by Adam Browne
Sara scoffed, “Och, but they must do.”
“Well, maybe,” her teacher chuckled. “They certainly feel hunger!”
On that note, Heath ambled over to a nearby chest and unlocked the padlock. The creaky chest housed various pots and gardening equipment, which Heath passed over in favour of a big stoneware jar and a stained old ladle. He brought them over and set them by the cage, before removing the jar’s cork lid. It was full of a golden, translucent liquid.
“Honey!” Bruno stated, sticking his finger in and snatching a taste of the sticky goodness. “Yum!”
Heath plunged the ladle into the viscous honey. “Where’s her plate, Sara?”
“Here,” the wolfess chirped, retrieving an old clay dish from beside the cage.
“Put it inside,” Heath instructed.
Sara did so; she had to turn the dish through ninety degrees to fit it though the bars. Heath carefully passed the dripping ladle to his pupil and she poured the honey into the dish. Bruno realised that if Sara had filled the dish prior to putting it inside the cage, she would have tipped the honey out when trying to fit it through the bars.
“Toggle! Din dins!” Sara cooed, tapping the edge of the dish with the ladle.
“Din dins?” Bruno laughed.
“What?” Sara shot back, her brow knitted.
Bruno dodged her disapproval by posing a pertinent question, “Does she even understand you?”
“Aye, she can hear… sort of,” Sara explained. “She doesn’t have ears like us but, she can hear something, isn’t that right Professor.”
“Uh, yes yes. She can sense vibrations with her hairs.”
Sara waved the ladle at Bruno, “Ah’m going tae teach her tae come for her dinner, you wait and see.” She tapped the dish again, “Toggle! Din dins! Come on!”
For a while Toggle remained shivering in the middle of the cage, apparently indifferent to dinner, or ‘din dins’. But then her antennae wiggled excitedly, doubtless catching a whiff of sweet honey, and she clambered across the floor to the dish with haste. Out came a long, black blade-like tongue, at least Bruno assumed it was a tongue, stabbing at the honey, lapping it up with great relish.
Beaming with joy, Sara scooped out more honey and served it up for her pet bee.
“There ye go,” she soothed, patting its shiny brow.
Smiling broadly, Bruno watched Sara Hummel drip honey everywhere in her race to keep up with the ravenous insect behind the bars. Nothing made her happier than mucking about with bugs. It was her calling.
Bruno decided not to spoil things for her; his trifling troubles could wait.
*
Janoah breezed down the stark infirmary corridors, shafts of muted sunlight dancing on her white Grand Howler’s cloak; a lowly Redcloak passed her by, he saluted, she nodded.
Don’t look back, Janoah told herself, just keep going. Nobody knows, nobody even cares, and even if they did suspect you they’re too scared of you anyway.
She rounded the corridor and entered the wards where the sick and the dying were kept; Janoah could hear the moans already. With white-imperium thin on the ground, Riddle Den alone had lost several Howlers of late to the dreaded rot, some of them not even particularly ‘old’, just unlucky. Even the healthy were suffering hardship and putting up with pain, like Uther. If things continued like this the tenuous peace would break and there would be a pack war, Bloodfangs, Eisbrands, Greystones and the rest, openly killing one another for access to venom stocks. Lupa would burn and the little beasts might even rise up in revolt as once they had.
Janoah burst into the last room, maintaining all appearance of confidence.
“You!” she yapped, stopping dead in the doorway, her paw still grasping the lever.
Bathed in sunlight, Ivan stood up from beside the wrought-iron bed and saluted half-heartedly.
He said nothing.
Rufus lay on the bed, crisp white sheets tucked up to his waist, bandages and dressings all down his right side, which had apparently taken the brunt of the blast. A drip line went into his arm and a respirator was strapped to his muzzle, itself piped to a churning bellows.
Letting the door close, Janoah walked over to the foot of the bed and grasped the cold rails with both paws.
“Get out,” she whispered, not once looking at Ivan.
Blade-dancer collected his helmet from the chair. As he brushed Janoah by she snapped at him, “Wait!”
Ivan stood silent and inert.
“Thank you for sitting with him,” Janoah said, her throat bobbing.
