The Elephant Thief

by Jane Kerr

  Eventually, Mr. Jameson broke away from the pressmen. Sandev appeared with a last apple for Maharajah. The tower clock ticked down the final minute. And Danny straightened his shoulders. The adventure was about to begin.

  If he’d ever felt like this before—a churning mix of giddy, excited, and terrified—he couldn’t remember it.

  “So are you ready, lad? Albright’s not happy. He didn’t like being upstaged. But he’s goin’ to wave the flag, then you’re away.”

  If it had happened like that, Danny thought later, perhaps everything would have been fine. But there was no dignified send-off, no gentle signal as the clock struck the hour. Because Maharajah didn’t wait.

  As though his life depended on it, the elephant plowed down the steps and into the shrieking spectators. They scattered like ants. All Danny could do was bounce on Maharajah’s back and panic. He tightened his grip on the harness. What had gone wrong? This was supposed to have been easy.

  He scrambled to remember his instructions. Nothing surfaced. Behind him, there were shouts, mingled with screams. Albright was roaring something, but the words grew faint as Maharajah moved farther and farther away.

  Desperately, Danny searched for help. On the far side of the pavilion, Crimple sat at the reins of the wagon, but he was hemmed in by the crowd, and Mr. Jameson and Sandev were nowhere in sight.

  Maharajah was now veering in the opposite direction, out on to Edinburgh’s steep streets. This was not the route that had been carefully plotted on the map. Danny felt a flush of sweat glue the new silk shirt to his skin. He’d assumed elephants were slow animals, but Maharajah had sprung into a trot that was getting faster and faster as they went up- and downhill.

  Ahead were roads bustling with market stalls, shoppers, and carriages. Bounding towards all that was a fully grown elephant, ridden by someone whose training had lasted less than two minutes. And right now, the only advice Danny could remember was from Sandev: Do not worry. I will be with you.

  It didn’t help.

  The path cleared and, for one glorious, hope-filled moment, Danny thought all would be fine. He relaxed slightly, loosening his death grip on the harness. At the roadside, two small children laughed and pointed as he and Maharajah bumped past.

  Then the elephant turned down the cobbled curve of Victoria Street, and into the Grassmarket, home to one of the city’s busiest street markets. Now there was no laughter, only screams. And Danny had the briefest impression of faces wide-eyed with disbelief as they charged by.

  “What … ?”

  “Watch it!”

  “Get away …”

  The first casualty was a tray of pies, carried by a baker’s boy with such fierce concentration that he didn’t notice anything else. Not even the elephant stampeding towards him. By the time Maharajah had passed, the food lay in the mud. A crate of kippers was next, smashed and ground under the elephant’s feet. And that was just the start.

  Danny watched helplessly as sacks overturned, spilling cabbages and potatoes across the street. Farther on, a stall of cooking pots toppled when shoppers scrambled to safety. And the noise grew louder as a flock of chickens escaped their damaged cage.

  In the middle of the chaos, a wagon driver tried to calm his horses. Danny could tell it wasn’t doing any good. They reared up, sending a cartload of barrels bumping down the hill. One bounced, cracked, and split. The spicy scent of beer soaked the air, mixing with the smell of fish.

  Danny closed his eyes and wished himself a hundred miles away. Ten hundred. He opened them again. But he was still here. Riding an elephant through Edinburgh, dressed like a fool.

  He tried again to remember what Sandev had said. Something about using his head. Danny struggled to think through his panic. No, it was Maharajah’s ears. He tugged roughly on the wrinkled skin, then pulled at the harness as hard as he could. It made no difference. Maharajah didn’t stop.

  He tried again, this time digging his knees into the tough hide and kicking with all his strength. Perhaps pain would register. But it was useless. Nothing worked. Danny had as much control as a string puppet in a seaside show. It was only by some miracle that no one had been injured. At least not yet.

  Some instinct made him glance up. A few feet away, jutting out into the street, an apothecary sign swung from a shop canopy. The large wooden board was hanging almost exactly at Danny’s height. And they were heading straight towards it.

