by Adam Browne
“That’s because she’s pining, Rafe,” Janoah emphasised, walking over and tidying the big wolf’s brooch and cloak. “She misses her owners. Give her time; she’ll come round when she’s hungry enough.”
Rafe scratched an enormous brown ear and said with a crafty smirk, “How’d you know it’s a she? She could be a he!”
“Trust me; I married an etymologist.”
“Y’what?”
“Bug-doctor,” Janoah clarified, adding, “Rufus isn’t just a pretty face, he knows a thing or two. Just not how to stay out of trouble.”
Rafe nodded silently.
Walking around her massive Eisenwolf, Janoah took his nurse to one side. “How is he?” she whispered.
Meryl cupped her paws over her apron as she and Janoah walked clear of Rafe’s keen earshot. “Erratic,” she said, giving her patient an over the shoulder glance, “but healthy enough, despite a spike in blood-ash levels.”
“He’s definitely not himself today.”
“What did he do last night? He must’ve exerted himself.”
Janoah hummed cagily, “Somewhat.”
“He brought in Howler Tristan didn’t he?” Meryl guessed. “Don’t deny it. Nobody else could’ve done it.”
“I’m not denying anything, my dear Miss Stroud.”
“Den Father Thorvald won’t stand for it-”
“ALPHA’s duty is clear. Is yours?”
Meryl scoffed, “Never clearer, but Tristan’s like a son to Thorvald; everyone knows it. Whatever he’s done the Alpha will have to let him go to keep the packs happy, so you may as well do it now to save yourself the embarrassment-”
“Tristan is a traitor!” Janoah snapped, whirling on Meryl via one heel.
Rafe glanced over, ears pricked.
“I put my own husband down the mines for his transgressions!” Janoah hissed. “I do not pick and choose according to my feelings or anyone else’s!”
Meryl huffed triumphantly, “And yet you let that Bloodfang go earlier.”
“Bloodfang?”
“Josef’s furious about it. He’s gone to Nikita. Linus I think I heard him say.”
Janoah tipped her head back and smiled. “That young buffoon? He pitied some dodger that’s all, so I let him go to keep the Bloodfangs sweet.” The Prefect’s chin dipped and her smile melted, “But Tristan’s no buffoon, Meryl. He’s been feeding information to THORN activists for years. He believes in tearing down the Republic!” Glancing Rafe’s way, Janoah said, “Your only duty is Rafe’s well-being. He needs to be at his best for the week ahead.”
“Why?”
“Because the Pack Summit’s upon us. Ulf help us all.”
Meryl’s eyes searched Janoah’s inscrutable ruddy face for clues whilst she waited for the Prefect to elaborate.
“THORN and the conspirators will make a move,” Janoah admitted, walking on. “We can’t be sure how, but Rafe must be ready to stop them.”
Strolling beside Janoah, Meryl took in the news. “He’ll be going to the Summit, then?” she supposed, at length.
“In secret, yes. The Alpha himself is attending. Rafe will travel as part of his entourage, disguised as a Prefect; keep that under your apron whatever you do.”
“Of course,” Meryl professed, probing hopefully, “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Perhaps I should come. Rafe may need me.”
“That… might raise suspicion amongst the plotters.”
“Suspicion? But they can’t know who I am, surely. I’m nobody special outside of ALPHA-”
“You’d be surprised how deep the corruption runs,” Janoah sniffed vaguely, looking around.
“You mean… there are conspirators in ALPHA?”
“Let’s just say if certain quarters realise Rafe is at the Summit they might try and eliminate him. Failing that they might even use you against him.”
Meryl stopped in her tracks, “Me?”
Janoah swivelled round, paws behind back, and smiled wryly at her, “Let’s not be coy. You’ve nursed Rafe through the worst excesses of the rot for nigh on a year. Read him stories, fed him, bathed him; that’s got to leave an impression on a young wolf.”
Meryl tugged at her high collar and cravat. “Prefect, I swear nothing improper has ever-”
“Save it,” Janoah dismissed, one paw raised. Placing that same a paw on the nurse’s shoulder, she implored her to, “Take care of our Eisenwolf, however you do it. Not for my sake, but all the innocent beasts that may depend on him. If it comes down to a fight, Rafe may be our last hope.”
