Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “Really? Huh! I never knew that.”

  “It still depends somewhat on rank. The matriarchs have consistently denounced THORN, though without a queen amongst them it seems nobody is paying them any mind.”

  “Queen, sir?”

  Linus spread a paw, “The hyenas have queens, but no kings; just princes of the blood that are allowed to sire a queen’s cubs. But there are no royal hyenas left amongst the tribes. Their last queen died lately and her only serious heir, Princess Arjana Jua-mata, is still missing, along with the cubs that the late Prince Noss fathered.”

  Werner snorted, “Arjana Jua-whata?”

  “Jua-mata. It’s a tribe.”

  “Huh! You’re a wellspring of knowledge, sir.”

  “It springs from Rufus, originally,” Linus admitted. “Anyway, keep talking. As long as they’re looking at us they won’t be looking for Uther. He’s sure taking his time.”

  Even as he spoke, Linus’s attention was drawn behind by the popping engines of several monobikes and an imposing motorised carriage, all marked up in Bloodfang livery. After waiting for the Politzi to let them through, they headed for the refinery gates and parked up nearby.

  “That’ll be Grand Howler Vladimir,” Linus said, with a slightly nervous sigh. “Keep trying,” he told Werner, hurrying over to the motorcade.

  “Will do,” the pig saluted.

  The car door opened and Grand Howler Vladimir emerged in his white cloak and silver armour. Pocketing his golden pen and throwing a file on the back seat, he nodded at the saluting Linus and asked, “What’s the situation, Mills?”

  Linus explained, “Hyenas thought to be from THORN have taken over the refinery, sir. They’ve a few dozen hostages-”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. What’ve you done about it?”

  “Werner has the refinery surrounded, Grand Howler.”

  “By Politzi?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  One of the Howlers accompanying Vladimir passed him his silver helmet and he carefully, even reverently, slipped it over his black and white face. “No other Howlers at your disposal, Linus?”

  “No, sir,” he replied, looking at the reinforcements. “Uther and I were the only ones here, until now.”

  “And where is Uther, dare I ask?”

  Linus hesitated a moment, “He went inside, sir.”

  “Inside?”

  “Scouting, sir. I’m sure he’ll be back any minute.”

  Vladimir grunted disapprovingly, “Humph.”

  Linus thought he should explain, “As you know, Grand Howler, these THORN militants have a record of killing themselves to avoid capture. So Uther and I thought maybe we could find something out before the… uh….”

  “The inevitable insane climax?”

  “I suppose so, sir.”

  Vladimir squinted across at Werner, “What in Ulf’s name is that cretin doing up there?”

  Linus glanced over, “N-nnn-negotiating, sir.”

  Vladimir actually guffawed, “Negotiating! Don’t be ridiculous. Get him down at once.”

  “Y-y-yes, sir.”

  Whilst Linus hurried off to coax Werner down from his soapbox, Vladimir was joined by a member of his motorcade, a tall white wolf in black Howler uniform.

  “Permission to go in, sir,” he said hopefully.

  “Denied, Donskoy.”

  “But Uther-”

  “Is big and ugly enough to look after himself,” Vladimir interjected, before soothing Ivan’s ego, “I don’t want both Riddle’s best wolves traipsing around in there when I may need you out here at any moment.”

  Ivan parleyed, “Well, at least let me scout the perimeter and get a feel for the situation, sir.”

  This Vladimir allowed – he had to let Ivan do something, if only to shut him up.

  Despite being soaked to the bone from riding his beautiful black Giacomo Valerio Spider all the way from Riddle Den, Captain Ivan still pulled his hood up to guard against the rain, or perhaps just to look even more menacing. Vladimir watched the black-clad white wolf join Linus and Werner just inside the refinery grounds. After a brief exchange, Ivan moved on, disappearing amongst ore silos and outbuildings controlled by the Politzi.

  Ivan hadn’t long gone when a brown-furred Politzi rabbit bounded across the road towards Vladimir with something in his paws.

  “Grand Howler Vladimir!” he gasped, nearly tripping over in his haste.

  “Yes, Claybourne, what is it?”

