Ot's Ordeal: Graham the Gargoyle, #3

Prologue

Dear Laroonae,

Well, I held off writing until now. If I had sent something to you after the first day, you’d have had a hard time reading it with all the smudged words from me crying. I talked myself into giving it a week. And I made it. Everyone was nice in front of the teacher, but a few kids tore into me about being from a backwater village. One boy, a really annoying elf named Slark Feenstead, is brutal in his insults. He’s also taken to playing pranks on me. I haven’t told my teacher because I don’t want to be branded a tattletale.

Don’t worry. I’m determined to make a friend next week. I’m not going to let some stupid elf have the last say with my social standing.

Luckily, coming home to Scratchback and Gort helps me a lot. Those blossom possums know exactly when I need a snuggle and a tickle behind my ear.

Next week I’m bringing Cuddlecakes to school. I know that sounds pathetic, but no one sits with me at lunch. And I so want somebody to talk to, even if it’s just a know-it-all enchanted map.

Graham’s first week seemed to go better. He didn’t complain about Blord doing anything to him. Honestly, he didn’t really have much to say about any of his new classmates. He was disappointed that Ot was put in a different homeroom, but at least they get to hang out together in the evenings. He’s pleasant enough at home, even going out of his way to show Dad how much he likes living in New Asgard. That’s paying off for him. Dad’s been letting him run about with Ot, exploring our block all the way up to Poseidon’s fountain. I know Graham won’t admit it, but they’ve slipped past that fountain at least once. Maybe I’ll trail them some time to see what they get themselves into.

Anyway, it was nice seeing you the last time we returned to the village. Dad says we’ll be coming back in five weeks instead of three. Something about his workload increasing thanks to a growing conflict between the Shadow Territories and the Subterraneans.

How is the Widow Stemmel doing? It sounds like she’s good company for you. I know you’re lonely, but you being by her side is fitting and proper. I admire how you always seek to do the right thing.

If you could spare one of your colorful tail feathers, please send it along in your next letter. I think it would impress a couple of my classmates that I’m such good friends with a harpy. Maybe Slark would think twice about messing with me if he knew I had such close ties to one. I thought elves were supposed to be noble and civil.

Write soon,

Flenn Groodle

Chapter 1

A Sour Note

Ot dropped into the large puddle first. The savvy troll angled his landing just right so that the spray of water arced directly toward Graham. Veering left, Graham coaxed speed and maneuverability from his tiny wings. The swath of liquid missed him, barely. Graham skipped across the vertical side of the building and shot straight up, racing free of the alley. He bobbed, casting a furtive glance around to see the willy-nilly elevations of the nearby rooftops framed by moonlight.

Ot yelled up at him, Hey, no fair! You know I can’t fly.

Graham halted his wings’ hummingbird-fast movement, allowing gravity to pull him back down. He zoomed toward the cobblestone walkway below at a dizzying speed. At the last minute, he flapped hard and landed with flair atop his abandoned backpack.

Ot pointed at it and laughed. Ha, well I may not have gotten you, but looks like someone’s homework’ll be good and soggy.

Graham hopped to the ground and hefted his pack onto his shoulder, doing his best to ignore the water that leaked from it.

Abandoning their game of puddle jump, they continued down the alley.

Ot said, You sure your dad is okay with you being out past dark?

He said as long as I came home with something positive about my first week at the Institute, he’d let me hang all night with you if I wanted.

Ot stopped and glared at Graham. The troll had a gift for seeing through him. And those were his exact words?

Graham grinned and shrugged. More or less. He patted the side pocket of his pack. Look, Mom gave me money to get one of those big pastries on the way home. I bring that back and I think he’ll forgive me for being out a little past curfew.

Graham couldn’t believe he was saying those words. When had his father ever let up on him back at the village? Graham had always been given so many restrictions. And their first month in New Asgard had been more of the same. But one night, the Flying Mummy had paid a visit, had a lengthy conversation with Graham’s father in the den, and suddenly he was being given more freedom. And, even better, his father was not coming down on him as much. Of course that may have had more to do with all his responsibilities as emissary for their people. He had been working long hours at the Forum, striving to establish a thoughtful gargoyle presence in Cascade’s eclectic ruling body.

Well, then we better do it if we’re going to. You sure you have the right address? Ot smiled nervously.

Graham tapped the side of his head. Committed it to memory.

And you’re positive the godling gave you good directions? Ot said.

Graham knew the troll’s first week had been rough, with many of the troll’s classmates giving Ot a hard time. No wonder he wasn’t so trusting. Graham’s first week, on the other hand, had gone better than expected. Befriending a godling of war and his golem sidekick had gone a long way toward making his first week almost a delight. Blord, his nemesis from back home, was also in his class. And while the bully had been low key, almost friendly toward him, he couldn’t help think that was in large part due to how intimidating New Asgard and their new school was. Give Blord time and his old cruel self would resurface, of that Graham was certain.

