Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “Indeed,” Amael said, “and if I achieve what I set out to achieve it’ll be a historic scoop.”

  Producing a notepad and pencil from her cloak, Livia stood ready, “And what is it you’re setting out to achieve, Elder?”

  Amael laughed at this wolfess’ gall, “You’ll see firstpaw, Cub. You’ll be along for the ride.”

  Livia had hardly the chance to perform an overblown gasp of joy before the lofty Vladimir poked his silvery armoured nose into the conversation. “If I may take your student numbers, Cubs.”

  “Numbers, Vladimir?” Amael snapped.

  “For security checks, Elder, to make sure these Cubs are who they say they are.”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  Vladimir remained firm. “I cannot be responsible for your safety if I cannot do my job, Elder,” he said, turning to the Cubs, “Numbers, please.”

  “43956, Livia,” Livia said impeccably.

  “Uh, ah….” her short comrade struggled.

  “She’s 43961, Tara,” Livia said on her behalf.

  “Oh, aye,” the short one confirmed, “43… 96… 01.”

  Whilst Vladimir hurriedly rifled about his cloak pocket for his golden pen and something to write on, Livia jotted the numbers down on her reporter’s notepad and tore off the sheet for him.

  “Here you are, Grand Howler.”

  Still with a paw inside his white cloak, Vladimir eyed Livia up a moment, before taking the rain-flecked paper with the very tips of his fingers. “Humph.”

  With much throat-clearing, Linus clumsily barrelled in and held out a paw, “I’ll do the check, sir, if you’re too busy-”

  “I’ll manage, Howler,” Vladimir assured him, tucking the paper safely away in his cloak pocket and patting his chest where both it and his pen were snugly sequestered. “Rest assured, I’ll ring through when we get to the Lupan Wall.”

  Linus had no recourse and so stood back again.

  “Two Howler wolfesses in the same place at the same time,” Vladimir observed, looking the stripy pair over, “most unusual, wouldn’t you say, Elder Amael?”

  “Yes. We’ve only ever had one wolfess on Riddle’s roster in my time and that was Janoah.”

  Livia explained the supposed anomaly away, “As with colour-blindness, sirs, the imperium gene is sex-linked and recessive. Males have the X and a Y chromosome whereas we females have two X’s, giving us a greater chance of being born healthy-”

  “We are well-aware of Lupine biology, Cub,” Vladimir huffed.

  “Of course, Grand Howler. What you may not appreciate, being of the masculine persuasion, is that we afflicted females tend to stick together for our own… protection.” Livia raised a limp paw to her puckered brow, “The Howler Academy can be such a… a daunting place with so many virile young wolves and so few wolfesses to confide in.” With a tiny gasp she looked affectionately to her comrade, “Tara and I have stuck together through thick and thin. We look out for each other, isn’t that right Tara?”

  “Oh, aye,” the little one piped. “Thick and thin.”

  Whilst Vladimir remained unmoved, Amael predictably melted before Livia’s performance. “It must be difficult,” the Elder grunted warmly. “But I assure you, you’ll be quite safe in the company of my Howlers. Wolves will be wolves, but I do not tolerate ungallant behaviour in Riddle’s ranks. It’s the rod for any wolf who dares disrespect a wolfess – you can put that in your paper.”

  Smiling appreciatively, Howler Cub Livia dutifully scribbled Amael’s quote down in her increasingly damp and dishevelled notepad.

  “The Elder Train approaches, sir!” one of the Den Guards announced, stomping a foot.

  “Stand ready,” Amael replied, raising a paw. He turned to Linus, “Trooper.”

  “Yes, Elder?”

  “Take charge of our guests. Put them up in a spare cabin; we’re a few Howlers short with Uther and Ivan away and Rufus out of the picture, so there should be room enough in our allotted carriage.”

  “Yes, Elder,” Linus vowed, saluting extra-smartly.

  His will expressed, Amael faced the tracks again and stood paws behind back as he often did, flanked by his Den Guards and the rest of his Howlers, five others in all. Vladimir stood ready also, but watched Linus and his charges out the corner of his eyes; watched them exchange knowing glances and nods when they thought nobody was looking.

  “Foolish boy,” Vladimir grunted to himself.

