Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “No younger than Ulf was,” Janoah pointed out. Knocking back her drink she looked into the empty glass. “It’s the cruellest of his jokes – Ulf that is – endowing that husband of mine such strength and wit, yet zero ambition. If I’d only known what he was before I married him, or if he’d known himself for that matter. What fools we were. Nothing’s ever come of us. Nothing ever will.”

  The tall Vladimir came up behind Janoah and placed a big black and white paw on her left shoulder. “I’ve ambition,” he said, stroking Janoah’s sweet, red neck.

  “But no power,” she huffed.

  “Information is power. And my information says that Noss was bundled into a dark room and bribed to kill your husband by certain powerful wolves, not hyenas.”

  Janoah threw Vladimir’s paw from her shoulder, “I could’ve told you that this wasn’t THORN’s idea.”

  Raising a finger to beg Janoah’s patience, Vladimir poured himself a stiff drink. “You know, it is thought, by the conservatives amongst the packs,” he began, pointing at Janoah with same paw he held his tumbler with, “that if a cure for rot were affected tomorrow, by Rufus or anyone else, it would upset the natural order and bring about Lupa’s ruin.”

  Janoah let slip an incredulous scoff, “Ruin?”

  “White-imperium keeps us Howlers in check,” Vladimir said, rolling a paw. “We all learnt during the war that a wolf’s allegiance to their pack only lasts as long as the sting supply.”

  “Depends on the wolf.”

  “But for simplicity’s sake, imagine if a few Elders controlled the flow of all venom,” Vladimir posited. “They would be able to control the Howlers, enough of us at any rate to take Lupa. Those who wished to live would join the well-supplied uprising, any who didn’t would die on the streets within a month or two. If the Den Fathers were then eliminated and the structure of packs destroyed, all papers burnt, district boundaries redrawn, there would be no going back. When the white-imperium tap was turned on again it would be too late, Lupa would be a republic no longer, but an empire.”

  “A dictatorship,” Janoah corrected.

  “Semantics, Howler. Either way, a cure precludes such a grand plan, because if we don’t need imperium, we cannot be controlled by the packs or anyone else.”

  “So someone tried to kill Rufus because of a cure?”

  “No. That’s just their cover story.”

  Janoah folded her arms. “But you just said-”

  “Rufus is not alone,” Vladimir dismissed. “Professor Heath searches for a cure, Josef too; hundreds of beasts must. I myself dabble and nobody’s tried to kill me.”

  “Pity,” Janoah chuckled.

  The jibe pinged off Vladimir’s thick hide. “Noss didn’t believe in a cure,” he said, “but those who paid him claimed that their plans to take over Lupa would be in jeopardy if Rufus succeeded in his endeavours. Noss bought their lies, thinking he was dealing with utter fools. All he had to do was bomb Rufus, get paid, disappear, and never look back – there would be no repercussions.”

  “Except killing Rufus.”

  “Not even that. Ivan feels Noss’s heart wasn’t in it, and I agree. His legitimate reservations about using black-imperium should not have got in his way; he could have tossed his yellow-imperium bomb through the window and then shot Rufus and Ivan during the confusion. He didn’t, thus sparing them, he hoped, whilst still making a convincing attempt, or enough of one to persuade his contractors that he had followed through whilst he eloped with the cash. He had already sent his family ahead to be smuggled out of the Reservation, though somebody betrayed him. They clearly had no intention of letting Noss or his family get away with all that money thank you very much.”

  “Noss said all that, did he?” Janoah mocked.

  “I surmise somewhat. Either way, Noss was not dealing with fools, Janoah, and nor are we.”

  “I dunno, I might be looking at one.”

  Vladimir’s temper finally buckled. “These conspirators are hard, ruthless beasts, wolfess! They do not believe in a cure and they certainly did not send Noss after Rufus for so spurious a reason. They only wanted him to think so in the event of his capture. It is ash and mirrors, an artful deception!”

  Vladimir took a calming breath, and continued.

  “Noss didn’t see the big picture. He represents not only his tribe but all hyenas. Look at those barbarians, Lupans will now say. Even their prince has turned on the very wolf who loved him most, who once saved him from a sewer centipede! Can you imagine the papers tomorrow? It’ll be utter bile.”