Hey, if you can’t trust the son of the god of war, who can you trust? Graham stepped out of the alley and onto a main street. A will-o’-wisp was flitting from lamppost to lamppost, waking up her sisters. As each light pixie stirred, the street came to life with illumination.

Graham glanced left and right before pointing to a tall building to their left. She lives right there, above those stables.

Ot squinted and frowned. Um, that’s a centaur enclosure, Graham. You sure we should risk a run-in with them? Other than the few scholars in Highborn, centaurs as a whole are a rough lot. What if one of them is looking to stir up trouble?

Graham again took to the air and wound his way across the street. Without looking back at his companion, he threw Ot a dismissive wave. Not to worry. We’ll be quick about our business. There’s a set of stairs along the side leading to her place. Won’t even have to go inside the first floor where the centaurs are.

Ot nodded and trailed him.

Graham loved their new home. It was so different from their quiet villages. The street was busy with many out to enjoy New Asgard’s abundant nightlife. A young goblin walked lock-step with his girl, the two holding hands and mooning over each other to the point that they kept knocking together their long noses. In contrast, a large minotaur looked on the prowl, bumping into passersby, itching for a bullish fight.

Graham kept wide of him. He soon dropped to the ground at the base of the steps. He pointed to a set of iron numbers attached to the side of the building. See, 227 Spellbinder Way. She’s up there. He put one foot on the steps, annoyed at how loud it sounded. He still wasn’t used to wearing boots or any clothes for that matter.

Ot noticed and tried to offer him encouragement. The more you walk in them, the quicker you’ll adjust. If you didn’t fly around everywhere maybe you’d know how to walk about without shattering eardrums with every step.

Graham swatted at the troll. Ot also wore clothing, something he had adjusted to more readily. Back in their respective villages, clothing was minimal with most walking about in simple pants and little else. Graham didn’t like to cover up his feet. It made him feel more tied to the ground, as if footwear demoted him to simply being a spectator for those who flew about. He knew this wasn’t true, but after all his difficulties in mastering flight, he didn’t like reminders of how much time he spent on the ground.

They moved up the steps with Graham doing his best to make every stride gingerly and silent. He only scuffed his heels twice. Meanwhile, Ot, with his open-toed sandals, scaled the stairs, making no sound at all except for his shortness of breath.

Say, tell me why I’m doing this again? the troll said nervously.

Graham stopped and spun about. The note she passed you. It was all you could talk about today.

Ot reached into his vest and pulled out the message. He unfolded the piece of paper and ogled the graceful cursive that raced across its surface. He thrust it into Graham’s face. I have it memorized. Check to see if I get anything wrong.

Graham took the note, humoring the troll. He knew this mattered to Ot and understood why. For years Graham had been the brunt of teasing by the class bully, Blord. And while Ot had endured some of the sour gargoyle’s insults, Graham had always been the primary target. Now, with Ot being so intensely teased, he would do anything to help his friend out. The troll had always been there for him.

Ot closed his eyes and began reciting. Dear Ot, I am ashamed with how the others are treating you. Malkor and Klem are disgraceful. I hate that they’ve made your first week so horrible. I too know what it’s like to be the new kid. Please come by my house at 227 Spellbinder Way Friday night and we’ll talk. I bet I can make you feel better. Kindly yours, Muraina Stiffles.

Malkor and Klem were the brothers that had it in for Ot. A look of dismay slipped over his face. Don’t forget the P.S. Graham said, hoping to get Ot’s mind off the two nasty elves. You brought what she requested, right?

Ot pulled out a small cloth bag. He undid the string at the top and the bag fell open, revealing a small, black trilliant stone inside. Ot was careful not to let it touch his skin. I did. I swiped the shroud stone from Professor Dornt’s collection. He has so many he won’t miss it.

Graham wanted to hold the stone but knew better. Shroud stones were used to tuck away memories and secrets. With a touch one transferred a difficult memory into the stone, purging every last trace of the painful history from the owner’s mind. Most who owned shroud stones touched them once and a while to remind themselves of what they had cast out.

And you don’t think it’s odd that she asked you to steal for her? Graham really wanted to help Ot, but the errand of stealing a stone didn’t sit right with him.

Ot shrugged. It seems weird, but I bet she has a good reason. She’s a very sweet elf. Not one day has he been cruel or mean to anyone. Maybe she just wants to know what hardships the professor’s endured so she can reach out to him. The note said she would give it back.

That might be true. Anyone could experience the memory recorded in a shroud stone. It wasn’t just tied to its owner. Graham didn’t know a wizard strong enough to do that, not even the Wizard Bailey. Well, then let’s get this over with. You still want me to hang back?

