by Adam Browne
Vladimir hasn’t forced me to take on a temporary partner yet, for which I’m grateful. I do not want to get involved with another wolf when Uther is due back any day. I feel I’m not taking liberties, since Ivan has remained a lone wolf for months since Rufus’s promotion to Grand Howler and now imprisonment. So indeed has Vladimir remained alone, Rufus being his fellow Grand Howler. He has been running Riddle by himself; nominally Boris has been acting as a temporary Grand Howler, but he’s rarely seen, Elder Amael even less.
Riddle feels strangely depleted of authority, but Elder Amael rightly refuses to move anyone up to fill the vacancies because all the missing wolves are expected to return; Ivan, Uther, even Rufus, if the charges against him can be quashed at the Summit. There will shortly be an influx of newcomers when the next class of Cubs graduate into Howlers, and Ivan will be assigned a new partner on his return whether he likes it or not, or so I’m told. I myself will be expected to ‘show the youngsters the ropes’, Vladimir says.
Strange. I’ve only been a Howler myself a year. Seems longer somehow.
Got another monobike lesson this morning, then I’m off to see Sara again. We’re going to the Science Exhibition to have a look at the latest in imperium technology. Sara says Monty and Penny Buttle will be flying there today. Exciting!
Howler Linus Bloodfang Mills
Chapter 25
“All right, now twist the accelerator. Gently, gently! That’s it. Good, very good.”
The Springtail’s engine thrummed between Linus’s armoured legs as he weaved between the bollards. The glowing imperium gyroscope nestled within the wheel shifted to and fro, right, left, right, its hefty presence butting against Linus’s corona as he battled to control it in ways unknowable to those untouched by the wonder mineral.
“Keep your speed up!” his instructor growled over his shoulder, as Linus reached the last bollard. “Not too slow, or you’ll just turn on the spot!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Steady, steady. That’s it, Mills. Nice!”
Striding across the sunny, if chilly grounds of Riddle Den, Vladimir watched Linus guide his standard-issue grey and black Bloodfang-livery monobike gently round the final bollard and back the way he’d come, weaving through the course with aplomb.
Immediately he finished, Linus panicked and slammed a gaitered boot down, mistrusting the machine to stay upright of its own volition even at rest, though it should and did, as Linus’s instructor pointed out.
“Trust your machine, lad. Giacomo Valerio make the best monos in the world, even the little Springtail; reliable as the rising sun she is. As long as her gyroscope is spinning she’ll stay up until Wintertide, it’s only bad riders that make ‘em topple.”
Linus nodded his helmeted head, “I-I-I know. I do. I just couldn’t help fighting it.”
“It’ll come to yer. You’re doing really well.”
Patting his pupils shoulder, Linus’s instructor climbed off the bike, whereupon he noticed Vladimir’s approach and saluted, fist to red-cloaked chest. “Grand Howler.”
Shutting his mono down and kicking out the stand, Linus threw his stout legs off the seat and did the same.
“Grand Howler Vladimir.”
“At ease gentlebeasts,” Vladimir said, turning immediately to Linus, paws cupped before him. “Impressive riding for a learner, Howler Mills.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mills is a natural, Grand Howler,” said the instructor.
“Is he indeed?”
“Haven’t had a pupil tame a bike this fast since Uther.”
Vladimir emitted one of those high-pitched hums that indicated how impressed he was, or at least how impressed he wanted others to think he was, whatever his private thoughts.
“I hate to interrupt your lesson, Linus, but I need to borrow you a minute,” he said.
“By all means, sir,” Linus’s instructor answered in his stead. “We’re done for today anyway. Not much more I can teach the lad at present, he’s just got to practise. You know how it is.”
The lofty Vladimir ushered the stocky Linus away, walking him slowly towards the Den’s gaping garage, with all its bikes and cars lined up.
Checking over his shoulder, Linus cleared his throat and asked, “If I may, sir, have you heard anything about Uther and Ivan?”
“No.”
“But it’s been two months. Uther told me he’d be back by now.”
