Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “No, I’ll spare you the indignity of... of spilling my worthless, polluted blood… Ivan,” he said, laughing, or crying, it was hard to tell. “Arjana, my love, f-fff-forgive me!”

  Penny screamed and covered her eyes.

  Click! Fssssss-s-sss…

  A puff of ash fizzled out of the pistol, but nothing more dangerous. With a baffled look on his face, Noss tapped the pistol with a bloodied, shaking paw, braced himself and tried again.

  Click! Click! Click!

  A misfire!

  “Hahahahahahaaaa!” Noss laughed, falling forwards over the wheel and dropping the pistol, his shoulders rolling in hysterics. “Aaaahahehehehehohooo!”

  The Howlers exchanged unbelieving glances.

  “He’s insane,” Linus observed.

  “Nutter, mate,” Uther growled.

  Ivan seized the moment, opening the passenger door and extracting Penny, who ran to her husband.

  Uther, meanwhile, quivered with rage. Unable to stand this cackling hyena any longer he opened the driver door.

  “Come here, you son of a roach!” he roared, pulling a hysterical Noss from the cabin by his cloaked shoulders and throwing him down in a filthy puddle. He kicked him in the side and generally administered a beating, before forcing his paws behind him and binding them with a length of Howler-proof wire. “You’re under arrest in the name of the Republic!”

  “Hahahahaaaahaha!”

  Linus joined the fray, but Ivan didn’t bother. He knew Noss was a broken beast, beyond resistance, beyond caring. To try and shoot himself, to end his life by his own paw, the ultimate sin for his people, he must be utterly spent.

  Why, Noss? Why?

  No doubt Elder Amael would have someone extract the truth, and no doubt he would get it.

  *

  Riddle District’s Howler Den loomed large behind its reinforced gates, great buttresses spread wide like roots, dark, ash-licked spires piercing the leaden sky. At the front, above the main doors, was a huge crest, round and white like the moon, with a black wolf’s head stamped within, its vermillion-red fangs standing proud. Red banners emblazoned with the same white circle and wolf’s head were draped either side, proclaiming that this Den, this whole district, belonged to the Bloodfangs; just one of the many packs that made up the oligarchic cartel that ran Lupa, but to Casimir’s mind one of the most terrifying.

  Oh why did we move here?

  The nervous rabbit stopped his trembling, three-wheeled truck some distance from the gates; leaving its engine ticking over he hopped out the cabin and hurried round back.

  The two red-cloaked Howlers at the Den’s gate watched him through the stream of passing citizens. Casimir knew they wouldn’t hesitate to draw their pistols and blow him away if they thought anything amiss; a truck-bomb perhaps, driven at the gates by some mad rabbit; or one full of terrorists, even rival Howlers, who were about to leap out and attack the Den. Such things happened, not so much since the war had ended, but still.

  “Bruno,” Casimir said, looking in the back of the truck.

  Bruno was holding Rufus’s paw; his clothes were stained in the Howler’s blood. It looked bad.

  “He still alive?” Casimir asked.

  “Yeah,” Bruno replied.

  “All right, give him here.”

  “What?”

  Casimir explained, “I daren’t drive any closer, lad, they might get funny. I’ll take him on foot.”

  Bruno scoffed in disbelief, “You can’t lift a wolf!”

  “I can drag him,” the rabbit sniffed.

  “Don’t be stupid. I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t want you being seen to be involved. It could be dangerous.”

  Knowing reason was useless on Dad, especially panicked Dad; Bruno rolled his eyes, scooped the bloodied Rufus up and stepped off the back of the truck.

  “Bruno-”

  “Dad!” the big wolf snapped, adding softly, “Calm down, yeah. We’re doing ‘em a good turn. It’ll be all right.”

  With that, Bruno strode round the truck and across the street towards the gates, Dad following nervously behind. They passed amongst the pedestrians, some of whom noticed the big brown wolf was holding, of all things, a Howler. They gasped and made themselves scarce, whispered, watched, as Bruno and Casimir stepped onto the unmarked patch of no-beasts-land that surrounded Riddle Den’s gates.

  Once they crossed some invisible line and were deemed too close for comfort, one of the Howlers stepped forward and held up a paw.

