by Adam Browne
“What can I do far you gentlebeasts?” the otter said, in laid-back Lutran patois, thumbs finding his short breeches.
Uther went to speak, but instead gestured at Linus, giving him the floor. “Go on, mate.”
“Excuse me, citizen otter,” Linus said, “but do you have a couple of cats staying here?”
“Cats?” the otter said, looking up at the bigger wolves. “There be no cats here, sirs.”
“Fellow going by the name of Montague Buttle?” Linus clarified hopefully.
The otter’s rounded head pivoted to and fro atop his long thick neck.
“Oh,” Linus said, disappointed.
Uther glanced at his flaxen-furred friend, before taking over. He reached into his pocket and whipped out his Howler brooch. “You absolutely sure there’s no cats staying here?” he asked, waving it in front of the young otter. “Maybe your memory is a little hazy, eh?”
“Uther, there’s no need for that,” Linus said. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”
Wild-heart wouldn’t be deterred. “Well?” he urged the otter.
“I’m not after no Howler brooch,” the fellow said, waving a webbed paw. “They be too dangerous to get rid of, yah know what I mean?” He leant on the counter and twiddled his fingers, “I accept lupas though.”
With an incredulous glance at Linus, Uther also leant on the counter, “I ain’t bribing you, I’m a thumping Howler! My mate here wants to talk to Monty Buttle, so where’s he at?”
“Yah be an ‘Owler, eh?” the bold otter laughed, equally incredulous. “Where’s da fancy cloak n’ all dat, den?”
“In da wash!” Uther mocked.
He slapped his paw on the glass desk and the pearls within the cabinet leapt from their cushions and clattered to the top. Gathering beneath Uther’s paw, they remained aloft like a bunch of glowing crystal grapes.
The young otter looked on in amazement, his face lit up by the multicoloured imperious glow.
“Uther!” Linus piped.
Wild-heart lifted his paw; the pearls clattered back down like so many marbles. “Well?” he said. “Where’s the cats? Or do I confiscate those lovely pearls in the name of the Republic?”
The otter found his tongue. “Room fourteen,” he said, adding nervously, “Sorry, ‘Owler. They be staying here to avoid da press. They told us not to let anyone know, yah.”
Uther pocketed his brooch, “Yeah, yeah.” He turned to Linus and sniffed, “Come on Woodlouse, let’s get this over with.”
Linus looked at the pearls, then at Uther, then back again.
“Come on!” Uther tutted, climbing the rickety stairs.
Watched by the otter, Linus hurried after his partner. Upon alighting the cramped first floor corridor, he said, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“What?” Uther piped. “Can’t let them rudder-tails walk all over yer Linus, ‘cause they will. Otters are right cheeky.”
Knowing Uther was impatient to be out and about, Linus got back to the task at paw and followed the doors round the twisted, thread-bare carpeted corridor, 11, 12, 13.
“Here,” he said.
Uther leant against the wall, arms folded, “Go on then,” he said, tipping his head. “Knock.”
Linus raised a golden paw, “Yes, right… uh…. W-what should I say?”
“Don’t ask me!”
“No. S-sss-sorry.”
Uther shook his head in disbelief as Linus rapped on the rough old door.
“Who is it?” a delicate feminine voice replied from beyond.
Linus cleared his throat, “Howler Linus, marm.”
“Whom did you say?” the occupant replied, confused.
“Linus Mills, marm, the Howler from this morning,” Linus said in a rising tone, hurt that he’d been so quickly forgotten. He consoled himself with the supposition that royalty must meet so many beasts that remembering names was impossible. “Am I addressing Penelope Buttle, Duchess of Felicia?”
A distended silence.
The blonde Linus was thinking about what next to say when the door unlocked and eked open a little, revealing a slither of a pale, grey feline face – Penny Buttle alright.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Howler Linus, of course!”
Linus beamed broadly, “Marm.”
“Forgive me, I’m all over the shop, as Monty would say.”
“Not at all.”
Penny swung the door wide, revealing a similar frilly white dress to this morning’s, less the bonnet. She gestured inside her simple room, which had a huge red trunk full of clothes beside the double bed and a half-decent view of late afternoon Lupa from the bay window.
