The Tree hopped slowly towards him. “You have been chosen not only because of your great need, but because you are able to see me at all. I only meet you halfway with the magic.”
“Halfway?”
“Perhaps less,” said the Tree. “Just let it sink in for now, and for goodness sake, ignore anyone who tells you to stop daydreaming.”
“I always have.”
“Good lad,” said the Tree. “I hope you’ve managed to put the day behind you, Billy. I think the next task is going to be—steep.”
* * *
Not quite believing he had to go out again, Billy cycled down the High Street shortly after one in the morning. Most of the late-opening bars and restaurants had now emptied, and he was able to weave through the stragglers with relative ease. Billy hoped that these late punters would distract any police officers who might have questions about a kid his age being out at this time. That, combined with his suspension from school, would probably make the visit from social services inevitable. The bike had skidded out from under him as he crossed a manhole cover in the street. Black ice had formed on it, quite invisible to the eye. The weather was beginning to chill down again. Billy pulled up by the park railings opposite All Saints Church and locked up his bike.
“Too late, mate. I’ve turned the fryers off.”
Billy jumped at the voice. Behind him, a man rolled down the serving hatch of his kebab van with a loud clatter. Billy paused. He’d expected the man to pop out from a door and drive the van away, but nothing happened. Forcing himself to focus on the task, he took his right glove off and delved into his jacket pocket. Opening his palm to the cold night air, Billy counted the gold rings; still five, all loose this time, thankfully. He put them back, and zipping his pocket, turned to face the church, the darkness clinging to everything.
Billy looked up at the stone figures and heads that lined the edges of the main tower. The architecture was designed to intimidate and from down here it was working. Fearing his nerve wouldn’t hold, he marched straight across the road and into the graveyard surrounding the building. Frost was beginning to form on the ladder that ran up the edge of the water tank nestling under the right-hand side of the church. The light ice fell off quite easily under his gloves and boots, and he was soon on top of the large iron water tank.
The tank had a walkway leading around the edge, and he knelt here for a moment. Billy looked out over the Reverend Mike Hayter’s gesture to running an environmentally friendly parish. The dark water looked unnaturally still. A layer of ice had formed on the surface. When he touched it, the ice splintered, creating high-pitched notes that echoed around the metal tank.
With his breath caught, Billy turned his attention to the section of roof to his left. The leading edge of the roof was pitted stone rather than tile and looked a good deal more robust. The downside was the downside; a lethal drop onto the gravestones which were packed close to the edge of the church. He took a couple of deep breaths before starting to clamber up the pitted stone. Crawling upwards, checking each stone before putting weight on it, he made steady progress. Each time his brain remembered the drop to the left it reeled sickeningly, but he was able to climb from the stone wall to the ladder above it. The solid iron rungs calmed his frayed nerves and, once his breath settled, he began to climb the ladder.
The rungs ended halfway up the tower. At the top was an old window, blocked up with cemented flint stones, with a ledge a good two feet deep. Billy drew himself carefully onto the ledge. The wall of the tower above the ledge was vertical and smooth, with no edge or lip to give purchase to climb.
He put his gloves back on, and tried to think clearly. The only way inside was through the window. He pushed a finger into the mortar between the flint; to his relief it wasn’t as solid as it appeared. Billy gouged between the stones then leant and hammered at the blockade with his shoulder. Gradually, it gave way, falling into the tower with a clatter. He fished out his mobile to use it as an emergency torch. The sudden light made him blink, but he was able to peer into the cavity and swing himself in, relieved to be away from the roof.
Around the tower were open holes with large bells, mounted on huge wooden wheels. On the opposite side he saw a set of iron rungs that led to a door onto the steeple roof. He carefully picked his way past the rubble and climbed the rungs. Billy pushed against the door, hoping it wasn’t locked. It shifted a little; it was simply heavy. Shoving the door as hard as he could, it opened slowly, and he stepped out onto the steeple roof.
