by Adam Browne
Bruno’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Sara?” he said with forced ignorance. “Who’s Sara?”
The Howler smiled; his helmet hid any emotion, but Bruno could just feel it. “You’re a noble wolf to try and keep her out of this, but not everyone is as scrupulous as me. Some would use her against you, and your father’s past.”
The big brown Bruno shot up, all of him, every massive muscle and mighty bone of his powerful frame looming over the seated Howler, and with courage or stupidity he never knew he had, brandished both fang and fist.
“Leave her alone! Leave me alone and leave my dad alone, or I’ll lamp yer. You got that, ‘Howler’?”
The little beasts all stared, open-mouthed.
For a moment, Bruno supposed he was a dead wolf, but the Howler merely cocked his helmeted head to one side and said with impeccable calm, “I’m not about to force the issue; we Eisbrands prefer honey to vinegar, but I can’t protect you once we reach Bloodfang territory and they already know what you are. They’ll make you sign on the dotted line.”
“I ain’t interested!”
“I said make. Look, what do you think your father’s been doing moving you about these past ten years? He’s been protecting you from the likes of Rufus. Most Bloodfang talent scouts don’t take no for an answer. Understand?”
Bruno’s blood ran cold.
Feeling the train slow, the Howler rose from his seat, proving he was almost a match for Bruno in stature. “For what it’s worth, pleasure talking to you, Bruno Claybourne. And yes I know your name. I also I appreciate that you stood up for Sara just now; I had doubts, but… she’s right to call you a friend.”
He held out a knightly paw.
Bruno frowned, “How’d you know Sara?”
“Oh, we’re long-acquainted. I’m what she calls a good ‘un. She’s often spoken to me about you.”
Bruno didn’t know whether to believe this fellow or not, but decided to part on good terms regardless and shook paws. “Thanks for the warning,” he muttered.
A nod. “Listen, get off at the next stop and make a break for it. I’ll divert your little admirer.”
“Why’re you helping me escape?”
“Because if you must be a Howler I’d sooner a wolf like you were on my side than not,” the Eisbrand admitted, looking Bruno up and down. “If you reconsider, get out of Bloodfang territory, tonight, and swing by an Eisbrand Den; ask for me, Tristan Donskoy.”
“Donskoy?”
“Right. Oh, and bring Casimir. I’ll see him safe; Sara wouldn’t have it any other way.”
As the train entered the next station, Howler Tristan stepped into the midst of the carriage.
“This is an inspection!” he declared. “Have your citizen passes ready, please!”
The little beasts all looked up as one, then delved through their belongings, bags, coats, wallets and purses, pulling out their paper passes of various colours. Tristan’s blue and green eyes ignored them all, focused as they were on the suspicious character hunched at the far end of the carriage.
As the train came to a stop, the rat in a coat and hat stood up and slinked for the nearest door.
“Where are you going, citizen rat?” Tristan said loudly, even as he checked someone else’s papers.
The rat looked at him, “This is my stop, Howler.”
“Well, you’ll just have to get off at the next one! There’s been too much terrorist activity of late and nobody is leaving this carriage until I have seen their documents.”
“But this is Greystone turf. You’re not-”
“Sit down, citizen, before I make you!” Tristan barked.
The rat looked longingly out the window, but unable or unwilling to blow his cover, gave up and sat down.
Tristan glanced sideways out the carriage and caught a glimpse of Bruno hurrying across the platform, disappearing into the hubbub as best a wolf of such dimensions could.
*
The Warren was taking delivery of several beer kegs, which ordinarily the muscular Bruno would lug down the cellar without much ado. However, with his son absent, Casimir helped his fellow rabbits from the brewers roll the kegs across the road and into the boarded-up establishment.
Conversation centred on the bombing, it was the talk of the district and no doubt there would be a mention in the papers tomorrow morning. Any article would be bent to Bloodfang propaganda requirements, accusing whatever group they desired to slander this week of masterminding the dastardly deed. Perhaps they’d finger THORN; that’d keep public opinion firmly against the hyenas. Perhaps rightly for once, for Casimir could swear he had seen a hyena, and had told everyone so. He felt bad maligning a whole race he had sympathy for, but he knew better than to stand up and be counted. Lay low, remain obscure, live a long and quiet life; Casimir had tried the alternative on for size and all it had gotten him was a stint in prison and a busted leg.
