Great Animal Escapade

by Jane Kerr

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Jameson. The boy’s a liar and a thief. If the show doesn’t go ahead tonight, you might never be able to stage it again. Your investors could take away their money. All your efforts would be wasted.’

  Mr Jameson said nothing. Then without any particular haste, he struck the match and waited until the flame flickered in his hand. Danny’s heart beat in rapid, erratic bursts. He swallowed. It felt like standing on a clifftop, looking down and knowing that one movement would change everything.

  ‘You make a good point, Lord Mayor.’ Thoughtfully, Mr Jameson patted his jacket before pulling out a cigar. Leaning forward, he lit it. And a cloud of smoke drifted into Goadsby’s face. ‘But don’t call my son a liar. Or a thief. I don’t like it.’ And then he lifted his hand and blew out the match.

  The breath that Danny hadn’t known he was holding, rushed out. And a surge of bubbling lightness welled up from somewhere deep inside. Despite everything, Mr Jameson had believed him. And in that moment, he realized his mistake.

  He couldn’t leave Belle Vue. This world that he was only just beginning to explore and to understand. He couldn’t leave the people who had taken him in and given him a home. And he couldn’t leave Maharajah or the friends that he had made.

  And even if that meant saying goodbye to his father, he was going to stay. Here at Belle Vue. And he was going to prove to Mr and Mrs Jameson that they had not made a mistake in bringing him here. The decision must have been the right one because he felt the certainty of it settle in his bones.

  Mr Jameson puffed on his cigar. ‘Danny. It looks like the show’s off.’

  ‘You fool! You stupid, half-witted fool.’ Fury distorted Goadsby’s face. His cheeks flushed red, and angry lines made dents in his forehead. ‘I can’t believe you’d take his word over mine.’

  ‘Well, you should believe it, Lord Mayor, because that what’s happenin’. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to get off my property.’

  Goadsby swallowed, his eyes moved shiftily between them. Slowly, he leant to pick up his hat, before stomping off down the path. In silence, they watched him go. Then Mr Jameson knelt beside the fuse and yanked at the coils. They came away in his hands.

  ‘That’ll sort it. There’s no point in riskin’ him comin’ back.’ He took a deep breath, as if he’d just realized the enormity of his decision. ‘You better stay on the island and spread the word. I’ll go and break the news to that lot over there.’ He gestured across the water towards the crowds. ‘And Danny?’ His voice was soft. ‘I don’t know how you found out about this. I don’t even understand why. But thank you for comin’ back!’

  Danny grinned. Despite all that had happened, the relief of finally being believed was overwhelming. He watched Mr Jameson disappear down the hill before turning back to inspect the fuses. And it was then that he made a discovery that sent his blood cold.

  The box of matches that had been lying on the ground was gone.

  Harold Goadsby had taken them.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Danny had been frightened before, but this feeling was more than that. It was as if a hollow had opened up in the pit of his stomach.

  Goadsby had the matches. He must have grabbed them when he picked up his hat from the path. But it wasn’t the theft that bothered him. It was another, far more terrifying thought.

  Mr Jameson had ripped out the coil of fuses, but Goadsby did not need to light the fuse to set off the explosion. He just needed to start a fire. The flames would do the rest – because George Dalton had planted enough gunpowder on the island to blow every piece of it apart.

  Goadsby hadn’t abandoned his plans. He still had every intention of destroying Belle Vue.

  Danny began to run.

  He spotted two of the French soldiers first. They were lying in one of the hollows in the hillside, waiting for the signal to start fighting.

  ‘You have to go now.’ Danny cupped his hands around his mouth to make his voice carry. ‘Get off the island. It’s not safe. The show’s over!’

  But the men only laughed. Across the lake, music was still drifting out across the water. And a single firework soared upwards, before exploding lazily. There was no sign at all that Mr Jameson had managed to raise the alarm.

  Danny tried again. ‘Please listen. You have to leave! Now!’

  With a sigh, one of the soldiers propped himself up on his elbows. ‘Look, lad. This is the easiest money we’ll make in a year. We’re not goin’ anywhere. Not till it’s over and we get paid. Now if you want my advice – you’ll shut up and move on.’

