Lord Morgan's Cannon (7 page)

Seeking The Circus

After spending their second night free in the English countryside, the elephant, monkey, anteater and budgie came up with their first ever plan.

It took them half the morning to agree it. But a plan it was. Edward the monkey took responsibility for keeping this plan inside his head. He could remember the locations of different fruit trees for months at a time, he told the others, so remembering a plan for a day or two shouldn’t be that hard. Doris countered that she could remember the locations of drinking wells for years at a time, so perhaps she should be the one to remember the plan instead. But then Edward said he had a more agile mind. And therefore he’d be able to remember both the plan, and the point of the plan, at the same time. Bear the anteater concurred, as did Bessie, so Edward was put in charge.

The plan was complicated. It had two distinct parts; the plan itself was to find the circus, and the point of it was to then save the circus. The animals also differed in how they regarded this plan, and its point.

Doris wanted to rejoin her herd of circus troupers, and help the Ring Master return the Big Top’s splendour. She was a faithful creature of habit and love, and she adored the humans that had cared for her since she arrived ashore in a crate suffering from sea sickness.

Edward too wanted to find the circus, for he felt he owned it in some way. He harboured ambitions of one day running it himself, conducting proceedings within the ring, introducing new routines, perhaps delegating responsibility for stealing the audience’s money to another less capable monkey. Maybe a marmoset, he thought.

Bessie just knew that a circus couldn’t be a circus without its animals and without her at its heart. Bessie had not been caught in the wild, and transported half around the world, before being sold to the highest bidder. She had been bred to show off, the only thing that weighed on her hollow bones.

Bear the anteater had his doubts, however. He didn’t like his wagon and its hard wooden floor. He knew he wasn’t the star of any show and during his day away he’d begun to wonder why no human had named him. Did he not deserve one? He appreciated the routine of the circus, and the dog chum the circus boys gave him, but he had now eaten fresh ants and quite liked the taste. He’d enjoyed his wander through the field of rape and meadow. As he began to study his position, he realised, for the first time in his young adult life, that he had choices. But he was not yet confident enough to make them. So he took his directions from the others, and agreed with their thinking.

As the four animals stood in the clearing full of wildflowers, within the small coppice at the top of the meadow, Edward repeated the plan.

Bessie had seen the wagon on the path. But it was gone now, as was the circus, the hot air balloon and all the other wagons and humans. It was too dangerous for Bessie to fly up high to see if she could spot the circus nearby. Bear the anteater could of course try to pick up the smell of the circus horses on the path, and follow it. But Doris was worried that once on the path, she might not be able to turn her body around, and would be trapped by two hedges, unable to change direction. And she didn’t like that at all.

So it was up to Edward to lead the way. He would climb each tree in the wood, until he discovered which was the tallest. He would then climb to the very top and look out across the land. He’d spot the circus and while riding upon Doris’s back, he would take them all to it, pointing his little finger to show the way.

That second afternoon, they began their journey home.

After a few false starts, which he put down to a lack of practice, Edward identified a beech tree, standing straight and true. Leaping on to it from Doris’s shoulders, he marked his position at an exact ten feet off the ground. Then, clambering hand over hand, he scaled the trunk, counting as he went, frightening a small red squirrel on his way. He climbed until he had passed one hundred feet and all the trees about him had gone. He tightened his grip, looking for any eagles, before recalling that none lived in this country, none that mattered anyway. The wind caught his nose and hat and he shrieked in delight at the view. It was the highest he had ever climbed.

Edward could see far into the distance. Behind, a row of hills marked the horizon. To his right the fields melded into each other until they met the greying sky, and to his left he thought he could glimpse the sea. Ahead, over the tops of the trees below, he could see the city, plumes of dark smoke belching from grubby buildings. Before the city there appeared to be a gap of sorts, an empty scar that traversed the landscape. Before it was a thick, deep forest, far more substantial than the small wood holding Edward’s observation tower. And behind, on the outskirts of the buildings, was a vast expanse, a rolling series of downs with grass clipped short. And upon this carpet of green Edward could see the white canvas of Whyte and Wingate’s Big Top, a flag flapping on its peak, a large black burned streak disappearing down its side into the ground. He could just make out a floating hot air balloon and wagons parked alongside, with their horses harnessed. He wrapped his tail around a small branch and clapped his hands.