  Danny ducked, pressing against Maharajah’s back as if it were possible to merge into the hard skin. A heartbeat later, there was a whoosh of air as the shop sign flapped harmlessly above them. But it was long seconds before Danny could bring himself to sit up. Chicken feathers settled on his turban. His throat felt dry.

  Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the mad dash stopped. Maharajah drew to a halt and strolled towards a barrow of apples. His trunk hovered over the fruit before plucking one from the tray and tossing it into his mouth. Danny felt the gentle motion as he chewed.

  Relief surged through him, but horror followed just as quickly. He gazed back up the street. The market was destroyed. Almost all the stalls were overturned, and some lay in pieces.

  Worse still, an angry crowd had begun to gather. Danny could see threats written on every face. One large costermonger brandished a splintered plank; another swung a fist. Danny’s heart raced as they moved closer.

  “Hey, lad. Over here!”

  Startled, he glanced around. A little distance away, Mr. and Mrs. Jameson were clambering from a hansom cab. Danny didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. The grand send-off had been a disaster. The rampage through the market was an even bigger catastrophe. He was bound to be punished and sent back to Cowgate.

  And to make matters worse, it was obvious Mr. Jameson was grief-stricken. He was running ahead of his wife, flapping his arms like a plump, anxious bird. As he got nearer, Danny saw a tear slide down one ruddy cheek. He braced himself.

  But once again, nothing was as it seemed.

  “What a send-off, boy. You should have seen Albright’s face.” Dumbfounded, Danny realized Mr. Jameson wasn’t crying, he was roaring with laughter. “Funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, Danny knew that straightaway. The stallholders were closing in and they were looking for someone to blame. Mr. Jameson was the obvious target; Danny only hoped the fight would be quick.

  It was.

  There was a brief scuffle; some grunts, a punch that came from nowhere, and Mr. Jameson fell to the ground. Danny waited for him to get up, but the menagerist didn’t move. The big costermonger was holding the broken plank to his throat.

  “There’s nothin’ funny about what happened here. That beast wrecked our barrows. And if he’s yours, you’d better put your hands in your pocket to pay for the damage.” He must have pressed harder because Mr. Jameson let out a groan. “Or perhaps you need a wee bit of encouragement.”

  “How dare you! Get away from my husband.” Mrs. Jameson had arrived at last. “Move aside. Now!”

  Using her umbrella, she batted her way towards her husband. Danny could just see the top of her bonnet and then the crowd closed in. It was enough to kick-start a fresh wave of panic. He needed the Jamesons as much as they needed him. And if he didn’t do something quickly, his future would slip away as quickly as sand through fingers.

  Desperately, he tried to think. Another whisper of Sandev’s advice surfaced: Be soft, but be sure. It was all he could remember. He’d already tried force, perhaps gentleness was the answer.

  He leant forwards and stroked the top of Maharajah’s head. Nothing happened. He tried again; still no response, but the movement nudged another memory. Sandev had whistled—once at the auction and again later, at Waverley Station.

  It was worth trying. Danny rounded his lips and blew. A shrill whine emerged, more like a squawk than a whistle. He tried again. This time more softly, and it was as if he’d turned a key in a lock. With a jerk, Maharajah lumbered forwards.
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  People scattered, leaving Mr. Jameson lying in the dirt. Only the costermonger remained, apparently unaware of the animal headed towards him. Danny smirked. That wasn’t going to last.

  Maharajah’s trunk wrapped around the man’s shoulders and he was pulled like a weed from a flower bed. Danny saw shock transform his face. The crowd laughed, a little nervously, but no one came any closer.

  Thank goodness Mr. Jameson was not a man to waste an opportunity. He scrambled upright, dusty but intact. His wife began brushing down his waistcoat.

  “I’m fine, Ethel May. Stop your fussin’.”

  “You’re only fine thanks to Danny and Maharajah. Perhaps you should try thinking before opening that big mouth of yours. You great fool!”

  “You’re right, me dove. Lord knows, you usually are. But I don’t think I can change now.”

  Pulling away, Mr. Jameson scanned the circle of stallholders. “Don’t worry, none of you will be out of pocket. I always pay me debts. But just you make sure you tell the newspapers. The elephant’s name is Maharajah, the boy’s Prince Dandip. And the menagerie’s Belle Vue. Don’t forget!”

