The Elephant Thief
Page 9
Danny didn’t much care about Crimple’s eyes or Aunt Augusta’s vicar, but he wasn’t expected to respond. They were both sitting on Maharajah’s back, riding towards the next stop at Langholm. Danny had already given himself a headache trying to be certain they didn’t make contact. Touching people still made him feel prickly.
“Anyway, I shall call you Danny. Everyone else does, and Prince Dandip of Delhi is far too grand. I’m not sure Aunt Augusta would approve, but even the Queen must be called Victoria sometimes.” Hetty giggled. “Although I don’t know who would dare.”
Danny shifted uncomfortably, feeling his legs cramp as he moved. For the first time since agreeing to become Prince Dandip, he wished he could tell the truth. It didn’t seem right to fool Henrietta Saddleworth—not after she’d helped him escape Crimple. If he thought it was possible, he would have said he felt guilty. But he’d never had much of a conscience, so it couldn’t be that.
“… and I’m glad I asked to ride Maharajah. Everything looks so different from up here, don’t you think? People don’t seem very important when you can see the mountains.”
Hetty was right, although Danny could never have described the feeling out loud. The countryside was so vast that it was difficult to imagine there was anything else. For miles, all he could see were the bumps and dips of hills. Better still, there was no sign that they were being followed. In fact, Danny had begun to think he’d been worrying for no reason.
Just to make sure, he checked again, lifting up on his heels until he was practically standing on Maharajah’s broad back. No, there was nothing but clouds of dust. The last few days had been dry, turning the road into a sandy track. A layer of grime covered everything. The bright colors of his silk costume had dulled to gray, and Maharajah’s skin was muddy brown. Even Hetty had begun to look grubby.
So when the road dropped to a river, it was impossible to resist temptation. Now that he’d got used to being clean, Danny wanted to stay that way. He whistled for Maharajah to kneel, and he and Hetty clambered down.
“Good idea, lad. We’ll stop here for some rest and a bite of food.” Mr. Jameson waved everyone to a halt.
Danny pulled the ankus from his belt and started to unbutton his jacket, but the sound of a heavy splash stopped his fingers. Maharajah had beaten him into the water, and already he was shoulder-deep. Fascinated, Danny stared, nearly certain he could feel the elephant’s happy rumble.
Sinking low, Maharajah rolled from side to side until every inch of skin was wet. When he finally stood, the water fell away in fat streams. Then, using his trunk, he sprayed a shower so high that it arced across the river, nearly reaching the far side. Delighted, he did it again.
And again.
Danny grinned—so Maharajah wanted to play. Hurriedly, he wriggled out of his jacket and toed off the slippers. Beside him, Hetty dipped one foot into the shallows and squealed as she waded deeper. Danny started after her, his feet slipping on the wet stones.
“Wait!” Mr. Saddleworth stepped into his path. “I’d like a word … please.” Despite the politeness, it wasn’t a request. Reluctantly, Danny stopped. Over Mr. Saddleworth’s shoulder, he could see Hetty moving farther and farther away.
“I want to be clear. My daughter is very important to me. She’s had a sheltered life and she’s in need of a friend. It looks like she’s chosen you. And I’m hoping that whoever you are, you won’t let her down. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Danny nodded. Of course he understood. It was a warning. Mr. Saddleworth wasn’t convinced by the story of Prince Dandip, and he was quite prepared to protect his daughter.
He kept his face blank, but inside Danny could feel anger windmilling with hurt. However hard he tried, he was never quite good enough. Not for Crimple. Not for Hetty’s father. Even Mr. Jameson wanted him to be someone else. Someone better. Someone higher-born.
“Good. I’m glad that we agree.”
Turning his back, Danny waded through the shallows. Strong currents swirled in the center, but here it was calm and clear. Sunlight winked off the surface, and he traced the flickering patterns until they disappeared. He closed his eyes.
Almost immediately, a shower of water stung his skin. He spluttered at the shock. Maharajah was flicking his trunk. If he’d been human, Danny would have thought he was laughing. Perhaps he was.
