As they meandered through the makeshift tent city of Medici’s troupe, Puck darted glances at Miss Atlantis. He had to keep reassuring himself this was happening. Subtly, he steered her toward Rongo’s tent. Maybe a witness would help him confirm later it hadn’t all been a dream.
In front of his tent, the strongman hefted a set of weights up to his shoulders and pressed it upward, his muscles straining.
“Rongo!” Puck called in greeting.
Rongo held the weight a moment longer, then dropped it and stepped back so it wouldn’t crush his feet. A wide grin broke over his face when he saw Puck and Miss Atlantis approaching.
“Good evening,” Rongo said.
“Hello, Rongo,” Miss Atlantis said. “So you’re practicing, too? I saw Catherine and Ivan on my way over to Puck’s tent and they were huddled over some new device. Wouldn’t let me closer, of course, saying they need to preserve the mystery or something.” She shrugged, a smile on her lips to show she didn’t mind.
“Yes,” Rongo answered. “I wanted to be ready for when we go on. Should be any day now, eh? Wonder what’s taking Max so long to get us scheduled.” Rongo swung his arms back and forth, cracking his shoulders.
“Max is doing his best, I’m sure. You know he will take care of us. He’s never let us down before. The logistics must be complicated,” Puck said.
He had faith in Medici. The circus director could be grouchy at times, but even when he was bellowing orders, everyone felt the undercurrent of care Medici felt for them. He loved his circus, he loved his troupe, and he’d make sure they had a place onstage.
“What if Vandevere is the one holding it up?” Miss Atlantis asked, her eyes worried. “What if he wants us to audition for him first?”
“I’ll be ready no matter what he wants,” Rongo said. He waved toward an array of weights and objects behind him.
A pang of anxiety struck Puck’s stomach, and he felt his hands get clammy. “Audition?” What if he finally got to perform his monologues? But then again, what if he wasn’t good enough? Most of the time, he felt the audience was more focused on Barrymore than him. What if he couldn’t hold his own without the monkey? Vandevere might want to separate them.
Rongo patted Puck on the shoulder. “You will do fine, Puck.” He glanced at Miss Atlantis. “But perhaps Miss Atlantis could listen to your Shakespeare act, give you some feedback?”
“Of course, I’d be happy to!” Miss Atlantis clapped her hands and beamed.
“Really, you wouldn’t mind?” Puck tugged nervously on his shirt.
“I’d be delighted,” she answered. “Come on, let’s go find a suitable rehearsal space.”
Twenty minutes later they were settled in a training tent. Miss Atlantis had rounded up a few of the clowns and acrobats, as well as Catherine and Ivan, insisting they would have great advice about stage presence. Rongo had demurred, wanting to finish his workout, and Pramesh and Arav had been busy feeding their snakes, so Miss Atlantis and Puck had hastily left them to it.
Puck strode to the center of the ring, then closed his eyes and widened his stance. Breathing deeply, he shed his anxieties and fears, drawing from his core, settling the mantle of his character around him.
He was self-taught aside from a smattering of lessons in elocution, but ever since he was a child he’d been able to imitate any sound or phrase he heard. His parents used to laugh and laugh whenever he copied one of them or, even better, their nosy neighbors.
All around him, the people he met fed into the characters he created onstage.
His shoulders relaxed and his body shifted, confidence spreading through him. When he opened his eyes he was the Puck—the character who had lent him his stage name, the trickster mischief-maker of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ready to lead another astray.
“‘What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, so near the cradle of the fairy queen?’” Puck mimed finding a group of humans close by, his expression affronted. Then a gleam came to his eye.
He winked at the audience then crouched as though hiding behind a tree. “‘I’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round, through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier. Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound, a hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire. And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.’”
With each animal he listed, he vocalized their sound, neighing and snorting and roaring ferociously. The troupe members cheered at each, but when he got to his imitation of the crackling of a fire, a gasp of silence met him.
Fearing the worst, Puck peered up at them, his eyes searching out Miss Atlantis.
Surprise lit her face. She squealed and rose to her feet, clapping madly.
“Bravo, Puck, bravo! How did you do that?” she cried.