  “Halt!” he barked.

  The other reached for his pistol, ready to back up his partner.

  Casimir grabbed Bruno’s shirt, pulling the bold youth to a firm stop.

  From a distance, the Howler visually inspected the bundle of rags cradled in Bruno’s arms and soon recognised it as a fellow Howler, armoured legs and red tail dangling limply.

  “What’s the meaning of this, citizen?” the guard growled at Bruno.

  The wolf licked his lips, “Well… uhm….”

  “My premises was attacked, Howler,” Casimir explained, stepping in front of Bruno.

  “Attacked, by who?”

  “Don’t rightly know, sir. Someone threw an imperium bomb in the window, right on one of our tables. This Howler was injured in the blast. We brought him straight here. He’s badly hurt, I think.”

  The Howler strode over and checked for himself, lifting Rufus’s black and white helmet just enough to see his face.

  “Captain Rufus!” he gasped, shouting, “Open the gates!”

  Wrenching Rufus from Bruno’s arms, the Howler whisked him through the opening gates, leaving Casimir and Bruno standing bewildered in the rain.

  “Let’s go, lad,” Casimir urged. “Quick, before they come back!”

  With Dad tugging furiously on his arm, Bruno peeled his fiery eyes from the Howlers rushing Rufus into the Den and hurried back to the truck. Slamming the door, Dad whirled the steering wheel hard over and performed a near-suicidal U-turn. If the truck could skid and screech it would have, but all she managed was a trundle.

  Bruno watched the Den’s grand entrance recede into the misty distance, until Dad turned onto the busy main street that paralleled the railway, whereupon the wall of another building obscured the Den from view.

  With a sigh, Bruno turned round and settled into his seat.

  “You all right, lad?” Casimir breathed, possibly for the first time since stopping the truck. “Lad?” he urged impatiently.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bruno replied.

  Casimir eyed the blood staining Bruno’s shirt and gaiters, “You hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah. It ain’t my blood.”

  Relieved though he was, Casimir conversely shook his head, long white ears flopping about, “That was a right stupid thing to do, my boy. They could’ve had us!”

  Bruno’s triangular ears pricked, “Had us? Whatcha mean?”

  “Arrested us, lad! Whatcha think I mean?”

  “What for?”

  “What for?” Casimir repeated in high-pitched disbelief. “Since when do Howlers need a ‘what for’?”

  He checked the mirror and, half-expecting Howlers on monobikes to come speeding noisily after them, turned into a side-street so as to lose them in advance.

  “Where’re we going?” Bruno asked, as unfamiliar shops and houses swung by. “This ain’t the right way.”

  “Just taking precautions, lad.”

  “Aww, Dad come on! I dunno what you’re so worried about; Rufus’ll tell ‘em we helped him.”

  “If he survives!” Casimir pointed out. “Even if he does, there’s no telling what’ll go through their minds in the meantime. I don’t wanna be locked up and beaten senseless, do you? After everything I ever told you about the Howlers, you pull a stunt like that. It’s in one ear and out the other with you.”

  Bruno’s lower lip quivered a moment, “I had to help. I couldn’t just leave him. I couldn’t.
”

  The brooding Casimir silently nursed the wheel.

  With a wolfen grunt, his son looked out the window at the passing streets of Lupa, opening and closing his right paw.

  It still tingled, just a little.

  Chapter 5

  The three Howlers were arranged in size order, the tall Ivan and stocky Linus acting as bookends to the athletic Uther. Helmets tucked under arms they waited smartly in front of their superior’s desk, or as smartly as they could after this morning’s chase. Fur unkempt, cloaks damp and gaiters stained with ash, they stood in dire need of polish and grooming oil.

  The big, black and white wolf behind the desk wrote notes on the paper in front of him with a golden pen. His magnificent white cloak was pinned with a silver Bloodfang brooch and his silver Howler helmet rested upon the desk, its vacant eyelets looking somewhat sad. An imperium lamp flickered warmly overhead, whilst the rain tumbled down the arched window, distorting the cityscape of Lupa far below.

  “So, let me get this straight, Donskoy,” the big wolf said, leaning forward and twiddling his pen between the white fingers and dark pads of both paws. “Waffles?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ivan Donskoy confirmed.

