The Gargoyle at the Gates (3 page)

The English Garden: Theodorus

James and his grandfather were sitting under an enormous outdoor umbrella, with a sea of newspapers spread out on the table before them. The old man had a huge leather bag stamped with gold letters and symbols at his feet, overflowing with papers, photographs, and newspaper clippings. The afternoon sun was so bright that James was getting a headache. He had his head in his hands as he turned yet another newspaper page.

“Grampa Gregory, what am I looking for again, exactly?” he asked.

His grandfather didn't raise his head from the paper he was reading with the help of a giant magnifying glass. Today the old man was wearing a strange purple corduroy suit and a floppy purple hat to match. James had the sense it was a costume from several centuries ago, almost like something that a swordsman or musketeer might have worn. He wasn't wearing the bug-like goggles though, which was a nice change.

“I've told you! We're looking for what's lost! We need evidence, clues, any mention of anything unusual … gargoyles …” he answered, muttering and trailing off as he went back to his magnifying glass and the newspaper.

“Well, couldn't we just search the Internet?” James immediately regretted his question.

His grandfather glared at him. “YOU can, if you want to, but don't let anyone know what you're searching for. No one is going to find ME on that thing.”

Oh yeah. James had forgotten that. His grandfather hated computers, mail, and even distrusted the telephone. James wasn't supposed to let anyone else know what he and his grandfather were doing all summer. No one was to know that they were looking for stories about statues, and in particular anything about gargoyles. Not even James's parents were supposed to know. Whenever they called from Toronto to check on how his summer visit was going, James said everything was fine.

And it
was
fine. James was enjoying his summer trip to England; he just wished he could see more of it before he had to go back home.

He turned back to the newspaper and sighed. After a while he said, “Here's an article about fountains in Florence … they're doing something to one of them. Renovating the statues. Or re-facing the masonry or something. No mention of gargoyles, though.” He handed the paper over to his grandfather, who cleaned the magnifying glass on a rag and carefully pored over the page.

James got up and yawned. “I'm taking a walk, I'll be back,” he said. He wandered to the green garden pond and sat in the shade of a climbing rose bush. It was definitely cooler in the shade. He took off his sandals and leaned back, yawning again. The pond had lily pads with frogs lurking under them, doing their best to stay cool. He was dozing a little, listening to the water tumble from a fountain nearby when suddenly …

… a splash of water from the pond hit him right in the face. James jumped to his feet, spluttering and wiping away the pond muck.

A large gargoyle broke the surface of the pond, stomped through the water and clambered out. Pond water ran off the gargoyle's dark back and pooled at its taloned feet. It shook its wings a lot like a dog would, spraying more water across the boy. The gargoyle had a heavy body, a head shaped like a ram with curly horns, and stood quite tall (for a gargoyle). The ground shook a little when it stomped across the flagstones, leaving huge, wet gargoyle footprints as it went.

“Hey! Theodorus! You just drenched me in pond water!” James spluttered, backing away.

“Gremice elba,” the creature said with a deep, booming laugh, which James heard as “Time to wake up!” It headed off into the apple orchard, still laughing, long arms drooping at its sides.

But before the gargoyle disappeared, James heard it quite clearly say in its strange, whispery voice, “You looked hot.”

The gargoyle was right, James WAS hot. It was impossible not to smile, just a little. He decided he might just go for a swim.

First Toronto, Now This

Christopher spent that night far away from his window, trying not to look into the park down below. He didn't know what happened in that park, but he did know one thing: he wasn't going back in there.

There was
something
, or maybe several
somethings
, hiding in the bushes. Last he checked, bushes didn't talk, and apples didn't just fling themselves off trees at people.

At least not so you felt like target practice.

It was creepy. He wasn't sure about this new city at the best of times. When his mom and dad had gathered the family together to tell them they were leaving Vancouver and moving to Toronto, he wasn't all that excited about it. He loved Vancouver. He had friends there, it was home.

Everything was different in Toronto. And now he discovered that strange voices spoke in the bushes in Toronto city parks. And not just parks far away in some other part of the city. He heard them in
his
park, right next door to
his
house.

He had a sleepless night, tossing and turning. He kept dreaming that something in the park was howling at the moon. Once he heard a
whack
as something small and hard — an apple? — banged into his bedroom window. He dug his head as deeply as he could under his pillow, but the howling continued all night long.

