Lord Morgan's Cannon (3 page)

“I’ve seen many a man fired out of a cannon,” she continued. “There was a red cannon that had big red wheels,” she started. “But the net that came with it was quite small. Then there was the cannon that fired water. And the toy cannon that fired the Italian dwarf.”

“Yes but this is a giant cannon,” declared Edward. “Before Lord Morgan left, he stood in the field in front of the leopard’s cage. He winked at the old cat, and proudly announced his name, to make sure all of us heard it again. He said he was working on building a giant cannon, that could only be operated by the cleverest animals in the whole world. He was forging the cannon back at his castle. And if we put on a big enough show, he would give the cannon to the circus. It would be ours, and it would show that animals can be trained to do anything. Of course, I’m going to light the fuse,” said Edward, as the other animals, including the anteater, started to shiver with excitement.

“That does sound like quite a cannon,” said Doris.

“We’ve got to get that cannon,” said Bessie.

“If I get fired from a cannon, I’ll be put on a poster,” said the young, giant anteater, now standing within his cage.

“We have to make tonight the biggest and best performance of our lives,” they all said in unison.

Meanwhile, across the way, in his own cage next to the water butt, the old leopard lay carefully upon his paws. He’d impressed the circus boys since the rehearsal and was glad to hear he’d caught Lord Morgan’s eye a couple of days earlier, because the bearded professor had caught his.

“If this Lord Morgan is going to make us famous,” he said to Edward, in a slow, sly drawl, “are you still going to steal from his pocket?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He considered what he had heard, and felt prepared for the evening’s performance. He licked his lips.

The Ring Master had it all worked out. Lord Morgan’s arrival coincided with the night he’d planned to launch Whyte and Wingate’s first hot air balloon of the season.

He selected his finest looking gypsy girl, made her wear a frilly top that exposed a little cleavage, and gave her strict instructions to beckon Lord Morgan into her basket on his arrival. Then she would give the professor the ride of his life, while Jim the Strongman held the twenty feet of balloon rope, making sure they didn’t drift out into the Channel.

That would give the Ring Master time to drill his animals one last time, before the biggest performance in the circus’s thirty-three year history.

He set his best two boys to work on the balloon, laying its silk on the softest patch of grass they could find, feeling it for holes. As the day’s light faded, he got them to build a small fire next to the balloon. Its light and smoke illuminated the meadow, and meant the balloon’s brazier could be quickly sparked should Lord Morgan arrive early.

He then followed one of his many habits, demanding a visit from the clairvoyant woman before the evening’s show. She called herself Charity. She was mysterious, like all good circus clairvoyants, with dark eyes and curled hair that she flicked if she needed to distract a rich client.

She had become an early adopter of the Tarot de Marseille deck, its fifty-six cards and four standard suits allowing her to tell any tale she wished, by only remembering a fixed number of objects and trumps. She liked that the card denoting the Fool was unnumbered and easily marked in the deck.

The Ring Master asked the clairvoyant woman to visit him in his trailer and consult her spirits. He needed to know, as he did before every performance, whether things would go well and he would make money. He also asked her to look for any sign that a mysterious benefactor might enter their lives, bringing great wealth.

On any usual evening, Charity would select a basic reading for the Ring Master, a variation on the same theme. The Emperor card would appear, signifying a man of unyielding power who brought stability to many lives. She would reveal the Sun or the Moon, and relied heavily on the Wheel of Fortune. The Ring Master never seemed to notice how often these same cards appeared, and always seem comforted by them.

Today though, she thought she would have some fun. Spurred by the white smoke drifting in through the wagon window, she recalled how she had seen Edward the monkey practising his new trick. So she turned over the Juggler card, commanding the Ring Master to make his monkey juggle fire in the Big Top. At first the Ring Master seemed doubtful and surprised. Then he started to think it through, realising that a fire-juggling monkey might be just the thing to impress Lord Morgan. He looked at his watch, and wondered if there was time to rehearse this new addition to the show. There wasn’t, but there was time at least to get a sign made, and tied to the meadow gate. He would show this professor of animals just what he could train a monkey to do.

Excitedly, he stood and took Charity in his hands, cupping her face, kissing either cheek. She could smell the whisky on his breath, and was thankful he hadn’t noticed her refusal to turn the last marked card. The Ring Master left his own trailer.

