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like it one bit.”

Gargoth’s Story, 1665
    Cart and Boat
    It was raining again. Gargoth was huddled deep inside an apple sack and was being jarred mercilessly against the baskets of apples all around him. They had hit upon the clever idea of hiding Gargoth in a sack so Philip could carry him about safely hidden. They had even cut eyeholes into the cloth so Gargoth could see a little of what was happening around them.
    But he didn’t really like it. And it was far from dry or comfortable. He was tucked behind Philip, who was driving the horse and cart. Despite his best efforts to keep dry, Gargoth was wet and grouchy. It was raining so hard, he couldn’t even light his pipe.
    “That at least would be some small comfort,” he muttered, clutching his dripping wings tightly to himself.
    “I hope you’re not thinking about your pipe again, Gargoth?” Philip said from the front seat. “I for one am very glad that you can’t light the foul stuff. I can breathe fresh air once again!” he added with a chuckle.
    At that moment mud splashed up into the cart and drenched them from below, almost as much as they were being drenched by rain from above.
    “Was there ever such a muddy country as England?” Gargoth growled, flattening his ears against his head.
    “France is muddier, I hear,” Philip said, laughing. “That’ll make you happy, won’t it, Gargoth?”
    Gargoth stuck his tongue out at Philip’s back but didn’t answer.
    The little horse was plodding very slowly along a dark country lane. Because they only travelled at night, Gargoth and Philip had seen almost no one since they’d set out on their journey, many nights before. Their store of apples was getting low, and Gargoth was sick of the bumpy cart ride. Try as he might, there was no way to avoid being bumped and jostled as the cart travelled south along the paths and open meadows of England.
    But he knew the journey was almost over, for the next day would take them to their destination: the town of Dover.
    As dawn was nearing, they found an old barn to sleep in. It was abandoned and was falling into disrepair, but the two travellers didn’t mind. It was dry and less muddy than the road. They watered and brushed the little horse, leaving her in an empty stall of hay, then made their own meal of dried apples and water. As the sky was just beginning to turn pink in the east, they curled up in the dry haystack of the barn, listening to the lonely hooting of owls as they fell asleep.
    Many hours later, they woke to a bright and sunny afternoon. The weather had changed, and the wind had shifted to the south. As Gargoth roused himself and began gathering sticks for a brief fire, his nose caught the fresh scent of something he did not recognize. The air had a funny tang to it, a bitter taste he couldn’t name.
    As Philip rose and stretched and joined him, plucking loose hay from his blonde hair, he sniffed the air as well.
    “What is that on the air, do you think?” he asked.
    Gargoth struck his tinder-pistol against some bracken he had collected and blew gently on the spark. The little fire caught. He placed a clawful of sticks over the growing fire and pushed back on his haunches. “I cannot say. It smells like autumn nights when it has rained and rained and washed everything clean. But there is something else.”
    The two travellers had to put their puzzlement aside and ready themselves for the final hours of their weary journey. As the afternoon drew on, they ate a few apples, laced the little horse into the harness and set off to Dover.
    As their horse and cart turned off the cart path, to a larger, sturdier lane, then to a larger road, then to a busy thoroughfare through the noisy town, the scent they could not place grew and grew, until they both understood what it was: the ocean! They could smell salt water.
    They had both heard of the ocean, but neither had ever seen it, nor could really imagine that much water, which looked as though it never