The Elephant Thief

by Jane Kerr

  Hastily, Danny smoothed his face into the aloof royal expression that he had perfected on the road from Edinburgh. He had no idea what he looked like. The cut on his cheek throbbed, and his wrists were red and sore. But dirty and disheveled as he was, he was still dressed as an Indian prince. He gestured for the woman to rise. She bounced up immediately.

  “Oh, I’ve gone all of a dither. You must forgive my manners, Your Honored Majesty. I’m Mary Hamp, this is Mr. Hamp, and these are our children.” She elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Jeremiah, come on! Introduce everybody to His Royal Excellency.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Mr. Hamp lined up the children in front of Danny, in order of size. They shuffled into position as if they had done this many times before.

  “This is our oldest, Joshua; then there’s the twins, James and Jacob; and the girls, Jessica and little Jemima. And the baby’s John.”

  The Hamps obviously expected some sort of response, so Danny went down the line, nodding solemnly as every child bobbed up and down. Thank goodness, it seemed to satisfy their parents. They looked on proudly.

  “I’m not sure if you’ll be understanding me,” said Mr. Hamp, after Danny had finally wrestled his fingers from the baby’s fist. He’d obviously decided he needed to speak slowly because it took him a long time to reach the end of each sentence.

  “But since you haven’t got your elephant, you’re welcome to travel on with us until the nearest town. We’re headed to Manchester to visit my wife’s mother, but we’re stopping at Bolton on the way. Does that suit you, Your Royal ’Ness?”

  For a brief moment, Danny was almost overwhelmed by doubt. Impatiently, he shook it off. He had to get back to Maharajah, Hetty, and the others. The urgency of it snapped at his heels. He managed to nod his head graciously.

  A few minutes later, he was sitting in the midst of the Hamp family as the carriage trundled on. The baby bounced happily on his lap.

  “Oh, I can’t tell you what an honor it is for us to have you here. Isn’t it, children? No one at home will believe it when I tell them. I can hardly believe it myself.”

  Danny kept nodding and smiling. His face was beginning to ache, but he was overwhelmed with gratitude. As traveling companions, the Hamps were all that he could have wished for—open, accepting, and trusting. They didn’t seem at all surprised to find an Indian prince wandering alone in the English countryside.

  The coach was not such a blessing. There was little padding, and it rattled along as though a wheel might roll loose at any moment. Danny felt every dip and rut through his bones. Around three hours probably passed before they arrived in Bolton. Parts of him felt like it had been three days.

  Through a mixture of gestures and nods, Danny guided them to the outskirts of the town. He was fairly sure this was where the Belle Vue party had stopped. The church certainly looked familiar. He clambered down and looked around.

  Yes, the churchyard was the same. Those were the trees that Maharajah had chewed, and the water pump where Mr. Saddleworth had filled the bucket. But the yard was completely empty. The wagon was gone, and only wheel tracks showed it had ever been there at all.

  Still, even if no one had stayed behind for him, perhaps they’d left a marker. A sign. Anything to show they’d been thinking of him. Danny searched, trying to pretend he wasn’t desperate. Nothing. And then, even knowing it was useless, he searched again.

  Abruptly, he was aware how very foolish he must look.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Mrs. Hamp’s face was soft with sympathy. “I think they’ve gone.”

  Danny wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. They hadn’t waited. How stupid to have imagined that anyone would. Whatever story Albright had spread, they’d believed it. Even Hetty. He was on his own again. He slumped beside the Hamps’ wagon and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes until sparks appeared behind the lids.

  Once, long ago, there had been a cake in the baker’s window on Princes Street. It was covered in thick sugar and topped with a glistening cherry. Every day, for more than a week, he’d walked past to have a look, imaging the sweet, rich taste. Then, one day, the baker had been distracted, so he’d grabbed his chance.

  Later, when he’d run far enough to feel safe, he’d taken a bite, only to spit it out immediately. The sugar was a layer of salt, the cherry was a red bead, and the sponge was so old it had hardened into brick. The treat that he had craved so much was nothing but a fantasy and a disappointment. If this was any different, Danny couldn’t see how.