Charity looked at the card, which took the joy from her heart, replacing it with a dread in her stomach. She slipped the numberless Fool into her brassiere, hoisted her long, frilled skirt and hurriedly followed the Ring Master down the trailer steps. She urgently sought Jim the Strongman. She had this feeling that something might go desperately wrong with the hot air balloon.

The first star punctured the dark blue sky. Jim the Strongman lit candles from the fire, marking the path from the road into the meadow and up to the Big Top. He listened to the clairvoyant woman, then took her by the arm and pushed her aside, tempted by her body more than her endless predictions. He ordered the clowns to dress, the balloon to be filled and applied vegetable oil to his muscles.

The high wire girls put on their soft shoes and started to stretch, split their legs and somersault on the grass. A scent of roasting chestnuts mingled with the smoke and a flag was hoisted to the summit of the Big Top, its silhouette luring undecided punters residing within a mile. A young circus boy swept the boards inside, while others drew buckets of water from the butt, ignoring the sneering leopard. They placed the pails in rows behind the Big Top, a standard precaution in case an ill wind should blow the hot air balloon sideways, tipping it or its burning brazier on to the flammable canvas below.

The Ring Master visited the animals, still gathered in their pre-show circle. He brought carrots for Doris and Edward, a slice of sheep’s liver for the old cat. He never knew what to offer the giant anteater as a treat, and had never asked what he was fed. But he saw no need, given that the anteater only ran in a circle. The whip would be motivation enough.

He then spoke directly to his charges, another of his pre-show routines.

“No farting tonight Doris,” he said, patting her trunk. “And no shitting on the floor.”

Doris didn’t understand him. She never did. She liked to repeat his words but she never really got their true meaning. She did enjoy hearing him speak through, and liked it when he touched her skin, without using an iron implement. As she felt his hand, she let out a deep rumble, which reverberated down her legs and through her feet into the soil. The Ring Master gave her a carrot.

“Plenty more in here,” he said, now patting a pocket stuffed full of them. “Do everything on cue, like a good girl. We need the money.”

He then noticed Edward upon her back. Unlike Doris, Edward did believe he could understand the human language, considering himself quite a connoisseur. Despite his poorly hearing, he had learned many an expression off his mother, who herself had learned to understand English while working as a tourists’ monkey in Porto. Edward even thought he could distinguish humans that came from London, and those from Leeds, just by the way they spoke. This ability enabled him to learn of his mother’s death, from old age supposedly, two years previously, just as Whyte and Wingate’s circus had struck out for the southwest.

The Ring Master beckoned Edward to him.

“Shoulder,” he commanded his monkey.

Edward skipped along Doris’s back and hopped on to the Ring Master.

“Now then. Let me look at you,” said the Ring Master, turning his head, pursing his lips as he tried to kiss Edward’s chest.

He started whispering at his monkey, talking to him and nuzzling his fur. The Ring Master instructed Edward to pilfer many a coin, because each would go towards the circus boys’ wages. It was at this point, sixty minutes before curtain up, that he also told Edward he would be juggling three sticks of fire, not two. And that Lord Morgan would be scoring him.

Bessie, feeling a little jealous, took to the air. She joined a passing pigeon, mobbing it until she ran out of breath. She always forgot how fast pigeons can fly.

The giant anteater slept, as he liked to do for fifteen hours each day, while the Ring Master crossed the grass to take one last look at his leopard. The old boy slid up off his haunches and moved to the front of his cage. He pressed his nose up against the bars and stared at the Ring Master, his cold feline eyes watching the hairs on the human’s neck. The Ring Master stared back, examining the strength of the leopard’s back. He checked the claw stubs on the leopard’s paws, and whether his belly hung low and full. Satisfied, the Ring Master ducked his head, threw on his hat, and marched across the field.

Tonight, he would put on the greatest show on Earth.

The first punters to arrive wore simple caps made from cloth, and braces that kept their trousers hanging above their muddy workman’s boots. A few youths paid their dues, followed by their foreman, then a couple of older lads, all from the tobacco factory down the lane. Every one of them smoked a cigarette.

Standing at the entrance to the meadow, a line of candles snaking behind his back to the Big Top and its flapping flag, the Ring Master accepted their pennies, knowing they’d have none left to spend on chestnuts or candyfloss.

