The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [44]
A monkey spit on him as he crossed its path, not out of anger, but because it was ill and wasting away.
The animal trainer threw the cage to the floor and cursed the creature, yanking on its tail.
Chala had had enough. She moved forward, kicked the man’s stomach, and snatched the keys out of his hands.
The sound of his howling filled the room, and the animals stared at him, and then at Chala.
She focused on the moment, something easy for a hound to do. She put aside fear and anger, and thought only of what must be done next, so her hands did not shake nor her eyes waver. After trying six keys, she found the right one to open the first cage.
Then she helped the white monkey with the crown of fur out and it scampered away. She moved next to the black-skinned monkey.
Richon stepped between her and the animal trainer.
The animal trainer kicked Richon in the stomach.
Chala heard Richon’s gasp, stifled.
It seemed wrong to her that he would have to hide pain even in these circumstances, but she could not spare thoughts for him. She moved to the next cage, opened it, and set the monkey on the ground. But this time the monkey did not move.
“Go, go!” Chala encouraged it in humans words that could have no meaning for the monkey. If only she had some of Prince George’s magic, she could speak to the monkey in its own tongue. She had never wished such a human thing for herself before, but she wished it now, for the monkey’s sake.
Richon and the animal trainer continued to fight. The animal trainer put his hands around Richon’s throat, and Chala heard Richon’s choking sounds, his feet and hands scrabbling at the floor.
She went to help, lunging at the animal trainer’s back and kicking at the backs of his knees. He turned, surprised.
But the animal trainer’s human reluctance to hurt a female doomed him. He did not throw her off fast enough, nor with enough force. And by the time that Chala was on the ground again, Richon was pounding the animal trainer’s body and pushing him back, and back again.
Chala took a moment to catch her breath and turned back to the cages. She tried to coax the unmoving monkey to leave once more, but it was no use. A human might have kept at such a fruitless task, but she did not. She could not spend all her time on one animal. There were others who needed her. She felt no guilt. An animal has a right to choose to live or die.
The third monkey that Chala freed wandered away, if not quickly, at least without question. Then she moved down the row of cages.
Richon and the animal trainer fell behind her in a heap.
She told herself that she should let Richon battle alone. No hound would thank her for interference with another hound. But she had to look to him, to make sure that he would survive even if she went on without him.
He was breathing heavily, had a streaming cut above one eye, and would likely have some terrible bruises in the morning, but he was winning. And he was smiling, not at her, but in his own joy at his fight.
Did he know how much that look was like a hound’s?
She hurried to the last monkey, picked it out of its cage, then shooed it back toward the forest beyond the town.
Then she waited for Richon to finish.
He seemed to take a long time about it, but she supposed that as a king he had not been taught how to fight.
When the animal trainer lay on his back, eyes closed, blood streaming out of his mouth, Richon brushed himself off and came to her side.
“I think I have never looked less like a king,” said Richon, his mouth twisting as he stared down at his clothes.
“And I think you have never looked more like one,” said Chala.
Richon’s cheeks reddened. “My princess,” he said to her, smiling.
Chala knew he meant it as a compliment, but she was not sure if she wanted to be thought of as a princess.
She turned back to look at the man’s chest, rising and falling. “Is it wise to leave an enemy alive?” she asked, genuinely wondering if humans had different rules for this than animals. A hound would never leave a threat