Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  Adal released Nikita and pulled back, “No, with Rufus out of the picture, Janoah will be free and committed to ALPHA, which needs such wolves as her if it is to flourish.”

  Nikita raised his chin a little, “Is that why you get rid of Rufus?”

  Winking, Adal turned his back, “Now grab the glimmer and comb, I’ve work to do.”

  “Yes... my Alpha.”

  *

  Vladimir entered the dingy chamber, with its cracked, off-white walls and grim, tiled floor, and gently closed the rusty, metallic door behind him. He cast his eyes over the stocky, muscle-bound hyena standing in the midst of the room, paws wired above his head, black-furred toes just about touching the blood-smeared floor.

  “Seems your stay is over, Chakaa Madou,” Vladimir said to him. “I regret to inform you you’re off to the mines.”

  The battered Madou twisted in his cruel Howler-wire bonds as he tried to relieve the weight on his arms by standing on his toes. The Redcloaks had strung him up at precisely the right height to make it just possible for him to touch the floor if he tried, but with almost as much agony as merely hanging.

  “Kill me… Howler,” Madou panted, tipping his head back and seething through his teeth.

  “I think not,” Vladimir sighed.

  “Please! As one… one warrior… to another-”

  “You are no warrior, but terrorist scum!” Vladimir snarled in disgust, continuing in a measured tone, “Elder Amael has it in his head to do you in, but I will not let him dispose of a liability that easily. No. You’ll rot in the mines, hyena, as many before you. Think on your actions whilst you’re down there. If perchance anything comes to mind regards THORN’s plans for us all, or perhaps Amael’s, let the guards know and perhaps I’ll come humour your ravings.”

  “I’ve t-t-t-told you… everything.”

  “Not how Nurka plans to strike!”

  “The black… imperium… at the Summit. He’ll k-kill all the Den Fathers-gaaaagh gagh!”

  Just by giving Madou a hearty push on the chest, Vladimir was able to set him swaying and inflict unbearable pain.

  “Yes, but how, Madou? What day? What time? Under what chair will the bomb be planted? The summit goes on for days, I must have details!”

  “I… d-d-don’t… know!” a quivering Madou rasped, coming to rest. “Nurka’s… told n-nnn-nobody the exact plan. He’s k-kept it secret even from Themba and me just in case… in case of this!” He laughed, “Gaaaaghahahaaaa!”

  “Then he’s clever this Nurka,” Vladimir admitted, “for a chunta-swigging madbeast.”

  Leaving Madou to groan, Oromov stepped outside. Two Redcloaks were waiting.

  “Cut him down and give him this,” he instructed them, giving one a sting. “Then send him to the Watchers. They know what to do. Tell anybody of what transpired here and I’ll string you two up next; by the throat mind you.”

  ~Blick iii~

  They all felt ridiculous, clunking along the dark, decaying halls in layers of eisenglanz, Janoah most of all. A nimble Bloodfang inducted and trained she had no love for hefty armour, but even the Eisbrands would be ashamed to wear so much plate as to barely be able to move.

  Still, better safe than sorry. The building Silvermane had picked for this real world exercise was a rotting derelict and Janoah didn’t trust the ceiling not to come down of its own accord, let alone under duress.

  “Don’t hold back,” she told her two comrades, lifting her thick, sight-limiting visor a moment, green eyes peeping out. “For this to mean anything we have to make it a fair test-”

  “Gaagh!”

  “Oofagh!”

  Janoah whipped round, rapier rising instinctively at the sound of not-so-distant wolves being taken out. Flashes of light reflected off the adjoining corridor walls.

  “He’s coming! Don’t let him through!”

  She had refused a shield, but her fellow Prefects raised theirs and stepped forward, blocking the way.

  “Gas grenade, captain?” one suggested, producing a metallic bauble.

  “It shouldn’t affect him, but try it. Behave as you would under normal circumstances.”

  “Aye!”

  With a twist of the grenade’s opposing hemispheres, the Prefect rolled it neatly down the hall. It spewed a tear-inducing, white smog from one end, slowly filling the corridor with a choking atmosphere which even a Howler’s helmet would struggle to filter out. Janoah and her companions retreated backwards as the cloud rolled towards them.