“It sounded like a real fire,” Ivan marveled. “Could you work that into your show?”
“Not to mention the bear.” Catherine gave a little shudder. “Too realistic for me.”
“Eh! That was the best part,” Spiros boomed.
“More, please,” Miss Atlantis called.
Beaming, Puck bowed graciously, like a courtier. “Whatever my lady wishes.”
“What else can you do?” Ivan asked.
“How about a lion?” Demosthenes, another clown, suggested.
“Or a snake,” Lulu the acrobat said.
“No, I know,” Miss Atlantis broke in, her smile wide. “The best animal of all. An elephant.”
The group whooped in agreement.
Shaking his shoulders loose, Puck slumped over, letting one front arm dangle like a trunk, the other imitating a front leg. He shuffled along the ground, then pretended to spot danger.
Rearing up, he lifted his “trunk” high and bellowed like he’d heard Mrs. Jumbo do back in Joplin.
An answering “Eeeeuugh!” startled the group. They turned to see Dumbo in the doorway, Holt and the kids at his side.
“Dumbo!” Miss Atlantis called.
“Welcome!” Puck waved hello.
“We came to investigate the ruckus,” Holt said as they entered. Dumbo trotted over and nuzzled Puck, his trunk gently poking the actor in his side as though trying to tickle him.
“Yeah, it sounded like there was a full zoo in here,” Joe said.
“And another elephant, so of course Dumbo charged away.” Milly smiled at everyone.
Catherine and Ivan came down to the ring, giving both kids quick hugs before patting Dumbo.
“No, no elephant. Just me, sad to say.” Puck lifted his shoulders in apology.
“Not ‘just’ you. That was amazing!” Miss Atlantis stood next to him, resting her hand on his arm. “You fooled Dumbo, after all!”
“I did, didn’t I?” Puck’s chest swelled with pride. He might not be a star act, but he could impersonate anyone and anything. Perhaps that could be worked into his act. If Barrymore was still to be part of his act, the monkey could even play off it, shrinking away from his lion, climbing his head after his elephant’s call…Possibilities circled through his mind.
“You’re all coming to the show tonight, right? For Dumbo’s debut?” Joe asked.
“Of course,” Puck said as everyone nodded. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He was eager to see Dreamland’s main show with all its highlighted performers. None of them could top Dumbo; he was positive of that. It would be a fun evening, and it would give him a chance to figure out how to make his own act unique.
Just in case Vandevere did ask them all to audition—he’d be ready, with a bag of tricks all his own.
Colette and Dumbo waited backstage as Dreamland’s biggest crowd yet filed into the main tent. A full orchestra, situated in its own fancy box above the floor, played the latest jazz hit.
Up in the VIP box, Vandevere gazed down at the masses below.
“The elephant’s the turning point, Sotheby,” he said. “They’ll come from every corner of the globe for him.” Who wouldn�
�t want to see a genuine miracle?
“But, sir,” Sotheby offered tentatively, “what if you’re wrong?”
“I can’t afford to be,” Vandevere answered. He smiled at his loyal aide and then moved into the gathering of the elite in the viewing box.
“Buonasera!” Medici boomed as he sauntered into the room. Only years of practicing a neutral expression kept Vandevere from recoiling at Medici’s ill-fitting coat. At least it wasn’t a tacky red or blue, but a sensible black. His new colleague oozed forward, shaking hands left and right. “Max Medici, I discovered the elephant. Benvenuto, the flying elephant is mine.”
Vandevere shifted slightly, trying to block Medici from the view of the tall, elegant businessman he was courting. He needed J. Griffin Remington to approve his loan so he could pay off Dreamland’s costs. Medici might turn Remington’s stomach and ruin the deal.
“Aha, you’re the guy,” Remington said, looking over Vandevere’s shoulder. “The man made out of lucky dust.”
Hiding his annoyance, Vandevere turned and smiled. “Max, meet J. Griffin Remington of Atlas Forge Bank.”
“The J—? Whoa, I’m honored.” Medici swiped off his top hat.
