Lord Morgan's Cannon (11 page)

Lord Morgan kept hold of the puzzle box as he transferred the padlock to it. There was barely room for Edward to stand inside. Lord Morgan selected a piece of celery from the jar and pushed it through the mesh. Edward ignored it. Instead he pleaded with the dog.

“Where am I going? Where is he taking me?”

“To the college,” said Tony. “That’s where he does most of his work.”

Edward tried to run around the cage, but he could only spin on his tail.

“Why does he grab me like that?”

“Because you’re not a dog,” said Tony, cocking his head so that one of his ears fell flat. “That’s how he holds the rats and cats, and the birds.”

“Stop barking,” ordered Lord Morgan.

He wagged a finger at his dog and left the room. Edward tried to think.

“What is this college? Is he taking me there to work on his cannon?” said Edward.

“Yes I think so,” answered Tony.

Edward wasn’t so sure about finding the cannon now. His mind had become muddled, and his plan with it.

“Tell the others they have to save me!” he screamed at the dog.

Lord Morgan walked back in, a hat on his head, carrying a cane and black cape. He threw the cape over the cage with Edward inside, muffling the monkey’s cries. He flipped his cane under one arm and carried Edward from the room, leaving Tony the terrier bemused in the study. Lord Morgan walked down the hall to the front of the house and out up the path to the gate. In his arms, the night had fallen in on Edward’s world as the monkey was bounced around in a wire box, a piece of celery hitting his knees in the dark.

A black coach pulled by two shire horses arrived outside the gate. Lord Morgan handed the box to the driver, then stepped up to sit beside him. He took the cage and patted it, as the driver whipped the horses and coach on down the track and out of sight.

The old leopard also awoke in a black box. Whenever they snared him at the circus, he’d only struggle for so long, saving his energy for the next inevitable battle with the Ring Master. But upon that tight track between the houses he couldn’t escape the net and the metal pitchforks stabbing at his ribs. Both men and cat had fought to the bitter end, writhing and twisting, working their muscles, grinding and flashing their teeth at the other, trying to use their body weight to gain any advantage. Trying to instil fear into the other species, trying to scare their opponent into submission. The leopard was sure he’d lost only because they had beaten him with their spears and sticks.

He awoke and immediately smelled prey. He sniffed at the air in his box, catching a waft of antelope dung. He shook his head and yawned, stretching out his jaws and pulling back the folds of skin from his nose, passing the scent over his tongue and throat. He growled and twitched his ears, ascertaining from the acoustics that he was being held in a cage, with bars, covered by a cloth. He licked at the sides and tasted a drop of freshwater running down a smooth iron cylinder. He sat up still and waited. He could tell it was raining outside.

Suddenly the cage filled with light. He turned his head to shield his battered head and tender eyes. He retreated until his tail hit the bars and he retreated some more, curling his body in on itself. For a moment the leopard had become small, like a frightened caracal. He heard men shouting, but different voices from those that had caught him. He saw two men circling the cage, wearing green overalls.

“He’s not the best specimen,” one said.

“What do you expect, they found him out in the lanes,” said the other.

“Must be one of them circus cats.”

“Yeah, look at his teeth. So are we keeping him?”

“Apparently. Paid good money for him. Not sure why.”

“He’ll bring in the crowds.”

“But where are we going to put him? He can’t go in with the bears. And the tigers will have him.”

“We’ll put in him with the young girl of course. He’s just what she needs.”

“Ain’t there a chance he’ll kill her?”

“I suppose. But what else are we going to do. They should belong together. It’s natural, isn’t it?”

“I still think he might kill her. That’s why we didn’t take that leopard from London remember?”

“Yeah, but look at him. No claws. Broken teeth. Even the farm lads could take this one.”

Both men laughed. One threw the black blanket on the floor, while the other picked up a broom and started sweeping round the cage. The air was damp. The leopard stood and moved to the front of the cage. He could see that clouds had gathered, some white, some black and heavy, tumbling around the edges, giving themselves to the sky.

“We need to move him. He can’t stay here.”

“Let’s drag him close to the young girl. See how they get on.”

The leopard snarled as the two men approached. One stooped and picked up a handle attached to a trolley underneath the cage. He pulled as the second man went to the rear and pushed. The leopard began to rumble as his bruised bones were transported over cobbled stones. The clouds opened and the rain began to fall, hammering on the metal roof.

