by Craig Zerf
William shook his head. ‘The Profs potion won’t work on them,’ he informed. ‘They’re not human. Their blood makeup and abilities would simply reject the mixture.’
‘Okay,’ acknowledged Em. ‘Then why don’t we look to recruit some humans. I guarantee that there will be a lot of soldiers, mercenaries, believers, that would be keen. We dose them all up and, Bam, more super-beings. Come on, guys,’ she continued. ‘Let’s do that.’
Neither William nor the Prof answered. Tag shrugged, as did Bastian. Sylvian was not yet there as it was still mid morning.
Emily clapped her hands together. ‘Wake up, guys,’ she insisted. ‘It’s a good idea. Well, at least it has enough merit to discuss. So, what do you think?’
Finally William turned to face the Prof. ‘Tell her,’ he said.
‘Well, it’s not all that simple,’ he began. ‘Results can vary vis-a-vis the set of parameters imposed on the…umm…the structure, as it were. You know, er…race, body type, that sort of thing.’
Emily looked blank.
‘Tell her,’ insisted William.
‘It’s very risky,’ said the Prof.
‘Yes, I know,’ acknowledged Em. ‘You told Tag that there was even a slight chance that he might die. But men who join the army face the same risks. I am sure that we could find a bunch of volunteers. Well paid volunteers, who would be willing to take a small risk to help save the world and earn some hard cash.’
The Prof took out his pipe and began to fill it. ‘Perhaps I may not have stressed the chance of dying enough,’ he admitted. ‘You see, there is, in fact, quite a high chance of death. Yes,’ he continued. ‘Very high, actually.’
‘Prof, stop pissing around,’ growled William. ‘The truth.’
‘Okay,’ snapped the Prof. ‘Tag is actually the only one who has ever lived. The others were close but no cigar. There, now you know. Tag is unique.’
Emily stared at the Prof, her eyes blazing with anger. ‘No cigar? People die and all they get from you is a Tough Luck and No Cigar?’
She strode up to the Professor, lined him up and slapped him hard enough to drop him to his knees.
The Prof stood up and, instead of cowering back like Em expected, he grew to about eight foot tall, swelling in both height and bulk. Then he threw back his head and roared.
Unperturbed, Emily simply kicked him in the knee, swept his feet out from under him and punched him in the face. Hard.
The Boggart Professor instantly shrank to around four foot and he sat on the floor like a child
‘What the hell is wrong with you? Bumhole,’ shouted Em. ‘You risked killing my friend. One of the very few that I have left. Why?’
The Prof looked baffled. ‘I needed to see if the potion worked. I had made some adjustments and I was fairly confident. Plus he kept asking.’
‘So you told him that everyone who had ever tried it had died?’
‘No,’ said the Prof. ‘Not as such.’
Emily raised her hand to slap him again but before she could William stopped her.
‘No, Em,’ he said. ‘Look at him. He genuinely does not understand the problem. As I told you, he is a Boggart. And pretty much their entire reason for living is to accumulate knowledge. They are both the bearers and the discoverers of all knowledge in the other-worlds. To him, another fact learned is worth a hundred lives. He’s not callous or psychotic, it’s simply their way. He means no harm and, luckily, it’s all worked out for the best. But you can see why we can’t use the potion.’
‘It’s all worked out the best for us,’ snapped Em. But what about all the other people that he murdered under the auspices of collecting knowledge. Bloody Nazi,’ she spat.
‘That was all very long ago,’ said William. ‘Many hundreds of years. Things were different then.’
At that stage both Merlin and the Morrigan walked in.
‘What’s going on?’ Asked Merlin.
William explained. ‘You see,’ he continued. ‘We simply don’t have enough boots on the ground to patrol everywhere. We need to be able to track down a few dens. Hit them where they live.’
‘It can be done,’ said Merlin. ‘But it’s not easy and I would need a living blood sucker to do it. Even then, the tracking spell would only lead us to his, or her, specific den. Might only be a couple of them there, might be ten or twenty. It’s a bit of a crap shoot.’
