Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “Of course, sir.”

  Linus removed his helmet; Rufus winked at him, “Very dashing.”

  ‘Good Ulf, is he trying to make me uncomfortable on purpose?’ Linus thought.

  They walked on, coming to the doors and the Howlers standing guard, who opened the way.

  A cacophony of chitchat and laughter, cutlery and crystal flooded into the silent hallway. Rufus led the charge, battling the noisy current. Linus tagged nervously along, eyes wide, ears pricked, taking in the magnificent spread and the rows of smartly-dressed guests. Beasts of every sort, though wolves in the main, looked up from their dainty starters and delicate wine glasses. Upon recognising the Howlers they immediately started whispering to one another. Were they saying good things or bad things? After what had just occurred at the front door, Linus’s gut leant towards the latter.

  “Rufus!” said a relatively small old bear who was dressed like a teacher. He stood up from the table and intercepted the famous Howler with a paw-shake and a warm smile. “There you are, I was getting worried.”

  “Heath, old friend,” Rufus said simply, adding, “Thorvald first, all right?”

  “Oh yes, protocol. Carry on, carry on.”

  Linus noticed a little black wolfess who had stood up with the bear. She beamed broadly at Rufus. He returned the gesture with a nod and paw-shake, before marching towards the head of the table.

  The wolfess looked at Linus, her eyes exploring him.

  She smiled politely.

  Linus forced a quick smile that in his own mind came out more like a ridiculous gurn. Eyes down and throat cleared, he hurried after Rufus.

  “Who’s that?” he heard the wolfess say behind him.

  “Not sure,” replied the bear, adding, “Tristan said Rufus had found someone new.”

  “New?”

  “Well a… a companion. You know what he’s like.”

  Oblivious, or indifferent, Rufus made the head of the table and immediately prostrated himself on one knee beside the magnificently-dressed wolf seated there.

  “Den Father Thorvald,” he said.

  “Rufus!” laughed the old wolf, his grizzled grey features lighting up. “You’re late, you rogue.”

  “Apologies, sir. Something cropped up.”

  Linus arrived and also knelt, head down. Whatever pack they belonged to, whatever one thought of them or their policies, every Howler beneath a Den Father was required to display reverence. Anything less would get you in trouble with one’s own pack for ‘upsetting the peace’.

  “Stand up, stand up,” Thorvald insisted, waving a paw, “I’ll not have a wolf who won the Imperium Heart stay on his knees.”

  Rufus rose.

  Linus stayed kneeling, until Rufus tapped him with his foot, then he got up.

  “Not wearing the heart, I see,” Thorvald noted, looking at Rufus’s cloaked chest, it was devoid of decoration beyond the usual brooch. “This is a special occasion, Howler; you’re supposed to flaunt your accolades with pride.”

  “In the rush to be at your side I forgot,” Rufus dismissed.

  “Oh really?” the Den Father said, not fooled for a moment of course. “And what is it that ‘cropped up’?”

  “Touch of the rot, sir.”

  “Ah.”

  “I was in a bad way,” Rufus maintained, turning to Linus and winking at him. “Luckily young Linus here found me in the middle of the attack. He sorted me out, but we lost half an hour whilst I gathered myself. Rather embarrassing.”

  “But-” Linus began.

  Rufus kicked his gaitered shin.

  “Linus Mills,” Thorvald mused, tipping his head back in a knowing sort of way. “Yes, I hear great things about you. Brave fellow.”

  Linus nodded, “I’m honoured Den Father, but-”

  “But we should take our seats,” Rufus finished. “No doubt there’s many beasts waiting to speak tonight.”

  “Yes yes, quite right,” Thorvald agreed, adding, “Have you something for our ears, Rufus?”

  “I’ve always something to say. You know that.”

  “Hah! Indeed.”

  “Den Father.”

  With a reverent bow for Thorvald, Rufus led Linus back down the table, past numerous guests, to the two empty spaces beside Heath and the little black wolfess in a green blazer.

  “Room for two more?” he said.

  Professor Heath, at least Linus assumed he was the great Professor Heath, stood up again, “Yes yes, take your seats. I’ll have them bring your starters.”

  “No, don’t worry. We’ll go straight for the main course.”