A flustered Meryl promised, “I’ll do my best for him, but-”
“Oi, Meryl!” Rafe suddenly woofed from afar, “Look, look, look! Quick!”
At last, Toggle trundled over the gravel towards her new master and stuck her snout into the honey dish!
“Hahahaaaa! That’s it, girl!” Rafe laughed, stroking the bee’s furry black brow. “Nom nom nom.”
Meryl tutted, “Look at him, the great big fool.”
Janoah just smiled.
Not bidding the preoccupied Rafe farewell, Janoah left Meryl to deal with the Eisenwolf and his bee whilst she dealt with secret matters of state – who had the harder task being anyone’s guess.
*
As Linus picked his way through the Common Ground he was surprised to be joined by a Politzi car in red and black Bloodfang livery, which pulled up alongside him in the same manner as that morning.
Toot! Toot!
And in the exact same manner, Werner Schwartz put the window down and offered the Howler a ride.
“Hop in, Linus. Don’t argue, mate, I know ALPHA’s given you the once over.”
Well, almost the same manner. The hog sounded strangely assertive compared to his usual ingratiating self.
Every step Linus took sent part of him throbbing; his nose, his stomach, his ears, his pride, each sorer than the last, so without quarrel the young Howler opened the car door and slipped gingerly onto the seat.
“Thanks,” he growled, unbuckling his hefty shield and tossing it on the back seat.
Werner pulled the car gently away. “Let’s get you home before they change their mind.”
“Actually I need to swing by-”
“Oh I wouldn’t go back to the girls; ALPHA will be watching your every move now.”
Linus’s hot wolfen heart somersaulted into his mouth.
Mistaking the Howler’s silence for confusion as oppose to restrained panic, Werner explained himself. “I’m Tristan’s contact,” he revealed freely, crunching gears and turning the wheel, sending his Politzi car hurtling down an alleyway in an effort to lose any would-be tail. “I was meant to meet Heath and the girls at the station and take ‘em to a safe house,” he went on, “but when I saw you get off the train with ‘em I thought better of it and followed yer to see what yer did.” The Hog looked Linus over, “I was pleasantly surprised when ALPHA arrested you. Seems to me you’re on our side. Tristan certainly kept that quiet.”
Linus scoffed, “I’m not on any side. It just sort of… happened.”
Werner grunted soberly, “It’s called a conscience, sir. We’re all born with one, but the system beats it out of us.” The hog nursed the wheel and sighed, “I’ve only lately started listening to mine again.”
Wondering where this was headed, Linus thought he should make himself clear. “Look,” he said, the sight of Tristan writhing on the rack plaguing his mind, “I just want to help Sara and Olivia get out of Lupa and back to Everdor. I don’t want to get involved in anything else.”
“Fair enough, lad.”
Linus frowned beneath his helmet, “Lad?”
Werner beamed apologetically, “Sorry, sir. I’m fond of you, is all. Anyone not half my age is just a lad, even if they could put me through a wall with their imperious powers.”
“I see. Well, I’d never put you through a wall, Werner.”
“Glad to hear it, Howler.”
Aft
er negotiating some traffic, Werner hazarded, “I, uh… I take it Tristan’s been taken in?”
Linus waited a moment, “That mad cat Josef’s racking him as we speak.”
“So much for Lupan Law,” Werner said, shaking his head and making his flabby, collar-riding jowls wobble. “That puts me in a pickle. If he talks I’ll have to disappear again.”
“What do you mean?”
“I fought in the civil war – on the losing side. Had to lay low for years afterwards, me and my old friends. Even now they’d dig out papers and throw my past back at me. Torture me. I’d sooner top meself this time.”
“But the amnesty,” Linus said. “The records were all destroyed, that was part of the peace agreement-”
“Nooo, lad!” Werner laughed, recoiling at the Howler’s naivety. “Don’t be daft. The packs got it all squirrelled away, and if they do, ALPHA definitely does!”
Linus looked away, “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it!”
After a brief silence, Werner asked, “Does Tristan know where you took Heath n’ the girls?”