The leopard couldn’t get his bearings. He wasn’t back at Whyte and Wingate’s Big Top. He could tell he hadn’t been sold into another circus; surrounded as he was by stone and concrete. He searched for clues, but all he could see from his metal box was a winding cobbled path running between two grey walls.

Then he smelled the antelope again. It was an eland. A big male, with a heavy chest and horns like twisted daggers. He didn’t have to see the bull to gauge its size and mood. The eland had revealed it all in its faeces, which were close.

The leopard licked at the bars again, trying to sample a spectrum of odours. He spat out his tongue and wiped it on his fur. He couldn’t trust himself, for he’d just scented a hippopotamus. He hadn’t seen such a beast for so long, since the year of his capture. He shook his head but the stench wouldn’t leave him. He could now clearly smell the red sweat of a hippo. He became agitated; hippos hated leopards and leopards were impotent in their presence. Even in his prime, he knew he couldn’t bring one down, having failed once to kill a calf.

As the trolley wound along the stone path, the walls gave way to green grass and the leopard saw a tall cage. Inside stood a huge stork, six feet tall, its heavy beak pointing at the floor. Below the sad stork pranced a secretary bird, red feathers bouncing upon its head as it haughtily searched the floor, shouting
gonk gonk gonk
.

The leopard tuned his ears, picking up the squeaks of a colony of fruit bats and the idle conversation of a pair of fat gorillas. Then his trolley stopped, the leopard bumping his head upon the bars.

“Let’s leave him where he can see her for a while. See what he does,” said the man in overalls, as he dropped the handle and set the brakes on the trolley under the cage.

The leopard watched the two men walk away, sizing up their bottom cheeks, looking for a stutter in their gait. The rain fell harder now and he drank from a puddle accruing in the well of the cage. He realised he had been placed alongside a much bigger enclosure, an amphitheatre of rocks, bushes and grass with a single young field maple tree growing within.

Nothing was doing, so he lay upon his stomach and watched the grass for signs of a mouse or vole. Then a movement in the tree caught his eye. He didn’t register it perfectly. He saw it again and realised he was staring at another cat. It looked like a leopard, but its tail was shorter. He saw rosettes rather than spots and noticed its stockier frame and jaws. It appeared misshapen to him, neither male or female, until it rose, yawned and stood upon the branch, displaying a line of teats down the belly. The cat turned and peered down at the old leopard. She blinked at him, stretched then lay back down. He felt a tear forming in his eye.

This cat, this female variant of himself, instantly reminded him of Africa, of the queens he’d stalked and fought for, the cubs he knew he’d sired. He felt ashamed to see another of his kind so caged, an anger that the humans had taken a female, likely having beaten her too. As the water fell, he watched the droplets run down her sleek coat as if she cared for nothing in the world. But he knew. He knew she wasn’t uncaring. She had become unfeeling.

His trance was broken as the two men returned and began to manhandle his own crate upon the trolley. He tried to prowl but there was no room. He tied to hiss but his mouth had dried. Suddenly he felt a man sitting astride his cage and the front door opened, leading down a fenced channel to an open gate leading into the larger enclosure. It felt like a trap, so the leopard didn’t move. The second man approached with a long pole in his hand. The leopard looked back then forward and took his chances. He summoned his strength and he burst forth through the door and out into the rain. He heard the men cheer, wishing him luck.

Immediately the leopard set about the fence. He rubbed his body up against the wire mesh, following its contours, establishing the boundaries that now confined him. The humans at the circus had it wrong. The cat didn’t flow around the edges of his cage, or the wall inside the Big Top, to mark his territory. He did it to define his prison, seeking out the weak areas, planning to one day escape and have them all for it.

And so the leopard wandered the enclosure, passing his nose over the rocks and grass, filtering out the stench of the hippo, smelling the scent of her as she lay up in the tree, still blinking at him. He paced and turned until his back was soaked and water ran down his whiskers. This was better than the circus, he thought. But then he didn’t know what
this
was.

Eventually, he realised he couldn’t continue. Not with her watching. So he turned for the tree and leaped at it. He made the first branch then the second and he went for her, to see what she would do. As he arrived on her branch, muscles shaking in the wet, cracked teeth showing, she reacted. She pulled her body back on to her haunches, the skin wrinkling behind her neck. She opened her thick jaws, displaying two long smooth ivory coloured canines, and spat. She opened her paws and invited him in, inch-long claws dazzling. She was as big as the old leopard, stockier, younger and more alert. She didn’t like him being there.