Immediately, he felt the exposure and proximity of the drop. Beside him the upper steeple reached into the night sky. Billy checked that the door had an exterior handle before letting it close behind him, and began to look for the beast the Tree had sent him to find. A narrow path allowed him to circumnavigate the entire steeple roof. At each corner was a gargoyle which spouted water away from the roof. At the far side of the tower Billy found what he was after.
A separate and far larger gargoyle sat on the edge of the tower, looking up to the steeple. Its face was squat and toothed like a lion, but it had scales etched into it, making it more dragonlike. It was broad and muscular across the shoulders like a large Rottweiler, but the forearms were long. A short tail completed the beast. Brilliant but confusing; why put this kind of work up and then hide it out of sight of the ground?
Billy worked his way around to face the beast, and took off his gloves once more. He fished absently for the five gold rings in his pocket. They chinked against the knuckleduster as he drew them out. He leant forward and knelt before the gargoyle. The paws looked too thick to wear the rings, but somehow he knew they would slip over the claws of the raised right paw without argument. He worked from the outer claw, finding a way to coax each bright ring over the rough grey stone until four of the five had been placed. Billy felt a touch of pride whisper through him. This was how he had hoped his tasks would be. Pitting him against tough obstacles, encountering beasts he had read about in books. Not forcing him into uncomfortable interactions with friends, foes and unknowns alike. He had conquered the tower.
As he felt around for the back claw, he once again looked up at the gargoyle. He had half expected it to break into conversation, much like the Tree had. Perhaps this was simply a task designed to decorate? Extreme decorations, thought Billy, was how you might describe those that had arrived with the Tree. The fifth gold ring slid home. Billy bobbed up from his knees and pressed his back against the steeple, eyeing the creature with its paw now adorned. Moments passed and turned into minutes. Billy uncertainly lifted a foot and gave the left paw a faint kick, not wanting to risk loosening the rings to the right. No reaction; the task must be complete.
He recalled the fear he had faced on the way up, and would find again on the way down. Was this all there was to the task? Billy stared into the grey eyes of the gargoyle. Breathing deeply, he raised a thumb and pushed it into the right eye of the beast. It was just stone. He laughed, not that it helped him relax much. He turned to leave, rounding the corner to the south side of the tower nearest the bridge.
His heart began to pound. The Tree had told him to keep daydreaming, and an ugly flash had entered his mind’s eye. The General had told him to trust his intuition, so he turned back, and retraced his steps to the last turn. It was exactly as his mind’s eye had predicted: the gargoyle had vanished.
Suddenly, a blast of foul breath made his eyes stream; the Gargoyle’s face was only inches from his own. It must weigh tonnes; how could it move so quietly? thought Billy, before his mind began pumping waves of terror and adrenaline. The Gargoyle grabbed Billy, its left paw closing easily around his entire neck. Instinctively he clung to the Gargoyle’s arm with both hands, and felt muscle writhe through the cold stone. Carrying him like a rag doll, the Gargoyle scaled the high steeple, digging in deeply with its long claws. Once settled at the top, it pulled Billy close to its face, its eyes peering through his own into his skull. Eyes still stone gray, but now moving, damp and alive. Billy trie
d to scream, but the weight of his body was almost entirely on his jaw, and all he could manage was a terrified whimper. Reacting, the Gargoyle screeched more foul breath over him.
Seeming to reach a decision, it spiralled down the steeple, scoring the stone with outstretched claws with Billy bumping and clattering behind, locked in its colossal grip. Pure fear pounded through him, and yet he knew he must not give in. He must survive.
Reaching the edge of the tower, the Gargoyle flung its left arm over the edge, holding him out into the open night sky. Billy’s legs peddled at thin air in desperation. The Gargoyle looked at the steeple, then further to the west before looking back at Billy. It drew him closer.
“You will not succeed,” it said, in a colder voice than Billy had ever known. The Gargoyle drew him closer still. “She is mine.”
