Dumbo Live Action Novelization

by Kari Sutherland

  Slowly, the crowd realized Dumbo wasn’t going to plow into them. They cheered him on, whooping and clapping as he zoomed through the air. Dumbo’s smile widened, and his eyes shone brightly. Veering left, he looped again and again, spiraling down, then up, then down again.

  Every eye was trained on him as he dove and rose and curved like a paintbrush on the air. This was magic, real magic, happening right there in Joplin, Missouri.

  By the next day, word had zipped down phone wires and been pressed onto newspapers: THE MEDICI BROTHERS HAVE A FLYING PACHYDERM!

  Ticket sales for the show would no longer be a concern.

  The newest addition to the Medici circus—the little elephant called Dumbo—had saved them.

  Far, far away, in New York City, businessman V. A. Vandevere slapped down his copy of the paper.

  “Sotheby,” he called to his personal assistant, “pack our bags. We have business in Missouri.”

  If the story was true, the Medici Brothers had an elephant that could literally fly. It seemed impossible, and yet V. A. made a business out of making the impossible possible.

  That elephant belonged in his circus….

  He just had to go fetch it.

  A crowd clamored outside the closed Medici Bros. Circus ticket booth. In his tiny office inside the circus train’s caboose, Medici rubbed his hands gleefully, then plastered on a friendly yet reluctant expression and walked out to address them.

  “My friends, grazie mille, it’s a limited engagement!” He shrugged apologetically as he pointed to the signs pasted in the ticket booth window that read SOLD-OUT PERFORMANCES: TODAY/TOMORROW/NEXT DAY, TOO!

  Ripples of dismay ran through the crowd and Medici raised his arms to quiet them down. “Next available shows are in Arkansas! However, I am offering a chance at a once-in-a-lifetime keepsake: your photograph with Dumbo, the amazing flying elephant! An absolute steal at three?—two?—I’m descended from saints—one dollar a pop!”

  He grinned broadly at everyone, silently calculating how many people were there and how much money that translated into.

  “Line up here. We open in an hour, folks!”

  With a jaunty wave, he headed through the circus. His performers’ spirits soared like Dumbo himself, everyone turned into giddy dreamers by the miraculous animal among them.

  “Hah! Yeah!” The clowns called as they danced in front of their tent, feet whirling through the sand. Linking arms, they spun like a tornado, faster and faster.

  “Hurrah!” Medici shouted to them. “That’s the spirit! Let’s astound and amaze like we used to do.”

  Across the way, Rongo hefted Miss Atlantis over his head, muscles bunching.

  Medici did a double take. “Rongo, what’s gotten into you? Using real weights again—I love it!” He tipped his hat to them both and sauntered on. Up ahead, Catherine snuggled on Ivan’s lap, their fingers weaving together as they laughed at a private joke.

  “That’s what your magic’s been missing. Bellisimo, vero amore!” Eyes twinkling, Medici left them in peace. Dumbo was the best thing that had happened to his circus. Now he would be world-famous! Not to mention set for life.

  He’d reached his destination: a small green-and-white-striped tent. DUMBO, THE FANTASTIC FLYING ELEPHANT! proclaimed the sign in front.

  Inside, a photographer waited off to the side, double-checking his equipment as Medici’s crew painted a blue sky studded with clouds on a large backdrop. Two more men were stretching and squishing cotton stuffing into a puffball around the pedestal where Dumbo would stand. Medici could see it now: Dumbo’s ears flared wide, adoring fans clustered close as the camera went flash! Floating above them would be Barrymore, dressed as an angel.

  Barrymore was not pleased.

  Puck coaxed the monkey into the rope harness, but he kept swatting at the halo attached to his head. “Shhh, shhh, it’s all right, it’s just a wire circle,” Puck said soothingly.

  Pppfft. Barrymore stuck his tongue out at his trainer.

  “Will you tell him it’s heaven? I need him to sell it,” Medici said. “Gimme the Sistine Chapel, but with class.”

  “Ooo-ooo-weeeaahh-weeeah!” the little monkey screeched, and flung its prop harp at Puck.

  “Oh, dear.” Medici spun away. Puck would work it out with the monkey. “Now where is my star?”

