by MJ Walker
“Give me a moment,” said Edward.
He jumped from the bull, startling the fox cubs on the ground. He darted across the soil and scuttled up a tall conifer nearby, avoiding a bush of holly growing at its base. The more his mind whirred the higher he climbed, seeking inspiration. By the time he reached the half way point of the tree, where the trunk began to slowly taper, he thought he had it. The animals would wait until night time and cross the bridge that led over the gorge. They had done it once before. They would meet the urban foxes there and move down the back alleys of the city, hiding in the shadows until they reached the zoo. But then he ran out of ideas. He couldn’t imagine how the zoo was built. And if he didn’t know its layout, even a monkey couldn’t plan how to get in and back out again. Besides, the anteater wanted them all to go today, while the sun still shone.
So up the tree Edward climbed. He made it three quarters of the way up, where the earliest cones were just ripening. But he still could not rise to the challenge. Doubting his mental ability, he found a long branch to sit on and lost himself staring out over the gorge to the city. He thought of the leopard in a cage and realised it was beyond his mind to work out a way to free him. Frustrated, he stood on the branch and screamed. He grabbed the wood at his feet and he raged as only a monkey can in a tree. He bounced upon the branch, shaking all the needles, making such a noise that some thrushes perched nearby stopped singing and took flight, convinced an ill wind was blowing. Three pine cones broke free, seeds tumbling from their open plates. Down the cones fell, thudding hard upon the embankment below.
Edward ripped another cone and threw it after the first. Then he paused his aerial bombardment. From up in the tree he could look down on the fort for the first time. He could see its ancient form still sculptured among the grass and plants. Square lines and sharp corners marked the outline of long fallen walls. He could imagine rooms and an inner courtyard and could see how the embankment helped defend the fort from invaders. And that is when Edward had his second epiphany. He decided to imagine that this fort below was the zoo. From his vantage point, he could use it as a battle map. He surveyed the impression on the ground, probing it for weakness. Fundamentally, each tree was the same, Edward knew. So it made sense to assume buildings were the same and the zoo was a building of some kind, constructed as it was by the humans. Even if it was a giant tent, like the Big Top, it would still mark the ground, like the fort had below. It still needed an entrance and maybe a back door. So Edward spent the rest of the morning acting as a General, planning his manoeuvres and plotting his assault.
Eventually, Bear asked Doris to call Edward down. She wrapped her trunk around the first, oldest branch growing from the tree’s trunk and shook the whole conifer, including the monkey within.
“So do you have a plan for how we’ll get into the zoo?” asked the anteater of the monkey.
“Oh yes I’ve considered it deeply,” said Edward.
He described in great detail what they would do to breach the zoo, even including how they would get back out again.
“That sounds like a very good plan,” said Bear, and the other animals agreed. “Now how do we get to the zoo without being spotted?”
Edward was aghast. With all his imagining and planning, his tactics and strategy, he’d forgotten this most important part. Much of the morning had passed, the animals were fed and watered and ready to move out. Yet the sun was still shining and if they attempted to leave the wood and walk across the suspension bridge and into the city, they would surely be spotted by the humans.
“I don’t know,” he said meekly, holding his tiny hands up beside his shoulders.
A month earlier and Edward would have lied. If he was still in the circus, boasting about a new trick, and he’d forgotten to practice a major part of it, he’d have simply made up that he knew what he was doing. He was too good at improvising to care. But he could pretend no longer. He understood how much the animals now relied on each other and that his own ego didn’t matter so much any more.
“I didn’t think about it,” he admitted. “I only know how to get there at night.”
The anteater and elephant exchanged glances with the bull and foxes.
“You can’t just walk there in broad daylight,” said the vixen. “You all look so different to the animals that live here.”
The animals became still and quiet. Bear and the foxes kept thinking, but Edward, Doris and the bull had stopped, their minds growing empty and a little sad. It took a while for any of them to notice the English budgerigar trying to speak.