“They say the moon is made of magic dust.” Remington gestured skyward. “One day, we’ll send a man there, you’ll see. And Atlas Forge will finance the expedition. What do you think of that?”
“Needless to say, we all have high hopes for tonight,” Vandevere said. Hopefully a high loan was in reach, as well.
“High hopes, yup,” Max agreed.
“Hopes, dreams, they’re words.” Remington shrugged. “I prefer plans. Like V. A.’s here.” He clapped Vandevere on the shoulder, beaming. “This guy’s got plans. Going to take all the circuses in the country and meld them into one circus.”
Medici blinked. “But I thought circuses were closing because of movies and radio.”
“Trust me, Max, they are. We’ve just been helping things along,” Vandevere said.
“But what’s that take? A lot of money. Which he hasn’t got.” Remington turned to Vandevere, his face serious. “We’re hoping that your pachyderm comes through with the goods.” Brightening, he leaned down—far down—and planted a kiss on Medici’s bald head. Vandevere relaxed—Remington had taken to Medici. “Because we want some of that magic dust!”
Laughing, Remington straightened, gave them both a half salute, and disappeared into the crowd.
Medici stared at his partner, the gears in his mind clearly turning.
Better head off his questions now, Vandevere thought. “The key to dealing with a bank is to let them think they’re in control,” he remarked aloud.
But Medici was not so easily distracted. “You’ve been buying all the circuses?” His voice was disapproving, almost accusatory.
Time to reel Medici in before he spun off. The best way to do that was to play on his loyalty, his need for family.
“Max, c’mon.” Vandevere slapped him on the back. “Start saying ‘we.’ Come on, sit. Enjoy the show.”
With that, Vandevere excused himself. Medici would enjoy the VIP view and rubbing elbows with the elite. He’d be singing the praises of Vandevere’s plan in no time. Soon their circus would be the best—and only—one in the country, drawing thousands of visitors every month.
Medici bit his lip as Vandevere dove into the crowd, greeting other guests and oozing charm. What had that been about? Vandevere was buying out the competition, crushing circuses left and right? Had Medici been scammed? No, he was a partner now. His troupe was protected, guaranteed spots in Dreamland. They were in the center of it all now—the future of entertainment—and he intended to stay there.
Turning, Medici scanned the enormous auditorium before him, where rows and rows of benches were filled with chattering people. The anticipation was palpable. His eyes found his troupe below—Rongo, Puck, Pramesh, Miss Atlantis, Ivan, and Catherine. They, too, seemed to wait with hope and big expectations. They were counting on him, just like Dumbo and the Farriers.
A steady drumroll—they must have had at least ten drums going at once!—boomed through the arena. Rongo cocked his head at the orchestra as if to say There’s no way one man alone could ever sound like that. Medici shrugged. You work with what you’ve got.
Everyone hushed and settled in. Darkness descended as the lights were cut, but one bright spotlight clicked on, illuminating a dashing master of ceremonies.
Medici had met him a few days earlier—Baritone Bates, he was called. He had a chiseled chin and a habit of chewing toothpicks, but onstage he commanded the audience with just a twitch of his finger. Medici had to hand it to him—he had charisma, drawing everyone’s eyes to him and holding their gaze, without even saying a word.
“Welcome,” Bates finally intoned. “You’ve reached the only place on Earth where the impossible is possible: V. A. Vandevere’s Dreamland Circus.” His hands seemed to cup an imaginary flower and send it floating into the air. Opening his arms wide to invite people to lean in, he continued. “Rest your cares, set down your troubles, then close your eyes and follow me—into the land of all your dreams!”
Bates stepped backward with his last words, the spotlight trailing him, but all around the ring different areas lit up briefly.
Ka-bang! A quick flash showed a strongman lifting two women in the air—one balanced on each hand. Whoosh. Another light caught two acrobats swooping past on a trapeze. Zing! Up on a pedestal, a bare-chested man balanced the hilt of a sword on his forehead while juggling four more.
Each scene was polished and refined, from the shiny props to the flawless costumes to the disciplined performers. It gave a taste of the wonders to come. Dreamland clearly had a lot to offer.
