Dumbo Live Action Novelization Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-368-04397-7

  Designed by Gegham Vardanyan

  disneybooks.com

  DISNEY PRESENTS A TIM BURTON / INFINITE DETECTIVE / SECRET MACHINE ENTERTAINMENT PRODUCTION A TIM BURTON FILM DUMBO COLIN FARRELL MICHAEL KEATON DANNY DEVITO EVA GREEN ALAN ARKIN MUSIC SUPERVISOR MIKE HIGHAM MUSIC BY DANNY ELFMAN COSTUME DESIGNER COLLEEN ATWOOD FILM EDITOR CHRIS LEBENZON, ACE PRODUCTION DESIGNER RICK HEINRICHS DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY BEN DAVIS, BSC EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS TIM BURTON NIGEL GOSTELOW PRODUCED BY JUSTIN SPRINGER EHREN KRUGER KATTERLI FRAUENFELDER DEREK FREY SCREENPLAY BY EHREN KRUGER DIRECTED BY TIM BURTON

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Miss Atlantis

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  The Stallion Stars

  Chapter Four

  Rongo

  Chapter Five

  Pramesh

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Medici

  Chapter Twelve

  Colette

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Puck

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ivan the Wonderful and Catherine the Greater

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  V. A. Vandevere

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Images from the Film

  Twelve-year-old Milly Farrier leaned against the grimy window of the train’s passenger car as it rolled through the plains of whichever state they were in now. If she squinted, the yellow grasses, clusters of emerald trees, and occasional farmhouses all swirled together—almost like one of her mother’s abstract paintings.

  Of course, Max Medici, the circus director, had always made Annie Farrier stick to a more relatable style for the boxcar signs and fairground banners. Not too abstract, but not too realistic. No, he wouldn’t want that to destroy the magic of the experience. Only Milly, Joe, and their father had gotten to appreciate the sweep of colors her mother had brushed onto canvas in what she called her “action” pieces. They captured what the audience and circus lights looked like to her as she hung upside down from a horse during the show, wind whipping through her hair.

  Milly knew he tried his best, but the new ads Rongo slapped together could never match her mother’s bold, eye-catching scenes. Milly’s stomach twisted and a tear slid down her cheek as she clutched the key dangling from her necklace.

  A door in the ceiling screeched open and her younger brother dropped down into the car. She’d told him countless times not to cross between the train cars unless the train was at a standstill, but the eight-year-old never listened.

  Quickly, Milly wiped her face dry. She had to be strong for him now.

  “Joe, you know you’re not supposed to change cars while we’re moving—” Milly scolded.

  “Unless it’s an emergency,” Joe finished as he got to her row. “But it is an emergency! Guess what, guess what?” Joe bounced onto the wooden bench across from her. His floppy brown hair bobbed lightly, and his smile was so wide it could have split the sky. It was nice to see him so happy.

  “What?”

  “We got a letter! From Dad!”

  Milly’s heart nearly stopped, but Joe kept going, his words clattering almost as fast as the train’s wheels. “It was jumbled up in Mr. Medici’s accounting mail at the last station, and he just found it.” Beaming, Joe reached into his jacket and pulled out a stained white envelope with a flourish.

  Milly resisted the urge to lunge for it. Joe handed it over and she tugged out the creased paper, her eyes drinking up her father’s loose handwriting. As she read the words, Joe babbled on.

  “He’s coming home, Milly! The army’s released him with a medal and everything. Mr. Medici already sent off a telegram telling him to meet us in Joplin.”

  Tears of joy pricked her eyes as she smiled up at Joe.

  “He’s coming home,” she echoed in wonder.

  “I can’t wait to hear all his stories,” Joe said. “I know he couldn’t put anything in the letters in case they fell into enemy hands, but I’ll bet he is a hero! Thundering onto the battlefield. I bet the Germans just threw up their hands in surrender….”

  Milly’s mind drifted, her brother’s chattering fading into the background, just like the swaying of the train. She clutched the letter to her chest as though she could grab hold of her dad through his words. But she’d be able to hug him soon enough. Just a little bit longer. He’d make everything all right. Milly knew he couldn’t bring back her mother—nobody could do that—but her dad was strong, her dad was brave, and he could do just about anything else.

  They wouldn’t have to worry anymore. He’d take care of everything. He’d take care of them.

  With a squeal of brakes, the train shuddered backward to the edge of the tracks, dead-ending on the side of a wide meadow. Joe whooped loudly as his body was flung into the air, only one hand anchoring him to the pole at the back of the caboose. Then the jolt of the stop slammed him back onto the porch, his shoes sliding across the floorboards.

  Milly wouldn’t approve. She’d scold him for being reckless. Her forehead would get that wrinkle in the middle that had never been there before Mama died. But Milly wasn’t there to see.

  “Yeehaw!” Joe shouted as he leapt from the train.

  They were finally there: Joplin, Missouri, where his dad would meet them any day now.

  Across the meadow, several boys his age raced toward him, waving madly. Joe raised his hat in return. Well, not his hat; it was his dad’s and a bit too large for him, truth be told, but the other boys couldn’t see that from this far away.

