by Adam Browne
“Och, Casimir.”
“He’s never sussed it out neither. I hoped he would. I hoped he’d force me to come clean. But Bruno’s not the brightest ember in the pack, you know.”
Sara looked away. She didn’t know what to say.
“Now you know why we kept moving, to avoid him being picked up and drafted,” Casimir sighed. “I was gonna give him the choice this time, I swear. Go to the Howlers, or carry on dodging. Now he’s got no choice. They’ll fix my boy good. They’ll sting him with all imperium he needs. ‘Induction’ they call it, aye, and then they’ll train him to use it, to be one of our oppressors. And when he starts rotting far sooner than is natural for a beast they’ll dump him in bed to die like all the rest.” He looked down into his tea, at his trembling reflection within, “I kidded myself this would turn out different, but I think I always knew they’d take him away.”
Sara shook her head, “Who took him, exactly?”
Casimir explained. “Werner, I think. I got away, but Bruno wasn’t home. I waited by the station for him to come home by the usual train, but when he didn’t show I rang home. The Politzi kept picking up. They were sitting around in my café just waiting for him. I couldn’t go back, so I… I kept on ringing until Bruno picked up the phone. Werner was right there with him, telling him a pack of lies no doubt, trying to bring him in nice and easy-like, ‘cause my boy… my boy he’s so strong he’d have put up a fight let me tell yer!” After a brief chuckle, Casimir continued soberly, “I told him to get outta there and meet me in the usual place. I waited all night but he never made it. He’s always made it before. Always. Werner must’ve got him. I just hope Bruno punched his fat face in first!”
Sara stayed positive, “He’s probably just hiding out somewhere.”
Casimir wasn’t listening. For the longest time he sat in silence, his lower lip quivering, until suddenly he dashed his mug of tea against the far wall, “That bastard Werner. I’ll kill him! I will!”
Then he broke down all over again, falling on his knees beside the table.
Sara comforted him a moment and sat him down, then grabbed her mop and tidied up, sweeping the broken mug into a dust pan.
“I’m sorry, lass,” Casimir excused.
“It’s all right,” Sara replied, perchance slightly sarcastically. “Ah’ve still got two mugs left, Ah think.”
Once she had cleaned up the mess, the wolfess tried to put a positive spin on things. “Casimir, let’s just say for the moment you’re right and Bruno’s been taken in. Let’s just assume all that is true. Even if it is, which I doubt, at least he’s going to get what he needs.”
“Eh?” Casimir snuffled.
“They’ll give him imperium,” Sara chirped, sitting beside him and grabbing his nearest paw. “There are worse things in this world than being a Howler. Ah know beasts hate them, I do, but it’s the system nae the beasts. There’s as many good Howlers as not. Ah met a good one just last night, outside the pictures. He wanted tae walk me home. Ah’m ashamed I was so rude tae him now, when Ah think of it. He was a good ‘un. Bruno’s a good ‘un too. He’d nae be like the rest o’ them thugs. He’d use his power for good, Ah know it.”
Casimir nodded and forced a smile, “Aye. Aye, he would wouldn’t he?”
Sara cocked her head to one side, “But Ah’m sure he’s all right, you daft rabbit. In fact he’s probably worried sick about you. We’ll go find him together.”
Another nod.
“Just let me get sorted, all right? Chin up.”
“Aye.”
Leaving Casimir cheered, the wolfess hurried into her bedroom. Upon closing the door she sat on the bed. Tears came swiftly, but silently, dripping onto her knees.
No, crying is no good! What if Casimir comes in? You have to be strong for him. You’re a wolf, a Hummel; he’s just a wee beast.
Wiping her eyes, Sara composed herself. She brushed her fangs over her tiny bedroom sink and slipped into something decent. A proper grooming would have to wait, Bruno could be out there somewhere, alone and afraid. Sara had no idea how to find him in the sprawling megapolis of Lupa, save to go to the local places they always met. Maybe he’s at the university waiting for me? Maybe Professor Heath took him in? It’s possible.
Suddenly a wail of anguish erupted from the kitchen. Sara dropped her brush in the sink and burst in on Casimir, finding him sprawled over the table, newspaper open wide.