A nod.
She produced Linus’s donation from her cloak pocket and whispered quizzically, “Stand guard for me, Howler?”
Those icy eyes focussing on the white-striped cardboard tube a moment, Ivan donned his helmet. “Be quick,” he grunted, stepping out.
Walking round Rufus’s bed, Janoah tore open the tube. Inside was a sting; a glass phial with a plunger at one end and a needle coated with wax the other. The glass portion contained a milky fluid that, even by daylight, noticeably shone. White-imperium, venom, the good stuff; it had many names.
After breaking off the hygienic wax seal and flicking the needle to banish any air bubbles, Janoah parted the ruddy fur of Rufus’s forearm, eased the needle into a vein and slowly depressed the plunger.
Within seconds Rufus began to tremble, his fingers twitching by his sides, at first slightly, then with growing violence. His grey chest heaved in and out, his nostrils flared, each hot breath steaming up the glass respirator as the purest of all imperium coursed through his powerful body. Snorting and grunting, the wolf arched his back and squirmed, enveloped in the womb of a nightmare.
“Mum… Dad,” he cried. “Leave them alone! Get off me! Get away! No no nohohooo!”
Janoah, in a moment’s folly, tried to hold him. “Rufus! Rufus, I’m here,” she soothed, looking to the door. “Be quiet, my darling, it’s just a bad dream-gagh!”
A white-hot spark of imperious plasma erupted from Rufus’s arms and shot up Janoah’s, ejecting her across the room whereupon she fell in a heap against the wall.
The wolfess watched, her whole body throbbing, as the chair beside the bed catapulted away from Rufus. A moment later and the drip pouch hanging over him exploded, showering the ward with water. Curtains billowed outwards and window panes rattled, as if in the grip of a gale. It was a storm all right, Rufus’s incredible corona, coiling and twisting invisibly as the venom revitalised the Howler, releasing copious energy in the process.
At last, Rufus collapsed and all was silent.
In the serene aftermath, Janoah heard Ivan’s boots pat across the ward. He offered her a paw and pulled her groggily to her feet. After a brief stumble and a rub of her numbed forearms, Janoah pushed Ivan away like a drunk and staggered over to Rufus. He was still, save for deep, steady breaths, his muscled, grey-furred torso heaving in and out. The sheets were twisted into a mountain range and the bed itself had come away from the wall, moving a good foot.
Gathering herself, Janoah tidied up. Whilst she brushed beads of water from the sheets and inched the hefty bed back against the wall, Ivan righted the chair and removed the shredded drip pouch from its stand, tossing it out the window.
Kissing Rufus on the forehead, Janoah looked to Ivan. “I’ve work to do, Blade-dancer.”
“I’ll stay with him,” he offered.
Janoah nodded gratefully and made her getaway.
Chapter 8
Bruno presented his pass to the train hog at the gates. The portly pig squinted at the big brown wolf with extra care before letting him onto the platform with a disgruntled snort and wave of his pen.
“Ta, mate,” said Bruno.
As a Freiwolf in a useful trade the trains were free for him, but the surly hogs didn’t like anyone getting special treatment, except them, or so Dad always said.
Bruno joined Lupans of every kind and creed gathering on the platform in mutual expectation of the next train, mostly li
ttle beasts; the long-tailed rats, the meek mice, the long-eared rabbits and one Howler.
Odd, Howlers rarely took the train.
Bruno kept his distance, but spied on the fellow. He was very impressive; tall, yet thick-bodied, his mighty frame clad head to toe in polished, silvery eisenglanz metal. His helmet was marked on the brow with a blue-imperium snowflake, its subtle glow, whilst drowned in the muted sunlight, still proclaimed its wearer’s allegiance to the local Eisbrand Pack, holders of Arkady District and the whole east of Lupa. The Eisbrands didn’t wear mantles, preferring instead a knight’s surcoat of old, albeit ones made of modern imperium-weave with hoods sewn on to guard against the rain and ash. The front and back of this fellow’s handsome blue surcoat were emblazoned with a white Eisbrand snowflake.