The next morning, when he had to walk past the park gates on his way to school, he kept his eyes down and
did not
look inside. It was raining, and the gargoyles were spitting water onto the sidewalk, something he didn't remember from the day before. He didn't look up and smile at the gargoyles. He'd never look at them or the park again as far as he was concerned. Claire smiled in surprise when Christopher took her hand as they walked past the gates and didn't let go until they got to his school.

In class that afternoon, Christopher was paired up with Katherine to write a one-page article about their neighbourhood. It was supposed to help all the kids find out who lived closest to them.

The topic was:
What I love most about my part of the city.

Christopher scratched his nose and fiddled with his pencil as Katherine started writing. He eventually blurted out, “I don't really know the neighbourhood very well, since I've only lived there for a few weeks, so it's not really fair … to you.”

“It's okay,” Katherine said, scribbling furiously. “I don't really live in that part of town either. I just visit Candles by Daye in the afternoon after school.”

“What are you writing then?” Christopher asked.

“I'm writing about the public library a few doors down from Candles by Daye. It's tiny, but it has a great rooftop garden, with a miniature apple tree and a goldfish pond, and flowers.”

“Yeah, I saw it last week. It
is
nice,” Christopher said half-heartedly.

Katherine considered for a moment. “Well, there must be
something
you like?”

“I like my bedroom. It's a turret at the top of the house.”

Katherine shook her head. “No good. It can't be about anything inside your house. Has to be outside.”

They both fell silent. “I don't mind the park in the ravine, that's nice. It's got trees and my dog likes it. That's okay, I guess,” he finally said.

Katherine wrote that down. “We need a little more. Anything else you like? Think!”

Christopher shrugged. “I can tell you what I
don't
like: that creepy little park next to my house, it's haunted or something.” Katherine jerked her head up and gasped. She dropped her pencil at the same time, too, which surprised Christopher. He jumped up, banged his knee on the bottom of the desk, and started hopping up and down. The teacher came over and asked what was going on.

“Nothing. Sorry, I dropped my pencil,” Katherine said. Christopher's eyes were watering, so all he could do was nod.

When the teacher was gone, Katherine stood up and faced Christopher. The classroom was busy with kids talking and chattering, so no one noticed.

She stood over him. “Listen, Christopher Canning or C.C. or whatever you want to be called, that park is
off limits
. Just don't go in there, okay? It's not safe for … you. You're right. It's … haunted … or something. So just stay out!” Katherine was talking in a low whisper, but for some reason, Christopher was very afraid of her. There was something urgent and upsetting in her tone. Her fists were clenched on her hips, and she looked menacing. He glanced over and saw the teacher coming their way again.

He nodded quickly. “Okay … yeah, okay, Katherine, no problem. The park is off-limits, I get it. Don't worry, I won't be going back in there, not after last night. It's okay.”

Katherine saw the teacher heading their way too and dragged Christopher down into the seat beside her. The teacher veered away to another noisy group. Katherine finished writing in silence, handed the paper in to the teacher, then went back to her own desk. She didn't look at Christopher again, and she wasn't at the streetcar stop after school.

Christopher stood at the stop by himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Katherine had said the park
was
haunted.
Haunted
. Or
something
. She seemed almost panicked that he was going to go back in there, but Christopher definitely didn't get the feeling she was worried about him. No. She was worried about something else.

What could it be?

She said it was “off limits” and to “stay out.”

But
why?

The Orange Ball Rolled

For the next few days, Christopher steered clear of the park, except to notice that people hardly ever went in there. Occasionally, city workers opened the gates and went in to rake up leaves or tend to the fountain. Once in a while they even sat in there having their lunch. But apart from them, and an old man with thick glasses, a white straw hat, and a heavy brown coat who sometimes sat on a bench on the sidewalk past the gates, the park was deserted.

Christopher kept his head down when he walked past and made sure his windows were shut carefully every night, although he didn't hear any more howling. Whenever he took Marbles for a walk, they went the long way to the ravine, and he crossed the street far away from the park.

He stayed away from Katherine, too.

He and Katherine managed a polite truce at the streetcar stop, but she wasn't there every day. Christopher tried to forget about the
somethings
in the park, and he almost managed it …

… until one day after school, when he and his many-assorted-older-brothers were playing ball hockey on the driveway beside their house. The driveway was perfect for ball hockey, since it was so long and straight. Christopher wasn't crazy about playing goalie, but as the youngest he never had much say. He was almost
always
the goalie. His oldest brother, Marc, passed the ball to his second-oldest brother, Nathan, who passed it to his third-oldest brother, Adam, who took a slap shot from halfway down the driveway. It went wild, and the bright orange ball bounced off Christopher's goalie mask, whipped through the air, and flew over the spiked iron rails of the park.