She swiped and almost caught the old leopard across the nose. She started to pat at him, sparring. He pulled back and lowered himself on to the branch. He grunted and meowed, and would have scratched his claws down the branch had he any. After a few minutes, both cats settled, staring at each other. Their bodies were still apart from the twitching of their ears and flicking of their tails.

“Where am I?” he finally said.

“With me,” she answered.

“Where are we?”

“In the zoo,” she said.

Her words cut him. A cloud burst above their heads, sending down a torrent of water and his mind back to that wet day on the boat, when all the crated animals learned they were heading for Europe, and would be sold to the highest bidder. The monkeys and apes, clever as they were, worked it out first and shared the news. When they arrived on the steamer at the port, there would be an auction. The wild things would be sold; some to the circus, a few to aristocrats, and the rest, if they weren’t to be experimented on, would go to some place called the zoo. No one knew what a zoo was. But it sounded definite, permanent, hopeless. He wondered if the hippo he could smell was the hippo that had survived all those months next to him in a wooden crate, fed a turgid diet of apples and tulips being exported with the animals. He thought about Doris and imagined her being here too. He even worried for the anteater and cocky little Edward, hoping they had stayed close to the burning Big Top.

“I hope you’re not staying long,” said the female. “I don’t get on with leopards. You’re a difficult breed of cat.”

He shivered. But instead of retreating under a leafy part of the canopy, he rested there, in the rain. What else was there? He blinked as she did, intentionally copying her. Then her words registered.

“But aren’t you a leopard?” he asked, confused.

“Oh you silly cat,” she said, mocking him, knowing she had his measure. “No, I am not a leopard.”

She licked a paw and ran it over her ear, grooming herself.

“I am a jaguar,” she said proudly.

The leopard had heard of jaguars. The Ring Master often spoke of them when he toyed with the idea of replacing the leopard with a black panther.

But jaguars were dangerous, the Ring Master also said. Leopards thought they were cunning, he used to say, but jaguars were schemers. They would take the whip and collar and follow commands. Yet they were always watching, waiting for the mistake. And if you made one you were done for. A jaguar had six ways to kill a man, said the Ring Master. Humans knew of five, but history had proved there was always a sixth. Jaguars were the most dangerous cat on earth, he’d said. They made lions and leopards look like tabby cats.

Yet this girl didn’t look so bad, thought the leopard. She didn’t scare him as much as the surrounding fence.

“So how long are you staying? Are they sending you off to a foreign zoo?”

Now she frightened the leopard. He could take this place if he had to. With time, he’d find a way out and he’d be back across those fields, heading for the moors, free. But he wondered how much time he really had? Would they come for him again? Would he again have to be collared and chained to a box, enduring miles and miles upon a lumbering cart until they reached the sea? Then another boat, the waves and storms, the lack of food and fresh water. The cramps as his legs became paralysed beneath him as he was transported somewhere even worse, somewhere more alien.

“Do you know a way out of this place?” he answered.

“You’re an inquisitive one aren’t you?”

The jaguar began to relax. She purred as she looked the leopard up and down, wondering which ravages had been caused by age or the acts he’d been forced to commit.

“Maybe,” she then said.

The Indian elephant and giant anteater were by now sampling the delights of Lord Morgan’s garden, drizzled as it was in a light rain effusing an explosion of odours from the exotic flowers and clipped trees. Doris used her trunk to pull at the blossom on the apple tree, making the petals fall like confetti around her feet. She hoovered up the fruits atop the bird-box, making Bessie hop back and forth, knocking the nuts to the floor. Bear licked them up with his tongue, sampling almonds and hazelnuts for the first time, sucking on the protein and fat.

Tony the terrier found them in full view of anyone who cared to watch from the house.

“He’s taken Edward away,” the terrier said, trying to catch his breath.

Doris didn’t respond, enjoying the garden too much. It was the lushest place she had visited since arriving on these shores. The wet rosebushes and rhododendrons reminded her of India, and she imagined herself back with her sisters and cousins, grazing and frolicking, playfully nudging aside the little elephants that liked to pull at the adults’ tails.