by Jane Kerr
“Well done, my friend. That was good.”
Gently, Sandev rubbed Maharajah’s trunk, and Danny’s exhaustion lifted. This was much better than Munro Dougall’s begging dog who performed for pennies in Edinburgh. He couldn’t wait to try, and it looked simple enough. He reached for the bag of fruit.
“No!”
Quickly, Danny pulled back his hand. Sandev looked even more serious than usual. Wrinkles creased the skin around his dark eyes and his mouth was a solemn line. Not for the first time, Danny found himself wondering about Sandev. Where was his home? His family? Or, like Danny, did he have no one?
“You may think you know how to command elephants. But do not imagine it is so easy that even a street thief can do it. It takes many years to become a mahout.”
A mahout? Danny’s confusion must have been obvious.
“Mahout is the Indian name for an elephant trainer. Like me.” Sandev held a hand to his chest. “Some are good. Some are bad. The foolish ones use knives to train elephants. They keep their animals in chains. Never free to move. There is no skill in what they do. No cleverness.”
He pointed to Maharajah’s front legs. Near the bottom, circling each foot, was a ridge of puckered skin. “Look. Calluses. These happen when elephants are chained for too long. They become sore and bleed. Sometimes there is infection.
“And here.” This time Sandev ran his hand down the elephant’s side. Danny peered closer. A long strip of raised skin, darker than the surrounding area, slashed across Maharajah’s stomach.
“This happened many years ago, when Maharajah first arrived at Mr. Wormwell’s menagerie. He was cared for by another mahout. He used pain to make his elephants work. But Maharajah was stubborn. One day, the mahout became angry and stuck a knife into Maharajah’s belly. He left Maharajah to die.”
Sandev rubbed the scarred skin again. “But Mr. Wormwell found him. He ordered the man to leave. And he gave Maharajah to me. By God’s grace, he lived.”
Danny’s stomach hollowed out. Maharajah was the most powerful creature he’d ever seen. He couldn’t imagine anyone being strong enough to harm him, but it was obvious that even his size hadn’t stopped the cruelty.
Danny smoothed the scars on his own wrist. He remembered the pain as though it had happened only hours ago. Shame lingered. He’d always thought it had been his own fault. That Scatcherd had hurt him because he’d been too weak. Too stupid. Too frightened. Now he wondered. If it could happen to Maharajah, then it could happen to anyone.
Reaching up, Danny stretched his arms wide and laid them against the elephant’s side. He turned his face into the rough warmth. Maharajah shifted a little, as if finding the most comfortable spot, and then he settled. They stood together. After years of trying not to touch anyone, it felt strange to be so close to another living creature. Danny didn’t want to let go.
“You begin to understand,” Sandev said at last. His clipped voice had mellowed slightly. “Maharajah responds best to kindness, not to pain. Remember that, and perhaps you will learn.”
Guiltily, Danny recalled how he had kicked Maharajah to stop his mad dash through Edinburgh. Force had not worked, but gentleness might have done.
“So we begin training. Approach the elephant always from the side. Never from the front. Remember what I said—be soft but be sure. Copy me.”
Danny relaxed his hold, but he didn’t want to lose contact. He trailed a hand across Maharajah’s skin and felt the rough, wrinkled warmth. His last remaining fear of this great creature fell away. And all that was left was wonder.
“Here he is most sensitive. The ears, the trunk, the shoulders and around the eyes and mouth. He feels like you and I feel. If a fly sits on his back, he knows it. He can sense it. But it is his mind that is most clever. And he remembers everything. I will show you.”
Sandev picked up the smaller cane from the ground and tossed it to Danny. “For you. Every mahout must have one. It is called an ankus.”
The stick was smooth and polished, with one slightly curved end. It might not be as ornate as Sandev’s silver-headed cane, Danny thought, but it was still beautiful. He ran his hands down the grained wood. It glided easily beneath his fingers.
“Most ankus have hooks. I took off the hook after Maharajah was injured. I do not need it. And neither will you.” Danny knew he wasn’t being given a choice. It was clear Sandev would not tolerate failure. “I will teach you the most important commands first. ‘Stop’ and ‘forwards.’ When you know these, we will move on.”
