The Last Gargoyle

by Paul Durham

  “I found it,” I mention.

  “I hoped you might,” she says. “Did you look inside?”

  This time, I just nod.

  “What did you think?” she asks.

  “It was…” I remember the brief but extraordinary journey. I can still feel the sensation. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “You don’t have to,” Viola says.

  “Was that my Remnant?”

  She nods again.

  “What were you doing with it?”

  “Like I said, the Bone Masons pass them down from one generation to the next. I wanted to hang on to it for safekeeping. So I could show it to you when the time was right.”

  “I saw a man—when I touched it. He was playing the violin. I was sick, I think, and he was comforting me. Do you know what that could have meant?”

  Viola offers a tight smile. “I have an idea, Goyle. But only you will know for certain. When this is all done, I’ll do my best to help you understand.”

  Her answer piques my curiosity, but I’m nothing if not patient. A hundred and thirty years on a roof will do that to you.

  “What were you whispering to Hetty?” I ask. “In her bedroom.”

  “Oh, just girl talk,” she says coyly. I scowl in reply.

  “Okay, I was telling her the truth. About the Bone Masons. And about what really happened to her father. Samuel always kept his family as far removed from his craft as possible. It’s become far too dangerous an occupation, and he had no intention of seeing his children follow in his footsteps. For all they knew, he was a simple stone carver.”

  I cock my head. “Then why bring them into it now?”

  “Because the Boneless King obviously doesn’t care about intentions. His intention is to wipe out the entire family line, just to be safe.” Viola pauses and casts her eyes out at the city. “Besides, Hetty is special. You saw it for yourself.” She turns to me and holds my gaze. “Imagine a Bone Mason who can communicate with Grotesques. Who can see and understand your world, Goyle, the world you’ve been thrust into. Just imagine what a Maker like that could do.”

  “You want her to become a Bone Mason like her father? Wasn’t he trying to protect her from all that?”

  Viola sets her jaw. “I want her to be safe. That’s what Samuel would have wanted. She can’t stay safe if she keeps living in the dark. What she does with the information now—that’s entirely up to her.”

  I wonder what I might do in Hetty’s shoes.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you,” Viola says again. “But if you’d known I was a Netherkin you would never have let me near her.”

  I can’t disagree with her. But it’s funny—for just a moment, I’d entirely forgotten that I was sitting and talking to a Netherkin.

  “Did you tell her anything else?” I ask.

  “I did.” Viola hesitates. “I told her a few things about you.”

  I raise a curious eyebrow.

  “And I think I’ll keep most of that to myself. Just so I don’t embarrass you,” she adds with a smirk. “But the gist of it is this. I told her not to worry. Because she’s not alone.”

  I study the darkened skyline. The smiling jack-o’-lantern on the glass tower stares back at me.

  “She may not be alone, Viola, but I am. I felt the power of the Boneless King in his lair. I barely escaped. He’ll send his Netherkin tonight. And tomorrow and the next. He’ll keep at it until I can’t fight them off anymore. And even if I do, eventually he’ll grow strong enough to come himself. For Hetty, and everyone else.” I look down at the wound in my arm. “I don’t think I can destroy him. The Twins couldn’t do it. The Bone Masons and Grotesques that tried before me couldn’t either.”

  “You’re right, Goyle, you can’t destroy him. Not without his Remnant.”

  I turn to her, hopeful. “You know where it is?”

  “Of course not. I just swept floors and nosed around in journals.”

  So much for words of encouragement.

  “But you don’t need to destroy him,” she continues. “You just need to hurt him. Put him back in the ground like they’ve always done before, and buy everyone some time.”

  I shake my head. “I tried to at the Spite House. He was strong. Too strong.”

  “That’s why you need to get him here. Where you’re at your strongest and while he’s still weakened. That’s your best chance.”

  “Bring him here? What if I fail?”

  Viola shifts on the roof, tucking her legs underneath her and pivoting to face me.

  “Goyle, do you know why Hetty and her family moved to this building? Because Samuel insisted that if anything ever happened to him, they needed to come here. Why do you suppose that is?”

