“Yes?” came a gruff voice.
“How much for this horse and cart? My father has sent me to sell it.” Gargoth couldn’t see what was happening very well, but he couldn’t believe his ears. Philip hadn’t mentioned this before.
Gargoth heard the bottom part of the door swing open and caught sight of a huge beard as a giant man walked past his sack, around the cart. He could hear the man breathing hard. He sensed that the man was running his hands over the horse’s back and hooves and over her head and nose. Then he heard the man turn toward the cart and bang his hands on the wood, giving it a good shake.
“Where’s your father then, boy?” he heard the gruff voice say.
“He’s back in the village with my young sister and mother,” Philip answered.
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. His father was with Philip’s mother and sister, buried deep in the village field.
“This isn’t much of a horse, more an oversized pony,” the man grunted again.
“She’s sturdy though, sir, and good-tempered. She’s not seen more than four summers altogether. She’ll last her new owner many years. She’s never foaled, but her mother had many good healthy foals.” Philip said all this very quickly but stoutly. Gargoth knew his friend well enough to catch the odd tone in his voice; Philip was not much of a liar.
There was a long pause, then Gargoth heard the man go back into the doorway, followed by the jingle of coins. He counted some of them out into Philip’s hand then said, “Go quickly, before I ask any more questions.”
Philip stuffed the coins into his linen shirt, then reached into the cart and hoisted Gargoth’s sack onto his back. Another sack he filled with the remaining apples in the back of the cart, then he turned away from his father’s horse and cart without another word and headed toward the water’s edge.
He couldn’t bear to run his hand over the horse’s soft nose even one more time. He was trying hard not to remember the morning she was born, and how he and his father had leaned over the fence of the farmyard, watching as the newborn foal took her first steps into the world.
He walked very quickly down to the waterfront, drawing his shirt sleeve over his burning eyes only once.
When it grew quiet and there were fewer people nearby, Gargoth spoke up. “Why did you do that? Why did you sell your father’s horse and cart?” he growled angrily.
“How do you think we are going to get across the English Channel? Can you swim? I can’t,” Philip snapped back, nasty for the first and only time in their long friendship.
Gargoth was silent and scowled deep in his sack. He didn’t even complain when he realized that Philip was going to use the coins to buy their way on a boat to cross the huge expanse of water before them.
He stayed silent when later that night Philip rested him on the floor of a busy tavern, and he was kicked and jostled by dozens of large muddy boots. Loud men and women sat at the long wooden table around Philip, eating mutton stew noisily and sloppily from huge wooden bowls. Gargoth did not complain when he was bumped and banged on Philip’s back to a damp spot near the water where Philip fell asleep in the sand, snoring gently. Great white cliffs rose at their backs into the night sky, and the enormous ocean spanned before them. Gargoth did not sleep at all that night but kept watch over his friend, hunched and peering out over the dark beach and the even darker, endless water.
But Gargoth could not keep silent the next day. He woke to Philip shouldering his sack and saying, “Off to the Merryman, Gargoth. Our ship is waiting. She will be sailing with the early tide.”
“The Merryman? Do you mean that tiny speck of wood we saw yesterday? We are sailing the ocean on that?” Gargoth could not contain his panic.
Philip laughed. “Yes, my sturdy gargoyle. We are shipping out on that.”
Gargoth trembled. He was going to cross the English Channel in the smallest boat they had seen. And he didn’t like the captain one bit, or the way he kept asking Philip to show him what was in his apple sack.
“Apples, what do you think?” Philip finally said, angry with the man. The captain had looked at him oddly then but left the sack alone.
“When are we leaving?” Gargoth managed to ask.
“Now,” Philip answered casually, biting deeply into an apple. He ignored the coughing and spluttering from the sack over his shoulder and strode out onto the little wooden pier. Gargoth could hear his boots striking the wood as he walked.
