Katherine Kurtz - St. Patrick's Gargoyle

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Katherine Kurtz

St. Patrick's

Gargoyle

S&C by Ginevra

ISBN: 0-441-00905-0

An Ace Book February 2001

Cover art by Jon Sullivan.

Cover design by David Rheinhardt.

This E-BOOK is NOT for sale!!!

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are

used fictitiously, and any rresemblance to actual persons, living

or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely

coincidental.

For Mobi, Tiger, and Kat, who are very fond of gargoyles

-5-

Chapter 1

In the bitter cold of a late December night, the gargoyle's

sharp gaze scanned restlessly over the deserted streets of Dublin.

Not far below, the clock in the tower of St. Patrick's Cathedral

began to strike midnight. The sound of the bell reverberated on a

breeze brittle with the promise of snow, skittering among the

city's chimneys and across frostkissed slate roofs. Very soon, the

rhythm was picked up by other clocks elsewhere in the sleeping

city.

Revelling in the music that sang freedom, the gargoyle

stretched batlike wings and gave a snort of satisfaction. From his

lofty vantage point behind the tower's stepped Irish battlements,

invisible from street level, he had guarded this part of the city

for centuries. Only once each month, when the moon was dark,

did he customarily descend from his windswept eyrie to prowl

among the shadows.

The clock in the bell tower finished striking midnight, and the

gargoyle flexed his wings again, breathed a deep gargoyle

breath, and exhaled. As he did so, dense shadow sighed from the

stonecarved jaws - darkling manifestation of a gargoyle's true

essence - and he plummeted toward the pavement below, only

slowing with an abrupt whoosh of suddenly extended wings as

he touched down gently instead of splatting on the pavement. In

less than a blink of an eye he was hidden in the soft-edged

shadow of a frost-glittering buttress, casting a glance around to

see whether anyone had witnessed his descent.

The street was empty and silent, just the way he liked it, with

snow flurries dimming the electric glow of the wroughtiron light

standards along Patrick Street, which fronted the cathedral. He

had much preferred gaslight, though he needed neither. Furling

his leathery wings, he turned to skulk along the side of the

cathedral, ghosting from shadow to shadow. Catching a hint of

-6-

movement in the back of a frosty window, he briefly bared his

teeth at it, but he knew it was only his own reflection.

The old churchyard and adjoining park afforded far less cover

than the looming bulk of the cathedral, but they were also

deserted at this midnight hour. Vigilant nonetheless, the

gargoyle streaked above one snowy footpath in a blur of speed

and plunged into the murky darkness of St. Patrick's Well, scaly

wings bumping and scraping against the ancient stone as he fell.

The chamber in which he landed was redolent of pigeon

droppings and the foul, dank smell of stagnant water, littered

with rubble and the refuse generated by humans- empty soda

cans and cider bottles and paper trash. Ignoring this evidence of

mortal sloth, the gargoyle squeezed through a series of drains

and ancient culverts to emerge in the system of medieval tunnels

that still connected St. Patrick's with Christ Church Cathedral,

Dublin Castle, and St. Michan's Church, on the other side of the

Liffey.

Down the close, musty passageway he sped on his midnight

errand, the tips of his closefurled wings striking sparks

whenever they brushed the low ceiling, talons scuffling hollowly

against the stone underfoot. A creature of the night, he could see

well enough in the inky darkness, but as he passed beneath

Dublin Castle and approached his destination, the lightlimned

outline of a door beckoned, and a distant murmuring sound grew

gradually more distinct.

He pushed open the door to a barrage of agitated voices and

the fierce, ruby-glowing gaze of more than a dozen other

gargoyles milling in the vaulted chamber beyond.

"Hey, Paddy, we were beginning to worry you'd be late," one

of them called, to murmurs of greeting and agreement from

several others, as they all began to take their places along

rockcut tiers like a small amphitheatre.

Late, indeed! As Paddy settled between the venerable Christ

-7-

Church gargoyle, known as C.C., and their colleague from St.

Audoen's, another very ancient church, he reflected that in all

the centuries he'd been guarding St. Patrick's, he'd never once

missed or even been late to the monthly conclaves that all duty

gargoyles were obliged to attend.

Beside him, the St. Audoen's gargoyle resumed harping on his

usual complaintone that was certainly justified, if grown

somewhat tedious through repetition, since nothing could be

done about it. A few years back, the crypt of the church he'd

guarded for centuries had been turned into a Viking heritage

center - an outrage, so far as its guardian was concerned. The

old synod hall at Christ Church had suffered a similar fate, now

housing a tourist venue called Dublinia. The gargoyle of St.

Audoen's hadn't yet been turned out of his living, because the

building was still standing - and since it was the only truly

medieval church in Dublin, the city fathers were unlikely to

simply knock it down - but guarding tourist attractions was

hardly in the same category as guarding sacred buildings. All the

gargoyles were increasingly concerned about the conversions.

"It's the foot in the door, I keep telling you," the St. Audoen's

gargoyle was muttering under his breath. "'Lo, Paddy. First they

take over the crypt, then it's a chapel or two, then it's the whole

lot! I just don't understand the big fuss about Vikings. The

Vikings were terrible people. They raped and pillage -

despecially, they pillaged!"

"I never liked Vikings much, either," the Christ Church

gargoyle agreed. "Back in the old days, we used to give 'em

whatfor! Remember the time I turned a Viking into a puddle of

putrid flesh?"

