Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “Good lad,” Rufus beamed, pocketing his watch. He looked Linus over and wiggled his smouldering ember at him, “Handsome as you look, get changed will you?”

  Surprised, Linus plucked at his coat, “Changed, sir?”

  “Wear your mantle, Howler. Everyone knows what we are, there’s no point denying it.”

  “I thought it would be… uhm.”

  “What?”

  “Well, uh… disrespectful, sir, to go to a… well a meeting of minds dressed in our-”

  “I’m sure the Eisbrand Den Father will be wearing his Howler kit,” Rufus interjected, opening the door.

  Linus squeaked, “Their Den Father will be attending?”

  Rufus waited in the door long enough to say, “Yes, old Thorvald Strom. Didn’t I tell you? Good friend of mine.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Oh. Well, Strom’s as harmless as a caterpillar,” Rufus assured, stepping out. “I’ll be in the garage. We’re taking my mono, so don’t forget your helmet.”

  *

  Grand Prefect Nikita stood at the window, his paws cupped behind his back, watching Josef Grau fuss over his creation in the stark interrogation room beyond. The huge, dark brown wolf strapped to the rack breathed slowly and deeply, his muscle-packed torso heaving in and out.

  The Eisenwolf was ill. Decaying imperium had built up in his bones and organs, his very blood ran as foul with ash as the River Lupa, enough to kill any normal Howler.

  In time Rafe would heal, his tormented organs would expel the ash and all would be well, but it would take weeks at this rate. The only speedy remedy was to manually re-energise the imperium ash in his blood, to enrich it back to higher grades. But, with white venom thin on the ground and ALPHA’s shoestring budget fraying, the only way to effect a recovery was to ‘rack’ the fellow.

  Shock imperium therapy, Josef called it; monstrous torture his critics scoffed.

  Either way, the young Eisenwolf had agreed to go through with the pioneering treatment. He was not afraid to suffer. He may be insane, but Nikita could respect his courage.

  The tidy-looking nurse, Meryl Stroud, placed an inhaler over the patient’s muzzle. He nodded at her. She smiled and stroked his big ears. Josef impatiently beckoned his assistant away to the control panel. Once Meryl was clear of danger, Josef worked the dials of the repurposed torture machine, slowly increasing the imperium flow.

  Rafe breathed harder and faster, steaming up the inhaler. The specialised rack beneath him shone with a lattice of priceless white-imperium. Suddenly arcs of plasma shot forth, rippling down Rafe’s mighty body. He arched his back and cried out.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaghgaaahgh!”

  Nurse Meryl cupped her paws to her muzzle mask, whilst Doctor Josef looked on with cold indifference, the white plasma reflecting in his tinted spectacles.

  “Gaaaaagh!”

  After half a minute, Meryl turned to Josef and said something; Nikita couldn’t hear her over the snapping bolts of plasma, but whatever it was Josef ignored her.

  Not half a minute later, Meryl ran over to a pipe and turned a valve, shutting down the machine by cutting off its imperium gas supply.

  The patient collapsed back, his body shaking, fur steaming, teeth grinding.

  “What’re you doing?” Josef hissed.

  “That’s enough!” Meryl shouted back.

  “You could’ve damaged the equipment!”

  “I don’t care!”

  Once all was quiet, Meryl hurried over to Rafe and cradled his head in her arms.

  “That’s enough, Rafe,” she said, her voice muffled by the glass. “That’s enough for today.”

  “I… can go again,” he rasped. “I need to get better… for Jan. For Lupa.”

  “She can wait. They can all wait. What good are you to anyone if you die?”

  “I can’t die…. Not with you to look after me.”

  Meryl pulled down her mask and kissed Rafe’s brow.

  Outside, Nikita tutted sympathetically, “Foolish girl, allowing herself to grow attached to your Eisenwolf.” He looked in the reflection of the glass, at the wolfess approaching from the shadows behind, “You agree, Prefect?”

  “Yes, sir,” Janoah replied at length, joining Nikita at the large observation window – he had sensed her corona approaching, Janoah made no effort to hide it. “I’m sure Rafe will be back on his feet soon,” she added.

