The Tattoo Fox Makes New Friends

by Alasdair Hutton

  3

  Trains and Planes and Suitcases

  The Airport is a magic sight

  But gives the Fox a dreadful fright

  The Castle Cat slept soundly, but the Tattoo Fox didn’t. As soon as it was light, she woke him and although he was a little grumpy, they set off, following the Dundas Castle Fox’s directions towards a nearby railway line. He had told them they might be able to see Edinburgh Castle from there. They climbed the bank and peered into the morning mist.

  Suddenly from behind them came a harsh metallic noise, and the ground beneath their paws began to rumble and shake. A train roared past with a rush of wind so violent that the cat lost his balance and rolled down the bank. The fox bounded after him, relieved to find her friend upright and uninjured at the bottom – but shaken.

  ‘This is a dangerous place,’ the cat said. His ears were very flat.

  At the top of another slope, they could see the Pentland Hills and even Edinburgh Castle perched high on its rock. So they were definitely heading in the right direction. They padded on. For a while all was calm, but suddenly there was a new noise, this time from above. It was a loud roaring sound, like a high wind. The two friends crouched low in the grass until it faded.

  ‘Whatever was that?’ The fox was trembling.

  ‘I think it was an aircraft landing,’ said the Castle Cat. ‘Didn’t the Castle Fox mention that his route took us near Edinburgh Airport?’ The friends had spent many an evening on the castle ramparts watching planes swooping through the Edinburgh skies on their way to the airport. But they’d never heard an engine noise as loud as that.

  ‘Lots of the performers at the Tattoo travel by plane. I think we should take a look at the airport, don’t you?’ suggested the Castle Cat. ‘Things can’t possibly get any noisier.’

  The fox was relieved to see her friend in better spirits after the horrible experience with the train, so she agreed to his plan. She too was a curious creature. Beneath a high wire fence she sniffed out a shallow scrape. On the other side they found themselves in a huge field with a long road down the middle. A road with no cars.

  The fox began to ask what it was, but her question was drowned out by the shattering noise of yet another huge aircraft sweeping low above their heads. With a deafening screech of its massive wheels it touched down on the wide road and raced towards a long building in the distance.

  The fox quivered with fright. ‘Was it aiming for us?’

  ‘Worry not,’ said the Castle Cat. ‘It was aiming for the runway – you’re quite safe.’

  Every few minutes another plane landed on the runway before taxi-ing to a halt. The fox still jumped at the noise, but not as much as the first time. Nearer the airport, men and women wearing yellow waistcoats unloaded suitcases from a little truck. They heaved them on to a moving belt which carried them through a plastic curtain out of sight.

  Forgetting the trouble they’d landed in the last time they’d gone to investigate something, the two friends scampered across and jumped on to the moving belt, crouching as flat as they could next to two bright pink suitcases.

  It wasn’t long before they realised that they were in big trouble.

  Inside the baggage hall, passengers were waiting to collect their cases, tired after their long flight. At first they thought they were dreaming when a magnificent fox and an enormous grey cat appeared through the curtains along with the cases.

  ‘Is that… a fox?’ asked a smart businesswoman, pointing.

  ‘And that’s definitely a cat,’ said her friend.

  ‘Are they stowaways?’ suggested somebody else. ‘Should we call security?’

  The fox and the cat gripped the moving belt, not sure where and when to jump off.

  But before they could decide, a little girl pointed at them, smiling. ‘Mummy! It’s the fox from Edinburgh Castle, the one who found me!’ It was the little girl with golden curls who had lost her parents one day at Edinburgh Castle. The fox had helped reunite them.

  ‘Yes, Aline,’ said her mother. ‘I’m sure it is. Take my hand and we’ll go and find Daddy.’ She wasn’t really paying attention.

  The little girl waved as the fox and the cat disappeared back through the plastic curtain along with all the unclaimed luggage. The minute they were outside, the two friends leapt off and escaped round the corner of the building. One of the baggage handlers started to make chase, but she soon gave up, laughing.

