questions. He wanted to know exactly what the creature was, and how it had come to be in the churchyard. Why did it hate the stone lion?
And most of all, why did it want Philip to know it was there? As far as Philip was concerned, he would have been just as happy if he’d remained ignorant of that fact.
Just as he was going to ask one of the many questions on the tip of his tongue, a voice rang out from the church gate.
“Philip? Philip? Where are you?” It was his father. Philip suddenly realized that it was quite dark. The sun had gone down completely. In his conversation with the creature, he hadn’t noticed.
“I have to go!” Philip said urgently.
But the creature was already filling Philip’s forgotten sack with apples from the surrounding trees. “Here, take these, and the basket. Be quick,” it said. Then it vanished into the apple orchard, right before Philip’s eyes.
But not before Philip heard the whispery voice say, “My name is Gargoth of Tallus. Come again soon, and I will answer all your questions.”
Chapter Eleven
More From the Rooftop
The candles were burning low. Katherine was telling Cassandra everything that Gargoth had told her. Gargoth stood up for a while and walked through the candles, checking that they were all still lit. He took a drink of lemonade and ate a few apples. He was forbidden to throw the apple cores off the roof (there were people walking by on the street down below), but he did do a little target practice with the ladder on the chimney. He was still an excellent shot.
When he had rested from his storytelling and Kath-erine had translated the story for Cassandra, he took up his spot on the cushion, lit his pipe once again, and continued.
“Philip and I became great friends. After the shock of our first meeting, he returned to the churchyard as often as he could. We met in the autumn of 1664, and all through that winter, he came to talk to me again and again. I had never had a friend, so there was much for him to teach me. He didn’t, for instance, like being pelted with apple cores. Nor did he like it when I stuck my tongue out at him, or threw river stones better than he did in target practice. He did, however, like to tell me about his world outside the churchyard, and about his father, mother and sister.
“Soon, though, he began to tell me stories of a different kind. There was a great plague crossing the country. In the towns and villages people were dying, sometimes leaving entire villages empty, but for a lucky few. In the city of London, hundreds of people were dying each day. Philip came to the churchyard one day to tell me that the plague was in his village, and he didn’t know when he would see me again. Many weeks, then months went by, and I was alone.
“One summer night, I heard the churchyard gate creak open, and someone calling me. Philip had come. But disaster had come too: while he was away with the sheep in the fields, many villagers had died of plague, including his father, mother and sister. He was an orphan, all alone in the world. I was his only friend.
“He sat mute by the river of the churchyard for many weeks, alone except for me. I tried to encourage him with stories and antics and target practice, and eventually, he did rise from the riverbank and speak once more. Philip’s father had told him of an uncle who lived in a small village in France. Philip was going to France, and I was going with him.
“One autumn day, we left the only home either of us had ever known. Before we left, I tried my best to fix the stone lion, but it was no use. His broken ear lies in the long grass at his feet even now, no doubt.” Gargoth grew thoughtful.
“How did you get to France?” Katherine asked, forgetting about the not-interrupting-or-this-was-going-to-take-forever rule.
Gargoth frowned. “First by horse and cart, then by boat, then on foot. It was a long and difficult journey.” He drew his wings tightly about him. “And I didn’t
And most of all, why did it want Philip to know it was there? As far as Philip was concerned, he would have been just as happy if he’d remained ignorant of that fact.
Just as he was going to ask one of the many questions on the tip of his tongue, a voice rang out from the church gate.
“Philip? Philip? Where are you?” It was his father. Philip suddenly realized that it was quite dark. The sun had gone down completely. In his conversation with the creature, he hadn’t noticed.
“I have to go!” Philip said urgently.
But the creature was already filling Philip’s forgotten sack with apples from the surrounding trees. “Here, take these, and the basket. Be quick,” it said. Then it vanished into the apple orchard, right before Philip’s eyes.
But not before Philip heard the whispery voice say, “My name is Gargoth of Tallus. Come again soon, and I will answer all your questions.”
Chapter Eleven
More From the Rooftop
The candles were burning low. Katherine was telling Cassandra everything that Gargoth had told her. Gargoth stood up for a while and walked through the candles, checking that they were all still lit. He took a drink of lemonade and ate a few apples. He was forbidden to throw the apple cores off the roof (there were people walking by on the street down below), but he did do a little target practice with the ladder on the chimney. He was still an excellent shot.
When he had rested from his storytelling and Kath-erine had translated the story for Cassandra, he took up his spot on the cushion, lit his pipe once again, and continued.
“Philip and I became great friends. After the shock of our first meeting, he returned to the churchyard as often as he could. We met in the autumn of 1664, and all through that winter, he came to talk to me again and again. I had never had a friend, so there was much for him to teach me. He didn’t, for instance, like being pelted with apple cores. Nor did he like it when I stuck my tongue out at him, or threw river stones better than he did in target practice. He did, however, like to tell me about his world outside the churchyard, and about his father, mother and sister.
“Soon, though, he began to tell me stories of a different kind. There was a great plague crossing the country. In the towns and villages people were dying, sometimes leaving entire villages empty, but for a lucky few. In the city of London, hundreds of people were dying each day. Philip came to the churchyard one day to tell me that the plague was in his village, and he didn’t know when he would see me again. Many weeks, then months went by, and I was alone.
“One summer night, I heard the churchyard gate creak open, and someone calling me. Philip had come. But disaster had come too: while he was away with the sheep in the fields, many villagers had died of plague, including his father, mother and sister. He was an orphan, all alone in the world. I was his only friend.
“He sat mute by the river of the churchyard for many weeks, alone except for me. I tried to encourage him with stories and antics and target practice, and eventually, he did rise from the riverbank and speak once more. Philip’s father had told him of an uncle who lived in a small village in France. Philip was going to France, and I was going with him.
“One autumn day, we left the only home either of us had ever known. Before we left, I tried my best to fix the stone lion, but it was no use. His broken ear lies in the long grass at his feet even now, no doubt.” Gargoth grew thoughtful.
“How did you get to France?” Katherine asked, forgetting about the not-interrupting-or-this-was-going-to-take-forever rule.
Gargoth frowned. “First by horse and cart, then by boat, then on foot. It was a long and difficult journey.” He drew his wings tightly about him. “And I didn’t
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