The ball rolled deep into the park bushes.

“Nice going, C.C.!” Marc yelled at him.

Christopher took off his mask and dropped his goalie gloves on the driveway. “Now what?” he asked, looking nervously at the park.

“Go get it! You let it fly over the fence!” Adam called.

“No way, you took the slap shot.
You
go get it!” Christopher yelled back.

“Nice try, C.C. The last one who touches it has to find it,” Nathan said. He had Christopher there — the last-touch rule
was
ball-hockey law.

It was no use. Marc, Nathan, and Adam had already lost interest in the game and were leaning their hockey sticks against the house. It was almost dinner time anyway. Christopher looked back at the park.

Nothing moved.

He bit his lip. What to do? Everyone bigger than him had gone inside. It was his best ball-hockey ball. It was Marbles' favourite ball. He really didn't want to lose it.

He was putting the goalie equipment and the net away in the shed at the back of the house when he looked over at the park again. The bushes were rustling.

An orange ball shot through the iron bars, crossed Christopher's driveway …

… and rolled to a stop right at his feet.

The Giant at the Gates

Christopher gulped, then reached down and picked up the ball.

Something
wanted to play. He tossed the ball up and down in his hand, unsure what to do. Just then, his mother opened the back door and called him.

“Christopher! Can you please take Marbles for a walk before dinner?” Marbles burst out the back door and ran to Christopher, wagging his tail and dragging his leash behind him.

“Sure, Mom,” Christopher called back.

He pocketed the orange ball then picked up his dog's leash and started the long struggle down the driveway. He really didn't want to get dragged around by Marbles. Tonight, right now, he wanted to be brave. He wanted to get to the bottom of whatever was going on in that park.

“Come on boy, we're going this way,” Christopher grunted as he used all his strength to drag Marbles toward the park gates. The neighbourhood was quiet. There were no cars driving by, no streetcars, and very few people were out on the streets. The old man with the thick glasses, hat, and the brown coat wasn't sitting on the bench down the sidewalk. Christopher attached Marbles' leash to the gates and drew up all his courage. He was going back in.

“I have to find out what's going on in there, Marbles. Just stay here, bark if anyone comes.” Marbles whined and licked his lips, quivering on the sidewalk. Christopher contorted himself once again and just barely managed to squeeze through the bars.

He stepped into the park and looked around. Again, it was very silent, more silent than it should have been. Except for the bubbling of the seahorse fountain, it was like he was in the middle of the countryside. There was the little apple tree, almost bare of leaves, but still bearing delicious-looking fruit. Two benches surrounded the tree. The bushes around the outside of the park were still.

Christopher took a deep breath. He was determined to be courageous. “Hello?” he whispered, but it came out as a croak. So he tried again, a little louder this time. “Hello!” he squeaked, but at least audibly. His heart was hammering in his chest.

The park was still and quiet.

“Uh, thank you for returning my orange ball,” he said, a little braver this time. Suddenly he felt really foolish, like a little kid imagining things, talking to an empty park like a crazy person.

The ball could have bounced off something and rolled back out on its own
,
couldn't it?

Then he heard it. The wind rattling the barren dry leaves, or maybe it was something else. A gravelly voice said, “Megathon dret alba.” But Christopher also heard it say, “He left the monster outside.”

Christopher gasped but tried not to scream. He bit his tongue and tried to remember to breathe. He managed to stutter out, “Uhhh, heelllo? I know you're here. You threw apples at me, but you tried not to hit me. You clapped at my guitar music. You returned my ball.” His teeth were actually chattering together, he was so scared. But he was also determined.

“Morten gella dorth!” came another gravelly voice, but sweeter, which translated into, “You're frightening him!”

Christopher's eyes were like giant saucers now. Clearly there were two voices, two
somethings
, in the bushes.

But
what
?

He didn't get to find out what. At that moment Marbles stopped whining. A tall figure was standing at the gates. A really, really tall lady.

She was standing on the sidewalk patting his dog's head (who, unlike any
good
watchdog, was sniffing her hand and wagging his tail) and peering into the park.

She called into the park, “Hello? Boy? Are you in there?”

Christopher wasn't sure whether he should answer her or dive into the bushes and hide.

