Lord Morgan's Cannon (26 page)

“Friends of yours?” he asked his terrier, smiling.

Tony barked once back at him. The human and dog walked after the animals, which plodded through the gardens as if they did it every day, Edward visiting the bird tables, Doris taking the odd bunch of daffodils, the cats urinating up trees and Bear slurping up any passing convoys of insects.

As the afternoon gave way to evening, they reached the black gate hung between two white cottages. Mystified, a guard emerged. News had already reached him about an unexpected show put on that day for the King. He was not used to animals walking into the zoo and he was even less used to them walking out. He paused, confused, keys dangling from his belt.

Lloyd Morgan serenely passed between the two predatory cats. He ran his hand along Doris’s belly and along Bear’s back until he confronted the guard.

“Will you please open the gate,” he said. “My animals are tired. They have just performed for the King and I must now return them to their lodgings at University College.”

The professor spoke with such authority that the guard slotted and turned a big key into the gate, pushing it aside. Mouth agape he watched as the human and his small dog led a troupe of exotic animals out of the zoo.

Three cars braked heavily, stopping in the road to allow the troupe to cross. Despite its locks, keys, cages and high walls, word had already reached beyond the zoo of what had happened within. Children playing on the downs ran to its edge, their parents chasing after them, all curious to see the animals that had caused such a commotion. They formed a corridor of little faces with flushed cheeks and the adults placed protective hands on their shoulders. A couple of women pulled back their little ones, having heard stories in their youth about the ways of wild spotted cats, while one man, having caught too much sun on his balding head, fell over, stunned by the heat and the creatures before him.

Tony the terrier led the way, then Lloyd Morgan ahead of the once captive animals. They walked across the downs towards the great cleave in the ground, the gorge that separated the dirty city from the clean meadows and hills of west England. Every human out picnicking on the grass that day had by now gravitated close to the procession, leaving the rest of the downs to the blackbirds and worms. As the humans flocked around them, Lloyd Morgan and the animals passed through the trees surrounding the clipped, green expanse, and down a street that had hours earlier been closed for a King. They saw the first brick tower suspending one side of the metal bridge. The menagerie prepared to cross the gorge for the last time, to freedom.

Tony started barking, his noise drawing the attention of Lloyd Morgan and the animals, who had been looking into the crowd, flattered by its acclaim. The corridor of humans ended at the road that joined the bridge, their bodies giving way to the huge twisted cables and metal supports that carried the wooden boards above the river. But three humans stood apart from the crowd. In the middle of the road, they blocked the entrance to the bridge. One was a woman, her hair covered in a gypsy shawl, her moist eyes surrounded by dark shades. Another was a man of more than six feet in height, bearing an oiled moustache, his sweat soaked into a shirt that clung to a broad chest and biceps. The third, smaller man wore thick trousers tucked into leather boots, a red jacket that hadn’t been washed for days, and tall black hat. His collar was fixed and his jacket buttoned high and tight around his chest and belly. He held a whip in his hand, its burnt length coiled five times through his palm.

Tony barked at the humans. Doris recognised the man that had kept her for so many years.

But she didn’t see her leader, the human that led her across the countryside, securing water and graze. She didn’t anymore see her family. She no longer wanted to follow him and be part of his herd. Instead, she flapped her ears and felt the wind pass through the holes in them, made by the Ring Master ripping at them with his harpoon. She rolled her tongue over her teeth that he’d filed, just to be sure. She tasted not the memories of her time at the circus, but the years that she knew would be lost to her, as the molars at the back of her mouth wore through long before she reached old age.

Upon the jaguar’s back, Edward cackled. His discomfort transmitted itself through the cat’s veins, forcing her whiskers to harden. The little pin monkey, the tufted capuchin that had been bought and sold until he ended up on the Ring Master’s shoulder, covered his eyes with his hands. He thought of Whyte and Wingate’s Big Top and how, just a few days earlier, he’d wanted to run a circus of his own. But to do so, he knew he’d have to command and cajole other animals to do his bidding. He would have to resort to the whip. And he knew that wasn’t a very clever thing to do. He remembered the snuff he’d sneezed and the port he’d poured, and how he’d wanted to taste a drop. But then he heard the Ring Master’s words play in his mind, the challenge the human had set the monkey that he allowed into his wagon. Edward recalled the Ring Master challenging him to understand that his mother was dead.

Bessie watched the humans all around. She knew she had been bred for no other reason than to perform and that most people had lost interest in her doing even this. But then she looked to the sky and saw the other birds flying free, a robin that had waited for her, and the buzzard still circling high. She gave thanks that she could fly and promised she would do more of it, seagulls or not. She too remembered something once said; how the wrens that had given her sanctuary told her they had no need of a name. How it mattered not to them whether they were registered by humans.

