The Gargoyle Overhead Read Online Free PDF Page A

columns of steam rise from where they fell.
    Philip clenched and unclenched his fists, under-standing now that he was in no immediate danger. He cleared his throat. “What is that language you speak? It is strange and whispery and not my tongue, I think, and yet I understand you.”
    The creature shrugged. “Vox a voxi. Toth audi. Horsa?” it said. Philip heard it say, “I speak as I speak. You hear as you hear. What does it matter?”
    They looked at each other, silent. Philip realized he would have to be content with that answer, such as it was.
    “Well, where did you learn to throw apples like that?” he asked. It was all he could think of. He wasn’t sure what else to say. What do you say to a bizarre creature like this, anyway? Philip wasn’t even entirely sure what the creature was. He didn’t want to appear foolish—perhaps this was a new kind of farm animal recently imported to England? One he’d never heard of, an odd one to be sure. A creature crossed between a small dog and a large bird? Perhaps in the New World, animals spoke like this one? Whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t going to hurt him, not at the moment anyway.
    The creature looked up at him, then used a claw (it looked very sharp) to wipe away the tears coursing down its cheeks.
    “Belo grathen memimi,” it said miserably, but Philip heard it say, “I practice a lot.”
    Philip considered this. “Did you break the ancient stone lion in the churchyard?” he asked gruffly. Now that he was no longer so afraid, he felt he could ask a pointed question.
    He was surprised by the angry answer from the creature (but I’m just going to translate it here, or we’ll be here all day): “Yes! I broke it! It has tormented me for too long! I hate it!” With this the creature snapped and growled and turned to look at the broken lion statue across the small river. “It deserved to be broken!” As if to make the point again, the creature picked up a stone at its feet and threw it at the lion. It glanced off the lion’s tail, falling harmlessly into the grass.
    Philip took a step back, wary of the creature’s sudden burst of anger. It seemed quite capable of hurting him now; its teeth and claws were very sharp, regardless of its small size.
    “Why?” Philip demanded, angry himself now. “Stupid creature! You know that the villagers are going to think that I did it. My father already thinks that I wasted an entire basket of apples in target practice last week when it was really you…” He stopped. “Why have you been throwing apples at me, anyway?”
    The creature sighed. It stayed silent as it stuck a claw into a pouch at its side and pulled out a briarwood pipe and some cured tobacco. With a tinder-pistol (a very old kind of lighter), it struck a spark onto the pipe and lit it. Strong smoke curled up about its head and caught in Philip’s nose. He sneezed.
    “Well?” Philip said, squinting as his eyes watered, determined to get an answer. “Why?”
    The little pipe-smoker leaned against a tree and blew smoke rings up about its head, eyeing the boy. Philip had never seen anyone (or anything) smoke before, although his father had told him about the new phenomenon. His father had seen a merchant smoking in a nearby village when delivering a carthorse for auction. The wealthy nobles and the people from the great town of London were known to particularly like the curious native plant from across the ocean. But no one in his little village smoked, at least none he knew of. Now that he was so close to it for the first time, he decided it was a strange custom. It smelled awful and burned his eyes and nose. And it made him cough.
    The creature spoke again. “Why did I throw apples at you? Because I wanted you to know I was here. And the river stones would have hurt you—see what they did to the lion.”
    Philip, who was suddenly very thankful that he hadn’t been collecting river stones in the basket the week before, wanted to ask many