Very nice, but above all Bruno envied the big sword slung at the Howler’s back. Half as tall as him it must’ve required both paws to wield. Oh to have a swing of that!
Ah, but I couldn’t use it right, Bruno thought, I couldn’t channel plasma down it like them Howlers. I’m just allergic. Dad knows about these things, he had me checked out. Why would he lie to me? Makes no sense.
The next train chugged into view, spewing noxious clouds. Beasts shuffled forward in preparation to board, save Bruno, who shuffled backwards whilst holding his breath and squinting his eyes in anticipation of the ash.
He could do without getting ill again.
The train squealed to a halt amidst a swirl of ash and beasts of every sort filed out the carriages. Once the flow of furry bodies had died down, Bruno slipped aboard and found a seat. Any open doors were slammed shut by the train hogs and with a few whistles and a howl of waste imperium the train continued on its way.
The station eased aside, replaced by rows of shops and houses and chugging motor cars. The marble-clad Arkady University and its ornate clock tower passed by in the distance, poking up from the sea of blue tiled roofs like an iceberg. Sara was over there somewhere, still playing with her pet bee, no doubt.
Girlfriend, Dad always ribbed; nothing of the sort, Bruno would ever scoff. Sara had simply walked into one of Dad’s previous ‘Warrens’ and gotten chatty with the young wolfen chef. In two years nothing had ever passed between them, not a kiss, not a hug, just Bruno’s hastily scrawled addresses and phone numbers. He had kept in touch with her despite Dad’s constant disappearing acts because Sara wasn’t like other wolves; she’d not so much as raised an eyebrow upon learning Casimir was his adoptive father, even less said anything derogatory.
Dad said Sara was different because she was a member of Hummel, the only serious pack that still lived outside Lupa’s walls. They owned Everdor, the untainted land beyond the Far Ashfall stretching east to the shores of the Teich. Little beasts were well-treated in Everdor and Dad had considered moving there many times, but always pulled back, citing that it was hard to run a business, save farming, about which he knew nothing. Even Hummelton, Everdor’s capital district, was subject to strict anti-imperium laws that curtailed industrial processes, managed ash disposal, and even dictated how much imperium one could use to heat one’s home; wood coppiced from the extensive forests being preferred. These laws had protected Everdor from succumbing to Lupa’s fate and choking under the umbrella of pollution known as the Ashfall.
Most Everdors steered clear of smoggy Lupa for life; Sara herself had only come to attend the prestigious Arkady University, or ‘Ark’. She wished to study the wild world, describe strange bugs and catalogue new plants, and to that ambition she braved the poisonous Ashfall for the time being. Conventional wisdom held that she ran a risk of catching the rot like everyone else, especially being the cub of a Howler, which made a wolf more susceptible. However, Sara was a wolfess and girls were less prone to catch rot. Bruno didn’t really understand why. It was something about X’s and Y’s and girls having extra genes thanks to having two X’s whereas boys had an X and a Y chromo-something or other.
Sara had tried, but Bruno couldn’t get his head around it.
The city outside was seemingly plunged into utter blackness as the train screamed into a tunnel. With nothing to see out the window, the young wolf cast his eyes around the dimly-lit carriage, watched the imperium lamps sway overhead.
Suddenly pain.
Bruno closed his eyes and grunted as his legs throbbed to every heartbeat. Such a dull, creeping, insidious ache, as if one’s bones were being squeezed in a vice.
“Hurts doesn’t it?” someone said.
Bruno opened his eyes. Sitting opposite him was the Howler he had seen on the platform!
The fellow adjusted his marvellous imperium-weave surcoat and crossed his eisenglanz-clad legs, cupping his big white paws on his lap in a rather well-to-do manner.
“It’ll only get worse, my friend,” the Howler said, his big kind eyes, one green and one blue, peering at Bruno from the anonymity of the Howler helmet. “Maybe I can help.”
Bruno sat dumbstruck.
The train burst from the tunnel and into the next territory amidst a slightly glittery pall of imperium vapour. Smoke stacks reached for the sky and molten metal glimmered inside huge forges. The land was blasted and rendered grey by imperium ash, more so than anywhere. Every house, every building, roof and façade, was stained with streaks of spent imperium. Even the populace looked grubby.