Bear stared at the whip in the Ring Master’s hand. He had found a new energy these past days and simply decided never to run from the whip again.

The old leopard saw the people who’d kept him caged for most of his life. He resolved to give himself. He now understood the other circus animals had risked it all to save him from the zoo. He would repay the favour and give everything to save them. He would kill the woman first, then Jim the Strongman. Then he would wound the fat Ring Master. But rather than sever his jugular, he would take the human’s body in his mouth. He would jump upon the bridge’s side, letting the human fall still in his jaws like a dying antelope. Then he’d leap one last time, plunging himself and his tormentor into the abyss.

Lloyd Morgan struck first. He shouted to Tony, who swapped his bark for a deep, incessant growl. The professor stood tall and stroked his beard.

“These are not your animals,” he shouted down the road.

The Ring Master pulled a flask of spirit from his trousers and gulped at it, trying to fortify his own.

“They are mine. They are so. I have trained and taught them everything they know. They are escapees from Whyte and Wingate’s circus. They are performing animals that I have paid for. And they will again perform for me.”

The Ring Master pointed to the pavement, covered in rusting chains and collars.

“You don’t even have enough men to take them back,” said Lloyd Morgan.

“You will relinquish them Sir,” said the Ring Master, trying to speak with authority, in the style of another social class. “It is their destiny! Tell them,” he demanded, pushing forward Charity, the circus clairvoyant.

She stumbled as her long gypsy skirt caught under her heeled shoes. Jim the Strongman took one long stride and caught her.

Lloyd Morgan realised the Ring Master was drunk.

“These animals are not going with you Sir!” the professor declared.

“They are from the circus,” shouted a man from within the crowd. “I paid good money to see them. They are circus animals I tell you.”

The crowd of humans began to argue. A factory man threw his cigarette on the floor and blew the last of his smoke into the eyes of another. A woman put down her basket of fish bought from the docks and shouted at the heckler.

“If they are your circus animals, why aren’t they dressed so?” demanded the professor. “Now move aside. These animals are free, by the order of the King of England. Any man who cages them risks being caged himself.”

The Ring Master was used to haggling and gambling his way through life. But he could see the aging professor wasn’t bluffing. He saw a dog ready to bite, an anteater that had discovered life and was willing to fight him for it. He noticed Bessie and then Edward. But the monkey wouldn’t look at the Ring Master, who moved on to examine the jaguar, her sleek coat and perfect, shiny teeth. How he wished he could collar her and put her to work in the Big Top.

“You can keep the leopard in exchange for that panther there,” the Ring Master said, holding his whip up at the jaguar, who hissed.

Then he saw her long claws and the hungry look in her eyes. The old leopard had told the jaguar all about this drunken man dressed in a silly coat and hat, and she didn’t like him. She saw the whip in his hand and knew she was faster. So did the Ring Master.

Doris then made the decision for them all. She blew her lungs and stampeded her feet, making the iron bridge sway.

Jim the Strongman didn’t stay to argue. He deferred to Doris’s great strength, her new found will. He’d always liked the elephant. He wished her well. He nodded to the old leopard, saluting him. He turned his back on the Ring Master and the circus life forever. He took Charity’s hand and they walked towards the docks, seeking some barrels to lift, fortunes to tell and a ship to sail. Charity shouted back at the Ring Master, calling him a fool, a man with no future.

The Ring Master panicked. He unfurled his whip. But Doris was already upon him. She dipped her shoulder and knocked him to the floor, breaking a rib and spilling his hat, the only time in her life she had hurt a human being. She walked on to the bridge as Bear followed. He reached the Ring Master and placed one huge talon on each shoulder of his red jacket. He leaned in, placing his long nose between the eyes of the Ring Master, making sure the man could see every scar. He pushed down his legs, squeezing the Ring Master’s collarbones, then hopped off, following the elephant. Bessie just flew on by the man on his back, who was cursing in French, struggling to breathe now, his boots coming off his feet.

The old leopard came next. He twitched his ears and licked his lips. But the man on the floor looked aged, wretched. The cat knew the man had no decent life left to live; his circus was gone. He smiled and felt a little younger for it. He waited for the jaguar and, with Edward on her back, they strolled past the human who wanted to chain and collar them and make them dance for money.

Finally, Lloyd Morgan stepped over the Ring Master, followed by his fox-terrier.

“I have learned my lesson. It is time you learned it too,” he said. “Animals should be treated with respect.”

Freedom

The troupe wandered over the iron bridge, past a grey-haired guard who thought he’d seen it all. Only Lloyd Morgan had no idea where they were heading. He watched as his dog jumped the boards, skipping between the anteater, elephant and cat he had once fought.

