eggs in human guts which grow until they burst through their chests, and the baby angel claws its way out.’
‘That’s aliens,’ Wheedle said.
‘You sure?’
‘It’s your favourite movie.’
‘Angels. Aliens. Easy mistake,’ Bladder said.
The angel turned to the imp boy. ‘Were you cold this morning?’
He didn’t know the word ‘cold’.
‘It was all shivery a
nd shaky. That’s cold, right?’ Wheedle said.
‘Gargoyles don’t get cold.’ Bladder stroked his stone exterior with a hard paw and sneered. The imp boy couldn’t decide which made him more uncomfortable, Bladder’s scorn or the cold itself.
The angel took the imp boy’s arm and ran a finger over his wrist. It tickled. ‘This is called skin. Humans are covered with it, and it’s very nice.’ The angel turned to Bladder. ‘And do you have a bed organised?’
Bladder gagged. ‘A bed? Oh, come on!’
The angel sighed. ‘If he gets hungry and cold, you’ll find he gets tired too.’ He turned to look at the sky, and his eyebrows glowed with the same copper light as his hair. The imp boy touched both hands to his face, found his own eyebrows and smiled.
‘It’s not a boy; it’s a monster!’ Bladder stamped his foot, dislodging dust.
‘He’s a boy.’
‘No monster gets made from a sigh.’
The angel laced his fingers together. ‘He may not be human, but he’s definitely a boy.’
Wheedle stared at the imp boy. ‘I thought it picked that up in the sewer.’
‘Human males and females have different … er … anatomy … er …’ The angel peered at the imp boy and went red again. ‘You’re a bit young for this conversation. Anyway, he also has a belly button.’
‘So?’ Wheedle said. ‘Goblins are boys and girls, and one troll I know’s got a belly button. Gargoyles come in all shapes and weirdnesses. It’s part of our charm. Don’t you worry, you’re just the same as the rest of us.’
‘Yes, but the combination of all those things – the belly button, the hair, the eyes, no fangs, everything – it’s perfect. There’s something going on here.’ The angel tapped his bottom lip and fell to thinking. ‘Hmmm, who might know how this creature came into being?’ His head bobbed up. ‘What’s his name?’
The gargoyles glanced at each other.
‘We ain’t given it one yet.’ Wheedle sidled up to the imp boy and nuzzled under his arm. ‘What about Gutter? We can call him Gutter.’