  Horrified, Danny watched him lie back down. How was he going to spread the word when no one wanted to listen? How could he save people when they didn’t believe they needed saving? And how was he going to make certain Hetty and Maharajah stayed safe?

  Spinning on his heels, Danny lurched down the path towards the shore. At the water’s edge, a group of Spanish peasants were waiting for the performance to start. Stretching on to his toes, Danny waved at them furiously and pointed towards the bridge. ‘Go, now! Quickly!’

  But the villagers looked more confused than frightened. Danny dropped his hands. His chest felt tight. His heart drummed manically. Suddenly, further along the bank, a flash of bright yellow broke through the darkness. He scrambled down towards it.

  On the shore, a girl with wild curls stood next to a boy in a red soldier’s jacket. ‘Hetty!’ he shouted. ‘HETTY!’

  ‘Danny?’ She turned so quickly that her skirts flew out. ‘Where have you been? You should have been here hours ago. The Jamesons were so upset. Mrs Jameson was almost in tears. How could you do this to them? How could you!’

  ‘I can explain. But not now. We have to get everyone off the island.’

  ‘What are you talking about? The show’s about to start.’ Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her hands to her hips. ‘Is this something to do with your new friend? Mr Larkin, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No. No! Please, you have to listen. Just trust me.’ His words were starting to stick and slide against each other. And he wasn’t sure if he was making any sense. ‘There’s going to be an explosion. Everything . . . the island . . . the people . . . it’ll be destroyed.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Miss Henrietta.’ Tom stepped nearer. Deliberately, he lifted his rifle on to one shoulder and balanced it between both hands. ‘This is another one of his stories.’

  ‘No! No, it’s not!’

  But Tom continued as though Danny wasn’t there. ‘He’s a troublemaker. A clumsy half wit. And now on top of everythin’ else, he’s trying to make sure the show fails as well. I don’t reckon he can help himself.’

  ‘No, it’s not like that. Just listen.’ Desperation made Danny’s voice splinter. He grabbed Hetty’s elbow, swinging her round until she was forced to look into his eyes. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Hetty. I am. I promise you – on Maharajah’s life, I am. Everybody has to get off the island. Now!’

  Hetty stared at him, and it seemed to Danny that a whole lifetime passed before she spoke. He wondered if she could hear his heart. ‘If Danny says it’s true, then it is.’

  The relief was so intense that his whole body shuddered. Tom scowled and swung his rifle a little higher. ‘No, I don’t reckon he’s—’

  And suddenly, on the horizon, Danny saw a flare of bright, burning orange. Flames were licking across the roofs of the Spanish village. The painted scenery was on fire.

  ‘Look!’ He stabbed a finger towards the top of the hill. ‘LOOK!’

  They turned. And almost unconsciously, Hetty lifted a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, good heavens!’

  But it was Tom Dalton who looked the most horrified. ‘The gunpowder! We can’t let the flames reach those barrels.’

  Hetty dropped her hand. ‘What do you need us to do, Danny? How can we help?’

  For a brief moment, Danny stared at the flames. And oddly, it was George Dalton’s words that came back to him.

  ‘All you need is the righ
t amount of fear.’

  The right amount of fear.

  He could do this.

  ‘You two spread the word,’ he said. ‘Get everyone off the island. As quickly as you can. I’m . . . I’m going to find Maharajah. And see if I can stop the fire.’

  Danny was already halfway up the slope when he realized someone was hard on his heels. He turned; Tom Dalton glared back at him, defiantly. But Danny didn’t stop running. This wasn’t the time for arguments.

  And then, just as they reached the brow of the hill, he heard the noise he’d been dreading. A deafening cry. Raw, wounded and terrified.

  Maharajah. But where was he?

  Desperately, Danny scanned the island. Soldiers and villagers were swarming along the shore, scrambling down the hillside and running towards the footbridge. Hetty had obviously managed to raise the alarm – although the sight of flames shooting across the sky probably helped. Now no one could be unaware of the danger.