Vladimir shrugged, “He had to tell you something, I suppose.” He glanced up at the towering Den, “I myself will be going away shortly; Amael requires me to accompany him to the Pack Summit. He’s leaving Boris in charge of Riddle.”
“To your honour, sir,” Linus said.
“Yes,” Vladimir huffed, looking down at young Mills. “You do realise it’s Hummel’s turn to host this year?”
“I do, sir.”
“Humph. Getting to Hummelton is going to be a logistical nightmare. Every Den Father is going, of course, each taking their own train packed with a retinue of Elders, Den Guards and Howlers, not to mention dignitaries, the press and Ulf knows who else. The security arrangements alone are going to be ridiculous! Worse, Lupa will be left depleted of authority at this most dangerous time. Can you imagine the opportunity this presents to enemies of the Republic, to THORN?”
“I can, sir.”
“Much as I relish leaving Lupa for a while it’s a daunting proposition. I’ll need a good Howler to act as my second, someone who shan’t embarrass me in front of wolves from other packs, or Amael for that matter.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vladimir stopped walking, “What do you say, Linus?”
“Me?” the youth squeaked at length, stopping too.
“Well yes. Why do you think we’re having this conversation?”
Linus couldn’t articulate a reply, “But… but….”
“You refuse?” Vladimir assumed.
“N-nnn-no, sir, how could I?” Linus stammered. “But surely there must be others more suited to-”
“Ordinarily I would take Ivan,” Vladimir explained, cutting Linus’s predictable sentence short. “However, since he’s away, you’ll have to do. You’re quiet and passably intelligent; I wouldn’t drag the like of Uther around.”
“Sir.”
“You accept then?”
“Yes, sir. A-a-absolutely! I’m honoured. I’ve longed to travel beyond the Ashfall again.”
“Again?” Vladimir said with intrigue. “When did you last go?”
“Oh, n-nnn-not since I was a cub. I’m a Rostsonner, sir, south of the canyon, originally.”
“Yes, I know. You must’ve been very young when you came to Lupa, you’ve no accent left at all.”
Since Vladimir cared to know, Linus enlightened him. “I was about three or four, sir. My father contracted the rot and had to become a Howler, so I had to go to the city with him.”
“And your mother?”
Linus’s blue eyes squinted into the far distance, looking through Vladimir and time, “She died of the rot before my father even contracted it himself, sir. I hardly remember her, save for the day she died in her bed back in Rostsonne.”
Vladimir nodded sagely, asking, “How is it your family was blighted by the rot when you lived down there? I thought Rostsonne was a clean, if naturally unforgiving country.”
“My home town was mysteriously blighted, sir. It wasn’t just us. I can remember many beasts dying, and the crops too. Everything.”
“Strange. An imperium plume, perhaps?”
Linus spread his paws, “Father had his theories, but one of the reasons I wanted to study imperiology and the natural world was to try and find out what happened to my town.” He dipped his chin, the enthusiasm dampened, “Of course… that’s been put on hold somewhat.”
Vladimir grunted, “I know the feeling.”
Linus wondered what the Grand Howler’s story was; everyone had one, even stuffy old Vladimir.
“I’m sure you’ll make
a fine adjutant,” Vladimir declared, cheering the mood. He parted company with Linus, informing him that, “Make your arrangements. We leave in a week.”
*
Chiirrrrruup!
Chiirrrrruup!
Chiirrrrruup!
“What the thump’s that?” Uther whispered, ears and eyes swivelling, searching the darkness beyond the campfire.
“Sand cricket,” Ivan said simply, stirring the simmering broth hanging over the crackling campfire. “They’re mostly harmless.”
Uther turned to him, “Mostly? Whatcha mean mostly?”
“If you don’t bother it, it won’t bother you,” Ivan explained. “It’s just calling for a mate. If you come at it from behind it can deal a nasty kick with its back legs. Keep that in mind if you have to hunt one to eat one day.”
Pulling his cloak a little tighter around himself this chilly night, Uther said, “Sure, whatever.”
Chiirrrrruup!
Chiirrrrruup!
Chiirrrrruup!