  Shhhboom. Boxcar doors slid open down the line and the circus crew hopped out in a well-rehearsed dance, one of them staying behind in each car to toss down the supplies. The faded white-and-red-striped fabrics and poles for the tents came out first, along with the fence to keep out those seeking a free peek.

  “Hiya, Joe,” Rongo called. The strongman hefted a stack of boards that weighed significantly more than the fake inflatable barbells he wielded onstage.

  “Hi, Rongo.” Joe waved as he ducked under a roll two men were lugging toward the field.

  “Get to your own post,” Rufus Sorghum spat at him.

  Joe gave the grouchy roustabout a cheeky salute, then scampered off to where Milly was already sliding crates down a ramp. In the boxcar behind her, Catherine the Greater, the magician’s assistant and wife, was carefully sorting more. There were a lot of boxes.

  The meadow might have been peaceful and empty now, but before nightfall a border fence would encircle a village of tents, with the animal enclosures set up as far from the fence as possible. Medici didn’t want Joplin’s citizens dodging entrance fees to view the creatures.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,�
�� Milly said. “Let’s get these over—”

  “Have you seen Barrymore?” a frantic voice called.

  “Oh, no,” Milly said, exchanging an amused grimace with Joe as Catherine came to the doorway to see what the fuss was about. Puck, another one of the performers, sounded panicky.

  “He must have gotten loose again,” Joe said. He sidled toward the next car. “You know, I can get under the cars and up on top, look for him in all the tight spaces he loves….”

  Milly sighed. “Fine, go find the monkey.”

  Joe was off before she’d finished the sentence.

  “Just get back here as soon as you do!” she called after her brother. Shaking her head, she continued stacking boxes of streamers and lights in a pile.

  “I’m not the fortune-teller, but I predict he’ll return precisely as the final box is unloaded,” Catherine said, a smile playing on her lips.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Milly answered, with a grin of her own.

  The main tent always went up first, followed by the surrounding exhibitions. Last were the behind-the-scenes living areas. It was strange to be back on solid ground after a week on the rumbling train, but Milly was looking forward to some quiet time. It was ten times easier to measure chemicals precisely when the floor wasn’t shaking under her.

  “Thank you, Milly.” Ivan the Wonderful, the magician, patted her head as he passed her to collect a box.

  By late afternoon, the camp was taking shape, and they’d started on the living quarters tucked at the back. Joe returned after a long hunt (Barrymore had hidden inside a feed bag, demolishing half the peanuts) and helped Milly spread out their tent.

  “Here, let me,” Ivan said. He strode over and lifted one of the main poles easily, setting it into the small hole Joe had dug while Milly looped the fabric over the next pole. Once the first was secured in the ground, they lifted the second and third. Joe tacked the ends into the ground as Milly carted in their belongings from the boxcar.

  “You can always stay in our tent, you know,” Catherine said, her hand resting on Milly’s arm as they crossed paths by the train.

  “I know,” Milly answered. Ivan and Catherine were incredibly kind and did everything they could for her and Joe. Every day they asked if the kids needed anything, such as help sewing extra cloth onto Milly’s sleeves to make them longer. Sometimes they would bring little gifts, like a bag of cherries they’d bought at a train station along the way. And every night, they slept nearby. At the first stop after their mother died, Milly and Joe had squeezed into Ivan and Catherine’s tent, but it was cramped and claustrophobic. Milly couldn’t set up experiments without Ivan tripping over them, and Joe’s early rising woke Catherine, who was a light sleeper.

  “We’re okay,” Milly said. “And we know you’re right next door if we need anything. Thank you, though.”

  “All right, then. Don’t hesitate.” Catherine smiled and continued on her way.

  When Milly reached the tents, Ivan and Joe were carrying the cots in. Ducking inside, a thrill ran through her. There’d be three this time instead of two—finally, their family would be reunited. Together, they brought in the mattresses and laid them out so that nobody would have to climb over anybody else to get outside.

  The delicious smell of stew filled the air. Joe’s stomach gurgled loudly.

  “Ha!” Ivan laughed. “All right, niños, I think that’s a good stopping point.”

  Summoned by the aromas of beef and carrots, the troupe filtered into the meal circle. This was the true heart of the circus. Usually Medici would be walking among them, checking on everyone, but Milly didn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he was visiting the animals instead. He’d been particularly obsessed with their newest elephant lately. Milly and Joe grabbed bowls and stood in line with Ivan behind Miss Atlantis, the resident mermaid.

  “Good clear night, isn’t it?” Ivan asked, gazing skyward.

  “A bit muggy for me.” Miss Atlantis fanned herself.

  “Did you get everything unloaded all right? Need a hand?” Ivan offered.

  “Oh, I’m all set, thank you.”

  Milly wasn’t surprised—Miss Atlantis almost never accepted help, claiming she didn’t want to be a bother.

  The mermaid twisted her torso, stretching her back muscles. “I’m looking forward to sleeping on steady ground, though. I need to get my sea legs!”