It was a beautiful, clear day. The birds overhead (which Gargoth had learned were called “seagulls”) wheeled and cried, and the breeze was fine and fair. The water between England and France was calm, still and very blue. There wasn’t a wave on the water or a cloud in the sky. As Philip stood upon the deck of the vessel which would take him away from England forever, he barely looked back. He shook the captain’s hand, and after a few more travellers had joined them (including one very big lady with a basket of geese that never stopped gabbling), he took his place on the deck, watching for France. It would take them not more than twenty hours to sail to the shore of their new home, if the weather stayed fair.
And all the while, he ignored the snorting, sneezing, grunting sound from the sack over his shoulder. He was quite sure that most people would think the sound was coming from the big lady and her noisy geese.
Chapter Twelve
More Night at Daye's
Two nights later, Katherine and Gargoth were back at Cassandra’s. The roof was ablaze with lit pumpkin candles. Gargoth was loudly eating an apple. Cassandra was working on her knitting, while Katherine was talking to them both.
“So, it’s settled then, Gargoth. You and I come back tomorrow to Cassandra’s for the week. A whole week alone at home would be awful for you, especially since Milly is going to be staying with the neighbours, the McDonalds. Instead, you and I will stay here with Cassandra and keep your candles lit, and give you all the apples and lemonade you could ever need. Look, she’s even knitted you a scarf to keep you comfortable!” Katherine held up a giant green scarf, which Gargoth eyed suspiciously. He held out a claw, however, and took the scarf without saying anything. He let it fall beside his cushion.
“It’s more of a blanket, wouldn’t you say, Katherine?” he said wryly.
“Gargoth says thanks, Cassandra.” Katherine hated lying. But she really wanted him to stay for the week, then she and her parents wouldn’t have to worry about him getting lonely, or into trouble, or worse, noticed by the neighbours.
Finally Gargoth sighed and said, “Very well, Katherine. I’ll stay here for the week with you. I will continue to light the candles at night. Of course, I won’t be able to talk much to our kind friend here, since she doesn’t understand a word I say. Won’t she find me rather dull company?”
Katherine looked over at Cassandra, who was in turn studying the little gargoyle with a look of rapture on her face, and smiled.
“No, I don’t think for a second she’ll find your company dull. Just stay up here on the roof, and everything will be fine. I’ll be at soccer camp all day, but I’ll be back every night after dinner, except for the nights I have practice. Or games. Well, I guess I’ll be away most of the time, but here at bedtime… It’ll be fine.”
“Yes, very well. You can tell her she’ll have her own gargoyle for the week. Now, let’s get back to the story. Where were we?”
Katherine thought for a moment. “You and Philip were crossing the English Channel to France.”
“Yes. We did cross the ocean. I won’t tell you more about that awful experience except to say it was a calm day, which was just as well, since that tiny boat creaked and shook and jolted and bucked just as though the seas were fierce. And some abominable woman had a basketful of noisy geese. Thankfully, we arrived safely in the French town of Calais.”
Gargoth paused and took a long drink of lemonade. “The next part of our journey was very difficult. Philip walked, with me in the sack on his back, for many weeks through the fields and valleys of France. He had enough money fro
m the sale of the horse and cart to buy food, since the apples were long gone. We slept in farmhouses and village inns, or under the open skies.
“Eventually, we came to the tiny village we sought and began new lives, apart.
“But soon it wasn’t so important to me to see Philip, for after a very short time, my life changed forever.”
Gargoth’s Story, 1665
Le Village Ensemble
Philip was weary and footsore, but he didn’t put down his sack. He carried it over his shoulder, despite his exhaustion. He had been walking all night, and it seemed like days since he had left his bed at the last small village inn. He was very tired of small villages and their crowded inns, especially since he didn’t understand anything anyone said to him. For the most part, they didn’t understand him, either.