  Janoah sucked her cheek, “More surmising?”

  “I… calculate. It’s what we do in this business, Janoah, as well you know.”

  “Fine, but what’s the point, Vladimir?” Janoah sighed, with one paw gnarled. “How does turning opinion against the hyenas, who are banged up on Reservations I might add, help anyone rule Lupa? Tell me that, if you’re so clever.”

  Vladimir attempted to do so. “Difficult times make strange bedfellows, Janoah. Even moderate hyenas may turn to violence under a harsher yoke. If the hyenas are sanctioned for this, and they will be, THORN will only grow stronger. Should they step-up their sabotaging of our railways and refineries, the venom shortage will only get worse, causing further disaffection amongst the wolf packs and helping the conspirators recruit venom-starved Howlers for an uprising. With one act of greed, Noss may have triggered the Republic’s fall.”

  Janoah took a moment to consider Vladimir’s hyperbole. “All right, I’m listening,” she said, calm as you like. “Who are these so-called ‘conspirators’?”

  “You know one. Intimately.”

  Janoah stood, baffled and expectant, the faces of a dozen wolves whirring through her mind like a carousel. At length, a smiling Vladimir stepped close and put her out of her misery.

  “Amael Balbus,” he whispered to her.

  Janoah recoiled. “Vladimir!” she spat, marching to the window in an exhibition of revulsion.

  “Shocking isn’t it?” Vladimir goaded, chasing after her, his muzzle close to her head. “Much like your acting! You need to work on that if we’re to survive.”

  “Amael’s no traitor!” Janoah snarled.

  Vladimir pulled back and swirled his drink, “Humph! You mean our glorious leader has never once whispered his ambitions to you during those long, cold nights in your arms? I find that very hard to believe.”

  “Amael has ambitions like any wolf,” Janoah hissed. “We all want to climb the slippery pole, everyone except my gallivanting husband, but there are acceptable ways these things are done. What you are accusing Amael of is high treason against the Republic!”

  “Noss is his accuser, not I.”

  “Oh, a beast will say anything on the rack!”

  Vladimir sniffed, “He wasn’t on the rack. He whispered it in my ear, the life of his wife and cubs forfeit should he lie. I know you were watching me.”

  Silence, but for a ticking carriage clock.

  “So why’d you hit him?” Janoah scoffed. “If you believed him then who was that for, me?”

  “You’re not the only actor on Lupa’s sordid stage. Even the two Howlers in the room had to think I didn’t believe a word Noss had told me; they could be Amael’s spies for all I know.”

  Silence reigned for a long and prickly tenure, broken only by Vladimir supping his drink.

  “If nothing else,” he said at last, “had Noss killed Rufus, Amael would now have you all to himself at last. Oh, he can’t marry you yet, but the marriage laws are unpopular and could be reversed someday.” Vladimir raised his glass, “What more reason would he need? What more reason would you?”

  “No!” Janoah spat. She looked down and around the room, at all Vladimir’s nice things, but seeing none of them for her thoughts. She stared out the window again, but saw nothing of the world beyond either. “This can’t be right. Amael knows Rufus is dear to me, despite everything. He would never….”

  She stumbled
to a silence, defeated.

  “I didn’t know!” Janoah growled anew. “I only laid with Amael in the first place to protect Rufus and get him his stupid expedition. One thing led to another and now he confides in me. It’s true, he does talk treason, king this and emperor that, but I swear to Ulf, Vladimir, I am not part of any plot. I just humour him to get what I want. I… I had him down as an idle dreamer! All he does is bleat and moan about Vito. I’ve never seen him do anything concrete. Do you think I’d let him kill my Rufus? I love that wolf!”

  Vladimir raised a paw to Janoah’s panicked rant. “I believe you,” he assured her. “Would you offer to lay with me to get Rufus a sting if you planned to kill him? You’re good, but you’re not that thorough, Valerio.”

  Valerio let out a sigh of relief and laughed a little, “The things I do for my fool of a husband.”

  “Indeed,” Vladimir seconded. “Now, I suggest you start taking Amael’s bleating seriously. He means to act. How and when I don’t know, but something’s afoot.”

  “I’m done with him.”

  “No. You must continue as you are and gather evidence against him. We both must.”