“Oh lad!” he wailed. “My poor boy…. Ohohohohoooow!”
Even in her ignorance, Sara felt tears welling up inside her just from witnessing Casimir’s unbridled grief. “Casimir, what is it?” she begged of him, his sorrow catching in her throat. “Come now, stop this. It’s doing nae good at all.”
With a seething, frustrated gasp of grief, the rabbit grasped the newspaper with both paws, scrunching it up somewhat, before pushing it away from him in disgust.
Sara snatched it and scanned the crumpled columns.
There was a picture of Bruno, looking handsome and chipper. He was carrying crates into the café. Casimir was also there, albeit an old picture, young and looking beaten-up. The picture must have been nearly twenty years old.
Heart beating faster, Sara latched onto the article’s headline.
“Sting peddlers rumbled, one killed, one at large,” she said, reading on in silence.
Politzi swooped on a known sting dealer posing as a café owner in the heart of the famously rough Riddle District yesterday. The authorities had been aware of Mr. Casimir Claybourne, rabbit, 35, for some time, but thus far he had evaded the Politzi by moving location. Using forged papers the criminal mastermind slipped between territories, setting up new premises from where to peddle his illegal goods to unfortunate souls, leaving his old lair deserted. His adopted son, a one Bruno Claybourne, wolf, 16, was known as a boxing thug that nobody would cross. It is thought Mr. Claybourne, if that is his real name, used his ‘son’ as protection during his illegal dealings, and that Bruno was a dodger with the strength of a Howler but the morals of a hyena. Interviewees say Mr. Claybourne had injected his son with venom from a young age and beat him regularly, turning him into a savage killer, yet one who was terrified of a mere rabbit not half his size. Others say Bruno was mentally incapable from years of imperium abuse and easily manipulated.
When the Politzi tried to take the Claybournes peacefully, the cowardly Casimir leapt out an upstairs window and fled with a suitcase of money, leaving his son to face justice alone. The mad Bruno attacked the Politzi, leaving the heroic Constable Denny Demar, rat, 24, dead at the scene. Bruno fled and was pursued on foot, only to be run down by a truck in the backstreets. Constable Werner Schwartz, hog, 38, said he died instantly and that it was a merciful release for a tortured soul. Casimir Claybourne is still at large and….
There was more, but Sara screwed the worthless article up and let it drop at her feet. She found the strength to contain her grief only by leaning upon her anger.
“Don’t you believe it, Casimir,” she said, crushing the paper underfoot. “Bruno’s nae dead. The whole article is a lie from start tae finish!”
“They killed him!” Casimir wept. “Something went wrong and they killed my boy. They’re covering it up.”
“It’s all nonsense!”
“But I did give him imperium! I did that to him, Sara! I turned Bruno into what he is!”
Sara comforted Casimir as best he could. Tears didn’t come to her anymore, because she didn’t believe a word of what she had read. It gave her new hope.
Telling Casimir to stay here and not do anything silly, Sara put on her green coat and hurried out the flat. Closing the main door she strode down the gravel path and opened the wrought-iron gate with a mind to go to the university and search there. If nothing else, Olivia would help look.
“It’s not wise to harbour a fugitive, Sara.”
Sara nearly leapt from her black-furred hide as she whirled around, paws still grasping the gate.
A large Howler
of Eisbrand allegiance strolled up the gravel path, his glorious silver armour shining in the muted sunlight, his body wreathed in a blue surcoat marked with a snowflake. He had been hiding in the garden, Sara imagined, waiting for her.
“Tristan?” she said, adding derisively, “Spying on me again?”
The Howler removed his helmet, revealing a robust, young, two-tone wolf of grey and white. His eyes were especially queer, one was green, the other blue, and Sara never knew which one to focus on.
“Forgive my concern,” he said, glancing up at the window. “How’s Citizen Casimir?”
“Who?” Sara said, feigning ignorance.
Tristan wasn’t fooled, “He’s a wanted beast, Sara.”
“I don’t care.”
“Nor do I, but you’re putting yourself in danger. Hummel you may be, but you’re a long way from home.”
Sara stood up straight, “Look, what do you want?”