Three families arrived together, all related, though it was unclear which man had fathered which children, and whether any of the adults were married. One of the men refused to pay for two of the infants that ran past the Ring Master, ducking under his coat tails, claiming they weren’t his.

A couple of girls wandered up. For ten minutes they stood talking by the gate, arm in arm, whispering and giggling, flinging looks at the smoking boys who were by now wrestling in the meadow, still some distance from the hot air balloon. Ignored, they paid up and purposely walked past the youths, tightening their stomachs and bottoms, pushing out their breasts.

Then came the kids from the orphanage, who the Ring Master nodded through, knowing he had no choice. Finally, just thirty minutes before the start of the show, the carriages started to arrive.

The Ring Master liked the carriages. He appreciated the horses that pulled the large wooden wheels, how they trotted in unison and obeyed the whip. He liked the ladies that stepped out, hitching their nice dresses, and he liked the pounds lining the gentlemen’s wallets. He also knew that if more than ten carriages pulled up, he would at least break even.

Tonight the Ring Master stood by the meadow gate, and began to lean on it, as carriage after carriage rolled up the lane, pausing at the entrance to his meadow. He took money from the squires and company directors as their ladies disembarked, twirling parasols as they laughed excitedly at the sign advertising a fire-juggling monkey. He stroked his beard at his good fortune, and for a moment forgot to look out for a professor’s carriage.

A thundering of hooves shook the Ring Master from his reverie. Two enormous piebald shire horses cantered up the lane, throwing stones into the nettles. Across their backs a beam of polished wood pulled at an exotic black carriage suspended on leaf springs. The Ring Master checked the rig, establishing it was not for hire. The horses drew level with the gate, and stopped on a sixpence, snorting their arrival. Seated above and behind, Lord Morgan grinned down upon his host.

“A boy to store the carriage,” he demanded.

Lord Morgan wore a black cape, which he threw over one shoulder as he fixed the reins and climbed down to pat the sweating horse nearest the Ring Master.

Lifting his body off the gate, the Ring Master beckoned help. As the horses and carriage were led away, Lord Morgan placed his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and whistled.

For a moment nothing happened. Lord Morgan watched his rig disappear up the lane. He frowned and whistled again. Suddenly a small white, black and tan dog jumped from the carriage and bounded down the lane, running to his own master at the edge of the meadow. As it reached Lord Morgan it leaped at him. Lord Morgan caught the terrier in one arm, and held it as the dog licked at his buttons.

“Animals, what clever creatures!” he declared. “Now then Sir. I have my notebook. Shall we?”

Lord Morgan looked exactly as Edward had described him. He dropped the dog to the ground and took off his tall hat, his waxed brown hair parted down its centre. The hair turned grey above his ears, joining a long, tight, kempt beard that pointed at his belly. He had straight eyebrows and clear blue eyes, and stood firmly for a man close to his sixth decade. He intimidated the Ring Master, who already felt he was being scrutinised.

“Well? Shall we?” said Lord Morgan.

The Ring Master handed the gate to his returning carriage boy and walked the professor up the lane.

“We’ve got a proper show for you tonight Sir,” the Ring Master explained.

He offered Lord Morgan snuff from his box, which the professor took.

“But first, a little ride in our balloon. It’s the highest in Bristol.”

“Nonsense,” said Lord Morgan, walking past the gypsy girl. “It’s the animals I’m here to see. As agreed.”

The two men kept walking, as the empty balloon basket skidded on the grass, tied to a stake next to Jim the Strongman, who stood holding a flaccid rope, bewildered.

“And I’d rather you didn’t keep those acrobats on for too long,” said Lord Morgan, gesticulating to the trapeze troupe and high wire girls warming up to the side of the Big Top.

He stopped walking, his dog sitting at his heels.

“In fact, show me the animals now,” he said. “I want to see them before they take their instructions.”

He removed a penny from his watchpocket and flipped it to the Ring Master. For a moment the Ring Master didn’t know what to do. No paying customer had ever seen his animals in full costume before the show. And a penny wasn’t much. But he knew how important Lord Morgan was to the future of Whyte and Wingate’s circus. He led the professor around the back of the Big Top, past the buckets of water to the half moon of wagons, and an ornamented Doris.

The smell of Lord Morgan’s dog alerted the old leopard to the approaching party. He hissed as the two men walked to his cage and began to salivate as Lord Morgan ran a pencil along his bars.

“Does he strike?” asked the professor.