Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “Like I said, I’ve come to realise lately that I may as well throw it in the bin,” Linus explained. He looked at his fingers, picked at his claws and swallowed hard. “We Howlers have no future, after all,” he said with a slight, false chuckle. “Nothing to save for, or to try for.” Almost immediately, Linus shook his head a little and closed his eyes, “I’m, sorry… I don’t know where that came from.”

  Sara raised her wine. “The drink?” she laughed.

  Linus smiled at this bubbly wolfess, before admitting, “Had an attack, you see. Haven’t had a-a-a bad one in years. My bones are still throbbing. The rot must be setting in.”

  “But you look young-”

  “Exactly,” the Howler said at once, his golden paws trembling a little, “I’m not even eighteen yet. But that’s how it goes. Can’t complain, eh?”

  He took a huge swig of his wine to calm his nerves.

  “Bee,” Sara said, changing subject.

  “What?”

  “My favourite bug; it’s a bee. Great bees, mind, nae little ones.”

  “Oh!” Linus woofed. “Yes, Professor Heath said that too. You must see a lot of great bees in Everdor.”

  “Aye, but mum never let me work in the Den’s apiary, too dangerous and all,” Sara complained. “Ah’ve a pet bee, though!” she hastened to add, as if covering a slip of the tongue.

  “A what? A pet bee?”

  “Aye.”

  Linus blinked rapidly. “Is that normal over Everdor way?”

  Sara laughed, “Och, no! She flew into the university clock tower last year. Did her wing in; she cannae fly. So, Ah look after her now, well, Heath and me.”

  Linus didn’t know what to say, so he just forced a laugh and nursed his wine.

  “Have you really read all his work?” Sara enquired sceptically, “Professor Heath, Ah mean.”

  “Of course,” Linus maintained. “Haven’t you?”

  “No, Ah cannae get into it,” Sara whispered, giving Heath a glance. “He’s a great teacher, but his writing is so….”

  “Dense, I know.”

  “Do you read it for fun, then?”

  Linus nodded vigorously, adding, “I wanted to be a scientist, but… things didn’t work out.”

  “The rot, aye,” Sara sighed, as if she could relate.

  Could she be afflicted? Linus could feel no corona and female Howlers were vanishingly rare, except Sara was a Hummel and that altered the equation.

  “You’re… n-nnn-not a Howler, are you?” Linus hazarded.

  Sara scoffed, “Me? Nooo!”

  Linus raised a paw, “I-I-I didn’t think you were, but… if you’re Sara Hummel then-”

  “Ah’m a member by birth,” Sara explained, “nae by rot. She knocked on the table, “Ah’m still healthy. Touch wood.”

  “Shouldn’t you have reverted back to Freiwolf status when you became an adult?”

  “That’s… nae how it works over my way, nae when you’re a Den Mother’s daughter anyway.”

  A pause.

  “You’re the daughter of D-D-Den Mother Cora?” Linus piped.

  Sara grimaced. “Aye, that’s me.” She swirled her drink, “Ah’d be the next Den Mother in training, but without the affliction that’s nae happening. Ah’d renounce mah Hummel name tomorrow and become a proper Freiwolf, lose the baggage, but that’d upset mah dad and, well, Ah’m a daddy’s girl.”

  Linus nodded. Before he could enquire further, someone tapped a glass.

  Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Beasts fell silent and looked to the head of the table, to Den Father Thorvald, who stood up. A Howler rushed to help him, but he brushed him off.

  “Esteemed guests,” he announced. “Whilst we wait for the second course, we shall hear from the next speaker tonight. He is a very special wolf, a Howler and a philosopher, winner of the Imperium Heart and lately of the Quin Medal. I speak of course of Rufus Bloodfang, who has made a special effort to be here tonight, though I shan’t go into all that. Please give him your ears.”

  Rufus stood up to general applause, which he calmed by raising his paws and nodding a lot.

  “Now, I know what you’re all thinking,” he began, as silence descended. “Even you, Den Father,” he added with a slight bow. “You’re thinking he’s going to bang on about his ruddy expedition again, or the rot, or something controversial that’s going to make me squirm like a maggot. Well, not tonight dear friends. I’m a little tired. Tonight I’m giving that drum a rest.”

  Several ‘aaws’ filled the air.