Tristan waited a moment. “I came about your friend,” he said, holding up a rolled newspaper.
Sara looked at the paper, “Don’t tell me you actually believe that krap? And you a Howler!”
“I don’t have to rely on the rags, I have my spies.”
“Oh, Ah bet. And what did they tell ye?”
“They told me Bruno was going to be pressed into Bloodfang service at the first opportunity. If he resisted they were going to use his father’s unfortunate past as leverage, and possibly yourself.”
“Me?”
“Yes. They know all about you, believe me.”
Sara could but scoff. “Then they know they can’t touch me. Do you think mah mother would stand fer it? Ah’m not some nobody they can just bang up!”
Tristan took a sharp breath and spread his paws in helplessness, “Sara… Bruno… he tried to run away and was shot and killed by a Politzi.”
Sara’s paws clapped to her muzzle, almost stifling her intake of breath. “No!” she yelped.
“I’m sorry,” Tristan said at once. “The paper’s a lie, except that Bruno’s gone.”
Sara turned around and looked out across the city. She remained standing, silent for a time, but eventually the damn broke and she wept into her paws.
Tristan waited for a minute or two before saying, “He cared for you very much.”
Sara exploded back, “You didn’t even know him!”
“No, but we met on the train yesterday.”
“Train? What?”
Tristan explained, “I tried to help him get away. He was very protective of you, when I mentioned you. I thought he was going to knock me out! Bruno was quite a wolf. Sitting opposite him for the first time I felt his strength and… I see what you saw in him-”
“Please, just leave me alone!” Sara seethed, crying afresh.
Tristan cleared his throat, “I would if I could, but I have to escort you to Riddle District’s Den.”
Sara’s ears pricked, “What?” she sniffed. “What fer?”
“Bruno’s there,” Tristan said, spreading a paw. “Their coroner rang ours looking for you. It’s required by the Lupan Laws that a wolfen family member or close wolfen friend identify a fellow wolf, and as Bruno had no such family there’s nobody else on file. Casimir doesn’t count.”
“File? What file?”
“On his pass. You’re down as next of wolfen kin.”
“Och!” Sara cried afresh. “Bruno, Ah had no idea!”
Tristan grimaced. “They won’t release his body unless someone identifies it and I’m not letting you step paw in that nest of scorpions they call Bloodfang Territory alone.”
“W-www-what about Casimir?” Sara snuffled.
“Like I said, he’s a rabbit; his word isn’t good enough to confirm a wolfen death. Besides, he’s a wanted beast. Whether the allegations are true or not is immaterial.”
“Sorry, Ah’m nae thinking straight.”
“It’s all right,” Tristan insisted. He walked closer, “Can you manage this now, or shall we wait? There’s no rush.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Sara croaked.
“It won’t be pleasant. You must be prepared for what you may see.”
Sara spread a paw over her chest and held back her grief with a gulp, “I have tae do it, so… let’s do it.”
Tristan donned his helmet and led Sara to his pale blue mono. “All right, but let me do the talking.”
*
Uther Wild-heart Bloodfang sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor of Riddle Den’s garage, elbows resting on knees, chin resting on paws. Despite being on-duty he remained dressed in his casual clothes from last night’s revelries, not to mention exploits.
“By Ulf, it could’ve backfired in the barrel and you’d both have been vaporised!” Ivan hissed, furiously polishing his mono; he was already resplendent in Howler uniform, cloak and all. “Charging an untested pearl to criticality is strictly forbidden by the Howler Codex for a reason; even a good one is above your rank to deploy! I shan’t be surprised if Amael gives you both a good flogging for this, not to mention for carrying a pistol in the Common!”
“I left out the pistol, sir,” Uther admitted.
“What? So you omitted the pistol, but not the pearl?” Ivan asked, leaning on his black Giacomo Spider. “How’s that going to look when Amael reads your testimony?”
“I left the pearl out too, actually.”
“Right. Did you leave anything in, Wild-heart, or is your report just a series of blank pages?”
“No, no! I said the hog had both the pistol and the pearl. He went to shoot us and it exploded in his face, end of story.”
Uther beamed innocently.
“So you lied,” Ivan snorted.