“Oh, look at you!”
Giggling, Hetty scooped up a handful of water. But Danny was ready this time. He splashed back, scattering drops over her hair like windblown petals. She gasped, then smiled with such joy that Danny couldn’t look away.
“This is fun. I never knew water could be this fun. I always thought it was just for getting clean.”
Danny remembered the afternoons he’d spent paddling in the Leith with Robbie, scavenging for any scraps worth selling. Robbie was probably the closest he’d ever had to a friend. Then he looked at Hetty. Their lives had been so different. He had more in common with Maharajah. Even their scars matched.
“Watch, Danny.” Hetty had tucked up the hem of her dress so it floated around her knees. “Watch this!”
She curled Maharajah’s trunk around the backs of her legs and sat down as though on a swing. Gently, the elephant moved, back and forth, so her toes trailed in the water.
“That’s a great trick for Belle Vue, Miss Henrietta,” Mr. Jameson called. He’d walked down to the river’s edge to watch. “People will pay good money to have a go on an elephant swing.”
“Jamie! What ridiculous nonsense.” But even Mrs. Jameson was smiling.
Danny suspected they stayed at the river for longer than they should. Apart from Mr. Saddleworth’s warning, it had been as near to perfect as he could imagine. He wished he could fold away the memory, just as he had done with the newspaper cartoon of himself and Maharajah. Eventually Mrs. Jameson stood and held out towels.
“Come on! We must be going. Hetty, Danny—dry yourselves and put on your shoes. We need to get to Langholm. Mr. Jameson and I have a train to catch.”
Everything had gone smoothly today, and Danny knew that sort of good fortune never lasted for long. He was right. A few miles on, their luck ran out.
The road leading across the river stopped. The bridge no longer existed. Two columns remained, but the supporting arches had crumbled, spilling stones into the water. Danny examined the gap between one side and the other. He didn’t need anyone to explain that it would be impossible to cross.
“I don’t understand why we knew nothin’ about this.” Mr. Jameson’s face had turned ruddy. “I told McDonagh we were heading for Langholm. He should have warned us last night when we were at the hotel. Did he say anythin’ to you, Crimple?”
“No, Gov. Not a thing.”
“Sandev?”
“No, sir.”
Danny could almost see the frustration seeping out of Mr. Jameson. “If I thought he was capable I’d have said Albright was behind this. But even he couldn’t have knocked over half a ton of stone.”
“Oh, Jamie. You’ll find a way.” Mrs. Jameson linked her arm though her husband’s and bent her head towards his. “You always do.”
“Of course, I will, me pet. I’m not goin’ to be beaten by a bit of water.” Mr. Jameson patted her hand, absentmindedly. He was staring at the bridge as though it could magically repair itself, but Danny was certain only a small army and a miracle would be able to do that.
Mr. Saddleworth had unfolded his map to trace the route. “The River Esk stretches a long way across country, I’m afraid. The nearest bridge is about fifteen miles back up north. It’ll probably cost us half a day, there and back. Maybe a little more. But it might be our only option.”
“No, we can’t afford the time, and I’m not a man who believes in goin’ backwards.” Mr. Jameson narrowed his eyes and looked over at the far bank. “I reckon if we can’t go over the water, we’re going to have to go through it.”
A short time later, Danny stood with the others on a small beach of stone
s. The men had cut back a tangle of undergrowth to reach it, and the wagon had very nearly overturned coming down the bank. But eventually, thanks to luck and the cart horses, they’d made it.
Mr. Saddleworth strode into the river until the water hit his knees. Danny watched his forehead furrow.
“It’s worth trying,” he said at last. “This stretch is much shallower, and the current doesn’t look as strong. If we can get across, we shouldn’t lose any more time.”
Crimple was shaking his head. “I don’t like it. I’d hate to get stuck out there. We’d be sittin’ ducks if anythin’ went wrong.”
“I agree.” Sandev said. He slid his ankus back into his belt and folded his arms. “Sometimes it is wiser to be cautious.”