Ot passed him, assuming the lead. Graham kept pace, doing better at treading quietly.

When they reached the door, they heard voices inside. Two sounded female and the other male.

Ot looked bothered. None of them sound like Muraina.

Graham whispered, Maybe she’s in another room. Probably just her parents and sister.

Ot leaned closer and grimaced. Sounds like some nasty arguing. Maybe it’s a bad time. The troll started to descend the steps.

Graham blocked his way down. Look, we promised each other we’d be more adventurous here. This is a chance to make ourselves over. Now go knock on her door.

Ot nodded and turned to face the door. He drew in a slow breath and raised his hand to knock.

An inch from the door, a voice from the street shouted up at them. Hey, what’re you kids doing at Dornt’s door? Not a bunch of his students up to any mischief, are you?

Graham and Ot turned to see a large centaur glaring up at them. He stood with his front hooves on the first step. Judging by his width, there was no way he could climb the steps. The centaur stomped his feet, causing the wooden stairs to vibrate.

The arguing inside stopped.

Did he say Dornt? Graham asked, already knowing he had heard the gruff stranger quite clearly.

The door opened and there stood Ot’s teacher. Professor Dornt’s huge minotaur frame filled the door. He stepped out onto the landing, his large curved horns barely clearing the wooden frame. He still wore his teacher robes as he crossed his arms and glared at Ot and Graham.

Mr. Gleeblehut, I really don’t entertain student conferences outside of my classroom. What compelled you to seek me out at home? The minotaur’s eyes fell on Ot’s open hand and the shroud stone he held.

Ot shrank back from Dornt, overwhelmed at the rows of sharp teeth that jutted out of the minotaur’s mouth.

And this young gargoyle, he’s a new arrival in Professor Abaga’s class, yes?

Ot nodded vigorously.

Below, the centaur called up to Ot’s teacher. You want me to call the constable, Dornt?

Not necessary. I believe these boys owe me an explanation. I’m quite sure there’s more to this story than what it looks like. The minotaur eyed the shroud stone but made no move to snatch it from Ot. Careful with that, son. I can tell from the magic it emanates that it’s one of mine. Don’t touch. I’m not sure if you have the stomach for what it would show you.

Graham wanted to grab Ot and run, but he didn’t. Dornt wasn’t yelling at them. He wasn’t assuming the worse. He was offering to hear them out.

Dornt stepped to the side and motioned for them to enter. Ot went in first.

As Graham passed through the doorway, he looked back, catching a glimpse of two elves staring at him from a nearby rooftop perch. They hunkered behind a small wall, their vantage point perfect for discreet surveillance of the entrance to Dornt’s home. It was clear now the note had not been written by Ot’s potential female friend. They had to be the brothers giving Ot such a hard time.

Graham saw movement behind Ot’s covert classmates. Something took to the air. He identified in an instant the distinctive broad silhouette of his gargoyle neighbor—Blord. The bully flew away from the scene of the crime. Probably content to have seen Graham and Ot caught by Dornt and not eager to hang around and risk being spotted, unlike the three elves, his obvious conspirators.

Graham walked inside, his frustration growing with every passing second.

Chapter 2

Astute Brute

The minotaur motioned for them to take a seat at his kitchen table. Graham and Ot complied. Two female minotaurs sat on a couch in a side room. The older one gave the professor a questioning look.

Dornt said to her, Students from the Institute. A little bold of them to bother me at home, but I suspect that is not entirely their fault.

Satisfied with his answer, she turned to the younger minotaur and together they exited down a hall to their right.

The minotaur plopped two mugs down on the table and filled them with gryphon’s milk. He bade them to drink. Ot held the shroud stone in his hand as he drank. Graham took several sips and set his mug down. Gryphon’s milk was not his favorite, but who was he to say no to the imposing professor?

Dornt poured himself a drink from an ornate bottle. His beverage fizzed and was a deep blue. He stood despite the presence of two other stools, both adequately built to hold his weight. You’ve had a rough time this week, young troll. I suspect your arrival at my home makes your life even more difficult.

Ot froze. It was clear he didn’t know how to respond. If he agreed, would his teacher take offense? Graham understood his friend’s trepidation. As pleasant as Professor Dornt was being, it didn’t dampen the fact that he was an imposing figure. Having a minotaur for a teacher was a rarity. Most were savage and lacking in intelligence. As to how and why Dornt had obtained the intellect and civility to land a teaching position at the Institute, he didn’t have a clue. Graham was sure those circumstances were highly memorable and not readily known by the student body.

Graham intervened. We had no idea this was your home, sir. Someone tricked Ot. He thought a girl in his class had invited him to meet her here.

The minotaur nodded. I suppose she never told you this directly? He raised an eyebrow.

Ot nodded.

You have the note? Dornt drew back.