  “You sure, Rufus?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Heath peered over his little spectacles at the stocky blonde wolf accompanying Rufus, “So, who’s this fellow?”

  “This is Linus.”

  “Linus? Oh! The clever one?”

  Rufus ruffled Linus’s ears like a cub, “Yes. He’s very bright. Right up your alley; knows all about bugs.”

  “Does he indeed?” Heath said appreciatively.

  Linus extended a paw, “Honour to meet you, sir. I-I-I’ve read all your work.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, sir, yours and Rufus’s.”

  Heath hiked his hoary brow in surprise. “Well, at least someone has, eh Rufus?” he joked.

  He and Rufus laughed aloud.

  Linus and Sara shared covert looks and smiles before Heath remembered his manners. “Ah, yes, uh Linus, this is my dear friend and star pupil, Sara Hummel,” he said, placing his big paws on her tiny shoulders. “She’s into bugs too,” he whispered, as if it were something illicit, “Especially bees.”

  “Aye, we’re all mad here,” Sara chirped, raising a glass.

  Linus smiled at her, barely managing a, “Miss,” then clearing his throat.

  Sara nodded graciously, but spoke to Rufus, “You look well, Howler.”

  “Do I?” Rufus replied. “Must be the thought of an evening in your radiant presence, my dear, sweet girl.”

  “Och, you flatterer! Away with ye.”

  “Hahaha! How’s your mother?”

  Sara nodded, “As well as can be.”

  Rufus gruffed, “Good, good. Been too long.”

  With introductions and greetings made, Rufus set about making trouble. “I’m sure Sara doesn’t want to be sandwiched between two old fogeys all night when there’s a strapping young gentlebeast to be had,” he said. “Heath, you move over here next to me and let Linus sit in your place. That way we can talk business and leave these two youngsters to get acquainted.”

  “Oh, very well,” Heath replied.

  “Ah don’t mind being stuck between you,” Sara said, as Rufus moved Heath’s half-eaten food past her nose to the furthest empty space. “Really.”

  “Nonsense!” Rufus woofed, deftly swapping the cutlery and the wine glasses too.

  By the time the Howler had finished and sat down, the arrangement went Heath, himself, Sara and Linus.

  Linus could not politely object, and thus sat. He felt sidelined, dumped on the end as far away from the great Professor Heath as possible. Rufus obviously wanted to be surrounded by his fellow trained scientists tonight, Linus thought, not some enthusiast.

  It’s enough you’re here at all, his conscience reminded him, be grateful.

  Then again, maybe I should’ve gone with Uther.

  The waiter poured his wine. He drank some, settled down, watched, listened. Sara and Professor Heath hung on Rufus’s every word as he described what had happened last week, mostly regarding the giant centipede. When Rufus got round to mentioning THORN, Miss Sara tugged on his mantle and whispered something.

  Reaching into her green blazer she produced a bit of crumpled paper and passed it to Rufus.

  The Grand Howler stared for an age.

  Linus couldn’t see what it was, and Rufus soon tucked it away. He supposed it was something to do with the university and none of his business.

  So, this i
s Rufus’s other life, Linus thought, the one Elder Amael and many others frowned upon. The Eisbrands and the intellectuals they protected, these beasts with strange ideas about the rot and where intelligent creatures had originated, were not to be fraternised with beyond what was necessary for cordiality – yet Rufus had a chair here, even lectured on occasion. Were he any less of a wolf he would’ve been sent down years ago for dissident behaviour, or so Linus had been told by anyone with an opinion. Linus wondered if he too would be frowned upon for attending such an event. He wondered if he wanted to be. It sounded a strangely alluring badge of honour.

  “Howler Linus?” someone exclaimed opposite.

  Linus looked up from his drink and musings. “Monty Buttle?” he said, almost spitting his wine all over an ice sculpture of a butterfly on a flower.

  “Hahaaaa! It is you!” Montague Buttle laughed, slapping a paw on the table, making the fine spread wobble. He shook his wife’s shoulder, drawing her attention away from a conversation with rotund hog in a suit.

  “What is it, Monty?” the catess hissed irritably.

  “Sweetpea, it’s Howler Linus, look! Remember him?”

