by Adam Browne
“Ah, the Wild-heart,” he said, taking him all in, “Day off?”
Uther was struck by the wolfess on the bike, but answered after a time. “No, just running late, mate. Bit of a busy day.”
“Ah.”
“Oi, I saw you on the news,” Uther added.
“Oh?”
“The bank heist! ‘Be good, citizens’. You’re a slick bastard, Tristan Donskoy.”
They both laughed and shook paws. Then Tristan said gravely to both the Bloodfangs, “I heard about Rufus, of course. All of Lupa knows. I hope he’s out of danger.”
“He’ll live,” Ivan said simply.
“Glad to hear it,” Tristan replied. “I… know he still means a lot to you, cousin.”
Ivan said nothing, but nodded graciously.
There was a silence, then Tristan moved on, “Let’s get this over with shall we? I assume you’ve been briefed.”
Another, quicker nod.
Tristan looked behind, “Citizen Sara here is a friend of the deceased. Since she lives on Eisbrand turf I’m obliged to escort her. Not that I don’t trust you two of course.”
To general surprise, Uther approached Tristan’s monobike and the wolfess upon it. Sara’s dark cheeks and squat muzzle were wet with tears. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sweetheart,” Uther said to her, offering his paw.
Hearing Uther’s coarse voice Sara looked up from her grief and chirped, “You.”
Uther winked, “Come on, lass. Chin up.”
Sara got off the mono. “I don’t need your help,” she sniffed, standing aloof.
Surprised at the rebuff, Uther backed off.
Tristan looked at him, then cleared his throat and shepherded Sara away from Uther and to his own side. He nodded at Ivan, “Lead on, cousin.”
Ivan did so. Uther, scratching his head, followed behind.
Passing rows of cars and monos they climbed the few stairs into the corridor beyond, Sara’s watery eyes darting to and fro all the way, as if she had only just now realised where she was being taken. This was a Howler Den, into which few outsiders were privileged to enter short of arrest.
Sara had ventured inside Arkady District’s Den with Tristan once or twice. Moreover, and most unusually, she had actually grown up in a Den under the care of her parents, albeit a Den very different to this dark, foreboding place. As they ventured deeper into the twisting innards of Riddle’s HQ in grim silence, Sara saw none of the grand interiors she was expecting, none of the carpeted halls and vast marbled offices. Tristan always disparagingly asserted that Bloodfang holdings were filthy dives compared to his opulent Eisbrand surroundings, and their territory was nothing but a seedy slum, worse even than the Common Ground. Olivia said similar things. Sara was beginning to believe them.
Through some double doors, down some stairs. The décor became stark, the air cold, the concrete walls running with damp patches and cracks.
Sara instinctively kept close to Tristan.
The group stopped outside a rust-flecked iron door with a push-bar latch, so that trolleys pushed against the doors would open them. Sara imagined Bruno’s lifeless form had come barrelling through here on a trolley. She closed her eyes, trying to dispel the awful involuntary image.
Howler Ivan went to open the door, until a grey cat in a doctor’s coat spotted the wolves from further up the corridor and approached, chin high, clipboard in paws. His tinted glasses gave him a somewhat menacing, officious air, in Sara’s opinion.
“What’s the problem here?” he asked directly.
Captain Ivan released the door and said, “This citizen needs to confirm a wolfen death, Doctor Josef.”
“Death? What death?”
“The wolf from the café.”
“Ah yes, of course, the young cook,” Josef said, before looking down on Sara with his brilliant feline eyes, made smoky by his spectacles. “You must be Sara Hummel?”
“Aye,” Sara confirmed.
“Daughter of Den Mother Cora?”
“Aye.”
Josef’s spectacled eyes explored Sara. “So many healthy cubs delivered by a Howler mother, it defies probability. You know… it’d help my research greatly if I could have a blood sample-”
“Do you mind?” Tristan growled. “This is hardly the appropriate time!”
Doctor Josef shifted his attention to the Eisbrand. “And what brings you here, Howler Tristan?”
“Citizen Sara is from my district. I’m escorting her.”