Mr. Saddleworth’s frown deepened. “I admit it might be difficult, but anything else would delay us.”
Danny took another glance across the river, suddenly impatient. If they wanted to beat Albright, there wasn’t time to argue. They had to keep moving, and they had to be quick.
Before there was a chance for second thoughts, he pulled himself on to Maharajah’s back. The elephant lifted his trunk.
“Hey, what are you doin’, lad?” Mr. Jameson shouted. Behind him, Sandev had started shaking his head.
Danny drew his ankus and held it like a soldier brandishing a sword. He pointed to the opposite bank. Nerves fluttered in his stomach, but he ignored them. Someone had to guide the way and it might as well be him. And besides, much to his surprise, he wanted to prove something to all those who had doubted him—that he could be reliable and trustworthy. A person others could depend on. He just needed a chance to show it.
Mr. Jameson shaded his eyes. Danny felt the scrutiny as though he were back in the tailor’s shop being measured for size. He pulled back his shoulders and straightened his spine.
“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Mr. Jameson said at last. “We’ll follow after you. But if you’ve any doubts, come back—straightaway. I’ve told you before, I need Prince Dandip. I’ve big plans for you.” He patted Maharajah’s flank and stepped away.
Danny focused on the far side of the water. This was his chance; he couldn’t back out now. He whistled and Maharajah stepped into the river.
“Good luck!” Hetty shouted. A golden curl shook loose, whipping against her cheek. “See you at the other side.”
The shallows were easy to navigate, barely tickling Maharajah’s feet. This was no different from paddling in puddles, Danny thought. It was going to be fine. Then, suddenly, they dived deeper, and he could feel Maharajah straining to push through the current. The roar of the water rushing downstream deadened any other sound.
Danny clenched the harness tightly. He’d never realized how powerful a river could be. The Esk was a monstrous beast with jaws and teeth that could swallow them whole. But Maharajah was stronger, Danny told himself. He just had to be.
The water turned from gray to black as they reached halfway. Abruptly, Maharajah stumbled and Danny was jolted from his seat. Heart pounding, he slid towards the swirling current, and for one horrifying moment, he thought they would both plunge below. But by some miracle, Maharajah regained his balance, struggled upright, and trudged on.
The worst was over.
Danny’s relief when Maharajah reached the opposite bank was paralyzing. Lying flat along the elephant’s back, he tried to recover his breath and his nerves. Only when he was sure his heart rate had returned to normal, did he try to sit up. They’d done it.
They’d actually done it.
He waved to the group on the other side. Now it was their turn.
The Wormwell wagon had not been built for river crossings, but the base was lined with canvas, and the large wheels were reinforced with metal rims. It would have to be enough. Shielding his eyes, Danny watched them. Crimple took the reins, with Mr. and Mrs. Jameson sitting alongside. Hetty was wedged between them, while Sandev and Mr. Saddleworth waded into the water on foot, roped to either side of the wagon.
Their progress was painfully slow, or so it seemed to Danny. The wind had picked up and was whipping along the river. And now, after days without rain, the clouds burst open. The Esk rose to swell and crest in the downpour. The water was almost up to the men’s chests and climbing higher, but the wagon was more than halfway across.
Danny felt his mouth lift into a half smile. They were going to make it. He could feel the bubble of relief rise in his chest.
Then, suddenly, the cart lurched to one side and stopped. The horses pulled frantically at the reins, as eager to get out of the river as anyone, but the wagon wouldn’t shift. The wooden frame slumped awkwardly. Taking a deep breath, Mr. Saddleworth plunged beneath the water. Danny waited. And waited. He could see Hetty pressing a hand to her mouth. Abruptly, Mr. Saddleworth’s head surfaced.
“It’s no good. One of the back wheels is broken.” He was shouting, but Danny still struggled to hear. “The horses won’t be able to pull it free. We’ll have to set them loose. They’re panicking and they’re no good to us in this state.”