“See you next week?” the brewer assumed.
“Uh, I’ll bell you about that,” Casimir said to his fellow rabbit, making a telephone gesture with one paw.
The surprised youth looked up from his clipboard, which he had been filling in prematurely, “Oh?”
“Not sure when we’ll be back on our feet,” Casimir excused, thinking how he and Bruno might not be here come tomorrow morning let alone next week, but not wanting to let on the fact to anyone. “I can’t sell beer if I’m not open, lad.”
“Fair enough, sir,” the brewer said, tipping his hat and climbing into his truck with the others. “Good day.”
Casimir waved them off and limped inside his deserted café. He stood in the midst of the main room, arms folded, taking things in. The tables were polished, the imperium lamps flickered, glasses stood ready, every speck of ash was gone. Ignoring the boarded-up windows one would suspect nothing untoward. But as a rabbit Casimir saw the taint, smelt the danger; his long-oppressed people were masters of self-preservation.
It was time to go.
Reluctantly shuffling behind the bar, Casimir grabbed the telephone and placed the stand between the beer pumps. He found the secret bit of paper with the usual number on, a number he should know by now but never remembered. Time to forge new passes and new identities for a new territory, but which pack this time? Casimir and Bruno had lived in every major quarter of Lupa, sometimes twice over. The Eisbrand districts were too expensive, the Greystone’s too polluted and the Bloodfang’s too dangerous. The Bloc was out of question; too violent and polluted, whilst the Common Ground was all of the above and a seedy cesspit.
Perhaps it’s best to leave Lupa?
Don’t kid yourself, Casimir. Even if you smuggle him through the Lupan Wall how will we survive? All your dodger contacts are here. I should’ve told him. I should’ve had this out years ago instead of letting it fester. He’ll never forgive me when he finds out. Never.
With a shaky sigh, Casimir dialled in the number and slumped on a bar stool whilst call went through. He didn’t notice The Warren’s door open, until the bell rang.
“We’re closed!” he said irritably, not even looking over the beer pumps. “Can’t you read?”
The patron snorted back, “I thought you’d make an exception for your old comrade in arms, Casimir.”
Ears pricked, the rabbit stood up and slammed the phone down in one movement. He found a huge hog dominating the little café with his mighty girth, his ill-fitting red Politzi uniform straining at the buttons, his shiny belt partially smothered by rolls of fat, like a muffin overhanging its paper case.
“Werner!” Casimir chirped, forcing a smile. “What’re you doing here?”
Werner dodged the question with his own. “Who were you on the phone to?”
Casimir thought fast. “The glaziers,” he said, furtively screwing up the piece of paper. “Gotta get them windows fixed. That’s an expense I don’t need, let me tell you.”
Casting his beady eyes over the boarded up bay window, Werner grunted, “I’ll see to it the Bloodfangs reco
mpense you for the damage.”
“Oh yeah? How? I thought they were poor?”
“Nooo, they just have different priorities to the Eisbrands. Instead of spending money on pretty headquarters and nice gear, it all goes straight into their Howlers’ pockets. That’s how they get the best of the best. We Politzi get a fair share too; shifting over to BF territory was the best move I ever made.”
“Aye, well, it’s not been so rosy for us as you can see.”
“Give it a chance, Casimir, you only just got here,” Werner said. He smacked his lips, “Where’s Bruno at?”
“Out,” Casimir said, “I dunno where.”
“Not in bed?”
“No no, he’s in good nick.”
Werner smiled until his little eyes almost disappeared under his flabby cheeks, “Glad to hear it.”
Casimir cleared his throat and scratched an ear, “So what can I do fer you, Werner?” he asked, grabbing a pint glass and filling it with golden, bubbling beer.
Werner trotted over and lowered himself onto a bar stool, it creaked alarmingly under the load. The hog knocked back his beer, chugging it down.