Edward took the scenic route to the floor, pulling and swinging at the beech tree, crashing through its leaves. He jumped upon Doris’s back and described to the others all that he’d seen. He outstretched his arm, unfurled his finger, and Doris set off in the direction of the circus, Bessie flitting about her ears, with the giant anteater rolling his shoulders as he followed behind.

The animals walked through the wood, leaving the meadow and track. All was quiet, a few moths flying through the damp air. Bessie and the anteater stopped occasionally to flick their tongues into a muddy puddle. Doris sampled the leaves in the wood, but she didn’t like them. She felt her stomach rumble, as did Edward.

“Why are we going back to the circus?” Bear suddenly asked.

He had fallen behind a little, his long head swaying more as he walked.

“To see all our friends,” announced Doris.

“To save the circus,” suggested Bessie.

Bear thought about it some more. But before he had time to come to any particular view, his concentration was broken by a flash of orange fur. A fox dashed past his nose and under Doris’s legs. There the fox went to ground, curling into a small ball, bringing its tail around its face. The fox thought it had hidden itself. But its tail had been shredded by mange and Bear could still see its amber eyes through what was left of a white tip. It was breathing heavy, peering out, frightened. Doris realised something wasn’t right. Gently she stepped away. The fox didn’t move, even when Doris turned and nudged it ever so gently with her huge foot.

“What is wrong?” Bear asked the fox, who didn’t reply.

“What is wrong? What is wrong?” cried Bessie.

She hadn’t yet seen the fox, but the moment she did, she alighted next to Edward on Doris’s back, too nervous to approach any closer. Bear wandered up to the fox, which took to its feet. It bowed its head and withdrew its lips, revealing sharp canine teeth. The giant anteater stood three times taller, with a tail three times longer. He knew he intimidated the fox, so he crouched upon his elbows, so he could look it straight in the eye.

The fox spoke with a gentle, soft voice that still trembled.

“They are coming to kill me,” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked Bear.

“The hounds. They are coming.”

The fox looked around herself now, surveying the forest floor.

“Help me.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of in this world,” said Doris.

“For you perhaps,” said Bessie.

“Come on, let’s stick to the plan,” cried Edward, as he sat upon Doris’s neck, tugging at one of her ears, trying to turn her towards the city.

“You don’t have to be frightened,” said Bear gently.

He spoke with a quiet authority, born out of generations of giant anteaters that had faced down mountain lions and ocelots. The vixen trembled some more. Then they heard the wail of a metal horn and the fox was gone, gambling with her life by bolting down a nearby badger set. Surprised, Bear stood and raised his front legs off the ground, elevating his head some six feet high. He looked around, trying to spot the source of this alien metallic cry.

“Dogs!” Edward shouted.

Doris took two steps back and instinctively lowered her massive head. She flared her ears as Edward and Bessie held tight. Bear dropped to all four feet as five fox-hounds appeared over a crest in the forest, tongues out, saliva dropping from their teeth as they zigzagged across the ground. Noses to the floor, the dogs didn’t see the huge elephant and anteater in front of them until too late. One ran straight into Doris’s front leg, numbing its head on her shin. Another hit her trunk, which was already scraping the ground. Doris swished her trunk at the indignity of it all, swiping a third dog, as the fourth came face to face with a large, black and white hairy animal with a huge neck and long face. Bear merely blinked at the dog with his small eyes, his spectacles still looped over his tiny ears. The dog barked, then saw Bear’s dirty curved talons. It instantly turned, the fifth fox-hound running with it back over the crest. Just as she did in the circus ring, Doris raised her head and trunk, lifting her two front feet, exposing her deep chest and nipples to the three dogs. Her shadow swept over them and they too turned on their haunches and bolted, barking at a higher pitch than before. A horn sounded again. From his vantage point, Edward saw three red-coated riders galloping on horses through the woods, a pack of fox-hounds running in front.

“Be quiet!” he said, as the riders and dogs glided through the trees and out of sight again.

Doris couldn’t settle. She shuffled to and fro, trunk swaying, occasionally letting out a heavy breath as Bessie chattered away, reliving the commotion.

Then came another dog, smaller, with a longer, wilder coat. It ran lower to the ground, moving with greater intensity but less grace than those before. Ignoring the troupe of circus animals, it made straight for the entrance to the badger set. It shoved its face into the hole and wagged its tail. It staggered back, barked at the darkness and tried to enter, its shoulders preventing it from pursuing the fox. It too was trying to hunt the vixen.

