by Adam Browne
Chapter 33
The first thing Rufus saw was the flapping brown canvas of a tent; the second was the narrow face of a white rabbit looking grimly down on him.
The fellow was crouched beside Rufus, little arms resting on those big rabbit legs. He was wearing a short brown jacket, black breeches and a bowler hat, and looked awfully familiar to the bed-bound wolf.
“Don’t get up,” he advised gruffly.
Rufus merely grunted; rot pains were taking hold as the analgesic respite of sleep let go.
Daring to lift his head and assess the situation, the Howler found he was lying on a thin mattress in an open tent, his head propped up by a rolled blanket. His collar had gone, along with the chain. His rank prison clothes had also been disposed of, replaced by a traditional hyena sarong of a dazzling black and white swirl pattern that represented the Four Winds, as far as Rufus recalled. The beautiful cloth was clipped neatly about his waist by a handsome beetle-shaped brooch made of gold; hyenas thought very well of noble beetles.
Rufus felt this was all good news. Hyenas didn’t furnish any old guest with sarongs and brooches depicting their gods and totems, only those they respected.
‘I’m in’, he thought, almost wishing he wasn’t, that this farce had ended in that sun-spider’s crevice.
The game had just begun.
“Haven’t got a drink, have you?” Rufus croaked.
The white rabbit offered up a hip-flask, which Rufus gratefully swigged from. It contained something alcoholic. Water might’ve been a wiser choice, but it hit the spot and wet one’s whistle.
“Much obliged,” Rufus said, lying gratefully back.
Glancing out the tent flaps at distant peaks, the white rabbit surreptitiously produced an imperium pistol from his jacket and pressed its cold barrel into Rufus’s heaving ribs.
“I don’t expect you remember me,” he menaced.
It took a few seconds for Rufus to register this new state of affairs. “Of course I do, Citizen Casimir.”
Citizen Casimir grunted, “Then maybe you know what I’m going to ask you.”
“I’ve an inkling. Though a pistol in the ribs won’t change my answer.”
“We’ll see-”
Suddenly a pair of zigzag-pattered armoured legs rattled over to the tent. Casimir stowed his pistol away the same moment Nurka whipped the tent flaps aside and ducked into the cosy space – at least Rufus assumed this was Nurka, the hyena wasn’t wearing his usual skull helmet and Rufus had yet to glimpse his face.
He was handsome; Rufus wasn’t the sort to pretend he couldn’t tell a handsome hyena from an ugly one. Those bright eyes and beetling brows were possessed of intelligence, yet the broad nose perched on the end of that thick, dark muzzle conveyed nobility and strength, as did that long, spot-flecked neck. He had a short, roguishly untidy scramble of a mane sticking up between his pleasantly rounded-off ears. Perhaps removing his helmet had messed up his mane, or perhaps it was always thus. One thing was certain, Nurka was very young, his hide unblemished by scars or greys, or even the whiskers a beast in their twenties could expect whatever the race.
He’s only a cub, Rufus realised, just like Madou.
Without a word, Nurka knelt before Rufus, paws on zigzag-armoured knees, and bowed – not too far, just halfway.
“Thank you, Red-mist,” he said, adding graciously, “I bow because I know Themba never will. He’s a proud warrior. It’s not easy for him to admit that a wolf saved his life.”
Rufus spread a paw, “Let’s just call us even.”
Nodding, Nurka moved on. “You had an attack, a bad one,” he said. “We… do not have any white-imperium stings to give you. We of the Jua-mata believe-”
“That white-imperium is the tears of the Sky,” Rufus beamed. “You’re probably right.”
Nurka’s brow twisted, but he nodded a little.
Rufus grunted, “You gave me something though. I can feel it.”
“Chunta,” Nurka revealed.
“The sacred drink?”
“You came round and drank a little. You were feverish.”
“I don’t remember.”
Glancing at Casimir, Nurka made to rise, saying, “There’s more if you need it. I’ll go fetch some-”
“No!” Rufus woofed, sitting up a little. “No, thank you, Nurka. I couldn’t possibly.”
Kneeling again, the hyena moved to allay the wolf’s fears. “I know it does not sit well with your kind, so I made a mild batch,” he claimed, spreading a hefty paw. “I apologise if I wronged you, but I was worried you would not awaken.”