Just as he crested a long, steep hill, he came upon a wooden signpost which read:
Ensemble, 2
The village of Ensemble! He and Gargoth had found it, the place they had sought for weeks. He’d lost track of how long he and his little hidden friend had been on the road, searching for this place. The weather was turning colder, much colder, and they had left his village in England when the trees were just starting to change into their autumn colours.
So it must have been five or six weeks. He had lost count. As he trudged slowly along the dark road, Philip heard Gargoth snoring gently in the sack and felt happy to have his friend with him. It would have been a much lonelier journey without him. Gargoth was a great storyteller and helped Philip pass the long hours of walking by making up fantastic tales about the world and the animals living in it beyond the seas. Some nights, sleeping together in the dark, he was glad to know his strange friend was nearby.
The lane Philip was walking along took a sharp turn to the right and suddenly opened up to a tiny valley, with small houses and farms dotted here and there.
The village!
The sun was just about to break above the hills. He wanted to rush into the valley and embrace the first person he saw, but he restrained himself. He was almost fourteen years old, after all. He would need to act like a man, since he most certainly would be treated like one and be expected to work like one by his uncle.
He stood for a moment taking in the sight before him. The first rays of the sun struck over the hill and shone on Philip’s face. He shook the apple sack on his shoulder gently.
“Gargoth. Gargoth! Wake up!” After a few more shakes, Philip heard the familiar snap and growl of the little gargoyle waking up.
“What? Is it another cow in the lane?” Gargoth said nastily.
“No, it’s not a cow. We’re here. We’ve found Ensemble.” Philip opened the sack, and Gargoth popped his face out, looking down into the village below them.
“It is pretty, Philip,” Gargoth said sleepily. The rising sun was washing the small valley with light, and they could hear the distant sound of cows and sheep, and people rising to tend to them.
“Yes, it is. Very pretty.”
Philip closed the sack again (although Gargoth wasn’t happy about it) and walked down the hill. As luck would have it, the village church was at the foot of the hill before them. He opened the gate, which squeaked almost as loudly as the church gate back in England, and carried his sack to the back of the churchyard.
“Look, Gargoth! Apples!” Philip called. Sure enough, an apple orchard stood proudly beside the church. Each tree still had a few late fall apples hanging on the boughs.
“And a river!” he exclaimed again. A small, dark river gamboled along beside the orchard. “You’ll have food and water all winter long,” Philip said helpfully.
Gargoth clambered out of the sack and stood looking at his friend. They had travelled so far together and had comforted each other so often in the haystacks and muddy lanes of England. They had crossed the English Channel together (an adventure Gargoth would be happy never to repeat) and had walked for weeks to find this tiny, unlikely place.
Philip looked down into Gargoth’s face and was sur-prised to see tears there. He frowned and thought for a moment. Then he put his hand gently on Gargoth’s head.
“It’s all right, Gargoth,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back. My family lives somewhere in this valley. I’ll find them, then be back to visit you, I promise.”
“Yes, Philip. We will see each other soon, no doubt.”
Gargoth offered Philip his claw, but Philip laughed and picked up the little gargoyle, hugging him tight.
“I don’t care if you don’t like it, Gargoth. I’m giving you a hug, and you can squirm all you want.” Philip released the little gargoyle, who strangely didn’t fight to get away.
“Goodbye, Gargoth, see you soon! Be safe—stay hidden!” And with that Philip turned away, closed the church gate behind him, and walked down the hill into the valley, ready to start his new life.
“Goodbye, Philip,” Gargoth said quietly, then turned to face the church. “I am used to being alone,” he whispered.
Gargoth’s Story, 1665
The Batless Belfry
It snowed that first night in Ensemble.
After Philip left him in the churchyard that morning, Gargoth climbed the thick ivy clinging to the walls of the church and clambered up to the church tower. He sat there all that first day, looking out over the small valley, growing familiar with the sounds and smells of the village below him. The church was quite far from the village, so there was no chance of anyone catching Gargoth by surprise.