  Penny cupped a paw to her frilly, laced chest. “Oh! Howler Linus, but of course I remember.”

  “What’re you doing here, sir?” Monty demanded.

  Linus explained, “I uh… I’m with Rufus, sir.”

  “Rufus? What’s a Rufus?”

  “Sara’s Howler friend, dear,” Penny tutted quietly, pointing discreetly at Rufus, who remained oblivious to the Buttles as he chatted away with Sara and Professor Heath. “You know, the famous imperiologist? Professor Heath’s colleague? We met during one of our demonstrations.”

  “Oh yes!” Monty recalled. “Capital fella.”

  Penny rolled her eyes, “You’ve a memory like a sieve these days. Honestly.”

  “I remembered young Linus, didn’t I?”

  Linus nodded, “You did, sir. To my honour.”

  “To his honour, he says! Did you hear that, Pen? I love the way this chap talks. Like someone from the Dark Age.”

  Penny laughed, perhaps only to smooth over any offence caused, not that Linus felt any.

  “Oh, but we meet so many beasts now Sweetpea,” Monty sighed, flapping a ginger paw dismissively. “I can’t keep track of them all. That’s your job. You’re our ambassador.”

  “Next you’ll be asking me to make your speeches,” Penny complained.

  “Never! I’ve got it all squirrelled away up here.” Monty tapped his skull. “I know me dirigibles like my own paw. Even when I’m reduced to a gibbering wreck, infirm from old age, and you’re pushing me about the farm in a wheelchair, my dear, I’ll still know how to slap an imperium gas balloon together and fly. Isn’t that right, Linus?”

  “Oh, uh, ah… absolutely,” he replied with a nod. “Do you ever take passengers up, Mr. Buttle?”

  “Passengers?” Mr. Buttle bellowed. “Passengers! But of course, my good wolf. That’s the whole point. Quick connection from country to country, crossing seas and impassable forests, shrinking the world.” The cat made a flying motion with a fork as he talked, “Buttle Skyways; from here to there by air! It’s the future of travel. Right Sweetpea?”

  Penny sipped her wine and addressed Linus, “Once we have enough investors to open the factory again we can start producing a fleet. Then the ticket prices will come down and before you know it dirigibles will be the norm.”

  “That’s why we came, really,” Monty chuckled, leaning across the table and attempting to whisper, even though he was incapable of any such thing, “to find beasts bold enough to invest in our little enterprise. Yes. Our coffers are rather empty at the moment, I’m afraid.”

  “But I saw you on the news reels,” Linus said, spreading his blonde paws. “You were flying over Lupa.”

  “Ah yes, well, that was all promotional stuff, you know, we had to pay the wolves in charge of your fair city for the privilege,” Monty explained, adding, “Can’t do it back home in Felicia at all. No. There’s been a lot of resistance from the establishment, you see, they’ve banned our balloons from the city. If beasts were meant to fly they’d have wings and all that nonsense. We cats can be such sticks, sometimes.”

  “Banned?” Linus woofed in horror. “But why?”

  “We lost a balloon over Felicia once,” Penny added, passing Monty a quick glance and nod.

  “Lost?” Linus said.

  “There was an accident,” Monty clarified sadly. “There was a fire and… well, it all went up. Beasts were injured, good friends. It was splashed all over the news back home, of course. The Queen herself turned on us and our backers pulled out overnight. Can’t even set up in Queens Town, nobody wants to know. We’ve had to lay off nearly all our staff this last year. It’s really slowed down the construction of our next big project, but it’s coming along now. Nearly there.”

  Penny held Monty’s paw, “We’ll come through it in the end, dear. We always do.”

  “Absolutely, Sweetpea. If we were that easy to put off we’d never have tied the knot. Haha!”

  Penny laughed, but there was a distinctly awkward pause.

  “I’ll help,” Linus’s tongue blurted, before his mind had cleared it for utterance.

  “Help?” Monty squeaked.

  “I’ll invest. I mean, if that’s all right.”

  “All right? But of course it is, Linus. Good show, sir!”

  Beaming broadly, Linus reached into his red cloak and pulled out his wallet. “How much is a share?”

  “How much you got, sir?”

  “Monty!” Penny chided.

