Lord Morgan's Cannon (8 page)

“The point of the plan is to save the circus,” said Edward proudly. “And to save the circus, we need Lord Morgan’s cannon.”

No one else spoke.

“The cannon will be at Lord Morgan’s castle,” he suggested, throwing his little arms in the air, flicking his tail over his head. “And that was Lord Morgan’s dog! He can lead us to the cannon!”

“So are you suggesting we change the plan?” argued Bessie. “The plan to which we all agreed?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Edward, a little unsure of himself now.

He scratched his head and thought a while. Then he had it.

“The circus is that way,” he said. “But when we get there, the Ring Master will put us in our cages.”

“I don’t have a cage,” Doris said proudly. “I only go into a wagon when we are going somewhere. And I’ll get to eat some hay. I’m hungry.”

“Yes but you will be chained to a tree,” said Edward. “And if you’re chained to a tree, and Bear is put in his cage, how will we get Lord Morgan’s cannon? How will we save the circus? Isn’t it better we find the cannon first? Then we can ask Lord Morgan to give it to us. We can haul it to the Big Top and put on the most amazing show. That’s the best way to save the circus.”

Edward’s idea seemed sensible and the others could think of no reason to doubt him. So the elephant, monkey, anteater and budgie came up with their second ever plan. They would use Bear’s sensitive long nose, and track the scent of the fox-terrier all the way to Lord Morgan’s castle, where they would acquire the cannon that would save their circus.

Lord Morgan’s House

“We’d better find this cannon soon,” said Bessie, as the small herd of circus animals reached the edge of the wood.

In front of them was another field and up in the blue sky, two seagulls scorched between the clouds.

“I’m not sure I like it out here,” she said.

“I need to eat something nice,” said Doris, sampling the longer grass brushing against her feet. “Can we find a proper meadow again, with some proper graze?”

Edward scrunched his eyes, small folds of skin appearing on his forehead.

“We’ll eat at Lord Morgan’s castle,” he said. “He’ll serve us fresh fruits and nuts, perhaps some dried figs.”

“I need to eat more than that,” said Doris, as she looked out across a field planted with dark green cabbages.

“I quite like this land,” mused Bear as he slurped up a grasshopper trying to flee Doris’s trunk curling round a stand of grass.

“We need to find the cannon and save the circus,” demanded Edward. “Let’s go this way,” he said, pointing out across the sea of cabbages bobbing in the soil and breeze.

“But it’s dangerous out there,” said Bessie. “It’s dangerous.”

She jumped off Doris’s back and alighted on Bear’s shoulders.

“We can’t survive without the humans,” she added.

Doris nodded her head.

“I like it at the Big Top,” Doris said. “The circus boys make me a bed of hay to lie in every night. I can eat whenever I like. Let’s go home.”

“Not until we find the cannon,” said Edward. “Remember?”

“Elephants never forget,” said Doris, in a deeper voice.

“At home they put you in chains,” Bear whispered quietly.

Doris didn’t hear him.

“And why can’t we survive without the humans?” the anteater asked of Bessie.

“That’s what the humans say. That’s what they say,” she answered, hopping along his head.

Bear thought about it. Bessie was right, the humans did always say that. The circus boys said it to the animals as they put them to bed each night. The Ring Master would scream it at them while wielding his whip. The humans would even say it to each other over a bottle of whisky in the evenings, or when one of the high wire girls admitted she was scared of the leopard.

Bear lowered his nose and picked up the pungent smell of the fox-terrier’s paws. The dog had walked into the field between two rows of cabbages.

“The dog went this way,” he instructed Edward.

“Let’s go this way,” said the monkey, adjusting his pointing finger.

As Bear and Doris walked forward, Bessie flew up into the sky, trying to hover in front of Doris’s eyes.

“But they will see us. They will see us,” she exclaimed.

“Who will see you Bessie?” asked Doris.

“The seagulls,” said the budgie, as she flew back to Bear.

“You’ll be alright,” said Bear. “You’ve got us to look after you.”

And with that Bear wandered out into the field, which had been dug, ploughed and planted into a regular pattern of cabbages that swept down the hill to another hedge in the distance. The elephant and monkey followed, the little bird upon Bear’s back. After a hundred yards or so, Bear began to weave left and right, nose to the ground.

“Why aren’t we going in a straight line?” complained Edward.

“Because this is the way the dog went,” said Bear.

“But we’re still heading for the hedge,” said Edward. “Why don’t we just go straight there?”

“Because this is the way the dog went,” said Bear.

The animals continued to zig and zag through the field, crossing from one row to the other. Doris was starting to feel the journey in her knees. She didn’t fancy lying down on these hard plants and chalky soil. So she pulled out a cabbage and shoved it into her mouth, chewing it down using her stumps for teeth. It tasted better than she expected. So she ate another. And another.

“Come on,” said Edward, getting impatient.

He swung his tiny hips forward and back, copying the horse riders he’d seen, encouraging Doris on.