Danny was surprised to discover the training plan was actually very simple: give an instruction and reward the result. Years ago, Sandev had taught Maharajah that if the elephant touched the ankus, a whistle would blow. And if the whistle blew he would be given a treat.
After that the commands became more complicated. Different movements of the ankus could be used to indicate different instructions, Sandev explained. Pick up. Drop. Catch. Leave. While the whistle told Maharajah that he would earn a treat for obeying.
It didn’t take long for Danny to realize that the theory might be easy but the practice was hard. The gestures were sometimes so subtle they were impossible to copy. Danny’s attempts often confused Maharajah. He didn’t think he’d ever get it right.
“Again,” Sandev said after a series of failed efforts. “I told you. Concentrate!”
With a sigh, Danny picked up the ankus but immediately it was plucked from his grasp. When he glanced up, Maharajah was holding the cane in his trunk and pointing at the bag of food, his eyes sharp and unblinking. This time the elephant was giving the orders.
Danny hesitated, but instinct told him not to surrender. He held out an apple and reached for the ankus. For a while it was a contest of wills. Danny refused to let go, and so did Maharajah. Then suddenly the elephant released his hold, and Danny stumbled backwards, ankus in hand. He looked up. Maharajah was munching the fruit, his gold gaze glittering. It felt like a breakthrough of sorts.
“Perhaps you have a little talent.” It was as near to a compliment as Sandev was likely to give, and Danny felt the warmth blossom in his chest. “Come. Let us try again.”
The lesson was hard work. Sandev made Danny repeat the whistles and gestures again and again, until he wanted to weep with exhaustion. Midnight was fast approaching, and tomorrow was likely to be another long day. But at last, Sandev seemed satisfied. “Enough. We will finish now.”
Danny was hooking the ankus into his belt when he glimpsed a slight, shadowy outline among the trees. They were being watched, but this wasn’t like the friendly curiosity of today’s crowds. This felt different. Concentrated and fierce.
“What is it?” Sandev turned to see what had caught his attention. Immediately, the figure spun away, melting back into the woodland. For a heartbeat, Danny hesitated, but Sandev had already broken into a run. All he could do was follow.
Together, they plunged between the tall pines. Grasses and thorns scraped Danny’s legs, and a low branch ripped a hole in his silk shirt. He ran on anyway. But it was useless.
The intruder was too far ahead to catch and, without a lantern, it was impossible to see which direction he’d taken. Reluctantly, Danny pulled to a stop. His chest heaved and his lungs burnt with the effort of breathing. At his side, Sandev hardly seemed winded.
“We must tell Mr. Jameson in the morning. You and I will stay with Maharajah tonight in the barn. To be certain there is no trouble.” A frown deepened the wrinkles again. “Perhaps it was a curious villager. No more than that.”
Perhaps. But Danny remembered the stranger’s intense scrutiny, uneasily. He looked again into the darkness where the man had disappeared. Now nothing disturbed the shadows. And the only reason Danny knew he’d been there at all was the odd, anxious feeling inside his stomach. It felt like a warning.
Danny was certain he didn’t get much sleep overnight, but at some point he must have drifted off because he was bumped awake by an insistent nudge against his side.
Blinking, he pushed it away and struggled to sit—then almost immediately jerked back. Maharajah was standing over him, his trunk swinging loosely. Sandev was nowhere in sight and, for a moment, Danny wasn’t sure what to do. Then he remembered the mahout’s advice. Be soft but be sure.
He whistled gently, trying to remember everything he’d learnt last night. Maharajah’s head tilted to one side. It looked for all the world like he was making a decision. Then slowly he stretched out his trunk. Danny smiled, hooked a palm around the warm, wrinkled skin, and let himself be pulled to his feet.
By the time the sun rose, he and Maharajah were ready to leave, and the rest of the Belle Vue party were not far behind. Outside, the hotel landlady waited to wave them good-bye. She bobbed a nervous curtsy. “Your Royal Highness, it’s been a pleasure to have you as a guest in our humble home.”
Danny thought of the night he’d spent in the cold barn among the straw, and nodded his head regally. It was almost painful to think that a short distance away there had been a soft, comfortable bed waiting just for him. But at least there had been no trouble.
