Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “One… two… three… four… five….”

  The sounds of other Howlers huffing and puffing, and the clink of changing weights, was momentarily drowned out by sheer concentration.

  “Seven… eight… nine….”

  Linus stared at the imperium lamp burning overhead, at the cracked ceiling beyond it, to nowhere. His whole focus momentarily collapsed down to the simple yet all-consuming task of lifting an axle-shaped hunk of metal – silly yet necessary.

  “Linuuuus!” someone roared.

  Linus lost all concentration and down came the barbell, pinning him to the bench.

  “Gagh!”

  “Oi, oi, careful!” a wolf tutted, silhouetted against the lamp above. Reaching down and grabbing the bar, the stranger helped Linus heft the weights back onto the brackets.

  Freed, Linus sat up with one paw clasped to his bruised chest and looked behind.

  “Uther!” he piped in surprise.

  “Thump me, you trying to kill yourself?” Uther chided, leaning on the cradled barbell. “You’re supposed to have someone standing here in case you get stuck. Good job I turned up when I did or you’d be flatter than a flatworm. Puh!”

  Linus dusted his chalky paws off on his sensible white training breeches. He decided not to point out it was Uther who had made him jump, he was just glad to see his partner on his feet again.

  “How are you?” he asked, looking Uther over; Wild-heart seemed fine, cloaked, armoured and ready for duty, as if nothing had occurred last week. “Have you been discharged?”

  “I discharged myself!” Uther claimed in an indignantly high-pitched tone. He slapped his cloaked chest, then winced and rubbed his ribs, “But… don’t expect me to lift another barbell off your neck for a few weeks, Woodlouse, I don’t wanna bust my stitches.”

  Linus laughed, “I’ll be careful.”

  “Wanna go down The Beehive later for a belated birthday bash? You can tell Lorna and Rosa how you nearly got eaten by a centipede. It’ll be a howl.”

  “You heard about that?” a humbled Linus said.

  “Puh! Mate, everyone knows. What went down last week is the talk of the district, if not Lupa.”

  “Goodness.”

  Uther glanced around the Den’s gymnasium. Other Riddle District Howlers were about their business, lifting weights or wrestling on mats, keeping in obligatory shape.

  Rufus was fencing across the way, dancing to and fro in friendly combat with a brave opponent. Uther didn’t know who Rufus was up against since both their faces were masked by generic grey fencing helmets; similar to the real thing, but lighter. Rufus’s red and grey fur and countless small scars gave him away even from afar, that and his skill.

  In a few flicks and thrusts Red-mist landed a hit. A weak imperious bolt snapped down his blunt and poorly conductive training rapier, shocking his opponent in the ribs and causing the wolf a moment’s discomfort – enough to make him jump and twist away in defeat.

  Rufus slipped his helmet off and shook paws with the vanquished Howler, before immediately replacing said helm to face the next foolish youngster.

  “Puh!” Uther scoffed. “Rufe’s having fun, I see.”

  Linus marvelled. “He’s been on the floor since I got here. I don’t think anyone’s touched him.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’d go over there and sort him out if I weren’t laid up.”

  “You any good with a rapier?”

  “Who said anything about rapiers? I’d get him on the wrestling mat.”

  Linus laughed.

  Once all mirth had faded, and Rufus had dispatched yet another foe, Linus dipped his chin. “Uther,” he said, in the tone of an inquisitive cub to his parent, “that ALPHA wolf last week, was he really an Eisenwolf?”

  “You mean you dunno?” Uther snorted. “Woodlouse, I thought you knew everything!”

  “I’ve been asking around Den all week, but nobody wants to talk about it, not even Werner. Vladimir told me to forget it and even Rufus fobbed me off. He just said that Rafe’s an unfortunate mad wolf and told me ALPHA won’t get away with it.”

  “I see.”

  “I know you won’t lie to me. You’re my best friend.”

  Uther shrugged, “Well, Rufus ain’t lying. Eisenwolves are mad. Imperium poisoning ‘en it. Goes to their head.” He tapped the side of his skull, “Ivan spoke to him. Fruitcake, apparently.”

  “But… his eisenpelz, and… and the ash it kept venting. It was like a living machine!”