They reached the hedge and Doris put her head over the top, wondering what awaited beyond. She and Edward looked straight at a small boy. It was the closest they had come to a human that hadn’t been involved with the circus, either selling them into it, performing, or paying to watch.

The boy held on to a small tin bucket of water, full of frogs he had caught along the hedgerow. Edward called out to him, but the boy did not understand. The lad saw Edward’s teeth and some water slopped out from his tin. He then realised that Edward was wearing a little hat and waistcoat, and was sitting atop a giant, living elephant. The lad dropped the bucket, his marsh and garden frogs hopping for their lives in every direction. He pulled up his brown trousers, tied round his waist by a piece of string, with a hole in one knee. With a muddy hand, he brushed back his black hair. Then he screamed and ran along the hedge, kicking off a pair of shoes that were one size too big. He looked back. Knowing he had no other way to go, he darted out across open ground, a square of land left to fallow, arms and legs flailing. He didn’t stop screaming until he reached a wooden gate. He unbolted it and ran down a track, out of sight.

“What happened? What happened?” demanded Bessie, her beak snapping away.

Edward couldn’t contain himself, describing the boy and the frogs and how impressed the boy had been to see them all. Doris felt joyed too, mistaking the lad’s excited reaction.

“People like us,” said Doris. “They come from far and wide to see us perform.”

“It is nice to be noticed by them,” said Bessie.

“One day we’ll put on the greatest show there has ever been,” said Edward, dreamily, lying back on to Doris’s shoulders, closing his eyes to the sky.

“Maybe it’s not just the seagulls we should worry about seeing us?” offered Bear.

None of the others paid him any attention.

“Come on, let’s get to the track,” said Edward.

And with that, the animals followed the hedge, until they found a break in the thicket. Doris pushed on through. The giant anteater followed and they hurriedly trotted through daises and buttercups down to the gate, which was now slapping on its hinges against a wooden post.

Doris wrapped her trunk around the gate, opened it and walked out on to a track wide enough to take an automobile. A milestone stated Bristol was one mile away, and with two arrows a wooden sign pointed the way to Leigh Woods and the Avon Gorge. The anteater’s nose picked up the fox-terrier’s trail, which continued towards the woods and gorge, and the animals followed it.

Soon the track gave way to a bigger path, made of cold crushed stone that even Doris could feel beneath her feet. The hedgerows became clipped and more regular and Edward noticed an oval-shaped red letter box set into the road, bearing gold lettering and a royal insignia. He chuckled at the vivid colour, realising they were heading towards town. Towns had houses and castles, he knew, and Lord Morgan lived in a castle.

Doris sampled some large convolvulus flowers on the verges, popping the white petals from their green cups and into her mouth, and Bessie noticed a bird table up off to the side of the track. She looked about, seeing only friendly wrens and a song thrush. She flew up the track, banking left up a garden path and on to the bird table, tucking into breadcrumbs and some droppings of fat. She had landed in the front garden of a big proud house, its walls painted blue and its window frames white. A golden knocker hung from a shiny black door, the lawns cut short and true. A wisp of smoke drifted up from one of six chimney stacks upon its roof. Before Bessie could fill her belly, Doris rounded the corner, joining her in the garden. Edward scurried down from her back and onto the table alongside Bessie. Then came Bear, still sniffing at the ground.

And then came the voices. At first Edward didn’t hear the boy, crying and moaning. But he heard the sounds of many men, and recognised the anger in their words. He heard them speaking of monkeys, and then he heard them shouting at the boy. Edward had been around enough humans to gauge their mood; when to twirl upon each punter’s knee and when to riffle inside their pockets. When to jump on a lady’s shoulder and when to run. This was a time to run. He screeched a warning to the animals. Doris and Bear responded as they did to the Ring Master. Immediately, Bear began to run in a looping arc around the side of the house. Doris followed, her ears flapping. Edward swung underneath the bird table and hung upside down, pulling in his tail as Bessie chirped away on top as if an English budgerigar was a regular visitor to every suburban garden.

As Doris and Bear peered around the wall, a gang of men walked past the front of the house. Two carried pitchforks, while one drew on a cigarette. The eldest, a greying man wearing a worker’s shirt and braces, pushed at the boy, forcing him up the road, demanding to know the whereabouts of his imaginary elephant. The crowd passed, but Doris could feel her heart beating in her deep chest. She looked at Bear then peered inside a side window of the house. A little girl, with a lace cap upon her head, was playing with a doll’s house. As Doris leaned in, casting a shadow across the room, the little girl turned and saw Doris’s soft yellow eye, surrounded by black eyelashes and a splash of dirt, looking back at her. The little girl smiled, and then went back to her game. She grabbed at a stuffed toy bear and placed it next to her doll’s house. She laughed out loud as she put the stuffed bear’s face to the window. A tear gathered in Doris’s eye, her reverie broken by the feeling of the anteater’s tail brushing between her legs as Bear joined Edward and Bessie on the lawn.

