Great Animal Escapade

by Jane Kerr

  ‘What about the animals?’ Carefully, Danny edged forward. He was getting closer. ‘You didn’t say anything about the menagerie?’

  Dalton snorted. ‘Goadsby doesn’t want the menagerie. Too much hard work. And he couldn’t care less about the animals. He’ll sell them off once he gets his hands on this place. Use the land to build an empire. More shops. More factories. More profit. That’s what he wants.’

  Danny shuffled a little nearer, but Dalton didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘You see he’s not stupid but he is mean. He wants Belle Vue and everythin’ that goes with it – and he wants it cheap. Every disaster for Belle Vue, drives the value down. The investors are already gettin’ nervous, threatenin’ to take their money away. Soon all Jameson will have is debts and bills.’

  ‘So it was you? Causing all that trouble?’ Danny paused, unsure how much he could push Dalton before he refused to talk. But he needn’t have worried. The pyrotechnist leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he played with the handle of the gun. He seemed in the mood to confess.

  ‘The bridge collapse were easy. I didn’t even have to do much, just saw through the planks underneath, make them weak enough to fail. And that accident at the firework factory, when you broke Queen Victoria . . . that were me too. I just gave Her Majesty a little shove. But they were the small things.’

  Danny frowned. What else had happened that he didn’t know about? Had there been other disasters that Mr Jameson had kept secret?

  ‘It was Goadsby who made sure the gasworks didn’t get the new licence. And he arranged it so the tea rooms flooded.’ He gave a half-laugh. ‘And Eustace Threlfall was a godsend. A vicar hell-bent on shuttin’ the whole place down. He played right into Goadsby’s hands, and the poor fool didn’t even know it. I even got Threlfall’s sister to let loose some of the animals. Although, she seemed happy enough to do it.’

  Danny felt his temper flare but he tried to keep his face blank. ‘And tonight? What’s going to happen tonight?’

  Dalton lifted his gaze from the pistol and flicked his eyes around the room. For the first time, he seemed reluctant to talk. ‘Tonight, an explosion is goin’ to destroy Firework Island. Right in front of most of Manchester. A big public disaster. And Jameson will lose everythin’. Goadsby’s goin’ to be able to snap up this place for next to nothin’.’

  It was making an odd sort of sense. ‘So what do you get? For helping him?’

  ‘I told you – I get to stay out of prison!’

  ‘And?’ Danny said. Instinct told him there was something more. ‘What else? What else do you get?’

  This time the pause was longer. ‘And a parcel of land, with enough money to set up on my own. I’ll have my name over the factory door. Be my own boss. All my life I’ve worked to put money into someone else’s pocket. Now this is my chance. A chance to pass on somethin’ to my family . . . to my grandson.’ Dalton snapped, and Danny realized that what he had mistaken for gruff sullenness was actually a deep, resentful bitterness.

  ‘I see.’ He watched Dalton’s hand relax around the polished handle of the gun. The barrel tilted towards the floor. Now it was close enough to touch.

  ‘Remember what I told you, lad? About bein’ a pyrotechnist? That all you need is the right amount of fear. Well, that’s what this were all about. All I had to do was take a risk, climb a little higher – and then I’d be lookin’ at the stars.’

  This time Danny didn’t ask another question. He made a grab for the gun. But just as his fingers brushed the barrel, the hut door swung open. Dalton jerked back, tightening his grip on the pistol and pulling away.

  Danny cursed. Every gain he’d made was lost. He turned. Miss Carkettle stood in the doorway, her eyes locked – not on Dalton – but on Danny. And if she’d been angry with him before, she was furious now.

  ‘I’m looking for Henrietta, and don’t think to lie to me, young man. I know exactly what’s going on. Despite my express wishes, she’s run off to be in this ridiculous show. I demand you tell me where she’s hiding!’

  Danny opened his mouth but suddenly, Miss Carkettle seemed to notice someone else was in the room. She stared at Dalton and then at the small pistol in his palm. ‘What on earth are you doing, sir? Put that gun down at once. You could hurt someone.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.’ Hastily, Dalton lurched upright, holding the pistol at arm’s length. The movement must have given him time to think. ‘I . . . I caught the boy stealin’.’

