Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  Meryl didn’t nod.

  Regardless, Silvermane took his leave, lingering at the ward door a moment, watching as Meryl mopped the brow of that traitorous Tristan with as much care and diligence as she would Rafe.

  *

  The trucks rolled to a stop in the woods, dappled sunlight rolling across metal and canvas, wheels pushing aside great mounds of mud like chocolate biscuit dough. The hyenas disembarked, Nurka, Themba, the newly rescued Madou and their loyal followers.

  THORN had arrived in Everdor.

  Where in Everdor the feverish Rufus had no idea. His squinting eyes swivelled this way and that, absorbing everything as Nurka’s hyenas ferried him through the woods on a stretcher. Hummelton must be within striking distance, what with the Summit being tomorrow and all, yet this looked to be the deepest darkest wilderness, far from the Hummel capital district. We must be in the wilds; how else could the hyenas have a camp here and yet go unnoticed?

  Rufus’s mental ramblings were derailed as the hyenas set his stretcher down on a table in a large circular tent.

  The skull-mask and muscled shoulders of Nurka loomed over him, purple eyes gleaming as ever. “How are you, Red-mist?” he rasped.

  “Never better,” Rufus lied. “Where am I?”

  “Everdor, but you knew that. This is our chief THORN encampment. I’ve never allowed outsiders here before. Not even Amael knows where we are.”

  “And… y-you didn’t make me wear a blindfold?” Rufus chuckled drily, seething in pain.

  “We’re past that, I think,” Nurka cackled, with a tiny scoff and nod. “You’re no outsider. I owe you Themba’s life, my Prince’s freedom… many things.” The hyena chief added soberly, “Besides, even were you a spy you’re not going anywhere in your condition, and even if you could we’re a long way from a telephone. You’re no threat to us.”

  “Very reassuring.”

  “It’s not me that needs reassuring; I’m just voicing my arguments aloud.”

  “Well if it helps, I’m convinced of my own impotence.”

  “Humph.”

  “Since I’m no threat, where are we exactly?”

  Nurka unpinned his zigzagged cloak, “What Hummels call Grunrose District.”

  Rufus lifted his head. “Grunrose?” he said, piecing his Lupan geography together. “But… that’s on the northern edge of Hummel territory. We’re hundreds of miles away from Hummelton.”

  “Yes,” Nurka confirmed, beating clouds of brown Gelb dust from his cloak. “It’s very quiet up here on the borders of civilisation. For over a year now we’ve been travelling the Sunrise Mountains, past Gelb and down the river to Lupa, then back again to Everdor, each time adding to our cache.”

  “Cache?” Rufus repeated. “You mean… the black-imperium?”

  Nurka nodded.

  By Ulf, Rufus thought, all THORN’s labours are stowed in a tent or buried underground somewhere around here. He laid back down with some unease, as if this very tent might be pitched above a secret hoard of lethal black-imperium. If it could be found and destroyed, the canisters split open out here far from civilisation, that’d end Nurka’s venture, and Amael’s with him, yet cause minimal harm. However, breaking open the canisters like barrels of beer would be suicide for the beast wielding the axe.

  It’ll have to be me. I can’t ask Noss, even less Tomek.

  “So, how are you planning to get to the Summit?” Rufus asked, somehow maintaining conversation even whilst his mind explored every path. Arriving always at his own demise his heart sank. I’ll never go on my expedition now; never see the Dead Cities. “We’re… h-half a day away by truck and you’ll be stopped by Howlers,” he struggled on. “The security around Hummelton will be tight. They won’t let a fly pass, let alone truckload of hyenas and black-imperium.”

  Donning his cloak again Nurka huffed, “Do you think I spent years planning the downfall of Lupa’s corrupt regime and yet overlooked such things?”

  Rufus grimaced, “I’m merely concerned, my good hyena.”

  His good hyena grunted, “Prince Noss is equally concerned. Forgive me, but I must explain my plans to him before anyone, even Themba and Madou. It would be an affront to Prince Noss’s rank to overlook him. He is our prince, after all and you’re a… well a….”

  “An outsider, yes.”

  Nurka bowed a little, “I’m glad you understand. I’ll return as soon as I’ve put the prince’s mind at ease.” He made to leave, but lingered, “My hyenas will tend to your needs, but is there anything specific I can do for you?”