  Next door, Holt supervised Dumbo’s bath. The elephant preened as a few of the acrobats scrubbed behind his ears. Warm water tickled his tummy and soapy bubbles kept him endlessly entertained. He kept them aloft with little puffs from his trunk.

  Milly and Joe giggled as Dumbo blinked at another bubble’s splash on his trunk. Holt shared a smile with Pramesh. The snake charmer and his nephew had followed Dumbo almost everywhere since his performance, bringing him bushels of grass, sweet fruits, and flowers for his pen.

  “In our country, legends tell us that the gods once took animal forms,” Pramesh said softly.

  “Ah, Dumbo,” Medici boomed as he bustled into the tent. “How’s your bath? Too warm? Too cold?” Medici tested the water with his hand, then ran his fingers down Dumbo’s back. “Girls, make sure his wrinkles don’t get wrinkles.”

  Laughing, the acrobats splashed Dumbo, who sprayed them back. Then he bolted upright, his ears swooping out to their fullest.

  Holt wondered what Dumbo was so excited about. All he could hear was the purr of a car’s engine outside.

  Boom! The sides of the clown pool burst as Dumbo charged out. Water doused Medici, and the acrobats, swept off their feet, slipped to the ground.

  “Remind me to look into insurance,” Medici said, wringing out his shirt.

  Not pausing to look back, Dumbo tore out of the tent, Milly and Joe hot on his tail.

  Outside, Dumbo peered around eagerly. Milly and Joe came up beside him—they had a pretty good idea what he was looking for, but the engine noise wasn’t from Brugelbecker’s truck. Just a long, sleek silver car slowing to a stop next to the circus’s entrance.

  Dumbo’s ears drooped and he sat back on his haunches.

  “I’m sorry, Dumbo. It’s not your mama.” Milly rubbed the back of his head.

  “Who is it?” Joe asked. It must be someone rich to own a car that fancy. How many people could fit inside it?

  “That’s V. A. Vandevere,” his father said, his voice full of awe.

  Medici tumbled out to join them. “Vandevere!” The circus director’s face paled. “Quick, back into the tent, Dumbo.” Medici urged the elephant inside.

  Joe shot him a curious look, but the lure of the newcomers was stronger. He followed his dad and sister to the front entrance as though drawn to the car by a magnet.

  Medici breathed a sigh of relief once Dumbo was back inside the tent. The elephant looked somewhat dejected, but he perked up when Pramesh presented him with an orange. According to Joe, Dumbo had learned how to squish them with his feet and suck up the juicy bits with his trunk, transferring them to his mouth. But Medici couldn’t stay to watch this time. There could only be one reason for the business tycoon V. A. Vandevere to visit Medici’s circus…and it wasn’t a good one.

  Medici hurried out of the tent to greet the visitors.

  A broad-shouldered man with narrow eyes and a sour expression stepped out of the car first. He scanned the crowd outside the gate and the ragtag circus tents beyond.

  “Ah, Sotheby. We’re a long way from nowhere,” he muttered to his companion, who was just emerging.

  “Yes, quite, Skellig,” the second man spoke, his words coated in a formal English accent

  From what Medici could tell, Sotheby was all cool aplomb, while his counterpart, Skellig, was rough-and-tumble. Sotheby surveyed the scene, then cleared his throat.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the group, stepping forward, “please make way for the emperor of enchantment, the architect of dreams, Mr. V. A. Vandevere!” One arm swooped back toward the car.

  Out stepped a third man—a handsome gentleman in a gray three-pi
ece suit, smiling benevolently as though he were the king of Missouri. His nose was straight, his teeth even straighter and sparkling white. Keen blue eyes, the color of the sky, took in the field of yellow grass and the dilapidated circus at its center.

  “And traveling with him, his bright shining star: Colette Marchant, the Queen of the Heavens!” the British man proclaimed.

  Vandevere held out his hand, and gloved fingers extended from the car, followed by a stunning woman whose dress glittered with sequins, and whose wiry shoulders were cloaked with a fur cape trimmed in feathers. Her smile was dazzling as she tossed her curled ebony hair. With her fine cheekbones and air of mystery, Medici thought she would have made a great fortune-teller, but of course, her petite, athletic frame spoke of graceful acrobatics.