  “No no, I’ve something even better. I’m going to recite the fable of the Nymph and the Dayfly.” Rufus cocked his head to one side, “Yes, I know. It’s an oldie, but a goody. Many of you have probably heard it before, in your beds, read to you by your mother or your father, just like me. But… I think, even as grow-ups, we need reminding of these things from time to time, when the night closes in and the way ahead seems frightening. And besides I do have an exceptionally melodious voice.”

  “Hahahahaaa!” Thorvald laughed. “More melodious than mine, Howler?” he joked.

  “You’re a distant second, Den Father.”

  Laughing, Thorvald slapped the arm of his chair and knocked back some wine, like an ancient Wolf King.

  Once all were silent, Rufus began….

  Two eggs fell from the sky. They splashed into a pond and drifted slowly down to the silt below. From where they came the bugs in the pond did not know, for none of them had seen such a sight, only the fish had, for he lived longer than most.

  Days passed and the eggs hatched, and from them two nymphs emerged, pale little creatures with six legs and no wings.

  ‘What am I?’ said the first.

  ‘I know not,’ said the second.

  ‘Are you like me?’

  ‘I think we are the same, yes.’

  ‘We should be friends,’ the first suggested, to which the second replied. ‘That we should.’

  ‘We will need names, friend. Call me… Gold, you can be Silver.’

  ‘No, I’ll be Gold,’ the second insisted, ‘you be Silver.’

  ‘As you will,’ said Gold, who was now Silver.

  Together they fed, grazing on the plants and algae, growing day by day, shedding their skin each time.

  ‘What do you think is beyond the sky?’ asked Silver, looking up at the shimmering blue surface.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gold replied, nibbling a leaf, ‘but I feel I want to go there.’

  ‘And I.’

  ‘No, you don’t want to go up there,’ said the big fish, swimming lazily over to the nymphs.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Gold.

  ‘You’ll die,’ Fish replied. ‘There’s nothing to see anyway. Stay here. It’s safe down here.’

  ‘But that’s where we came from,’ Silver pointed out, ‘the others told us so. Our mother must have dropped us from beyond the sky. She must be up there, waiting.’

  Fish chuckled, ‘No, she is dead.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because you’re a dayfly. Once you spread your wings and fly away, you will die in but a day. However, if you stay down here you may live forever.’

  “But I want to see. I want to fly.”

  Days passed, weeks, months. The nymphs ate and grew. They swam here, they swam there, they swam everywhere, to every corner of their pond, saw every inch, every twig, cave and pebble.

  Then one morning, a year since hatching, Silver felt the urge to climb a reed. So Silver climbed and climbed, determined to break through the shimmering sky.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Gold.

  ‘If I am to see,’ Silver replied, “then I must fly.”

  ‘But you’ll die.’

  ‘I don’t believe the fish.’

  ‘I do. I’m going to stay here and live forever.’

  ‘As you will,’ said Silver.

  ‘You’ll come back and tell me what it’s like?’ Gold hoped.

  ‘I’ll try.�
��

  Silver broke through the sky and disappeared, whilst Gold returned to the bottom to nibble a leaf.

  The next day, Silver called to Gold from the edge of the pond. Gold knew Silver’s voice, but the bug looked so different, with great iridescent wings and a beautiful three-pronged tail.

  ‘Silver, is that you?’ Gold asked.

  ‘It is,’ Silver replied weakly.

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Everything… yet nothing,’ said Silver, ‘I have rode the wind, seen forests far below, met great beasts and small. I have kissed the sun, felt its warmth on my wings. I have known love with my mate and shared joy at their smile. And yet there is so much more beyond the horizon, so much yet to see and do! This pond is but a puddle in a great ocean of green. Alas, I cannot go on. My time is done.’

  ‘You’re dying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Gold scoffed. ‘The fish was right.’

  ‘No, everything dies,’ Silver replied, as the last breath left that weary body, ‘but I at least have lived.’

  *

  Tristan was distracted from his comforting cup of hot chocolate by a motorcade of cars and monobikes thrumming into the university courtyard. He was not expecting another Den Father to visit.

  “ALPHA?” he said, recognising the black livery and white A motif.

  Not just any ALPHA, but a big shot, one of the four that sat either side of the Alpha himself, surely.