  To the left of Linus and everyone else, a billowing black cloud chugged swiftly over the ragged roofs and twisted chimneys of Riddle District, mixing into the bland grey sky like too much iodine being injected into a solution by an overenthusiastic science pupil.

  The source of the churning cloud slowly turned towards Linus, growing louder, chugging away, before a bright white light emerged from behind a signal station, reflecting off the rain-glazed tracks and dazzling the blue-eyed wolf into squinting somewhat.

  The Elder Train!

  The great crest of a wolf’s skull and red fangs secured to the engine’s growing face proclaimed to all that this train was the Bloodfang’s premier locomotive. Every pack had their own Elder Train to ferry their leaders to and from special occasions such as the Pack Summit, or Winterfeast, or to meetings with dignitaries of other lands and kingdoms, if so invited. Linus had seen the Elder Trains of various packs pass his house as a boy, and from atop his late father’s shoulders had perched high enough by the trackside to glimpse their marvellous wood-panelled interiors where Howlers smouldered in velvet luxury under crystal chandeliers.

  Linus never imagined he might step aboard such a fabulous train back then, and now he cared not to. Consumed by burgeoning panic he hardly noticed the massive blood-red engine rumble by, an enormous tangle of pipes and armour with wheels the dimensions of dinner tables, every inch already streaked with glittering ash after doubtless being cleaned just this morning. The endless entourage of carriages, their windows glowing with an invitingly warm light and pocked with wolfen faces, filled him only with dread.

  Vladimir’s onto me. He’s going to find out I’m helping a dodger and then I’m going to be arrested, tried and sent down the mines with Rufus.

  No, stay calm; Werner said those numbers are good.

  The train squealed to a stop amidst hisses and clouds of ash and smartly dressed Politzi hog conductors emerged from several carriages to facilitate the boarding of both Amael’s wolves and their luggage.

  The conductors saluted Amael and informed him that Riddle District had been assigned Sleeping Carriage 13 for this event, farthest from the Den Father at the very end of the train, bar the caboose, or brake car.

  “Car Thirteen?” Amael woofed in disgust.

  Despite his initial instinctive exclaim, Amael quickly calmed down and nodded in acceptance. There was no dishonour in it; carriages were assigned randomly to help preclude any favouritism, at least in theory. It wasn’t impossible that someone had greased administrative paws to arrange the rising Amael be isolated at the end of the train, but if Amael himself hadn’t bothered to fiddle the books he doubted anyone else had the guts or heart to. Most of those who had been outwardly against him before were in his pocket now. Armed with Janoah’s damaging information about their private lives gleaned from ALPHA’s secret archives, even Amael’s enemies had no choice but to vote him into the mantle of Den Father when the time came, a time that would come sooner than they imagined.

  The starting horn had sounded.

  Grumbling surreptitiously under his helmet, Amael led the way along the station platform striding past carriages and windows, watched by one and all, friend and enemy. Vladimir kept pace whilst the suspicious Cubs stuck to the lagging Linus like glue, particularly the small one.

  “Och! They’re all staring at us,” she fretted, keeping her head down.

  “Don’t worry, Sara,” Linus said, despite worrying. “Put your helmet back on, Olivia.”

  “Nobody here knows my face,” Olivia replied.


  “You never know. ALPHA plants agents everywhere, just like any other pack. There could be an informant of Josef’s aboard somewhere.”

  Olivia duly donned her austere, grey, student’s helmet, becoming ‘Livia’ again.

  After passing an eternity of carriages filled with wolfen faces and bearing countless imperious eyes burning into the top of their helmeted heads, Linus and the girls made the second to last carriage and joined Amael and his entourage as they filed aboard. The train hogs had rolled out a pristine red carpet, which quickly turned black under the pounding of two dozen ash-plastered Howler boots. Thirteen districts, thirteen Elders, thirteen red carpets ruined, Linus supposed, and that was just the Bloodfangs! The logistics of the Pack Summit, the sheer cost, was starting to crystallise in the young Howler’s mind. The mathematics proved a welcome distraction, as did the glorious interior he found himself in.

