The Great Fire Dogs

by Megan Rix

It was time for George to be heading back to the palace.

  Gran gave him a hug.

  ‘Thank Humphrey for me!’ she called after George as she waved him and Woofer off.

  The raggedy cat hissed again as they headed out of Black Raven Alley on to Fish Street Hill and along Thames Street. Woofer’s sensitive nose sniffed the air. It had changed from smelling of fish to the aroma of meat now.

  ‘This way, Woofer,’ George said, and the puppy trotted after him as they turned into a street with a double row of tumbledown Tudor buildings that was too narrow for a carriage to get down. Several of the houses had a red cross painted on the door and the words LORD HAVE MERCY UPON US written on them. These were the houses where plague victims had been shut in during the last year.

  ‘Hello there!’ a voice shouted, and when George and the puppy looked up they saw thirteen-year-old Annie hanging out of an upstairs window, doing her best to clean the baker’s sign. ‘Be down in a minute.’

  George gave Woofer a stroke while they waited.

  ‘Hannah wanted her father’s sign nice and clean, especially the bit where it says he’s the king’s baker,’ Annie told George when she came down. Hannah was twenty-three and a baker too. She was very proud of her father.

  ‘The sign looks good,’ George said.

  ‘Wouldn’t want to go out there again, though!’ Annie laughed as they went into the bakery where she worked. ‘Teagh, Mr Farriner’s servant, will have to do it instead.’ She bent down to stroke the puppy who was looking up at her with his big brown eyes. ‘Who’s this little chap?’

  ‘His name’s Woofer,’ George grinned and Woofer wagged his docked tail stub.

  Farriner’s Bakery made the hard biscuits that fed the king’s navy when the sailors were at sea. It was a very important job because England was at war with the Dutch and the sailors defending the country needed feeding. Mr Farriner was always complaining to Annie that he wasn’t paid quickly enough and that meant sometimes Annie didn’t get paid at all. Not that she got paid much because she was only an assistant.

  Annie loved baking so much she said she didn’t care about getting paid. But George knew she must do really. At least she got to sleep at the baker’s and was given her food there too.

  Woofer sneezed at the smell of ginger coming from the shop.

  ‘What’ve you been making?’ George asked.

  Annie’s eyes lit up. ‘Something new!’ she told him.

  ‘Gingerbread?’ George said as he smelt the distinctive spicy aroma.

  But Annie shook her head. ‘Not exactly. Proper gingerbread is expensive to make and doesn’t even always have ginger in it. But ginger dust is cheap and I’ve added a little to the sailors’ hard tack. Ginger’s supposed to stop you from getting seasick.’

  Woofer sniffed at the biscuits cooling on the table and Annie gave two of the smaller broken pieces to George. There were lots of broken bite-sized pieces on the metal tray.

  ‘I don’t know why they cracked,’ Annie said sadly.

  Mr Farriner and Hannah wouldn’t be pleased when they got back from the flour mill. She wasn’t even supposed to be cooking. She’d been told to clean the sign and the clay oven but instead she’d been baking ginger biscuits most of the day until they were rock-hard because they might have to last for weeks or even months at sea without going stale. The broken biscuit was too solid for George but Woofer crunched his bit up and then he ate George’s piece too.

  ‘Be good for his little puppy teeth,’ Annie said as they watched him gnawing away.

  ‘I bet Teeth and Claws and Scraps would like them too,’ George said.

  Annie smiled as she scooped up a double handful of broken pieces for the rest of the turnspit dogs at the palace. ‘Here, take a few more with you, then. I made lots.’

  She hoped Mr Farriner wasn’t going to be too angry with her for using the flour without asking him.

  ‘Thanks,’ said George as he put the biscuits in his pocket.

  Woofer looked up at him meaningfully but George shook his head.

  ‘You can’t still be hungry,’ he told the little dog.

  Woofer gave a puppy yap to say that he was still very hungry – but George could see his little tummy was round and full.

  ‘You can have some more later,’ he said, and they headed onwards down the snowy cobblestoned streets to the river.