“But that’s just it,” said Bessie.
She flitted on to the lowest branch of the conifer.
“But that’s just it,” she said louder.
Still not being heard, she launched herself from the tree and dive-bombed her friends, clipping each of their noses with her wings, as she dashed past, shouting above the wind passing through her feathers.
“But that’s just it. That’s just it!”
She grabbed the attention of all the animals and landed in the middle of a circle they had formed.
“We can just walk there!”
“Don’t be so silly,” said Doris. “I’m an elephant from the circus that is bigger than any animal there has ever been. Everyone will see me.”
“And that is my point,” said Bessie.
While the others had been struggling to resolve their problem, Bessie had quietly done so.
“If we all walk together, down the streets, the humans will think we are part of the circus. If we dance and do tricks, and show off as much as we can, they will be so enthralled, so entranced, that they won’t think to question us. How could anyone, the humans, the nasty seagulls even, imagine that we have escaped and are about to stage a breakout? Being so unusual will make us fit in!”
She finished her speech, but got no reaction. Embarrassed, the budgie started pecking at seeds on the forest floor.
“I think it could work,” said the male fox, who had begun to like these exotic, strange beasts. “I’ve always said it. The more brash I am walking down a path, the more humans leave me alone,” he said, turning to the vixen. “It’s when they catch me scurrying across their farms, hiding among the hedges, that they worry, and send the dogs after me.”
“Sometimes the humans aren’t very clever,” said the bull. “They can be easily conned. The street dogs act cute and friendly to the women and children just to get tasty scraps thrown from their kitchens.”
“It’s true,” said Edward. “I used to do it all the time at the circus. Oh Bessie you are brilliant. We need to do the most amazing tricks, to distract the humans. The more we keep their eyes on us, the more they won’t notice there is no Ring Master.”
Bessie lifted her head and chattered away to herself.
“Bessie you must fly ahead of us,” said Doris. “Spin and twirl and put on the best show, to announce we are coming.”
“Yes,” said Bear. “This is all such a good idea. This is what we must do. If you fly high Bessie, you can even warn us what is up ahead.”
Suddenly Bessie became scared. The memory of the seagull attack hit her as hard as the bird itself, knocking her new-found confidence.
“But what about the gulls? The owls and the hawks? What about the falcons? And the hungry crows? Maybe an eagle will come and take me?” she cried, taking jittery steps about the ground.
Bear realised his mistake. He’d forgotten how much the seagull had shaken his friend.
“The owls don’t come out at night. The hawks only fly up above the trees and the falcons won’t come near, not while there’s the rest of us,” he explained. “And you don’t have to fly that high. How about just in front of Doris? She’ll keep you safe.”
“I’ll protect you Bessie,” said the elephant, flapping her ears. “I’ll bash any seagull that gets too close.”
“The seagulls aren’t so bad,” said the bull. “They’re an interfering bunch. But most of the time it’s because they
are bored, not because they are mean. Besides, we’ll get the other birds to help too.”
With that the bull stretched out his neck. He took a deep breath and splayed his front feet. He opened his lungs and throat and let out a huge bellow, that reverberated through the trees, impressing even Doris. But he sounded happy, not angry. He stood and waited, and out popped a weasel from the grass. The two cows wandered over, to see what he wanted. Then the trees began to fill with songbirds. A blackbird appeared first, displaying a fine yellow beak and eyes that watched the weasel. Two magpies cackled higher up in the trees, joyfully wanting to know what the commotion was for. A robin burst from the holly and a huge buzzard gracefully circled above.
“Tell the others we need them. We are going to the city and we have to protect this little bird here,” he said, leaning down and touching Bessie with his nose ring.
His warm wet breath enveloped the budgie, insulating her.
“And you,” said the bull to the buzzard. “Keep the falcons away.”