“I hope everything was satisfactory, sir. Your room was a wee bit disturbed this morning. It’s our very best bedchamber. Was there a problem?”
Puzzled, Danny frowned. What did she mean? He hadn’t even been inside the inn, let alone into any of the bedrooms. His scowl deepened, and the landlady shrank back. “I … I wasn’t complaining, Your Highness. I just thought … it looked a bit muddled. Messy, you know. I just didn’t want to think … that we hadn’t … that it wasn’t good enough.”
“Everythin’ was perfect, madam,” Mr. Jameson interrupted. He flashed a warning glare at Danny. “Prince Dandip thanks you for your hospitality and invites you and your family to Belle Vue as his honored guests. See that you spread the word.”
Crimple flicked the reins and the wagon set off. Flushed pink, the landlady curtsied again. Perhaps she carried on bobbing up and down much longer after that, but Danny wasn’t paying attention. Questions were too busy whirling through his head.
If he hadn’t been in the room, who had? Could it have been the prowler they’d chased last night? The stranger who had run off into the night? Or, most worrying of all, had Frank Scatcherd finally found out he’d left Edinburgh?
The temperature dropped as the road zigzagged towards the next stop, Hawick. Sitting on Maharajah’s back, Danny felt the sharp whip of the wind from every side.
The rest of his new clothes were due to arrive by train this evening, and he was looking forwards to the warmth of the woolen jacket. Although, he had to admit that his strange costume—and the ankus tucked into his belt—had been a blessing. So far, to his amazement, no one had questioned the story of Prince Dandip and his elephant.
But still something felt wrong. It was the same feeling he’d got before a police raid on Cowgate, a sense that danger was hiding in the shadows. The trouble was he had no real evidence. There had been no damage. Nothing had been stolen. And no one had been hurt. There hadn’t even been any delays to the Elephant Race. And Mr. Jameson hadn’t seemed at all concerned about their nighttime visitor.
“I doubt it was anyone who meant any harm,” he’d said. “Probably just a young lad wantin’ to have a nose at Maharajah. And even if it were one of Albright’s men, you two chased him off. He’ll know he can’t mess with us. We’ll carry on the night watch just to be safe. Don’t worry. Everything’s goin’ splendidly. Just look at the crowds we’re gettin’.”
Danny let himself be convinced, because it was easier than worrying. And for the next few miles, the Elephant Race continued without trouble. Everywhere, Maharajah and Prince Dandip were welcomed with warmth and curiosity.
Of course, it didn’t last.
Two miles from Hawick, Danny was the first to see the tollhouse, tucked into a bend on the road. A wooden fence stretched across the front, stopping travelers from moving on until they paid a fee. He’d become used to this. They’d already passed through several tolls without charge. Most collection officers were too fascinated by Maharajah to ask for payment. This was unlikely to be any different.
A large man stomped from the house. Like Crimple, he had the build of a boxer, and a face that appeared to have been ironed flat. Danny had met this type before—the Leith Brotherhood was full of thugs who swung a punch to solve a problem. Usually, they’d been with Frank Scatcherd, happily carrying out his orders to break a few bones.
“You can stop right there.” The man leant his big fists on the gate and looked up at Danny. His eyes were too small for his head, and his ears were too large. “What’s your business?”
Behind Danny, the rest of the party had caught up. Mr. Jameson clambered down from the wagon and scurried forwards.
“Me good fellow, don’t you know who this is? May I introduce Prince Dandip of Delhi and his elephant, Maharajah the Magnificent. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them. There’s been a lot in the papers.”
“I don’t care if you’re the Prince of Wales. You aren’t getting through this gate without paying.” The tollman swept an assessing glance from Maharajah’s trunk right to his tail. “That’ll be five shillings.”
“Five shillings? But that’s ridiculous. I could drive a cow through here for eight pence.”
“That beast’s a wee bit bigger than a cow now, isn’t he? I reckon five shillings is a fair price.”
“I think not, sir.” Mrs. Jameson had joined her husband. She had her hands on her hips and her voice quivered with anger. “We will certainly not be paying such an outrageous fee. It’s nothing short of robbery. I demand to see a list of your tolls.”
