But it didn’t help the friends feel much better. If the gargoyles weren’t with the evil old man, and not in the park, then where could they be?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lost Again
Gargoth woke and blinked. He was lying face up in the snow. His body felt like ice, and he ached all over. He stood and tried his wings.
Not broken. But useless. His left wing was in tatters. A sharp stick poked up through the snow and was lodged in the thin, leathery skin.
He winced and gently removed the stick, trying his wings again. Shredded, his left wing hung painfully. He wasn’t going anywhere, not in the air, anyway.
It was night time. He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. He needed to find out where he was but he couldn’t remember anything.
What had happened? Where was Ambergine?
He gingerly climbed into a tree, trying not to bang his damaged wing.
He looked out over a cemetery, a very old one. It was small and quiet, but he could see a road with cars not far off. There were bank towers behind that, so he was still in the city. That was good. He scanned the skyline, but he couldn’t see the CN Tower. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was.
A horse whinnied nearby. He could smell animals, too. Farm animals. In the city? How could that be? He would look around in the daylight, but he was too tired and dazed to do it now.
He struggled to a crook in the tree and propped himself there.
He was lost, hurt, and alone.
Even the hot tears coursing down his fat, leathery cheeks couldn’t warm him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Come Out, Come Out
It was a few weeks before the holidays, and Cassandra’s store was packed with shoppers. Katherine and Christopher spent the rest of that day looking for the gargoyles, alone.
They went through the dog park ravine, calling and looking up into the trees. They had to be careful; they didn’t want to attract any attention. It was a little odd calling up into trees in a Toronto park. One concerned dog owner asked if they’d lost a parakeet or some other precious pet bird?
“No, no!” said Katherine. “We’re looking for our …” She drew a complete blank and couldn’t think of a single thing to say except “gargoyle.” The truth just wasn’t an option.
Christopher broke in, “We’re looking for our cat. She ran off this morning in this direction.”
The owner was a little surprised that any cat owner would go searching for her lost pet with a huge dog like Marbles in tow, but eventually they convinced him that Marbles loved cats.
They tried to be more careful then and called up into the trees quietly, one at a time. After a while they gave up at the park and walked through the neighbourhood, all along the tree-lined streets, quietly calling up into the trees and rooftops.
“I see Gargoth! I see him!” Christopher yelled as he pointed up into a huge Chinese elm tree.
But alas, “Gargoth” turned out to be a very large, grouchy raccoon, woken from its sleep in the crook of a branch. It hissed at Christopher then ambled away to a higher and more private part of the colossal tree.
“I can’t believe how many trees there are in Toronto!” Christopher started to complain. It was getting dark, and both he and Katherine were tired. It was time to return home.
“They will be getting hungry. I wonder if there are any apple orchards nearby?” Katherine said. Christopher shrugged. He really didn’t know enough about Toronto to say.
“I’ll check the Internet when I get home tonight,” Katherine said with a giant yawn. “Toronto must have some orchards somewhere, right? It used to be all farms, not that long ago.”
They went back to Cassandra’s store, which was just closing for the evening. Their faces told her everything she needed to know: no luck.
Cassandra tried to sound hopeful. “We’ll keep looking. We’ll find them. I’ll put the candles out on the rooftop tonight,” she said. “At least we can light their way home if they’re searching for us.”
Christopher went home immediately, promising to return early the next day. Katherine waited for her dad to come and pick her up from the store. She couldn’t wait until he got there though: it was a sad and empty place without Gargoth and Ambergine in it.
When they had gone, Cassandra lugged a huge box to the rooftop. It was her box of leftover candles from years of sales, and it was filled with smiling Halloween pumpkin candles, Christmas tree candles, pirate skull candles, CN Tower candles, and every possible candle you can imagine. She carefully arranged 148 of the mismatched candles in a giant circle, with two diamonds, one on top of the other, inside it. It looked like this:
If the gargoyles were flying above the city, lost and searching, they would see Cassandra’s beacon of candles. It was their stonemason’s mark calling them home, and had one candle for every year they were parted from each other.
When morning came, kind Cassandra was asleep under a blanket on the roof, with Halloween pumpkins and Christmas trees and skulls and CN Tower candles burnt out, all around her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Snake at the Tree
The next day was snowy and cold. Cassandra’s store was filled with holiday shoppers looking for the perfect gift (a set of healing chime balls or a skull bandana perhaps), so she was too busy to help search for the lost friends. Katherine and Christopher would again have to look for the gargoyles on their own. They decided to split up to cover more ground.
Katherine found a few parks with apple trees in them because they had once been farms, many years before the city grew up around them. She and her mother were going to look there, in her part of town.
Christopher decided to continue the search around his neighbourhood, up and down more tree-lined streets.
He put on a heavy coat and boots and his favourite red wool cap and headed out into the snow. Before he started his search he wanted to take one more careful look at the park. It was hard to go back in there without his friends, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something, some important clue. He stood by the gates until the sidewalk was clear of people for a moment, then he pushed open the little hidden door and slipped through. The park was quiet, except for the bubbling of the fountain. He walked through the thick snow and looked around.