  Vandevere and Colette cut through the crowd smoothly, pausing to pose for photos and sign autographs as the crowd clamored to brush against the celebrities.

  “Now that’s how you make an entrance,” Holt told his kids.

  Vandevere and his companions made it through to the circus gate, where Medici and the others waited.

  “Ah, Signor Medici,” Vandevere said.

  Medici leaned in to Holt and hissed, “He knows who I am!” Puffing up his chest as the legendary Vandevere approached, he nodded in greeting.

  “Just passing through Missouri,” the taller man drawled. “Heard you were putting on a show.”

  “Mr. Vandevere, it’s an honor.” Medici shook his hand, feeling out of his depth but trying not to let it show.

  “No, the honor’s mine,” Vandevere answered.

  “Come, let’s talk in my office,” Medici said, waving the newcomers to the caboose. He jerked his head at Holt to go back to Dumbo. There wouldn’t be room in the train car for everyone.

  Sure enough, it was a tight fit as Skellig and Sotheby followed Vandevere, Colette, and Medici into the caboose. Skellig took up a position by a wall, while Sotheby hovered in the doorway. Vandevere settled into a wooden chair as though it were a comfy pillow. Colette glanced around the paper-strewn space, searching for another seat.

  “Sit, sit, take a load off,” Medici said, scooping pamphlets and a couple of top hats off another chair and dumping them all on a footstool behind his desk. He slipped on a jacket over his shirt, which was still soaked from Dumbo’s splashing, and rubbed his hands together. “Now, who’d like a drink? Though I’m all out of bourbon. And brandy. And Scotch,” Medici rattled off. Did he have anything?!

  He pulled open the drawer where he kept his reserve stash.

  “Neeeaahh! Ksssss!” Barrymore suddenly appeared, hissing at Medici, his tiny paws gripping Medici’s silver flask tightly.

  Colette jumped and Skellig leaned in to get a closer look, but Sotheby and Vandevere were unruffled.

  “Aargh! Not now,” Medici scolded as he tried to slam the drawer shut.

  “Is that a monkey in your desk?” Vandevere asked calmly.

  “Just for emergencies.” Medici wrestled the drawer shut and plonked down on his desk chair. “Also, I should probably mention, the elephant is not for sale. We’re already sold out at the next five stops.”

  “Mmm. You’re welcome, Max. Who do you think bought half the tickets?”

  Medici’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He knew Vandevere had deep pockets, but to buy out half the shows for the next two months? That was unheard-of money. Still, he couldn’t imagine an amount that would get him to part with Dumbo.

  Barrymore rattled inside the drawer, rocking the desk up and down. Fed up, Medici thumped the top of the desk with his fist, and the monkey finally quieted. Now maybe Medici could think.

  “Wouldn’t want your new act to be overexposed at such a critical time,” Vandevere continued.

  “Uh-huh. Well, I wouldn’t want to waste your time. The elephant will only fly for the Medici Circus. Only for me and my talented trainer.” Medici shrugged, as if he regretted he couldn’t be of more help. The faster he got Vandevere out of there, the better, he thought.

  “That’s assuming he is real,” Colette cut in smoothly. Medici detected an accent—was she French? Perhaps French-Canadian? She plucked a dollar from her purse and dropped it on Medici’s desk. “One dollar for a photograph, yes?”

  Medici shrugged and pocketed the coin. If they wanted to see Dumbo, so be it. The only trace of Dumbo they’d leave with would be a photo.

  Even through the clothespin on his nose, Holt could smell the nauseating scent of elephant dung. Thankfully, Dumbo was a quarter the size of the other two, although he still managed to produce an awful lot of dung. Holt awkwardly scraped the shovel along the floor and strong-armed it up and into a wheelbarrow.

  Joe, who was supposed to be helping him, laughed as Dumbo tickled him. Holt didn’t have the heart to interrupt. He wished again he knew how to make his kids happy. Milly was threading short wooden poles through the edge of two yellow flags. What she intended to do with them, Holt had no clue.

  Footsteps sounded outside and Holt could hear Medici prattling on about the circus and how much they had to do to get ready for that night. Vandevere was coming.

  Before Holt could hide the shovelful of dung, Medici appeared with the legend himself, Colette, and his other two companions.