  An arm edged around his shoulders.

  “Never mind, Your Highness. We can take you to Manchester with us. Can’t we, Jeremiah?”

  “Of course, my dear. No question about it.”

  Danny wasn’t sure he wanted to go, but there was no reason to stay here. He let the family haul him back into the wagon. As they rattled through the streets, he gazed out the window but he could have been anywhere, because he saw nothing.

  Danny never found out whether the Hamps had planned to travel through the night to reach Manchester. Or whether they helped him out of sheer kindness.

  They were a rowdy family, and once the children forgot to be shy, they climbed all over him, pulling at his turban and examining the peacock feather curiously. He wasn’t allowed time to brood—or to wonder what might happen when he got to Belle Vue.

  So he played peekaboo with the baby, and listened to the girls singing rhymes, while the boys rolled clay marbles on the wagon floor. It was cramped and noisy, but eventually one by one the children dropped off to sleep, their bodies curled around one another. Even Mrs. Hamp snored gently for a few hours. Danny envied them.

  He didn’t know what it was like to be part of a family, but sometimes, he dreamt about it. The woman always had the same face—young, pretty, with warm dark eyes, and skin the same color as his own. And she sang to him.

  The lilies so pale, and the roses so fair …

  Or something similar. It occurred to Danny now, that it was the same tune he’d hummed to calm Maharajah. And the same song Mrs. Jameson had sung that first night in Edinburgh when he’d been too nervous to trust her.

  … and the myrtle so bright with its emerald dew …

  At other times, the dream woman would cough into a handkerchief and leave it bloodred. He remembered her with confusion more than sadness. To be truthful, he wasn’t entirely sure who she was. Although, occasionally, he wondered if she might have been his mother.

  His earliest memory was definitely not a dream. He’d been small, perhaps no older than five or six. Mr. and Mrs. Dilworth had looked after him then. Although he didn’t know why, or how he’d come to live with them, only that the dream woman wasn’t there anymore.

  One night, they’d taken him to a building with lots of windows. He was told to wriggle down a coal chute because he was the smallest, and then to sneak through the cellar to pry open the back door.

  He remembered dropping down into the tight, narrow hole. His hands had been black with soot and he’d been terrified of getting stuck. Then, of course, he had. He’d banged and kicked but no one had come so he’d had to wriggle free by himself. When he did manage to open the door, it had been an effort not to cry.

  But later, when they got back to the Dilworths’ room in Cowgate, he’d been given a peppermint for being a good boy. And for weeks afterwards, there’d been plenty of money for food.

  Then he’d grown bigger and he wasn’t so useful. Another, smaller boy had come along to replace him, and the Dilworths didn’t have room for him anymore. So he’d learnt to make his own way, stealing from pockets and purses because there was nothing else he was good at.

  At dawn, Danny climbed out of the wagon and took a turn sitting next to Mr. Hamp at the reins. From here, he got his first view of Manchester.

  Even on a Sunday, tall chimneys belched out smoke from the factories. There were rows of shops and the occasional green splash of a public square. Building seemed to be under way in every corn
er. Mr. Hamp pointed out the new town hall rising up from the ground and Danny marveled at its sheer size. Eventually, the road turned east towards Belle Vue.

  “I’ll take you as near as I can.” Mr. Hamp had to shout over the peal of bells ringing for the start of morning service. It was a day off for most families, which usually meant a visit to the church or to the pub. But even to Danny, this didn’t feel like a normal Sunday.

  Excitement quickened the air, and the nearer they got to Belle Vue, the busier the roads became. Eventually, Mr. Hamp pulled on the reins and stopped the carriage.

  “I think you’d better travel on foot from here, Your Majesty. I can’t get any closer. The crowds are just too tight. Hyde Road goes right to the zoological gardens, and it looks like everyone’s heading to Belle Vue.” He flashed a grin. “They’ve come to see you. You’d better get going.”

  Danny didn’t move. He couldn’t. That yawning chasm was at his feet again. It was time to make a decision. Just one short week ago, he’d vowed not to depend on others; to think only of himself and to run at the first sign of trouble. But everything was different now. Less straightforward. More confusing. Other things had begun to matter. Other people. And then, of course, there was Maharajah. He couldn’t walk away now.