No one did come that first day, though. He quickly understood that the church was empty, perhaps only used on days of worship. That was good news, but small comfort. Now that he was used to having a friend, he understood what it was to miss someone.
That first night Gargoth hid in the church belfry, away from the gently falling snow. Except for the large, glistening bronze church bell, there was nothing else there, not even bats. He was completely alone.
Which was why he was so surprised the next morning, when he woke to find a single beautiful apple waiting at his feet on the floor of the belfry. He was tired, that much was true. But he was quite sure that he had not picked himself an apple for breakfast the day before. In fact, he hadn’t left the safety of the church tower and belfry at all since he’d arrived.
It was strange.
During the day, he went into the apple orchard and picked himself a few wizened apples, but they were of poor quality, nothing like the delicious fruit he’d had for breakfast.
Later he sat in the belfry, drumming his claw gently on the giant bronze bell. He looked out over the valley and fell asleep wondering where Philip was sleeping and what his family was doing.
The next morning he woke to find another beautiful apple waiting at his feet, this time accompanied by a jug of sweet water.
Gargoth reached out to the water and took a long drink. It was much better than the brackish water in the river, which he had tasted. And the apple once again was delicious and sweet and nothing like the shrivelled apples on the trees in the orchard.
All that third day, he searched every inch of the church, hoping to find whoever was leaving gifts for him. But he found nothing, other than a heap of apple cores in the bush beside the orchard and a cemetery filled with forgotten beehives and ancient gravestones dusted with snow. That night in the belfry, he fell asleep wishing he could find some tobacco, since his pouch had been empty for weeks. That at least would be some comfort.
The next morning, he woke to find two beautiful apples, beside another full water jug. And a pouch full of fine tobacco.
Gargoth couldn’t believe his eyes. He sat up and slowly drew the tobacco toward him. It was too strange. He had thought about tobacco, and there it was the next day waiting for him.
Someone knew him very well. He wondered if Philip was playing tricks on him, but he would certainly hear the boy entering the churchyard (even if the gate wasn’t creaky) and climbing to the belfry. Humans were very loud, even when they were trying to be silent.
/>
Gargoth, though puzzled, didn’t waste any time lighting a pipe and eating his apples. He might as well be comfortable, if confused.
But he was making a plan. After finishing his pipe, he curled himself up with his wings tightly drawn around him. He would sleep all day and lie awake that night, waiting for his silent guest.
That night, after a full day of sleep, Gargoth walked around the church tower and tried to look as though he were getting ready to rest when it grew dark. He lay down in his regular place beside the belfry wall and drew his wings tightly around him. Occasionally, he let out a gentle snore, which he hoped sounded realistic.
Nothing happened. For hours, Gargoth pretended to sleep but heard and saw nothing.
Then there was something. It must have been a few hours before sunrise, because it was very dark and cold, and he was sore and cramped from pretending to be asleep all night.
Suddenly his sharp ears caught a faint, odd sound of wings. A bird, perhaps? But this was not a gentle beating of wings. It was instead a heavy, laboured beating of wings. Odd wings. Clumsy wings.
Leathery wings.
In the darkness, Gargoth could feel something moving very, very slowly toward him on the floor. He stayed perfectly still, straining to hear.
When the intruder was close to him, and he could hear first one apple, then two, then three, being carefully placed on the floor near him, he couldn’t wait another second.
He spoke quietly. “You had better tell me who you are, friend or foe. And be quick!” With that, he jumped to his feet and grabbed the intruder by the throat.
A small voice said, “Hamithin sorken behem. Nosta amica. Memamont fella Ambergine.”
But Gargoth heard the sweet voice say, “Stay, do not fear. I am a friend. My name is Ambergine.”
Gargoth’s Story, 1665
The Bell Rings
Gargoth was so startled to hear his own language, he loosened his grip on the throat of the intruder.
The Gargoyle Overhead Page 4