The Gargoyle at the Gates

by Philippa Dowding

She didn’t get a word out. Marbles roared with delight at the sight of a New Friend and promptly knocked Claire to the ground. He bounded toward the stairs as Christopher yelled, “RUN!”

  Katherine made it to the turret and slammed the door just as she heard the big dog hit the door behind her. There was much barking and scratching and the sound of both Claire and Christopher yelling, “No! No, Marbles! Down!”

  “That was too close, Gargoth,” Katherine whispered as she took off her backpack. She moved over to the window and looked down into the park. The workers were gone. The tree was gone. The statues were gone. The park was just a fence, a fountain, two benches, and some bushes.

  Gargoth climbed gingerly out of the backpack and waddled over to her. Now she saw him indoors, he really did look damaged. His left wing was rumpled, the leathery skin pierced near the bottom, hanging in shreds.

  “How did you do that?” she asked, pointing to his wing, but he refused to answer.

  Instead, he climbed slowly into the window seat and looked down at the park below, but quickly turned away.

  Christopher came into the room.

  And so did Claire.

  “Where’s the dog?” Katherine asked, a little worried. (She was really more of a cat person.)

  “Safely downstairs, locked in the kitchen,” Christopher said.

  Claire stepped forward. “Hi! I’m Claire!” she chirped.

  “Hello,” Katherine said, taken back by this cheerful teenager. Katherine didn’t have any siblings and didn’t know any girls a few years older than her. She was suddenly a little shy of Claire, who was tall and very grown up looking. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater, with an elegant flowery scarf around her neck.

  “Hello, Gargoth. Sorry about Marbles,” Claire said, turning to the little gargoyle with a smile. She crossed the room and knelt before him.

  “Oh! Your poor wing!” She took off her flowery scarf and gently wrapped up Gargoth’s wing, tying it with care at his neck. Katherine and Christopher held their breath: no one just walked up to Gargoth and wrapped up his wing.

  Apparently, though, Claire Canning did. There was a quiet light in Gargoth’s eye that Katherine hadn’t seen before. He was staring at Claire with a calm look on his face.

  “Do you live here?” he asked in gargoyle.

  “One floor down, the bedroom beside the bathroom. You’re always welcome to visit, just watch out for Marbles. I’m glad Katherine and Christopher found you, they’ve been looking for you every day for weeks. I’m pleased you’ve come, Gargoth of Tallus.” Claire bent and kissed his head, then left the room.

  Christopher and Katherine looked at each other, astonished.

  Claire understood gargoyle language (a bit unusual for a teenager).

  She wrapped up Gargoth’s wing then kissed him and got away with it.

  And Gargoth himself was gently stroking her flowery scarf as he climbed under a pile of clothes in Christopher’s chair, where he went right to sleep.

  You should also know Gargoth kept a scrap of that flowery scarf in his pouch from that day on, for years.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Trickster

  Ambergine’s eyes flicked open. Her captor had entered the kitchen and was creeping quietly past her cage. It was too early for the sun to show its face. A baby was crying somewhere inside the house, again. It was a mournful sound, and she longed to soothe it.

  She stayed completely still. The old man shuffled into the kitchen and over to the big box with food in it. He opened it and a dim light flickered. The light illuminated one side of the man’s face. Ambergine saw his thick glasses (did he wear them in his sleep?) and shuddered. He looked evil, even in the half-light. He pulled a bottle out of the food box and got a cup from the shelf. He quietly poured himself a drink. Just as he was about to take a sip, Ambergine yelled out in gargoyle, “I’M THIRSTY!”

  Her timing was perfect.

  The old man dropped the cup and sprayed yellow liquid all over the kitchen. He snarled and turned toward her cage.

  “Shut up! You don’t say a word to me!” He drew his face close to the cage and stared at Ambergine. “I despise you. You cost me my gargoyle!”

  Ambergine glowered back at him. “Gargoth is not your gargoyle, and neither am I,” she said calmly. “And I’m not afraid of you, or your temper, or your obsession with Gargoth.”

