Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “Come on, this way!” the little wolfess beckoned impatiently.

  Linus walked leisurely over, but upon arrival was immediately seized by Sara and yanked through the crowds by the arm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Quickly or ye’ll miss it!” Sara tutted.

  “Miss what?”

  “Monty and Penny’s balloon. Och! There they go!”

  As quickly as she’d dragged Linus along, Sara pulled him to a halt and pointed. There was little need; Linus could hardly miss the great silver balloon rising from amongst the crowds and marquees on the far side of the fair, taking to the sky with all the grace of lazy fish waking from its seabed slumber. It was shaped like a pointed bauble and had tail fins, the top one strung with steel supporting wires. It was smaller than a typical dirigible, by Linus’s estimation, and judging by those wires probably lacked a skeleton, maintaining its shape by the sheer pressure of the gases within. The tiny gondola snuggled against the bulging canvas bore two familiar cats in long white coats. One of them leant out an open window to wave daintily at the masses below with a scarf, the other stoically commanded the wheel, twisting the red fins and revving the ash-belching, imperium-powered propellers whirring each side of the gondola.

  There was no mistaking Penny and Monty.

  “Awoooooo!” Linus howled, waving both paws at the Buttle couple, as if they might spot him amongst the thousands gathered below, even less hear him over the engines.

  Surprised at the guarded Linus’s enthusiasm, Sara joined in the waving and shouting. “Penny, Monty! Down here!”

  Thrumming deafeningly overhead, the Buttle’s airship cast a great shadow across Linus and Sara before passing over the sparkling fountain behind them and across the fair. With surprising speed it cleared the fancy town houses and circled around Petra Square, watched by every beast within.

  Except for one.

  A recognisably large Eisbrand Howler emerged from the masses and was on Sara and Linus in a heartbeat. Throwing Linus a stern duotone glare he took Sara to one side by the arm.

  “Tristan!” she yelped.

  “Oi!” Linus barked, “What’re you doing-”

  “Shut up, Bloodfang!” Tristan snarled at him. “I want to talk to Sara in private. You’re in the heart of our capital territory; remember that before you say another word!”

  With a snort, Linus looked at Sara.

  “It’s all right,” the wolfess reassured him.

  Watched by Linus, Tristan led Sara over to the side of marquee as if to hide from prying eyes. The Eisbrand glanced all about before saying, “Sara they’re coming for Olivia. We have to get her to a safe house.”

  “What?” Sara gasped.

  “That crook Maher betrayed her to ALPHA. I can’t protect her from them; she’ll have to go into hiding. Heath as well, they’ve got him down for providing a dodger with stings.”

  “But… but Olivia paid him-”

  “Do you think Maher cares? He’s an ex-pupil of Josef and an ALPHA informant. I knew I’d heard of him before.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know,” Tristan said firmly. “What’s more I bumped into Josef outside Heath’s flat which confirms it. Ulf knows what that psychopath’ll do to Olivia. The same thing he did to Bruno, I wager.”

  “Bruno?” Sara said, eyes darting about. “Do you know something?”

  “Not now, Sara.”

  “Tristan, please tell me.”

  “I don’t know yet Sara! But I do know I can’t stop ALPHA if they want Olivia. She has to leave Lupa. And so should you, at least until this blows over. Your mother will protect you.”

  Sara looked back at Linus. He met her gaze, but could not hear a word over the crowds.

  “You can ditch him for starters,” Tristan grunted.

  “Tristan, don’t!” Sara woofed. “Linus is a good ‘un, as good as Rufus.”

  “Maybe, but get rid of him,” Tristan huffed, adding before Sara could protest, “for his safety. You wouldn’t want him arrested and beaten up by ALPHA, would you? Because that’s what we’re up against here. We, all of us, even you, could be sent to Gelb if we’re caught hiding a dodger.”

  Sara made to speak, then changed her mind and cupped her little paws over her dark muzzle.

  “Shall I do it?” Tristan offered, referring to Linus.

  “No, you’ll only make it worse,” Sara said. “Ah’ll tell him… something.”

  “Tell him he’s not your type. Too short, I’d have thought.”

  “Oh, be serious!”