  Passing his hot chocolate back to his subordinates and slamming his helmet back over his brow, Tristan stood firm at the top of the stairs. His mind raced, his heart thumped, his skin iced. What are they here for? The dissidents who were giving out leaflets?

  Me?

  The motorcade crackled to a halt on the gravel and the doors immediately opened, spitting out black-cloaked Prefects. With their helmets disguising them Tristan didn’t recognise anyone in particular straight away, it was only as the Prefects speedily climbed the steps that the leaders became apparent.

  The wolf at the front was none other than Nikita himself, with mottled brown and white arms and a white-imperium ‘A’ gracing his helmet and brooch. At his back was Janoah, ruddy-furred and slender, green eyes lurking under that black helm.

  “Grand Prefect Nikita,” Tristan said, barely containing his shock.

  Nikita calmly raised a paw, ALPHA-style. “Captain Donskoy,” he replied, in his thick, warm, Steppes accent. “I’m sorry to intrude on your Den Father’s, how you say… ‘symposium’?”

  “Not at all, sir. You’re most welcome.”

  Cupping his paws before him, Nikita glanced at the inviting windows of the Great Hall, “It is cold night to be left out on porch when others enjoy themselves.”

  “It is my duty, sir, and I am glad to do it.”

  “Yes. I know you have great respect for old Thorvald.”

  “He’s my Den Father, sir,” Tristan maintained, adding, “He’s always been good to my family.”

  A nod.

  “What brings you here, sir?” Tristan asked afresh, glancing at Janoah, but talking to Nikita.

  “Grand Howler Rufus,” he replied.

  “Rufus?” Tristan quizzed, glancing at Janoah again. Her demeanour gave nothing away.

  Nikita nodded but once, “He’s charged with inciting unrest and misappropriating imperium.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Ridiculous?” Nikita growled. “Misappropriating imperium is ridiculous to you, Donskoy?”

  “The charges against Rufus, sir,” Tristan explained. “The world knows I’m no admirer,” the Eisbrand maintained, “but Valerio’s no black-market peddler.”

  “Then he will be released when found innocent, I assure you,” sniffed Nikita. “Please, let us pass. Let us not make scene in front of your Den Father Thorvald.”

  “He’s not here,” Tristan said.

  “Thorvald?”

  “No, Rufus. He… never turned up, sir.”

  Janoah stepped up and scrutinised Tristan for a few seconds. “He’s lying!” she spat, glancing at Nikita. “I don’t know why, but he’s lying.”

  “You’re arresting your own husband?” Tristan growled under his breath,”

  “It is my duty,” she replied, “and I am glad to do it.”

  She made to pass, but Tristan grabbed her arm, “Wait, there must be some-”

  Immediately, Janoah twisted free and thumped Tristan’s shoulder with a palm. There was a burst of light, a loud crack and Tristan was ejected from the stairs, landing in a bush.

  “Prefect!” barked Nikita.

  The two other Eisbrands standing at the doors instinctively reached for their pistols.

  “No!” Tristan yelped, as he rolled out of the foliage and staggered forth. “Let her pass,” he said, nursing his armoured shoulder with a paw. “We… cannot obstruct ALPHA.”

  Janoah glared at the Eisbrands. Reluctantly, they put their pistols away.

  “Wise move,” she told them, brushing by. She lingered in the grand entrance long enough to tell Tristan without deigning to look at him, “If you ever touch me again, I’ll see to it you go to the mines. Ivan will not stop me.”

  On she walked, shaking the paw she had dealt Tristan an imperious blow with – no doubt it hurt her too.

  “Careful, Howler Tristan,” Nikita advised in his sultry tone, giving the youth a narrow-eyed glare, “I warn you, as friend, you’re on the thin ice already.”

  Tristan dipped his chin, “I was merely objecting to your timing, Nikita. To arrest Rufus in front of our Den Father at such a time-”

  “Unfortunate, but necessary,” Nikita dismissed. “Justice cannot wait. Den Father Thorvald would not want to stand in the way of the law, would he?”

  “Of course not, sir.”

  “Rufus is here, yes?”

  Tristan, eventually, nodded, “Yes.”