  Janoah whirled on Vladimir, “Are you mad? Let’s go straight to ALPHA and expose his plot.”

  “What plot? We do not have any proof.”

  “They’ll get a warrant to raid his offices. They’ll turn up something.”

  “And if they don’t we’re finished!”

  Janoah huffed, “Den Father Vito then. I know he’s a mad old drooler, but he can still strip Amael of his position for any reason he sees fit.”

  “And how do you propose we get an audience with Vito without Amael or one of his spies hearing about it first? Noss saw dozens of wolves at the table, most of whom he didn’t recognise. This conspiracy is already enormous. Besides, Amael’s a hero, with an excellent record running Riddle, everyone respects him. Without hard evidence he would be believed over two ambitious nobodies and a mad hyena.”

  “A dead, mad hyena,” Janoah added.

  “Quite. If we break cover now and fail to make the charges stick, we will be snatched off the street one dark night and sent to the bottom of the Lupa.”

  Janoah ran a paw over her ruddy muzzle, “Then what do we do? Stand by and let them take over?”

  Vladimir strolled around his room, equally flummoxed. “I don’t know yet. I don’t know who we can trust.” He glanced sideways at his guest, “I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

  “For Ulf’s sake.”

  “You could crawl into Amael’s arms and turn me in.”

  “What do you want me to say, Oromov?”

  “Not say,” Vladimir breathed, suggesting, “but perhaps you could let me in?”

  “In? Into what?”

  Oromov smirked, “You almost had me fooled, Janoah. Bruno must be something special for you to engineer his disappearance. Pure-blood is he? Yes, thought so. What’re you and Josef planning? Are you two going to sell him to the highest bidder, or does the good doctor just want to experiment on him?”

  Silence.

  “Well?”

  At last, Janoah raised her chin and said with a distinct smirk on her deceptively delicate muzzle, “I’ll tell you… if you tell me what you’re planning to do with old Nossypoos.”

  Vladimir actually laughed. “It appears, Janoah, that we’re conjoined at the hip by our mutual need. Perhaps we should make the best of a bad situation?”

  Slowly, Janoah turned and moseyed up to her fellow Grand Howler, cupping her paws over his cloaked chest. “Ever the pragmatist, aren’t you Vladimir?”

  “Humph!”

  Peeling Vladimir’s tumbler from his fingers, Janoah downed the remaining brandy in one impressive gulp and tossed it over her shoulder onto the sofa. Vladimir emitted a slight wolfen whine of alarm as his antique crystal glassware bounced precariously on the red pillows. Janoah unpinned Oromov’s brooch and tossed that onto the sofa too, his imperium-weave mantle slipping away from his powerful, scarred shoulders that had seen many a battle and hardship. She kissed those old wounds, worked her way up his neck, up under his muzzle.

  Finally, something snapped in the reserved Vladimir and he embraced Janoah by the dim glow of imperium light.

  Chapter 14

  Amael Balbus poured himself a stiff drink and stood before his plush office window. It was a snowy, early spring morning and Lupa’s streets and spires were blanketed in white, looking cleaner and healthier for it. Just an illusion of course, beneath the pristine mask Lupa was still rotten, the streets piled high with garbage and ash. Just like the packs themselves – noble Howlers led by degenerates and fools who were outwardly respectable, but who embezzled money and laid with lowlifes. The well-being of the wolfen race was the last thing on most of their petty, disgusting minds.

  One day I’ll wash them all into the river, along with the rubbish. Lupa will be cleansed.

  Brrrring! Brrrring!

  Putting aside his drink and dreams, Amael grabbed the phone with a steel-grey paw. “Yes?” he grunted, before clearing his throat and saying more clearly, “What is it, Boris?”

  “Grand Prefect Nikita’s here to see you, sir,” said his loyal adjutant,

  Amael’s scoffed, “Nikita?

  “From ALPHA, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, but what does he want?” Amael snapped, then spoke quietly, “Is it about you know what-”

  “No, sir,” Boris interjected firmly. “No, he’s here with…. I’m sorry, what’s your name, sir?”

  “Silvermane,” someone crackled in the background.

  Boris came back with, “Grand Prefect Silvermane, sir.”