  “Sir!” the rabbit said, respectfully holding forth a bundle of red cloth, as if it were an orphaned baby.

  Vladimir barely looked at it, “What’ve you got there?”

  “The terrorists… threw it off the roof at us, sir,” the Politzi explained, amidst an ill-timed gulp. “It’s a Howler’s Helmet and mantle, sir; all banged up it is.”

  Now he had Vladimir’s attention. The Grand Howler took the bundle and opened it up. Inside was a mangled grey Helmet with white cheeks. It looked like it had been run over by a car.

  “We think it’s Trooper Uther’s, sir,” the rabbit said.

  Nodding, Vladimir looked across at the smoking refinery. “Was there a message?” he asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No, sir. No sign of Howler Uther either, sir.”

  “I see.”

  “What do we do, sir?”

  “Not much we can do, constable. Let’s just hope they killed him quickly.”

  Linus hurried over; Vladimir presented the sad bundle to him. Even with his face obscured by his helmet, one could sense a change come over Howler Mills as he recognised the equipment. After an eternity of staring, he took the red cloak and helm in his trembling golden fingers.

  “It’s Uther’s,” Vladimir explained.

  Shaking his head a little, Linus looked around, searching for the wolf himself. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “The hyenas threw that off the roof, I’m told,” Vladimir explained. “We don’t yet know what’s become of Uther. Do we Constable Claybourne?”

  Surprised to be consulted, the Politzi rabbit took a while to respond, “Uh, no sir.”

  “But we can guess,” Vladimir sighed, cupping a paw to Linus’s shoulder and saying again, “I’m sorry.”

  Squirming free of Vladimir’s conciliatory paw, Linus growled, “Don’t say that!”

  Under the strenuous circumstances, Vladimir allowed his subordinate’s terse response to go unchecked.

  In desperation, Linus searched inside the folds of Uther’s cloak. Putting the smashed helmet down, he opened the torn, muddied cloak.

  “What’re you doing, Mills?” Vladimir asked sharply.

  “Well, wasn’t there a-a-a note or a demand or something?” he stammered. “There’s no blood, look!” he added hopefully. “He must be all right. I’ll try and talk to them-”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Vladimir barked at once.

  “What?”

  The Grand Howler patiently explained. “Linus, we cannot negotiate for Uther’s sake. To negotiate with THORN is to invite further attacks. I will not set such a precedent.”

  “But… but they might kill him, sir.”

  Vladimir spread a paw, “He knew the risks.”

  Linus scoffed in disbelief, blue eyes darting to and fro beneath his hood and helm. “B-b-but you can’t do that!” he snarled, “You can’t just w-www-write him off-”

  Vladimir stepped forward and clouted Linus around the head, sending the stocky wolf staggering sideways more out of surprise than force.

  “Remember whom you address!” Vladimir snarled. “I’ll have you flogged to within an inch of your life if you speak out of turn again, you disgraceful whelp!”

  There was a pause as Linus gathered his wits.

  “I’m s-sss-sorry, Grand Howler,” he growled, ears flattened against his hooded skull, “but… I-I-I really must insist we negotiate. If Grand Howler Rufus were here he would open dialogue with the hyenas.”


  Vladimir towered over him. “By Ulf, are you mad?” he said, his tone dangerously low. “Do you want to live out the rest of your natural life shovelling imperium down Gelb?”

  “N-nnn-no sir, but-”

  “Then back down, you foolish, arrogant pup!”

  “But, sir-”

  “Linus!”

  Slowly, with Uther’s frayed cloak still grasped in his trembling fingers, Linus cupped his paws behind his back and stood to attention, eyes forward.

  “Sir,” he acknowledged shakily.

  At once relieved and disgusted, Vladimir turned his cheek to him. “Uther would be ashamed of you, disgracing yourself in this manner,” he growled, firm but measured. “I have known him longer than you and I assure you he would not countenance our begging for his life. He’s better than that, as are you. Do you understand?”

  Linus nodded, a little at first, but then vigorously. “Yes, sir. I-I-I understand, sir,” he seethed, secretly gripping Uther’s cloak tightly in his paws to vent his frustration. Despite his fury, Linus took a shaky breath and sealed his submission, “I’m sorry, Grand Howler. I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive my transgression.”