  “Kinda is, mate. ‘Course, how it’s done is a mystery, even to the know-it-all Greystones. Comes from one of the Dead Cities, dun it, before Lupa was founded. We can’t make armour like that no more. Not even close.”

  “Of course, but I-I-I thought the packs agreed never to field eisenpelz again because they’re so dangerous. That’s why the Lupan Laws were changed, why Howlers can’t marry, to stop wolves capable of using them from even being born.”

  “Yeah, but ALPHA ain’t no pack, are they? They get away with all sorts of schmutz because of it. Must’ve found some cub with Howler parents and conned him. Puh! All well-dodgy of course, but ALPHA is well-dodgy, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Uther leant close, “Oi, you know what they did whilst I was laid up?”

  “No. What?”

  “They ‘questioned’ me.”

  Baffled, Linus waited for Uther to elaborate – and Uther being Uther, he did.

  “A couple of Prefects snuck into the ward and locked the door,” he said. “Wedged a chair to it, they did, which is always a bad sign. They pulled me out of bed and whilst one pinned me arms behind me the other thumped me in the gut. I must’ve told ‘em the same story fifty times before a nurse fetched Elder Amael. He sent ‘em packing sharpish. They did the same thing to Ivan too, caught him in the washroom. He sent ‘em packing himself, needless to say.”

  Linus blustered, “B-b-but that’s outrageous!”

  “Aye.”

  “This is Bloodfang territory! This is our Den!”

  “Aye, so?”

  “So they can’t do that!” Linus squawked, before adding with meek uncertainty, “Can they?”

  Uther pinched his partner’s cheek, “Woodlouse, ALPHA can do what they please when they please to plebs like us. You gotta be a Grand Howler at least before they have second thoughts about bothering yer.”

  Linus sat in brooding silence, arms folded.

  “Come on,” Uther said, “let’s go out and have some fun.”

  “I’m in the middle of gym.”

  Uther looked the barrel-chested Linus over, “Mate, take it from someone who lives in here himself, you can stand to skip a session. What you need is a little rest and recuperation, a nice bath, an hour in the sauna, maybe a massage. Wind down and forget your worries. It’s good fer the rot.”

  Sighing, Linus unfolded his arms, “Sounds great, but I’m going to the Arkady Symposium at eight.”

  “Yer what?”

  “Symposium.”

  Uther’s vacant expression was priceless.

  It was Linus’s turn to elaborate, “It’s like a… well a… a meeting of minds, I suppose. It’s a party – for bookish types.”

  “Oh that! I know the thing.”

  “Rufus invited me.”

  “Ohoo!” Uther woofed further. “I see.”

  “Sorry. It was arranged weeks ago. I should go.”

  “No no, it’s fine, mate. You uh, you do what you gotta do with ol’ Red-mist himself.”

  Linus had a notion, “Why don’t you come? I’m sure he won’t mind. All his friends will be there.”

  “Puh! They’ll bore my ears off. Bunch of know it alls they are. I mean, what do I care about ancient elk pottery or otter driftwood carvings? We have museums for that guff anyway.”

  “Sounds like you’ve met Rufus’s crowd before.”

  “Yeah. I pity you, mate. I really do.”

  Linus could but shrug and smile.

  “Oh thump me,” Uther groaned, subtly turning away
. “Look out, here he comes now.”

  Rufus the conquering hero crossed the gym in his white training breeches, mopping himself with a towel all the way.

  “What’re you doing out of bed Uther?” he gruffed on arrival.

  Uther stood to attention with Linus. “Discharged, sir, and ready for duty,” the former explained.

  “Discharged my left foot,” Rufus snorted, throwing his towel about his shoulders. “You breathed in more imperium than a den of gazers down a mine and took a pellet to the ribs; you need a couple of weeks off.”

  “I’m fine, sir-”

  “Grand Howler’s orders, I’m afraid. You’ll be on half pay for the duration of your sick-leave whether you clock in or not, so you may as well not. Is that abundantly clear?”

  At length Uther capitulated, “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s a good chap,” Rufus beamed, looking between his rigid subordinates. “At ease, at ease; this isn’t the Parade Grounds.”

  Released, Linus nodded across to the fencing court where fellow Howlers continued to fight. “You must’ve beaten half the district, sir. I-I-I lost count.”

