his head.
“HEY!” he yelped, but he didn’t dare look back.
ZING! Another apple whizzed past his ear. The apple-thrower was toying with him. Christopher could tell that the thrower was very carefully missing him with each shot.
He contorted himself and desperately squeezed through the bars, gasping for air back on the sidewalk. Apples rang loudly against the park side of the gates.
Christopher grabbed his dog’s leash and ran. His mother was opening the back door to call him inside just as he reached the house. She had to jump aside to avoid being knocked over by her son as he dashed through the door.
“Christopher, what’s wrong?” she called as he ran by her. But he was already at the top of the house, slamming the door to his room.
She looked down at Marbles, who was waiting patiently at her feet, slowly wagging his tail. His leash was still attached, wet and muddy with dank park leaves.
Chapter Seven
The English Garden: Theodorus
James and his grandfather were sitting under an enormous outdoor umbrella, with a sea of newspapers spread out on the table before them. The old man had a huge leather bag stamped with gold letters and symbols at his feet, overflowing with papers, photographs, and newspaper clippings. The afternoon sun was so bright that James was getting a headache. He had his head in his hands as he turned yet another newspaper page.
“Grampa Gregory, what am I looking for again, exactly?” he asked.
His grandfather didn’t raise his head from the paper he was reading with the help of a giant magnifying glass. Today the old man was wearing a strange purple corduroy suit and a floppy purple hat to match. James had the sense it was a costume from several centuries ago, almost like something that a swordsman or musketeer might have worn. He wasn’t wearing the bug-like goggles though, which was a nice change.
“I’ve told you! We’re looking for what’s lost! We need evidence, clues, any mention of anything unusual … gargoyles …” he answered, muttering and trailing off as he went back to his magnifying glass and the newspaper.
“Well, couldn’t we just search the Internet?” James immediately regretted his question.
His grandfather glared at him. “YOU can, if you want to, but don’t let anyone know what you’re searching for. No one is going to find ME on that thing.”
Oh yeah. James had forgotten that. His grandfather hated computers, mail, and even distrusted the telephone. James wasn’t supposed to let anyone else know what he and his grandfather were doing all summer. No one was to know that they were looking for stories about statues, and in particular anything about gargoyles. Not even James’s parents were supposed to know. Whenever they called from Toronto to check on how his summer visit was going, James said everything was fine.
And it was fine. James was enjoying his summer trip to England; he just wished he could see more of it before he had to go back home.
He turned back to the newspaper and sighed. After a while he said, “Here’s an article about fountains in Florence … they’re doing something to one of them. Renovating the statues. Or re-facing the masonry or something. No mention of gargoyles, though.” He handed the paper over to his grandfather, who cleaned the magnifying glass on a rag and carefully pored over the page.
James got up and yawned. “I’m taking a walk, I’ll be back,” he said. He wandered to the green garden pond and sat in the shade of a climbing rose bush. It was definitely cooler in the shade. He took off his sandals and leaned back, yawning again. The pond had lily pads with frogs lurking under them, doing their best to stay cool. He was dozing a little, listening to the water tumble from a fountain nearby when suddenly …
… a splash of water from the pond hit him right in the face. James jumped to his feet, spluttering and wiping away the pond muck.
A large gargoyle broke the surface of the pond, stomped through the water and clambered out. Pond water ran off the gargoyle’s dark back and pooled at its taloned feet. It shook its wings a lot like a dog would, spraying more water across the boy. The gargoyle had a heavy body, a head shaped like a ram with curly horns, and stood quite tall (for a gargoyle). The ground shook a little when it stomped across the flagstones, leaving huge, wet gargoyle footprints as it went.
“Hey! Theodorus! You just drenched me in pond water!” James spluttered, backing away.
“Gremice elba,” the creature said with a deep, booming laugh, which James heard as “Time to wake up!” It headed off into the apple orchard, still laughing, long arms drooping at its sides.
But before the gargoyle disappeared, James heard it quite clearly say in its strange, whispery voice, “You looked hot.”
The gargoyle was right, James WAS hot. It was impossible not to smile, just a little. He decided he might just go for a swim.
Chapter Eight
First Toronto, Now This
Christopher spent that night far away from his window, trying not to look into the park down below. He didn’t know what happened in that park, but he did know one thing: he wasn’t going back in there.
There was something, or maybe several somethings, hiding in the bushes. Last he checked, bushes didn’t talk, and apples didn’t just fling themselves off trees at people.
At least not so you felt like target practice.
It was creepy. He wasn’t sure about this new city at the best of times. When his mom and dad had gathered the family together to tell them they were leaving Vancouver and moving to Toronto, he wasn’t all that excited about it. He loved Vancouver. He had friends there, it was home.
Everything was different in Toronto. And now he discovered that strange voices spoke in the bushes in Toronto city parks. And not just parks far away in some other part of the city. He heard them in his park, right next door to his house.
He had a sleepless night, tossing and turning. He kept dreaming that something in the park was howling at the moon. Once he heard a whack as something small and hard — an apple? — banged into his bedroom window. He dug his head as deeply as he could under his pillow, but the howling continued all night long.
The next morning, when he had to walk past the park gates on his way to school, he kept his eyes down and did not look inside. It was raining, and the gargoyles were spitting water onto the sidewalk, something he didn’t remember from the day before. He didn’t look up and smile at the gargoyles. He’d never look at them or the park again as far as he was concerned. Claire smiled in surprise when Christopher took her hand as they walked past the gates and didn’t let go until they got to his school.
In class that afternoon, Christopher was paired up with Katherine to write a one-page article about their neighbourhood. It was supposed to help all the kids find out who lived closest to them.
The topic was: What I love most about my part of the city.
Christopher scratched his nose and fiddled with his pencil as Katherine started writing. He eventually blurted out, “I don’t really know the neighbourhood very well, since I’ve only lived there for a few weeks,