Though none of the animals said it directly, each felt uneasy. All agreed it would be a good idea to find Lord Morgan’s abode by nightfall. The smell of the fox-terrier was getting stronger, said the anteater, suggesting he’d used this road often. It couldn’t be long now.

The animals left the garden and passed five more houses. Unlike the blue house, each was fronted by a locked garden gate, barring the path leading to the entrance. Some were set further back, but each had a newly painted front door, with a porch and windows split into smaller rectangular frames.

Then the anteater paused outside a house that was much larger than all they had passed. It was painted dark grey, and nestled far back off the track, in a manicured garden of rhododendron bushes and clipped conifer trees that stood taller than any since the wood. Around much of the house grew a hedge of hawthorn standing taller than Doris. It blocked out the setting sun, casting rosebushes into the cold. Into the lawn had been hammered a set of metal hoops, high enough for Edward to pass under but not Bear. Three knotted ropes dangled from a smaller apple tree in the grounds. Nailed to the trunk of the apple tree was a white bird-box. It had its own front door and a series of dowels inserted into its side, like a little ladder that led to a roof covered in raisins, nuts, oats and slices of coconut. Compared to the chaos of Whyte and Wingate’s Big Top, the house appeared like a perfectly constructed theme park, adorned with perches, challenges and sweets.

The giant anteater pushed his face into the gate separating the garden from the cobbled track. The gate was black too, and made from iron. A series of vertical bars linked two cross-members, propping up a coat of arms made of a lion and unicorn grappling a shield. Bear pushed his nose through the bars and sniffed at the ground, which stank of fox-terrier. Entranced by the hoops and ropes in the garden, Edward jumped down on to the gate, which was locked by a simple, horizontal latch. Doris leaned her head over the gate, trying not to stand on the anteater. All the animals, Bessie included, were in awe of the gloomy big house and its plump garden.

Right then, Doris felt a snap at her ankle, a jaw trying to extend itself around her Achilles and into her muscle. It felt like the bite of the gharial she had once accidentally stood on in India, toothy and strong but incapable of causing her harm. She kicked her leg and moaned, and as elephants are prone to do, she started walking backwards towards the threat, intending her massive bulk to scare whatever it was away. Before she could turn her head, she saw a dog run under her body and snap again at the anteater’s long bushy tail. Before Bear could extricate his head from between the bars of the garden gate, the dog was leaping up at it, nipping at Edward’s tail, trying to make the monkey fall. It was Lord Morgan’s terrier, who by now had lost himself, fixated on his singular task of defending the entrance to his house, from any and all who tried to enter.

The terrier turned and barked at Doris. He snapped at her front feet and at the anteater, trying to catch his spectacles. He jumped twice, trying to take Bessie from the air as Edward danced along the gate, enjoying the excitement. Then Bear asserted himself. He unfurled his front paw and slapped the dog hard, doing just enough to avoid impaling him upon his talons. He sent the fox-terrier into the gate, winding him. The dog slumped to the floor whimpering.

Bear leaned in, running his nose along the dog’s belly. He opened his long jaw and licked the dog’s fur, by way of an apology. Like the anteater, the terrier had a narrow skull, eyes set high and small ears on a brown head, his muzzle running down to a black buttoned nose dripping a little wet, and white whiskers. The dog blinked at him, raising two fawn eyebrows in surprise at the monkey and elephant peering at his body and the anteater nuzzling his leg. Edward noticed the terrier was better groomed than any dog he’d seen, a carefully coiffured coat of white, tan and black fur, giving the impression of a saddle upon its back, and neatly trimmed feet that made the terrier look like it stood on tiptoe. The only concessions to the dog’s clipped appearance were a few clumps of missing hair revealing a scar healing on his hip.

The terrier breathed deep and calm and the animals could see the fervour leave its eyes. Within a moment it had become docile in their company.

“Biting is rude,” said Doris, by way of an introduction.

“We saw you in the woods. We saw you in the woods,” said Bessie, cocking her head.

“He chased the vixen down a hole. He was playing a game with her. It was all good sport,” said Edward proudly recalling the day’s events in sequence.

“You were trying to kill the fox. And I saved your life,” said Bear. “So why are you trying to attack us?”

The dog lay there a while, panting, thinking.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

He paused a moment longer.

“It’s what I am trained to do,” he said.

“Can’t you think for yourself?” chirped Bessie.

The terrier didn’t answer. He looked sad.

The old leopard had spent the best part of the day patrolling the perimeter of the fields, staying close to the hedges, occasionally venturing into the open to look for livestock. He wasn’t yet hungry so he counted the sheep, the plentiful Blackfaces and occasional Longwool, knowing that, if necessary, a newborn lamb would see him through the week. Stretching his body, he noted a field of Cotswolds that appeared unguarded, full of ewes without horns and with wool covering their eyes. But he wanted to find a cow to kill, preferably one of those black and white ones with fat udders that meant so much to the humans. He would take the tongue and perhaps the kidneys, leaving the rest to rot.