The gargoyle stood a pace away, humming to himself as he looked out a window with broken shutters. Next to him were a tin pitcher and a plate of bread and cheese and apples. My stomach yanked. “Where did you get that?” He screamed. “Sprites and spoons—you startled me, Bartholomew.” “Have you been stealing, gargoyle?” “Yes,” he said with delight. “I’m rather good at it. I was caught only twice. But you—you look stern. Have I behaved ignobly again by your childish standards?”