The Howler covered his ears, “Oh, how are we gonna sleep with that thing sounding off?”
“You get used to it,” Ivan said.
“Puh! Oh yeah?”
Chiirrrrruup!
“Shut up!” Uther barked at the anonymous night, his gruff voice echoing across the desert.
Silence.
“Aye, that’s more like it-”
Chiirrrrruup!
Cupping his white face in his dark paws, Uther grumbled, “It’s been so quiet up ‘til now.”
Ivan sipped the steaming broth, “It’s spring. Life is returning to the land, even the Ashfall. You wait until we get to Everdor; you won’t know where to lay your head at night for bugs.”
“Can’t wait, mate.”
Ivan allowed a rare chuckle. It would be easy to make fun of his comrade, but Blade-dancer was bigger than that. It wasn’t the ‘Wild-heart’s’ fault that, despite his bogus epithet, he was a Lupan born and bred. He couldn’t tell a cricket from a grasshopper. The sword cut both ways; bright-eyed, healthy folk coming to Lupa from Everdor, Rostsonne, or even the tough Steppes to study or work were all too often eaten alive by the rapacious city, falling into a spiral of imperium-fuelled crime and poverty, often ending in the rot or Gelb.
“Do you reckon Rufus is all right?”
Ivan’s pure white ears pricked at Uther’s question, more out of surprise that Wild-heart should be seen to care than anything. Ivan nearly expressed just that sentiment, but refrained from stirring up ill-feelings.
“He’s stronger than either of us,” he replied tactfully.
Uther nodded a little and cleared his throat, perhaps embarrassed he had let slip any feelings for the wolf who had pulled him from the gutter.
Staying his tongue on the matter, Ivan ladled some broth into a wooden bowl and passed it across to Uther.
“Oh, ta,” Wild-heart said, rubbing his thighs in great expectation and not caring to ask what Ivan’s stew consisted of; after walking all day he was too famished to care.
Ivan watched Uther blow on his spoon before supping the broth. That white, mask-like face of his screwed up as he assessed the flavour.
At length he admitted, “It’s good.”
“Mushroom and potato,” Ivan told him, without pride.
Nodding, Uther stirred the thick mixture and let some dribble off his spoon, “It’s got real body to it.”
“That’s the potato. We wolves might be able to walk forever and a day, but even we can’t march twelve-hundred miles on gruel.”
“Yeah, nah!”
The Howlers would have liked to ride straight east to Everdor on their monobikes in a day or two, but that was too conspicuous. They would have been necessitated to stop for fuel, and at least take the beaten paths if not the roads. Beasts would have seen them pass, Watchers stopped them at checkpoints, asked questions as to why two city Howlers were out here. They could have donned disguises, made excuses, but what was the rush? The Elder Trains were not due for another week. Better to go north, across the sparsely-populated ashen desert of the Great Steppes and along the foot of the Sunrise Mountains, before dropping down into the lush, unpolluted forests and fields of Everdor, unseen and unsuspected.
This was Ivan’s country, Uther knew, where the Donskoys and most other Eisbrand families originally came from. With the ever-spreading Ashfall making farming impossible, few remained now. Ivan’s immediate family had been amongst the last clinging on here and he still spoke a little Steppes through them – enough to trade with a passing bear merchant a few days ago. The brazen bear had thrown open his beetle-drawn cart to the wolves, and whilst Uther had naively inspected useless trinkets, Ivan had traded wads of lupas for mere bread and water. Money wasn’t worth much out here, Blade-dancer had explained later.
The bread had since gone stale, but Uther didn’t complain; naive city-dweller he may be, he still knew he was lucky for anything at all out here. Without Ivan’s guidance he would probably get lost and expire, not that he would admit it.
Halfway through his meal, Ivan noticed Uther staring at him across the campfire.
“What?” he snorted pugnaciously.
“Nothing,” Uther said, looking down and away.
There was a pause as Ivan doubtless tried to fathom what Uther had been staring at, but he let it pass for fear of looking stupid, or seeming to care, or both.