  The Collector hissed. “Shut up! Shut up! You don’t say his name to me!” He raised his hand and struck the top of the cage, which bounced wildly. Ambergine grasped the cage bars and bit her lip. The Collector could understand every word she said. Gargoth had never mentioned that he could understand their language.

  It gave her strength, and an important edge. She knew what she had to do.

  The Collector left the kitchen in a rage. She heard him stomp back up the stairs to what must be a sleeping compartment of some kind.

  She was cramped and very uncomfortable in the cage. There was nothing she could do about that, though. She’d just have to cope until she could figure a way out. She knew that Gargoth had been locked in that cage for days, months, possibly even years at a time. The thought of him surviving in it for so long gave her strength.

  She had spent most of her days and nights looking out the small window beside her. From her cage she could see snow-covered backyards and interesting houses and apartment buildings. People came and went below her on the icy garden paths and sidewalks.

  At night, she peered intently into the lit windows of neighbouring houses, watching people writing at desks or eating dinner, or reading together as a family beside a cozy fire. It made her feel a little less lonely.

  But none of the people in those houses knew that a little gargoyle was locked in a cage and watching them from a window high above.

  Ambergine yawned and looked out into the backyard below. She gasped.

  A small green apple tree leaf was poking through the snow.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Note

  Christopher, Katherine, and Cassandra were huddled around the countertop of Candles by Daye. They were studying a piece of paper.

  It read: “HAVE YOU FOUND HIM? LEAVE A LIT CANDLE IN THE PARK WHEN YOU DO.”

  It was handwritten in black capital letters. When it arrived in his mailbox that morning, Christopher almost jumped out of his skin, but when he showed it to Claire, she was annoyingly calm.

  “The Collector just doesn’t want you to mention that he has Ambergine. You should show this note to your friends,” Claire said. Christopher realized that Claire was right. It was a relief not to have to keep the Collector’s horrible note a secret, too.

  But now he had shown them, they weren’t all that much help, since no one seemed to know what to do next.

  “We HAVE found him, but why would we tell him? Why doesn’t he ask about Ambergine, too?” Katherine mused. Christopher flinched, but Cassandra answered her.

  “He only cares about Gargoth, Katherine. His father ‘bought’ Gargoth at a fairground when he was little, remember? He sees Gargoth as his property. He really doesn’t care about Ambergine.” Cassandra darted a look over at Christopher, who was carefully not making eye contact with anyone, then she went and busied herself straightening the store window.

  Katherine was mad. It was SO unfair! When was the Collector going to leave them alone? She, Cassandra, and Ambergine had driven all the way to New York just a few months ago, found Gargoth, and saved him. They’d left the Collector clinging to a pole dangling from the rooftop of his mansion over a valley. She had dearly hoped he’d stay there.

  “What are we going to do? Can’t we just ignore him?” Katherine asked. She looked across the street at Christopher’s house. They had left the gargoyle asleep in his bedroom. What if Gargoth woke up without them there and started wandering around the house? Marbles was safely locked up in the kitchen, but still … with Gargoth, anything could happen. He wasn’t used to living indoors.

  Cassandra turned from the wind
ow, crossed her arms, and looked steadily at them both. “If we ignore him, Katherine, he’s just going to keep bothering us. We’ll never be rid of him, and neither will the gargoyles. There’s only one thing we can do. We have to get rid of the Collector once and for all. And personally, I think he knows more about Ambergine than he’s saying.” Cassandra looked at Christopher, who quickly looked away.

  “There’s no point just scaring him off or ignoring his demands, we have to stand up to him and get rid of him for good,” she said finally.

  “How?” Christopher asked, miserable.

  Cassandra looked at him thoughtfully. “I’m not entirely sure yet, Christopher, but one thing is certain: we won’t be able to get rid of him alone. We’re going to need some help.”

  “Who’s going to help us?”