  “No, no I’m quite alright just lying here.”

  “Very well-”

  “Wait, uh… send Tomek in, would you?”

  “Tomek?”

  Rufus explained, “I just want to make sure he’s all right after… everything. He’s the sort to bottle things up, you see. Proud chap. He’s only a cub, you know.”

  A nod, then Nurka slipped through the tent flaps.

  Within no time at all the grey Tomek burst inside, anxiety pasted across those dark, caterpillar-like brows, as if Nurka had informed him Rufus was dying and about to cross the eternal plains and sit with his ancestors, as hyena beliefs maintained.

  “Rufus!” he woofed, rushing to his friend’s side and looking him over. “You all right?”

  “As can be,” Rufus replied, taking Tomek all in. He was wearing a stripy hyena cloak and greaves, no less! “Well, well look at you. Defected have we, Usenko?”

  Tomek looked down at himself. “No no, is not like that. I-I-I had nothing to wear and-”

  “Calm down, Tomek, I’m only pulling your leg. It’s much better than those rank Gelb rags.”

  A nod, a shrug, a handsome wink – the rogue. “Black and white suits me, no?”

  “Most becoming. You’re a regular hyena warrior now.”

  “Hahaha!”

  Checking the tent flaps for real hyena warriors, Rufus suddenly grabbed Tomek and pulled him close. “Listen, whatever happens next keep your head down,” he seethed, his rough voice resembling car tyres rolling slowly down a gravel drive. Weathering resurgent rot pains he soldiered on, “I-I-I didn’t want you involved in all this… but you’re here now… I know that.”

  “Rufus, I have to tell you-”

  “You’ve been a great help, Tomek. Really! Just don’t do anything foolish. You can’t fight Nurka, you can’t do anything. They’re too strong. Leave this to Noss and myself.”

  “You?” Tomek scoffed. “But your wounds-”

  “I’ll be fine,” Rufus dismissed. “It’ll pass.”

  “Pass? The ants cut you up, Rufus!”

  “Look, just sit quietly and ride this out and you’ll be back in Lupa in no time. All right? I’ll get your record cleared in a heartbeat… and Helmut’s too.”

  “Helmut?”

  “He deserves to be pardoned. It’s not much good now, but there it is. Perhaps his family will appreciate a posthumous medal. But I’m not losing you as well, so stay out of it-”

  “I can’t, I’m Janoah’s agent!” Tomek growled.

  Rufus’s eyes darted all over the Watcher, “What?”

  Glancing behind, Tomek leant close and seethed through his fangs, “Rufus I’m sorry, but I am… I am ALPHA agent.”

  *

  Nurka shepherded Noss through the forested camp. Hyenas cooking over fires and sharpening imperium spears looked up and, upon recognising their prince, dropped everything to grovel in the erde.

  Noss hoped it was for him they bowed, not Nurka.

  “After you, my Prince,” the chief said, stopping by a larger and finer tent than the rest.

  Noss ducked inside. To his surprise the interior was magnificent, the floor-level bed being piled high with plush white pillows and velvety black blankets, whilst thick rugs bearing patterns of insects and plants knotted in red and gold covered every square inch with no bare erde to be seen. In the corner, by the bed, was a small, beautifully-carved wooden table housing a hookah pipe ful
l of purple-imperium, and fine crystal decanters containing colourful translucent drinks, ready to pour into equally fine tumblers. There was a bigger albeit very low table in the middle of the room on which papers could be spread and plans made no doubt – hyenas didn’t wander around gesticulating like wolves, nor even sit, they knelt respectfully and humbly. Even so, Nurka seemed to enjoy the good life.

  “It’s like a matriarch’s hut in here!” Noss cackled at him, taking it all in. “Very nice, Nurka.”

  Nurka didn’t react, save to silently spread a paw at the mattresses – sleeping and seating were one and the same to hyenas.

  Sighing loudly, Noss gladly fell amidst the soft pillows, paws behind his head – after a year in Gelb it was paradise. With a start, he sat up again.

  “Forgive me, Nurka,” he chuckled. “My privations have been… long.”

  “Not at all my Prince,” Nurka replied simply, kneeling beside him. “Drink?”

  “Please.”

  Removing his helmet, as Noss did his, Nurka poured them both a stiff-smelling drink.