  The fox followed the cat in the direction of a tall slender building shaped like an hour glass. ‘That’s the Control Tower,’ he explained as they ran towards a half open gate which led them towards some covering bushes and away from the buildings. ‘The people in there know all there is to know about every flight landing or taking off from Edinburgh Airport. Keep running!’ Soon they were looking down onto the tram depot.

  ‘Why don’t we jump on board?’ the fox suggested. She had seen trams trundling along Princes Street.

  ‘Let’s just use our own four legs,’ said the cat. He wasn’t a big fan of the trams.

  ‘We must be nearly home now,’ said the cat, after a while. ‘I can see Murrayfield stadium. It’s empty now but in six months’ time it’ll be packed with people.’

  ‘Like the Tattoo?’ asked the fox.

  ‘About sixty thousand people pack it out for

  really important rugby matches,’ her friend explained. ‘That’s even more than come to the Tattoo every night.’

  ‘It sounds like fun,’ the fox declared.

  The cat looked doubtful. ‘If you thought those planes were noisy, you should hear the roar of

  a Murrayfield crowd.’

  The two friends were very tired and their paws were sore when they slipped into Princes Street Gardens and climbed the Castle rock. When they reached the den the fox gave a little bark and the dog fox looked out. ‘At last!’ he said. The kits rushed out to greet their mother. ‘Where have you been?’ they fussed.

  ‘Good night,’ said the Castle Cat, satisfied that his friend was safely reunited with her family. ‘I am off for a long sleep. I hope the soldiers have saved some titbits for me.’ He yawned, leapt up the last few rocks and vanished between the railings into the night.

  4

  Edinburgh Ghosts!

  The little foxes like the night

  And give a ghost an awful fright

  Like all fox kits the Tattoo Fox’s kits were curious about everything and they couldn’t wait to start exploring. ‘When can we go?’ they demanded, day after day.

  One clear frosty night while the dog fox was out hunting, the Tattoo Fox decided it was time for an expedition. She made the kits promise they wouldn’t leave her side, and led them up the steep rock and through the railings onto the Esplanade of Edinburgh Castle. The cars and buses and visitors had gone home for the day so the three animals ran unnoticed towards the Royal Mile.

  At the top of Castlehill the Tattoo Fox flicked her tail with alarm. ‘Where’s your brother? He was here only a second ago!’ she growled, her coat bristling.

  ‘Surprise!’ The little fox skipped out from behind a statue. ‘Scared you, didn’t I?’ he said proudly.

  ‘Please don’t ever do that again,’ his mother said sharply. ‘Who knows what might have happened? You must stay close!’

  ‘I was just playing Hide and Seek,’ the little fox said, abashed.

  ‘Look!’ said the smaller kit. She had stopped by a little fountain set into the wall. ‘I see a snake!’

  ‘And a foxglove,’ observed her brother.

  ‘It commemorates a terrible time hundreds of years ago when women who people decided were witches were killed. Look – you can see two heads, one looks evil and the other looks good. That’s to show that some people use their powers for good, and others don’t,’ explained the fox. ‘Thank goodness they don’t hunt witches or warlocks these days.’ She gave a little shiver, and set off. The kits stayed close behind her as they darted down Castlehill and across the top of Johnston Terrace.
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  ‘Will we see witches tonight?’ asked one of the kits as they ran down towards the West Bow.

  ‘No,’ said the fox firmly. ‘There are no witches in Edinburgh. Though there are quite a few ghosts. And there are people who don’t much like foxes,’ she added as she led the kits further down the hill.

  Suddenly the kits stopped in their tracks, their brushes standing up like flagpoles and their noses twitching. A tall thin figure wrapped in a dark cloak with a white face was pacing towards them.

  ‘A ghost!’ chattered the dog kit, and they all ducked into the shadow of a shop doorway, making themselves as invisible as they could. The footsteps came closer and the foxes held their breath, but the man tramped on without seeing them, muttering to himself about the cold.

  The Tattoo Fox nudged the kits back onto the pavement. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘That is just somebody pretending to be a ghost. It’s his job to give visitors to Edinburgh a fright. After the visitors get over the shock, that man will tell them stories about Edinburgh long ago.’

  ‘What stories?’ asked the kits.