  But no matter how much Christopher asked, Cassandra wouldn’t say another word.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The New Year's Party

  The Cannings were having a holiday party. Not just any party, but a BIG party. Christopher’s parents did this whenever they moved into a new house, so they could get to know their neighbours and co-workers, and so their children could invite new friends to their home.

  This year was no different. Although Christopher and Claire weren’t feeling particularly festive (and Gargoth was never in the mood for a party even at the best of times), they had no choice. Christopher’s parents were used to having big parties on New Year’s Eve, and this year wasn’t going to be any different.

  Christopher and Claire, their many-assorted-older-brothers, and their parents had spent all day decorating the house and trimming the outdoor pine trees (it was a big property, there were twelve trees in all). The front porch of the old house was filled with baskets overflowing with colourful pine cones and holly and berries and straw. There were lights and cedar boughs and a fire in the fireplace.

  Even Marbles had a giant red bow tied around his neck (which ended up in tatters at the end of the night, because he kept biting at it). The older Canning boys had strict orders to keep the dog under control when the house was full of guests, which they did mostly by taking him outside and playing with him in the snow (which didn’t help the big red bow around his neck much, either).

  The house smelled wonderful, with that mixture of pine tree and warm cider and oranges and nutmeg and cinnamon and baked cookies and delicious sausages and other things rolled into pastries, which can really only mean one thing: a holiday party.

  At seven o’clock, the first guests arrived. There was a tricky moment when Christopher’s parents wanted to use his bedroom as a coat room. Christopher could only stutter, wondering what on earth he’d do with Gargoth, until Claire stepped in and offered her room instead. At eight o’clock, guests kept coming. By nine, the house was so full of people that they spilled out onto the front porch, laughing and eating and sipping delicious drinks despite the chilly night.

  Cassandra was there, tall and slightly awkward but pleasant. She talked for a long time with the newspaper reporter, Stern, who lived a few houses down (he was ALMOST as tall as Cassandra). Whenever Christopher went near them, he overheard Stern saying things like, “… but we don’t need more condos in the neighbourhood, what we really need are more parks …” or, “… well, it was actually used to shelter exhausted horses …” or, “… yes, a few of us are going to the city, a delegation.…”

  Christopher wasn’t exactly sure what any of that meant, but it clearly meant a great deal to Stern and to Cassandra, who was listening intently beside the crackling fireplace.

  Katherine and her parents were there. Hank and Marie Newberry were delighted to meet the family of Katherine’s new best friend, and more delighted still to sneak up to the turret and say hello to their old friend, Gargoth.

  When Marie Newberry peeked into Christopher’s room, Gargoth could only stare at her, until she finally said, “Gargoth! Don’t you remember me?” He didn’t speak, only waddled toward her and waited patiently at her feet to be picked up. The little gargoyle sat on Marie’s lap, silent and sad, as she spoke softly and gently stroked his wing. They were good friends.

  She pulled a delicious-smelling apple from her purse and said, “It’s from your tree in our backyard. It’s still full of fruit.” Gargoth took the apple without a word and put it in his pouch.

  “I’d love to meet your friend, Ambergine,” Marie said quietly. At the mention of Ambergine’s name, though, Gargoth climbed back under the blankets in Christopher’s messy chair and disappeared.

  All evening, one of the friends kept an eye on Gargoth. Katherine and Christopher snuck upstairs to check on him a few times. Claire peeked in on him once and helped him re-tie her flowered scarf around his wing. But most of the evening Gargoth spent buried under the clothes of Christopher’s chair.

  Near midnight, Cassandra tore herself away from Stern and went to the top of the house to check on the gargoyle, coaxing him out from the pile of clothes with a mug of cocoa (a wintertime favourite of his).

  As they were sitting quietly together, a knock came at the door. It opened slightly, and Stern entered the room.

  Cassandra and Gargoth froze.

  “Stern! Hi. This is Christopher’s room, I’m just …” She floundered. There was nothing she could say. Stern’s eyes were locked on the little gargoyle, frozen at her side.

