Lord Morgan's Cannon (23 page)

The monkey decided to recalibrate. He evaluated what he knew and weighed his options. He could spend time searching for the anteater, elephant and budgie, because that was part of the plan. Or he could head in the direction of the leopard’s cries. Because finding and then freeing the leopard was part of the plan too. Locating the leopard while his friends were still safely outside the zoological gardens was a less risky plan, he thought, than it was to seek them out, invite them in and begin the search again. So Edward watched the passing humans, and when they were busy pointing and laughing at the immobile pink birds, he left the bin and scarpered across the perfect lawn, shorn of all clover and daises.

Edward ran past a house holding a thousand frogs and another housing a hundred bats, each a giant compared to those he saw flitting about the Big Top in the English summer evenings. He saw a large pool of dirty water and smelled a hippo. As the monkey recognised the face of a tiger etched into a large wooden sign arching overhead, he realised he could no longer hear the cats roaring. He ran under the sign and on to a long straight path bisecting a wall and the tallest fence he had even seen, a fence Doris couldn’t touch the top of, even if she stretched her trunk.

Edward yelled and screeched in the hope the leopard could hear him. But the zoo was full of noises now as each cage of animals began to set off the next. Even a flock of seagulls swooping low ahead joined in the throng as they hunted for fallen ice cream cones.

Down the path, a large crowd of humans appeared. But they didn’t walk as one; they were led by a single man, wearing a tweed jacket and chequered trousers, twirling a walking stick. The leader was laughing and joking while those behind him laughed too, though less naturally. Edward froze on the path. He had nowhere to go, his escape routes blocked by a brick wall on one side and the tall fence on the other. He briefly thought to once more mimic a squirrel, as he’d done to avoid being seen on Lord Morgan’s lawn. The crowd kept coming, the portly bearded man waving his stick. Edward was left with no choice. He took to the fence and started to climb, exposing himself.

A man behind the leader noticed Edward and went to shout. But the leader suddenly spoke, and the man held his words.

“Where are these tigers?” the leader asked.

He stopped walking and the crowd behind struggled to avoid stumbling into his back. All the humans turned to peer into the space behind the tall fence, which enclosed a low escarpment of rocks, a pool of water, a maze of tall grass and three wooden platforms, nailed together out of stained fence posts.

Behind the man with the walking stick, the crowd parted as a tall, thin moustached man dressed all in black pushed through. He carried a ledger close to his chest, which he opened and began to read from.

“Your Highness, we have three tigers in this cage,” he read. “Two females are Royal Bengal tigers from India,” he said, pleased at what he had discovered. “The third is a large male, a Caspian tiger from the wilds of central Asia.”

As the leader looked at the man reading from the ledger, Edward saw his chance. The wire in the fence was awkwardly woven, being oddly spaced for Edward’s small arms and legs. But he clambered up, gently turning on to his side as he attempted to climb along the fence high above the crowd.

As Edward peered down at the humans, to see if they were peering up at him, he forgot to worry about what was on the other side of the fence. The wire suddenly went from under Edward’s fingers, slapped hard by something big. Edward felt his grip go. As his body left the fence it was caught by his tail, his fifth limb breaking his fall. Edward dangled, his head hanging. Just a foot below, a huge tiger was ramming the fence, trying to strike the monkey with its paw and catch his fur in its claws.

The crowd cheered, led by the man with the walking stick. But the man holding the ledger didn’t shout. The colour left his face as the tiger continued his attack on Edward. The man seemed perturbed not by the striped cat flailing its limbs just three feet away, but by the presence of the monkey it was trying to kill.

“Your Highness, the monkey...”

The administrator didn’t know what to say. He was saved by the grace of the King of England, who seemed unconcerned by the monkey being on the outside of a cage. Instead, the King laughed and joked, loving the sport. He started to cheer Edward, telling him to run before he became a tiger’s lunch. The crowd followed suit and soon a dozen finely dressed humans were waving their hats, celebrating Edward’s great escape from the clutches of the big cat. The monkey took his moment, traversing the fence, moving faster until he felt brave enough to jump back down to the path behind the Royal party. As he ran on down the path, the administrator followed his movements with a pointed finger and open mouth.

Edward turned a corner to be confronted by another big cat standing in a cage of its own. This cat had white whiskers and a broad, serious face. Rosettes covered a body similar in size to the circus leopard, but thicker set. The cat seemed intrigued by the primate on the path. Edward, bred from generations of South American monkeys, instantly knew it to be a jaguar. And he knew he was positioned badly, caught on open ground as this jaguar stood above him. Edward had been around many exotic animals. He was clever enough to know their manner and how to avoid being seen as prey. But jaguars were different. They scared capuchins, even when imprisoned in an outsized cage.