  Their mother thought for a moment. Then she twitched her tail, remembering her favourite. She hoped it wouldn’t give them nightmares. ‘There was a man who lived near here in the Grassmarket who was a respectable citizen by day – but a thief at night. His name was Deacon William Brodie. Deacon Brodie was an expert at making furniture and repairing locks. But what his customers didn’t know was that he always made copies of the keys to the locks he was repairing.’

  ‘That’s very crafty,’ said the smaller kit.

  ‘At night he would use his duplicate keys to break into his customers’ houses and rob them.’

  ‘That’s not crafty – that’s nasty,’ said the other kit.

  ‘Oh, he didn’t get away with it forever,’ the Tattoo Fox assured them. ‘He was caught and hanged. Some people say that if you listen carefully at night you can hear his ghost, jingling his keys... roaming the streets of Edinburgh.’

  The kits stared at her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she added quickly. ‘It’s probably just a silly story.’

  The Grassmarket was almost empty now apart from a few party-goers carefully making their way home. ‘One of the Castle Cat’s favourite authors – Robert Louis Stevenson – wrote a book based on Deacon Brodie. It’s called The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,’ the Tattoo Fox said as they scampered along. ‘People from all over the world read it.’

  ‘I can hear jingling,’ squeaked one of the kits after a few moments, and they all stopped to listen. ‘I’m sure…’

  ‘You’re imagining it,’ his mother said gently.

  But then the kit’s ears twitched again. ‘Listen!’ he insisted. ‘It must be the ghost of Deacon Brodie! And he’s coming this way…’

  The foxes ducked into a bookshop. Striding towards them was another figure wearing a long dark cloak, but this one was wearing a top hat. He carried a staff and marched along like a soldier. And he was definitely jingling.

  ‘Stay low,’ instructed the fox.

  But the man was in a hurry, he didn’t even lift his eyes from the pavement. And in his hand he carried a set of keys.

  ‘It must be Deacon Brodie!’ chattered one of the kits.

  The Tattoo Fox felt the fur on her back start to rise. She shivered ever so slightly. It was time they were heading for the safety of the den – and supper. Once the man was out of sight she urged the kits on, her nose twitching and her ears flicking.

  On Victoria Street a group of tourists stood gawping at the height of the tenements. ‘I’m sure one of the guides said there were eleven layers,’ said one of them. ‘I suppose they’re prototypes of the New York City skyscrapers back home.’ The tourists were so busy looking upwards that they didn’t notice the three foxes speeding by.

  On Castlehill the foxes almost caught up with the man with the jingling keys. All of a sudden he slipped into one of the narrow closes and leant against the wall. Waiting. The kits chattered with alarm.

  ‘Leave well alone,’ warned their mother.

  But the kits looked at each other. They had other ideas. ‘Oh no you don’t, Deacon Brodie!’ They crept up behind the man and tugged hard at his cloak, almost pulling him over, then, just as the tourists arrived they ran away.

  The Tattoo Fox yipped in alarm, but the naughty kits were already back by her side by the time the man ran out into the street, jingling his keys and shouting, ‘Ghosts! I’ve been attacked by a ghost! It tried to yank my cloak from my back!’

  ‘A ghost stealing from a ghost!’ The tourists burst out laughing.

  The pretend ghost began to laugh too – once he was over the shock. He hitched his cloak back onto his shoulders and began to tell his stories. But none of the tourists could take him very seriously now.

  The three foxes slipped away up the Esplanade and through the railings, pleased to have played their part in proving that Edinburgh really is the most haunted city in Europe.

  5

  Operation Dog Rescue

  The fox and kits go on a tour

  And free a dog who’s held secure

  One fine moonlit winter night the Tattoo Fox led the kits up the rock onto the Esplanade and slipped through the gates into a large tunnel. ‘This is how big trucks and fire engines enter Edinburgh Castle,’ she explained.

  Happy to have the place to themselves, the kits ran back and forth along the Argyle Battery with its row of cast iron guns looking out at the twinkling city lights below. ‘Come on!’ called their mother and led them up the Lang Stairs. At the top she trotted towards an enormous siege gun.

  ‘Oooh,’ said the kits, their eyes wide. ‘Is that what makes the big bang every day at one o’clock?’

