Lord Morgan's Cannon

by J. M. Walker

  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 animal
s. 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.

  “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.