  I shrug. Viola leans in closer.

  “Because of you. Samuel knew you guarded this Domain. He knew you could protect them. He believed in you.”

  “I’m just one Grotesque. The Boneless King has an army.”

  “Cut down the Boneless King and his army will scatter like frightened flies.”

  The risk seems enormous, but what choice do I have?

  “How do you suggest I get him here?” I ask. “Time’s on his side…not mine.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Viola says. “He’s arrogant. And he thinks he already has you beat. Goad him. Make him angry.” She gives me a sly smile. “You’re a snarky little bag of rocks when you want to be. Send him a message and get under his skin.”

  “I do have a way with words,” I agree. “But who will deliver the message? For Hetty’s sake, I can’t leave my Domain again.”

  Viola stops and sets her jaw. “I’ll do it. He’s been trying to draw me to him anyway—like all the others. The night in the cemetery and again at the Spite House. I’ve felt it every time we’ve gotten close to him.”

  “He’ll destroy you. Or make you one of them.”

  “How bad could it be?” Viola says with a nervous chuckle. “I’m already dead.”

  She could end up like Onesimus. Trapped in this world, rotting forever. Or worse. I’ve heard the fear in the voices of the other Netherkin when they speak of the Boneless King. I won’t let that happen to her.

  “No, that won’t do,” I say. I pinch my lips between my fingers. “But there is another option.”

  I gag and retch. I feel like one of the cats downstairs trying to cough up a hairball.

  “Are you all right?” Viola asks. “You’re sure about this?”

  I’m standing with my hands on my knees, my mouth agape. I raise a finger to indicate one more try.

  I cough and heave, my stomach contracts, and something soft and sick-tasting finally rides up my throat and past my lips. I deposit it in a slimy mass on the rooftop.

  Viola grimaces and covers her mouth. “Oh, that’s vile. Worse than hot apple filling.”

  I wipe my brow and straighten up. “How do you think I feel?”

  The Black Rabbit squirms on the ground in front of us. But he doesn’t look at all like a rabbit anymore. He’s just a small quivering mass of undigested black fur and ooze. I can barely make out an ear, and the remains of a single red eye.

  “I think there’s something left of him there,” I say. “Good thing my metabolism’s not what it used to be.”

  Viola just shakes her head and looks away.

  “Can you hear me?” I yell at the pile. “If so, wave. Or, I don’t know, blink or something.”

  What’s left of the Black Rabbit gurgles. His red eye trembles.

  “Good. It’s your lucky day, Magician. I’m sending you back to your Boneless King.”

  A thin puddle of slime seeps from the mess like a feeble tentacle.

  “Uh-uh. Not so fast. I’ve got a message for you to deliver.” I crouch back down, my hands on my knees again, and look the Black Rabbit square in his solitary eye.

  “You tell the Spineless Prince that I’m here waiting for him,” I growl. “If he wants my Domain—and my wards—come and get them. But tell th
at wriggly oyster I plan to wash him down with a lemon and a shot of Tabasco.”

  The Black Rabbit bubbles and simmers.

  I pause and think of something more. “And tell him I’m going to use his silly paper crown to wipe my—”

  “Goyle!” Viola interrupts.

  “What, too much?” I ask. I shrug and return my glare to the Black Rabbit. “That’s all, then. Go on.”

  The Black Rabbit spreads out into a pool on the roof, meekly fumbles for the edge, and oozes down the side.

  I wipe my mouth, cross my arms, and give a nod of satisfaction.

  “Well, that should do it,” I say.

  “You’re okay with letting him go?” Viola asks.

  I shrug. “The ugly bunny’s been a hairball in my throat all day,” I say.

  But despite my bluster, I have no idea where the night will lead us. I drop down on the parapet and try to settle my stomach.

  Viola sits with me for a long while. We don’t say much. It just feels good to have a friend by my side.

  The night darkens. Rush-hour traffic ebbs. Finally, I tell her, “It’s time for you to go.”

  “I don’t have to, Goyle. I can stay here with you.”

  “No, Viola. You’ve done enough. Really, move on while you still can.”

  She doesn’t get up.