  Mollified, Vladimir felt a pang of sympathy. “Very well, I’ll forget this lapse of judgement,” he said, adding, “Take five minutes, Howler.”

  “I’m all right, sir.”

  “That’s an order! Have an ember.”

  “I don’t s-sss-smoulder, sir.”

  “Well, sit down or something,” Vladimir insisted, opening his smart motor carriage door and shepherding Linus onto the plush seat. He beckoned the Politzi rabbit, “Constable, look after Howler Mills. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid whilst I’m gone.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. I’ve a phone call to make. If there’s any developments come find me at once. Understood?”

  “Uh, yes Grand Howler. Right away, sir.”

  Vladimir strode off to requisition the nearest telephone, leaving Linus to pick up Uther’s mangled helm and sit with it on his lap.

  “It’s m-mmm-my fault,” the young Howler said, rolling Uther’s battered eisenglanz helmet over in his paws, “I should’ve gone in with him, or stopped him.”

  Constable Claybourne wasn’t sure if he was being addressed by the Howler, but Linus had a growing reputation for being approachable.

  “It’s not your fault, sir,” the rabbit hazarded. “Howler Uther’s a daring wolf. You can’t tell him what to do.”

  “No.”

  “We’ve all got to take risks, sir, for the sake of Lupa. Why, my uncle Casimir never wanted me to join the Politzi, but I told him life’s for living, not hiding in no warren!”

  “Yes, of course,” Linus sniffed; mortified he was being given a pep-talk by a little beast.

  Someone loomed over the odd pair, armoured feet crunching on the ashen ground, someone tall and full of imperious fire – Linus could feel his corona buzzing in the air like a swarm of mosquitoes.

  He looked up and through his distorted, salty tears the elegant form of Howler Ivan.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Sir. It’s Uther sir, they got him.”

  A pause. Ivan turned to the refinery, cast his icy eyes up the towering chimneys. “If Vladimir asks,” he said, “you haven’t seen me.”

  Chapter 16

  Professor Heath grasped either side of the lectern in his great hoary bear paws as he finished addressing the small crowd seated in the hall.

  “And so it is with great pleasure,” he declared, “that I bestow my colleague and friend of many years now with the Quin Medal for his outstanding contribution to the field of imperiology.”

  The big bear turned to his smaller wolfen colleague and shook paws, “Congratulations, Rufus.”

  Rufus nodded and bowed graciously; he wasn’t used to wearing a suit and the collar and cravat were stifling, but nothing could wipe the smile off his face today. Heath hung the shining silver Quin Medal around his neck. They posed for the photographer amidst a chorus of applause.

  Rarely had a Howler been so honoured, and rarely would Rufus have another opportunity to address so influential a crowd and be noticed. Time to make a splash.

  “I’d like to thank Professor Heath and the faculty of the Ark for putting up with me all these years,” Rufus joked, upon taking the stand, “as well as countless others who have been there for me over the years, both in the lab and, of course, in the line of duty… for I am a Howler, when all is said. You wouldn’t believe the time I had trying to find a suit that fit me as snugly as my dirty old mantle.”

  Much laughter.

  Rufus glanced down at his medal, admiring the geometric, mathematical shapes embossed into its face, then cocked his head to one side. “Appreciated as this is, dear friends, and though my work has helped to extend the lifetimes of the afflicted, a true cure eludes me. I always thought it would be for that I would win the Quin Medal, though I’m not averse to a second.”

  Some laugher.

  “Of course, with a true cure may come true change,” Rufus continued. “The power I and my Howler brethren wield would diminish if a method to forever block or flush imperium from our bodies were to be found. The imperious fire, as we colloquially call it from ages past, so long at our fingertips that Lupan civilisation cannot easily recall life before it, would, if we choose to free ourselves of its taint, be ours to command directly no more. Indeed, perhaps the cure is to cease abusing imperium itself. When burnt in our furnaces and fashioned unnaturally by us, ash and black-imperium is the result, raining down from the sky, ruining land, crops and lives. Hundreds of thousands of beasts die from its effects every year, not least the hyenas forced unjustly to live in unbearable conditions on the Reservations.”