  Instinctively, Danny jerked his head. ‘No! That’s not—’

  ‘Stealing? Well, I can’t say that’s much of a surprise.’ Miss Carkettle’s lips thinned. ‘However, regardless of his actions, I don’t approve of firearms, so I must insist you put the gun down. It really is quite dangerous.’

  Dalton shifted uneasily but he didn’t drop his hand. The silence lengthened, and Danny wondered if there was still a chance to grab the gun. Then Miss Carkettle released a sigh. ‘Very well. I shall fetch Mr Jameson myself. The boy is his responsibility. He can deal with this. And afterwards, perhaps you could help me find my niece.’ She turned on her heel and marched back across the hut.

  ‘No! You stay where you are! You can’t leave ’ere.’ Dalton’s shout stopped Miss Carkettle halfway to the door. She pivoted, her spine ramrod-straight, every muscle bristling. And for a moment, Danny found himself filled with admiration. She and Hetty had more in common than he’d first thought.

  ‘What do you mean, I can’t leave? Of course I can leave.’

  ‘No. You’re not goin’ anywhere, ma’am.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have no idea what is happening here, but I blame it on the reading of too much modern literature. This is not the Wild West. This is Manchester.’

  ‘No one is leavin’, ma’am. Not till this is all over. And it will be over, anytime now. We just have to wait a little longer. Just a minute more. That’s all. Now, go and sit over there with the boy.’

  ‘Really! This is too much! You cannot keep me here against my will.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can, ma’am.’ Horrified, Danny watched Dalton’s hands twist nervously again and the pistol swung round to face Miss Carkettle. ‘I’ve got a gun.’

  ‘No! Don’t!’ Hastily, Danny scrambled to his feet. ‘Please don’t hurt her.’ He sprinted across the floor until he stood directly in front of Hetty’s aunt. Now the pistol was pointing at the hollow of his spine. He swallowed. ‘This isn’t about me stealing anything, Miss Carkettle, I promise. Mr Dalton and Mayor Goadsby are planning to—’

  ‘Shut up!’ With one panicked movement, Dalton swung his hand and hit Danny across the back of the head with the gun.

  It seemed to surprise them both, and for a moment, Danny froze. Then pain ricocheted around his skull, sending agonizing waves through his temple. And his teeth. And his throat. Letting his knees soften, Danny sank to the floor and closed his eyes.

  ‘Good heavens! You’ve killed him!’ The shock in Miss Carkettle’s voice didn’t quite hide a tremor of fear.

  Dimly, Danny heard footsteps then Dalton was leaning over him, so close that the bristles of his beard left scratch marks. Trapping a breath behind his teeth, Danny stayed as still as stone. His heart beat frantically in his chest.

  ‘No. He’s just knocked out cold. That’ll save me a job.’ Dalton drew back. Mentally, Danny counted the steps as he walked away. He reckoned he had one chance – and only one chance. And this was it.

  Twisting suddenly, Danny rolled to his side and raised one leg. Then using his hip as a pivot, he kicked out as hard as he could. His boot caught Dalton exactly where he’d intended – right on the back of the knees, just where the flesh was softest. With a cry, Dalton crashed forward, sprawling full-length in the dirt. The pistol slipped from his hands and skidded across the floor.

  Danny clambered to his feet, wincing as pain stabbed through his head. But he didn’t have time to give in to it. Dalton was already trying to get up. Quickly, Da
nny stepped closer and kicked a boot between his shoulder blades, feeling absurdly grateful when Dalton slumped unresisting to the floor.

  He looked around the hut. Behind Miss Carkettle, a coil of thick cord lay abandoned in a corner. ‘The rope! Pass me the rope. Quickly!’

  But Miss Carkettle didn’t move. She was staring at Dalton, with the dazed blankness of someone in deep shock. ‘The rope!’ Danny called again. And this time she blinked rapidly.

  ‘Really! There’s no need to shout.’ Drawing herself up, she reached out and grabbed the cord. ‘Here.’

  Without ceremony, Danny yanked Dalton’s hands behind his back and wrapped the rope around his wrists. Over his shoulder, he felt Miss Carkettle step nearer and he braced himself for criticism. But Hetty’s aunt was full of surprises.