This time a tree offered an escape. The monkey climbed it. Below, the old leopard languidly walked out from behind a bush to stand shoulder to shoulder with the jaguar. There was little left to do today, the cat thought, and perhaps tomorrow too.

Edward shrieked. He hadn’t seen the leopard since their last show days earlier at Whyte and Wingate’s circus. He ran along a branch and swung from it, hooting, calling at the cat, imploring him to look up. The leopard had heard enough noise for one day. He gently closed his eyes and collapsed his body onto his belly. He rested his chin on his leg and tried to blot out the sounds of the zoo.

However, the jaguar kept watching the monkey. She strained her neck at Edward’s acrobatics and after he’d pirouetted and twirled about the branch, she realised he was calling to the sleeping leopard. She understood the monkey’s shouts, that he was pleading for the leopard to wake. That Edward had come to save the old cat and break him out. That outside the zoo Doris and Bear were waiting, with Bessie too, and together they had decided to renounce the circus. They were going to live free and they wanted the leopard to live free with them.

“Wake up,” she said softly to the leopard.

Edward’s antics attracted the magpies the jaguar helped to feed. Into the tree flew the first black and white bird, then a second arrived, full of joy as it heard Edward’s speech. They dropped from the tree and landed about the leopard’s head. The old leopard opened his eyes and growled at the birds, but they held firm, dancing about his ears.

“Wake up, wake up,” they snapped at the cat. “It’s time for you to go.”

The leopard pulled himself to his feet and thought about swiping one of the magpies. But he heard twigs breaking in the tree above and a leaf fell past his nose. He searched for its origin and saw his circus monkey putting on a show above his head. Though he would never admit it, he was pleased to see Edward the tufted capuchin hanging above his cage.

“He says he’s here to break you out. With his friends,” said the jaguar.

“There is no way out,” the old leopard said, speaking to Edward now through broken teeth. “I found a way, but they’ve doubled the locks.”

“That’s a good thing,” said Edward.

The leopard growled again, thinking the monkey was mocking him.

“Every lock has a key,” said Edward. “Do you know where the keys are?”

“I do,” said the jaguar.

She spoke with a gentler voice than Edward was expecting.

“The administrator took them. They are in his waistcoat pocket.”

“Is that a human?” asked Edward. “What does he look like?”

The jaguar described the man, his weak and listless features.

“There’s not much meat on him,” she concluded, struggling to portray him any other way.

“Does he carry a book of sorts?” asked Edward.

“He had one, yes,” said the leopard. “He hid behind it.”

Edward realised he had just seen this human in the crowd blocking his path past the tigers’ cage.

“Wait there!” said Edward, who disappeared into the tree’s foliage.

“Where does he think we might go to?” said the leopard. “He’s a stupid monkey.”

“He seems clever to me,” answered the jaguar. “He found you didn’t he?”

As Edward ran, he plotted and schemed. He knew he didn’t have long; this human carrying the ledger could disappear at any moment. As he cantered along the top of the brick wall facing the tigers, he started to smile. He already knew what he was going to do. He was a trained circus monkey no less. Outwitting the humans wasn’t all that hard. He’d been doing it his whole life.

Edward spotted the crowd of men standing next to the stagnant hippo pool. He heard the man in tweed bemoan the quality of the water and saw the thin man respond, opening his book, nodding, hastily making note of the King’s remarks. Edward ran on. Just like he used to in the circus, he would approach his target from the side. He would use one human as a distraction while he robbed another.

Edward crossed the lawn and ran up the back of a gentleman’s suit and on to his tall hat. The man thought he’d been pushed in the back and turned to remonstrate. Edward tipped his hat backwards, using it as a springboard to leap on to the shoulder of the next gentleman. He grazed that man’s beard as he jumped again, using the shoulders of three men, including the King’s bodyguard and his private secretary, as stepping stones. As the crowd began to split, Edward took his final leap, landing on to the chest of the King of England, grabbing his lapels as if squaring for a fight.

A few gentlemen in the party gasped, losing their nerve, while one found his, bringing up his cane to strike the monkey from his monarch. He hesitated, realising he was more likely to hit his ruler. The King took a few paces back, struggling to look down at the monkey fiddling with the buttons on his coat.

“What is this?” he asked in a rich, amused voice.

“Your Majesty,” shouted the administrator, rushing forward. “I can explain...”