  He tugged open his purse and began handing out coins. One by one, the market traders left with their money. Danny was glad to see them go. There was only one problem left—and he was wrapped in Maharajah’s trunk. Danny whistled again just to see what would happen. Immediately, Maharajah relaxed his hold. The costermonger dropped free and slunk off.

  “That was priceless.” Mr. Jameson tucked the wallet back into his jacket. “Worth every penny. And more.”

  Danny stared at him in disbelief. Surely this morning had been a complete disaster? Maharajah had destroyed the market, the stallholders were furious, and the damage had cost a small fortune to set right.

  Mrs. Jameson finished inspecting her husband for dust. She smiled. “You have to understand, Danny, Mr. Jameson believes in drama and show. He’s convinced that every time you make the newspapers, for good or bad, the publicity helps Belle Vue. And there’s nothing he loves more.”

  “Apart from you, me dearest love. Apart from you.” The menagerist held out an arm to escort his wife. “Come on, we have to find the others. We’ve time to make up. Let’s start the Elephant Race. And if we’re lucky, this won’t be the last of the excitement.”

  When Mr. Jameson had planned the route to Belle Vue, Danny hadn’t been able to help. For a start, he wasn’t exactly sure where Manchester was, or even in which direction they would have to go.

  So Mr. Jameson had shown him on the map, tracing the path from Edinburgh with a stubby finger. They would follow the Waverley rail line as far as was possible, he’d said. Moving through Scotland from Edinburgh to Langholm, then across Cumberland towards Kendal, dropping down into Lancashire, and then south to Manchester.

  Of course, once he’d seen the distances, doubt had hit Danny with the force of a steam train. It looked impossible. They would have to walk two hundred and twenty miles in only seven days, with an elephant who had already destroyed a rail carriage and a street market. The uncertainty must have shown on his face.

  “We’ll do it, lad.” Mr. Jameson had smiled. “Don’t you fret. I made you a promise, and I’m not losin’ Maharajah to Arthur Albright. Now let’s get out of this city.”

  After the chaotic start, it took more than an hour to cross Edinburgh—mainly because Maharajah couldn’t take a step without attracting a large crowd. And every moment, Danny half expected one of Scatcherd’s men to stop the parade and drag him away.

  But at last, they reached the city outskirts and he looked to where Edinburgh touched the sky—the old castle squatting high on the hill, above an assortment of tall towers and spires that pierced the smoke. Somewhere beyond that horizon was his new life. This mad adventure, built from half-lies and half-truths, was really going to happen.

  A part of him wanted to laugh. Never in his wildest, most fantastical dreams had he imagined leaving Cowgate like this: riding an elephant, dressed as an Indian prince. But the rest of him was terrified. Was he making a huge mistake? Abandoning all he’d ever known to trust in strangers? Could life really be better anywhere else?

  A shaft of sunshine cut through the clouds, and Danny lifted his face to catch the warmth. Then and there, he made a vow. Trust his instincts, depend solely on himself, and disappear at the first sign of trouble. It had brought him this far. Now it had to get him to Manchester.

  At first, the road south was awash with houses, but then they trickled away, and the countryside took over. It was the first time Danny had ever been outside Edinburgh, and from his seat on Maharajah’s back, he had a sweeping view of all that he’d been missing.

  Wide, green moors rose up to crags that looked like pieces of jagged glass against the sky. Streams had carved gullies through the dark rocks. Best of all, the air smelt different. No smoky fog or stinking alleys. Every breath tasted fresh and cold and clean.

  But what Danny couldn’t quite believe was the space.

  It seemed incredible that in Cowgate he’d had to share a room with more than twenty people. While here, everyone he knew could have a home of their own and there’d still be plenty of land left over. Mr. Jameson had even said that somewhere in Scotland, the Queen owned another grand castle with towers and turrets. But despite straining his hardest, Danny couldn’t see any sign of it.

  He gave up trying, and watched Mr. Jameson flag down one more traveler. Now that they were on the road, the menagerist was as excited as a week-old puppy. Every time he spotted someone, he’d clamber from the wagon and start up a conversation.