“How noble,” Josef mocked. “She’s quite safe, all I wanted was a little prick to further imperium science and save lives, but I see progress must wait for you lumbering Howlers to catch up as per usual.” He sighed, “Very well, let’s get this over with.”
Glancing at Tristan, Sara allowed Josef to guide her in.
“Have you ever seen a dead body?” the cat asked, as if making polite conversation.
“No. Well… aye, Ah’ve dissected bugs.”
“Ah! You’re a disciple of the sciences?”
Surprised to be asked, Sara nodded, “Aye.”
Josef mewed, “I congratulate you,” and pushed the door open, revealing a dark room with cabinets set in the walls. He turned a knob on the wall and after a few seconds some imperium lamps set in the ceiling coughed into a colourful rainbow of light, before settling down and burning steady. The room was bone-white, the tiles grey, with black grouting.
“Please,” Josef urged, placing a paw behind Sara.
With some trepidation the wolfess shuffled inside. The Howlers made to follow, but Doctor Josef barred their entry with an arm across the door.
“Stay here, please.”
Howler Tristan simply thrust Josef’s arm away, “I’m not to leave her side,” and strode in.
Ivan and Uther made to follow as well, but Josef hissed under his breath, “If you two go in you’ll answer to Janoah!”
“Why?” Uther scoffed.
Josef smirked menacingly, “Howler Uther, you’re far too lowly to question a Grand Howler’s orders.” He clicked his fingers before the Howler’s nose, “Back off, plodder, or else.”
“Oh yeah?” Uther laughed pugnaciously, paws spread. “Is that a threat is it yer-aaow! Ivan!”
Stomping on Uther’s foot, Ivan over-talked him, “We couldn’t care less about some cook,” and ushered him away.
“Ivan-”
“Leave it, Wild-heart. It’s nothing to do with us.”
Tugging his coat lapels, Josef shut the door. Inside, Sara cast her eyes over all the metal cabinets. There must be bodies behind some of these; Bruno’s body. The air was cold and dry, not fresh like a winter’s morning, but rather like being at a bug-meat market, with that strange, organic smell of slightly questionable produce.
The smart Josef brushed by, going straight to a cabinet. Putting his clipboard aside, he slipped on some felt-lined black rubber gloves and opened the door. He pulled out a robust metal drawer, like a bed, complete with a sheet. The sheet was slightly bloodied and distinctly wolfen-shaped.
Whoever was under there he was big, Bruno-sized. Oh no.
Sara let out a tiny whimper. Tristan placed an armoured paw on her shoulder. It was cold comfort, literally. Together they approached the sheet-wreathed body and stood over it. Sara’s eyes roved across the white folds, already searching for any sign that this was Bruno, or better yet, wasn’t.
Josef looked at her. “Ready?” he asked.
Sara nodded.
The doctor rolled the edge of the sheet over and slowly pulled it back. For some reason, Sara had expected the cat might theatrically whip the sheet away, but he didn’t, and the reveal was slow, even reverential. Ears first, sporting that rich chocolaty brown hide. The eyes were shut, so their colour was no indication. Then came a broad nose. The mouth was shut, but the front teeth and fangs showed slightly. Then finally that massive neck and strong shoulders.
Bruno? Could it be? No… no, it wasn’t!
Sara looked to Josef and gasped wit
h palpable relief, “That’s nae him.”
The grey cat squinted at her. “Take your time. The mask of death can be quite… changing. He was run down by a motor carriage, he may not look quite right for the swelling and-”
“Ah thought he was shot,” Sara blurted.
“Shot?” Josef snorted. “Whoever told you that?”
Without thinking Sara glanced back at Tristan, who remained a picture of calm indifference. He’d claimed Bruno had been shot, the papers claimed he’d been run down. What was the truth? Who had lied and why?
“It was in the papers,” Sara lied herself, covering for Tristan.
Josef’s whiskers turned up. “You can’t believe everything you read.”
Sara looked closer. With a gulp she reached forth and placed a paw on Bruno’s brow. It was stone cold. With a whine of sorrow and fright, Sara peeled one of his eyelids up, looking for those fiery eyes.
The iris was black!