But he could not. Edward seized his moment. As the King of England started laughing, the monkey jumped at the administrator. He grabbed on to his suit and the King laughed some more. Edward realised this crowd was his to play. The monkey slapped the administrator’s flaccid cheek and the King let out a hearty chuckle. So Edward calmly rifled the administrator’s pockets. He no longer needed a distraction. Everyone bar the human he was hanging from thought this was part of the day’s show. So Edward tugged at a handkerchief and with a flourish tossed it into the hippo pool. He pulled out three coins and casually tossed each into the water, the metal disappearing with a plop below a layer of algae. The administrator was speechless, aghast. Edward patted down the human’s waistcoat and feeling what he had come for, he withdrew three keys on a silver ring. He held them aloft as the King’s private secretary made a joke about the animals running the zoo. Then as quick as he’d appeared, Edward jumped from the administrator’s chest and on to the side of the pool. Clutching the keys he ran up a sign, and from the sign he climbed on to the roof of the bat house, waking a succession of flying foxes as he ran over their tarred roof.

As he bolted, the administrator tried to calm his diaphragm.

“Your Majesty. If you would kindly follow me, we have our main presentation of the day,” he said. “A little show we thought you might enjoy. It will begin shortly by the seats arranged in the centre of the gardens.”

Edward ran to the leopard. He had three keys to open the two locks he knew of, a simple exercise in trial and error. But Edward was cleverer than that. As he returned to the cats’ cage he begged the old leopard to show him the padlocks. He then sized them by eye, and selecting the two largest keys, he matched each lock and key by sight. Wrapping his fist around the first key he pushed it in and twisted, the lock jumping apart. Edward tried to pull at the chain hanging from the lock, but he couldn’t unravel it from the fence. So he moved to the next, inserted the key and popped that open too.

“Come on,” he cried.

“There is a third lock,” said the jaguar. “The door you’re working on leads down a tunnel which ends at another gate. That too is locked.”

“How do I get to it?” asked Edward.

“I don’t know,” said the jaguar.

“You need to get those chains off,” said the leopard. “Get past the first door. Then you can run down to the gate.”

Edward wrapped both arms around one of the chains and pulled, but it didn’t budge. He tugged at a link, but could only lift it an inch before the others weighed it down. How he suddenly wished for Doris’s strength. But then he remembered that he was the cleverest of all the animals, a monkey destined to change everything. He realised he was confronted by a problem, and any problem could be solved. He looked about him, but could only see the ends of rolled cigarettes on the floor and bunting hanging from the top of the fence. He followed the wire, hoping he could climb over and down and reach the second door that way. He spotted it, but was annoyed to see the gate was enclosed by the wire tunnel, the last padlock out of reach.

Then it came to him. In the cage of the red panda, he’d bent over a long bamboo stem and felt the power of it flex and snap. He’d broken the stem using not his strength, but his weight.

“A branch,” he shouted at the cats. “Get me a branch!”

The old leopard still didn’t quite trust the monkey.

“Why do you want a branch?” he asked.

“Why does it matter?” said the jaguar. “It’s time you learned to accept someone else’s help.”

She moved into the grass and started foraging. Nose to the floor she sniffed for sticks, but the floor of their enclosure was barren, sterile apart from the smell of their own scent. The leopard watched her hunting for wood.

“I can get a branch,” said the leopard.

He accelerated across the enclosure and with a single leap he climbed the maple tree. He tested the strength of the two lowest branches. The jaguar gulped as she realised what he was about to do. He walked out upon the weakest and as the branch bent and creaked he just kept on walking. The moment it snapped, the jaguar thought she saw the leopard smile. Down he came, legs entangled in the branch. As the leopard hit the floor, the broken ends of the branch jabbed into the leopard’s lungs, winding him. But up he stood. He took the branch in his jaws and staggered with it towards the monkey, like an excited, tired dog coming off the beach with its favourite stick. He got to where Edward could reach the branch and collapsed.

Edward didn’t hesitate. He dropped the keys and pushed his arm through the wire and pulled, shearing the last of the branch’s leaves as it passed through to his side. He lifted it above his head and shoved one end under a metal chain still wrapped around the enclosure door. As the leopard had walked along the branch, the monkey danced along it. As he neared the end, he jumped up high, and caught the branch on the way down, spinning around it like a champion gymnast. His weight forced down the lever, pushing up under the chain at the other end. Four links popped off and fell, their weight and momentum dragging the others off the door until the chain landed in a heap on the other side of the wire to the prostrate leopard. Edward shoved the branch under the second chain and repeated the trick. As that chain fell the door opened.