  By the Wind he’s still so young, Noss realised, taking in Nurka’s handsome, unblemished face again for the first time in over a year. He had the mind of a beast twice his age and the extraordinarily muscular physique of a Chakaa to back his assertions up; it was so easy to forget just how young he was when disguised by that ferocious Jua-mata skull helmet.

  “To THORN,” Nurka said, raising his glass.

  Noss raised his in kind, “To the Jua-mata.”

  Chinking their glasses they knocked back their drinks in a single gulp.

  “Not bad,” Noss said. “Hummel liquor, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “A filthy wolfen beverage? You surprise me, Nurka.”

  The youngster allowed a rare chuckle, “My Prince, it’s not wolves I hate, but the regime. An ally like Rufus wouldn’t be alive if I was so simple.”

  “Simple like Themba?” Noss goaded, slapping Nurka on his nearest massive spotty arm and adding quickly, “I’m teasing! He’s come on leaps and bounds.”

  Nurka forced a quick, polite laugh, and set his empty glass aside. “Wolfkind is enslaved by Lupa’s corruption as much as anyone,” he said, gravely. “There are good and bad in all, even hyenas. I haven’t forgotten what you taught me, nor allowed Themba and Madou to forget. One must see beneath the hide, beneath the colours, spots, shapes and manners that separate us hardly at all… to the soul that does.”

  Noss nodded, “I am relieved to hear that.” He took a sharp breath and asked, “How goes the affliction with you three?”

  “Well, my Prince.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “It comes and goes.”

  Noss tapped his skull and flashed a manic smile, “And what of the mind, Nurka? Does that come and go too?”

  With a twitch of a purple eye, the chief spread a paw at the low tabletop. “You wanted to know what we’re to do; I’ll show you,” he said, changing subject.

  “What about Madou and Themba-”

  “I must confide in you first, my Prince, as is your right. They will understand,” Nurka said, all but interrupting.

  Noss dipped his chin and grunted.

  Shuffling to the table, the prince watched the chieftain roll out some paper and quickly sketch the beginnings of a simple map using a traditional reed dipped in ink. One could add drafting to Nurka’s list of abilities, as the young hyena swiftly laid ink lines hither and thither with quick and daring strokes that a master cat calligrapher of the east would envy. A bushy forest took shape, then a river in a single broad wavy stroke; farmland dotted with sprigs of grass appeared and what looked like a farm. Then, far across the other side, a quick collection of blocks, houses; a castle and a city wall – Hummelton?

  “We are here,” Nurka said, placing a tent in the forest.

  “I gathered that,” Noss cackled.

  Nurka smiled and shuffled a little, he seemed nervous for the first time Noss had seen.

  Strange.

  The chief scratched an X elsewhere in the forest, north of the camp, by a rocky outcrop.

  “This is the black-imperium cache,” he revealed, adding a mouth to the rock. “It’s in a cave north of here. Of the hyenas that went on raids only I know where the cache is, just in case anyone was captured. Not even Madou knows, yet.”

  Noss nodded, “I’m honoured by your trust, Nurka.”

  “You’re our Prince,” Nurka explained simply, moving the tip of his reed down to the farm he had sketched. “This is Rumney Farm. It’s not far from here on the inside border of Grunrose, an hour or so by road.”

  “What’s there, more imperium?” Noss guessed.

  Nurka waited a moment, then looked up at the slightly taller Noss kneeling across the table from him and said, “A dirigible, my Prince.”

  Silence prevailed.

  “What?”

  “A dirigible; a balloon, a lighter-than-air flying machine, call it what you will-”

  “I know what a dirigible is!” Noss said sharply, his dark hyena brow furrowing as he tried to fathom what was going through Nurka’s mind. “We’re to fly to Hummelton?”

  “Yes.”

  “At night?”

  “Daytime, my Prince.”

  Nurka’s Prince could but laugh and scoff, “In broad daylight, in front of the whole world?”

  “Doubtless.”

  His smile fading, Noss supposed he was missing something. “You know how to pilot a balloon?”

  “No, but Montague Buttle does.”

  “Who?”

  “The famous cat pilot, him and his wife. Forgive me, you’ve been indisposed of late.”

  Noss cast his mind back, “The names ring a bell.”