Medici felt a twinge in his stomach. His troupe would have to step up their acts. But with adequate funds for costumes and props, and time to focus on rehearsals rather than help run the circus, he had confidence they could do it. They were just as good as anyone else there.
Down below, his troupe was also sizing up the existing Dreamland acts. Puck shifted next to Rongo and leaned in. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve seen worse,” he grumbled.
Rongo harrumphed in agreement. He’d been working out and could easily lift those two women—maybe even one more if they stood on a board.
Miss Atlantis gasped as a group of dancers emerged on rolling platforms, stacked three rows high like a giant spinning cake. They kicked their legs in precise synchronization. On the floor below them, clowns balanced on top of large balls.
“They’re good, huh?” she asked Pramesh.
He patted her hand reassuringly. “We all have our talents.”
“They’ve got nothing on Dumbo,” Puck declared.
“Ooh, I can’t wait for him to come out!” Miss Atlantis clasped her hands in excitement.
Backstage, Holt, Milly, and Joe prepped Dumbo for the main act. Milly straightened the tasseled cape he was wearing. Joe pulled out an assortment of feathers, examining each one.
Holt leaned down and patted Dumbo, whose ears were swinging nervously. Holt followed the elephant’s gaze to the ring and surrounding audience. The space seemed downright cavernous, a stark contrast to the warm, cozy backstage area they were in now. “Don’t worry, Big D. Just more room to fly in there, that’s all.”
“Round and round, just like we practiced,” Milly added. She shook a peanut bag. “All the peanuts you can eat when you get back.”
“And then Dad can talk to Vandevere about the deal!” Joe piped up.
“About the what?” Holt asked.
“It’s why he flies,” Joe prattled on. “We made a deal with Dumbo, Dad. With all the money he makes for the circus, we promised him we’d buy back his mom.” Joe’s eyes shone and Dumbo nuzzled him with his trunk.
“You made a deal…with Dumbo?” Holt gazed back and forth between his kids.
Milly recognized the look on her dad’s face—the disbelief, the shutting down. He was going to tell them it was impo
ssible. And she didn’t want Dumbo to hear that. “Joe, this isn’t the time,” she said.
“But we have to,” her brother insisted. “Dad, we promised. If the circus won’t do it, then you could—”
“I didn’t make any deal.” Holt shook his head, worry creasing his brow. He had no way of locating Dumbo’s mother, even if Vandevere would part with the money for it. Nor was Holt getting paid, per se—they were earning room and board at the moment. Maybe once his own horse act was drawing in crowds, but he didn’t know when that would be…. He couldn’t bear to give his kids or the little elephant false hope. “Guys, truly, I’m sorry, but Mrs. Jumbo is gone.”
Dumbo snorted and shook his head, backing away from Holt. His eyes brimmed with hurt.
“Shh, no, Dumbo. Don’t listen to him,” Milly said fiercely. They’d find a way; they had to.
Her dad sighed and knelt down next to her, setting his hand on her shoulder. “You can’t make promises you can’t keep, darlin’.”
Milly’s brown eyes were sharp as she met his gaze. “Like when you promised you’d come back?” Accusation wove through her words.
“I did come back,” Holt said gently.
“You promised Mama.” Milly’s chin jutted into the air and she bit her lip to keep it from quivering.
Holt reeled backward as though she’d slapped him. Before he could think what to say, Colette bustled in, her silver leotard sparkling and a white feathered headpiece ringing her hair like a halo.
“Bonne chance, mes amis!” she called. “Are we ready?”
“Yeah, yeah, ready.” Holt ducked his head, pretending to adjust Dumbo’s halter to hide his face. “Are you?”
“Finale! Places!” The stage manager summoned them, but Colette stopped, her eyes on Milly’s crumpled expression.
“Now, now, what’s all this?” Colette glided over to her and crouched in front of her. “You know, in France, we kiss twice. For luck.”
She pecked Milly once on each cheek, then did the same for Joe. Standing, Colette arched an eyebrow at Holt. Sheepishly, he shuffled forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then nearly bolted out of there, leading Dumbo along. Colette smiled to herself and rushed off to her own starting spot.
Dumbo Live Action Novelization Page 12