  “You heard the wolf, he wants to invest!”

  Linus didn’t notice, but Sara’s dark ears twisted round. Her head followed suit, just a little. She discreetly looked at Linus, specifically his wallet and the wad of colourful lupas he was flicking through like mere playing cards.

  “How much do beasts usually pay?” the Howler asked, oblivious to Sara’s scrutiny.

  “A few thousand, sir,” Monty sniffed assertively.

  Linus stopped counting his money, “Uhm… well, I… I don’t have a few thousand.”

  “Oh. Well what do you have?”

  Linus continued to count. “About two-fifty,” he admitted, through a mortified cough, checking his wallet again and adding lamely, “And a bit.”

  “Two-fifty and a bit?” Monty declared. “Sold!”

  “It is?”

  “One percent stake, sir, how’s that for you?”

  “One? Uh well, I suppose-”

  “Two, sir! Two it is.”

  “Two?” Linus scoffed.

  “More? You drive a hard bargain, Linus, so you do. Three percent, sir, that’s me final offer-”

  “Monty, stop!” Penny yelped. Excusing herself from Linus, she pulled her husband close and said sarcastically, “Give the whole farm away for beans, why don’t you?”

  Whilst the cats bickered amongst themselves, no doubt discussing the deal, Linus idly shuffled his money. Time passed, he looked around the table, at all the guests eating and talking. Nobody was paying him any mind.

  Good.

  The Howler rolled his money up, wrapped it in his napkin, and discreetly whistled at the cats.

  Montague reacted just in time to catch Linus’s flying napkin. “I say!” he mewed, opening the cloth in his paws to find a wad of hard cash. “Golly, how flash. Three percent share then, eh?”

  “No no,” Linus dismissed, waving his paws.

  “Four?”

  “Monty!” Penny hissed.

  “No, I-I-I don’t want a stake in your business,” the Howler explained, thrumming his fingers on the table.

  “What?” Penny said, wanting of manners herself for once.

  “It’s a gift. Please.”

  “Two-hundred-and-fifty lupas?” Monty spluttered.

  Linus shrugged his stout shoulders, “It’s nothing, really. I’d only waste it on entertaining myself. We all do. Be
tter it goes to a worthy cause.”

  “We can’t just take your money for nought, young wolf.”

  “It’s not for nothing. I believe in you. Really, I do.”

  “But-”

  “Just… give me a ride one day,” Linus suggested ad-hoc, adding with some uncertainty, “Does two-fifty buy a ticket?”

  Monty and Penny exchanged incredulous looks. “It buys a lifetime Buttle Skyways pass for you, Linus!” Monty confirmed, flapping the cash and raising his glass to the wolf. “It would be an honour to take you up into the big blue, sir.”

  Linus nodded, “Then I look forward to it.”

  In the aftermath, Sara made her move – she had seen and heard enough to pass judgement. “So, what’s your favourite bug, Howler?” she posed out of the blue.

  Surprised, Linus turned to this little wolfess – no shorter than he, but half his weight if that – and blurted, “Termite.”

  “Termite? Why’s that?”

  “Because… well, th-they build great castles of mud, even though they’re blind and deaf and probably not all that bright they match Lupan civilisation, in their own way.”

  “Perhaps even better it?”

  Linus could but guffaw. “Maybe.”

  “Have ye ever seen a termite nest?” the wolfess asked.

  “I vaguely remember poking one as a cub. They’re all over Rostsonne. Only s-sss-small ones, mind.”

  “Och! Rostsonner are ye?”

  “Originally.”

  “Ah thought so from the fur, but you’ve nae accent.”

  “No, but you do.”

  “Aye! Everdorian guilty as charged. Sara Hummel by the way.”

  “Yes, Professor Heath said,” Linus pointed out. “S-sss-still, whilst we’re about it, I-I-I’m Linus, Linus Mills, Howler Trooper First Class. Uhm, Bloodfang… etcetera.”

  Sara laughed gently.

  Linus too, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “That was very nice of ye,” Sara said afresh, “giving Monty and Penny some help there. They’re pretty hard-up.”

  “Oh, it was nothing.”

  “Two-fifty is a lot for a Trooper, even a ‘first-class’.”