  Amael’s veins ran as cold as the frost painted on the windowpanes. Those thoughts trampled through his mind again, the ones that robbed him of sleep most nights.

  The game’s up. They’re going to drag me out of here and throw me before the Den Fathers. Then I’ll be executed in the manner reserved for treasonous Howlers; staked out alive in the wastes for the great ants to feast upon. Better to shoot yourself now, Amael, and take that intolerable ALPHA bastard with you whilst you’re at it, the double-crossing son of a-

  No! Calm down, it could be about anything. Right?

  “Shall I send them through, sir?” Boris asked at length, like Amael had any choice in the matter, as if ALPHA’s Grand Prefects hadn’t the run of almost every Den in Lupa.

  Amael recovered the power of speech, “Yes, yes of course. I’ll meet them in the Elder Chamber.”

  “They’re already on their way,” Boris confirmed, as Nikita and Silvermane’s boot steps squeaked into the distance. “One more thing, sir. They want me to send for Valerio.”

  Amael frowned, “Rufus?”

  “Janoah, sir.”

  More thoughts. Has she betrayed me? Is she coming to denounce me? That bitch!

  “What do you want me to do, sir?”

  “Just… do whatever they want,” Amael said with a gulp.

  Boris sensed Amael’s anxiety down the line. “I’m sure it’s nothing to do with… all that, sir,” he whispered. “There are no Prefects with them to make any arrests.”

  Amael grunted, “There’s time for some to arrive yet, Boris. Keep an eye out the window. If any ALPHA bikes pull up, let my phone ring twice and get out. Understood?”

  “But if Nikita’s here-”

  “He’d betray us to save his own skin! Now go.”

  “Sir.”

  Setting down the phone with shaking paws, the Elder finished his drink in one gulp and grabbed his glorious silvery helmet from his armour stand. Looking in his ornate full-length mirror he adjusted his cloak and brooch and placed his helmet over his head. If he was going to fall, he was going to look noble one last time.

  With a deep breath, Amael opened his desk drawer and took out a silver pistol – for himself. Holstering it by his tail, he vacated his office and headed through Riddle Den. He had started a Howler and worked his way up to Elder in this miser
able place, but was this as high as he was destined to climb? He had played the game, they all played the game, but few with stakes as high as Amael.

  Through the waiting room he strode, exchanging worried looks with Boris keeping watch at the window, then down the long, grand corridor to the Elder Chamber, the silent paintings on the walls staring at him, their imperious eyes judging him down through the ages.

  The long-cloaked Den Guards opened the chamber doors without provocation; the thought crossed Amael’s mind that these same guards that had sworn to protect him might be tying his paws in a minute. It wouldn’t be their fault, Amael told himself, they would just be doing their duty as you would.

  Inside the chamber, sitting on the finest chair reserved for Den Father Vito’s rare visits to Amael’s district, with his legs up on the table just to add to the insult, was a huge wolf dressed entirely in black. Cloak, armour and helm, even the brooch, all of it was as black as black-imperium itself. Only the symbol etched into the brooch dared break rank; it was a stylised ‘A’ glowing white with that purest, most valuable form of imperium. What could be seen of the wolf’s fur coat was mottled brown and white and heavily muscled, his two-toned arms home to enormous biceps.

  “Grand Prefect Nikita,” Amael said, saluting, fist to chest then out, albeit rather lacklustre.

  “Elder Amael,” Nikita replied, with but a wave. There was a distinct pause before he added, “This is Grand Prefect Silvermane.”

  Amael turned to the silver-furred fellow standing behind Nikita; he looked every bit the wolf in his prime as well – an imperium fuelled wolf, that is.

  “Pleasure, Elder Amael,” Silvermane said silkily.

  After a nod, Amael dared ask, “What brings you to my district, Prefects?”

  “I do not like to repeat myself, Amael,” Nikita said, his thick, Great Steppes accent as warm and smooth as melted chocolate.

  Wolves who had grown up on the Steppes and only later learnt Lupan tended to talk clearly, even deliberately, but often dropped connective words when speaking the official language of the Lupine Continent – Nikita was such a wolf.

  “We wait for Grand Howler Janoah,” he said. “Your adjutant, Boris, has gone to fetch her. I am sure they will be only minute or two. Then we talk.”