The Gargoyle Overhead (4 page)

More From the Rooftop

The candles were burning low. Katherine was telling Cassandra everything that Gargoth had told her. Gargoth stood up for a while and walked through the candles, checking that they were all still lit. He took a drink of lemonade and ate a few apples. He was forbidden to throw the apple cores off the roof (there were people walking by on the street down below), but he did do a little target practice with the ladder on the chimney. He was still an excellent shot.

When he had rested from his storytelling and Kath-erine had translated the story for Cassandra, he took up his spot on the cushion, lit his pipe once again, and continued.

“Philip and I became great friends. After the shock of our first meeting, he returned to the churchyard as often as he could. We met in the autumn of 1664, and all through that winter, he came to talk to me again and again. I had never had a friend, so there was much for him to teach me. He didn’t, for instance, like being pelted with apple cores. Nor did he like it when I stuck my tongue out at him, or threw river stones better than he did in target practice. He did, however, like to tell me about his world outside the churchyard, and about his father, mother and sister.

“Soon, though, he began to tell me stories of a different kind. There was a great plague crossing the country. In the towns and villages people were dying, sometimes leaving entire villages empty, but for a lucky few. In the city of London, hundreds of people were dying each day. Philip came to the churchyard one day to tell me that the plague was in his village, and he didn’t know when he would see me again. Many weeks, then months went by, and I was alone.

“One summer night, I heard the churchyard gate creak open, and someone calling me. Philip had come. But disaster had come too: while he was away with the sheep in the fields, many villagers had died of plague, including his father, mother and sister. He was an orphan, all alone in the world. I was his only friend.

“He sat mute by the river of the churchyard for many weeks, alone except for me. I tried to encourage him with stories and antics and target practice, and eventually, he did rise from the riverbank and speak once more. Philip’s father had told him of an uncle who lived in a small village in France. Philip was going to France, and I was going with him.

“One autumn day, we left the only home either of us had ever known. Before we left, I tried my best to fix the stone lion, but it was no use. His broken ear lies in the long grass at his feet even now, no doubt.” Gargoth grew thoughtful.

“How did you get to France?” Katherine asked, forgetting about the not-interrupting-or-this-was-going-to-take-forever rule.

Gargoth frowned. “First by horse and cart, then by boat, then on foot. It was a long and difficult journey.” He drew his wings tightly about him. “And I didn’t like it one bit.”

Cart and Boat

It was raining again. Gargoth was huddled deep inside an apple sack and was being jarred mercilessly against the baskets of apples all around him. They had hit upon the clever idea of hiding Gargoth in a sack so Philip could carry him about safely hidden. They had even cut eyeholes into the cloth so Gargoth could see a little of what was happening around them.

But he didn’t really like it. And it was far from dry or comfortable. He was tucked behind Philip, who was driving the horse and cart. Despite his best efforts to keep dry, Gargoth was wet and grouchy. It was raining so hard, he couldn’t even light his pipe.

“That at least would be some small comfort,” he muttered, clutching his dripping wings tightly to himself.

“I hope you’re not thinking about your pipe again, Gargoth?” Philip said from the front seat. “I for one am very glad that you can’t light the foul stuff. I can breathe fresh air once again!” he added with a chuckle.

At that moment mud splashed up into the cart and drenched them from below, almost as much as they were being drenched by rain from above.

“Was there ever such a muddy country as England?” Gargoth growled, flattening his ears against his head.

“France is muddier, I hear,” Philip said, laughing. “That’ll make you happy, won’t it, Gargoth?”

Gargoth stuck his tongue out at Philip’s back but didn’t answer.

The little horse was plodding very slowly along a dark country lane. Because they only travelled at night, Gargoth and Philip had seen almost no one since they’d set out on their journey, many nights before. Their store of apples was getting low, and Gargoth was sick of the bumpy cart ride. Try as he might, there was no way to avoid being bumped and jostled as the cart travelled south along the paths and open meadows of England.

But he knew the journey was almost over, for the next day would take them to their destination: the town of Dover.

As dawn was nearing, they found an old barn to sleep in. It was abandoned and was falling into disrepair, but the two travellers didn’t mind. It was dry and less muddy than the road. They watered and brushed the little horse, leaving her in an empty stall of hay, then made their own meal of dried apples and water. As the sky was just beginning to turn pink in the east, they curled up in the dry haystack of the barn, listening to the lonely hooting of owls as they fell asleep.

Many hours later, they woke to a bright and sunny afternoon. The weather had changed, and the wind had shifted to the south. As Gargoth roused himself and began gathering sticks for a brief fire, his nose caught the fresh scent of something he did not recognize. The air had a funny tang to it, a bitter taste he couldn’t name.

As Philip rose and stretched and joined him, plucking loose hay from his blonde hair, he sniffed the air as well.

“What is that on the air, do you think?” he asked.

Gargoth struck his tinder-pistol against some bracken he had collected and blew gently on the spark. The little fire caught. He placed a clawful of sticks over the growing fire and pushed back on his haunches. “I cannot say. It smells like autumn nights when it has rained and rained and washed everything clean. But there is something else.”

The two travellers had to put their puzzlement aside and ready themselves for the final hours of their weary journey. As the afternoon drew on, they ate a few apples, laced the little horse into the harness and set off to Dover.

As their horse and cart turned off the cart path, to a larger, sturdier lane, then to a larger road, then to a busy thoroughfare through the noisy town, the scent they could not place grew and grew, until they both understood what it was: the ocean! They could smell salt water.

They had both heard of the ocean, but neither had ever seen it, nor could really imagine that much water, which looked as though it never ended.

The smell of the ocean burned Gargoth’s nose as he strained to see the town through the eyeholes of his sack. He couldn’t see much, but what he did see filled him with amazement: many people, busy taverns, horses and carts, endless water, a shoreline of tall white cliffs, and strange birds wheeling and crying in the air above him.

And what looked like carts floating in the water. He had to ask Philip what the things in the water were, since he had no name for them.

“They’re called boats, Gargoth. Now shhh,” Philip whispered over his shoulder into the sack behind him. Gargoth could just make out many, many wooden boats, some with tall wooden sticks in the middle and great white cloths hanging on them, flapping in the breeze. Others were much smaller, with small sticks on the sides.

Gargoth could only stare. He had to be quiet in case someone discovered him hiding in the sack, so he hung silently over Philip’s shoulder through all the events of that long, strange night. They arrived in the town just as the villagers were setting their fires for the evening meal, and Gargoth choked on the heavy smoke which hung in the streets.

The first thing Philip did was to climb down from the cart and carefully lead the horse through the muddy town to a sign hanging over a doorway. The sign had a horse and cart on it. He knocked hard, and the top part of the wooden door swung outward immediately.

“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.

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 from 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.”