  Suddenly a towering, black, wolfen figure clomped audibly into the smog from the next corridor. He turned to face the Prefects with glinting, circular eyes of yellowed glass, fixing them with his blank stare just as he vanished in the rising smog.

  The next anyone knew, the fog heaved like a billowing sail, ejecting the enormous, yet graceful wolf into battle, the very air wobbling and warping around him, ribbon flapping behind. First one Prefect then the other were punched aside with imperious fists, slamming into the walls either side and sending plaster crumbling. They were out. Another Prefect ambushed from behind, swinging a great sword. The metal wolf bobbed and weaved like a boxer, the blade clipping his armoured shoulder sending sparks and mantle fabric flying. He staggered aside, then retaliated, raising a quivering metal paw. The air warped and twisted, the coils of his corona reaching out. The walls cracked and bowed around him and, without even touching the Prefect, the metal wolf blasted him yelping down the corridor, the great sword sticking in the ceiling up to its hilt.

  Gulping, Janoah stood firm as this mighty Lupine creation turned on her, metallic ears swivelling, listening, vacant glazed eyes staring, sad yet terrifying. The filthy exhaust at his back vented a pall of black ash, like an unfeeling machine.

  Perhaps this had been a mistake? Was it still him in there, or had he turned?

  “Well?” urged Janoah, dust falling all about her.

  The all-metal wolf looked up a little, ears twitching more.

  At length Janoah snarled, “Oh come along, Stenton!” rapier swishing. “What are you, scared of a little wolfess? You’re an Eisenwolf! Show me what you’re capable of-”

  “JAN!”

  In one great bound, Stenton leapt at Janoah and pushed her, no plasma, no sparks, no unnatural force, just a good hard playground shove, which from Stenton was as good as being hit by an imperium train. Janoah rolled across the hall, her armour clacking like so much pewter dropped by a clumsy maid. No sooner had she gathered her wits about her than she saw Stenton disappear under a heap of dust and rubble as the ceiling caved in.

  “Stenton!” Janoah shrieked, bounding over and pulling at the disjointed lumps of concrete. “Rafe? Rafe, where are you? Help! Someone help us! Wolf down, wolf down!”

  The rubble stirred a little, then a lot, as Eisenwolf Rafe Stenton clawed his way out of the piles and stood tall, his cloak torn to shreds, his exhaust bent, his entire suit bleached a dusty, powdery grey.

  “YOU ALL RIGHT?” he asked.

  “Y-yes,” Janoah managed.

  Rafe nodded. “WE’D BETTER GET EVERYONE OUT OF HERE,” he said, looking up, then around.

  A nod.

  With two Prefects slung over Rafe’s shoulders, and another around Janoah’s, the crumbling building was quickly evacuated. Dust, gas and tens of overly-armoured Prefects poured from the entrance where Silvermane and Josef were waiting, along with many a smart-looking ALPHA staff member with cameras and notebooks. The derelict building folded and two of the four walls caved inwards, enveloping everyone in a cloud of mortar and turning every black cloak and uniform grey.

  “Is everyone accounted for?” Janoah bellowed, searching the Prefects, counting their heads. When she arrived at fifteen Prefects she counted a second time, only then did her panic subside. “That’s the lot,” she assured a spluttering ALPHA official.

  As the dust cleared, Silvermane checked his pocket watch and crunched over to where Janoah stood with Rafe. “Well that was certainly spectacular… whatever it
was.”

  Janoah removed her helmet and ALPHA-saluted.

  Rafe followed suit, twisting the thick neck ring and pulling off his great helmet with a hiss. “Looks like we brought the house down, sir,” he quipped.

  “Indeed, Stenton,” Silvermane said.

  Josef demanded of Janoah, “Well? How did it go?”

  “I think he’s ready for the real thing,” she replied, looking proudly to her Eisenwolf. “Nobody stood a chance in there.”

  “Not even you?” Josef enjoyed needling Janoah.

  “Unfortunately, Doctor, the roof came in before I had a chance to whip our Eisenwolf into shape,” she said, slapping Rafe on his cloak-draped backpack. “Hahahahaaa!”