Sara withdrew in fright and wiped her paw on herself as if she might catch the rot. “That’s nae him,” she gasped. “His eyes were a… a sort of yellow-orange.”
Josef scoffed patronisingly. “My dear wolfess, as a scientist you ought to know his eyes are corrupted by ash. When a Howler dies their cells undergo autolysis; ash and black-imperium leak out and the rot advances rapidly. You can’t judge anything by eye-colour now, except he was a dodger.”
“Bruno was nae a dodger!” Sara maintained, despite what Casimir had told her. “Everything in the papers is a lie!”
“I’m afraid whatever he appeared to you, he was abusing imperium.”
“But… but….”
Ushering Sara aside, the big Howler Tristan had a gander for himself, pulling up the eyelids. He looked at Josef and held the cat in his duotone stare for some time, before saying simply, “That’s him.”
Sara looked at the Howler in horror, as if he had betrayed her to this cat. “But it can’t be!” she growled, before adding with uncertainty, “Can it?”
“I saw him up close on the train,” Tristan explained, turning to Sara and presenting his back to Josef, his surcoat’s hood draping down over the hilt of his beautiful kristahl sword. He took the distraught wolfess aside with both great paws on her tiny shoulders and said, “I’ve seen death many times. It changes a beast’s look in strange and subtle ways. I’m sorry, but that’s definitely Bruno.” He stared hard Sara and cocked his head slightly to one side. “I know it’s hard to accept, Citizen Sara, but it’s true.”
Sara’s eyes darted over Tristan’s face, trying to read him, to fathom his secret message. Her heart filled with hope and dread all at once. What did it all mean?
Tristan squeezed her shoulders firmly. “Trust me.”
Sara slowly dipped her chin, “Aye… Ah suppose it has tae be him.”
Satisfied, Josef covered the corpse and tucked it away with unseemly haste – so much for his earlier reverence. He grabbed his clipboard and slammed the door, before offering Sara the appropriate papers to fill out.
“Sign here,” he said, taking a nice fountain pen from his top pocket and passing it over.
Sara did as bidden.
“And here,” Josef directed further.
Again, Sara squiggled her signature as best she could. Her paw was shaking, her heart breaking. She felt she was betraying Bruno somehow, signing him out of existence. That wasn’t him on that table, it just couldn’t be.
Play their game, Sara told herself, for now.
Josef inspected her autograph. “You have a doctor’s paw, Miss Hummel,” he remarked with a smile, escorting the wolves from the morgue. “Most untidy. You’ll make a great scientist one day.”
*
The gates opened and Tristan whisked his ward clear of the Riddle Den on his powerful blue monobike. They hadn’t gotten a mile down the main road that paralleled the railway before Sara started tapping Tristan on the shoulder.
“Stop!” she shouted. “I want tae talk!”
“Not yet,” he replied. “Let’s get you home first.”
“I said stop, Tristan!” Sara bellowed.
Giving in to Sara’s wishes, Tristan slowed down and pulled into an alley, parked up, checked over his shoulder and all around, before letting the engine sputter to a halt.
Sara immediately hopped off the seat and said in a tone not unlike that of a mother demanding an explanation from a naughty cub, “Well?”
Tristan’s weird eyes looked out at her from under the secrecy of his helmet. “I… I don’t know what to make of it all,” he admitted.
“You don’t know?”
“Are you sure that wasn’t Bruno?”
“Weren’t you?” Sara squeaked in disbelief. “You seemed pretty sure back there!”
Tristan shrugged, “He’s your boyfriend.”
“He’s not… was not….” Sara faltered to a stop and composed herself. “Where is he?” she begged. “You have tae tell me something, Tristan. Ah don’t care what, just say something! What did Ah just see? What did Ah just do?”
Tristan dipped his chin and looked at his Eisbrand-blue Dragonfly, both paws on the steering bars. “I don’t know. But take consolation from the fact that you believe that’s not him back there and move on with your life.”
“Move on?”
“I’m sorry, Sara.”
“No! We have tae do something!”
“Like what?” Tristan snapped.
“Ah’ll… Ah’ll tell mah mother. Ah will!”