The falling snow was making white peaks on the bushes and the fallen apple tree. The benches were covered with snow, and the broken stone gargoyles were slowly being covered by a soft white blanket. It seemed that no one had the heart to clean them up.
Christopher’s stomach lurched violently as he looked at the broken statues. He turned away. He couldn’t bear to see them smashed in the snow.
He walked around, not exactly sure what he was looking for. He poked his head into the bushes and around the back of the park fence, but didn’t find anything to tell him where his lost gargoyle friends might be. He was about to give up and leave …
… when a voice spoke from the tree.
“They’re gone.” It was a man’s voice.
Christopher stood stock still. His eyes took in the tree, but there was nothing to see.
“Who’s there?” he called.
“Don’t you want to see your friends again?” the voice said. “I know where they are.”
It was a silky smooth voice that sounded like venom and lies.
Christopher watched in horror as a figure slowly rose from the snow next to the stump of the apple tree. It was an old man with thick glasses, a white straw hat, and a heavy brown coat, and he’d been sitting in the snow, waiting. Christopher had seen him before but wasn’t expecting to see him again so soon.
It was the Collector.
Christopher looked around, but there was no one to help him. No Marbles, no Cassandra, no Katherine. He looked at his house next door with cheerful lights on, some of his family inside, but they wouldn’t hear him call. His heart started pounding painfully, but there was something else too: a sudden flicker of anger.
&nb
sp; “Where are they then?” Christopher shouted. “I don’t believe you. You don’t know where the gargoyles are, or you wouldn’t be here looking for them!”
The Collector gave a greasy smile. His glasses were so thick that Christopher couldn’t see his eyes, which was a bit of a distraction.
“Oh, I’m not looking for them. I’m here looking for you, Christopher Canning.”
Christopher gulped.
What could the Collector want with him?
“Why me? Why are you looking for me? How do you know my name?” Christopher hadn’t moved, but he was eyeing the park fence nearby. He was wondering how quickly he could run there and jump over it.
“You live right next door. It’s not hard to find out your name, Christopher. And the other two, that Daye person and the Katherine girl, they won’t talk to me or let me in that awful store. Most unreasonable, really.” The Collector flicked a snowflake from the shoulder of his brown wool jacket and flashed his toothy smile at Christopher. His fingernails were long and yellow, with a kind of animal look to them, like someone who wasn’t in the habit of showing them to people very often.
“But you seem like a sensible boy. Someone who might be persuaded to listen to reason.” The old man’s voice was like oily soup — it made Christopher want to gag.
“What do you want then? Hurry up!” Christopher tried to sound calm, but he was yelling. The Collector sidled closer to him, looking casual and unhurried.
“You’re right. I don’t know where BOTH of the gargoyles are. I do know where ONE of them is, though. I assure you she is safe and sound. So you’ll believe me, here’s a picture.”
The old man tossed an envelope into the snow at Christopher’s feet. The boy picked it up and shakily drew out the photo. It was a picture of Ambergine, and she was holding onto the bars of a cage, looking angrily at the camera.
“You … you have Ambergine locked in a CAGE?” Christopher said. He felt his skin crawling with anger. Before he knew what he was doing he ran at the Collector, but the old man stepped aside. He was surprisingly nimble. Christopher tripped and sprawled into the snow. He was so angry, tears were streaking down his face.
The old man’s voice grew cold and menacing. He leaned over Christopher in the snow and snarled in his ear, “Yes, I have her in a nice cage, where she is safe and sound. But she’s not what I want. What I really want is the other one, Gargoth. He is mine, my father paid for him, and I want him back. He’s my property, and your thieving friends stole him from me. I’m prepared to make a switch. The female gargoyle can have her freedom, but I want Gargoth in exchange.”
Christopher picked himself up from the snow and stared at the old man in disbelief.
The Collector smiled again, which made Christopher recoil, and continued in his slimy voice. “All you have to do is find him and bring him to me, and the other one can go free.”
“You’re crazy!” Christopher shouted. “You’re the thief! And I would never give Gargoth to you! We’ll find Ambergine and save her from you ourselves.”
The Collector cracked his awful smile again and moved toward the park gates. “Oh, I think you’ll do as I say. You’ll find Gargoth and bring him here and hand him over to me, or the girl gargoyle will live in the cage forever, and you wouldn’t want that now, would you?”
Christopher was filled with revulsion as the old man opened the hidden doorway. He continued in his cold voice. “Leave a lit candle in the park when you find him, as a signal. Oh, and if I find out you’ve told your friends that I have the girl gargoyle, she dies.”
Christopher’s knees felt weak.
Dies?
Katherine told him that the horrible old man would stop at nothing to get Gargoth back, but would he actually kill Ambergine? He watched the evil man stoop through the hidden doorway and disappear along the sidewalk, vanishing among the throng of holiday shoppers. Christopher stood a long time in the snow, tears slowly freezing to his face.