  “Rufus dallied about town, knowing full-well the Elders were convened and waiting to discuss his proposals, because he fancied a… ‘three-season’ waffle?”

  “In fairness he hadn’t had breakfast, sir.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see. And this negligent behaviour didn’t move you to protest at all, Captain?”

  Ivan shrugged a little, “I protested, Grand Howler Vladimir, but Rufus is my partner, not my subordinate. I can’t tell him what to do. We’re captains both.”

  Grand Howler Vladimir Bloodfang Oromov, to give him his full title, looked down at his pen and took a sharp breath, “A rank Rufus would have left behind years ago were it not for such indiscretions. He should be in my cloak, or higher … as should you, Donskoy.”

  Ivan’s stony expression remained so.

  Vladimir moved on. “Why Rufus? Why would Noss of all beasts attack him when he is famously a hyena-sympathiser?”

  “Whatever the reason, I don’t believe Noss’s heart was in it, sir,” Ivan said.

  “Oh?”

  “If he’d wanted Rufus dead he’d have done it properly. I think he meant to miss.”

  “Miss? By Ulf’s fangs, the wolf’s in a coma!”

  Ivan nodded once, “Yes sir, but ordinarily a yellow-imperium bomb isn’t too much trouble. We had time to get clear; perhaps ten seconds. It was only because Rufus was protecting some… some foolish boy that he was wounded at all. Noss couldn’t foresee that.”

  Vladimir sighed, “What’re you saying, Donskoy?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. Only that Noss held back. Perhaps it was meant to be a warning?”

  “Humph! A warning aimed at who? Rufus? Does Noss want him to stop speaking up for the hyenas?”

  “Why would he?”

  “I don’t know, Donskoy, but when this gets out it’ll be a public relations disaster for the hyenas. They’ll look like the worst kind of traitors. Noss must be insane!”

  “But a great Howler,” Ivan interjected. “I served with him for years, he’s not some oaf. He’s educated, and clearly as fit and strong as ever. He could have killed Uther too, if he’d tried, but he held back even then.”

  Uther shot Ivan a dirty sideways glare.

  “Eyes front, Wild-heart!” Vladimir snapped.

  “Sir!”

  With Uther admonished, Vladimir said, “Rest assured, Ivan, I’ll get to the bottom of this, by rack if need be.”

  “Sir, I beg clemency,” Ivan blurted.

  “Clemency?”

  “For Noss. Not on my behalf, but it’s what Rufus would want were he able.”

  Vladimir sat up straight, “But he is not able, nor would it make a blind bit of difference if he were. Noss will be tried and dealt with according to the laws of the Bloodfangs and Lupa. Is that clear?”

  Ivan nodded but once, “Yes, Grand Howler.”

  With that, Grand Howler Vladimir leant back and pondered matters in relaxation whilst his lesser Howlers remained standing in relative hardship. Uther was suffering especially, though he endeavoured to hide it. Vladimir could read it on his face; the ache of the rot. The eager youth had worked hard, apparently, running like the wind to catch Noss. Now his body was dealing with the consequences. It would take some time for the ash to work its way out of his blood and muscles. A trace of the ash was black-imperium, and that would never leave him, but go deep into his bones. One day, when there was no more room, it would overwhelm him, rot him, as with every Howler, even Grand Howlers.

  There was a rap at the hefty wooden door.

  “Come in!” Vladimir barked, nursing the well-worn arms of his ornate chair.

  An athletic, red-furred wolfess in a white cloak and tight white breeches entered the office. She had a rapier by her hip and a sparkle in her green eyes. With a quick glance at the Howlers, she addressed Vladimir. “I’ve found something,” she said simply, flapping a folder.

  “Already?” Vladimir replied.

  The newcomer went to speak, but then flicked her file at the Howlers. “Out,” she said.

  Vladimir slowly looked to Ivan and his lower-ranking comrades. “Dismissed,” he confirmed.

  The Howlers saluted by thumping their fists to their chests and then holding them forward.

  “Oh, and Mills,” Vladimir added firmly.

  The blonde Linus Bloodfang Mills faced front again. “Yes, Grand Howler Vladimir?”

