Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  Suddenly a light!

  Daylight poured in through the opening trapdoor, blinding Helmut and doubtless the others.

  “Wakey, wakey!” the guards snorted, appearing to the prisoners as silhouettes blurred by a film of stinging tears. “How’re we doing down there, boys? Comfortable? Hahahahaaa!”

  Another of the guards pushed the first aside and said reasonably, “Where’s the Watcher?”

  The blinking prisoners exchanged looks.

  “You, the wolf, Tomek ‘en it?” the guard said, beckoning with a chubby finger. “Come here. Stand under the door, you’re coming out.”

  Shaking his head Tomek backed fearfully out of the light.

  “Come back, idiot!” the guard snorted, leaning in. “We’re not gonna hurt yer. You’re being let off. The Warden said to pull you up sharpish.” The hog looked to his fellow guards and laughed under his breath, “The boss must fancy him or something.”

  Helmut nudged Tomek towards the light, “Go on, lad. Up you go now.”

  “B-b-but what about you?”

  “I’ll be fine. Tough as old boots I am.”

  “So am I.”

  “I know that. But you nearly bought it a minute ago on account o’ the rot. That’s not something anyone can help, however tough, not even Rufus.” Helmut peered across at the hyenas and added with intent, “We can’t rely on Madou no more, so you get out of here whilst you can, lad. Go on.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Tomek trudged into the middle of the pool. The hogs lowered down a wooden pole with a noose on the end and commanded Tomek to bite it. He did so, and hanging on with his powerful jaws – a trait shared by most beasts, not least wolfkind – he was pulled up through the trapdoor and onto dry land.

  No sooner had Tomek departed than the door was snapped shut behind him, casting Helmut, Madou and his cousin into darkness again.

  *

  “Go on, gerroutofit!”

  With a kick to the rump, Tomek was sent stumbling back into Gelb’s compound. Even with paws unbound he was unable to save himself the indignity of a face full of mud. As he made to rise the hogs kicked him again and laughed cruelly, before the leader of the group told the others to lay off, lest the Warden was watching.

  “He’s marked him,” the hog added quietly. “For what I don’t know. Come on.”

  “Let that be a lesson to yer,” one of the guards spat at Tomek. “Watch yer mouth in future.”

  The hogs took their leave, closing the gates behind them.

  Shivering and aching, Tomek dragged himself from the caking mud and stumbled forth into the compound, along the rows of anonymous brown huts. Curious, collared faces watched him from the windows.

  Tomek trudged up the creaky stairs to his usual hut, through the door and past the rows of occupied bunks, over to those beds in the far corner that the Scarab Gang had claimed as their own long ago. They were furthest from the draughty door and relatively cosy.

  As he made to collapse onto his pathetic mattress, Tomek stayed himself.

  There was a wolf in his bed!

  “Hey!” Tomek piped, more surprised than indignant. “What you doing?”

  The wolf sat up and sneered. “Get lost!”

  “Is my bed. My bed!”

  “Well ‘is my bed’ now!” the wolf mocked, producing a rusty knife from under the ragged sheets and twisting it under Tomek’s flaring nose. “Wanna fight about it, eh boy?”

  Paws raised, Tomek backed off.

  The youth cast his eyes over the bunks that his gang used to occupy in the hope of finding an empty bed; he instead found them claimed by strangers. Clearly word of Scarab’s fall had gotten round Gelb in a heartbeat and a new gang had moved in on their ‘territory’, that being the far end of a hut.

  The invaders glared pugnaciously back at Tomek; wolf, hog and cat – the only one among them apparently unconcerned by his presence was a big, superbly-muscled hyena who was lying on his back with his paws tucked behind his head, his stripy shirt rolled up and serving as a meagre pillow to his thick, collared neck. Puffing away on an ember he stared not at Tomek but at the ceiling. His bright purple eyes were like Madou’s.

  Feeling robbed and wronged, Tomek wanted to threaten even him, wanted to say something like, ‘Wait until my friends are back, we’ll have you!’ But, knowing Rufus was likely gone forever, Tomek thought better of it and slunk away to find a less desirable bunk.