  Stern walked over and reached out. “He’s … amazing … what a beautiful gargoyle,” he whispered. He sounded like someone talking about a rare and ancient painting. Cassandra was stricken. She didn’t know what to say. The reporter stroked the gargoyle.

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s from the park. We rescued him.” Cassandra frowned. For his part, Gargoth was doing a wonderful job of looking very much like a statue. He stared straight ahead and didn’t flinch, statue-like.

  “Rescued? Thank goodness. You saved him from the vandals?” Stern asked, his eyes still locked on the gargoyle.

  “Yes, we saved him … he was kind of special, the nicest of the statues, and we found him untouched in the snow after the vandals left, so we brought him up here.” Cassandra fidgeted. She wasn’t much of a liar.

  “He looks so real!” Stern reached forward and picked up the gargoyle. He stroked him and searched over his whole body.

  “Oh! His wing! It’s in tatters!” he exclaimed. “Too bad. He just seems so … lifelike. He’s amazing.” He put the little gargoyle carefully on the desk, patted his head, then turned away (which is why he didn’t see Gargoth stick his tongue out at him behind his back).

  “I guess we should go back to the party?” Cassandra said, breathing out at last. The pair went back downstairs, but Cassandra knew a kindred spirit when she saw one: like Marie Newberry and a few other special adults, Stern-the-reporter loved Gargoth at first sight.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Balcony

  It was late at night. Ambergine woke suddenly. The baby was crying nearby, again. She’d been in the cage in the kitchen for several weeks now, alone except whenever the Collector entered to bang one apple and one mug of water down on the table before her each morning. He always tormented her and placed them on the table just out of her reach, so she had to rock the cage dangerously to reach them.

  Each night, he took a drink from the box with the food and the light inside. Ambergine had stopped surprising him in the dark, so he hadn’t dropped any more drinks. Instead, she drew him into conversation.

  Their conversations went something like this:

  Ambergine: “You are up, again.”

  The Collector: “Don’t speak to me.”

  Ambergine: “Do you have trouble sleeping?”

  The Collector: “Shut up.”

  Ambergine: “I’m not surprised you can’t sleep, with such guilt rattling around in your head.”

  The Collector: “Abomination! WHY DO YOU INSIST ON TORTURING ME?”

  Then the furious old man would storm from the room, sometimes slapping her cage as he passed by
, sometimes not. Then she would not see him again until the next night.

  Ambergine counted the days by the rising and setting of the sun: she’d been locked in the cage almost a month. But there was another way to count the passage of time as well: the Cellini apple tree in the snowy backyard was growing at an astonishing rate. She knew the tree would be bearing fruit very soon, within a few days. It already stood as tall as a man.

  She had been watching the neighbouring windows each night to keep her mind from wandering and to help her feel less lonely. People were definitely in a festive mood, and coloured lights had been appearing in nearby windows. A few nights earlier, she had watched an entire family in a house across the backyard gather around a piano and sing together for hours. It was odd watching them, since Ambergine could see them singing happily, but heard only silence locked in her dungeon of a cage.

  And then last night, in one particular window a long way off … a light was shining on something that made her heart skip a beat. She had seen a boy with dark curly hair in that window a few times, and last night something else. A little figure which looked exactly like … but it couldn’t be what she thought it was.

  Could it?

  She kept a very close eye on that window all day, now and then peering at the familiar object sitting in the windowsill, unsure if what she was seeing was real, or maybe she was just losing her mind. It was many windows away, quite a long distance off, so she couldn’t see it clearly despite her excellent vision. She was more than a little worried that maybe she was hallucinating.

  But it WAS a figure, a statue of something.

  Just then the Collector entered the kitchen and poured his nightly drink. Ambergine went to work, as she had done every night.

  Ambergine: “Can’t you sleep?”

  The old man turned and looked at her. She could see the light from the food box glinting off his thick glasses.