The buzzard liked the bull, who tolerated him landing in the forest clearings to remove the rodents that had died of old age. He let out a piercing shriek and banked up and over the top of the trees.
Before the procession of circus animals left the wood, Edward placed a chain of daisies around his neck. He embedded a stick of green holly in Bear’s thick fur, so it appeared like a crown upon the anteater’s head, the red berries dazzling as jewels in the sunshine. Doris found a pit of drying clay and tossed lumps of it on to her back and shoulders, the dust turning her into a ghostly, white elephant.
Edward collected a range of sticks and selected the best two, of equal length and weight. He threw them into the air, watching them spin, knowing he couldn’t afford to drop one, not today. Once they were out there, upon the bridge, there would be no fresh sticks to replace any he lost. He tucked the sticks under his arm and climbed up on to the elephant.
The Zoo
The bull led them, picking the best path winding out of the trees. A red deer stag watched them walk by, Bear ambling behind the bull, Doris behind the anteater, with Edward and Bessie upon her head. The stag snorted and tossed his fresh velvet antlers in celebration. Already, word had spread through the woods about these fantastic new creatures and their plan to save their friend. As the animals passed the stag hiding in the shadows, he felt pleased they might come and live among his kind.
They weaved and wandered until they reached the opening in the trees. Ahead appeared the tall brick tower supporting one side of the giant iron bridge suspended over the gorge. The huge red bull gave way, stepping aside into a patch of nettles.
“Good luck,” he said. “I hope I see you again.”
Bear nodded his thanks. He looked back at his troupe. Each of them nodded, their mouths open, tongues hanging in expectation. The giant anteater stepped on to the track. He walked forward a few paces until he was in the middle of the road. He could be seen by any human or horse that might pass along the way. He could probably be seen by the guard in his office and by anyone standing at the far end of the bridge, on the track that veered off up to the University College buildings and Lord Morgan’s laboratory.
Pushing against the last of the branches, Doris then walked out into the open air. Elephants can choose to move quietly when they want to, but as she stepped out, she flapped her ears and bucked her head, forcing Edward to hold on tight and Bessie to take flight. The bull felt a surge of pride at the their bravado and bravery. Doris then turned and faced the bridge. She lifted a front leg and emitted a long deep rumble, announcing to all the direction of her travel.
Stepping out in front of an audience came easily to the animals. They had been trained and poked, prodded and whipped so often by the Ring Master that they knew how to get attention and how to put on a show. But this was different. This was an open-air performance. No one was paying to watch. There was no script, no supporting acts and no interval. This was their own show, a unique performance to be staged only once and they had to impress like never before. If the show failed, it was entirely their own fault.
Suddenly Bear heard the sound of a horse’s hooves trotting behind. His stomach dropped as a shire horse walked alongside the circus animals. A large black horse, with long white socks, it clopped on past as if everything in the world was normal. As the horse moved past Bear, the anteater realised that a young lad was leading it by the mouth. But the boy stood no taller than the horse’s shoulder and its sheer size had blocked any view the human had of the circus animals.
Then Bear saw another two horses crossing the bridge, heading straight for him. Their heads down, they pulled at an empty hearse, its dark wheels bouncing on the wooden boards.
At first, he was pleased. They hadn’t yet been spotted. No humans were running towards them brandishing pitch forks and nets, no guns were being loaded. But then he thought again. This wouldn’t do. If they carried on this way, they would eventually be noticed and the human that spied them might wonder why such a strange bunch of animals was out for an afternoon stroll.
So Bear took the biggest gamble of his life. He stood up on his back legs, planting his long, strong tail into the dusty road. He raised his scarred snout and pointed it to the blue sky. He pulled his huge talons over his head and waved them.
Behind him Edward jumped on to Doris’s curved spine as she followed the anteater’s cue. She sat back upon her hips and pushed up, raising her heavy torso and front legs off the ground. Standing eleven feet tall, she opened her ears and chest and sucked in the air. Curling back her trunk until it touched her forehead, she trumpeted louder than ever before.