  “Please, Viola. Even you know you’re helpless against the Boneless King. But you’ve helped me realize that maybe I’m not.”

  Viola reluctantly rises to her feet. This time, when she leaves, she heads for the stairs of my Domain. My chest tightens. She hasn’t even left and already I miss her. There’s something more I need to admit.

  “Viola,” I call after her, then hesitate. I swallow hard. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  When she pauses, the words I’ve been holding back for so long tumble to the surface. “I’m all by myself. I’m…”

  I exhale deeply and pull the last word like a splinter. “Afraid.”

  Viola lingers for a moment. When she walks back to me, her eyes hold my own.

  “It only takes an army of one,” she says softly. “If the one is strong enough.”

  Viola puts her hand on my mauled forearm. I flinch. Not in pain, but in surprise. Her touch of reassurance is a new sensation for me. Then again, maybe it’s not. It’s just been so long, I’ve forgotten how it feels.

  “And you are,” she whispers.

  And with that, Viola disappears.

  It’s almost time. The dark energy is building, clouds ready to burst overhead.

  I slip into the stairwell and punch the glass of a little red fire alarm on the wall. I pull its handle, and my Domain erupts into a chorus of sirens.

  I feel bad sending my wards into the rain, but they’ll be safer outside. This is no false alarm.

  I sit alone on the edge of my roof for what might be the last time. The towering electric jack-o’-lantern grins back at me from across the cityscape. Rain pounds. Streetlights dim. The siren echoes up and down the hallways of my Domain.

  The Boneless King is coming.

  He arrives like a hurricane that’s been building energy at sea, and brings with him a hundred-year storm. Dark clouds, heavy and bruised, descend and fill our asphalt valleys, muting the glow of buildings and traffic lights. Even the electric jack-o’-lantern wavers behind the fog.

  The sky opens, soaking my poor wards huddled on the sidewalk. They take shelter under awnings and eaves as they wait for the fire trucks to arrive. I spot Hetty and see she’s still in her Halloween costume. She wears a workman’s apron, her hair tucked under a wool cap that looks a lot like Viola’s. In her hands are a mallet and chisel. Under her nose, a curly black mustache drawn with eyeliner now runs down her face. I’d bet my tail she’s dressed as her father. Tomás rides in his mother’s arms wearing a yellow slicker and white skipper’s cap—Captain Poopy-Pants. Hetty’s idea, no doubt. I smile, but I have no time for light thoughts.

  I walk to the middle of my roof just as the whole building begins to tremble. An electric charge is spreading from floor to floor. There’s no need to peer over the edge. I know there’s a nightmare crawling up the side.

  I turn my back. I don’t want the Boneless King to see my face. Not yet. Not until I can control the storm swirling inside me. My mind flashes to the Twins. I never saw what he actually did to them, but it grows more and more horrible as my imagination fills in the blanks. I remember all the Netherkin he’s sent to my Domain, especially the vile Shadow Men. My temper rises as I think of their filthy hands on Tomás, and of what they might have done to Hetty. And I replay their visits before, to the ward I let slip away. I try to temper all these thoughts—they leave me reeling as if I might burst. But I can’t tame them.

  I’m just an angry boy, standing here in my hoodie and vest. But tonight, I’m all my wards have got. I clench my fists and turn to face the Boneless King.

  A long arm slaps down over the side of the roof, probing fingers scuttling like spider legs as they search for a grip. The sharp claws find what they seek, leaving deep gouges in my rooftop as the Boneless King pulls himself up and over the edge. When he stands on his wobbly legs, he towers even taller than when I faced him in the Spite House.

  Behind him, on rooftops across the city, I see eager shadows. The vague forms of Netherkin peer from gables and gutters but keep their distance. It seems they’ve gathered for the show.

  If I were some comic book hero I might exchange witty words with the Boneless King, tell him his time is up. But tonight I’m no hero, just a rash terrible child. I charge without warning and hurl myself against him. He staggers on stiltlike legs, but I’m the one who feels like I’ve rushed headlong into a deep-rooted tree.

  The Boneless King catches me under my arms and throws me aside with ease. He’s stronger than I ever imagined, but I quickly regain my feet.

