The Gargoyle at the Gates

by Philippa Dowding

  Christopher couldn’t believe his eyes. A moment before he’d thought it was just him, Claire, Katherine, and the gargoyle in the park, and Cassandra across the street, waiting to stand up to the old man. But now there were seven other people there, including his giant, eager dog.

  And a police officer was about to join them at any second. There was a perfect quiet moment before anything else happened, when even Marbles was still, and in that moment Katherine drew herself up close to the Collector and whispered in his face. “Gargoth doesn’t belong to you, he never did and he never will. We saved him from you, for good.”

  Cassandra ran up, leaving Stern at the gates to talk with Katherine’s parents. She managed to wheeze out, “We know you’ve got Ambergine, and we’ll save her, too.”

  The Collector laughed a cruel, mean streak of a laugh. “You may think so, but you won’t find her, I promise. It’s too late for that!”

  Then the police officer joined them in the spotlight.

  Christopher looked up at his sister in the window. Claire must have got everyone to help without telling him so as not to worry him. She must have told Cassandra about the Collector and Ambergine, and together they made this foolproof plan to get everyone involved to help catch him.

  Claire Canning wasn’t one for keeping secrets, at least not the bad kind that let rotten people get away with things they shouldn’t. He wanted to hug his sister at that moment, but instead he picked up the little gargoyle, who was silent and stiff as a statue in his arms.

  “Let’s go, Gargoth,” Christopher whispered, and they quietly disappeared through the growing throng of people, back into the safety of Christopher’s house and his bedroom turret. In the confusion no one saw them leave, and if anyone had heard Gargoth speak to his tormentor, well, unless they spoke his language, all they heard was the sound of the wind rustling in the winter leaves.

  The park was a busy place all night. The police officer arrested the sullen Collector on the spot, right there in the snow, accompanied by much cheering from Christopher’s brothers. The officer talked to Cassandra and Stern and was very interested to learn that the man being arrested was a visitor.

  “We don’t appreciate people cutting down city park trees,” the officer told Cassandra. “And breaking statues, well that’s just wrong. The judge will have lots of questions for him at the courthouse,” he said as he led the old man away.

  The last anyone saw of the Collector, he was head down in handcuffs, being led to a police car, dodging snowballs and an excited barking dog. There was a large crowd gathering from the neighbourhood, so anyone who cared to ask could know the truth: the park vandal had been caught, and he wasn’t coming back.

  A little gargoyle sat cradling his torn wing in a turret window high above the park, watching the goings-on down below all night long. The Collector was gone, Ambergine was lost, and somehow along the way, Gargoth of Tallus had found true friends.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The Right Tool

  James stood before the metal cage in his bedroom. It was a brutal thing, very old, with thick iron bars and a heavy padlock on the barred door. It had taken him some time to chip it out of the icy snow at the base of the tree and drag it back to his house as carefully as he could.

  He had wrapped a blanket around the back of the cage and taken the space heater from his father’s workshop in the garage, warming the room so it was almost too hot.

  He couldn’t imagine how to get the lock off the cage. He’d tried everything, including pouring wax into it to try to make an imprint of a key. He’d picked at it and fiddled with it for hours, but it just wouldn’t open.

  The only thing he hadn’t done was take a hammer to it, but he didn’t want to do that with the little creature inside.

  And what a poor creature it was. After a few hours in his room, he still wasn’t able to tell if the gargoyle was alive or dead. He wished his grandfather was there; he would know what to do. He had called the old man in England as soon as he could, but there was no answer. He was still in Spain, on his winter holiday, and James had no way to contact him. He wished his grandfather would get over his distrust of computers. A quick email would mean everything right now.

  The gargoyle was deathly still. Since he had dug its cage out of the snow, it hadn’t moved or spoken. It was icy cold to the touch, and its wings were frozen solid, like stone.

  What was it doing in Toronto? What was it doing in a cage in the snow? What if it hadn’t seen Theodorus’s statue fall from his window and called out for help?

  James had a lot of questions, but he had to put them aside as he focused on the task before him.

  He had picked all the tiny apples from the golden tree, and they were resting in a basket at the side of the cage. He’d had an odd moment as he collected the fruit. After he’d picked the last sweet apple from its branches, the little tree had toppled over into the snow, turned black and shrivelled up, dead. He stared at it, hoping with all his heart that it wasn’t the bad omen it seemed.

  He warmed a jug of water, in case the creature should wake and want a drink. He wished he’d asked his grandfather a lot more questions about gargoyles all summer long.

  He had done everything he could think of to make the gargoyle comfortable.

  Except free it from the cage.

  James sighed and turned back to the problem of the padlock. Whether the gargoyle lived or died, he was going to get it out of the cage. He bent his head patiently to the task, picking again and again at the rusty lock.

  He would remain at his task all night if need be.

  At midnight a gentle knock came at his door, and his father peered into the room. James jumped and tried to cover the cage, but his father had already seen what lay within.

  His father took a few steps into the room and James started rambling, terribly close to tears.

