The gargoyles of Nôtre-Dame Cathedral, looked out over the city of lights with cold unwavering eyes, these bizarre and ancient mythical creatures made of stone, remained there as silent sentinels over the centuries.
Their purpose for the people of medieval times, had been to teach, to warn the everyday man in his everyday life, that the devil was out there. They were born of a need for constant vigilance. These stone gargoyles were the epitome of the words of St. Peter: "Be sober and watch: because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour."
Yet one crouched among them, living...breathing, his blond hair highlighted by the moonlight when a drifting cloud would pass by, letting the light free to shine down on Paris and all its goings on.
Illya Kuryakin, was deep in thought as he squatted atop the cathedral, it was beginning to lightly rain and the gargoyles built into the ends of the gutters began to drain rainwater from the roof; since they extended far off to the sides of the edifice, allowing the litres of rainwater from storms to fall far from the walls, preventing damage to them over the centuries.
The chimeras and other fantastic beasts were decorations to him, though he knew historically their purpose was to frighten people, into fearing evil and the devil.
Most rested on the façade, seated in a gallery, watching the people below and all of Paris with cold, lifeless eyes. It was among the animal and human figures, half-man and half-beast, horrific, fantastic creatures with eagles' beaks and wings, lion's talons, serpents' tails that the Russian hid.
Some of the statues though grotesque perhaps served as another reminder, that all creatures were the work of God, and deserving of His love and salvation.
The existence of God and the the gargoyles were the furthest thing from Kuryakin's mind at the moment. He was going over the facts in his head again and again, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.
He and his partner were picking up a package at the Musée de Sculpture en Plein Air, an outdoor sculpture garden located on the banks of the Seine just east of Nôtre-Dame, along Quai de la Tournelle, past the bouquinistes, and across Pont de Sully (the bridge that takes you to the far side of Ile St-Louis) to Quai St. Bernard.
They found themselves right across from from Rue Cuvier (a couple of blocks east of Pont de Sully), and walked down to the river's edge to the meeting place, in the Jardin Tino Rossi, and among the most bizarre, modernistic sculptures they'd ever seen.
They wandered cautiously through the sculpture garden and surrounding lawns; the Jardin giving them a sense of being somehow in a secret place. The garden was not immediately apparent from the street and seldom had more than one or two other visitors wandering around; making it the perfect spot for the handoff as they walked the narrow paths, gazing past the sculptures at the water at the bâteaux-mouches floating by on the river, oblivious to the people on shore.
As they waited for their contact, they observed only two people, in the Jardin - a little boy and his father. The child, wearing a blue jumper ran around chortling and smiling, with a toddler's quick, birdlike steps, his happy sounds mingling with the songs of the birds. The Jardin was quiet enough so that his squeals, the bird's chirps, and his father's occasional laughter were the only audible sounds.
The father, eyeing Napoleon and Illya must have sensed something, and picked up his son, leaving very quickly. The agents being dressed in dark trench coats made them not look like tourists enjoying the sights, or locals there to eat their lunch; their attire giving a more ominous visage.
Whether their presence frightened him off or not, it was immaterial. The fact that he left was all that mattered as one never knew if things could go wrong at these handoffs; though neither UNCLE agent felt that it would.
The meeting took place as expected, with an extraordinarily beautiful blonde, her hair in a neat French twist and dressed in chic designer clothing approached them, giving the proper code words. Napoleon responded, being his usual charming and flirtatious self as he took the package from her and that was when all hell broke loose.
Men, also wearing dark trench coats and hats, appeared from their hiding places behind the statues and grabbed the girl and Solo, firing their weapons, barely missing the Russian as he shot back at them. Illya's clip was filled with sleep darts, and none found their targets as the men,who were using live ammo, disappeared with their captives.
Illya reported the disaster to an unhappy Alexander Waverly, and received his orders to find Solo, the girl if possible, but most importantly the retrieval of the package was to be given priority.
When Kuryakin questioned what the contents were, he was told point blank it was none of his business.
The Old Man was rarely that brusk, and his demeanor hinted to the Russian that whatever was in that package must be something far too dangerous to be in the hands of just anyone.
.
He looked to the statue next to him, a griffin at first glance. "Well what have your eyes seen my friend, can you tell me where they are?" Illya simply said out loud. The Russian was exhausted after having pounded the pavement looking for Napoleon, and the girl. If he found them, he suspected the package wouldn't be far off.
Rubbing his tired eyes; he thought for a brief moment the stone creature was pointing it's razor sharp claw as if answering his question.
There had been an age old legend that spoke of the gargoyles of Nôtre-Dame coming to life at night, but it was something that Illya dismissed as simply mythos. Now he wasn't so sure. At first he questioned his vision and the fact that he's been awake for nearly twenty-four hours.
He looked again, and the griffin's claw was definitely pointing to something, where minutes before, he was sure it had not.