  Directly opposite Linus as he boarded the Elder Train was a coffee table flanked by two red armchairs and topped with decanter of complimentary brandy and crystal tumblers – knowing Elder Amael he’d be all over that any second. To Linus’s right an invitingly plush red sofa beckoned with black pillows propped up on each arm – very nice. To the Howler’s left, snug against the carriage’s rear wall and overlooked by a Bloodfang crest, stood a writing desk proffering pens and paper – useful. All around imperium lamps shone dutifully, their warm glow shimmering on the polished wood panelling and quilted red walls. Red carpet lined with gold thread ran from here towards the engine end of the train, then off to the starboard side and down a corridor with doors to private cabins that likely made up the remainder of Carriage 13.

  As far as Linus understood, this sleeper carriage was for Amael and his Riddle Den Howlers, whilst dining, grooming and other necessities took place in specialised cars towards the middle of the train. Though such amenities had to be shared by representatives from every district, Linus had read that this was seen as beneficial. The whole pack would be forced to mingle; over dinner in the dining car, over embers in the lounge car, and even over towels and glimmer bottles in the bathing car. Elders, however introvert and guarded, would naturally discuss their affairs, learn the Den Father’s will, influence him and each other, before arriving at the Summit to officially debate with other packs and cast votes for or against proposals that would affect all of Lupa. Thus, of all the annual Summits, it was Hummel’s that beasts always remembered, simply because of the novelty and logistics involved in travelling so far. Bloodfang, Eisbrand, Greystone, their capital districts were a stone’s throw away from one another; Hummel were on the other side of the Sunrise Mountains in Everdor, clean and verdant Everdor. It was an adventure even for the oldest, crustiest Elders.

  Momentarily, Linus felt more excited than scared.

  As predicted, Amael dived on the brandy before everyone was even aboard, deftly filling all the tumblers with his practised paw like a bar beast.

  “Let’s make a toast.”

  Whilst Amael’s two Den Guards stiffly refused the offer of a tipple as their creed dictated, Amael all but forced Vladimir and Linus to partake in his impromptu toast by pressing tumblers into their paws regardless of the fact it wasn’t even ten o’clock. The other Bloodfang Howlers lucky enough to be chosen for this trip were roped in the moment they stepped aboard, as were the Cubs – there were glasses enough for everyone.

  “To Riddle,” Amael said, removing his dripping helmet and slamming it on the coffee table.

  Livia boldly stepped forward and raised her glass. “To the Bloodfangs!” she declared instead, with the fervour common to new recruits.

  Whilst some of the Howlers lingering behind sniggered at the Cub, Amael looked appreciatively to her and raised his glass. “To Lupa,” he bettered, adding, “as I’m sure Boris would say if he were here guarding my conscience and not looking after Riddle Den in my absence.”

  The Howlers removed, or in some cases merely lifted their helmets and sampled the brandy with differing enthusiasm, some knocking it back like the hardy Amael, others merely sipping the lip like the wary Vladimir, but all with the fervent cry.

  “To Lupa!”

  All bar one. Linus noticed Sara didn’t join in, not even lifting her helmet for a second to sip the drink; for whatever reason she just stood there stiff as a statue. Was she terrified, or just a strict teetotaller? Either way, Linus swapped glasses and downed Sara’s drink on her behalf – by Ulf he needed it.

  Nobody noticed, or at least nobody cared, not even Sara.

  The carpet was rolled up, the doors slammed shut, whistles blown. The Elder Train’s exceptionally powerful engine jolted into motion, causing a few stumbles.

  “What about our luggage?” Linus piped.

  “Already in your cabin, Mills,” Amael calmly assured him, breaking out an ember and a second drink. “You’re on the Elder Train to Hummelton now,” he said, raising his glass to his lips. “You’ll want for nothing over the next few days… except perhaps your sanity.”

  *

  The Alpha saluted ALPHA-style, Nikita saluted back from the top of the HQ’s bleak concrete stairs.

  With one paw twiddling her cravat, Meryl Stroud imagined what passed between them as she watched from above through the rain-flecked window. Something along the lines of ‘Good luck, my Alpha,’ and ‘I leave HQ in your capable paws, Nikita,’ or some such. Then the short, brown-furred Alpha ducked into his motorcade with the big, black-furred Duncan and rotund, white-furred Horst, the latter looking even more overburdened with medals than per usual. The Alpha sported only the Imperium Heart, as always. Nikita and Silvermane waved them off, before turning to one another and chatting as they moseyed back into the foyer of ALPHA HQ and out of Meryl’s sight.

  Bvvvt!