  ‘No,’ said their mother.

  ‘No, indeed,’ said a familiar voice. The Castle Cat was on one of his evening wanders. ‘This gun is more than five hundred years old,’ he explained. ‘But the barrel burst more than three hundred years ago and it has not been fired since.’ He leapt on top of the gun. He loved showing off his knowledge of the history of Edinburgh Castle. ‘This is Mons Meg. It was a present to King James the Second in the fifteenth century. But it was far too heavy to be any use.’ The cat jumped down again. ‘For many years it was kept in the Tower of London, but Sir Walter Scott – another of my favourite authors – arranged for it to be returned here in 1829. This is the perfect place for it. It’s the highest point in the Castle and the views are magnificent, even at night.’

  ‘Who lives here?’ asked one of the kits, skipping over to a doorway.

  The Castle Cat turned. ‘This is Saint Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest building in the Castle, even older than Mons Meg. It was built early in the twelfth century and although it has been used for many other things over the years, it is a chapel again now.’

  Headlights suddenly dazzled in the darkness. The kits ran towards their mother. She had warned them well about the danger of cars.

  ‘Let’s tuck ourselves away in these bushes,’ said the cat. A moment later several large vehicles drove past and disappeared round the corner. ‘There must be something happening in the Great Hall tonight,’ said the cat. ‘Wait here while I go and see what it is.’ He strolled off round the corner.

  In the distance they heard a dog barking, The Tattoo Fox’s ears twitched. The kits nestled close. They didn’t like dogs very much.

  At last the Castle Cat returned. ‘There’s a concert in the Great Hall,’ he explained. ‘I heard bagpipes tuning up. Rather a smart affair, and if we’re careful, we could slip in and hear it.’

  One of the kits was so excited that he did a perfect somersault. The Tattoo Fox cuffed him gently. ‘Behave…’ she whispered.

  The cat led the way through the shadows along the edge of Crown Square. When no-one was watching, he ushered the foxes through the rear door of the Great Hall and up to the gallery. From there they peered through the decorative woodwork. A choir of schoolchildren, standing in fro
nt of the great fireplace, sang a selection of Scottish folk songs. Although they were used to the sound of the bagpipes, the kits didn’t like the noisy applause and at the interval they all slipped out into the cool evening air of the square again.

  ‘Over there is the Royal Palace where the Scottish Crown Jewels are kept,’ the Castle Cat told them.

  ‘Can we see them?’ asked one of the kits.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said the other, ‘they’re locked up at night.’

  ‘I hear that dog barking again,’ said the smaller kit. She ran to her mother.

  ‘But it’s not exactly barking,’ said the Tattoo Fox. ‘It’s more like whimpering.’

  They stood, listening.

  ‘It sounds like a dog in a spot of bother,’ said the Castle Cat finally. ‘Somebody needs our help.’ He didn’t like dogs any more than the foxes did but he couldn’t ignore the sound of an animal in trouble. ‘I think it’s coming from this direction.’ He padded smartly towards the old vaults and it wasn’t long before they found a small Border Terrier with a red collar trapped in a thick roll of wire netting. Her head was twisted to one side. ‘I’m in such a pickle,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Please can you help? I promise I won’t yap or nip.’

  The foxes hung back while the cat investigated. ‘Ah… ‘he said finally. ‘Your identity tag is trapped in the netting. We’ll have you free in no time. Don’t worry,’ the cat added. ‘I’m the Castle Cat and this is the Tattoo Fox and her fine family. Utterly trustworthy, I assure you.’ As he puzzled over how to untangle the netting, he added,

  ‘Is this your first visit to Edinburgh Castle? What is your name?’

  ‘Myrtle,’ replied the little dog. ‘My mistress is at the concert. She always leaves the car window open so that I don’t overheat. I like to go exploring, but as usual my nose got the better of me. Somebody must have dropped a sandwich. I’ve a soft spot for cheese and pickle. I’ll never learn…’

  Under the Castle Cat’s direction, the fox kits pulled at the wire netting until, with a ping, the tag came free and the little dog reversed carefully out. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said, gingerly stretching her neck. Once they were sure that there was no injury, the five animals set off down the cobbled hill.