  Nikita huffed, “I pretend it slip your mind.” Gesturing to his Prefects with the merest flick of the paw, Nikita climbed the marbled stairs. “Put some ointment on that shoulder, Donskoy,” he advised.

  *

  “Me dirigibles are held together by a durametal skeleton, which is light but jolly strong!” Montague said to all, pumping a ginger fist. “We wrap the frame in polygreen, which is waterproof, but not gas proof, and then inside that there’s the gas bags, usually about twelve, which are also polygreen, but they’re lined with beeswax to keep the imperium gas in you see. Hah hah!”

  “Isn’t imperium gas explosive?” asked the well-dressed hog with a monocle sitting beside Penny. “Isn’t that why your dirigible blew up over Felicia, Mr. Buttle?”

  “Ah, yes, well, we uh….”

  “We use a new compound now, sir,” Penny assured him, standing up beside her floundering husband. “It is a mix of certain imperium gases and other additives that are completely inert, but lighter than air. Not as light as standard imperium gas, perhaps, but it provides nine tenths of the lift without the danger of a fire.”

  “Yes, that’s right!” Monty seconded.

  “New compound you say?” the hog snorted. “What’s it called?”

  “Uhm,” Monty said, whispering, “Sweetpea?”

  “It’s called felitium,” Penny declared, chin high, “in honour of my home city.”

  “Is it? Oh, yes, it is!”

  The hog squinted at the Buttles, “Invented by a cat was it?”

  “Yes, sir, by myself,” Penny asserted.

  “You, madam?”

  The elegant catess bowed slightly, “I’m a imperiologist, sir.”

  “Imperiologist!”

  “Yes, sir. Self-taught.”

  “Hah! I’ve never heard such nonsense! New compound indeed, where’s the proof? Where is your paper? Frauds, I say. Frauds.”

  “I say, sir, steady on now!” Monty mewed. “Say what you like about me, but leave Penny out of it. Me wife’s a imperiologist, and a very fine one too! I may slap ‘em together, but if it weren’t for Penny here, m
e dirigibles would be as flaccid as… as your waistline sir!”

  “Monty!” Penny hissed, as the hog’s monocle fell out and plopped into his glass.

  “Hahahahahaaaa!”

  All ears and eyes homed in on the smouldering red wolf across the table – Rufus – whose hysterics resembled those of a hyena.

  “Is there something amusing, sir?” snorted the hog, fishing his eyepiece from his glass and shaking it off.

  “Not at all, my good hog,” the Howler excused, swirling his own drink. “Save that, we all know your own company is exploring dirigibles too, like many others, and would give anything to see such fine competition discredited.”

  A chorus of gasps and whispers rippled down the table, reaching even Den Father Thorvald.

  “It’s true!” Rufus said, baffled as to the overblown reaction. “My ancestor was Giacomo Valerio, whose fine monos still whiz around this city like ants, so I know something about pioneering inventors and the troubles they face.” Rufus Bloodfang Valerio raised his glass to the Buttles, “Guard your intellectual property, Penny my dear, that’s all I can say-”

  “Howler Rufus, you are under arrest!” someone barked.

  Ears pricked, Rufus slowly swivelled around in his chair, resting one elbow on the back. He was met with Janoah, standing in the midst of the double doors with several black-cloaked Prefects behind her.

  Rufus stared for an age, then looked at Linus, Heath, Sara and the rest.

  “Hahahahahaaa!” he laughed, raising his glass. “That’s very funny, Jan.”

  It occurred many that Rufus was a little drunk.

  “No joke, Howler,” Janoah assured coldly, as if she had never met the wolf in her life.

  Before Linus or Heath could protest, Den Father Thorvald stood, thank goodness, and did so. “What is this, Prefect?” he bellowed. “Explain yourself, before I have you thrown out of this hall in disgrace and lodge a complaint to your so-called Alpha!”

  Janoah calmly bowed to the Den Father, “Apologies, Den Father, but I am merely carrying out my orders.”

  “Orders?” Thorvald blustered, slapping the tabletop. “Who gave such orders?”

  Nikita strode into the hall, “I did, Den Father,” he said, adding, “The Alpha himself sends apologies for intrusion, but we were afraid Howler Rufus might… slip away.”

  Now, without a thought entering his head, Linus stood up. “Slip away?” he woofed, incredulous at best. “What are the charges?”