Rufus raised a paw, dismissing the notion. One drink of sacred chunta and the purple-imperium it contained would not drive him mad, but nor would it make much difference to a wolf as far down rot’s road as him. White and only white sufficed.
“You honour me with your tribe’s colours, chieftain,” Rufus said, plucking at his stripy sarong.
“No more than you deserve,” Nurka insisted. “You’ve always been a famous friend of my people. What you did this morning only proves you make no distinction between wolf and hyena.”
“I merely find in this life that there’s no distinction to be made by race, only character.”
“A philosophy to which I too subscribe.”
Rufus couldn’t help himself. “In which case, Nurka, if you’re the face of THORN, and I believe you are, your goal can’t be the downfall of wolfkind as the pack propaganda spouts, but the current rotten regime. Correct?”
Nurka waited for clarification.
Rufus weathered a wave of pain as he continued, “You don’t… agh… don’t blame desperate Howlers and… and Watchers for the mistakes of the Den Fathers, do you?”
Nurka’s violet eyes flitted just a little, “All we want is our freedom, Red-mist, and our land returned. If that happened tomorrow THORN would disband.”
“Then… we can remain friends,” Rufus decreed, twisting on his pillow and panting. “Amael was r-rrr-right to confide in you.”
“And I him, I hope.”
Rufus grunted and growled, “Sorry, couldn’t s-s-sss-spare an ember could you?”
Nurka plucked a case from his cloak pocket.
“Strawberry, if you have it,” Rufus stipulated.
He got what he wanted, Nurka passing an already smouldering red ember to Casimir, who gave it to the stricken wolf.
“Ta.”
Whilst Rufus puffed away like a true trooper, Nurka and Casimir exchanged glances.
“I… hate to disturb you further,” the hyena hesitated, “but I must ask you something, Red-mist.”
“You as well?” Rufus guffawed.
Nurka looked questioningly at Casimir.
“It’s nothing, Nurka,” the rabbit dismissed. “You go first.”
Curious, but eager to set his own mind at ease, Nurka went ahead. “Red-mist, I’ve heard from a reliable source that Prince Noss is still alive.”
Rufus’s ruddy ears pricked.
“He’s been held in Gelb since….” Nurka trailed off and averted his purple eyes a little, perhaps embarrassed to mention Noss’s bungled attempt on Rufus’s life. “Did you see him there?”
Exhaling a cloud of toxic strawberry ember vapours, Rufus shook his head. “No.”
A shuffle. “I understand there are many inmates and two shifts, night and day, perhaps you missed him-”
“I’d have felt him at some point, Nurka.”
“But Gelb is an imperium mine,” the chief reasoned. “The walls drip with the blood of the Erde. Even your legendary senses must be dulled by its fog.”
“True,” Rufus admitted. “But… Josef killed him. It was an accident, they claim.”
“Did you see a body?”
Silence.
Rufus frowned. “No. By the time I was back on my feet it was all done and dusted.”
“Then it is possible,” Nurka said. He clenched his fists on his lap, “May the Wind and Sky forgive my transgression in contradi
cting a Prince of the blood, but… it was… a… a mistake for Noss to try and kill you. You’ve my abject apologies from our people.”
Red-mist grimaced, “I don’t hold it against him, he must’ve been desperate.”
Nurka emitted a grunt at Rufus’s magnanimous reply.
“Did Amael tell you Noss is alive?” Red-mist probed.
The hyena shook his head, “No. On the contrary Amael insists he’s dead, despite what I’ve heard, which is what arouses my suspicions that our Prince is alive.”
Casimir piped up, “How comes?”
Nurka explained. “It makes sense. If Amael were to hide Prince Noss from me he could produce him as a bargaining chip against my people at any time. Most hyenas would do anything to ensure his safety, even me.”
“That does make sense,” Rufus agreed, his mind racing. Feeling the rot creeping up his legs again, he growled through a wave of discomfort, “Then… who told you Noss is in Gelb?”
Nurka caged up, “I cannot betray my sources.”
“I’m not about to tell Amael who’s been going behind his back,” Rufus chuckled. “I’m in no position to do anything. But this source could be lying. If it’s someone I know I can at least tell you if they’re trustworthy”
“I decide that, Red-mist.”