Nursing his bruises, Linus seethed, “No. That’s what Josef wanted to know. Luckily Janoah stepped in before he chucked me on the rack.”
“Janoah?” Werner snorted. “She got you off the hook?”
Linus simply nodded.
“Why?”
“She owed me a favour; an old one.”
Werner blinked disbelief from his beady eyes. “That wolfess is a mystery to me. She always was. She arrests her husband, right, yet gets some nobody Howler off the hook – no offence. What’s she about, lad? I don’t get it.”
Linus had no answers, only questions. “What’ll become of Tristan?”
Werner’s snout twisted, “I dunno. If he admits nothing maybe they’ll have to let him go; ALPHA still needs evidence to convince a jury of Elders… for now.”
Linus watched the streets of Lupa pass by, citizens, shops, ash-streaked terraced houses. “Is he guilty of treason?” he asked, turning slowly to Werner. “Are you?”
The pink pig glanced back at the blonde wolf, “Would it stop you helping Heath and the girls if I were?”
“No.”
Werner tapped his snout and sniffed.
Linus pressed the matter, “Why do you want to help Olivia anyway?”
“Why do you?”
Linus shrugged, “Because… she doesn’t want to be a Howler, I think. I certainly don’t want Josef to force her.”
“Aye, if she stays here he’ll force her all right. He’ll make a right Howler out of her and probably more besides.”
“You mean an Eisenwolf? You can say it.”
Werner half-confirmed, “Tristan reckons Olivia’s right powerful. When them wolfen ladies get the rot boy do they get it! Aye and all that comes with it. I’ve seen that little sprite Janoah blow Howlers twice her size into next week. She holds back to keep healthy, but believe me when she has to she can floor an army.”
Linus could believe it. “Of course, the rot is sex-linked, like colour-blindness,” he said. “Boys are more likely to develop it, but girls that do get it often express greater capacity to wield and tolerate imperium.” He spread a paw at Werner, “But there’s dozens of phenotypes, you know.”
“Phenotypes?” the hog guffawed.
“Combinations of genes,” the wolf explained.
Snorting, gear-changing bafflement.
The bookish Linus distilled matters further. “Genes are what we inherit from our parents; they determine eye colour, fur colour, everything. Some genes probably protect us from the rot, others predispose us to it. It’s all in Heath’s work. It’s pioneering stuff, you should read it-”
“Lad lad lad, I dunno much about science, but whatever Olivia’s got going on inside her, every Howler, Watcher and dare I say it Eisenwolf that never comes to pass makes the packs weaker and gives us citizens space to breathe, which can only be a good thing.”
Linus said nothing to that – but then he was no mere citizen.
Suddenly Werner pulled over by the side of the road. “Listen,” he said, glancing about, “I need to tell you the plan before we get to Riddle Den.”
“Plan?”
“I might not get another chance before you have to leave. Stop me now if you want out. I won’t blame yer. There’s no shame in it.”
Linus offered his tacit acceptance.
“All right then,” Werner sniffed, shifting his bulk and nervously nursing the wheel, “this is what we’re gonna do.”
Chapter 34
“We’d better make camp,” Gunnar Greystone said.
Uther stopped hacking at vines and squinted at the setting sun glinting through the forest canopy like imperium crystals. “What?” he woofed, pressing on. “There’s an hour of daylight left, at least!”
“Yeah but all the nasties come out at night, mate,” the yellow-cloaked Gunnar explained, casting his eyes over the foliage whilst puffing on the last dregs of an ember. “Best we settle down before then.”
Uther stopped hacking a second time, “Whatcha mean, nasties?”
“Scorpions, centipedes, rove beetles.”
“Spiders,” Ivan added with intent, throwing Uther a merrily malicious look despite his obscuring helmet – it was all in those icy eyes.
Uther’s white snout twitched accordingly, “Spiders?”
“Widow spiders, trapdoor spiders, Gunnar listed confidently, “net-casting spiders.” Blowing ember vapours to the still evening air he said, “Luckily most of ‘em sit still and wait for dinner to come to them, so if we make camp and keep a fire going we’ll be all right-”
The Greystone suddenly clapped a brown paw to his thick wolfen neck, swatting the bravest of many midges buzzing about the party.