  The nearer the hut door he ventured the more ragged and pathetic the beasts cowering in the beds either side of Tomek became, until they were so thin, sick and lowly that he could easily turn any one of them out and claim their place for himself. But, he had not the stomach for such heartlessness.

  Finding a ragged old bunk not far from the door, Tomek curled up on the thin, likely flea-ridden mattress. Wet, cold and starving, tears came easily to the young wolf. He was glad nobody could see him as darkness descended on Gelb. He thought of Helmut still down in that awful pit, and Rufus being swarmed by ants and eaten alive, the ancient punishment metered out to treacherous Howlers.

  Madou’s right, we Lupans are cruel.

  Between feverish shivers and thoughts, Tomek suddenly felt a warm sheet settle over his frozen body – a quick visual check proved it to be a stripy prisoner’s shirt.

  How odd.

  Tomek rolled over and seeing that gigantic purple-eyed hyena looming over him he scooted up the bed until his back was to the wooden wall.

  “I sleep here!” he yelped. “Is no problem! Please.”

  “Shh!” the hyena hushed, looking down the rows of beds, then back at Tomek. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He flicked a big finger at Tomek. “Put my shirt over you before you catch a fever, you’ve been in the pit haven’t you?”

  Unsure, Tomek pulled the warm top up to his collared neck until the hyena smiled toothily at him.

  “Better?” he asked.

  Nodding, Tomek’s eyes flitted about. “W-w-what you want, hyena?” he sniffed. “I have n-nnn-nothing.”

  The hyena took a draught of his ember. “You’re in Scarab, aren’t you?” he asked Tomek, who replied with a nod. The hyena went on, “There’s a rumour going round that Rufus is going to be fed to the ants tomorrow. Is it true?”

  Tomek dipped his chin, “They say so.”

  “Beasts say many things; you mustn’t always believe them,” the hyena chuckled. He looked around the hut, as if checking for prying ears, then peered under the bed at Tomek again, “Is Madou still down the Pit?”

  Tomek nodded.

  The hyena grunted. “How’s he doing?”

  “Better than me,” Tomek admitted with a false laugh. “Is friend of yours, then?”

  “He is,” the hyena replied, “as is Red-mist, and if you’re his friend you’re mine as well.” He held out a huge paw, “I’m Noss, Prince of the Jua-mata.”

  “Prince?” Tomek snorted.

  “I usually keep it quiet, but Madou will tell you when he gets out. What’s your name?”

  “Tomek Usenko.”

  “Howler?”

  “Watcher.”

  “Watcher? I used to be a Watcher myself.”

  “You? But… you a hyena.”

  Noss flashed his bright eyes and teeth, “It’s a long story, and we’ve more important things to talk about.”

  Prince Noss sat on the foot of the bunk; the tired, woodworm-eaten structure creaked alarmingly under his muscular weight. He took a puff of his ember and said, “You’ll mine with my gang for now, the Mosquitoes. Don’t worry about the others, they won’t hurt you. I’m the leader and I say who works with us.”

  Tomek gasped, “Thank you… I’m hard worker.”

  “You’ll have to be! I’m not quite as good at sniffing out imperium as Rufus, but until he returns I’m the best miner in Gelb, even if I say so myself… Hahahahaaaa!”

  “Returns?”

  Noss leant close and whispered, “Do you think a wolf who can break an imperium collar with his bare paws is so readily
disposed of?” Blowing ember vapour towards the nearest dew-flecked window, he continued, “I happen to know why Rufus is here, and you can sure wherever he’s going next it’s not to his death. No, some arrangement has been made. I’ll make inquiries tomorrow.”

  Tomek sat in bemused silence.

  “We’ll talk later,” Noss assured him. “Come, meet my gang.”

  *

  After half an hour bumping along the dirt road leading from Gelb, the truck skidded to a sudden, gravely halt. With his paws tied by wire Rufus was unable to stop himself falling sideways from the inertia.

  The condemned wolf levered his bruised body back to a sitting position just as the truck doors were flung open, revealing the red sky of dusk and the two Watchers that passed as the Warden’s personal thugs.

  “I assume we’ve reached the chosen execution grounds, gentlebeasts,” Rufus said airily.