“Do come in, Howler Linus,” the catess said.
Linus raised a paw, “No time, marm,” he refused. “I uh… I merely swung by to apologise for this morning.”
Penny frowned in bafflement, “Apologise?”
“Yes marm, for r-rrr-requisitioning your vehicle and p-p-putting you and your husband in danger.”
“Well isn’t it normal procedure to requisition cars to aid in a pursuit, Howler? The Valours back home certainly do so.”
“Well, yes marm, but-”
“Then think nothing of it!” Penny piped benignly. “We’re glad to have been of service in helping you and your brave comrades bring that brutish hyena to justice. I dare say Monty found the whole event thoroughly exciting; he hasn’t stopped talking about it all day!”
Linus glanced at Uther, who wound a finger beside his head, mocking the cat’s sanity. Ignoring his rudeness, Linus asked Penny, “How is your husband?”
“Very well,” she replied. “I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. It takes rather more than a box on the nose and a muddy coat to keep my Monty from his work.”
Linus smiled, “Glad of it.”
There was a pause.
Something occurred to Linus, “Work? Didn’t you say you were here on holiday, marm?”
Penny tipped her head to one side. “More of a… promotional venture,” she said with difficulty. “We’re combining our holiday with Monty’s work. Well, our work, really, we’re both at it. He’s the tinkerer and I’m the PR manager, though I have been dipping my toes in the engineering side lately. I’m sure you know all about it now you know who we are. Monty’s so famous these days.”
“Oh, y-yyy-yes, of course,” Linus claimed, looking to Uther for a clue.
Wild-heart shrugged and pulled a ‘I don’t know’ face.
“I expect he’ll be back shortly,” Penny said. “I’m just getting ready to go out to dinner. It’s all part of wooing our patrons; bit of a bore. Perhaps you’d like to join us, Linus? I’m sure Monty would enjoy your company as much as I would.”
Uther frantically waved his paws and mouthed silently, ‘No! No!’
“We… wouldn’t want to intrude on your, uh… promotional venture,” Linus excused, accidentally betraying Uther with both ‘we’ and another sideways glance.
Leaning forward, Penny discovered the loiterer. “Oh, and who’s this strapping gentlebeast?” she beamed, stepping into the corridor a little. “I recognise you from this morning, sir wolf, but, forgive me, I didn’t catch your name.”
Standing nobly with his paws behind his back, Uther cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Howler Uther, marm.”
“Ah yes, of course you are. Thank you for saving me from that hyena brute, Howler Uther, most noble.”
“Oh well, weren’t nothing, marm. All in a day’s work, like.”
“I’m sure it is to such marvellous beasts,” Penny praised effortlessly. “We have your sort in Felicia too. Valours they call themselves. Oh, but I’m sure you know.”
“Yes, marm,” Uther said. “Taught us all that in the Academy, marm. Know your enemy.”
“Enemy?”
“In case of another war with Felicia marm. Uh, not that we’re gonna or anything.”
“Indeed, that was long long ago,” Penny sighed. “I pray we’ve learnt something from our ancest
ors’ mistakes.” Leaning to one side she peered round Uther, “Is… the other chap here as well?”
“Who?” Linus asked her.
“The tall white wolf.”
“Ivan?” Uther woofed. “Puh! No, no.”
“What a pity, Monty so wanted to shake his paw,” Penny tutted, adding, “Still, you’ll join us for dinner, won’t you, Howlers? It would cap Monty’s day.”
Uther began to make an excuse, “Well, uh, you see-”
“I insist on paying, of course,” Penny interrupted. “It’ll be on Monty and I.”
“On you?” Uther said, ears pricked.
“Absolutely! Well, we couldn’t possibly do otherwise after you saved my life. The very idea!”
Linus rocked on his feet, “That’s very kind, but I think we have other plans-”
“Don’t be so rude, Linus!” Uther chided. “We’re honoured to dine with our Felician neighbours!”
Linus blinked and stammered, “W-www-we are?”
“Of course we are!” Performing an overblown bow, fist pressed to substantial chest, Uther said, “You just let us know where and when and we’ll be right there, Mrs Buttle, on my honour as a Howler.”