After a pause, Rufus nodded – cub he may be, but Nurka spoke with the sureness of a Den Father. Red-mist offered something up to gain further trust, “Well, I don’t know about Noss, but I can tell you Madou’s alive back there.”
Silence.
“What, our Madou?” Casimir said, looking to Nurka.
Rufus continued. “Rode with me down to Gelb; we were in the same carriage. We became well acquainted after a bit of a wonky start.”
Nurka searched his memory. “But he was bitten. He was dead. I saw his lips go blue-”
“He was alive, just about,” Rufus insisted, blowing a strawberry vapour ring and watching it dash off the sloped tent canvas above. “He was interrogated and told the Bloodfangs what he knew. Beasts always talk on the rack, Nurka.”
“Maybe, but Madou knows only what he needed to know, no more,” Nurka said, triumphant.
“Not the truth then?”
“The truth, but with omissions.”
Rufus nodded. “I’m not sure how he avoided execution; perhaps Amael’s hiding him away like you believe he has Noss.”
After a moment’s thought Nurka stood up, “Excuse my rudeness, Red-mist, but I must tell Themba the good news. I’ll be back shortly. We’ll talk more.”
Rufus merely raised a paw, almost ALPHA-like.
Nurka took his leave, hurrying across the camp. The tent flaps had barely settled before Casimir said, “Well, you’ve got Nurka on-side already I see. You work fast, Rufus.”
Rufus puffed on his ember, “What? No pistol this time?”
Out came the pistol, as if Casimir had forgotten. “What did you Bloodfang bastards do to my boy? Answer me!”
“The question’s not what I did to Bruno,” Rufus replied coolly, “but what I’m going to do, which is save his young life if I can.”
Casimir’s eyes darted all over Rufus, searching the arrogant Howler for an explanation, “What? Whaddaya mean?”
“He’s alive. And he’s in ALPHA.”
“ALPHA? What’re you saying?”
“They turned him into an Eisenwolf,” Rufus said. He waited a moment, “I know from your eyes you know what that means.”
Open-jawed, Casimir nodded a little. “That was him, wasn’t it?” he realised, lowering his pistol. “The Eisenwolf back at Riddle Refinery!”
“You saw him?”
“Saw him? I thumping shot him!” Casimir howled, dropping his pistol altogether to grab at his long white ears. “I shot my own lad! I… I didn’t know, I swear!”
Rufus guffawed, “I imagine you merely tickled him.”
“But I-I used an imperium pearl! I blew him off a barge into the Lupa. He must’ve drowned! Oh, Briar forgive me!”
Rufus looked hard at Casimir. “I always thought I could feel someone in The Warren even when Bruno wasn’t around. An afflicted rabbit, rare indeed.”
Casimir wasn’t listening, too busy weeping.
At length, and with some effort, Rufus sat up and placed a paw on Casimir’s shoulder. “Whatever you did, Bruno was well enough to kill a sewer centipede after, so I wouldn’t beat yourself up.”
“But he went into the river!”
“Well, eisenpelz suits have their own air supply. Rafe was alive and talking when I saw him last.”
“Rafe?”
A grimace, “That’s what he’s called now. Ivan spoke to him at length, more than I; he said Bruno didn’t seem the same wolf. That’s how it is when you live day to day with enough imperium in your blood to power a train. It… changes you.”
Casimir wiped his eyes, “He’s forgotten me, then?”
“He’s forgotten everyone, I fear.”
There was a mournful silence.
Rufus glanced beyond the tent flaps. “I won’t ask why you joined THORN, I think I can guess, but if you want to see Bruno again you’d better stay out of my way. I have to come through this to save him – that’s the deal I struck with ALPHA.”
“What? But, aren’t you with Amael?”
“Who I’m with or not makes no difference to you if you want to save your son. Just keep out of my affairs, or better yet go back to Lupa before you get killed! No offence, but Nurka won’t miss you.”
“I can’t abandon Nurka. We’re so close.”
“Close?”
“To setting things right.”
Rufus instantly grabbed Casimir’s jacket and pulled him into his face. “Right?” he snarled. “What’s ‘right’ about hoarding enough black-imperium to murder half of Lupa? What’re you fools planning to do with it, eh?”