  Wordlessly the Watchers climbed inside and pulled the prisoner to his feet by the shoulders, escorting him from the truck and onto the dusty road.

  The truck had stopped in the midst of a rocky valley with the mountains surrounding Gelb rising all around, their snowy peaks licked by the last rays of pink sunlight. Up there it was doubtless freezing, but the valley was warm enough now for the nearby stream to flow and the odd speck of green to survive despite the imperium effluent from Gelb’s mines polluting the water.

  It was also warm enough for giant ants to forage, Rufus knew, at least during the day. The telltale mounds of disturbed erde upsetting the otherwise flat and uniform valley floor betrayed the nest entrances to those with eyes to see. No beast with sense would be caught out here during the day.

  As the Watchers led Rufus away from the road and into the barren wilderness, one pulled out an imperium pistol and cocked the hammer.

  The other noticed and piped, “What’re you doing?”

  “Let’s just shoot him and be done with it,” said the one with the pistol.

  “The Boss wants it done properly. He was very explicit.”

  “He’ll never know.”

  “You’re gonna to take that chance are you? You’ll be out here next.”

  “I’m not sticking around here!” came the one with the pistol. “The ants could come out any minute. Mate, I’ve seen ‘em turn a truck over and drag beasts down their holes alive!”

  “We’re doing this properly.”

  “What difference does it make? We’ll give him a soldier’s death.”

  “It’s our duty to-!”

  “Gentlebeasts, if I may!” Rufus piped up, clearing his throat. “It’s still too cold for the ants to emerge during the night. They won’t appear until the sun strikes their mounds. You’re quite safe, for now.”

  The Watchers exchanged incredulous glances. The one with the pistol waved it at Rufus and snorted, “How’d you know?”

  Rufus flashed a smile, “I’m something of an expert in the matter of bugs, young wolf.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Absolutely. And believe me, whilst I appreciate the offer of a soldier’s death, I don’t want to be responsible for anybody else joining me in my fate.” Rufus looked down at his feet and said, “Please… carry out your duty. I’m ready and willing to face my punishment.”

  The wolf with the pistol shook his helmeted head and marvelled, “You’re a strange one.”

  The other Watcher unsentimentally turned the prisoner around and roughly pushed him forward.

  “Move it!”

  For a moment Rufus cringed, his back tingling and burning with fear as he expected any moment to hear a crack and feel a pellet tear through his body, ending it all.

  But no pellet, no end, was forthcoming, just another shove between the shoulder blades.

  I’m going to live, at least until dawn.

  The two Watchers led Rufus to a conspicuously barren concreted area with a metal post set in the middle. Some pioneering weeds were growing between the cracks in the concrete, indicating that this structure, if one was charitable enough to regard it a structure, had been here for some time. A chain and collar dangled from the metal post, ready to receive the latest condemned beast and hold him fast until the ants awoke and happened across him.

  Ulf willing someone else will happen across me before them, Rufus thought, as the Watchers clipped the hefty collar about his neck. He could see no bones or evidence of previous victims – unlike beasts, bugs wasted nothing.

  With unbecoming haste that betrayed their fear, the Watchers left Rufus to his fate and jogged swiftly back to the truck, glancing over their shoulders all the way lest the six legged horrors that stalked this desolate land broke the instinct of eons and emerged before dawn. The truck performed a swift U-turn, kicking up a cloud of ash and dust in its polluting wake. Within half a minute it had carried the Watchers safely around the side of the nearest mountain, leaving Rufus with nothing but his bruises and thoughts.

  After a few fruitless tugs on the chain and collar which succeeded only in choking him, the weakened wolf collapsed against the unforgiving metal pole and settled in for a long, cold, sleepless night.

  Perhaps his last.

  *

  The street outside Heath’s flat appeared deserted, but an ALPHA agent must be watching, Tristan knew, as he stood in the shadows across the way. Josef Grau would not leave the flat unguarded in the hope Olivia would foolishly return.

  She wouldn’t; only beast foolish enough to show their face here is you, Tristan thought whilst crossing the lamp-lit street. It’s just a bee. What does it matter?

  It matters to Sara.