  Tristan allowed a rare chuckle. “Where’s Olivia and the Professor?” he asked looking around.

  Sara was too busy wondering what to tell Linus to think straight. “They, uh… they went down tae where the balloon took off. Ah was bringing Linus over tae see. They said they’d wait there for us.”

  “Right. I’ll go get them. Stay near the fountain. If you see any ALPHA prefects, hide.”

  “Aye.”

  Giving Linus a last glance, Tristan weaved through the spectators, leaving Sara rubbing her arms with her paws. She made her way slowly back to Linus, who met her halfway.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Doesn’t look it.”

  “Ah’m fine,” Sara insisted, forcing a smile. “Really.”

  Linus threw his paws up a little, “Well what did he want?”

  “Nothing. Listen Linus, you… we have tae go home.”

  “Pardon.”

  “Ah’m sorry, it’s nae your fault. Something’s come up. We’re leaving early. All of us.”

  “Oh,” Linus said, “Would it be presumptuous to ask why?”

  Sara seethed, “It’s a private matter.”

  “I see,” Linus claimed, when of course he didn’t. “Well, I-I-I’ll walk you home-”

  “No!” Sara said, a little too firmly and quickly, “Don’t trouble yerself. Really.”

  Linus thumbed behind him, “It’s no trouble. My mono’s back at Heath’s flat anyway.”

  “Aye. Well, you go ahead. We’re staying here a little while.”

  “But… I thought you were leaving.”

  “We are; in a minute.”

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I don’t mind-”

  “Linus, just… just go, would ye?” Sara groaned, pushing him a little with her paws. “Please. Just go home.”

  Linus looked down at himself, as if Sara’s shove had left a stain on his mantle. The Howler rolled his powerful shoulders and plucked at the chest of his cloak; he felt suddenly hot and bothered, “All right, what’s going on? What did Tristan say to you? Did he threaten you?”

  “No!”

  “Did he say something about me?”

  “No, Linus! Tristan’s nae like that. He’s a good ‘un. He’s always….” Sara paused a moment to take a breath, then finished, “He’s always looked out for me.”

  Mollified, Linus backed off a little, “Then what is it? Are you in some kind of trouble?” he guessed.

  “No.”

  “Is it Heath? Is he in trouble? Look, I know his outspokenness is frowned upon, but I’m not about to denounce him. You know how I feel about him. He’s a hero of mine.”

  Sara waved her paws, “Would you please just leave?”

  After some thought, Linus spoke with a clarity he never knew he possessed, “Sara, I’m not leaving you without an explanation. It’s my duty as a Howler to protect the citizens of Lupa. Now either tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to stay here and find out for myself.”

  “Just go away!” Sara growled, shoving Linus hard enough to make him stumble. “Go on, now!”

  “Sara-”

  “Go home!” she barked at him. “And don’t come sniffing around the flat! Ah don’t want tae see you. Is that clear, Howler? Stay away from me!”

  Linus stood, dumbfounded. Beasts stared at him.

  “W-w-w
hat did I do?” he stammered at last, all clarity crumbling in the face of Sara’s rebuff.

  “If ye don’t leave me alone right now, Ah’ll call the nearest Eisbrands for help!” Sara threatened, fists by her sides. She looked down, “Just go, Linus Mills. Ah nae want tae see you again.”

  The wonder that was Monty’s flying machine roared overhead once more, casting Linus and Sara into deafening shadows as the crowds cheered and clapped. Linus saw and heard none of it, his world had condescend down to Sara and her sudden, inexplicable, unnatural rejection.

  “Go away!” she all but screamed at him.

  Linus looked down and away, then right at Sara. “It was stupid of me to think a s-sss-stammering, s-sss-stupid, s-sss-sack of rot could be friends with such a n-nnn-noble wolfess,” he struggled, donning his helmet in shame. “I’ll go back to where I belong, then. If that’s what you want so badly.”

  Sara said nothing, though she bit her bottom lip to keep from utterance. Linus waited few seconds in the hope she would change her mind and say something, anything.

  Nothing.

  “Take care, citizen,” Linus said distantly, pushing through the crowds and out of sight.

