The Magician's Elephant: Chapters 3–4

However, despite repeated and increasingly flustered consultations of the police handbook, he could not find one word, one syllable, one letter that pertained to the correct method of dealing with a beast that has appeared out of nowhere, destroying the roof of an opera house and crippling a noblewoman.

However, despite repeated and increasingly flustered consultations of the police handbook, he could not find one word, one syllable, one letter that pertained to the correct method of dealing with a beast that has appeared out of nowhere, destroying the roof of an opera house and crippling a noblewoman.

And so, with great reluctance, the captain of police solicited the opinions of his subordinates about what should be done with the elephant.

And so, with great reluctance, the captain of police solicited the opinions of his subordinates about what should be done with the elephant.

And so, with great reluctance, the captain of police solicited the opinions of his subordinates about what should be done with the elephant.

“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant. He furrowed his brow. He thought for a moment. “Thank you, sir. I’m sure.”

"And you talk to me about sensible elephants and what they wish for?” shouted the captain.
“I think it is pertinent, sir,” said Leo Matienne.

“Yes,” said the captain of police. He turned around and faced the policeman who had just spoken. “Why did I not think of it? Let us dispatch the elephant immediately to the Home for Wayward Elephants Who Engage in Objectionable Pursuits Against Their Will. It is right down the street, is it not?”

“Yes,” said the captain of police. He turned around and faced the policeman who had just spoken. “Why did I not think of it? Let us dispatch the elephant immediately to the Home for Wayward Elephants Who Engage in Objectionable Pursuits Against Their Will. It is right down the street, is it not?”

“Yes,” said the captain of police. He turned around and faced the policeman who had just spoken. “Why did I not think of it? Let us dispatch the elephant immediately to the Home for Wayward Elephants Who Engage in Objectionable Pursuits Against Their Will. It is right down the street, is it not?”

“Is it?” said the policeman. "Truly? I had not known. There are so many worthy charitable institutions in this enlightened age; why, it’s become nearly impossible to keep track of them all.”

“Is it?” said the policeman. "Truly? I had not known. There are so many worthy charitable institutions in this enlightened age; why, it’s become nearly impossible to keep track of them all.”

What if everything was to be irrevocably, undeniably changed by the elephant’s arrival?

“Peter,” he said. He smiled. “Peter Augustus Duchene, fellow resident of the Apartments Polonaise, little cuckoo bird of the attic world. There is, indeed, an elephant. It is true. And it is true, also, that she is in the custody of the police. The elephant is imprisoned.”

“I cannot say,” said Leo Matienne. “I cannot say because I am afraid that I do not know. They are keeping it the strictest possible secret, you see, what with elephants being such dangerous and provoking criminals.”

"Elephants," said Vilna Lutz. "Pooh. Imaginary beasts, denizens of imaginary bestiaries, demons from who-knows-where."

He fell back against the pillow, exhausted by his diatribe, and then jerked suddenly upright again. "Hark! Do I hear the crack of muskets, the boom of cannons?”

He fell back against the pillow, exhausted by his diatribe, and then jerked suddenly upright again. "Hark! Do I hear the crack of muskets, the boom of cannons?”

“Soon,” he said, "soon, I will put on the foot, Private Duchene, and we will practice maneuvers, you and I. We will make a great soldier out of you yet. You will become a man like your father. You will become, like him, a soldier brave and true.”

The skies were filled with thick, lowering clouds that obscured the sun and condemned the city to a series of days that resembled nothing so much as a single, unending dusk. It was unimaginably, unbelievably cold. Darkness prevailed.

The skies were filled with thick, lowering clouds that obscured the sun and condemned the city to a series of days that resembled nothing so much as a single, unending dusk. It was unimaginably, unbelievably cold. Darkness prevailed.

Every day the magician and the noblewoman spoke to each other with an urgency that belied the fact that they had spoken the same words the day before and the day before that.

The noblewoman's manservant was named Hans Ickman, and he had been in the service of Madam LaVaughn since she was a child. He was her adviser and confidant, and she trusted him in all things.

Hans Ickman, as he aged, had forgotten about the dog entirely; her miraculous ability had receded to the back of his mind.

Standing in the prison, listening to the endless and unvarying exchange between Madam LaVaughn and the magician, Hans Ickman thought about being a boy, waiting on the bank of the river with his brothers, and watching the dog run and then fling herself into the air.

Peter could, from the window of the attic room in the Apartments Polonaise, see the turrets of the prison. He could see, too, the spire of the city's largest cathedral and the gargoyles crouched there, glowering, on its ledges.

Peter could, from the window of the attic room in the Apartments Polonaise, see the turrets of the prison. He could see, too, the spire of the city's largest cathedral and the gargoyles crouched there, glowering, on its ledges.

Peter could, from the window of the attic room in the Apartments Polonaise, see the turrets of the prison. He could see, too, the spire of the city's largest cathedral and the gargoyles crouched there, glowering, on its ledges.

Looking out over the city, Peter decided that it was a terrible and complicated thing to hope, and that it might be easier, instead, to despair.

“That is good,” said Vilna Lutz, “soldiers do not weep; at least, they should not weep. It is not to be borne, the weeping of soldiers. Something is amiss in the universe when a soldier cries. Hark! Do you hear the rattle of muskets?”