  “He’s brave wolf,” Nikita praised imperfectly in his thick and cosy-sounding Steppes accent. “You did well when you find him for ALPHA, Comrade Valerio. Silvermane had been waiting long for such wolf as this.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Janoah knew little of Nikita; the wolf remained an enigma to her even after nine months at ALPHA. Common knowledge held that, along with Horst, Nikita was one of the Alpha’s oldest friends. They had served in the war as little more than cubs and joined ALPHA upon its inception, clawing their way to the top and running the show ever since. Some said they were rather more than friends, that Nikita was the Alpha’s wolf even behind closed doors. It sounded a little too convenient to Janoah, an obvious slander put about by Howlers eager disparage the organisation they despised.

  Still, as they say, no ash without embers.

  “How went your debriefing?” Nikita hummed, rocking on his boots, tail flicking. “Was Adal in good mood?” he added, using the Alpha’s true name, Adal Weiss, a thing rarely dared even by his inner circle.

  Janoah dipped her chin, “Fair mood, sir.”

  “He expect results; as do I.”

  “As do we all, Grand Prefect. We must crack this plot open by the time the Summit comes around.”

  Nikita hiked his mottled brown and white brow and said simply, “Why then?”

  Janoah replied, “Because there won’t be a glorious Republic to protect, otherwise.”

  “You exaggerate, comrade! The imperium those hyenas have stolen could make one or two districts uninhabitable at worst. It would not be first time Lupa has lost land to a black-imperium spill; there are many Dead Zones, especially in Bloc.”

  “Yes, sir, but if the Pack Summit is bombed with black-imperium? Surely it’s occurred to you-”

  Nikita scoffed at once, “It occurred to Adal and I years ago! Such plot has been tried many times by many dissidents; always it end in failure. Black-imperium is most difficult to use as weapon. The vapour; it is heavy, it sink down, not rise like yellow. There is no way to deliver it effectively except to stand up high and drop it on beasts. How will hyenas do that and not be stopped?”

  “I don’t know, but this year it’s Hummel’s turn to host. I’m not saying Hummelton’s security is lax, sir, but it’s just not Lupa.”

  “Indeed. Well, if we only knew for sure.”

  “The Bloodfangs may yet prise something from the Chakaa they captured in Riddle,” Janoah said.

  Nikita just grunted and dipped his chin.

  In the silence that ensued, Janoah watched Josef fiddle with his machine whilst Meryl comforted the trembling Rafe. Janoah burnt with the desire to race in there and hold his paw, but that would be unseemly in front of Nikita. Rafe had Meryl; the pretty young wolfess would comfort him tonight.

  Nikita said at length, “I will leave you with your Eisenwolf, Janoah-”

  “Actually, Grand Prefect, I came to see you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes,” Janoah said, explaining, “the Alpha has tasked me with executing a special arrest. He suggested I call on you to assist me.”

  “Oh?”

  “The suspect is attending the Arkady Symposium tonight. The Alpha wants as many beasts as possible to witness his arrest, so as to set an example. However, I may have trouble maintaining order. Even Silvermane and the others may find themselves out of their depth. The Alpha trusts you’ll have no trouble, you being such an… imposing figure.”

  There was a long, thoughtful silence.

  “If it is Adal’s wish, of course,” the flattered Nikita sniffed, lifting his chi
n and cupping his paws in front of him. “Who is this suspect he wants example made of?”

  Janoah took a sharp breath, “Rufus Valerio.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why? Rufus is harmless fool.”

  “He’s a radical impartialist.”

  “So am I!” Nikita growled. “Is no secret the views I hold. Duncan is not so different. Will we be next?”

  Janoah mediated, “You seek reform, sir, as do many here, even the Alpha himself. But of course you do not incite violent unrest. Rufus’s speech in Arkady University last week was tantamount to treason; he could make another tonight! Besides, I know he’s been misappropriating imperium for years and I can prove it.”

  Nikita nodded slowly, “You would arrest your own husband?”

  “I must.”

  “For the sake of the Alpha, or your career?”

  Janoah’s green eyes flitted a little, “Neither, sir, but for the Republic Lupi.”