The man stabbed his finger at the gate where the charges were pinned. Even Danny could see—horses, cows, donkeys, and sheep were pictured, but not elephants.
Mrs. Jameson smiled triumphantly. “If the animal’s not on the list, you can’t charge a fee. What’s your name, sir? I would like to know who to report to the local magistrate.”
“I’ll not be tellin’ you that. Besides, I can charge what I like. It’s my toll.” He curled a lip. “Anyhow, the price has just gone up to ten shillings. You should have paid when you had the chance.”
A clatter of wheels signaled the arrival of another carriage. Several travelers climbed out and Danny watched their mouths drop open when they saw Maharajah. One of them—a smartly dressed gentleman, with sandy whiskers and a woolen suit—took out a notebook from his bag. His pen moved busily over the paper as the argument continued.
“… how dare you raise the price? I want your name now, sir,” Mrs. Jameson demanded.
“I’ll not give it to you.”
“Och, don’t be so shy, Samuel Peppershank. Tell the lady who you are.” The shout came from the carriage driver. Danny could see he was enjoying himself, and none of his passengers seemed to care about the holdup. Everyone was too caught up in the quarrel.
The toll officer reddened. “I will not. And you’ll not be coming through here now. I can promise you that.” He pumped a fist at Maharajah. “That creature’s not gettin’ past my toll. Not ever. I’ll have his head, if he does.”
“And I’ll have your head, if he doesn’t!” Mr. Jameson banged on the fence, and it didn’t even rattle. “Sandev!” he shouted.
“Sir?” The mahout bowed.
Mr. Jameson gestured to the tollgate. “I want it gone. You know what to do.”
An emotion flashed across Sandev’s face that might easily have been annoyance. Or perhaps alarm. Danny found it difficult to tell. Then his expression resumed its normal calm. “I do not think it wise, sir. Perhaps we should turn back. Find another way.”
“No. I won’t be bullied into givin’ up. And another road would take too much time. Go on. Quickly now!”
Sandev paused, and for a moment, Danny thought he would do nothing, but then he raised his ankus and blew out a signal. In one fluid movement, Maharajah swung his trunk and knocked the gate straight off its hinges. Astounded, Danny watched
it crash to the ground. He wanted to clap, but, beneath him, Maharajah was already moving, splintering the gate under heavy feet.
“W-what are you doing?” Peppershank spluttered. “That’s my property. You can’t … !”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Mrs. Jameson took out her purse. “Here’s your ten shillings, Mr. Peppershank. As my husband often says—it was worth every penny!”
With a sweep of her cloak, she climbed back onto the wagon with her husband. And they followed Danny and Maharajah through the broken toll.
They didn’t get far. Footsteps pounded on the ground. Danny looked back. The sandy-haired gentleman was sprinting after them, the notebook still clutched in one hand.
“You there!” he shouted. “Stop!”
Danny wasn’t stupid. They’d argued with the toll officer, wrecked the gate, and delayed other travelers. He didn’t expect they were going to be thanked. He whistled for Maharajah to go faster, hoping the wagon would follow. But the man wasn’t giving up. Instead, he seemed to lengthen his stride.
“Stop, please! I mean no trouble.” His face had turned pink. “Please. This is a marvelous opportunity. It’ll be to your advantage to listen … Almost certainly make you famous …”
Danny’s heart skipped. Those were exactly the right words to get Mr. Jameson’s attention. Sure enough, the menagerist was already ordering Crimple to halt the wagon. Reluctantly, Danny signaled for Maharajah to stop too. He hoped it wasn’t a huge mistake.
Leaning against the wagon, the man tried to get his breath back. “May I introduce myself?” he said at last. “My name is Hardy. Heywood Hardy. I’m an artist, currently on a sketching trip in Scotland.” Another gulp of air. “Your little skirmish certainly livened up my day. And I was wondering if you’d allow your animal to be the subject of one of my paintings? Perhaps with his keeper … and the Prince?”
A painting? Danny couldn’t believe it. Portraits were for rich, powerful people. Lords and ladies with more money than sense. Or royalty with palaces to fill. Not for someone like him.