"Did you really?" said the relatively junior gargoyle who

guarded the Four Courts, sounding both eager and scandalized,

as several of his elders rumbled acknowledgment.

"Before your time, kid," said the gargoyle from St.

-8-

Werburgh's, not far above their heads. "You civic gargoyles'll

never see the kind of action we used to see in the old days. I say

the rot set in when the Georgians stopped putting gargoyles on

churches!"

"It was before that," said the Trinity College gargoyle.

"I blame it on the Reformation-Luther, and Calvin, and that

crowd. No proper sense of how things ought to be, and no sense

of humor!"

"Yeah, but at least the Protestants still remember it's supposed

to be the Church Militant," said the gargoyle from University

Church, an elegant Roman Catholic edifice over on St. Stephen's

Green. "My building's all right, if you like Byzantine decor, but

you look at most of these modern Catholic churches - not one

goddamn gargoyle! No bell towers, either. How do they expect

to defend the faith?"

"Good question!" one of the Church of Ireland gargoyles

agreed. "People think those little pointy spires on our bell towers

are just for decoration. Boy, would they be surprised if they

knew the things were surface-to-air missiles!"

"But will He let us use them? No!" the St. Audoen's gargoyle

pouted. "I liked things better when He was an Old Testament

God, and we were His avenging angels. Why even bother to call

us the Church Militant anymore?"

"Yeah, and most of these new churches don't even have bell

towers, much less missiles," said another. "Or, if they do have

towers, they've got electronic bells!"

"Not at St. Patrick's, we don't," Paddy pointed out with pride.

"We've got a full ring of real bells and missiles! Back when they

were making all that fuss about the city's millennium, my bell

team rang a full peal of Grandsire Caters. That's more than five

thousand changes without a repeat! Took a good three hours.

Now, that's ringing."

As several other gargoyles agreed that the feat was, indeed,

-9-

something to be proud of, two more gargoyles burst through the

door, engaged in an angry and animated disquisition.

"It's this modern generation: they got no respect!" one of them

was saying. "Somebody said some cherubs in the churchyard

saw the whole thing - but these days, nobody's gonna pay any

attention to a bunch of naked putti!"

"Yeah, but what're ya gonna do?" his companion replied - a

tough old gargoyle from the Presbyterian Church in Parnell

Square. "Street punks! Lager louts! They litter the streets with

empty cider cans and cigarette butts, and scribble graffiti on the

walls illiterate graffiti and they throw up on the sidewalks, and

piddle in doorways-"

"I know what I'd do, if I ever got my hands on the culprits!"

the first one grumbled. "In the old days, we would've set their

piss on fire! St. Michan's used to be a damned decent place."

"What ever are you talking about?" the Dublin Castle

gargoyle demanded. "What's happened at St. Michan's?"

"Where've you been?" one of the new arrivals asked

disdainfully, as he flounced into his place.

"At my post!"

"Let's don't us fight," the second newcomer said. "You know

the vaults under St. Michan's?"

"Of course."

"Vandals broke in and trashed the place a couple of nights

ago."

A horrified chorus of "No!" greeted this revelation.

"Yeah, got pissed on cider, busted up some coffins, set a

couple of fire - seven roughed up that crusader mummy who

made it back from the Holy Land."

"But, that's disgraceful!" said the Trinity gargoyle. "All apart

from the disrespect for hallowed ground, that's where Bram

Stoker got his inspiration for the crypts in Dracula! I remember

-10-

when he was writing that. I used to watch him pacing back and

forth in Trinity Yard, mumbling under his breath about

vampires. 'Course, everybody knew he was a little strange...."

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked the very

practical gargoyle from the Unitarian Church on St. Stephen's

Green. "Didn't anyone notice anything suspicious?"

"Who can tell, with tourists all over the place?" another

grumbled. "Over at St. Andrew's, they've turned the place into a

damned tourist information center. I spend my days having my

picture snapped by hordes of Spanish tourists! Or French, or

Italian, or-God help us - Germans. At least the Brits and

Americans speak the language - sort of."

"At least you aren't overrun by crazy people dressed like

Vikings!" the St. Audoen's gargoyle muttered darkly.

"Let's get back to the point," said the somewhat officious

gargoyle from the Lord Mayor's residence at Mansion House. "I

don't think any of us are particularly pleased with recent trends

in building conversions, but we've all had to adapt to the times."

"Yeah, but there's a limit," said the Christ Church gargoyle.

"That's right," the St. Audoen's gargoyle agreed. "Who was

the bright spark who thought of putting a Viking heritage center

in one of the oldest churches in Dublin? The city fathers spent

centuries trying to keep Vikings out!"

"Hey, it costs money to maintain these old buildings," the

Mansion House gargoyle pointed out. "For the most part, I think

the city planners do the best they can. Think of all the great old

buildings they've saved. We don't have to worry about filthy

lucre, but humans do."

"Yeah, beancounters," said a crusty old gargoyle from north

of the Liffey.

"Now, wait just a minute," said the Custom House gargoyle,

who called himself Gandon, after the building's architect. "I, for

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KatherineKurtzSt.Patrick'sGargoyleS&CbyGinevraISBN:0-441-00905-0AnAceBookFebruary2001CoverartbyJonSullivan.CoverdesignbyDavidRheinhardt.ThisE-BOOKisNOTforsale!!!Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor'simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyrresemblanc...

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Katherine Kurtz - St. Patrick's Gargoyle

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