The shire horse in front bucked, so startled was he by the sound. The horses pulling the hearse instinctively stopped dead in their tracks. A quarter of the way across the bridge, they raised their heads to see the giant anteater and elephant waving at them from behind the shire horse that was now dragging its lad on to the wooden boards.
Thinking the bridge horn had accidentally sounded, a guard emerged from the station, blinking into the light. He placed his hands on his hips and pushed his cap back on his head, as the circus troupe stepped off the valley’s edge and began to cross the gorge. As Bear and Doris hit the wooden boards, Edward pulled out his sticks from under his arm. Like a drummer boy he held them aloft. But instead of beating them down upon Doris’s broad back, he spun one in his hand, catching it after a single revolution. He spun the other. Pleased with himself, he threw one in the air and caught it. He threw the other and caught that too. Then he threw them both at once, and caught a stick in each hand. He started to juggle as Doris moved forward.
The guard just watched as the animals proceeded across the bridge. As they passed him, he stepped back, leaning against the rails. He was amazed at the sight, by Bear’s huge claws and long tongue that flicked out. By the powdered elephant and the acrobatic monkey on her back. He then looked past Doris, to see what else might be following. At first there was nothing, until out of the sunshine appeared a dazzling budgerigar, which flew circles around Doris, passing through her legs and up over her head, before looping again. As Bessie flew, a large buzzard appeared overhead, casting a graceful shadow upon the river below the bridge. A robin showed up on the railing, hopping on to the guard’s shoulder. A flock of pigeons gathered around his feet, while a family of wrens and four magpies swooped down and around the shire horse, calming it, beguiling the lad.
As the troupe pranced across the bridge, the horses at the far end started to walk backwards. They had taken it upon themselves to give way to the approaching carnival. A man appeared, wrestling with their reins, trying to whip the horses forward. But skilfully they pushed the hearse back off the bridge, leaving the exit open. As the animals stepped off the bridge, birds flapping all about them, the horses doffed their heads, while the owner of the hearse watched, mouth open.
On they went until they reached the fork in the path that led to University College. In the excitement Bear realised he didn’t know w
hich way to go. He couldn’t see the foxes either. Perhaps it was all a trap? Maybe the bull and vixen had lied to him? They had never wanted to share their home with strangers. Instead of sticking together, they had convinced the circus animals to walk out of the woods, into the city and the clutches of the humans once more.
Edward stopped juggling.
“Where now?” he asked the anteater.
“I don’t know,” said Bear.
“It’s ok,” said Bessie.
She landed in front of the anteater.
“I can see them up the road. There are two foxes waiting for us. They are sitting on top of an old cart of rubbish. Follow me.”
Just as the animals had planned, Bessie now led the way. Gaining in confidence, she flew with the wild birds, the buzzard overseeing their progress away from the gorge. As she flew over the cart, a lean fox jumped off it.
“I’ve been told to help you,” he said. “You must be important. My cousin rarely crosses the bridge but he ran here so fast he was lost for breath. He left while you were getting ready and said you’d be along soon after. You’re looking for the zoo?”
This fox had a shinier coat than the foxes in the woods and spoke with a sharper accent.
“Yes we are,” said Bear. “Can you take us there?”
“Normally it’s easy. We’d head that way,” said the fox, nodding down the road that led to the port.
“But something is happening today,” said the second fox, an older dog with silver hair around his eyes. “There are lots more humans out and the road has been closed to the horses. It’s the first time that road has ever been closed.”
“So how do we reach the zoo?” asked Doris.
“We have to walk up the high street,” said the older fox.
“Can we do that?” asked Edward.
“We’ll have to,” said the older fox. “There’s no other way.”
“We’ve done it before,” said the younger fox. “But that was at dusk. All the shops were shut. Most of the humans had gone home. And we weren’t so obvious.”