  “With all due respect, I don’t got all day. See for yourself. He’s as real as rivets,” Medici said. His mouth twisted into a frown as Colette swept toward the elephant.

  Holt and his shovel were right in her path.

  “Um,” he mumbled, trying to shift the shovel.

  “Excuse me. Watch the dress,” she said, lifting the sequins-covered hem off the hay.

  Holt spun, shovel out straight, nearly smacking into Skellig, who now lounged in the doorway. Turning once more, Holt found himself face to face with Vandevere, shovel hovering between them like a handshake.

  Brain kicking into gear, Holt chucked the shovel to the edge of the tent and quickly wiped his hand along his shirt before presenting it to Vandevere. “Real pleasure to—”

  Vandevere glided around him without so much as a second glance, his eyes fixed on the baby elephant.

  Colette leaned down to Joe and Milly’s eye level. “Bonjour, enfants,” she said. “My name’s Colette. So. This creature of yours is supposed to fly?”

  Holt could understand her dubiousness—while Dumbo’s ears were impressive, it was hard to believe a creature that large could get off the ground.

  Nodding, Milly gave her an eager smile, then stretched her new flags overhead. Dumbo’s ears perked up tall, then copied Milly’s move as she snapped the flags down again. As the resulting wind pushed against her, Colette stepped back…right onto Holt’s shovel. She glared at him.

  Vandevere eyed Dumbo like a predator observing its prey. Medici rushed forward and snatched up the flags from Milly.

  “Come on, kid, trade secrets,” he hissed.

  “May I ask where you obtained the elephant?” Vandevere’s voice was as slick as a puddle of oil.

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” Medici hedged. “He hails from the Far East.”

  “How far?”

  “Far.” Medici’s chin jutted out like it always did when he was feeling annoyed.

  “He does not look ‘magic’ to me,” Skellig chimed in.

  Holt bristled. “Well, what the heck can you tell by appearances?” He swiped his hat off Joe’s head and plopped it onto his own before moving to Vandevere’s side again. “Hello, sir. Holt Farrier. You might have heard of my Stallion Stars? It’s a horse act, a great one.”

  Of course his fake arm chose that moment to slide down and hang loosely at his side. Vandevere raised his eyebrows at it.

  “Pfft, Germans.” Holt waved with his other hand, feeling his face flush. “Just a scratch.”

  Colette found a rake and began scraping her shoe off along the spikes. A few blue feathers on her hem furled up with the movement. Dumbo zeroed in on them and his trunk inched out, grazing Colette’s knee. She quickly drew back.


  “And you train flying elephants, too?” she asked Holt, studying Dumbo’s flanks.

  Holt could guess what she was looking for—marks from whatever wires or harness she thought they used. She’d be flabbergasted if she knew the truth.

  “Little hobby, on the side,” Holt answered.

  “Actually,” Medici said, “it’s his kids who taught Dumbo his talent.” Medici grinned as Holt glared at him. His eyes seemed to challenge Holt: Go ahead, see if you can wow him.

  Vandevere’s gaze swung to the kids. “The children. Fascinating. And how on earth did you do that?” he asked Milly.

  “With the scientific method,” she said proudly.

  Medici edged in front of her. “Ah-ah. They don’t understand English.”

  “So how long are you staying?” Holt asked.

  Medici rolled his eyes. “For one picture, one picture.”

  The photographer jumped forward at Medici’s wave.

  “Ah, Max, you have something that is very rare in life.” Vandevere’s tone was reverent. “And the tragedy is that you don’t even realize that you have it. Do you know what you have?”

  “Migraines?” Medici quipped. He needed Vandevere gone before the Farriers gave away any more secrets.

  “Mystique…” Vandevere said. “Until the moment you sell its picture.”

  Crash. Skellig knocked over the photographer’s camera, which smashed to bits on the dirt floor.

  “Hey!” the photographer shouted.

  Holt cringed and Medici’s eyebrows pulled together in a stern frown. The photographer charged a steep price, and the camera must have been even more expensive—something they couldn’t really afford in the first place. Skellig looked at Holt as if challenging him to object.

  Instead, Holt bent to gather all the sharp broken glass. Apart from Dumbo’s safety, he knew his kids played in there barefoot. The last thing he wanted was someone getting injured.

  “Come take a walk with me, Max. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Vandevere said.