“I-I-I don’t know.”
“Come now! You must know! Someone must know. You can’t all be in the dark about Nurka’s plans!”
“Only he knows, that’s his policy-”
Suddenly Rufus released Casimir and lay back down as if nothing had occurred.
The tent flaps whipped open and Nurka returned, fresh from spreading his good news. He noticed a flustered Casimir wiping his eyes and tugging his jacket.
“Casimir?” the hyena asked, crouching on one knee and cupping a paw to the rabbit’s shoulder; Rufus was amazed by his concern for the little beast.
“I’m fine, Nurka,” Casimir sniffed.
Nurka nodded a little, then asked, “I take it Red-mist’s answer was a disappointment?”
After some time, Casimir dipped his chin.
Nurka nodded, “I’m sorry. Your son will be avenged when change comes to Lupa and justice is done. We’ll find those responsible, I promise.”
With a glance down at Rufus, who sternly met his eye, Casimir shakily stood up and excused himself from the suddenly stifling tent.
Well, that could’ve gone better, Rufus thought, but at least he didn’t denounce me to Nurka.
Perhaps he’s on side.
“The authorities killed his son,” Nurka explained, unaware of what had transpired between Casimir and Rufus. “Bruno was an afflicted wolf that Casimir kindly adopted. I assume he asked you about his fate?”
“Yes. I wish I could’ve given Casimir better news.”
Nurka grunted, “I should go talk to him,” and stood up again. “You’ll join Themba and I for dinner this evening,” he decided, on no uncertain terms. “We’ve much to discuss, Red-mist.”
Nurka slipped through the tent flaps leaving Rufus as troubled by the respect this terrorist had shown him as the intelligence he had exhibited. There had been no hint of hyena hysterics or purple-imperium madness like Noss. This chap might swig chunta, but he still knows exactly what he’s about.
Rufus stared at the tent canvas. Chakaa Noss, old friend, are you really out there?
*
Navigating ALPHA HQ’s bland corridor
s on her way to attend the pressing matter of Tristan, Janoah was blown off course by a strange exclamation.
“Toggle, din dins!”
Following what could only be Rafe’s chipper yet mighty voice down the hall, Janoah soon picked up his corona, which guided her out onto the HQ’s central quadrangle, with its lavender rows and gravel paths surrounded on all sides by stern concrete cladding and cheerless long windows. Standing on the stairs overlooking the modest garden, awash in muted afternoon sunlight, Janoah found her Eisenwolf on his knees before the giant bee he’d pinched from Heath’s flat.
“Toggle, din dins!” he urged, tapping a platter of honey with a ladle. “Come on! Din dins!”
The prim Nurse Meryl watched from one side, arms folded in doubt. “Rafe, I think bees are deaf.”
“No, they feel sound with their hairs.”
“Feel sound with their hairs?”
“Yeah.”
Surprised at Rafe’s confidence in the matter, Meryl guffawed gently, “Where’d you get that from?”
“Dunno. Some wolfess.”
“Some wolfess?”
“Yeah.”
Filing this ‘some wolfess’ under one of Rafe’s admirers from amongst ALPHA HQ’s wolfen staff, Meryl sat on the crunchy gravel and adjusted her dress accordingly. “Well it’s not moving,” she said, pawing some of the cool stones.
The nurse felt quite safe sitting down near the bee, for it was just resting there, trembling like a mono ticking over by the kerb. Rafe had physically lifted it out here to see if the outdoors would stir its soul, but so far ‘Toggle’ remained stubbornly unresponsive.
“Toooggle!” Rafe groaned impatiently. “Din dins!”
“Try a different name,” Meryl suggested.
“I like Toggle. It sounds… right.”
“Well its owners must’ve named it something. Where did you get it from exactly?”
It was then that Janoah descended the stairs and made herself known. “Having trouble?” she said, her boots crunching on the gravel.
Meryl made to get up; Janoah waved a paw to indicate there was no need, but the nurse did so anyway, as if she felt more vulnerable sitting in Janoah’s presence than before some giant, venomous insect.
Rafe stood up too, all of him, and complained, “He’s not eating, Jan.”