  “Oh, they’re just cubs really; barely out of their stripy training mantles. I needed one of you ruffians to come over and show them how it’s done.”

  “Not me, sir,” Linus scoffed. “I’m all thumbs with a rapier.”

  “So’s Uther! But he’d at least put up a fight.”

  “Puh!” Uther denied. “Ivan’s the one you want, sir.”

  “Ivan would’ve ended my reign in a heartbeat, as well you know. No, I needed a proper run-around to get the blood flowing again – getting podgy apparently.”

  Linus was baffled. “Podgy, sir?”

  Holding his towel with both paws, Rufus shrugged and spread his fingers, “So the wife says.”

  It was easy to forget Rufus even had a wife these days, they were so seldom seen together. What did Rufus make of Janoah and her Eisenwolf? Was he still angry? Why was he angry? Was it just the legality of the matter? Linus burnt with curiosity.

  Uther didn’t, “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

  “Get some proper rest, Wild-heart,” Rufus warned.

  Saluting, barely, Uther took his leave. “Have fun at yer ‘sympodium’, or whatever,” he murmured at Linus. “Cop you later, Woodlouse.”

  Once Uther had departed, Rufus said of him, “Too proud that one. I always thought Ivan was the worst.” Shaking his head he moved on, “Still on for tonight, Linus, or have you made plans with Uther?”

  “No, sir. I-I-I mean yes, sir. We’re s-sss-still on for tonight, you and me that is.”

  Rufus laughed and slapped Linus on the arm. “You’ll grow out of that one day,” he winked, leaving Linus at once embarrassed and encouraged.

  *

  The Alpha rose from his office chair to survey the glittering cesspit that was the Common Ground, with its countless clubs, saloons and Lupanars all mingling like rancid mucous in a spittoon.

  It was a joke that the austere ALPHA HQ had been erected in Lupa’s putrid heart, this lawless patch over which no true pack ruled and which ALPHA itself could not properly police. They had neither adequate staff nor resources, not even a Politzi force to deal with petty crime, and the citizens took full advantage of it.

  The Den Fathers had tied ALPHA’s paws from the outset by gifting them the rich Common Ground, yet denying them the revenue it generated. It was not official policy; ALPHA was free to tax goods passing in and out of its boxed-in territory just as any other pack, but taxing imports that had already been taxed elsewhere merely raised prices in local shops to ridiculous sums, driving business away. And exports? There were none! The Common Ground was a place of wanton consumption, not noble production. The only things leaving the Common were staggering, drunken Howlers. The impoverished ALPHA Prefects couldn’t even prop up their salaries by demanding tribute from their citizens like the Howlers – the old guard demanded at least some privileges be kept out of ALPHA’s paws. Fine, let the Howlers take the odd free apple from a stall; the Prefects looked better for not engaging in the practice.

  One day, the Alpha presaged to himself, we’ll set the moral standard across Lupa, if not the world entire.

  “All right,” he said aloud, talking to Janoah and Silvermane. “But this does not leave this room. If you fail, I’ll deny all knowledge. You accept?”

  “Yes, my Alpha,” Silvermane replied.

  “Completely, my Alpha,” said Janoah.

  The Alpha turned and saluted smartly yet simply with his self-styled paw-gesture, “For the Republic Lupi.”

  *

  After a post-gym grooming, Linus returned to his quarters and dressed in his best civilian getup, white shirt, black breeches and knee-high silk gaiters covering his boots. Smart.

  Buttoning his cuffs and looking in his mirror he breathed a few deep breaths.

  “How do you do?” he said to himself. “I’m Linus Mills. Howler Linus Mills, Howler Trooper First Class, that is.”

  Idiot.

  Uther had the right idea. Stay within your class, Linus. Go down the pub. Go out with Lorna and Rosa. Don’t try and climb Rufus’s ivory tower with all his educated, academic, arty friends because you won’t fit in.

  No, you are educated. Yes, you had to drop out because of the rot, but you continued to study at the Howler Academy, just like Rufus.

  Yes, but unlike him you can’t even talk properly. You just panic and start stuttering and mumbling.

  Fool.

  Trying to ignore his rude brain, Linus grabbed his trusty blue coat from his bed and slipped it on. He was in the midst of tugging out the collar and searching the pockets for his room keys when it struck like lightning.

