Song of the Gargoyle by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Read Free Book Online Page B

standing over where Tymmon cowered back on one elbow, whispering frantic Hail Marys and trying to protect his throat with his free hand. With its enormous head only inches from his face, its rank breath hot on his cheeks, it stared down at Tymmon and licked its chops.
    Hungry. It was hungry, and its next meal might well be... Groping desperately behind his back, Tymmon grasped the parcel that held the last of his food, a small piece of salt-cured meat. “Here,” he said. “Here, gargoyle. Would you like this good beef? Here, take it. It’s yours.”
    The disappearance of the salted meat occurred in an instant, accompanied by a variety of disgusting chomping and slobbering noises. When the last morsel had disappeared, the monster sat down in front of Tymmon and stared at him with eager expectancy, as if waiting for more. And staring back, Tymmon could only think that he himself was being considered as the next course.
    But the creature made no immediate move in his direction, and for the first time Tymmon’s terror diminished enough to allow him to study it more closely.
    Thick-bodied and long-legged, the gargoyle when on all fours would stand somewhat taller than Tymmon’s waist. Its face was a ghostly gray that shaded around the eyes and muzzle to almost black, while its body seemed to be closely covered with a short gray-brown fur. The feet were large and rounded like the paws of lions, and the long tail ended, like a lion’s, in a short tuft of black hair. Lionlike it was indeed except for its face, which was a thousand times uglier than any lion. Snub-snouted, fisheyed, with great flapping jowls, it had a mouth that became an upside-down U when closed, and when open, a terrifying cavern filled with long white teeth.
    Tymmon shuddered and drew away, and the monster closed its mouth, tipped its head to one side, and regarded him more intently.
    “Why?” it seemed to be asking.
    “Why am I afraid of you?” Tymmon smiled ruefully and then went on. “I meet a living gargoyle in the middle of the forest on a dark night, and you wonder why I am afraid? It would seem that gargoyles know very little about humankind.”
    The gargoyle raised its head and, with what almost seemed to be a grin, asked what Tymmon knew about gargoyles.
    “Well.” Tymmon considered the question. “Not a great deal, I suppose. Just that they are usually carved from stone and extend from the roofs of buildings.”
    The gargoyle blinked its bulging eyes and twitched its tail and again asked why.
    “To serve as water spouts. And some say to frighten away evil spirits. That’s why they are all so ug—” Tymmon paused. “So frightening to look upon.”
    The creature’s mouth dropped open into its evil, tongue-lolling grin. Reaching out, it placed one of its great paws firmly on Tymmon’s foot, regarded him sternly, and said that, yes, he was frightening—when he wanted to be. But not always. Then it lay down on its belly, and slowly lowered its great head onto its front paws.
    Tymmon watched it with unblinking attention while it yawned, snorted, and mumbled, rolled its eyes, and then closed them firmly. It was not until then that Tymmon crept back under his blanket and pulled it up to his nose. Peering out over the top, he watched the sleeping monster intently for a long time—and then intermittently for several shorter periods in between violent struggles to keep his heavy eyelids from falling shut. But he soon lost the battle and fell asleep—and slept more soundly than he had since leaving Austerneve.
    Some hours later Tymmon awoke with a frightened start. Something had made an evil sound, a snuffling snort that was clearly that of some inhuman creature. For a moment he cowered under his blanket until, suddenly remembering the events of the night before, he thrust it aside and peered out. The gargoyle was still there, its great gray-brown body sprawled out near the dead ashes of the fire. Tymmon pushed the blanket to one side and