Illya tried aligning his vision to where it was pointing, and it seemed to be showing him the garden again.
"Musée de Sculpture en Plein Air?" He asked, why, he didn't really know as talking to statue he'd hallucinated moving was ridiculous.
"Oui." A voice answered in his head.
"I must be losing my mind," Illya said out loud.
"Non, vos amis sont là. Allez, allez maintenant_no, your friends are there. Go, go now."
The statue's claw was back in place where it had been, and Illya, feeling now in his gut this was real, hopped down from his place in the gallery and descended from the cathedral roof, climbing inside and down to the street below.
He moved with a sense of urgency, heading back to the garden, still telling himself he wasn't going mad.
There to his amazement as he tiptoed in among the shadows cast by a full moon, he found his partner and the girl tied to some monstrosity of a sculpture resembling the skeleton of a building that had been ravaged by war.
The men who at taken them were nearby, standing beside a grotesque statue that reminded Illya of the biblical creation called a 'Golem.'
One of them had a vial of sickening green liquid in his hands, and using an eyedropper, put a bit of the substance on the statue.
There was a low rumble, like the sound of stone grinding against stone...
Kuryakin's mouth hung open, as he watched the lumbering statue to begin to move slowly. "Not possible," he muttered, but reminded himself of the gargoyle and it's silent message to him
"Kill them," one of the men ordered, pointing at Solo and the girl.
As the moving monolith turned, moving slowly towards them, the girl began to scream uncontrollably.
Illya pulled his Special, this time the clip loaded with live rounds, and shot at the monstrosity. The bullets did nothing but ricochet off it's stone body.
"No kill him!" The masters of the statue called out, sending it after the Russian.
Illya backed away several paces, but the Golem reached him in but a few steps as it's legs were much longer than his. It took him in it's two immense hands and began to squeeze the life out of him. Kuryakin gasped, grimacing in pain as cried out; feeling himself being slowly crushed to death. He tried but couldn't escape the creature's grip.
The Golems maw opened, seemingly readying to devour him.
Suddenly from above, there was an echoing screech, and descending upon the Golem was the griffin along with several more of the gargoyles.
They attacked the creature, distracting it into dropping the Russian from it's grasp, and Illya fell to the ground, momentarily dazed.
There was gunfire; attempts to ward off the strange creatures from thwarting their plan, but the statues, like the Golem were immune to the bullets.
The griffin flapped it's mighty stone wings, finally pulling the head from the Golem, decapitating it and tossing it into the Seine. The body collapsed, and as it hit the ground it broke into a multitude of small pieces.
The griffin and its companions turned on the Golem's masters, grabbing them by their collars and tossing them into the river as well.
When it was all over the griffin stood in front of Illya, seeming to stare at him with it's stone-cold eyes. He heard no message from the creature, but knew it sensed his gratitude and watched as it and the others disappeared into the night skies above Paris, perhaps returning to their perches on walls of Nôtre-Dame before the sun rose.
Illya was in a bit of a daze as he rose, heading over to free his partner and the girl.
"Did my eyes really see what they did?" Napoleon asked as Illya cut the ropes with his pearl-handled switchblade.
"It was noty our imagination, no... though I am wont to offer any sort of rational explanation."
"I can Messieurs, my papa created that formula to bring inanimate objects to life and obey simple commands. He was afraid it would fall into the wrong hands, perhaps used to create an army of such creatures. He asked me to deliver it into your hands before he died."
She looked to the vial, now smashed on the ground. "Alors, that was the last of it, I think, and the formula itself is now lost as it died with my father."
Napoleon wrapped his arm around the girls shoulders, giving her a comforting hug her. "What's your name?"
"Josephine, est vous?"
"Napoleon," he smiled at her.
"Pas encore, what an appropriate name for my hero, n'est ce pas? " She batted her long lashes at him.
"Ahem," Illya cleared his throat, slightly miffed his partner was being given credit where it wasn't due., "I think I was the orchestrator of this rescue mission if you please?"
"Hmm, perhaps your are right, I do apologize. But how did you get some of my father's formula and used it on the les gargouilles?
"I cannot say," Illya responded, still not completely grasping the fantastic turn of events and supposed he never would. His was a mind grounded in reality, but its foundations were shook by what had taken place tonight.
"So you're saying you did get hold of some of the formula?" Napoleon asked.
"As I said, I cannot say and that is as honest an answer as I can offer you my friend."
"Well whatever you did or didn't do, thanks for coming to the rescue with your unlikely cavalry."
"You're welcome," Illya smiled mischievously.
"You know Josephine," Napoleon changed directions." There's a nice little bistro not far from here, why don't you and I..."
Illya, as usual, rolled his eyes, and looking up into the sky as a hint of dawn began to show itself, he saw a large dark shape fly overhead, heading in the direction of the cathedral.
How he was going to explain this in his report...he had no idea.