At the end of the bridge sat two foxes. On seeing the fox-terrier, they stood and snarled, unsure whether to attack or flee. But Tony saw them too. He remembered Bear saying how animals should stick together. He made it to within ten feet of the foxes and sat, ears pointing forward, shaping his body to convey he meant them no harm.

The foxes didn’t trust the dog. They retreated to the edge of Leigh Woods as Doris stepped off the bridge, lightening its load. She pulled at a branch, stripping it of its succulent leaves. Bear joined her as the foxes marvelled at the approaching leopard and jaguar. The animals gathered at the tree line, Bessie perched upon an oak, and looked back at the city, at Tony the terrier and the professor of science who stood alongside his dog.

Professor Conwy Lloyd Morgan studied them one last time. Bear the anteater had lost his spectacles, Doris the elephant her hat and shawl, Edward his little red hat and waistcoat, the old leopard his collar and the jaguar her cage, while Bessie had found her calling as a bird. Each stood naked and free, as they would in the wilds of their ancestral homes.

“In front of the King, you seemed to understand me. Perhaps you will now,” said the professor. “I have made it my life’s work to understand creatures such as you. And yet I feel I do not. I have researched for many years to produce my canon, which dictates how we should think of you. But I fear my canon is flawed. When we humans consider you animals, we shouldn’t rush to make simple judgements. We shouldn’t presume what little you are capable of. We should presume you are capable of great things.

I do not know where you are going, or how you shall live. But I will promise you this. I will work hard to rescind my canon, and ensure it is not unduly quoted. And I will offer whatever protection to you I can. If any man or woman tries to harm you, I shall evoke the protection of the University of Bristol and the King of England. I shall shield you as best I am able.”

Tony stood and barked at the animals ahead, a menagerie no more. Bear doffed his nose at the professor and dog and led his friends into the woods. Down a trail they walked, the sun setting over the tops of the trees.

Skipping ahead, the foxes reached a clearing, in which the red bull had waited, grazing. As the bull saw the circus animals approach, he let the grass fall from his mouth. Bear called the animals close. He felt ready to sleep. He was tired not of life, but as an anteater should be. He had some last words to share before the night took them.

“It is up to us now. We must decide how we want to live.”

“You are welcome to stay with us in the woods,” said the bull. “But I need a guarantee the cats will not harm us.”

“We will only take what we need,” said the leopard. “We will leave you cows alone and any deer that pass through these trees. When we need to eat, we will go out on to the hills, and hunt the proper way. We’ll only seek out the old and infirm.”

“What about the dogs?” said the younger fox. “Can you help protect us against the dogs?”

“There is a pack of dogs run by the humans,” explained Bear to the cats. “They hunt the foxes and try to kill them.”

“I’ve met those dogs,” said the leopard.

“I can easily take a dog,” said the jaguar.

“There’s a lot of them,” said the leopard.

“Then we shall scare them off. We shall mark the edge of these woods with our scent. They won’t know how many cats are living wild in here. And if it comes to a fight...”

“Then we will protect you,” said the leopard to the foxes, finishing her words. “You might not see us, but we will be here, sitting on a branch in a tree, or in the grass, protecting you.”

“There is a natural order that cannot be helped,” agreed Bear to them all. “And not all animals can get along. But we can restrain ourselves, respect each other. We can do what the humans cannot, and only take what is necessary.”

“What would you like to do Doris?” chirped Bessie. “What would you like to do?”

“I think I would like to swim back to India, to my family,” said Doris. “I can’t forget my cousins and I’d like to see them again. But I don’t think that will be possible. So I would like to live here with the cows.”

“We can show you the best browse,” said the bull.

“And I can excavate a watering hole near the fort,” said Doris, pleased with herself.

“And you Bessie? What would you like to do?” asked Bear.

“I will fly,” was all she said, feeling no need to repeat herself.

“What will you do Bear?” Doris asked.

“First, I don’t think I want to be called Bear any more. There is no need,” he said. “As for what I will do? I don’t know. I would like to taste some honey. But there is one thing I will do no more. I will no longer run.”

All the animals burst into laughter.

One by one they set off deeper into the woods. None thought to ask Edward the monkey how he might like to live. But it didn’t matter. The wild man of the circus took it upon himself to count up all the fruit trees in the forest. He’d evaluate the size of their yearly crop and make plans for which to harvest and when. He’d sit down with Bear and help him do the same for all the ant nests and termite mounds in the forest, thinking that on special days they might forage for grubs together.

And when the days were quiet and there were no jobs to do, the little pin monkey decided he might teach himself how to write.

He already knew what he would write about. He would jot down the story of the circus animals that everyone thought were stupid, who couldn’t think for themselves.

He’d recite their adventure and how they escaped the humans that kept them captive.

How, like all animals, they were cleverer than humans thought.

How they could feel and think, scheme and plan.

He would tell the story of how animals had hopes and dreams and of how a few had won and deserved their freedom.