It wasn't an easy choice. Christopher really wanted to hide, very badly, but since the bushes had strange voices in them, he decided they might not make such an entirely great hiding spot. He hesitated, but in the end had little choice but to answer the lady.

“Yuh … yes. I'm here. I think you mean me? I think I'm who you mean?” Christopher jibbered. He stepped away from the tree and walked toward the gate. The tall lady smiled nicely at him through the fence and pointed toward a small handle inside the gate.

“Pull that handle there, would you please?”

Christopher hadn't noticed it, but there was the outline of a small doorway cut into the gate, next to the gatepost. It was kind of a secret, hidden door, which you probably wouldn't see unless someone pointed it out to you. He pulled on the handle, and the door swung inward with a creak.

The tall lady undid Marble's leash and stooped to walk through the door with him. The dog was very happy to be on the same side of the fence as his master and licked Christopher excitedly. The lady handed Christopher the leash. Then she added, “You'd better hold on to him tightly.”

“Thank you,” Christopher said. “Uh, I'll see you then.”

He was starting to go through the doorway, back out to the street, when he heard the whispery, growly voice again. It sounded very close to him, and Christopher heard it say very clearly, practically in his ear, “Megathon alta!” At the same time he also heard it say, “Get that monster out of here.”

Many things happened next, rather quickly. At the very instant in which the voice spoke, Marbles caught the scent of something. He snapped his head up, sniffed twice, then dove into the bushes, yanking Christopher off his feet. Christopher landed with a thud and dropped the leash. The tall lady rushed to grab the leash, but Marbles was off and running madly through the bushes, barking and chasing something frantically.

For a moment, the bushes were alive with squeals and grunts and shrieks. Christopher and the lady rushed around, trying to grab Marbles, who was just as madly chasing and running away from them. The dog, the boy, the lady, and the
somethings
in the bushes dashed the circuit of the park twice, before Christopher somehow managed to make a giant leap and land on Marbles' back. Boy and dog both landed with a grunt on the ground, Christopher on top. He grabbed the leash, panting as he lay on his dog.

“Sorry. Are you okay?” Christopher managed to say.

The tall lady had taken a seat on one of the park benches. She was mopping her brow. “My, your dog is quite … athletic,” she croaked, trying to catch her breath.

Marbles was whining and wriggling and champing his teeth, staring up into the apple tree. There was a rustling above them, but Christopher couldn't look up into the tree AND keep a tight hold on his dog at the same time. He was barely big enough to weigh Marbles down as it was. If he moved a muscle, then the dog would be off and running again.

“I'm Cassandra Daye, D-A-Y-E, by the way. That's my store across the street,” the tall lady said, still trying to catch her breath.

“Oh. I see. Candles by Daye, with an ‘e'. I get it.” Christopher was doing his best to be polite, which wasn't all that easy under the circumstances. “I'm Christopher Canning. I live next door,” he managed to say. He could feel Marbles tensing beneath him, readying himself for a monstrous leap up the trunk of the apple tree.

“Hello, Christopher.” She seemed uneasy, like people do when they're hiding something.

She kept darting little glances up into the apple tree, then back down at him. She cleared her throat, about to speak, when a gentle, whispery voice said, “Blethem morgount.” Christopher heard it say, “He seems nice.” It came from the top of the apple tree.

Christopher tensed as Marbles went rigid beneath him, ready to spring. “Okay, what was that voice? Who seems nice?” Christopher asked.

“Voice? What voice? Oh, that? Wind in the leaves, don't you think? Do you like this park? It's very old … the city is thinking of removing it, building apartments. It's not much use for most people … the fountain watered horses a long time ago … it's still quite lovely…”

Christopher knew she was trying to distract him. His mother did that, talked too much about things that weren't relevant whenever she was nervous or trying to draw his attention elsewhere. It worked when he was little, sometimes.

The deeper, growlier voice said, “Megathon mebahtu.” Christopher heard it say, “The monster smells bad.”

Christopher's eyes grew wide as he looked up into Cassandra's face. “Did … did you hear that?” he whispered. “What is it?”

Cassandra Daye bit her lip. “Oh, I really don't think I should … nothing …”

Christopher couldn't help it. He lost his patience, and with his last breath, he yelled out, “PLEASE TELL ME WHAT IS TALKING TO ME IN THE TREE!”

“Oh well, I'm not sure …”

And that's when Christopher Canning's arms gave out, and Marbles-the-monster made a mighty leap into the air, loudly snapping his teeth together …

… just missing a gargoyle as it flew out of the apple tree and lurched off into the night sky.