Tristan scoffed, “And what’s she going to do? Swoop down from Hummelton and fix everything? She can’t accuse anyone without proof. They’ve got him Sara, dead or alive. Bruno’s been disappeared and nobody is going to be able to prove otherwise, not with a body and a signature.”
Sara gasped, “Then why’d you let me sign it, for Ulf’s sake?”
“To protect you!”
“Me?”
“Cora’s daughter you may be, but even Den Fathers are assassinated from time to time. Nobody in Lupa is indispensable, Sara, nobody.”
Sara grimaced. The wolfess looked all around, at all the indifferent beasts going about their business. She searched Tristan’s inscrutable Howler helmet for clues, for hope, but nothing was forthcoming.
“So, Ah’ll never see him again?” she whined.
Tristan shrugged, “Who knows? Perhaps he’s been squirrelled away in Howler Academy. That’s the best outcome. If he survives his induction he may even come find you. If he remembers you.”
“Remembers me?”
“As I’ve oft told you, induction is cruel and imperium a jealous bitch.”
Sara whirled away to hide her grief. Tristan watched her weep, regretting his insensitive choice of words. How he wanted to get off his bike and hold her, this gentle, beautiful wolfess who cared for beast and bug alike, but he was sure she would just throw him off in disgust after what he had made her do.
He looked away, then down at his bike. “Let me take you home,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Ah betrayed him!” Sara snuffled. “Ah want tae die!”
“Don’t be so stupid!” Tristan scolded. “As if Bruno would want such a thing! You need to be stronger than that. I know you are. It took a lot of guts to leave cosy little Hummelton and come all the way to Lupa to study-”
Sara screamed and punched the air with her fists, “Ah don’t care about that! Ah hate Lupa! Ah hate it! Ah wish Ah’d never come here!”
There was a pause as Sara wept.
“You do care,” Tristan assured her. “I know nothing in the world matters just now, but it’ll pass.”
“What do you know?”
“A lot,” the Howler asserted. “Almost everyone I ever cared about is dead, long-rotten or missing, or out of my reach one way or another… except you.”
Sara whirled round, her yellow eyes darting about, but she said nothing.
Tristan held out an armoured paw, “Now please, let me take you home. We can still help Casimir get away.”
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Something passed, a thought, a feeling, and Sara wordlessly slipped on the back of the mono. She held Tristan around his middle and rested her head on his back, just left of his sword.
“Ready?” he said.
Sara nodded, “Aye.”
Tristan started the monobike and away they went, leaving Riddle Den in the rear-view mirror.
Chapter 13
“What did you put in your report, Janoah?”
“It’s a little late to compare notes, Vladimir.”
“I just thought we should be on the same page if Amael’s going to blow his lid.”
“I’ll back you up, Oromov, never fear.”
The two Grand Howlers sat cosseted in opulence; tall windows, lush blood-red curtains, polished black and white marbled columns and a floor so heartily waxed you could see yourself in it. In fact a mouse was mopping the floor right now, albeit at a respectful distance from the Howlers. This was the inner sanctum of Riddle Den, where only the Elder of this district, or the Bloodfang Den Father himself, could venture uninvited.
Janoah leant back in her red chair and broke out an ember. When offered refreshments by the secretary, Vladimir settled for a cup of tea. It arrived on a tray held in the paws of a nervous-looking brown rabbit in red Politzi uniform. He set the pot down and the teacup, but fumbled with the extra hot water, knocking it over and then catching it again, which only made matters worse as steaming water was catapulted clean across the table.
“Idiot!” Vladimir yelped, jumping to his feet to avoid getting seriously splashed.
“Sorry, Grand Howler!”
Sorry or not, Vladimir clouted the rabbit round the back of the head, sending his Politzi hat spiralling across the room, which was quite a feat where rabbits were concerned, since they had such long ears that hats tended to cling on.
“Just what I need before meeting Elder Amael,” Vladimir said sarcastically. “What’s your name?”
“Claybourne, sir. Borce Claybou-”
“You’re useless, Claybourne, like all your jittering kind!”
“Pity about the boy,” Janoah said, with a chuckle, “he’d have made a fine tea boy if nothing else.”
“Boy?”
“Rufus’s late fancy.”