The Wreckers by Iain Lawrence

Author:Iain Lawrence [Lawrence, Iain]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-78901-3
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

A GARGOYLE COME TO LIFE

Mary gasped. With the glare from the lantern, we couldn’t see the man behind it. He took a step toward us, and the lantern rose at the end of his arm. The light flared across the plastered wall on our left and turned the flight of steps into a grid of black bars.

“Mary, my child?” asked the man.

“Parson Tweed?” said Mary.

“What a start you gave me. What a dreadful start.” The light wavered and lowered. “And mercy me, it’s Master John. Searching for your father, I daresay.”

“Yes,” said I.

The parson raised his lantern. The light shone down on his enormous hat, but all the rest of him was shadowed. “And was it a prosperous search?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

He clucked his tongue. “But you’ll keep looking, I’m sure.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As indeed will I. Godspeed, Master John.” Then he turned, and the lantern light glinted around the edges of his cassock. Like a figure lit by fire, he walked away from us to the street. “Bless you, my boy,” he said, and was gone.

Mary touched my sleeve. “Why did you lie to him?” she whispered.

“I don’t want anyone to know where my father is.”

“But the parson—”

“No one.” I took her hand and started up the stairs. Mary pulled back at first, then followed.

“You’ve made a mistake,” she said, her voice low but urgent. “I’ve known Parson Tweed all my life. You can trust him. You have to trust someone.”

“I do,” I said. “I trust you.”

Mary had tethered the ponies to a post. They both nudged at her with their noses. “Where do we go?” she asked.

“The blockhouse,” I said.

“But that’s where Stumps lives.”

“It’s where he’d keep the keys,” I told her.

We left the ponies where they were—I thought of the clatter their hooves would make on the stones—and walked without speaking down the cobbled street. The wind moaned in eaves and chimneys. It gusted around us. I was afraid, and Mary must have felt this, for she took my hand for a moment, and squeezed it in hers. Then we reached the blockhouse and saw its gaping open doorway, and my memories of the place went spinning through my mind.

For a time we only listened. But there were no sounds at all from the building, no movement or breaths. Before my courage could leave me completely, I crouched down and shuffled inside.

Blind in the darkness, I went straight to his shelf. If he was there, it was now he would strike. I felt along the plank, knocking down shells and bits of wood, scattering his sad little treasures. I was in too much of a hurry; I felt the whole plank tip forward, and everything went flying to the floor.

“Hurry,” said Mary from outside. “Hurry, John.”

I picked things up and threw them aside. Rope quoits, bird feathers, wooden beads, and boat nails. I scrabbled in the loose straw and the dirt. And I found the keys against the wall—a hard ring of iron that felt cold in my fingers.

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