  Chapter 24

  It had been quite the performance, Rufus thought, as he sat in the carriage rocked by the soothing motion of the train, thinking back over the past few days. Then again, he hadn’t really been acting, nor had most of those who had sat in judgement of him.

  With paws wired, Rufus had been sent before a panel of thirteen high-ranking wolves convened especially for the task of judging his fate. Representatives from each of the packs were there; two Eisbrands, two Greystones, two Bloodfangs and two Hummels, the latter being stationed in Lupa to push their pack’s interests. That made eight. The many small packs that dominated the so-called Bloc sent three more judges between them, bringing the number up to eleven. ALPHA, who had brought the case, made up the shortfall with Silvermane and Horst.

  Silvermane had proved a consummate actor, whilst Horst had unsuspectingly fulfilled the role required of him by being his natural abrasive self – a cartoon of a wolf, with his flabby jowls and copious war medals, half of which were gongs invented just to keep him placated, Rufus was convinced

  Like Horst, Rufus had spoken from the heart, whether Silvermane knew it or not.

  “There isn’t a wolf among you, I think, who hasn’t procured a little extra imperium to stay alive,” Rufus had claimed, staring at the Elders dressed in various hues, blue Eisbrands, yellow Greystones, red Bloodfangs and more, all spread in a splendid arcing rainbow of judgement before little Rufus. “We’ve all done it; begged and borrowed from wolves younger or stronger than us to stave off the pain. They were my friends, who gave it up freely. I did not steal it!”

  “You dare accuse us of misappropriation?” Horst had growled. “Have you no shame?”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way!” Rufus had interrupted. “If a cure could be found the cycle of pain would end. Being a Howler could at least become a choice! If you could just… just let me go on my expedition, I would give my life to search. I would not return without answers-”

  “By Ulf’s fangs, still you persist with this nonsense when your life hangs by a thread!” Horst had exploded, standing up and thumping the tabletop. “You stand accused of misappropriation, of embezzlement and of inciting hatred and discord! Your ‘expedition’ is as far from our consideration as the moon, sir!”

  “Horst!” Silvermane had barked, adding quietly. “We’re the representatives of ALPHA at this table. Control yourself before our peers.”

  And so forth.

  Some of the fabricated charges were unbearable, that Rufus had skimmed off white-imperium and sold it on the black market, and worse, that he had procured it from malleable, naive young Howlers by flattery and blackmail, that Linus, Ivan and Uther were just the latest victims in a string of exploitation going back a decade. Like the most convincing lies it was half-true, as well Silvermane knew. The gossip and hearsay swirling around Rufus and his betas was public knowledge, almost fact, thus the charges would slip down the throats of the average little beast, Howler, and, perhaps most importantly for the ruse to work, hyena alike. Lupa’s contentious champion of equality, of the rights of the hyenas, of the literati, had fallen because of his own desires and vanity, because of his weaknesses.

  It was unpalatable, but believable.

  The train slowed, brakes whining, straining to bring the great hulk under control. Bright light invaded the carriage through the bars above. They had reached the Lupan Wall.

  The sound of activity was quick to follow, of the Watchers barking orders and carriage doors sliding open. The train was being inspected, its cargo turned over and convicts examined, lest the smuggling of imperium or some other commodity was afoot.

  With light streaming into the carriage, Rufus could see his fellow inmates for the first time, at least with his eyes rather than their soul. A motley mix of beasts who had fallen foul of the law, a rat, a rabbit, an otter, their auras almost imperceptible, even to Rufus.

  Then there was the one beast who had been bothering Rufus this last hour, the overbearing corona that had been jostling with his in this claustrophobic space – a hyena, a stocky, spotty hyena, replete with muscle.

  A Chakaa and no mistake. Was it the one from the refinery? The one bitten by the centipede?

  Before Rufus could ask, the carriage door rumbled open and light rolled in from the expensive white-imperium crystal flood lamps high overhead. Two cloaked wolfen silhouettes appeared, not ALPHA Prefects this time, nor Howlers, but Watchers – the wolves that not only policed the Lupan Wall and the adjoining Wall Slums, but the Ashfall beyond.