As soon as the reins were cut, the animals grabbed their chance for freedom. They swam across the final stretch and raced past Danny, water streaming off their flanks. They were safe, but what about everyone else?
Danny looked at the stranded wagon. Mrs. Jameson had lifted her skirts out of reach of the circling water. Hetty’s face was pinched with cold, and the men were soaked and shivering.
And out of nowhere, he remembered Mr. Trott’s boast at the auction: He’s been known to pull the weight of twenty grown men in a wagon. For several miles. Going uphill.
And Danny knew there was no choice. He whistled to Maharajah and they plunged back into the Esk. It felt colder than before, and the current seemed even stronger. The rain was falling so hard that the drops bounced off the river.
Mr. Saddleworth was quick to catch on. “Good thinking, Danny.” He hauled himself against the wagon and reached inside. “I’ll toss you the training rope. Put the loop over his head and tie it to the harness. That’ll give the best grip. Just wave when it’s secure. Then get Maharajah to pull like the devil.”
Mr. Saddleworth threw the rope, but Danny could hardly feel his hands. He missed it on the first attempt. And the second. But he managed on the third try.
Grasping Maharajah’s ears, Danny shuffled forwards so that he was leaning as far as he could reach. He widened the loop to its furthest point and tried to flick it over the elephant’s head. No luck. The noose was not big enough. He did it again. It was not going to work. Panic was starting to grip.
“Let Maharajah help,” Mr. Saddleworth shouted. “Maybe you can do it together.”
Danny tried again, but this time he held out the ankus. Obediently, Maharajah lifted to touch it and his trunk coiled like a hook. Danny threw. The rope caught and settled low around the elephant’s neck. It tightened and held. This might actually work, Danny thought, fumbling to knot the ties. He made the signal. And Maharajah began to pull.
The wagon gave a loud groan that could be heard even over the noise of the river, then it shifted unsteadily before shuddering to another stop. Mr. Jameson and Crimple scrambled down to lighten the load a little more. The water reached their necks.
Danny whistled and Maharajah tried again. This time with more success. Gradually, inch by inch, the wagon moved. Progress was slow, the wheels often catching on the rocks and stones, but finally they reached the other side.
“Good work, lad.” Mr. Jameson panted, his face pink from the effort. “Well done.”
Relief and pride bubbled inside Danny, and he was certain his chest was puffed up like a peacock’s. He wanted to enjoy the feeling a little longer, but the job wasn’t over yet. The wagon needed to be dragged up the bank from where it slumped in the shallows.
The men wrapped the rope around their waists and heaved from the front, while Danny guided Maharajah back into the Esk to push from behind.
And then suddenly, the world collapsed.
He tumbled into the icy water.
The shock of it stopped him still. He drifted, unable to move his arms and legs. The river flipped him over and over. Around and around. But Danny couldn’t fight against it. Then the numbness dissolved, and terror took hold. He began thrashing, not knowing which way was up and which was down. Once, he saw a glimpse of sky, but however much he tried, it was always just out of reach.
The pressure to breathe was burning his lungs, and finally Danny gave in. He opened his lips and his mouth filled with water. At the edges, his vision blurred to black, and there was an irresistible urge to sink down.
The thought came to him with complete certainty—this was how his adventure would end, just as it was beginning.
The realization that he was likely to die struck Danny only a heartbeat before he was offered the chance to survive. So for a brief moment, he was balanced between two quite different worlds—like a spinning coin flipping from heads to tails, and back again.
Suddenly, a tight band hooked around his chest and he was yanked upwards. Breaking through the surface of the river, his lips opened on a gasp. Water heaved from his stomach and he tasted air. Wonderful, great mouthfuls of fresh air.
Then he was lifted. Cradled in a powerful grip. And Maharajah was wading across the water with all the force and strength of a sea storm.
“Danny!”
“Thank the Lord!”
“Is he … ?”
But the question was never finished. Hands reached for him, pulling him back on to solid ground, and he was enveloped in warmth. It wasn’t nearly enough. Every part of his body shook, despite the cocoon of towels and blankets.