‘Better than nothing,’ replied William. ‘But I’m not sure how to even find one. Sylvian has been doing it for years now but even he says that sometimes he hunted continually for over ten years before he came across a vamp or two. It’s just that he’s been doing it for so long that he’s accumulated such a high kill-count.’
‘What about birds?’ Asked Tag.
Everyone turned to look at the big man.
‘I’m sorry?’ questioned the Morrigan.
‘I thought that, you know, because you’re sorta a crow, sometimes,’ replied Tag. ‘Maybe you had some kind of power over birds and stuff. Could you ask them to look out for the vamps?’
The Morrigan smiled. ‘That’s not an altogether stupid question,’ she said to Tag. ‘And yes, I do have power over our feathered friends. Unfortunately it won’t help much.’
‘Why?’ Asked Tag.
‘I love them,’ continued the Morrigan. ‘But birds aren’t the brightest of creatures. A sparrow’s brain weighs less than three hundreds of an ounce. That’s around two thousand times smaller than a human’s. They understand the most basic of emotions and inputs. Danger, hunger, the need to breed. That’s about it. I could place them as sentries outside and they would warn of anything approaching but that would be their limit.’
Tag frowned. ‘Well then there’s nothing left but to do random patrols and hope for the best,’ he said.
‘What about the gargoyles?’ Blurted out the Prof.
There was a long pause while no one spoke.
‘Gargoyles?’ Asked Em.
‘Yes, gargoyles,’ repeated the Prof coldly as he remembered the punch. ‘I’m sure that even you know what those are.’
‘Well, yes,’ said Em. ‘I know the accepted definition. A grotesque carved human or animal face or figure projecting from the gutter of a building, typically acting as a spout to carry water clear of a wall but sometimes merely for decorative purposes.’
The Prof raised an eyebrow. ‘Good definition,’ he admitted. ‘Incorrect, as usual, but still an acceptable attempt.’
‘The gargoyles are no more,’ said William.
‘Rubbish,’ snapped the professor. ‘I see them everywhere.’
‘I must admit,’ added Em. ‘The Prof is right. I mean, they weren’t big in Alaska but in London and Cambridge they were pretty thick on the ground. Well, roof. And not only on churches but on all sorts of buildings.’
Those are just gargoyles,’ said William by way of explanation.
‘Oh, oh,’ said Tag wearily. ‘I suspect that this is another one of those freakier and freakier things coming up.’
Merlin grinned at the big man’s discomfort. ‘You are correct,’ he said. ‘The gargoyles that we are talking about look just like the ones that Em has seen, except that they are sentient beings. They aren’t living creatures per se, instead they have been magically imbued with life-traits. It was done during the dark ages when they were placed on holy places and important buildings as watchdogs or sentries.
They had a mental link with their owner, or keeper or maker. Most often a mage of some standing however the link could be transferred, for example, if a wealthy merchant desired one or such what. Specifically they mentally called out whenever they saw vampires, demons, ghouls that sort of thing. They were ostensibly sentries against evil. They would call and we would come. Worked well. No one suspected as most of the gargoyles were genuinely simply stone statues. So they hid out in the open.’
‘Well they seem perfect,’ said Em.
Merlin shook his head. ‘The secret didn’t last and, once out, most of them w
ere destroyed. They’re seriously hard to kill but the problem is that they are so slow, being made of stone after all, they don’t bend so well, so moving, climbing etcetera takes place but all in ultra slow motion. Mainly they like to sit still and strain rainwater through their heads for sustenance while they simply keep a watch for vamps. To the best of my knowledge, there aren’t any left.’
‘Are so,’ insisted the Prof in a sulky voice.
‘Where?’ Questioned William.
‘Saw some in Cambridge. At the university.’
‘When?’ Insisted William.
The Prof looked sheepish. ‘Actually, not that sure, to be honest. This century, I think.’
Merlin shook his head. ‘I very much doubt it,’ he said. ‘However, if there is any chance then we should check it out. Tag, will you go?’
‘Sure thing, magic-man.’
‘I’ll go with him,’ said Em.
‘Count me in,’ added Bastian.
Merlin nodded his approval. ‘Good. To our tasks then.’