  Codex: Eisbrand

  The Eisbrand families, by and large, originate from the Great Steppes, a land that was harsh long before the Ashfall rendered it almost uninhabitable. The naturally severe conditions bred not only big, tough wolves, but seeded endless wars and rebellions. These internal conflicts gave rise to a culture of relative equality and toleration, as meagre resources had to be shared more fairly in order to quell the ranks of disgruntled noble wolves and little beast peasants alike. Therefore, it is the Eisbrands and not Hummel who can best lay claim to have given birth to the notion of ‘Impartialism’, where no beast is born superior to the next. Though the Eisbrands still maintain ultimate control, they go further than any Bloodfang or Greystone to keep the little beasts content, even allowing them some say in how a district is run. Uniquely they have District Councils comprised of citizens voted for by citizens, though the local Elder still has the final say on most matters.

  The current Den Father, Thorvald Strom, is especially liberal. Under him there has been a surge of learning and philosophical debate, culminating in the annual Wintertide Arkady Symposium, where all the brightest minds of Lupa gather to share their liberal ideas. There is also the Petra Square Science Exhibition, where the latest inventions are shown off to both the masses and possible investors.

  Liberal though they are, the Eisbrands run a tight ship regards their Howlers. They must be as strong as any Greystone or Bloodfang to maintain their borders, and to that end they equip themselves with the very best armour and weapons lupas can buy. Eisbrands revel in their heavy eisenglanz plate and enormous great kristahl swords, all paid for by the taxes on luxury goods the pack imports from across the Graumeer with the help of sea-faring otters. Fine silk, porcelain, spices; all things exotic come to Lupa via the Eisbrands and their otter partners.

  Unlike the vast, barren Steppes to the north, Eisbrand holdings both within Lupa and along the west coast remain somewhat uncontaminated, since the prevailing wind blows the Ashfall to the north east. Thus the Eisbrands are able to keep clean streets and gardens of hardy plants within their handsome quarter of the city. Many an Eisbrand, Howler or healthy, maintains a holiday home on the clean Graumeer coast, particularly in and around the otter colony of New Tharona.

  For all this, and for their renowned physical beauty, the Eisbrands are looked upon jealously by their wolfen neighbours, particularly the long-suffering Greystones.

  Chapter 21

  Tristan Donskoy stole round the side of the Arkady University, the golden light from the windows cascading over his freshly polished armour and Howler helmet like liquid gold. Just on the other side of that wall was warmth, light and a fabulous spread. Tristan could hear the belly-laughs of dignitaries and clinking of glasses. He longed to be inside, to be sharing a drink with Sara, beautiful Sara.

  Tristan approached the majestic main entrance, with its great marbled pillars. Two heavily armoured Eisbrands were checking the invites of guests and allowing them to pass inside, or not in the case of any uninvited press, spies and other undesirable gatecrashers – there had been a few attempts made already.

  Security was especially tight since the Den Father of the Eisbrands was putting in a rare appearance; Old Thorvald liked to be seen to sponsor learning and debate. The annual Arkady University Wintertide Symposium, to give it its full title, was the ideal venue to let it be known how progressive the Eisbrand Pack was compared to the ‘other lot’, the other lot being whatever pack you fancied, it was a blanket disparagement.

  Tristan climbed the steps. “Any more troublemakers?” he asked his wolves.

  They saluted, fists to chests and out. “A couple, sir,” the one on the right said. “Just some dissident wolves; students by the looks. They were giving out leaflets at the gate.”

  “What kind of leaflets?”

  The Howler pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his cloak pocket and passed it to Tristan.

  Tristan opened it. Inside was a grainy, barely discernable photo of a burnt settlement with dead hyenas of every sex and age lying about.

  “Fake dissident propaganda, sir,” said the Howler.

  “Yes,” Tristan said at length, clearing his throat.

  “What shall we do with them, sir?” asked the gruff Howler on the left.

  “Who?”

  “The dissidents, sir.”

  Tristan slipped the leaflet in his own cloak pocket. “Keep them in a cell overnight. Let them go with a warning.”

  “That all, sir?”

  “Do you have a problem with my order, Howler?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Headlights beaming, a fancy red motor car zoomed down the drive, wheels crunching through the gravel and snow, and pulled up by the entrance. A smartly dressed wolfen valet – or rather a volunteer student acting as a valet – burst from the university foyer and hurried down the steps to open the car door. Before he managed, a dapper ginger cat in a long white coat and scarf popped out.