  “Take a look at this great beast. Have you ever seen anything like him? Well, just you come along to Belle Vue, there’s even more to marvel at. You mark me words.”

  The miracle of meeting an elephant was more than enough to make people stop. But nothing prepared Danny for the first village, Danderhall. He’d seen crowds this big only when the Royal Scots Regiment held a homecoming parade through Edinburgh.

  There must be hundreds lining the road. Old ladies. Mothers with babies. Shopkeepers. Farmhands. And everywhere he looked, children were pointing and giggling.

  “Are you really a prince, mister?” one lad shouted. He was running alongside Maharajah, trying to copy the elephant’s long steps and swinging his arm like a trunk.

  “Nah. He can’t be. Where’s his crown?” Another boy smirked. “But I reckon he must be rich. Just look at them jewels.”

  To Danny’s horror, the boy took a running jump and lunged for Maharajah’s harness. There was no chance of success but, after what had happened in Edinburgh, tension tightened his nerves. Maharajah was certain to lose his temper. Danny braced, waiting for the explosion. It never happened.

  The boy fell back, laughing, into the arms of his friends, and Maharajah walked on without missing a step. He didn’t roar. Or bellow. There wasn’t even a flicker of irritation.

  Amazed, Danny leant forwards and stroked across the hard dome of Maharajah’s skull. A throaty rumble vibrated through the bone, deep and warm. It was the sort of sound no one could possibly hear, only feel. And in that moment, Danny would have bet his life that Maharajah was happy.

  “Prince Dandip!”

  Hastily, Danny straightened. Mr. Jameson was glaring at him from the wagon. It obviously wasn’t the first time he’d shouted. “Come on, Your Highness! Everyone’s waitin’ for you. Give them a wave.”

  He looked around, suddenly aware of all eyes on him, but for once in his life, the stares were friendly, not suspicious. Hesitantly, he lifted an arm and waggled his fingers. A roar erupted. He waved again. Another cheer. His mouth curved up. This was simple. He could be a prince quite easily, if all it took was nodding, waving, and saying nothing.

  It was a long time before Danny, Maharajah, and the rest of the Belle Vue party were allowed to leave Danderhall and even then, children continued to trail along behind them. It was the same in the towns and villages that followed. The newspapers had spread the stor
y, and word of mouth had done the rest. People wanted to believe.

  Danny just hoped they never found out who he really was.

  When they finally reached Stow for the overnight stop, Danny slumped over Maharajah’s neck with relief. Every part of his body ached, and his hands were frozen into claws from gripping the harness. For the last few miles all he’d thought about was sleeping in a real bed. He might have guessed there’d be other plans.

  “I want you and Maharajah to do something for me,” Mr. Jameson announced. The wagon had stopped outside the village inn where Danny imagined there were plenty of comfortable mattresses and soft sheets. Mrs. Jameson had already gone inside to book them all rooms.

  “It’s past time that you started your trainin’. We need to add in a few tricks. Get the crowds goin’ a bit more. I want you to work on it tonight with Sandev. A couple of hours should do it.”

  Danny’s spirits sank, but he had no choice. This was part of the deal. Besides, it was important. He needed to make absolutely sure he was irreplaceable. No one was going to have any reason to send him back to Cowgate.

  The light was fading as Danny followed Sandev and Maharajah along a path leading away from the village. As well as his silver-headed cane, Sandev carried a food sack and another stick, slightly smaller than his own. He stopped in a small clearing, edged by trees.

  “Here is good. Away from houses and people.” Sandev’s precise, clipped speech made every sentence sound like an order. It was only around Maharajah that his voice seemed to soften. “You have much to learn. And in only seven days. Observe and concentrate.”

  Danny pulled back his shoulders and stifled a yawn. He’d try his best, even though his eyes stung with tiredness, and feeling was only just returning to his fingers. Sitting on the grass, he propped himself upright to watch.

  Sandev held a slice of apple in an outstretched palm. Immediately, Maharajah lunged for it, but before he could touch, the keeper raised his cane and whistled. The elephant stopped. Sandev whistled again and, with one quick swipe, Maharajah snagged the fruit and tossed it into his mouth.