  Woofer sniffed the air again. There were so many strange and interesting smells: farm animals that had passed by on the way to market, as well as other cats and dogs and hundreds and thousands of rats. There was also the smell of rotting food – and all of it mingled with the sour stink from the river, which was used as a sewer and a rubbish tip. The icy coldness had made the stench a little less strong today but it never completely went away. A screeching gull swooped overhead and Woofer raced to catch up with George, who was a few steps ahead.

  Forty minutes later they arrived at the palace.

  CHAPTER 2

  The little white and tan spaniel puppy lay on the Persian rug in the king’s apartment, panting. She’d been sick on the boat coming over from France and even more sick in the coach on the way to the palace.

  ‘She wouldn’t eat or drink on the trip, Your Majesty, and when I forced her to do so …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It came straight back up.’

  King Charles the Second shook his head. He’d had dogs as pets his whole life and he was very worried about this little puppy, which had been sent to him by his sister Henrietta.

  ‘She shouldn’t be this listless,’ he said as he opened the letter that had come with the puppy.

  My dearest brother,

  I’m so glad that the dreadful plague is over and you have returned to London.

  I hope this little one will bring you much joy. She is such a sweet, funny (and very lively!) thing. I’ve been calling her Tiger Lily. She reminds me so of dear Suki who we used to play with when we were children.

  Your loving sister,

  Minette

  ‘I wish my dog keeper James Jack was here,’ the king said, half to himself. ‘He’d know what to do for the pup but he’s taken the rest of the royal dogs, even Cupid who prefers to spend his days lying on a cushion, on a hunt at Richmond.’

  Outside he heard a boy’s laugh and a puppy’s yapping. The royal apartments were off the Stone Gallery and overlooked the Privy Garden. The king looked out of the window and saw George and Woofer playing together.

  ‘This way,’ George said as he led the puppy round the sixteen squares of grass separated by paths with a large ruined stone sundial in the middle.

  Sometimes George walked slowly as Woofer followed him and sometimes he ran to keep himself warm. Woofer liked running best and he yapped with excitement as he chased after his new friend.

  George was glad that there was no one else there besides him and Woofer so they had the whole garden to themselves. As usual, there was lots of courtiers’ washing hanging out to dry on the walls. But now the garments were all frozen solid.

  George wiggled a broken branch from a rose bush along the footpath and Woofer raced after it and pounced on it, as pleased with himself as if he’d found some long-lost treasure. When the puppy released it and went to sniff at a slug instead, George wiggled the rose branch down the path again. Woofer gave a yap and chased after it as George laughed.

  ‘You’re such a funny little puppy!’ he told him.

  The poorly spaniel puppy on the rug heard the happy sounds of George and Woofer playing. She slowly raised her weary head to look over at the window. She gave a soft, sad whine. Only a short while ago she’d been with her mother and her brothers and sisters playing on the lawn in France.

  She was still looking towards the window when the king turned back and saw her. Now he knew what he needed to do.

  His Majesty lifted the puppy up and carried her downstairs and out to the Privy Garden to join George and Woofer.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he called out and George fro
ze.

  But Woofer didn’t. He ran over to the man in the fine embroidered clothes and long dark curly periwig. But it wasn’t the man he was interested in – it was the puppy that he was holding.

  George and the rest of the kitchen staff had watched as the carriages of the king and his court rolled through the gates of the palace on the first of February, but George had been at the back and he’d never seen the king close up before, so didn’t realize it was him. Although he knew by his clothes that this was a nobleman.

  ‘George, sir,’ he said.

  ‘And what do you do in our royal palace?’

  ‘Kitchen boy, sir, and I-I …’

  ‘Spit it out,’ the king said mildly.

  ‘… look after the kitchen dogs.’

  ‘Kitchen dogs?’

  ‘Yes, sir, they turn the spits to cook the meat.’

  ‘I once helped to roast meat,’ the king said, ‘or at least tried, unsuccessfully, to wind up a jack to do so.’

  ‘Did you, sir?’ asked George, amazed that a nobleman would ever have done such a lowly job. Some of the kitchens at the palace used mechanical jacks but George had never operated one. In the kitchen where he worked the dogs trotted in a wheel to turn the spit that cooked the meat. In some of the palace kitchens, men and boys turned the spits instead.