Laughing gently, Penny admitted, “Well, as it happens, Monty and I are rather clueless as to where to wine and dine. We’re not Lupans, you see. Perchance you two gentlebeasts have a suggestion? The young otter downstairs is a dear, but his notion of a nice restaurant is a fish and chip shop and that just won’t cut it when wooing our investors.”
“I know just the place,” Uther claimed, raising a finger.
*
The otter at the reception desk looked up from tidying his lovely pearl display, nervously watching through the glass worktop as the Howlers descend the creaky stairs.
The stocky blonde one unexpectedly jogged over. “How much for a pearl, citizen?” he asked amiably.
The otter gulped. “Ey?”
“The pearls,” Linus clarified, “I’d like to buy one.”
Silence.
“Are they for sale?”
After a distended quiet, the young otter beamed, “Yah, they be fer sale!”
Uther moseyed over, paws in pockets. “What’re you doing now, Woodlouse?” he scoffed at Linus.
“Buying a pearl.”
“What for?”
A shrug, but then an answer, “I collect pearls,” Linus professed simply.
With a scratch of the head and wave of the paw, Uther left Linus to it. “Look, I’ll be outside, mate. Just hurry up, yeah?”
Uther pushed the door open and stepped out onto the noisy main street, awash with pedestrians, cars, trucks and a blue-green evening light. The Howler immediately took an ember from his case and popped it between his lips, puffing away whilst he watched a mouse with a long stick turn on the imperium gas street lamps one by one.
Uther’s ember had nearly fizzled away by the time Linus finally emerged from the Crab and Kettle. Reading Uther’s stormy, white-furred face, Linus immediately excused, “Sorry, but you have to haggle with otters.”
“Yeah and I bet he ripped you off still,” Uther growled, flicking his spent ember away. “Puh! Cheeky maggots they are. Dunno their place half of ‘em.”
Linus just guffawed noncommittally. Otters didn’t have a place, he felt; they were one of those midway races that didn’t fit tidily into Lupan conventions, being neither cowed by wolves, nor a threat to them. They ran the waterways of Lupa and knew their own worth, and unlike the displaced hogs and hyenas and many other races, whose lands had been swallowed up by Lupa and Felicia and so forth, the aquatic otters still held their own archipelago to the tropical south. They had cities, an intact history and a sense of belonging, which is perhaps what endowed them with such confidence.
“Come on, Woodlouse,” Uther said, hopping on his green monobike.
“Where to?” Linus replied, getting on the back.
“To The Beehive of course,” his partner tutted, adding, “Finally!”
“The Beehive? Isn’t that where you told Penny and Monty to meet us later?”
“It is, mate. Yeah.”
“But they won’t be there for hours.”
“Aye,” Uther confirmed, snapping on his goggles and passing Linus’s pair over the shoulder, “but we can get started and have proper fun before they turn up.”
Linus took his goggles, “We’d better be careful, Uther.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“Well, we’ll have to watch ourselves in front of them. I mean, they’re Felician royalty and Vladimir-”
“We’ll be good as gold!” Uther woofed, revving his Dragonfly into life and tearing down the road with Linus clinging on, the distant, hazy glow of Lupa’s dazzling Common Ground beckoning.
*
The ashen streets of Greystone territory never came clean, not even with rain. Lathes and steam hammers powered by imperium and guided by skilled paws constantly turned and beat metal by the ton, fashioning train and car, rail and wheel, pot, pan, knife and fork, anything and everything, spewing ash by day and by night.
All of Lupa polluted, every engine, mono and lamp contributed to the Ashfall, even Bruno played his small part whenever he cooked a meal for a customer, but the industrious Greystones stood right in the thick of it. Being located to the south, between the Bloodfangs and Eisbrands, the prevailing wind usually blew northeast, carrying the Ashfall over the Common Ground, towards the Bloodfangs and beyond to the Great Steppes. But just occasionally the wind would whip round and carry Lupa’s grey firmament southwest across the Eisbrand quarter and subject their citizens to a taste of Greystone life, this twisted landscape of brick and metal choked by the ash of a thousand furnaces, where piles of industrial junk clotted the alleyways and children of every race played amongst poisonous effluent. Bruno remembered it well; this is where Dad had found him, where he had played amidst ash drifts with long-gone friends. Since moving out he had never returned, not even passing through for fear of setting off his bad chest.