  The entire Hamp family scrambled out to say good-bye. Danny wished he could thank them properly. Reaching up, he tugged the last feather from his turban and handed it to Mr. Hamp. It had been bent in the fight with Albright, but he didn’t have anything else.

  Then he remembered Mr. Jameson’s sovereign. Slipping the coin from his shirt cuff, he pushed it into Mrs. Hamp’s palm before he could think better of it.

  “Oh, Your Highness. There’s really no need. We wanted to help. But thank you. Thank you!”

  She bobbed another curtsy, then abandoned politeness and pulled Danny into her arms. He made himself relax into the hug. Sometimes it was easier to let himself be touched, and he was getting better at it. Finally, she let him go, but the warmth lingered like heat on a summer evening.

  “God speed, Prince Dandip. I promise we’ll come and see you at Belle Vue one day soon.”

  They were still watching and waving as Danny melted into the crowd. Eventually, when he turned to look, even the top of Mr. Hamp’s head wasn’t visible anymore.

  He was on his own again.

  Quickly, Danny snaked through the press of bodies. This was as familiar to him as breathing. He was back to being Boy, owning only what he stood up in and eavesdropping for gossip.

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Couldn’t see nowt in this crowd. I’m goin’ to try to get inside Belle Vue. They’re chargin’ a shilling entrance fee, but I reckon it’ll be worth it.”

  “Not sure I’d bother. Rumor is he’s not goin’ to make it. They had a mile to go when they passed by here, and he didn’t look good.”

  “Well, I hope he gets there on time. The missus won’t be too happy if we have to go to Leeds for the menagerie. It’ll cost a bleedin’ fortune!”

  Danny moved faster, but it was becoming more difficult. The crowd was packed so tightly there was barely any wriggle room and farther on, people had stopped altogether. But he wasn’t turning back now. Crouching low, he dived into the crush. Then, with elbows spread, he slithered between legs and knees, earning several kicks for his trouble. Finally, he emerged at the front.

  The road ahead had been cleared, and rows of police officers were stopping spectators from pressing forwards. But Danny didn’t spare them much more than a glance, because in the middle of the clearing, lying on his side, was Maharajah.

  He wasn’t moving.

  Instinctively, Danny started running, heart pounding in his chest. But a strong hand grabbed his arm.

  “Where d’you think you’re going, lad? It’s not a place for you. The animal’s dying. He’ll have to be put out of his misery.”

  The words didn’t make sense. The constable must be confused. Maharajah couldn’t die. He’d been slowing down, but he wasn’t sick. Or not so sick that he wouldn’t recover. Danny was certain of it. Besides, they were too close to Belle Vue to fail. It must be a mistake. It must be.

  Danny pulled back from the iron grip. Perhaps panic made him stronger because, suddenly, he was free. He slipped under the policeman’s arm. “Oi, what’re you doing? Get back here. Stop that boy! Stop him!”

  A hand reached to catch him, and then another. But Danny dodged them, easily. He had to get to Maharajah. He didn’t care about anything else. He ran quicker. There was nobody between them now. He was moving so fast that he practically slid the last few yards. And then he was on his knees next to Maharajah.

  Trembling, Danny reached to stroke the wrinkled skin. Maharajah was barely breathing. His chest moved up and down, in fluttering, shallow gasps—and there was no sign that he knew Danny was there at all.

  Danny blinked against the prick of tears. A rough, choking sound came from the back of his throat. No. No, this was not the end. They were not giving up. They were not.

  “Danny. Danny!”

  He’d been so focused on Maharajah that he hadn’t even seen Hetty. In a blur of movement she knelt, threw her arms around his neck, and clung tight. He was nearly bowled over.

  “Where were you? We looked everywhere. And we waited for as long as we could. And a bit longer after that.” The relief in her voice made Danny wonder why he had ever doubted he’d be missed. He buried his face in her hair and was sure he felt a sob.