Chapter 24
The three friends started at the Prof’s residence in the gate tower at Cambridge. They waited until night fall and then climbed a winding staircase that led to the roof, opening out onto a small level area surrounded by crenellations. The leaded roof swept upwards from there to the first pinnacle and a row of gargoyles.
‘Well I suppose that we should just walk around on the roof for a while and take a closer look at the gargoyles,’ said Em.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Tag. ‘See if we can engage one in a conversation.’
Bastian laughed. ‘Definitely a phrase that I thought that I’d never hear,’ he said. ‘Let’s try to engage a gargoyle in a conversation.’
They clambered up the steep roof, clinging to the pinnacles for support then they simply walked along the lip poking the gargoyles as they walked past. Tag greeted every second or third one as he poked. ‘Evening. Anyone in there? Excuse me, are you alive?’ After ten minutes he stopped. ‘Man I feel stupid,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘Stupid is as stupid does,’ quipped Em.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Tag as he continued along the roof, poking and greeting.
An hour and a half later they concluded that, if the Prof had seen a moving gargoyle, then it hadn’t been anywhere near his residence.
‘What now?’ Asked Bastian.
‘I reckon that we go down to street level and ask a few students where we can look at gargoyles. It seems like the sort of thing they would know.’
‘Cool,’ agreed Tag. ‘Let’s do it.’
They traipsed back to the Prof’s apartment and exited the building via the narrow stairway. When they exited into the street they were greeted by the sight of many people, despite the late hour.
Em approached a couple who looked both friendly and local.
‘Hi,’ she greeted.
They both nodded back.
‘I wonder if you could help,’ continued Emily. ‘My friends and I are from out of town, we’re actually here to take a look at the local architecture, particularly the gargoyles. Just been checking out the ones on the roof. Do you know of any others in the town? Preferably bigger ones, you know, sort of life size plus?’
‘Seriously?’ Asked the male of the couple. ‘Gargoyle watchers? That’s a new one. Pretty cool.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed the girl. ‘Seriously weird hobby. Tell you what, why don’t you take a walk down Gonville Place over there, go to the junction with St Andrews Street and Hills Road, towards the spire of the Roman Catholic church. The church is covered with gargoyles and carvings of animals and monsters. More than you can shake a stick at.’
‘Also try the Fitzwilliam Museum,’ said the guy.
‘The girl shook her head. ‘No way. There aren’t any gargoyles there. Just those huge bloody lions.’
‘Is so,’ insisted the male. ‘Seen them. Life size ones.’
‘No,’ she shook her head again. ‘Just lions.’
‘Oh well then,’ conceded the male. ‘Fine. But if you do want to see lions then that’s the place to go. Massive ones. Awesome.’
The girl rolled her eyes. ‘They don’t want to see lions.’
‘Well if they did,’ insisted the guy as he turned to face the three friends. ‘Look, it’s on your way. Take a look, costs nothing and the lions are great.’
Em smiled her thanks and they proceeded to follow the couple’s directions. After ten minutes of walking the huge white edifice of the Fitzwilliam Museum came into view, dominating the skyline.
‘Whoa,’ said Tag. ‘That dude was right. Check out the lions.’ Then he did a double take. ‘Hold on, he was right about the gargoyles too. Check it out. There is one.’
Both Em and Bastian looked but couldn’t see any gargoyles, although they both admitted that the lions were spectacular.
‘Over there,’ insisted Tag. ‘In fact I’m sure that it just moved.’ He pointed and walked forward into the road.
Straight into the path of a speeding Jeep Cherokee. The SUV struck the big man at about fifty miles an hour. According to government statistics, when a human is struck at thirty miles an hour there is a fifty percent chance of death. When the speed rises to forty the risk jumps to ninety percent. At fifty miles an hour there is little to no chance that the person will survive.
The vehicle broke both of Tag’s legs, his arms, eight ribs and his back. It also ruptured his spleen, collapsed his lungs and threw his body over twenty feet along the road.
The Jeep squealed to a halt and the driver, a middle aged man, jumped out and started running over to Tag’s supine body.
‘Oh my God,’ he shouted. ‘I didn’t see him. He just walked out into the road. I couldn’t stop.’