  ‘Wrap the cord in a figure of eight, Daniel. Around each arm and crossed in the middle. That’ll make it tighter.’

  Wordlessly, Danny did as she instructed, and Dalton groaned as the rope pulled taut. Then he scooped the pistol from the floor and handed it to Miss Carkettle.

  ‘I need to go now. I have to raise the alarm. But I’ll send help when I can. You’ll have to stay here. Keep the gun on him. And make sure he doesn’t move.’ He paused. ‘Do you understand?’

  Her eyes sparked. ‘Of course I understand, young man. I’m a Carkettle.’ She raised the pistol so it was in a perfect line with her right shoulder. ‘If he moves, I’ll shoot him.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Danny ran. He ran as fast and as hard as he was able. And every step of the way he waited for an explosion. A blast that would rock Belle Vue to its foundations and destroy the place he called home.

  But it didn’t happen.

  Instead, the air seemed to pulse with excitement; the sort of giddy anticipation that comes before a long-awaited celebration. The noise rolled and surged like a sea at high tide.

  Already, the spectators’ gallery was full. Each seat on every tier had been taken. And the remaining crowds were spreading out along the shore facing the island.

  Next to the gallery, an orchestra had begun to play – soft music that rose in delicate layers to circle the park. And suddenly, a series of fireworks soared from the grass in a brief staccato burst. One. Two. Three. Four. Before exploding into shimmering fountains that filled the sky with colour. The music swelled even louder.

  If it had been any other time, Danny would have mar velled at the beauty of the scene. But not tonight. Tonight, he prayed for it all to stop. For everyone to stand, turn and disappear into the darkness.

  Of course, no one did. Instead, people were still flooding through the park gates. Their heads bobbing and dipping in the moving stream. Danny tried to push against the tide, knocking against knees and arms and ankles. But he kept being flung back, tossed like a piece of driftwood. And then, in the distance, a sight sent his panic soaring.

  Soldiers were marching across the footbridge, smart and splendid in their red and blue uniforms. Behind them were the Spanish peasants, illuminated by a chain of paper lanterns held on long hooks above their heads. One village girl led the way; long, loose curls spiralling across her shoulders, her butter-yellow skirt swinging with each step.

  And right at the back, towering over everyone, Danny saw an elephant; twelve feet tall, with gold eyes and one sawn-off tusk. His heart drummed heavily in his chest. Had he been too slow? Was Goadsby on the island? Was he already lighting the fuse?

  But the clock on the dance hall roof said there were still fifteen minutes before ten o’clock.

  Surely he had time to stop this? To warn everybody? After all, Goadsby didn’t know Belle Vue like Danny did, and the crowds would probably have slowed his progress. Simply finding the fuse would cause a delay.

  Yes, there was still time.

  Sucking in a breath, Danny pushed harder through the press of people, using his elbows and kicking with his feet. He wasn’t going to turn back now. Even though he might already be too late.

  The procession was finished by the time Danny reached the footbridge. The soldiers and villagers were already spreading out across the island to take up their positions for the opening scene. Overhead, fireworks trailed across the sky, and the music rose steadily – just as Mr Jameson had said it would. ‘Prince Dandip and the Fight for Flamenca’ was about to begin.

  Heart slamming, Danny raced across the bridge. In the centre of the island, the hill rose above him and, silhouetted against the horizon, were the painted backdrops of the Spanish village.

  Danny sprinted up the path, pushing until his muscles stung with the effort. At last he turned the final bend. The track opened out on to a flat strip of land, just below the brow of the hill. It was where Mr Jameson was kneeling next to a coil of fuses. An open box of matches lay at his feet.

  ‘STOP! STOP!’ Danny didn’t think he could shout any louder.

  Hastily, Mr Jameson scrambled upright. ‘Danny! Where in the blue blazes have you been? It’s bad enough that George Dalton didn’t show. But you? I thought I could rely on you!’ For a moment they stared at each other, then Mr Jameson turned his back and knelt down again. ‘It’s too late now. I’ll do it myself.’

  He picked up the box and pulled out one of the matches.

  ‘No! Stop! Please. PLEASE!’ Danny’s heart was pounding so fiercely he thought it might burst from his chest. He sucked in a breath. He had to make sure he was understood; that he didn’t stumble over the words. ‘Don’t . . . light . . . the . . . fuse.’