  ‘Yes. There weren’t any dogs, though, although I hear there’s one or two such dogs to be found in almost every sizeable kitchen in the land. It was when I was escaping from Cromwell’s soldiers and had to disguise myself as a servant. The cook was not impressed by my lack of kitchen skill and I had to excuse my clumsiness by saying that as the son of poor people we so rarely ate meat that I did not know how to use a roasting jack tool. Thank goodness the cook believed me.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ George agreed, still not realizing who he was actually talking to.

  Woofer wagged his stub of a tail as he looked up at the puppy in the king’s arms.

  ‘What do you call him?’ the king asked, staring at Woofer’s funny furry little face and piercing button-brown eyes.

  ‘Woofer,’ said George.

  ‘This is Tiger Lily,’ the king said as he set the puppy he was holding down on the ground. She sniffed shyly at Woofer from behind the safety of His Majesty’s legs and then wagged her tail too.

  The king smiled at the sight of the two puppies greeting each other.

  ‘She’s very sweet,’ George said.

  ‘But poorly,’ said the king.

  Tiger Lily was still not being the lively puppy that he’d have expected her to be.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ George asked.

  ‘Hopefully it’s just mal de mer,’ the king said, and when George looked confused he added, ‘She’s travelled over from France by boat and has been very seasick.’

  ‘Oh!’ George said, remembering Annie’s biscuits. ‘I might have just the thing to help. My friend made these for seasick sailors. May I?’

  The king nodded and George offered a small bit of biscuit to Tiger Lily, who gently took it from him and ate it slowly. George offered some to Woofer, who gobbled it up and then nudged George’s hand for more.

  ‘What’s in them?’ the king asked.

  ‘A little ginger dust mixed in with the flour.’

  The king nodded. ‘A well-known cure for seasickness.’

  Both of the puppies liked the hard biscuits very much and George gave them the rest of what he had.

  ‘I’ll have to get some of those biscuits for the rest of my dogs,’ King Charles said. ‘The puppies certainly seem to like them.’

  ‘Yes and they’re good for their teeth too,’ George said as they listened to the puppies crunching.

  Now that she’d had something to eat and met a new friend Tiger Lily was feeling much better, and she and Woofer played in the garden together as George and the king watched. George tried not to shiver but he was really very cold and didn’t have a coat.

  The clock struck four and the king frowned as a footman headed over to them through the snow.

  ‘Parliament awaits, Your Majesty,’ the footman said.

  George gulped and blushed red as it finally dawned on him that he’d actually been speaking to the king himself.

  ‘I must away to Parliament. Take care of Tiger Lily while I’m gone, George. I’ll fetch her on my return. Don’t let the puppies get too cold,’ the king said.

  George opened his mouth but no words came out. He could only gulp and nod.

  The king strode off as Woofer spotted a red squirrel and gave one of his distinctive barks as he ran over to it, closely followed by Tiger Lily. But the squirrel was far too quick for them and darted up a tree. The two puppies sat down and looked up at the creature as it taunted them from high in the branches.

  George headed over to join them, still hardly able to believe that the king was trusting him to look after a royal puppy.

  A few minutes later the head gardener, John Rose, came into the garden. He had three assistants with him.

  Tiger Lily and Woofer ran over to say hello to John Rose and the assistants, their little tails wagging excitedly.

  ‘Well, hello there,’ John Rose said as he bent down and patted them. He raised an eyebrow at George as the assistants put their buckets of water on the path and greeted the puppies too.

  ‘One royal and one dock-tailed?’ John Rose said. Only dogs belonging to the nobility were allowed to keep their tails long. Dogs that belonged to ordinary folk, and working dogs, had their tails cut off when they were still very young. Usually the two wouldn’t be playing together.

  ‘They’re just puppies,’ George smiled. He felt much braver about speaking to people above him now that the king had given him such an important job to do.