“Bleak isn’t it?” the Eisbrand sighed. “The Greystone Pack lives in filth, but you can’t deny they’ve a brusque charm. They at least have embraced imperium and accept the Ashfall as the consequence of progress, instead of feeling guilty. What my pack wouldn’t give for their secret of stabilising yellow-imperium, though!”
Bruno found his courage. “What do you want?”
“To warn you, Citizen Bruno,” the Eisbrand replied.
Citizen Bruno didn’t ask how the fellow knew his name. “Warn me?” he asked instead.
“Yes. Don’t look now but you’re being tailed.”
Bruno peered over his shoulder. The little beasts in the carriage pretended not to see him, but nobody stood out.
“I said don’t look,” the Howler sighed.
“Who is it?” Bruno whispered.
“Politzi, naturally. There’s a rat in plain clothing who thinks I’ve not noticed him. He answers to Janoah of the Bloodfangs. You ever heard of her?”
Bruno shook his head, just a little. “No.”
“Well, no doubt she’s heard about you after what happened at your father’s café this morning,” the Howler mused. “I bet she’s already put together a whopping great file.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“Spies, of course.”
Bruno emitted a tiny snort at this wolf’s candour. Everyone knew the Howlers had eyes everywhere, but still, to just come out and say it was odd.
The forthright Howler went on, “Rufus is Janoah’s husband. He’s well-known for sniffing out talent.”
“Talent?”
“Yes. Why do you think he kept popping by? Not to impugn your cooking, my friend, but it’s hardly to sample your menu. Rufus Valerio was grooming you.”
“Watcha mean ‘grooming’ me?”
The Howler spread a paw, “Pretending to be your friend, so he could persuade you to join his pack.”
“He’s not like that.”
“Really? He’s never mentioned anything about you joining the Howlers? Induction?”
Bruno dipped his chin.
“There you go-”
“He’s still my friend!” Bruno maintained at once. “He wouldn’t ‘pretend’ like that.”
The Howler shrugged, “Well let’s not fall out over it. Regardless of his motives, Rufus was right to approach you. I can feel you from here, the crackle of imperium in your bones is... deafening. You’ve quite the corona and you’ve not even been inducted yet. You could be very powerful one day, with the right care and training.”
Bruno remained silent.
“Are you frightened, or angry? I can’t tell.”
&
nbsp; Now Bruno looked out the window, his right leg jiggling nervously.
“The latter,” the Howler decided. “Look, you need help,” he said matter-of-factly, spreading a paw. “Don’t dodge or you’ll wind up like the gazers we all bump into on street corners. Join us, let us induct you, train you; you’ll make a great Eisbrand.”
Bruno’s bottom jaw quivered a little. “Look, I dunno what you’re on about. I don’t have a corona, I’m not a….” He stopped short of saying something in favour of, “I’m just a cook. All right?”
The Eisbrand laughed a little.
Bruno glared at him. “What’s so funny?”
“We were all just something or other. I had my dreams too, but the rot changed all that. You’re strong all right, but you’re starting to get ill. Your bones ache, your eyes water, sometimes you can’t even breathe. It’s the black-imperium in you, rotting you alive.”
Bruno explained it away, “I’m allergic to imperium ash, is all. It was the smog yesterday it affects me bad!”
“Is that what your ‘father’ tells you?”
“You calling my dad a liar?”
“I’m sure Citizen Claybourne meant well.”
Bruno felt such rages, but kept his tongue in check, for he was talking to a Howler who could doubtless kill him and make up an excuse for doing so.
The Howler twiddled his thumbs. “I know you want to believe the excuses,” he exhaled. “I did when the rot came for me. You put it down to a cold, or too much drink. But you can’t fight it; believe me, I tried. How I tried. At least if you come to our pack you’ll have the finest things in life to ease your suffering. Despite what propaganda you may have heard on your travels between territories, we Eisbrands look after our Howlers and we’re good to our little beasts too. On a Howler’s pay you can set your father up in a good district, perhaps even Arkady. You can see him every day on patrol, I promise, and… Sara too.”