  ‘What are you talkin’ about? The show’s about five minutes from starting. I can’t hang around for you to get ready. You had your chance. And now it’s gone.’ Mr Jameson’s voice had dropped to a whisper. And Danny was surprised to hear that he sounded more sad than angry. ‘You get home. And we’ll talk about this later.’

  ‘No! You don’t understand.’ The panic was starting to bite. His chest was getting tighter. The words were getting more difficult to say. ‘If you light that fuse, you’ll blow up the whole island. People . . . people might get hurt. Or worse.’

  ‘What? Don’t be ridiculous!’ Mr Jameson frowned. ‘Dalton said everything was perfectly safe. He rigged it all himself, and he knows what he’s doin’. I reckon someone’s been tellin’ you tales, lad.’

  The fear rose another notch. But it was a different sort of fear than before. Before Danny had been terrified he might not arrive on time; what he hadn’t considered is that he might not be believed.

  ‘Please! You have to—’

  ‘What’s going on here, Jameson? The boy giving you trouble again? I just wonder what mischief he’ll get up to next.’

  Horrified, Danny looked down the hill to see a man picking his way up the path towards them. It was Harold Goadsby.

  Slowly, Mr Jameson stood, a smile pasted to his face. ‘Lord Mayor! What are you doin’ here, sir? Only my staff are allowed on the island tonight. You’d better get back over the bridge. Watch the show from across the water with all the other visitors. You’ll enjoy it more.’

  But Goadsby continued on towards them. Now he was close enough not to have to shout. ‘Oh, you mustn’t mind me, Jameson. I just wanted to make sure everything’s in order. Remember I warned you there’d be an inspection? Well, tonight seemed as good a night as any.’ He waved his hand carelessly in the direction of the fuse. ‘But you carry on. I promise I won’t get in the way.’

  Stopping, he rested one foot on a rock and dropped his hat on the path next to it. He looked relaxed. Composed. And entirely confident. And Danny knew, with complete certainty, that this is what he’d planned all along.

  Goadsby had never intended for Dalton to light the fuse early. He hadn’t wanted Firework Island to be empty and deserted.

  No.

  He wanted the explosion to happen when the island was full of people; watched by thousands of spectators; and on the night of the biggest show Manchester had ever seen. Because he wanted the disaster to be as public and as catastrophic as possible. And if s
ome people died, then it would be worth the risk. Because Belle Vue would never, ever recover.

  ‘Don’t. Please don’t!’ Danny’s words emerged in short, tight sentences. ‘There are stockpiles of gunpowder. On the hill. Enough to blow up the island. Maybe worse. Goadsby and Dalton are in it together. They’ve rigged it so the island will blow up. I don’t know how. I just know . . .’ Speech was getting harder. ‘I just know you shouldn’t light that fuse.’

  Goadsby laughed, nonchalantly. And if Danny hadn’t heard the plans with his own ears, doubt would have taken hold.

  ‘What nonsense! Why on earth would I want to sabotage the show? Put people at risk of harm? Including myself? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Danny?’ Mr Jameson looked bewildered. ‘What in the blue blazes are you talkin’ about?’

  ‘Mr Goadsby is the one who’s been causing all the trouble for Belle Vue. He wants the park to fail . . . for people to stop coming . . . so he can buy it up cheap. All the businesses . . . all the attractions . . . all the land.’

  ‘Really, Jameson, you can’t possibly believe this? The boy is obviously trying to turn attention away from himself. It’s a fairy tale from start to finish.’

  But Mr Jameson ignored him. All his attention was centred on Danny. ‘You realize how serious this is. I’ll have to cancel tonight’s show. Delay it, if we’re lucky. People are goin’ to be angry. I could lose . . .’ He paused. ‘We could lose everything.’

  ‘Yes.’ Danny was proud that his voice sounded so steady. ‘I know.’

  Mr Jameson raised his hand. The dry match was still pinched between two fingers. ‘And you still want me to throw this away?’

  ‘I do. Yes.’

  For several moments, Mr Jameson examined Danny’s face and then he stared down at the match. And for the first time, Goadsby’s confidence seemed to slip. He made an instinctive move forward before checking himself. Now his smile looked forced.