  His superior gave him a withering look, “Next time you requisition a car, make sure you’re not putting Felician dignitaries in mortal danger. Montague and Penelope Buttle are members of the Felician Royal Family.”

  Linus gulped, “Yes, Grand Howler Vladimir, I realise that now.”

  “You will apologise to them at once. Is that clear?”

  “Y-yyy-yes, sir.”

  “Off you go.”

  Despite being dismissed, Linus lingered awkwardly.

  “What’s wrong, Mills?” Vladimir sighed.

  “Where c-ccc-can I find them, sir?” Linus stuttered.

  “I don’t know, Howler, but you had better find out!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Linus and the others made good their escape – almost.

  “Wild-heart, wait outside,” the wolfess said, adding, “I need to see to you.”

  Uther cringed, shoulders hunched, grumbling something.

  “Pardon?” the wolfess barked.

  “Yes, Grand Howler Janoah.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  Once Uther had closed the door a little too loudly, Janoah pulled up an ornate chair and fell into it; she didn’t need to ask Vladimir’s permission, she was his equal, a Grand Howler, one of only two in Riddle District.

  “You’ve business with Uther?” Vladimir asked her.

  Janoah dodged the question, “He looks tired.”

  “He’s the one who ran Noss down. He might’ve gotten away if Uther hadn’t stayed on him.”

  “Commendable. He’s coming along that one. Rufus’s eye for talent hasn’t failed yet.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Who’s the dumpling?”

  “Mills? He’s new,” Vladimir said, moving on, “What’ve you found?”

  The red-furred Janoah threw her file on Vladimir’s desk with both expert precision and a wry smile. “Dirt, on the long-ears.”

  “Who?”

  “The owner of the café,” Janoah clarified.

  “Ah yes. We’re grateful to Citizen… Claybourne, of course. We’ll make sure he’s recompensed for his loyalty and common sense.”

  Janoah checked her claws, “We’ll see.”

  Curious at her circumspect words, Vladimir opened the file. There was an old mug-shot of a young white rabbit looking rather beaten up, along with sundry reports. />
  “What’s all this?”

  “The good citizen’s extensive criminal record,” Janoah said, still checking her claws.

  “What of it?”

  “He fought in the war; on the wrong side.”

  Vladimir let out a tiny grunt of annoyance, “So did a lot of beasts, little and noble. We had the amnesty; what’s passed is passed. What’s the use in aggravating old wounds?”

  Janoah let her paws flop down, “Leverage?”

  Similarly, Vladimir let the file flop down, “All right. What’ve you really found?”

  “Well, Rufus found him actually.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  Janoah rolled her green eyes around Vladimir’s pokey office of books and trinkets. “Oh come on, Vladimir,” she huffed. “You don’t think he was frequenting some third-rate café for the fabulous menu? Rufus never just does anything.”

  “Yes, I gather he was out to embarrass Amael in front of Den Father Vito by turning up fashionably late.”

  “Well, that may have been half his reasoning,” Janoah conceded. “The other half is in that file.”

  “The rabbit?”

  “No, his ‘son’.”

  Janoah said ‘son’ in such a loaded manner that Vladimir was compelled to pick up the file again and flick through until something stood out.

  Some grainy, grey photos of big, dark and very muscular wolf, wearing an apron and breeches; he was unloading barrels from a truck. The pictures were evidently covertly taken, doubtless by one of Janoah’s discreet little beast agents. There were more photos of Rufus entering a café and sitting in the bay window, chatting with the big wolf.

  Vladimir shook his head. “Spying on your husband, Janoah?” he tutted. “Shame on you.”

  Janoah ignored the jibe. “Those were taken weeks ago. They weren’t brought to my attention until today. I’m going to bring that cub in, as someone should’ve weeks ago.”

  “Janoah, you can’t arrest wolfen citizens just to prevent Rufus going about his ‘business’, embarrassing though his antics may be to you-”

  “Don’t be tiresome, Vladimir!” Janoah cut in sharply. “Those barrels are being delivered, they’re full of beer. They must weigh a two-hundred pounds, yet that cub is throwing them around like pillows! Do you think that’s natural in a wolf? Look at him!”