“I bent the truth a little, for Linus’s sake. The pearl was his idea. You can keep a secret, can’t yer, cap’n?”
“Don’t bank on it.”
Ivan continued polishing.
“You know,” he said, stopping again, “I’ve come to expect this kind of schmutz from you and Rufus, but I’m surprised at this ‘Linus’. He looks too… plump.”
Uther gruffed, “He was just upholding the law, sir.”
“Leave it to the ALPHA Prefects, Wild-heart, the Common Ground’s their slice of Lupa. We have no business there.”
“Puh! Lot of good ALPHA are!” Uther barked. “That Howler-killer had obviously been there ages and you’re telling me none of their Prefects ever happened by? Ten, twenny Howlers must’ve been murdered by that hog bastard!”
Ivan spread a paw, “Those that noticed disappeared, Uther. Prefects too, no doubt.”
Wild-heart grumbled on, “That thief lured Linus in by nicking Rosa’s purse. It was all a dirty trap, I reckon.”
“Sprung for the last time.”
“Aye. Job well done, I say.”
Ivan huffed, “You’d best hope Amael sees it that way.”
Grand Howler Vladimir stood surreptitiously listening behind the garage’s inner door, which had been left slightly ajar. After digesting Uther’s story with interest (wildly different to his official account) he entered the garage, folder in paw.
“Ah,” he said, “just the wolves for the job!”
Uther jumped to his feet and saluted, whilst Ivan just saluted. Vladimir stayed by the hefty door, paw on lever, and looked down upon the Howlers from the slight vantage point provided by the concrete stairs, like a king on a dais.
“I’m told we’ve got a special guest,” he said, gesturing at the half-open garage doors with his file. “They’re sending him round back to park his mono. Take care of him will you?”
“Guest, sir?” Ivan queried.
“A fellow Donskoy, Ivan,” Vladimir clarified.
“Not Tristan.”
“Yes, Tristan. He’s brought a wolfess along to formally identify that cub Werner’s bungling oafs killed last night. He’s ‘escorting her’. We suspect he just wants to snoop around, of course, so watch him, but show him every courtesy all the same. We have to keep relations amicable
during these trying times.”
Ivan stood perplexed. “Forgive me, Grand Howler, but what cub was killed last night?”
“Rufus’s ‘chef’, was it?” Vladimir sniffed, with much forced uncertainty and nonchalance. “The boy from the café you two were attacked in yesterday.”
Ivan wasn’t fooled by Vladimir’s acting, though he was shocked at the news. “Bruno?”
“Yes, Bruno. Dead apparently. Squashed by a lorry.”
Ivan dipped his chin.
“Such a senseless waste,” Vladimir tutted. He suddenly looked at Uther as if he had noticed him for the first time in his life. “Why aren’t you in uniform, Wild-heart?”
“Sorry, sir. Been up all night making statements and worrying about Linus, sir. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Vladimir let it slide, “Yes, well, sort yourself out Howler.”
“Yes, Grand Howler.”
With an unreadable grunt Vladimir took his leave, shutting the door behind him.
Moments later the popping of a hefty monobike engine stirred Uther and Ivan’s ears. Outside, a Howler in a surcoat glided into view on a Dragonfly mono, like Uther’s, but made-up in Eisbrand livery. It had been sprayed pale blue and the insect motif replaced by the pack snowflake. Seated behind the rider was a little black wolfess in a dark green coat. As the pair pulled into the Bloodfang garage the two native Howlers received them, Ivan taking the lead, being the senior.
“Tristan,” he greeted, approximating enthusiasm.
Swinging his armoured legs off the mono, the hefty, knight-like Tristan spread his equally armoured arms wide. He embraced the thinner, lightly-armoured Ivan, and though Ivan didn’t return the gesture, he was at least cracking a smile.
“Cousin,” Tristan said, standing back. “You look well.”
“And you.”
“How can you tell? I’ve not even removed my helmet.”
“I can feel your corona,” Ivan assured. “It’s getting stronger.”
Tristan’s duotone eyes squinted and one could imagine him smiling under his helmet, which he duly removed and hung over the hilt of the great sword at his back. His attention switched to Uther.