Ot placed the shroud stone on the table, being careful to keep it centered in the small cloth bag that had housed it. He produced the note from his vest and handed to his teacher. It looks like a girl’s handwriting.

Dornt unfolded the note with care and plopped a pair of small reading glasses on his nose. The minotaur screwed up his face slightly as he read. When finished, he handed the note back to Ot. He folded his arms across his chest. The letters have a feminine tilt, but not at all the penmanship of the elf the note claims to be from. You’ve been played, Mr. Gleeblehut.

Yes, sir. Ot looked ready to cry. Graham wanted to come to his rescue, announce he had seen the real culprits, but he held back. If they pointed a finger, Ot’s tormentors would clamp down even tighter on him. There’d be no end to Ot’s persecution.

Dornt turned to Graham. Odd that you tagged along with your friend. He did show you the note, correct?

Yes.

And your friend meeting up for a romantic rendezvous screamed the need for your involvement? You traipsed along why? While Dornt’s question was interrogative, his demeanor radiated concern and cunning. He knew what Graham would say.

Because I thought the note might be a trick. I wanted to be there in case he needed help.

Ot sent Graham a look of betrayal. The troll was stunned at his reason for accompanying him.

Dornt waved at Ot to calm down. Now, now. Your friend should not be the target of your anger. He only sought to be there for you.

If you suspected it was a ploy, why didn’t you say anything? Ot looked ready to bolt out of the room.

I don’t know. I wanted it to be true because of the rotten week you had, but it didn’t feel right. So I came along to help you—

Ot shoved himself away from the table, teetering his stool back as he hopped off. The solid furniture crashed to the floor. Or you wanted a front-row seat to my misery.

No, not that. Graham didn’t know what to say.

Professor Dornt righted the fallen stool. He blocked Ot from the front door. Ot, your gargoyle friend did nothing to cause you pain. While it might have been wise for him to express his apprehension to you, he didn’t abandon you in your time of need.

Ot’s shoulders relaxed slightly. But he—

The minotaur took to one knee and placed his large hands on each of Ot’s shoulders. Neither of you are to blame for your troubles. I think I know who lured you into this prank. Why don’t you confirm it for me?

Ot’s lips quivered. He looked at Graham, uncertainty written all over the troll’s face.

I will investigate this with or without your say so, Ot. You can either tell me your suspicions or not.

Graham could tell Ot’s teacher was giving him an out, a way to save face and not rat on his tormentors.

I don’t know, Ot said. I’m still so new. I really couldn’t say who would do such a thing.

Dornt grinned. You’re sure?

I don’t want to accuse anyone unless I’m certain.

Very well. Dornt spun around and snatched up the shroud stone, flinching not in the least as the gem made direct contact with his skin. Graham knew the minotaur had triggered the memory locked away inside, but his expression remained impassive. Whatever horrible memory he had become reacquainted with, he was determined not to let it affect him in front of his student. Now, while I can’t hold you at fault for showing up at my doorstep, I can hold you responsible for the wrongdoing you did perform tonight.

Graham scrutinized the minotaur for any sign he was in pain. He still held tight to the shroud stone. He had to admire the control it took to ride out such a painful memory as what must surely be contained in the stone.

Yes, sir, Ot said.

You lifted this from my cabinet in my office. Because of that, I think it only fitting you serve lunch detention in my office with those who delivered this note to you.

Graham flinched. Not at all the punishment he expected.

I will report there every day on time, Professor.

See that you do. Dornt motioned for the two of them to head to the front door.

As Graham walked past the minotaur, he saw a stray tear race down Dornt’s chiseled cheek as he deposited the stone back onto the table. It was almost as if the separation from the memory had hurt more than being exposed to it again.

As they opened the door and walked down the steps, Dornt called down to them. Don’t be too hard on the gargoyle, Ot. Worthy friends don’t present themselves every day.

Yes, sir, Ot replied, not turning back to acknowledge his professor.

Professor Dornt closed his door as Graham took the steps two at a time to catch up with his friend. Ot, I’m so sorry about tonight.

Ot responded, his voice monotone and sluggish, Just stay away from me. I need some space.

But—

If you had really cared, you would’ve told me I was being foolish. Instead, you let me walk right into all of this. He shook his arms up and out dismissively.

Don’t push me away. We need each other. Please, I wanted the note to be true too.

Ot hopped off the last step and onto the cobblestones. He bolted into the crowd. Find your own way home, Graham.

Graham frowned and let Ot run off. After a minute, he took to the air and headed home himself. While his first week had been decent, it had ended on a horrible note. He couldn’t recall Ot ever being this mad at him before.

As he wound his way through the streets of New Asgard, he realized the bright shine of their new home had lost a little of its luster.

Chapter 3

Stewing in his Own Juices

Ot snuck in late.