  The painted village was already scorched and blackened. And the blaze was spreading towards the thicket of trees on top of the hill. It reminded Danny of another fire, in another place. And he knew Maharajah’s fear would be paralysing.

  Once again, a frightened bellow sounded out across the island. It was coming from the other side of the burning scenery. But before Danny could move, Tom’s urgent shout pulled him back.

  ‘Oi. Over here! Quickly.’ He was standing on a strip of grass, close to the bend in the path before its last steep climb to the top. It was the same spot where Mr Jameson had been kneeling, just a little earlier.

  ‘This is where Grandpa rigged the explosives. Someone’s already pulled out the fuses but the gunpowder’s still here. Over by the bend. And there’s more barrels than I thought. Four altogether. Enough to cause a big blast if the fire gets near.’

  ‘What if . . .’ Carefully, Danny let the thought unfold. ‘What if we could move the barrels. Roll them downhill . . . and into the lake?’

  ‘I suppose it could work. The water would stop the gunpowder from explodin’.’ Tom frowned. ‘But I don’t know how we’d do it. The barrels are heavy. Grandpa used a horse and cart to carry them up here.’

  Abruptly, another terrified roar shredded the night air. And a plume of black smoke ballooned across the hillside. And when it lifted, the outline of a large animal was silhouetted against the burning horizon. Danny’s heart lifted.

  ‘We might not be able to do it,’ he said. ‘But I know who can.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The bitter taste of smoke stung Danny’s throat. He tugged off his jacket and bundled it over his mouth. Carefully, he inched closer. Maharajah stood in front of the flames, rocking his head, ears flapping. But his huge body was frozen. He didn’t seem able to move.

  Danny stared into the gold eyes – and saw the depth of his terror. He reached out and gently stroked his palm along the rough ridges of skin, feeling each dip and bump beneath his fingers. ‘It’s going to be fine, I promise. I promise you!’

  From the moment he’d recovered his voice, Danny had talked to Maharajah. Gentle words designed to coax and comfort. It had never felt odd because he was always sure Maharajah understood. But this time, he couldn’t just repeat the same old reassurances. He had to persuade Maharajah to fight his fear.

  Moving closer, Danny pressed his face into the hollow below the broken tusk. ‘I need your help. You’re the only one who can do this. But you won’t be on your own. We’ll do it together.’

  The gold eyes stared back at him, and for a moment every emotion seemed magnified between them. Every fear. Every worry. Every anxiety. And then Maharajah blinked. Curled his trunk around Danny’s neck. And calmed.

  Danny didn’t think he’d ever been so grateful in his life.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you.’

  Carefully, he led Maharajah down towards the strip of grass where Tom was standing beside a small pyramid of barrels. Above them, the fire snapped and snarled, filling the air with smoke and ash. The heat was close to stifling. But now they were far enough away not to be in any immediate danger. Danny just wasn’t sure how long that would last.

  Tom was watching Maharajah warily. ‘Can you make him to do it?’

  ‘I can’t force him.’ Danny looked up into the clear, gold eyes. ‘But he’ll do it because he wants to help.’

  Instinctively, he reached for the ankus tucked into his belt and whistled. The noise was piercing so he gentled it a little.

  Reaching out, Maharajah pushed the first barrel. It toppled to the grass with a thud then tipped on to its side. Danny whistled again. And Maharajah gave the drum another hard shove. The path ahead was clear and it bounced along the ground, poised briefly on the lip of the hill before tumbling over the edge. Standing on the slope, Danny watched it splash into the lake, then disappear.

  He swiped a hand across his damp forehead and turned back towards the fire. Maharajah was silhouetted against the flames. For a long moment, the gold eyes locked on his. And Danny knew all that kept him here was the bond between them. He just hoped it was enough.

  ‘That was good,’ he said. ‘Now we have to do the rest.’

  Obediently, Maharajah rammed his trunk against the next barrel, and it followed the same path into the water. Then he did the same again. And again. Until finally, the last barrel sank beneath the surface of the lake.

  ‘That’s it.’ Tom looked down the slope, panting. ‘We’ve done it.’

  ‘Not yet. That was four. But there are more. Twenty barrels altogether . . . in three separate piles.’