  John Rose nodded as Tiger Lily stood up on her back legs, put her paws on the rim of one of the buckets and had a long, long drink. Woofer went to join her and drank from the other side of the bucket, standing up on his much shorter hind legs.

  The assistants started to dig into the hard ground as Woofer watched them, very interested. Digging looked like lots of fun.

  ‘Here, puppies, what’s this?’ John Rose said, and he tied two strands of short rope together in the middle so that there were four ends.

  Woofer and Tiger Lily both ran over excitedly and grabbed an end each with their puppy teeth while John Rose gently tugged and twisted. When he suddenly let go the puppies sat back on their bottoms in surprise. The next moment they were scrambling back up again. Now they had the rope toy and they trotted off together to play at tugging with it in the snow.

  George blew on his frozen hands as Tiger Lily’s long tail wagged happily and Woofer’s short stub of a tail did the same. Both dogs were very pleased with their first toy.

  CHAPTER 3

  Woofer and Tiger Lily sniffed at the meaty smells as they followed George into the hot, noisy kitchen where he worked.

  ‘What in the world have you got there?’ the other kitchen staff asked as the two puppies trotted along behind him.

  George grinned as he saw the startled looks on their faces.

  ‘I knew it wasn’t a good idea to let you have a day off,’ said George’s boss, Humphrey, laughing.

  Humphrey was twenty-four years old and completely bald just like his dad, despite many, sometimes weird, attempts to regrow his hair.

  He and George had become friends when Humphrey found out just how good George was with the dogs. Theirs was the only kitchen within the palace that had turnspit dogs; the rest of the palace kitchens used people or machines. The bigger kitchens had six huge meat-roasting fireplaces with long spits across each of them. Those thirty-six spits were very heavy when full of meat and could only be turned by strong men. Sometimes twelve chickens would be on the same spit at once, with other meats cooking in the same fireplace.

  George had been hired as a kitchen boy and might have been a spit-turner too, or a turnbroach, as they were also called. He was glad that he’d met Humphrey and got to
work with the dogs instead.

  ‘They work much better and seem happier now,’ Humphrey had said a few months after George had first been employed at the palace.

  ‘I love working with them,’ George had told him, and it was clear that the dogs loved him right back.

  Tiger Lily went over to Humphrey and looked up at him with her meltingly soft brown eyes.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ Humphrey said. ‘What an absolute sweetie.’

  Woofer followed Tiger Lily over to the cook and wagged his stub of a tail.

  ‘And I see you have a friend,’ said Humphrey.

  ‘His name’s Woofer,’ George said. ‘And I’d like to train him as a turnspit.’

  The puppy had the same long body and short legs as all the dogs who turned the kitchen wheel.

  ‘And what about this one’s name?’ Humphrey asked, bending down to pat the little spaniel.

  ‘Tiger Lily. She’s the king’s new puppy and she came all the way from France,’ George replied.

  Not much more work was done for the next ten minutes as everyone in the kitchen insisted George tell them the whole story.

  ‘From the beginning,’ said Humphrey. ‘And don’t leave anything out!’

  While George told them how he met Woofer and then Tiger Lily, Humphrey took some chicken broth from the pot on the hearth, dipped little bits of bread in it and gently fed them to Tiger Lily. She looked very comfortable sitting in the cook’s lap and being made a fuss of.

  ‘That’s it, my little poppet,’ Humphrey crooned. ‘This broth’ll do you good.’

  George was halfway through his story when a brindle-furred cross-breed dog started barking and came running over from the other side of the kitchen. Woofer went to say hello, but although the other dog sniffed at the puppy he didn’t want to play. Instead he put out a paw to George and whined.

  ‘What is it, Teeth?’ George asked.

  Teeth was three and he and his brother Claws took it in turns to work the turnspit wheel. The dogs were bred specially to have short legs and long bodies so they’d fit inside it. Woofer looked very much like them shape-wise but his face and colouring were different. It was more important, however, that the dogs had the right temperament to work the wheel. Some dogs hated it and would growl and bite, and no one at the palace had time to wait for a turnspit dog that didn’t want to work. Other dogs were frightened by the fire, so they weren’t suitable either.