  Grunting, Nurka continued, “The farm is theirs. They have converted one of the silkworm barns into a secret hanger for their latest dirigible. They’ve been building it for over a year now. From the blueprints I’ve seen, it is enormous.”

  “All the better for a grand entrance!” Noss joked.

  Unsmiling, Nurka calmly pointed to Hummelton with his ink-stained reed. “The Summit opening ceremony is tomorrow. It begins at midday and ends two hours later. It’s a small window of opportunity, but it is the only time the Den Fathers of every pack and all their officers will be together… and yet out in the open.”

  Noss’s bafflement only grew as Nurka slowly revealed his cards. “Out in the open?” the prince said. “What good is that? Black-imperium’s best used in confined spaces, same as any bomb. When they asked me to kill Rufus I made sure he was in a café for a reason.”

  “We are not going to use bombs, my Prince. We never were. If the Lupans assume we are all the better; they’ll be looking under benches and searching bags when they should be looking up.”

  Noss sat in silence.

  Nurka patiently returned his reed to the forest and the cave therein. “The black-imperium rests in temporary holding flasks. Such flasks are not meant to leave the refinery; they’re pressurised and highly dangerous. All one has to do, my Prince, is turn a valve and black-imperium will be released.” The chief traced a path from the cave and out of the forest, terminating at Rumney Farm. “Tomorrow morning we will drive to the Buttle’s farm and load the flasks onto their dirigible, as many as it can carry. Montague Buttle will then fly it to Hummelton.”

  “He’s one of us, then?” Noss assumed.

  “No, my Prince. The cat may be a Felician and Lupa’s old enemy, but he relies on Lupa for sponsorship since the Queen of Felicia has forbidden his balloons. He has nothing to gain by helping us.”

  Noss spread a paw, “Then why should he fly you anywhere, Nurka?”

  “Because to protect his wife he will do whatever we ask!” the chief rasped suddenly, looking to Noss with narrowed purple eyes burning. “Besides,” he continued calmer, “the cats will not be told what we are to do. They will believe we are merely dropping propaganda leaflets from their balloon.”
>
  Noss frowned. “But you won’t,” he said, wiping his dry lips.

  “We shall, my Prince, but not over the Summit; the dead have no use for propaganda. No, the leaflets are to be dropped over Lupa, for the citizens there to digest.”

  A pause, a nod, a question, “The dead, Nurka?”

  With his Prince’s undivided attention, Nurka slowly, painfully scratched his inky reed across to Hummelton. “The dirigible is due to fly over Hummelton during the opening ceremony bearing the flags of all the packs as an expression of Lupa’s forward-thinking, enlightened people,” he spat, the words sticking in his throat. “The Den Fathers are expecting a show. They will think nothing amiss as we pass over, until we loosen the imperium flasks in the balloon’s hold and the sky turns black with ashen rain the like of which has never been seen! They’ll all rot where they stand!”

  Nurka’s reed snapped on Hummelton’s ink walls. He cast it aside with a trembling paw and looked at the silent, still Prince Noss across the table.

  “Then… all that remains is Amael,” Nurka sniffed, flexing and massaging his writing paw, dark fingers clenching and spreading. “He plans to leave the ceremony long before we arrive – there’s nothing I can do about that. He knows what’s coming. That’s why when I heard you were alive I had to get you out, my Prince. In the struggle to come you’ll be there to inspire the tribes and pull them together. They’ll follow you. If Amael still had you he could’ve held you hostage. As it is our people will have a fair chance now. With Hummel destroyed and polluted beyond repair there’ll be no food imports for Lupa, no Hummel Watchers to attack us from behind as we lay siege to the city’s arteries of rail and road. Amael may have venom coming out his ears, but he’ll starve. Our people know how to live off the land, and our Chakaa have plenty of purple-imperium. We will outlast him. Lupa will fall.”

  Noss stared, unflinching.

  “It’s… good to finally tell someone,” Nurka heaved weightily, emitting a quick laugh and cupping a paw to his aching head. “To keep it from everyone, e-even Themba and Madou, and organising everything without revealing to anyone my entire thinking. It’s been… trying.”

  Reaching across the low table, Noss cupped a paw to Nurka’s thick neck. “It’s a grand plan, Chakaa Nurka,” he assured, shaking him fondly. “You really are the clever one. I’m proud of you.”