  “Haagh!”

  The pain shot up his body, from shin to shoulder, and before Linus knew what was what he was on the hard wooden floor, grasping one of his legs with both paws, trying to stem the pulsing, pumping surge of bone-burning pain. Linus’s pokey little room span like a fairground amusement, the desk, the imperium lamp, the frost-flecked window. He closed his eyes to save himself from being sick.

  The rot. It’s here. Already.

  Linus thought he heard a knocking at the door, thought he caught a familiar gravely voice. He thought, in his feverish state, that he told them to go away. Thought he had saved himself the indignity of being seen to succumb.

  No, the door opened and a pair of strong, sinewy limbs scooped Linus up and plonked him on his bed.

  “Where’s your sting?” the stranger asked.

  Linus couldn’t reply.

  “Linus, your venom ration!” they barked.

  “Top drawer… bedside cabinet,” the youngster growled, writhing in pain. “In the… the music box.”

  The drawer was opened. The music box played, chiming a lullaby. Time passed. The pain! Ulf, please make it stop!

  Something pricked Linus’s arm, hot and tingly. That was the needle going in, the white-imperium coursing through his veins, his muscles, his bones. Linus arched his back a moment then collapsed, chest heaving fitfully. Within seconds the mind-numbing throb of a thousand hot pokers cooled and faded. The fog dissipated. Slowly, Linus opened his bleary eyes and looked around the room.

  “Grand Howler Rufus!” he gasped, sitting up.

  Rufus pushed Linus back on his pillow. “Stay there a minute, young Mills,” he said. “Let it pass.”

  Nodding, Linus gladly did as bidden.

  Satisfied, Rufus plopped himself in the one creaky chair gracing Linus’s modest quarters and looked all about, at the shelves crammed with well-worn books, fossils, pressed plants and other curiosities, as if he had never been in here before.

  Linus realised Rufus hadn’t.

  With a curious and high-pitched ‘Hmm’ the Grand Howler stopped his visual tour and broke out an ember. He was dressed in his white cloak and all the rest of his Howler gear, save his helmet.

  ‘Is he going to attend the symposium in that?’ Linus thought. ‘
Should I?’

  “Been a while, has it?” Rufus said, blowing a cloud of green vapour overhead and taking another draught.

  “Pardon, sir?”

  “Your attack. First one for a while?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve not had one that bad, not since…” Linus closed his eyes and opened them again, “since I found out what was wrong with me.”

  “I see. Well, you’ve been stung. It’s all right now.”

  Linus glanced at the bedside table, at the music box and the empty sting. He turned away and covered his face with a forearm. “By Ulf’s fangs, I knew it,” he seethed.

  “Knew what?” Rufus chirped, sitting forward.

  “I’m a weakling… I’m going to rot before I’m twenty, aren’t I?” Linus growled. He looked to Rufus, a trained imperiologist. “Tell me the truth, sir, I can bear it.”

  Rufus laughed, ejecting vapour like a saucepan boiling over. “My dear Linus, don’t be so melodramatic. Weak indeed, you’re nothing of the sort! What kind of weakling takes on a band of Howler-killer thugs with his bare paws? No, no, no. At your age you’re expected to have the odd attack, it’s quite normal.”

  Red-mist inspected Linus’s music box. The wood was inlaid with a waterside scene; dragonflies clinging to reeds, great diving beetles swimming about below, and a pair of dayflies fluttering towards the languid sun in their first and final nuptial flight.

  “Lovely thing,” Rufus remarked. “Heirloom?”

  “My mother’s, sir,” Linus replied, adding, “It plays the Dance of Dayflies.”

  “I heard when I opened it up. Bit out of tune, mind.”

  “It’s very old, sir. Predates the railways, Dad said.”

  “Now that is old,” Rufus marvelled. He took out his pocket watch to check the time and stood up, “Speaking of the passage of epochs, we’re going to be late.”

  “Late?”

  “For the symposium! You can manage can’t you?”

  With a little trepidation, Linus sat up and threw his legs off the bed. There was nothing to worry about, the white-imperium had done its work and staved off the dreaded rot, for another month at least.

  “Of course, I-I-I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Linus stammered, with a slightly giddy laugh – perhaps the sting high was kicking in already.