Tag got to his knees, shook his head, stood up and looked at the distraught man running over to him. ‘That was close,’ he said. ‘No worries, mate. I’m fine.’
The driver stopped dead and stared at the big man. Tag’s shirt and trousers were torn. Blood ran down his face and arms and he had lost one of his shoes.
‘But…’ the driver’s face was a picture of bafflement. ‘You…I hit. I thought that you were dead.’
‘Must have looked worse than it was,’ said Tag as he bent down to retrieve his shoe and put it back onto his foot. ‘Still, no harm no foul.’ He patted the middle aged man on his shoulder as he walked past him. ‘Come on, guys,’ he called to Em and Bastian. ‘Let’s go take a look at the Museum. I’m still convinced I saw one of those ugly dudes up there.’
Emily stifled a smile as she followed the big man across the road.
Behind them the driver of the car stood staring at the crumpled wreck of his Jeep, shaking his head and wondering if he was hallucinating or if he had simply lost his mind.
The trio decided to go around the back of the Museum and scale the walls. They did this by using the various frescos and carvings as hand and foot holds, reaching the roof with relative ease.
Unlike the college roof, this one was mainly flat and walking about on it was as easy as taking a postprandial stroll.
Eventually they found Tag’s single gargoyle situated on the edge of the right hand side of the building overlooking the city. A large, winged statue. Well weathered, covered in lichen, fangs protruding from its gaping maw. Hands clutched to its chest and eyes wide open.
Tag walked straight up to it and poked it on the cheek. ‘Hey, dude,’ he said. ‘You in there?’
Nothing happened so the big man poked again. ‘Hello. Wassup?’
‘Leave it out, Tag,’ said Em. ‘It’s just a statue. A lump of stone. An inanimate object.’
The gargoyle snorted. ‘You’re an inanimate object,’ it rumbled. Its voice so low as to raise the hairs on ones arms as it talked. A thundering cadence right at the very lower register of human perception. Almost like it was projecting its thoughts directly into your brain as opposed to mere oral communication.
Tag smirked. ‘Told you,’ he said. Then he held out his hand to
the living statue. ‘Pleased to meet you, mister gargoyle dude. I’m Tag.’
The gargoyle turned to look at the big man and then, with glacial speed, put his hand out. Tag waited patiently. They shook and then the gargoyle went back to clutching his hands to his chest.
‘I’m sorry about the whole inanimate object thing,’ he rumbled. ‘It just that you humans are so quick to jump to hasty conclusions.’
‘No worries,’ said Em. ‘What do we call you?’
‘I am known as Coldstone.’
‘So, Coldstone,’ continued Em. ‘Are there many of you?’
‘Not as many as there once was,’ admitted the statue. ‘In times before there were as many as a thousand in Cambridge alone. However, over the last few centuries, and even before, most have fallen to the stone-sleep.’
‘Stone-sleep?’ Enquired Bastian.
‘We enter a somnolent phase during daylight hours,’ explained the gargoyle. ‘To a casual observer we would appear as stone. Inanimate objects, as you so aptly put it. But at night we come alive. You see, as Guardians against the night-walkers there was no need to be animate during the day. However, as the scourge of the night-walkers diminished, so did our need to awaken. Eventually, one by one, my brothers simply remained in a state of hibernation. After a few decades this hibernation became permanent. They succumbed to the stone-sleep. Essentially, they lost their life-spark and reverted to simple statues once again.’
‘That’s sad,’ commented Em. ‘So how many of you are there left?’
Coldstone shrugged. It made a sound like two boulders being rubbed together. ‘In Cambridge, perhaps six. In the whole of the kingdom, who knows? I would venture to guess at a number around a thousand. Perhaps a few more.’
‘Well that’s quite a lot,’ stated Tag.
‘Really?’ Questioned the gargoyle. ‘There are over twenty thousand church buildings in the kingdom. That isn’t counting other buildings of importance that we used to guard. There were over a quarter of a million living gargoyles back in the day. Now we are but a shadow of our former power. Anyhow, so what? The wars are over. Our time has gone and the few of us that still cling to life do it more out of stubbornness than any actual need for us to still exist.’