It screeched at him a final time the sulphurous breath, nearly blinding him. The paw closed tighter around his neck. He felt his vertebrae being forced apart, and blinding flashes of light filled his vision. With his left arm, he fought to open the zip on his pocket. The Gargoyle increased its grip, a sneer revealing long stone incisors.
The pocket came open and his hand closed on the knuckleduster. He switched it to his right, and the weapon slid on at once. The Gargoyle roared, its eyes widening and grip relenting. Billy sensed a little fear. He let his fury pour through his right hand and the studs appeared, then swam together to form a flat blade, the base expanding against his palm. The Gargoyle screamed again, and flung Billy left and right. He swung his fist back as the Gargoyle continued to fling him about, and managed to aim a punch. Billy brought his knuckles down hard halfway along the Gargoyle’s left forearm, and was at once flying through the air. After several seconds, he landed on a section of the tiled church roof, on his back, upside down and sliding rapidly towards the edge. Unable to control his descent, Billy screamed, the Gargoyle’s closed fist still gripped around his neck, and severed forearm splayed over his chest. He clattered to the edge of the roof and fell out into the night sky.
There was a faint pressure, a sense of cracking, then sound disappeared entirely. The cold was so complete he barely noticed the immersion as he fell into the water tank. The heavy arm and paw still clinging around his throat made him sink steadily, with pain building in his ears from the pressure of the water. Through the shattered ice he could make out the Gargoyle at the edge of the tank, sniffing at the surface. Once more the paw tightened around his throat, and suddenly Billy needed air. He brought the knuckleduster down hard against the paw. The grip loosened, and he heard a dull roar of pain from outside the tank. Billy struck it again.
He was free, and started to float upwards, his lungs bursting. For a moment, he thought he saw the Gargoyle waiting. He broached the surface weakly, his adrenaline spent, his lungs dragging air in. There was no ladder to help him, but with a last effort Billy hauled his sodden form out of the tank. He lay face down on the walkway. Unable to raise the energy to look about for the Gargoyle, Billy felt the world go black and quiet, the chill breeze sapping any vestiges of warmth from him. As he passed out, he noted that the hand on his shoulder was not made of stone.
***
Katherine slid further away from him. No matter how fast he ran he could not keep up. He looked down, he was running on ice, why wasn’t he falling over? He looked up. She was shouting his name. He redoubled his efforts, but to no avail. Suddenly she turned around, seeing something, spun, then fell and disappeared through a hole in the ice. Billy rushed to the gaping edge, but as he arrived the ice vanished, leaving solid, cold black earth…
* * *
“I’m not supposed to use this any more,” said a voice, “but I figured we could both use warming up.”
Billy sat up, no longer dreaming, trying hard to find his bearings. He was still in his clothes, but they were almost dry. The room was very warm, and his boots were steaming in front of an iron wood burner with the front doors open. The room had curtains hanging all the way around the walls. Not curtains, thought Billy, cassocks. A mug was thrust at him. He looked up to see Reverend Hayter, or Mike, as he preferred to be known at the school.
“You’re old enough to have coffee, aren’t you?” said Mike. “I think it warms you up so much better than plain old tea.”
Billy’s lips were still frozen, but he managed a small smile of thanks and took the mug in both hands.
“You look a bit better,” said Mike. “You had me quite worried there. But I thought, with the week you’ve had, it might be better if we sorted this out ourselves.”
Billy wasn’t sure if the relief was coming from the coffee, the heat from the wood burner or the young vicar’s kindness; all of it was equally welcome. He could hear outside that the wind had built up, and wondered for the first time since waking where the Gargoyle had gone.
“Did you find me…?”
“In the water tank? Yes,” said Mike. “I think this is yours.”
Mike drew the knuckleduster from his pocket and offered it to Billy. Trying not to catch his eyes, Billy pocketed the device. As embarrassed as he was to have been caught with the weapon, with the Gargoyle on the loose he was not about to relinquish his only means of protection. Mike sat down at the other end of the sprung canvas settee which he had dragged in front of the fire.