  She whirled round to see Toggle trundling along the corridor towards her, a jittering ball of shiny black carapace and fluff.

  “Oh! And how did you get out?” the ALPHA nurse tutted at the bee.

  Toggle replied with a brief flutter of her iridescent wings.

  Bvvt!

  Then nuzzling into Meryl’s dress she trembled away like a parked car, as bees were in the habit of doing.

  “Surely you can’t be lonely,” Meryl cooed, bending down and gingerly patting the bee’s dimply armoured brow. She didn’t quite trust the creature not to twist its plump abdomen round and sting her in the shin. However, since bees could sting only once before dying, Toggle would need to be in fear for the colony’s survival to resort to self-sacrifice, and, since there was no colony, she wouldn’t. Meryl hoped she had her facts straight regards this giant of a bee.

  Suddenly a giant of a wolf approached, his familiarly hefty boot steps turning Meryl’s pert ears long before the follow-up deep yet bright, “Oi, Meryl!”

  “Oi indeed!” Meryl reproached fondly, standing up to receive Rafe Stenton as he clomped down the way in his smart Prefect’s uniform; black cloak, greaves, helmet and all, his ribbon for a tail wafting behind. Cupping her paws together Meryl said, “I thought you’d already left.”

  Rafe woofed, “What? Not without saying bye.”

  “But I thought you were-” Meryl began, looking outside where the Alpha’s long-gone car had been, then changing course, “Well, just be careful, won’t you?”

  “Aww, it’s just a training exercise, Meryl.”

  Meryl knew the truth, that Rafe was to act as the Alpha’s secret bodyguard, but she played her part and feigned ignorance. “Even so, watch your imperium levels,” she advised, skirting as closely to the truth as she could without revealing her knowledge. “Don’t push yourself too far.”

  “Doctor Josef’s coming,” the Eisenwolf replied, waving a big paw. “It’ll be fine.”

  A prim, restrained sort of nod from Meryl; then, amidst a spread of her paws and a shrug, she half-joked, “After looking after you day and night for all these months I won’t know what to do with myself whilst you’re away. I’ll be bored out of my mind-”

  Bvvt! Bv
v!

  “Hah! Looks like Toggle’ll keep you busy,” Rafe laughed heartily. “She’s taken a shine to you, en’ she?”

  Bvvvv-v-v-v!

  Meryl swore that, “I shut her in with a bowl of honey. I’ve no idea how she got out.”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  “Then she must’ve opened the door herself, somehow.”

  Bending down as Meryl had, Rafe patted Toggle’s firm brow and cooed like a doting parent to a cub, “Who’s a clever little bee? Yes you are! Yes you are!”

  Bvvvvt! Bvv!

  Toggle wobbled her rear-end about and turned in circles.

  Bvvvvt! Bvv! Bvvvvvvt!

  “What is she doing?” Meryl giggled. “Is she dancing?”

  “I dunno. We’re gonna need an expert.”

  “Yes. If we’re to look after her properly I shall have to read up on beekeeping.”

  “Yeah, good idea,” Rafe chirped, standing up and hiking a thumb behind him. “Look… I’d better go. Jan’s waiting; she’ll take me head off.”

  Meryl suddenly grasped Rafe’s mighty arms with both paws. “Let me see your face before you go,” she implored him, her own face as sober as he had ever seen it.

  “What? Oh, yeah!”

  Tutting at his perceived stupidity, Rafe unbuckled the strap of his plain black Prefect’s helmet and slipped it off via his great daft ears.

  “Sorry,” he excused rubbing his untidy scalp, “I forgot I was wearing it. It’s so light compared to me eisenpelz.”

  Meryl just stared, her eyes flitting hither and thither, exploring Rafe’s prematurely weathered visage, with his imperfect fur and drawn, tired eyes that yet burnt with an imperious flame.

  At length the big wolf cracked under the little nurse’s scrutiny. “What?” he laughed, rubbing his neck.

  “You look very smart.”

  Rafe smiled and winked roguishly, “Oi, now that is a compliment, coming from you, nurse prim ‘n’ proper.”

  Meryl laughed in kind, then suddenly dipped her chin, her smile cooling rapidly. “Rafe did you...” she began afresh, trailing off.

  “What?”

  “Did you tell Janoah about Tristan?”