The circus animals had never seen such a thing. Protected by their parents in the wild, they had witnessed few predators at work. And those chases they had heard about from their elders involved some big fierce animal taking something much smaller, each kill quick and painless. But here was a dog, a terrier of sorts, chasing another of equal size.

The terrier backed off from the hole, still barking at it. The voice of another fox could be heard, but from within the set. As the terrier retreated, this second voice got louder. Suddenly two foxes burst from the set, the vixen and a much larger, thicker-set male, their ears flat to their backs, their hair on end.

Doris bucked again, as the two foxes separated, coming at the dog from both sides. Slowly they advanced as the dog stood its ground, all three growling. The male fox broke the deadlock. It pounced upon the dog and the two coated themselves in dead leaves as they snapped and bit at the other’s ears, rolling in a frenzy of teeth and tails. The vixen looked up at Bear. Her eyes reddened and she too pounced upon the dog. Somehow, in the rush of it all, the vixen and male fox coordinated their attack on the terrier, taking lumps out of its fur, tossing it on to its back.

“Stop it!” roared Bear, standing tall again.

He dropped to his feet and ran at the foxes, knocking them off the dog, which continued to fight. Bear took one huge paw and pinned the dog, as he had the herring gull that so scared Bessie the day before. The foxes didn’t run. They stayed, pacing, drooling.

“He wants to kill us. So we should kill him,” rasped the male fox, in a deep voice.

Edward looked at the dog beneath the anteater. He recognised it; the hairy coat of three colours, the square, grazed hips and the way it fought so bravely.

“This is Lord Morgan’s dog,” he said to the others.

“He’s a fox-terrier,” said the male fox, panting. “He’s only brave when he has a pack of hounds behind him.”

The male fox and vixen circled Bear and the dog. Doris didn’t like it, so she opened her ears and trotted forward, just enough to make the ground shake a little. The foxes backed away, but they didn’t take their eyes off Lord Morgan’s terrier.

“Are you trying to kill them?” Bear asked the dog.

Edward pirouetted on Doris’s back, demanding he ask the questions. Bear ignored him.

“Well?” he asked again, leaning a little heavier upon the dog.

“Yes,” said the dog.

“Why?”

“It is what I’m supposed to do,” was all the dog said, before giving up the struggle.

“End him. End him now,” pleaded the vixen.

“Kill him,” urged the male fox.

Bear surveyed the other animals. He thought for a moment.

“Dogs shouldn’t kill dogs,” he declared. “It’s not right.”

“They do it for sport,” said the male fox. “The humans and their dogs. They chase us down, and try to kill us.”

“They go after our babies,” said the vixen.

“Oh that sounds horrible,” said Doris.

“What is sport?” asked Bessie. “What is sport?”

“It’s a game,” said Edward. “Like when the Ring Master plays cards. It’s just a game.”

The male fox hissed.

“This isn’t a game. This is life or death. Now kill him.”

“Dogs shouldn’t kill dogs. It’s not right!” shouted Bear.

He took his paw off the terrier, who just lay there, catching his breath.

“Thanks for nothing,” hissed the male fox.

“Whose side are you on, ours or theirs?” said the vixen, waving her shredded tail.

Bear couldn’t answer. He watched the foxes eye him with disgust, then run off together into the bowels of the forest. The fox-terrier stood, shook his coat and wondered what the anteater, elephant, budgie and monkey might do with him.

“Go,” said Bear, “and don’t chase any more foxes.”

The fox-terrier looked bemused. He checked himself, then seized his moment and cantered in the direction from which he had come.

Bear seemed pleased. He asked the others if they fancied a nap in a bush. Doris stretched her legs. She hadn’t eaten for almost two days and had slept standing, not getting a chance to take the weight off her knees. She suggested finding somewhere grassy where they could all lie down. Bessie thought of the craneflies she could catch and agreed. Edward, however, became ill-tempered.

“Why did you let the terrier go?” he said. “That was a stupid thing to do.”

His words hurt the anteater, who had heard that very expression far too often.

“Don’t you remember the plan?” Edward asked.

The animals talked over each other, reciting the plan that had been agreed. They were to find the circus, they all said in their own way, and that would be that.

“Yes but do you remember the point of the plan?” asked Edward.

Doris had forgotten and felt ashamed, while Bear or Bessie couldn’t recall it either.