How could anyone be so cruel?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Still Lost
Gargoth woke with a start. He distinctly heard a horse neigh and children laugh somewhere nearby. The sun was overhead, shining right into his eyes. He shook and tried to stretch in the tree, but his torn wing hurt too much for him to move.
What had happened? How did he get there? Where was Ambergine?
He tried to remember, but it was foggy. He slowly lit his pipe and tried to think …
… he and Ambergine were in the park. Christopher had been playing his guitar, and they had danced in the snow. The boy waved good night, then …
… then … then there was a loud smash! Someone had thrown something heavy at the base of the tree! Then again, something heavy smashed into the tree.
He and Ambergine were startled awake, frightened … and … and …
… the tree fell!
Gargoth sat up very straight. Everything about that terrible night suddenly came back to him. He had fallen asleep! It was his turn to keep watch while Ambergine slept, but he had dozed off.
He fell asleep next to Ambergine, and the Collector found a quiet way into the park. He must have used the hidden doorway. Then two heavy hands had grabbed Ambergine from the tree before either of them knew what was happening!
Gargoth groaned with agony and shame and dropped his heavy head into his claws.
He remembered now.
The Collector had grabbed Ambergine and locked her in a cage. The last time Gargoth had seen that cage, it was dangling from a pole along with the Collector, from the roof of his creepy mansion. Gargoth shuddered and willed himself not to think about that terrible place.
He had to concentrate.
What had happened to Ambergine?
Gargoth had thrown apples at the old man, then snow apples. He attacked the Collector again and again and again with whatever he could find, but the Collector ran off laughing, with the cage and Ambergine locked inside. They vanished into a waiting taxi which zoomed away with Ambergine screaming and screaming from her cage: “Fly, Gargoth, fly!”
And he did fly, as fast as he could, as far as he could. He followed the taxi as it sped away. He flew his fastest, but it wasn’t fast enough, and the taxi and Ambergine vanished in the distance. He didn’t stop flying until he must have collapsed from exhaustion, and fell from the skies into the snow. Which brought him right here.
Wherever this was.
Gargoth shook himself then huddled deeper into the notch of the tree. He would never be warm or whole, ever again. He had fallen asleep and failed Ambergine.
It was his fault that she was gone, and he really didn’t care if he lived or died.
Chapter Twenty-Six
C.C. Tells the Truth
Claire Canning was studying at her desk. She had a chemistry test the next day, and although chemistry wasn’t particularly hard for her, she found it dull studying so much. She kept peering out her bedroom window onto the street a bit too often.
That is how she saw her little brother in his red wool cap emerge from the park next door. She had been noticing him spending quite a lot of time in the park, day and night, which was odd, since as far as she could tell there really wasn’t anything of interest for a twelve-year-old boy in there. As he emerged through the gate, his hands were dug deep into his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched in a way that suggested tears and upset. She watched him cross the street and stand in front of the old store, Candles by Daye, hesitating. He seemed so unsure and small and vulnerable that Claire put down her pencil. Chemistry could wait.
Christopher needed a friend. He pushed open Cassandra’s shop door and breathed in the familiar scent of cinnamon and incense. The store was surprisingly full of holiday shoppers. There was a line-up at the cash register with people eager to buy Buddha statues and hanging bead curtains, and Cassandra was very busy tending to everyone.
She was saying, “Dragon candlesticks? Over by the far window,” to a lady with two small children, as she was wrap
ping a box of Christmas tree candles for a middle-aged man. A pair of teenagers stood by a display of bandanas and skeleton necklaces, laughing.
Christopher felt overwhelmed. The store was usually a nice quiet place, a haven, and he was upset that it was so busy, especially after what had just happened in the park. Cassandra looked up and smiled at him, but she was too busy to talk.
He felt terrible. What was he going to do? The Collector had Ambergine somewhere in the city, and he couldn’t tell his friends about it.
He dug his hands into his pockets. He had so longed for a secret, and here was one he really didn’t want. The worst kind of secret, one where someone could get hurt or worse. It wasn’t fair. He suddenly felt much too young to be involved. All he had wanted was a friend, and here he was weighed down by an awful secret.
He wandered to a quieter part of the store by the self-help books and picked up a discounted pumpkin candle left over from Halloween. His eyes filled with tears …
… when the store door opened, the little bell tinkled, and in walked Claire. She saw him, smiled, and walked over to him, only to find her little brother awash in tears.
“Christopher, what is it? Are you hurt?” She was suddenly worried.
But he shook his head and darted a look at Cassandra at the cash register. “No, we should go, though.” He turned and fled from the store.
Claire followed. Christopher started to run down the sidewalk, but Claire caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Christopher! C.C.! Stop! You have to tell me. What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He looked at his sister and felt a tiny glimmer of hope.
The Collector had said he couldn’t tell his friends about Ambergine … but Claire was his sister. The Collector hadn’t said anything about her. He dried his eyes with his mitten and looked over at the park.
The Gargoyle at the Gates Page 7