  “It’s a gargoyle. I found it in the snow in a yard way down the street. I need to get it out of this cage, but I don’t know how.…”

  His father rolled up his sleeves and looked thoughtfully into the cage for a few moments. He didn’t seem overly surprised by what he saw. He scratched his head then said, “A gargoyle statue, huh? Does it mean that much to you? Okay. Didn’t your grandfather give you a bag of stonemason’s tools? The chisel and saws might work. They cut stone, don’t they?”

  James looked at his father in surprise. “And metal?” he whispered.

  His father nodded and scratched his head again. “Maybe. If we do it together, we might be able to pry one of these old bars out of the base. That one’s pretty rusty. But why do you care so much about an old gargoyle statue?”

  James ignored him and flew into the basement, digging frantically through piles of laundry, old boots, and magazines, to the back of the storeroom where he’d carelessly tossed his grandfather’s stone-cutting tools.

  The golden letters and symbols glinted as James’s hand found the ancient leather bag in the dark.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The Park Rises

  The winter holiday ended. Katherine and Christopher went back to school, inseparable, sitting together in every class and spending most evenings together at Candles by Daye, doing their homework.

  But each day before nightfall, they toured the city for any sign of Ambergine. They covered park after park, they went through backyards and school playgrounds, they looked high and low for their lost friend.

  Christopher didn’t have to keep his secret anymore. It was such a relief when he told Katherine that the Collector had stolen Ambergine. Katherine didn’t stay too mad for too long. She understood how much it had cost Christopher to keep the secret from her.

  The Collector was gone. No one knew where he had lived when he sat watching from the library rooftop all those long months. Stern had done some snooping, but no one could find the old man’s last known address.

  Where could Ambergine be? The friends were not going to give up on her, but it was hard to keep looking without any
clues.

  Gargoth lived quietly in Christopher’s or Claire’s room, or at Candles by Daye. He spoke little and ate less, although he did sometimes curl up on Katherine’s knee, or Claire’s. He still had her flowery scarf, which was now barely more than a tattered rag, just like his wing.

  As winter turned to spring there was some amazing news, though. Stern and Cassandra had managed to do some magic of their own.

  One afternoon Christopher and Katherine were doing homework together in his room. He was looking out his bedroom window into the little park (which he now did very rarely) and was surprised to see city workers there. He sat on the window seat and watched with interest.

  It was a slushy March day, and warming air blew over the old snow tops and ice burrows of the park. City workers in bright vests were cleaning out the fountain and two more were unwrapping a new park bench. Now there were three benches in a nice circle around the fountain.

  “That’ll make the pigeon lady happy,” Christopher said out loud.

  “What will?” Katherine asked, joining him at the window.

  Another worker used a hand truck to position a heavy-looking box. They watched with interest as he wrestled the box into place then tore it open to reveal a new stone chess table.

  “Those two chess-playing men will like that, too,” Christopher said.

  One worker stood off by himself, pounding a metal stake into the ground. It had a sign on it. Christopher and Katherine decided they had to see what was going on and went downstairs, grabbing Marbles on the way. As they approached the park, they saw Cassandra and Stern standing at the park gates.

  Cassandra waved. “It’s amazing! Come quick!”

  They ran over and Katherine read the signpost out loud:

  Gatepost Park, Established 1904. This Toronto Heritage Park first opened to the public in 1904, the year of the Great Toronto Fire. Its fence and fountain harboured many of the exhausted horses used to pull ladder-and-pump wagons during that terrible night. As a heritage site, its gates will remain open, inviting the people of Toronto to enjoy its peaceful space, always.

  “Stern did it, well, most of it,” Cassandra said. The adults looked happily at each other. “And he’s writing an article about it in The East End Crier. It’s official, the park stays. And look.” Cassandra pointed at the gateposts, where two new gargoyle statues perched looking out over the street. They were made of stone and had wise and solemn faces.

  “So there will always be gargoyles here,” she whispered, gently squeezing Christopher’s shoulder. They weren’t Gargoth and Ambergine, but Christopher understood. It was an homage to his friends, even though one seemed lost forever.

  From that day on, the park was well used. Neighbours came and sat on the benches feeding pigeons or playing chess. Families sat around the fountain enjoying the warmer spring weather, and children played in the space where the apple tree once stood. Shop clerks and store owners unwrapped their lunches and drank their tea on the benches. The park became a busy space that everyone in the neighbourhood loved.

  Christopher found he didn’t really want to go into the park, though.

  Then one day a warmer wind blew and spring arrived for good. The tops of the frozen snow banks melted, and almost overnight the city gave itself to light and sun.

  That was the day the teenage boy with the dark, curly hair visited the park again, the boy Christopher had noticed sitting on the snowy benches so often after the park was first vandalized.

  And this time he wasn’t alone.

  The boy had an old man with him. The man was wearing a bizarre bright green cloak and a huge, floppy matching green hat, and carried a large leather bag.

  Christopher watched them closely from his window.

  There was something about the old man and the teenager that made Christopher watch with interest (apart from the old man’s odd clothes). Unlike most visitors to the park, they didn’t unwrap any food, or pull out chess pieces, or try to feed the foul pigeons.