  Silence, coughs, shuffles.

  “Surely a cleaner, less destructive way of living in comfort can be found; an imperium-free future. That idea frightens some of my Howler kind, as does a cure, but after some twenty-five years now of knowing great power with greater pain, I can tell you I would rather live longer, love longer, and watch my friends and I grow old, than have beasts tremble and cross the street when they see my terrible eyes.”

  Rufus looked at a paw, cocked his head.

  “One’s corona is a marvellous tool… yet cold comfort for those in want of love, and the strength it bestows no substitute for the power of the mind. For you see, every day machines advance, every day power trickles down from the chosen few into the paws of the many, like sand through our fingers. An imperium rifle fires as accurately in a mouse’s paw as a Howler’s, and a dirigible flies under any captain, however meek. The age of the Howlers and their peers elsewhere in the world, the Valours, the Koda, the Chakaa and so on, will come to an end someday as the weak gain their own powers through science and technology; technology waiting to be found in the Dead Cities. You laugh, but the achievements of our ancestors are there. Their ghosts wait for us to come and pick up the pieces, read their messages, and perhaps heed their warning before Lupa, and all of us, join them in everlasting, black silence.”

  Rufus shrugged and scratched a ruddy, grey-tipped ear.

  “That’ll do. If I bang on much longer I risk us all being hauled off and ‘re-educated’.”

  Professor Health laughed, which allowed others to join in, and soon everyone was clapping. Strength in numbers protected them, made them brave; the powers that be couldn’t disappear everyone.

  After the inevitable book signings and paw-shakings, Rufus managed to slip out the hall and through the university to his office, whereupon he immediately removed his cravat and unbuttoned his collar. The trappings of academia didn’t fit the well-sculpted body of a Howler, just bending one’s arms was difficult.

  Rufus had just broken an ember out and poured a stiff drink when the office door opened to a very-well sculpted Howler dressed entirely in black. For an instant, Rufus thought he really was about to be re-educated, but the intruder removed her helmet,
revealing a familiar red-furred beauty.

  “Jan!” Rufus chirped pleasantly. “You gave me a fright.”

  “I’m not surprised after that speech,” she replied grimly, stepping inside and closing the door. “They won’t print a word of it.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Then why even say it?”

  Rufus shrugged and raised his glass. “Because I have a conscience?” he guessed cheerily, knocking it back.

  Janoah narrowed her eyes, “Conscience? To agitate the little beasts and perhaps spark an uprising that would lead to death and destruction is… conscionable? Your lack of moral judgement astounds me, husband.”

  “It’s good we can still surprise one another after fifteen years of marriage.”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Is it? Seems longer somehow.”

  Janoah sat on the desk and huffed, “Your brain is atrophying from the rot.”

  “I’d best effect a cure then,” Rufus replied, “then we’ll have another fifteen years to surprise each other yet.”

  “Fourteen!”

  “Forty?” Rufus suggested cheekily. “Anyway, I thought your glorious leader, ‘the Alpha’ was a reformist like me.”

  “The Alpha seeks reform, not anarchy,” Janoah clarified. “What you spout is dissident talk, and if it wasn’t for fools like me persuading certain wolves that your scientific acumen outweighs your political ineptitude, you would’ve been dragged before the courts and sorted out with a stint down Gelb by now.”

  “ALPHA’s got nothing on me,” Rufus growled. “Now, dear wife, what can I do for you?”

  Janoah spread a paw on her chest, “Me? I merely came to congratulate my husband on his intellectual accolade.”

  “Really?” Rufus beamed.

  “Hahaha! Nooo.”

  Hopping off the desk, Janoah threw a file before Rufus; she was always brimming with files before becoming a Prefect, but it had gotten worse of late.

  Like Janoah’s brooch, the folder was stamped with the crest of ALPHA; a black ink circle cut by a stylised capital A whose crossbar rose from left foot to centre-right flank. The stamp meant it was an offence against ALPHA for Rufus to so much as peek inside, as it would be any other pack’s secret files. Nonetheless he wordlessly opened it up and several grainy photos spilled out.