  Alone, Sara staggered over to the fountain and collapsed on its lip, exhausted from the confrontation. Tristan returned shortly with Professor Heath and Olivia in tow, both looking decidedly fidgety and anxious. As he spoke to Sara, Tristan glanced this way and that, ears swivelling, clearly searching the masses for someone.

  He failed to spot Linus lurking behind a stripy marquee, and as the group moved off through the fair the Bloodfang followed them at a distance.

  As did a bespectacled grey cat and two Prefects.

  Codex: Greystone

  Lupa’s master builders, craftsbeasts and artisans, the Greystones strike beasts as gruff and common, the accent of their quarter being, some say, the definitive Lupan parlance. If you were born within the knell of the steam hammers that constantly bend and shape eisenglanz, then you are a true Lupan.

  Whatever their vocal inflections, the Greystones are an infuriatingly enigmatic pack, with the obvious outward action of any Elder or Den Father often nothing but a front for some underlying motivation. Their greatest slight of paw, however, is in keeping the method of stabilising yellow-imperium secret for centuries now. Other packs have tried to unpick this greatest of Greystone mysteries, but meeting always with failure they are instead necessitated to sell yellow-imperium ore to the Greystones, only to buy back the processed forms later – a lucrative venture for the Greystones. More wealth is generated from rich territorial holdings to the south. The Greystones own the entire Pinnacles and half of Rostsonne, up to the yawning canyons that divide that land. With the sea wind keeping the Ashfall at bay, Rostsonne remains good country for little beasts to grow cereal crops, albeit with heavy irrigation, whilst the Pinnacle mines provide endless metal ores for the insatiable Greystones to smelt into cars, trains, rails and gas pipes to keep Lupa’s ancient infrastructure functioning.

  However, some say the Greystones are more responsible for Lupa’s self-destruction of late than its construction, for they were the first pack make possible again the deadly phenomenon that is the Eisenwolf.

  It’s said the first suits of Eisenwolf armour were recovered by Greystone artisans who dared to explore a Dead City. The expedition cost the lives of all involved, the members dying of rot upon their return. The suits they brought back, later dubbed eisenpelz, were initially thought useless. Normal Howlers hadn’t a corona strong enough to control them, nor even the physical strength to move within them.

  Ultimately it was found that only the pure-bloods, those wolves born of two Howlers, could don the Eisenwolf mantle. They alone had the sheer strength and imperium tolerance demanded by the cruel eisenpelz.

  Few pure-bloods survive to birth, and even those that do often die young, especially today when they are rarely adopted by a pack. But back in the glory days, whilst they lived and donned the eisenpelz, they were the supreme power in Lupa, the ultimate Howler, able to destroy all before them with nought but a raised paw. For a time they were revered as gods amongst wolves.

  During successive Howler Wars and the intervening years, every pack raced to match the Greystones, gathering their own eisenpelz and breeding pure-bloods to work them. Most even encouraged their scarce female Howlers to marry male Howlers instead of a healthy Freiwolf partner, despite the terrible risk of miscarriages and birth defects the cubs of two Howlers run - the need for Eisenwolves to maintain one’s borders was simply too great.

  Eventually matters reached a head. Successive generations of Eisenwolves, the bloodline ageing and mad, turned in upon their packs, their friends, even their loved ones, destroying hundreds of Howlers in orgies of violence that levelled whole districts, before collapsing and self-destructing in a torrent of imperious energy.

  When the dust had settled, the status of Eisenwolves was forever tarnished.

  Since this last and most destructive episode in Lupa’s history over a decade ago, eisenpelz have been banned by several cross-pack Lupan Laws. Relationships between male and female Howlers are frowned upon and marriage forbidden to discourage any union that might produce a pure-blood. Eisenpelz cannot function without pure-bloods to use them, thus they are now obsolete.

  However, it is an open secret that every pack still maintains a small collection of eisenpelz, just in case attitudes shift, or some outside force should threaten Lupa. Moreover, pure-bloods still walk Lupa’s streets, the unwanted results of illegal Howler liaisons with their fellow afflicted, often abandoned on doorsteps, their parents and pasts lost to them.

  Lupa may yet have need of them, one day.