“Pesky blood-suckers aside,” Gunnar laughed, wiping his paw off.
“I brought mosquito nets,” Ivan revealed.
Gunnar was pleasantly surprised. “Nice one. And there was I starting to think you two townies didn’t have a clue! Most city-folk don’t.”
“He doesn’t,” Ivan said effortlessly, referring to Uther.
Gunnar hiked an eyebrow, but declined to pass further comment.
“Yeah, well,” Uther asserted, wagging a sword at Ivan, “at least I can find my way round Lupa blindfolded, not to mention function in civilised society like a normal wolf unlike a certain weirdo… so there.”
The trio made camp, Ivan taking care of a fire whilst Gunnar constructed a shelter. Starting with bare branches lashed together in a triangular frame, Gunnar laid leafy branches on top to keep out the worst of any rain, before covering the entrance to the simple structure with the gauzy mosquito nets Ivan had promised him. Uther helped gather and cut branches, but was otherwise out of his depth.
“I need water,” Ivan said, holding out his saucepan in a lacklustre fashion, “make yourself useful, Wild-heart; I can’t leave this fire.”
Uther snatched the pan. “Will do, Blade-prancer,” he teased, making his way down hill to the stream they had been following.
Checking Uther had quite gone, Gunnar asked Ivan, “Why’s he called Wild-heart if he dunno the first thing about the wilds?”
Blowing on his struggling fire, Ivan dodged the question, “You’d have to ask the hyenas.”
“Yeah. Only, I heard a rumour it’s not a hyena name; that Uther just made it up to impress beasts.”
“I ignore jealous tongues.”
A nod, “And what about your name, ‘Blade-dancer’?”
After some time poking the fire, Ivan said dead-pan, “Oh, I made it up.”
Gunnar frowned, then laughed. “Hah! Yeah, right.”
As twilight fell, Gunnar watched the frustrated Ivan fuss with his pathetic embers a little while longer before he moseyed over and knelt opposite, ears pricked and eyes wide, like a cub eager to provide assistance.
Sensing the Greystone’s tacit judgement regarding his own wild skills, Ivan excused lamely, “Wood’s da
mp.”
The great Blade-dancer had hardly justified his failure before Gunnar produced a silvery canister from his cloak pocket. Removing the lid with a satisfying pop he poured a little heap of sparkling yellow sand into his paw and quickly threw it into the base of the fire.
Foof!
Blinding white flames and burning heat erupted from the conflagration, illuminating the trees as if by daylight, before settling down again as a perfect, cheery campfire.
Gunnar popped the lid back on the canister and blew any remaining dust from his paw. “’Tis magic!”
“Flash powder,” Ivan corrected, blinking a rippling after-image from his bleary eyes. “It’s just ground-up yellow-imperium, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, kinda. Did you two run out, or something?”
“Run out? We never had any. Never do.”
“What?” Gunnar woofed. “Flaid gave Amael a case of yellow-imperium, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“So what’s he done with it?”
“I’ve no idea. Sold it to help balance Riddle’s books, I suppose; Ulf forbid he furnish his Howlers with extra equipment.”
At length, Gunnar tossed the sarcastic Ivan his canister of flash powder. “Keep it,” he whistled.
Surprised, Ivan rolled it over in his paws. “I couldn’t.”
“I’ve loads,” Gunnar dismissed. “Call it a little gift. Least I can do. You Bloodfangs saved me life when I were bitten by that centipede.”
“You have Rufus to thank for that.”
“I know. Why do you think I volunteered for this?”
Ivan stared at Gunnar through the flames, then dipped his chin and gaze a little and emitted a grunt – what passed as approval from Blade-dancer, Gunnar supposed.
He watched Ivan gingerly pour a little powder into his palm, enough to flavour some chips if it were salt, and flick it into the fire in the somewhat haphazard manner of someone unsure.
Foof!
“Here,” Gunnar said, raising a finger and taking a second canister of flash-powder from his backpack. “I’ll show you another trick, mate.”
Sprinkling a little powder on his palm he stood up and cast it not into the burning fire but the cold dusk air. In the same instant a spark of imperious plasma shot down his armoured arm and contacted the glittering cloud, igniting it in a dazzling flash.
