Читать книгу The Gargoyle at the Gates - Philippa Dowding - Страница 13

The Orange Ball Rolled

For the next few days, Christopher steered clear of the park, except to notice that people hardly ever went in there. Occasionally, city workers opened the gates and went in to rake up leaves or tend to the fountain. Once in a while they even sat in there having their lunch. But apart from them, and an old man with thick glasses, a white straw hat, and a heavy brown coat who sometimes sat on a bench on the sidewalk past the gates, the park was deserted.

Christopher kept his head down when he walked past and made sure his windows were shut carefully every night, although he didn’t hear any more howling. Whenever he took Marbles for a walk, they went the long way to the ravine, and he crossed the street far away from the park.

He stayed away from Katherine, too.

He and Katherine managed a polite truce at the streetcar stop, but she wasn’t there every day. Christopher tried to forget about the somethings in the park, and he almost managed it …

… until one day after school, when he and his many-assorted-older-brothers were playing ball hockey on the driveway beside their house. The driveway was perfect for ball hockey, since it was so long and straight. Christopher wasn’t crazy about playing goalie, but as the youngest he never had much say. He was almost always the goalie. His oldest brother, Marc, passed the ball to his second-oldest brother, Nathan, who passed it to his third-oldest brother, Adam, who took a slap shot from halfway down the driveway. It went wild, and the bright orange ball bounced off Christopher’s goalie mask, whipped through the air, and flew over the spiked iron rails of the park.

The ball rolled deep into the park bushes.

“Nice going, C.C.!” Marc yelled at him.

Christopher took off his mask and dropped his goalie gloves on the driveway. “Now what?” he asked, looking nervously at the park.

“Go get it! You let it fly over the fence!” Adam called.

“No way, you took the slap shot. You go get it!” Christopher yelled back.

“Nice try, C.C. The last one who touches it has to find it,” Nathan said. He had Christopher there — the last-touch rule was ball-hockey law.

It was no use. Marc, Nathan, and Adam had already lost interest in the game and were leaning their hockey sticks against the house. It was almost dinner time anyway. Christopher looked back at the park.

Nothing moved.

He bit his lip. What to do? Everyone bigger than him had gone inside. It was his best ball-hockey ball. It was Marbles’ favourite ball. He really didn’t want to lose it.

He was putting the goalie equipment and the net away in the shed at the back of the house when he looked over at the park again. The bushes were rustling.

An orange ball shot through the iron bars, crossed Christopher’s driveway …

… and rolled to a stop right at his feet.