  Chapter 29

  Sometimes walking, often dragged, Rufus was bundled across Gelb by the Warden’s two personal Howlers; if that’s what they called themselves, he wasn’t sure and didn’t much care for all his cuts and bruises. They said not a word as they escorted him into a grim-looking concrete building, down stark corridors and up cracked stairs, no sign of any beautification until the trio burst into a plush, well-furnished, if rather dark office.

  The Warden was already there, facing the window with a drink in paw, looking out over the prisoners milling around the camp below.

  Rufus was pushed onto a chair, his paws still bound by Howler-wire. His escort backed off.

  “Dismissed,” the Warden ordered.

  “But, sir-”

  “I can manage him. Go on.”

  With a chest-salute, the Howlers took their leave, closing the door gently behind them.

  Rufus leant back in his chair. What now?

  The Warden swirled his drink, brandy by the looks, and took a surprisingly delicate sip for such a powerful-looking wolf. He was a typical Hummel wolf; black, well-built, with honey-gold eyes. Though the blood and culture of the packs was fading from centuries of intermingling, some still harboured a classic appearance which spoke of their origins as loudly as any uniform.

  “I’ve never seen that before,” the Warden said, breaking Rufus from his musings.

  The prisoner licked his bloody nose.

  “They said you were strong,” the Warden went on, with no hint of a Hummel accent, “but to break a collar like a paper chain. You really are quite… remarkable.”

  Barely hearing for his pains, Rufus wondered where this was headed; wondered where he was headed; solitary confinement, a flogging, firing squad. What was it that pig had said; dismemberment by ant? So much for Janoah’s plan.

  Nicely done, husband, she’d scold, real smooth.

  “I have rode the wind,” the Warden said wistfully, pricking Rufus’s ruddy ears, “seen forests far below, met great beasts and small. I have kissed the sun, felt its warmth on my wings… etcetera, etcetera.” He ended with a chuckle and turned to Rufus, “Your favourite fable, isn’t it?”

  The inmate sat in bemused silence.

  “Don’t worry,” the Warden said, “I’m a friend.”

 
Rufus sat up a little and twisted his bound paws. “Friend?” he exhaled, “Sorry, do forgive me; I’m… not quite with it after having my head kicked in by your thugs.”

  “My apologies, but that’s how things are done around here,” said the Warden. “Simply bringing you to my office without cause would’ve been suspicious.”

  “Suspicious?”

  “Yes. There are agents on all sides amongst the hogs, don’t doubt it. I needed an excuse for a private meeting, so I told the hogs to take your gang to task because they’re getting too big for their boots. We do that from time to time, lest talented miners forget their place.”

  Rufus emitted a scoff.

  “You disapprove? An impartialist like you would. But I am dealing with barbarians, sir. Murderers and imperium-traffickers and terrorists; you are well-acquainted with the latter… hyena-lover.”

  Is the Warden my contact? Rufus thought. He’s recited the poem but he’s not mentioned Janoah or Silvermane.

  The Warden turned to the window and huffed, “You should appreciate the predicament you’ve landed me in, Howler. I can’t just release you from Gelb; I’ve had to arrange for you to be executed... or make it appear so. ”

  “Terribly sorry,” Rufus excused.

  “You should mind what you say,” the Warden growled. “Perhaps I’ve not made up my mind which side I’m on.” He turned to Rufus, walking round his desk to stand behind him. “I could still dispose of you,” he said, placing a hefty paw on Rufus’s ruddy shoulder, “I could have you murdered and tell Amael Balbus that it was some mining accident. Then I could go to ALPHA and expose him. I’m sure the Alpha would be interested to hear all about his plans. I would omit the fact I’ve been diverting white-imperium to Amael’s private cache and blame it on THORN infiltration. There’s no paperwork to prove otherwise.”

  Rufus’s hair tingled, his mind whirred. What is going on here? Just keep listening, Red-mist.

  “You’re not half as clever as you think you are,” the Warden told him. “You know, I allowed you to pass the checkpoint unharmed when your breeches were stuffed with imperium, just as I allowed you to sell what you stole from me to that strange cat, Tack. What? Do you think I don’t know about him? I let him exist, Howler, I let the prisoners think they’re getting one over one me. It keeps them happy and our trains full of imperium ore.”