  Instead, the old man pulled out a magnifying glass and began carefully looking in the muddy grass along the fence.

  What could he possibly be looking for?

  The teenage boy did a most unusual thing as well. He looked around to see if anyone was watching (although he didn’t notice Christopher in the turret window high above him), then he pulled a small figure out of his shirt pocket and rubbed its head. He brought the figure to his lips, then put it back in his pocket.

  Next he opened the large leather bag at his feet, took out a statue, and placed it beside him on the bench.

  Except it wasn’t a statue.

  It was a gargoyle! And she looked awfully familiar!

  The little creature slowly shuffled on the bench, tired and weak, wings hanging in tatters.

  Christopher choked. He started coughing his head off and pointing. He couldn’t speak. He tried to call out, but all he could do was squeak.

  He ran down the stairs and burst into Claire’s room. She wasn’t there. He dove onto his knees and looked under her bed, but Gargoth wasn’t there either, which was odd. The gargoyle never left his spot under her bed unless it was to visit Christopher in his turret or Cassandra in Candles by Daye.

  Christopher flew downstairs and out the front door. He whipped into the park and screeched to a halt, chest heaving.

  The park was empty.

  He ran around the entire park, his head whipping from side to side, but the old man, the teenager and the gargoyle had vanished.

  Where? Where could they have gone?

  A bell tinkled across the street, and he caught the corner of a bright green cape as the door to Candles by Daye closed behind it. He waited forever to get safely through traffic and across the street to Cassandra’s store …

  … where he opened the door to a most amazing scene.

  The old man in the green cloak and floppy green hat was standing beside Cassandra, who had her arm around Katherine’s shoulders, who was standing beside Claire, who stood beside the boy with dark, curly hair. The boy fiddled with a small statue in his hand: it was a little gargoyle, and it looked a lot like Gargoth.

  The old man was introducing himself, his bright green hat wobbling as he talked excitedly and pumped Cassandra’s hand.

  “When she knew where she was, the gargoyle kept pointing at your store! I’m Gregory, by the way, and this is my grandson James.”

  Everyone had animated, silent faces, as though important things were happening in slow motion.

  “My name is Tallus. I’m Gregory Tallus.…”

  Tallus? TALLUS? The named screamed inside Christopher’s head, but no one was really listening to the old man.

  Instead they were all looking at the countertop, where two tattered gargoyles stood face to face (one with his wing in the rags of a flowered scarf), tears plopping and hissing at their feet.

  Christopher’s eyes fell upon the old leather bag beside the gargoyles. It had the initials “G.T.” in gold lettering: Gregory Tallus. Then Christopher’s eyes rested on a golden symbol stamped into the leather beside the letters.

  It was an odd symbol that Christopher knew well and set his heart thumping.

  It was a stonemason’s mark, a circle with two diamonds inside:

  Chapter Forty

  The Almost Very End of the Story

  A few days after their meeting in Candles by Daye, Gregory Tallus and his grandson James gathered everyone in the park. It was a beautiful spring day, sunny and warm without being too hot. No one else was in the park, so everyone sat on the park benches around the bubbling fountain. The bushes were starting to turn green and leafy again, so the little crowd was out of sight of the street.

  Cassandra and Stern sat happily on one bench together (it slowly dawned on Christopher that perhaps Cassandra and Stern were meant for each other). Christopher, Katherine, and her parents sat on another bench, and Claire and James (who had discovered that they were in the same high school chemistry class) sat together on the third. The garg
oyles were there too, resting in the huge leather bag that Gregory Tallus carried with him.

  Gregory had switched his cape to bright purple today, but he kept the green, floppy hat. Katherine found him astonishing and couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  After saying hello to everyone, he took a long sip of mint tea from a thermos he carried with him under his cloak. He cleared his throat (which Christopher thought sounded very theatrical) and began. “My friends. It is remarkable, astonishing, that we are here today, in the presence of these two wondrous creatures. Two gargoyles we only supposed might exist.…”

  “We?” a chorus of voices asked. Everyone on the benches had a lot of questions … and Gregory had promised he would answer them all, but he hadn’t told them much until now.

  “Yes, we, the Tallus family. I’m the last Tallus by name … James has his father’s last name. Our ancestor was the French stonemason Tallus, who was a gifted sculptor and created many gargoyles in his lifetime. Here is his symbol: the circle with two diamonds inside, one on top of the other. As you know, his gargoyles carry his mark.” Gregory pointed at the golden symbol on his leather bag.

  “Tallus died in England over four hundred years ago, but his family has always known about his gargoyles, and we have searched for them for hundreds of years. Gargoth, Ambergine, and the others in England.…”

  “OTHERS?” Katherine’s mother and Cassandra said together, rather loudly.

  James broke in then. “My grandfather is trying to say that Gargoth and Ambergine aren’t alone. There are more gargoyles like them in the world, three more, in fact.”

  The friends sitting around the benches all looked at each other.

  More gargoyles? Like Gargoth and Ambergine?

  James went on. “My grandfather has known the other gargoyles and cared for them all his life. I met them this summer, and one of them, Theodorus, made me this statue.”