  “They said you’d been seen getting on a train to Edinburgh. But I didn’t believe it. Not for a single moment. I knew you wouldn’t run away. But everything’s been going wrong since you left. Crimple came back, then Sandev disappeared, and we couldn’t find you. But now you’re here. You’re here!”

  Abruptly she scrambled upright, tugging Danny along with her. He allowed it because it felt good. “Look, Papa, look. Didn’t I tell you Danny would be back? I told you he wouldn’t leave us. I said so.”

  “You did, Hetty.” It was the first time Danny had ever heard Mr. Saddleworth use his daughter’s nickname: the name she liked best. “It’s good to see you, lad. I’m glad you’re here. Maharajah missed you. We all missed you.”

  Slowly, Hetty relaxed her grip and tipped her head to look at him properly. Danny watched her expression change. “Oh my good Lord!” She touched his cheek. The cut still hurt, and Danny suspected bruising was starting to show. “What happened? Did Crimple do this? This is my fault, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have …”

  But Danny stopped listening. A familiar face was staring out from the crowd. Then people surged forwards again, and he disappeared. It was only the briefest glimpse, but the solemn face had been unmistakable. Sandev was here.

  Roughly, Danny pushed away from Hetty. She staggered back, looking confused and hurt. But he didn’t have time to stop and put it right. He had to make Maharajah move.

  Because whatever had brought Sandev here, Danny was going to make certain the Elephant Race wouldn’t finish without a fight.

  He sank to his knees, but Maharajah didn’t stir. His breathing was no more than a tired whisper. Burying his face under the elephant’s trunk, Danny butted his forehead gently against the rough skin. There was no reaction but he didn’t stop. He pushed again, desperate for some sign.

  “I’m sorry, Danny. We’ve tried everything.” Hetty’s voice was sticky with tears. “But he’s given up.”

  Beside him, Mr. Saddleworth knelt in the mud. “You’ve saved him once. Maybe now’s the time to let go. Sometimes it’s kinder.”

  No. Danny wasn’t going to let Maharajah surrender. There was too much at stake for both of them, and this time they would fight together. They were big enough and strong enough and clever enough to do it. He wasn’t going to quietly accept what someone else had decided was going to happen.

  Danny wriggled so that his entire body lay against Maharajah’s head and trunk. His pulse raced, and the sound of his heartbe
at thumped loudly in his ears. He had to force himself to be calm. To think.

  What could he do?

  He tried what had always worked before—humming, turning the sound into a soft whistle that blew on to the elephant’s long lashes. Maharajah’s eyes fluttered open. Danny was so close he could see the circle of gold expand and contract.

  “Keep going, Danny!” Hetty shouted. “He’s moving!”

  But Maharajah’s lids had already closed.

  “Have another try.” Mr. Saddleworth squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t pretend to know why, but you got a reaction. Do it again. We still have ten minutes before ten o’clock.”

  Danny repeated the sound. Nothing. He tried again. No movement. He wondered if he was fooling himself. Was he just dragging out the pain and making everything worse?

  Then without warning, Maharajah’s eyes blinked open, and this time, they stayed fixed on Danny. He released the breath he’d been holding.

  Shifting slightly, the elephant raised his trunk and wrapped it around Danny’s neck. They stayed like that for what felt hours but was probably only seconds. Hetty gave a half sob. Mr. Saddleworth put an arm around her shoulders and she turned into his chest.

  “Well done, Danny. Keep going. You can do it.”

  Around them, the crowd had fallen silent. Everyone was watching, perhaps they were expecting a miracle. Danny was going to try his best to make sure one happened.

  Without taking his eyes from the elephant’s face, Danny wriggled out of the embrace and stood. He waited, willing all his strength into Maharajah. A full minute passed. People grew restless; feet began to shuffle. Danny held up the ankus—not at the elephant but at the crowd. He needed quiet.

  Then Maharajah began to move. His front feet battled to get a hold on the ground. Danny’s hands gripped the cane so hard he worried it might snap. This was taking too long.

  And then just when defeat looked certain, the elephant’s legs straightened. With obvious effort Maharajah pulled the rest of his body upright. He was unsteady but standing. Danny’s fists relaxed. He lowered the ankus.