  After they dished up, Milly and Joe followed Ivan to where Catherine had saved them all spots, staking out two coveted stools for her and her husband. Sitting cross-legged on a mat next to her was Pramesh, the snake charmer, and his nephew, Arav. Milly was disappointed to see they’d left their snakes in their quarters tonight. She liked studying them…as long as they were far from her mice, that is. Pramesh nodded in greeting, his face wrinkling with a smile. Arav, still shy and reserved even after years with the circus, ducked his head. The kids sat on the ground beside Pramesh, slurping up the delicious stew.

  “Puck is a genius. He really is,” Joe declared.

  “I think you’d be happy with anyone’s cooking,” Milly teased, “as long as you didn’t have to lift a ladle.”

  “Not true. The week that Rongo was in charge was…um…”

  “Yes?” a voice growled from behind them.

  Milly and Joe turned to see the strongman looming over them. His dark skin contrasted with his bright yellow shirt, and the sparkle in his eyes glinted in the moonlight.

  “Go on, Joe. My week was…?”

  “Unconventional?” Joe said. “But maybe it was just too heavy on the pepper for me.”

  Rongo chuckled and winked at the kids. “I may or may not have done that on purpose.” Milly suddenly remembered Medici’s having gotten terrible indigestion that week. “I wasn’t hired on as a cook. I’m just as glad as you that Puck handles it all now. Speaking of, I’m going to grab a second helping.”

  After dinner, they all gathered around a warm fire. Milly fiddled with the key on her necklace as she and Joe leaned against Catherine’s and Ivan’s legs. Under the twinkling stars, the campfire stories began. This was Milly’s favorite part of the day. The jobs and chores were done, and everyone relaxed and laughed—even if the nights had become more subdued and the stories more wistful than celebratory. It was still nice to look up at the sky and listen to the rumble of voices, the old tales and worn-out jokes. Puck picked up his concertina and pressed it in and out slowly, the music a sweet underlay to it all. The crowd called for Miss Atlantis to sing, and finally, after much cajoling, she chimed in with her rich, beautiful voice. Milly swayed appreciatively.

  “Well, I must go check on Tanak,” Pramesh said once the song was finished, rising in one fluid motion.

  Pramesh doted on his python, catching rats for it at every stop. At least he made sure it was always either draped around his shoulders or securely contained. Milly would be crushed if it somehow got to her mice.

  “He’s asleep,” Pramesh whispered, gesturing toward Joe.

  Ivan craned his head to see. “Well, it’s been a long day, and you know how he likes to get up early.”

  Milly groaned. “Yes, we do. Ivan, do you mind?”

  Without a word, he slipped his arms around Joe and lifted him up. Milly went around the circle, saying her good nights before following him back to her tent.

  “Buenas noches, little ones,” Ivan said as he tucked Joe’s blanket around him. “Sleep well.” He dropped a kiss on Milly’s forehead before ducking out into the night.

  “Holt will be here soon,” Catherine said as Ivan rejoined her at the fire.

  Leaning his shoulder against hers, Ivan nodded. “Let’s hope the war hasn’t broken his spirit. Those kids need him whole.” They’d both seen plenty of soldiers with haunted eyes attend their shows. Not even the clown act could break through to them.

  “Yes, let us hope.”

  The fire crackled and bowls clanged as the crew set them in the washbasin. Miss Atlantis nodded good night to everyone as they left,
her arms submerged in soapy water. Puck did all the cooking, so she had volunteered for washup. They’d need to use the dishes again in the morning for breakfast.

  A circus life was cyclical, that was for sure.

  Penny Davenport sighed as her mother paraded another would-be suitor around the house, showing off every imported trinket from Japan—the delicate fans, the porcelain teacups and jade statuettes. All tiny, all extremely breakable and dainty. Why was her mother so obsessed with qualities the exact opposite of Penny’s?

  Not that Penny didn’t try to be dainty. She had trained her feet to take miniscule steps, kept her arms tucked in close at all times, and hardly dared to breathe in the formal sitting room. Even now, her corset squeezed her lungs uncomfortably. What if she fainted? Would the gentleman rush to her aid? She’d probably wind up squashing the man; he was reed-thin.

  Penny snorted, then ducked her head. Mrs. Davenport shot her a scathing look, but kept up her prattle about the imported saucers.

  Considering his fascination with the gold inlay, her latest would-be suitor, Jonathan Billings III, would not even notice if Penny collapsed. Her shoulders slumped. That was nothing new. Nobody seemed to notice her except her mother, and she only did so to list off all the things Penny was doing wrong.

  Why did she even have to be there? Neither Mrs. Davenport nor Mr. Billings cared if she was present. Penny’s mother was making a case for Penny’s worthiness as a match using everything else in the house.

  Penny shifted, the satin of her dress crinkling loudly.

  Jonathan Billings III turned, his eyes landing on her for only the second time that evening. “And you, Penny, I assume you embroider. Are any of these yours?” He gestured to the hand-stitched miniature pillows, fit only for a mouse’s head.

  Penny rose from the settee. “I’m afraid not, sir. I have no skill with the needle. If you’ll excuse me, please, I’m feeling rather tired.”

  Mrs. Augustine Davenport reeled as though Penny had slapped her. Jonathan Billings III blinked rapidly.

  At least he was looking at her for a change.