  The Boneless King cocks his head, regarding me curiously as he’s done before. But his head snaps forward violently as I interrupt his thoughts. I’ve caught the end of his long crimson scarf, dangling on the rooftop. With a mighty tug I yank it like a rope and send him tumbling crown over heels across the roof until he smashes hard into the door of the stairwell. His knees buckle and he collapses into a pile of rubbery limbs.

  Now I know I can hurt him.

  I drop the end of the scarf and rush for the cinder block the practice-adults use to prop the door. I take it with both hands and hoist it over my head.

  But before I can bring it down, a vinelike arm whips up, fingers slashing my face. I drop the block and press my hand to a leaking gash on my cheek. As soon as I do it, I realize I’ve made a mistake. I feel a sudden thud and hear a pop. The pain is so excruciating my vision blurs.

  I glance down. The spider fingers of the Boneless King have punched straight through my vest and out the other side. I look back up at his motionless red smile. He too knows I’ve made a fatal error.

  I drop to my knees.

  The pain ebbs when his fingers slither back through the fresh hole, but I feel my wisp form spilling all around me. The Boneless King bends a knee and kicks me with all his might. The impact sends me across the roof until I come to rest on my chest, my cheek pressed against the ground.

  On distant rooftops, Netherkin titter and sway in anticipation.

  I do not know what comes Next for a Grotesque. I don’t know what comes Next for you either. But I’m about to find out. If there’s a way to fill you in, I promise to come back and tell.

  I see the laceless boots of the victor clopping toward me now. He’s readying his final blow. Boneless King, it seems I’ve underestimated you.

  But he halts his march. His head wobbles back like a dog at the end of its leash, and he looks to the ground in agitation.

  “Goyle!” I hear a voice shout.

  I raise my head with the last of my strength. It can’t be.

  Viola! She must have dropped onto my rooftop from the neighboring building. I see she’s pinned the trailing end of
the Boneless King’s long scarf under her boot. She’s calling something. “Use your—”

  The Boneless King turns at the sound of her voice. I want to call back to her. Tell her it’s too late. Plead for her to run.

  But the Boneless King is quicker than both our voices. One of his arms slashes like a twisted tentacle, and the black widow claws strike Viola. Her eyes go wide and her words die in her throat as the impact knocks her against the neighboring wall in an explosion of gray smoke.

  I scream in anger and roll, tangling myself in the Boneless King’s spindly legs. The impact buckles him and he falls to the ground. Somehow I mount him and batter his head weakly with my fists. But I feel his other arm wrap around my body, and he easily throws me to the edge of the roof.

  I’m on my back. I can no longer feel my arms or legs. I look, and I see the gashes and holes in my wisp body, my energy leaking into deep puddles. Sirens wail. The sky around me flashes red. The fire trucks below light up the street.

  Unbelievably, I hear a voice again. Frail. Broken. Barely a whisper, but still there.

  “Goyle,” Viola says, crawling on her hands and knees. I’m relieved to see her, but she’s in as bad shape as I am. Her hat’s gone, pigtails loose over her face. Her pea coat is charred black and still smoldering.

  She’s able to raise a finger and force two more words.

  “Monster up.”

  I look where she’s pointing.

  My shell is right above me.

  It’s the means of last resort. If I take it, the clock starts running—I won’t have much time. And I’ll only get one chance. If I fail in my stone form I’ll be rendered helpless, leaving Hetty and everyone else at the mercy of the Boneless King. But what option do I have left?

  With the last bit of my wisp energy, I flash into my stone body.

  The Boneless King has unwrapped his scarf and tossed it angrily on the ground. His head bobs on a scarred and sickly pencil of a neck as he searches for me. Then he turns to the parapet and sees for himself.

  Already, I feel my armor strengthening me. The wounds of my wisp form fill as hard as rock. My mind surges with renewed energy and dark visions. What the Boneless King has done to the Twins. To Hetty and Tomás. And now to Viola. Everyone I hold dear. The anger pulses. But this time, I realize it doesn’t help me. Anger can only hurt.