“Aaaaah,” he gasped. “Very nice, that.”
Werner nudged his empty glass towards Casimir, who refilled it. Downing his second beer at a more leisurely pace, though not much more, Werner licked his lips and wiped his snout of foam.
“Listen, Cas,” he sniffed at last, “you need to come in for questioning.”
Casimir let out a guffaw, “What?”
“Just routine. It’s nought to worry about.”
“Look,” Casimir scoffed, raising his paws, “I didn’t have anything to do with what went down.”
“I know that!” Werner snorted.
“Then what do you need to question me about? Question me here. I saw a hyena throw a bomb in the window and that’s all there is to it. I’ve told everyone that.”
“This comes from high up. My trotters are tied. Janoah herself wants to see you. Probably wants to thank you.”
“Thank a rabbit? You’re having a laugh!”
“Well… Bruno then.”
Upon hearing Bruno’s name, Casimir ran a paw over his mouth. Almost without pause he opened the till and took out a wad of cash. He started counting it out in front of Werner, one lupa at a time.
“Casimir, don’t bother,” the pig dismissed.
“Hundred lupas?” the rabbit interrupted, winking. “Pretend we were gone, yeah? Just like last time. You came in here and the place was deserted. We’re going tonight anyway; you can have all the beer. I won’t be able to take it with me.”
Werner shook his head, “I just can’t do it, Cas; I can’t keep doing this. It’s starting to look suspicious for me-”
“Two-hundred.”
“It’s not about the money, it’s about self-preservation!”
Casimir spread his paws. “Come on Werner. All those years in the resistance, me n’ you, like brothers we was. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how I saved your hide.”
Werner let out a grunt.
“Just look the other way,” Casimir urged.
The pig didn’t so much look the other way, as down a little. “They want Bruno,” Werner whispered, clearing his throat and glancing behind. “I can let you go, but not him, not this time. It’s too near.”
A strained, confused chuckle escaped Casimir’s lips, “Whatcha mean?”
Werner’s snout twitched. “The game’s up, Casimir,” he sighed, shuffling on the stool. “Janoah’s figured it all out. You can’t fight her, don’t even try.”
There was a long silence.
“I see,” Casimir said, withdrawing his money. “Did you tell her?”
“It’s not so bad,” Werner replied, neither denying nor confirming. “At least you won’t have to spike Bruno’s ‘cough syrup’ no more.”
Casimir grimaced.
“Aye, now there’s a weight off yer conscience.”
“My conscience? That was your idea! It’s Uncle Werner’s Cough Syrup, not Casimir’s.”
“Well you wanted to keep him in the first place, not me!”
Silence.
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Casimir seethed. “He’s my boy, Werner. He’s part of me.”
“I understand better than you and I’m not even rotten,” Werner maintained. “Pretty soon Bruno’s corona is gonna bubble over and he’ll throw a left hook down the gym so hearty it’ll put a hole in a punch bag, if not someone’s face! Is that what you want?”
Casimir dipped his chin, “No.”
“It’s time to stop dodging. Let him go to his fate. Think of it, Cas, your own son, a Howler and a Bloodfang at that!” Werner laughed and snorted, “Nobody will ever mess with us again-”
“They can’t have him!” Casimir bellowed. “They don’t deserve him, not after blowing up his family!” He leant across the bar, “I’ve spent the last ten years moving him around, paying neighbours, Politzi and even Howlers to turn the other cheek. I’m not giving in now because you’re too cowardly to go on!”
Werner grunted, “You should’ve told him, not hid him. You should’ve let him make up his own mind. You’re the coward here.”
“Don’t you dare, you bastard! You would’ve left him to die under the rubble.”
A longer, most prickly silence.
Werner snorted angrily, but said nothing.
“Just let us go one last time,” Casimir begged afresh. “We’ll disappear for good, I swear. You won’t see us ever again. Please!”
“It’s not worth my life,” Werner sniffed, standing up and turning away. “I’m sorry, Cas, but it’s over. Bruno’s gonna be picked up and inducted as soon as he’s back on BF land-”
“I’ve got the goods on you!” Casimir warned.