“I heard about school,” said Mike. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a tough time. I’m guessing if I started to ask you questions, you’d find it impossible to explain. So I’m not going to ask you anything.”
The relief didn’t fade, though, as Billy suspected this conversation wasn’t over.
“I was supposed to be made a bishop this year,” said Mike. “A city too. Salisbury, amazing cathedral, significant parish. But about eight months ago, I owned up to the archbishop. I couldn’t ignore it any more, you see. It got too weird. Seeing all the dead people turning up to people’s funerals.”
Billy choked on his coffee. This wasn’t what he had expected.
“It was like a welcoming committee, with these other people jostling their way to the front to greet the deceased. It’s hard enough trying to read a eulogy, without people who had been at the events you’re describing from the past picking you up on the things you were misinformed about.”
Billy grinned at Mike. “You mean you see ghosts?”
“It’s not funny!” said Mike. “I was a rising star for the liberal side of the Anglican Communion. And suddenly the biggest problem the archbishop has ever had to deal with. You see, I couldn’t just ignore the fact that I’m having…well, visions. I don’t think I’m mad. If I’m not mad, then, given my job, I have to believe I have been given this gift for a reason.”
Mike was no longer smiling, and neither was Billy.
“It doesn’t feel like a gift, by the way. It feels like I actually am going mad, and no one can possibly understand what it’s like.”
“I think I can,” said Billy.
“Can I ask you a question?” said Mike.
Billy nodded.
“How did a three-tonne statue disappear from my steeple? Were there any other people there?”
Billy shook his head. “I woke it up.”
“Yes,” said Mike, “but not without a fight. It had a hell of a limp when it went past me.”
Again Billy struggled not to spit out his coffee. “You saw it?”
“I thought it was part of my, you know, visions. My daydreams?” said Mike. “I wasn’t sure whether you had seen it. But then I thought you must have tangled with that hand.”
“It’s still in the tank?”
“Making a real racket. Keeps scratching and thumping. I don’t know what I’m going to tell the verger.”
Billy thought fast. “You could tell him it’s the cold contracting the tank?”
“Thank you. Yes, I think that might be best.”
The two sat looking into the flames. It was a comfortable silence. When he felt that he was dry enough to get home without freezing, Billy spoke.
&
nbsp; “I’d really like to tell you more, but I think it’s against the rules at the moment.”
“I understand,” said Mike.
“I’d better go.”
“Well, this is my place, as well as God’s, and you’re welcome here anytime.”
“You know I don’t believe in God?”
“I figured as much, Billy. That’s fine.” Mike aimed a large iron key at the outer door of the vestry before passing it to Billy.
He took it, struck once again by the man’s simple kindness.
“You can use this anytime, though it gets a bit busy on Sundays.”
“Thank you, for this…for the coffee.”
“I hope that one day you can talk about it more. I also promised the archbishop no more ghost stories, so I’d be grateful if you’d keep it to yourself.”
“Who could I tell?” said Billy with a smile. He gave Mike the mug, put his boots on and made his way out of the vestry.
Too cold even to acknowledge the two police officers who eyed him from the warmth of their car, Billy cycled up the High Street, trying to digest the twists of the last twenty-four hours. He and Katherine were all right. She didn’t hate him for attacking Robert, though she probably still didn’t understand why it had happened. Robert was apparently in one piece. He had a vote of confidence from the General, and now from Mike, which was more welcome than he had imagined. Odd for a vicar to admit to the things he had. Billy hoped it wasn’t some elaborate attempt to feed information into school; he had seemed genuine enough.
Now there was another new player on the field, one Billy thought he could safely label as the opposition. The Gargoyle had been terrifying, strong in a way humans would never be, and brutal, a complete predator, as some humans were quite capable of being. Billy stopped pedalling for a moment as he coasted around the small roundabout at the top of the High Street.
Billy Christmas Page 9