  Unlike the great pile of Lupa itself, where the boundaries between packs could be a confounding jigsaw, the hinterlands beyond were sliced like a pie, with each pack’s holdings extending outwards from their section of the Lupan Wall, their influence waning with every mile, until only the Lupan Laws remained remotely enforceable, if any laws at all.

  However, Rufus had no idea what pack’s territory the train was passing through on its way out of the city, nor how rough this stop might be, therefore.

  “Up, up!” one of the Watchers shouted whilst climbing aboard. “Get up you miserable maggots! Come on!”

  The prisoners stood, Rufus included, clad in nothing but the now tatty breeches he had been wearing under his armour the day he had been arrested. He hoped Janoah had put his Howler gear in a safe place until his return, otherwise they might melt it down and extract the imperium for profit.

  A second Watcher climbed aboard with a sizeable red ant on a leash. The eager insect scuttled amongst the prisoners, frantically, yet gently, brushing them with its sensitive antennae. The rat cringed and whined in alarm as the insect frisked him – it was big enough to snip him in half with its jagged maws if it so chose.

  But this was a sniffer-ant, raised from a stolen egg and trained to find smuggled goods, especially venom. It was unlikely that anything would be smuggled out of Lupa on a carriage of filthy prisoners headed for Gelb, but there was nothing new under the sun.

  Satisfied the rat was hiding nothing, the ant climbed up the carriage wall and across the ceiling, antennae waving wildly, coming down beside to Rufus and checking him out in turn.

  The Howler chuckled as the ant tickled him with its baton-like antennae, doubtless finding his fiery, imperium-laden blood especially fascinating.

  “Hello there, girl,” said Rufus, fearlessly stroking the insect’s smooth, rock-hard brow. The ant’s frenzied appendages explored his forearm, feeling his ruddy fur, gaining all sorts of secret information.

  “Hey!” barked the Watcher holding the ant’s leash. “What you doing?” he asked in a soft, Great Steppes accent.

  Rufus looked at the wolf, past his obscuring helmet, into his imperious aquamarine eyes that shone almost as brightly as his brooch. “Just saying hello, dear boy,” he said to the obvious youth, taking note of the red-imperium fangs on his helmet’s cheeks – so this was Bloodfang territory. Good. “That’s a lovely great ant you’ve got there,” he added. “What’s her name?”

  The Watcher stared a while. “He is Scuttle,” he said, in a vain attempt at correct Lupan.

  “Scuttle?” Rufus woofed in amusement. He scratched an eyebrow and sniffed, “Well, I suppose that’s passably genderless.”

  The Watcher came over worried, “What you mean, genderless?”

/>   “Nearly all ants are girls, my good Watcher, including uh… ‘Scuttle’ here.”

  The youngster emitted a little dry laugh, “You joke, yes?”

  “No, it’s quite true, I assure you. I’m… something of an expert on these matters.”

  The Watcher tipped his head back a little, “Oh.”

  The other Watcher approached, evidently older, evidently stronger, and not interested in the gender of Scuttle, or any other ant for that matter. Brushing his callow compatriot aside he thumped Rufus in the gut with a truncheon and shoved him to the floor.

  “Shut up, filth! No talking!”

  Rufus resisted the urge to spring up and blow this fellow across the carriage for his lack of decorum only by telling himself that getting executed for striking a Watcher wasn’t part of ALPHA’s plan. He had to get to Gelb alive.

  “What’s wrong with you, Tomek?” the older Watcher growled at the younger. “Just get on with it!”

  “Yes, Captain. Sorry.”

  Scuttle and her master, Watcher Tomek, resumed their inspection, giving every beast in the carriage the once-over, whilst Rufus lay recovering.

  The unfriendly Watcher Captain threw the downed Howler a funny look, perhaps sensing his imperious fire, or even recognising him as that famous troublemaker Rufus – at least Rufus flattered himself by imagining either was the cause, or both. Regardless, the Watcher didn’t linger and vacated the carriage. One prisoner was much like another, Rufus supposed, as he sat against the carriage wall; even fallen Grand Howlers must roll through here on their way to the mines with disturbing regularity.

  Tomek and Scuttle scrutinised the stocky hyena last; the Chakaa smiled menacingly.

  “Come on, Usenko, they’re clean,” the Watcher Captain growled, beckoning to Tomek.