  “I say, you lot, where do you want us to park?” he asked.

  Tristan descended the steps, “Leave it to the valet, sir.”

  “Valet?” the cat scoffed, casting his goggled eyes down the skinny young wolf Tristan was gesturing to. “Do you know what you’re doing behind a wheel, young wolf?”

  “Yes, sir!” the youth replied confidently.

  “You’d better. There’s a six-hundred ant-power, turbo-charged, red-imperium engine under that bonnet, and don’t you forget it!”

  “Six-hundred!” the wolf whistled. “Wow!”

  “Put her into a wall, me laddo, and you’ll be for it.”

  “Perish the thought, sir.”

  An elegant grey catess in a similar white coat emerged from the other side of the carriage. “Monty leave him alone,” she chided, walking round, “I’m sure this young gentlebeast is perfectly capable of parking our car.”

  After a twist of his whiskers, Monty coughed up the tip and gave the young wolf a few lupas.

  “Keys are in the ignition,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. The cloakroom is just inside on your left. The girls will take your coats.”

  The valet eagerly hopped inside Monty’s car and slammed the door. Nursing the gorgeous wheel with his gloved paws he crunched the gears a few times and, after a few false starts and innocent smiles, got things moving.

  Monty watched the car crackle its away across the university grounds towards the clock tower, until his wife turned his gaze with a paw. “Manners, Monty,” she hissed.

  “I’m only thinking of the money we’ll get for selling it in good nick, Sweetpea.”

  “It shan’t come to that.”

  “No? Better pray for some investors tonight, then.”

  The imposing Tristan greeted the cats, a big wolf, even for an Eisbrand. “Montague and Penelope Buttle?”

  “That’s right, ‘Owler,” Monty replied, chipper again. “Call us Monty n’ Penny if you will.”

  Tristan nodded.

  With a
n ‘Oh!’ Monty hurriedly produced the invitations from inside his coat, but Tristan waved the envelopes away.

  “I’ve seen you on the newsreels,” he insipidly assured the famous feline couple. “Please, allow me to escort you to the hall personally.”

  “Much obliged, sir, much obliged. What’s your grip, if I may be so bold?”

  “Donskoy, Tristan Donskoy.”

  “Pleasure, Tristan. Lead on, sir.”

  The Buttles followed Tristan up the stairs, between the saluting Howlers, and into the ancient magnificence of Arkady University. The main foyer arced high overhead, but was strangely cosy and warm-looking, with its lattice-like structure of struts criss-crossing a hundred times, creating countless geometric nooks and crannies.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful, Monty,” Penny whispered, casting her eyes around.

  “Yes, quite. Must be a nightmare to dust, eh?”

  Tristan couldn’t help himself. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’re used to as Felician royalty.”

  “Hahaa!” Monty laughed, “Did you hear that, Penny? Chap thinks we’re rolling in it.”

  Penny smiled.

  “We live on a bally farm, sir,” Monty explained

  Tristan actually turned to the cats in mid-stride, “Farm? Don’t you live in Queen’s Town?”

  “Absolutely not. No room in Queens Town for me dirigibles, even less Felicia. Open air is what you need. Besides, I’m not part of the club am I, Sweetpea?”

  “That’s enough Monty.”

  Deciding not to probe, Tristan wordlessly led the cats to the cloakroom set into the wall. Behind the desk was a little black wolfess in a green blazer and white breeches, her simple beauty unmarred by a disapproving frown, in Tristan’s opinion.

  “What do you want?” she scoffed at him, busying herself by shuffling hats on the shelf behind. “You’re supposed tae be on duty, Howler Donskoy.”

  “Can’t stay away,” Tristan whispered, saying aloud to the guests, “Sara Hummel will take your coats-”

  “Saraaa!” Penny cooed, fluttering a gloved paw.

  Sara whirled around, her countenance altering in a flash, as if someone had hooked fine fishing lines to the corners of her mouth and pulled. “Duchess!” she squealed, just about managing to hug Penny over the desk. “Och! What’re you doing here?”