  Tristan saw the Bloodfang-stamped Springtail from earlier hadn’t moved an inch, parked as it was under the nearest imperium gas lamp. One assumed it belonged to Linus, but if Sara had sent him packing at the fair why was it still here? No doubt any watching agent had noticed it too, no doubt they had written down the plate and no doubt Howler Linus was going on ALPHA’s watch list, provided that was his Springtail – the only doubt Tristan had.

  Passing the mono, the gate and the entrance to the flats, Tristan went unchallenged. He climbed the dark, creaking stairs as quietly as his hefty armoured form allowed, peering through the passing regimental balusters, checking always for an ALPHA Prefect, a suspicious beast, anyone.

  There was no one.

  Tristan made Heath’s front door. The blue-imperium snowflake symbol adorning his helmet illuminated the door just a little. Its feeble light swept across the shiny wood like a distant lighthouse as the Howler glanced nervously left and right before trying the knob.

  Locked.

  Good; ALPHA hasn’t turned the place over for evidence yet, so the bee must still be here. Bad; you don’t have the key, Tristan.

  No matter for a skilled Howler.

  Grasping the knob in both paws and averting his helmet-clad face, Tristan channelled the imperium as he had a hundred-thousand times. With a blinding blast of white-hot plasma the lock mechanism exploded in his grasp.

  With a shake of his throbbing paws, Tristan pushed the smouldering door aside and entered Heath’s flat. It was as dark as black-imperium inside with the only the merest trickle of amber street light leaking through the drawn curtains. Tristan’s paw groped for the light switch by the door, but at the last second he thought better of it and waved a paw over his snowflake brooch instead. It shone a pale blue, illuminating Heath’s living room, with its sofa, photos and many cultural trinkets.

  The silence of the flat was disturbed by loud, intermittent hums and rough, wooden scraping noises.

  Bvvvt! Bvvvbvvvvt!

  It was coming from dead ahead; the bedrooms if Tristan recalled rightly. He also recalled from conversations with Heath that Sara’s pet bee was a bit of a madam, rather like the wolfess herself. What was it called, Toggle or something? Did it come when called, or are bees deaf? Crossing the living room, Tristan wished he’d paid attention during biology. Ulf knows the way to Sara’s heart lay through knowledge. She likes brainy types, like that Lin
us, not thugs like you-

  Click!

  The imperium lamps set in the walls coughed into life, banishing both the darkness and Tristan’s thoughts, and swamping the feeble glow of his brooch.

  “Don’t move,” a strong, yet feminine voice warned.

  Despite the instruction, Tristan instantly turned to face its source and found a black-cloaked, green-eyed, red-furred wolfess standing in the kitchen doorframe, one paw touching the nearby light switch, the other aiming a pistol at him.

  “Janoah?” Tristan scoffed.

  “Prefect Janoah,” she corrected sharply, taking a step into the living room. “Paws up!”

  Tristan raised his paws, just a little.

  “That’s better,” Janoah said, giving the smouldering front door a tiny sideways glance. “It appears I can now add breaking and entering to your unbecoming catalogue of felons.”

  With a growl, Tristan demanded sarcastically, “And how did you get in here, did you climb in the window like the spider you are?”

  “I picked the lock.”

  “How devious.”

  Janoah’s green eyes narrowed. “It’s called finesse, Howler, something lacking in you clunking great Eisbrands. You traipse around Lupa in your shiny armour still, as if you own the whole city! Always have.”

  “I’ll take no lectures from a vile Bloodfang, thank you.”

  Janoah chuckled, “Even less would I a THORN spy! Or would you prefer ‘activist’?”

  “Pull the other one.”

  “I’d not be so glib if I were you, Donskoy. This is a most serious accusation.”

  “You’ve got nothing on me.”

  With a cock of her head, Janoah reached into her cloak and produced several unopened stings, still in their cardboard, wax-dipped packaging. “The Professor’s secret stash,” she explained, rolling them over in her paw. “He’s a miserable addict and you’ve been supplying him his illegal fix.”

  “By Ulf, is that the best you can come up with?”

  “That… and helping him hide that dodger wolfess from the authorities,” Janoah said. “You came back here to dispose of the evidence before ALPHA agents rifled through Heath’s dirty drawers.”