  Tom’s mouth twisted. ‘Don’t be stupid! I don’t know where you heard that, but it’s nonsense. Grandpa wouldn’t have brought any more here. He didn’t have to. There was already more gunpowder than he needed. It would have been too dangerous.’

  ‘I know.’ Danny walked further along the grass slope. Despite the heat and the flames, he kept his eyes trained on the ground. Searching for any trace of the other stockpiles. His chest tightened. ‘But he did it anyway.’

  Frowning, Tom marched closer and grabbed his arm. ‘What are you tryin’ to tell me? That my grandpa rigged this on purpose?’

  ‘I’m not trying to tell you anything. I just know there’s more gunpowder here. That’s all.’ Danny jerked away until Tom was forced to drop his hands. They curled into fists.

  ‘You’re lyin’. I know you are. This is another one of your stories.’

  ‘No, it’s not—’

  ‘Danny! Tom! Thank heavens.’ They turned. Hetty was sprinting up the path towards them, cheeks flushed. She looked as though she’d run the entire length of the island. ‘We need to go. Another fire’s started down by the bridge. We have to be quick. Most people have already gone . . . and the rest are following. Come on!’

  She spun on her heels to leave and Tom moved to go after her. But Danny stayed where he was. ‘I can’t go.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Of course, you can. You have to!’

  ‘Not yet. There are more explosives around here somewhere. Enough to destroy the island. I have to find them. I need to make sure everyone’s safe.’

  ‘I’ve already told you. There aren’t any more barrels!’ Tom’s eyes had narrowed. ‘You’re makin’ the whole thing up.’

  ‘No. I don’t think he is, Tom.’ Hetty stood on the path, staring at a circle of rocks a little further downhill. ‘Otherwise, what’s that?’

  At first, Danny couldn’t see where she was pointing. But when they scrambled along the slope, the edge of a wooden drum came into view, peeking out from behind the biggest rock. And just beyond it, partially hidden by the stone circle, more barrels were packed into neat, tight rows. Tom’s face paled.

  Danny banged a fist against the nearest barrel and heard the answering thud. It was full. ‘I’m staying. Someone has to get these out of reach of the fire.’

  Twisting around, he whistled to Maharajah before kneeling down to clear the ground. One or two of the largest stones would
have to be moved before the barrels could be pushed away. And besides, he didn’t want to stand and watch Hetty and Tom leave. His eyes prickled, and he swiped a hand across his face.

  Suddenly, someone was crouching in the dirt beside him. And then another person was kneeling at his other side. And two pairs of hands were scrabbling in the soil alongside him.

  ‘Did you think we’d go without you?’ Hetty shouted over the crackle of the fire. ‘Don’t be so stupid!’

  This time, the stockpile took longer for them to clear. Maharajah had to push away the rocks then roll each barrel up and across the ridge before gravity sent them tumbling down into the lake.

  The fire had reached its peak, and the heat was close to blistering. Danny could feel his lungs cramp, and the smoke had left his throat raw. He wasn’t the only one. Tom and Hetty were obviously struggling. Finally, they stared down at the lake.

  ‘I reckon altogether that must be fifteen,’ Tom coughed into his sleeve.

  Quickly, Danny pulled away from the edge. ‘Then there are five more. I need to find them.’

  ‘No, Danny. You’ve done enough.’ Hetty grabbed his arm. The smoke had almost rubbed away her voice. It was now no more than a whisper. ‘Even if the fire reaches the rest of the gunpowder, the worst of this is over. And there’s no one left on the island.’

  ‘Let me go.’ Danny pulled back, tugging so hard he almost lost his balance. ‘You don’t understand. I’ve got to do it! The Jamesons . . . I have to show them . . .’

  ‘No! We haven’t any more time.’ Furiously, Hetty pulled him round so he was forced to face her. To look into her eyes.

  ‘Danny, listen to me. You’ve done as much as you can. Everyone’s safe. And the rest of it . . . it’s just dirt and rocks. The Jamesons wouldn’t want you to risk your life for this. They wouldn’t want you to risk your life at all. We have to go!’

  Chapter Thirty-four