Feeling his airways contracting, Bruno picked up the pace. He rounded a corner and came upon his escape route – a familiar stretch of the mighty Lupan Wall.
A huge, ash-streaked, brick and concrete barricade crowned with grim crenulations and brutal-looking towers, the Lupan Wall cut discordantly through the otherwise ordinary streets like a great millipede, twisting and turning into the grey distance as far as the buildings and roofs would allow Bruno to see.
The true Lupan Wall, when beasts generally referred to it, was that which circled Lupa entire. However, sections ran within the city itself, dividing pack holdings. The stretch ahead of Bruno was the Greystone-Bloodfang wall, and on the other side of it lay Riddle District, The Warren and Dad. Bruno hoped his memory served anyway, he’d not been this way for years.
Jogging to the end of the next street, he spied a tunnel cut into the thick wall; just one of many that allowed beasts and trade to flow from one pack’s land to the next. Red banners fluttered on either side of the tunnel’s arching, brick-lined throat, each marked with a white circle encompassing a black wolfen skull and two red fangs – the Bloodfang crest. Greystone banners doubtless flew on the far side, advertising the way into their quarter just the same.
With pack relations running smoothly at the moment the gates were open. There was not even an arm barrier, just two Howlers on duty. The wolf on the Greystone side of the arch wore a dark yellow cloak, the wolf on the Bloodfang side red. Occasionally the Greystone stopped a passer-by and checked his or her papers and inside their coat, before waving them through. The Bloodfang seemed altogether uninterested in the living traffic.
Bruno mingled with the crowds and waited until the Greystone was busy searching someone’s luggage before slipping under the dark, dank archway.
The arch felt a mile long, every paw step a labour. Nearly there, Bruno, nearly there.
“Oi, you!”
Bruno cringed, but continued walking, head down, hoping it wasn’t him.
<
br /> “You, wolf in the coat! Halt in the name of the Republic!”
Bruno stopped, turned around and pointed at himself, innocently conveying, ‘Me?”
“Yeah, you!” the Greystone Howler snorted, beckoning him with a wave of the paw. “Come here!”
The Bloodfang Howler, meanwhile, turned to look at what his rival was doing.
Bruno slinked over to the Greystone; an athletic brown wolf armed to the teeth, his glowing brooch marked with the crest of his pack – a giant mechanical gear. Or was it a waterwheel? Bruno never could tell. Either way, the brooch was lovingly centred with a stone of bright yellow-imperium, which, whilst usually poisonous and unstable, had been tamed by way of some secret process privy only to the highest Greystone artisans.
Bruno couldn’t help noticing the two pistols strapped around the Howler’s thighs, not to mention the enormous imperium rifle slung at his back. Oh to have a pop of that!
“Yes, Howler?” Bruno sniffed, friendly as he could muster.
“Open yer coat then,” was the slightly snappy reply, as if Bruno ought to know to do so.
Bruno did as bidden and the Howler felt inside the pockets and checked the lining, frisking Bruno’s breeches too, no doubt searching for contraband. During his examination the Howler turned up Bruno’s pass and checked it.
“Bruno ‘Claybourne’?” he said curiously, looking inquisitively up at the giant Bruno.
“Yes, Howler.”
There was a long, tense quiet. The Howler checked the pass, then took a second, longer gander at Bruno.
“Not Casimir’s son?”
Bruno’s already jumpy heart performed a somersault, “Uh, which Casimir is that, sir?”
“The white rabbit. Used to run The Warren down my way. Got a limp.”
“I wouldn’t know-”
“Yeah, you’re his adopted son!” the Howler woofed, slapping Bruno on his mighty chest. “Mate! We used to play down the road every day, us and me big brother, ‘til you suddenly moved away without a bye nor leave.” He winked, “Changed your surname, I see. Used to be Cranbourne, when we were cubs. Still, that’s to be expected from a dodger, eh?”