Blade-dancer curled up under his black captain’s cloak, which served very well as a blanket. “You take first watch,” he said, pulling his hood up, “the crickets will stop singing in a few hours and then you’ll be able to sleep better.”
“Don’t you want your soup?” Uther said hopefully.
“I’d prefer to have it for breakfast.”
“It’ll get cold.”
“I’ll survive, city-boy,” Ivan teased, rolling onto his side and presenting his back to Uther. Hearing the ladle clink on the pot as Uther snuck a refill, Ivan growled, “If there’s not enough soup there to fill my belly in the morning you’ll be eating sand crickets from here on out, Howler.”
Chiirrrrruup!
“Puh, suits me!” Uther claimed, speaking loudly into the night. “Did you hear that? I’ll be forced to eat yer!”
*
Sara sat kneading her black paws on her white breeches, watching the simple new-materials glowing clock tick by on the wall opposite.
The clinical-smelling, somewhat stark waiting room was populated by the usual suspects, beasts old and young, little and large, some coughing their guts out, some on crutches, some with bald patches of scabrous skin, and some, like Sara, harboured no outward symptoms at all, though she suspected if she sat here being coughed on much longer she was bound to come away with a souvenir cold.
The surgery door opened and Sara hopped to her feet. She was premature, for a rotund male hog nurse trotted out and crossed to the reception desk.
Sara sat back down again, before immediately getting up and walking to the desk. She butted into the flirty conversation the hog nurse was having with the presumably attractive hogess receptionist nestled behind the desk.
“Excuse me. Sorry, but how long will this take?”
“The doctor’ll be right with you miss,” the distracted hog nurse said to Sara. “Just take a seat.”
“It’s not for me. I brought my friend in. The-”
“Yeah, I know, the tall brown wolfess. Miss Blake’s still undergoing tests. All right?”
“Still?”
“Doctor Maher will be another fifteen minutes, I reckon.”
Sara expressed her thanks to the hog and sat back down, if only for a few seconds before taking the nearest exit and a little fresh air, or as fresh as air got around here.
The clinic’s cloister-like gardens weren’t really gardens, just raked gravel and some trees that were tough enough to put up with the ashen rain. The muted Lupan sun played through their leaves and danced over Sara’s blazer as she sat on a curvy iron bench beneath one of the tree trunk
s and buried her face in her paws.
“Sara?”
The little wolfess looked up to see her big, surcoat-clad, armoured shadow.
“Tristan,” she chirped at him. “What do you want?”
“How is she?” he replied, nodding at the clinic.
“Ah don’t know yet.”
“You can’t hide her much longer.”
“I’ll hide her as long as she wants.”
“If you love her,” Tristan said, stepping closer, “you’ll let me help her before someone else finds out.”
“Help her?” Sara spat. “You mean become one of you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Sara grimaced, “Ulf almighty, life’s just nae fair, Tristan. Olivia’s got so much tae give the world. She’s so clever and… and beautiful. And here’s little, daft dumpling me, healthy as can be even though mah mother’s as rotten as a dustbin. Why was I spared?”
Tristan contemplated sitting beside Sara and comforting her, but thought better of it. “It’s not too late,” he soothed, spreading a paw. “With fresh air and clean living Olivia might live a relatively normal life for a reasonable time, with minimal stings.”
“Reasonable?” Sara sniffed, looking up at the Howler, “Like what?”
“Years to come,” he replied vaguely. “Look, can’t Penny and Monty put her up on their farm?”
“Aye, gladly, but how will I get her out of Lupa now? The Watchers will sense her when she passes the Lupan Wall’s checkpoints, won’t they? They’ll find her out.”
Tristan had obviously been thinking about it for a long time, for he had a plan to paw. “I can get you past them. I’m going to Everdor next week, for the Pack Summit – it’s being held at Hummelton this year.”
“Aye, Ah know. So what?”
“Well, I can tuck you and Olivia away in my cabin on the Elder Train.”
“The Elder Train, are ye mad?” Sara squeaked.
“Where better? There’ll be so many Howlers aboard nobody will be able to pick Olivia’s corona out. I can get passes, disguises; everything.”