Lord Morgan's Cannon Read Online Free Page B

brassiere, hoisted her long, frilled skirt and hurriedly followed the Ring Master down the trailer steps. She urgently sought Jim the Strongman. She had this feeling that something might go desperately wrong with the hot air balloon.

    The first star punctured the dark blue sky. Jim the Strongman lit candles from the fire, marking the path from the road into the meadow and up to the Big Top. He listened to the clairvoyant woman, then took her by the arm and pushed her aside, tempted by her body more than her endless predictions. He ordered the clowns to dress, the balloon to be filled and applied vegetable oil to his muscles.
    The high wire girls put on their soft shoes and started to stretch, split their legs and somersault on the grass. A scent of roasting chestnuts mingled with the smoke and a flag was hoisted to the summit of the Big Top, its silhouette luring undecided punters residing within a mile. A young circus boy swept the boards inside, while others drew buckets of water from the butt, ignoring the sneering leopard. They placed the pails in rows behind the Big Top, a standard precaution in case an ill wind should blow the hot air balloon sideways, tipping it or its burning brazier on to the flammable canvas below.
    The Ring Master visited the animals, still gathered in their pre-show circle. He brought carrots for Doris and Edward, a slice of sheep’s liver for the old cat. He never knew what to offer the giant anteater as a treat, and had never asked what he was fed. But he saw no need, given that the anteater only ran in a circle. The whip would be motivation enough.
    He then spoke directly to his charges, another of his pre-show routines.
    “No farting tonight Doris,” he said, patting her trunk. “And no shitting on the floor.”
    Doris didn’t understand him. She never did. She liked to repeat his words but she never really got their true meaning. She did enjoy hearing him speak through, and liked it when he touched her skin, without using an iron implement. As she felt his hand, she let out a deep rumble, which reverberated down her legs and through her feet into the soil. The Ring Master gave her a carrot.
    “Plenty more in here,” he said, now patting a pocket stuffed full of them. “Do everything on cue, like a good girl. We need the money.”
    He then noticed Edward upon her back. Unlike Doris, Edward did believe he could understand the human language, considering himself quite a connoisseur. Despite his poorly hearing, he had learned many an expression off his mother, who herself had learned to understand English while working as a tourists’ monkey in Porto. Edward even thought he could distinguish humans that came from London, and those from Leeds, just by the way they spoke. This ability enabled him to learn of his mother’s death, from old age supposedly, two years previously, just as Whyte and Wingate’s circus had struck out for the southwest.
    The Ring Master beckoned Edward to him.
    “Shoulder,” he commanded his monkey.
    Edward skipped along Doris’s back and hopped on to the Ring Master.
    “Now then. Let me look at you,” said the Ring Master, turning his head, pursing his lips as he tried to kiss Edward’s chest.
    He started whispering at his monkey, talking to him and nuzzling his fur. The Ring Master instructed Edward to pilfer many a coin, because each would go towards the circus boys’ wages. It was at this point, sixty minutes before curtain up, that he also told Edward he would be juggling three sticks of fire, not two. And that Lord Morgan would be scoring him.
    Bessie, feeling a little jealous, took to the air. She joined a passing pigeon, mobbing it until she ran out of breath. She always forgot how fast pigeons can fly.
    The giant anteater slept, as he liked to do for fifteen hours each day, while the Ring Master crossed the grass to take one last look at his leopard. The old boy slid up off his haunches and moved to the front of his cage. He pressed his nose up