Werner froze.
“Aye, all those payments, all those favours, all that imperium you’ve embezzled. I bought stings off you enough times, didn’t I? If they ask questions I can sing like a cricket and you know it-”
Werner whipped his truncheon round, smashing his beer glass across the café. “Say a word and you’re dead!” he snarled, even before the shower of glass shards had settled.
Casimir refrained from gulping, just about.
Once all was quiet again, Werner snorted, “Lot of good it’d do you anyway. If it weren’t me they’d only send someone else to bring you in, someone less reasonable. Now shut up and get your coat.”
Slowly, Casimir dug out his keys. “Let me lock up at least,” he said. “If I ever come out of that Den alive I don’t want to find my place cleaned out by thieves.”
The hog snorted, “I’ll be outside. You got five minutes before I send in my boys. Five minutes, Cas, got that?”
“Aye. Got it.”
Werner winked and took his leave.
Once Werner had squeezed his great girth through the café door, Casimir hurried upstairs into the living area of The Warren. It was still bare, lacking any personal touches. Moving often and secretly had left Casimir and his son devoid of belongings, sometimes just the clothes on their backs and the old steel box of life savings. The premises was always a rental, their identity papers forged; a new life in a new district never far off. Werner was just one of the many corrupt officials Casimir had dealt with, from train hog to Howler. The deception was such that, even now, Bruno thought Casimir was running from his own chequered past when the fuss was about the cub and always had been.
Werner’s right, Casimir decided, I’ve got to tell him. The lad’s old enough to understand and make his own mind up, to carry on dodging or don the mantle.
Just please forgive me, lad. I did it all for you.
Hurrying into his bedroom, a tearful Casimir pulled up a floorboard and grabbed the old metal box. He opened it and took a pistol out from amongst colourful wads of lupas; it was so old the charge had probably decayed, but he could wave it at anyone who tried to stop him at least.
To the wardrobe, dark coat, roun
ded hat, long ears slotting neatly through the holes.
One last look around, a sigh.
Casimir hurried to the window and checked the back streets below. It was clear; not a Politzi in sight. Either Werner wasn’t trying very hard on purpose, or he was just stupid enough not to cover the whole building. Casimir liked to think his old friend was turning his cheek one last time.
Lifting the sash window, Casimir tossed the box onto an adjoining flat-topped roof, one floor below, then eased himself out and hung onto the windowsill to soften his fall. He landed well, his strong rabbit legs taking the force with aplomb, though his old wound played him up somewhat.
No time to linger; he had to find Bruno. The lad would take the usual route home and get off at the nearest station. All Casimir need do is wait for him.
Grabbing his savings, the desperate rabbit hopped silently down onto the street below, abandoning this short-lived incarnation of The Warren forever.
*
Linus peered through the glass desk at the glowing orbs resting on royal blue cushions within.
“Uther look, imperium pearls,” he gasped in awe.
“Yeah, yeah, I see ‘em,” Uther replied, leaning on the counter and impatiently tapping the service bell with his paw.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“You sure this is where they’re staying?” he sniffed, casting his wary eyes over the nautical-themed inn, with nets and harpoons festooning the walls. “Bit flaky for Felician royalty.”
Linus peeled his blue eyes from the wonderful pearls, “Monty said they wanted the full Lupan experience.”
“Monty?” Uther guffawed, nudging Linus, as he was wont to do. “Listen to you, ‘rather old chap’. Hahahahaha!”
“I hardly know the cat; I’m just going to apologise.”
“Puh! You’re wasting our time, mate. I should be having a massage by now. Not like Vladimir’s gonna check.”
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Uther slapped the bell and shouted, “Oi, anyone alive back there or what?”
The door behind the reception desk opened and a sleek, brown, muscular beast with a rounded snout and a big tail moseyed in – an otter to be sure, or Lutran as some said. The youth eyed the wolves up as he approached, as if gauging whether they were Howlers or not. Uther and Linus had adopted plain clothes precisely for that reason; to be able to enjoy a night out without ordinary beasts giving them a wide berth, though seasoned eyes could usually spot Howlers.
