by Adam Browne
“Ulf mocks you too?” Vladimir asked rhetorically. Walking to the door and placing a paw on its frame, he lingered long enough to huff, “If he gets us through this nightmare in one piece I might yet believe in him again.”
*
The massive Elder Train of the Bloodfangs slowly ground to a halt at an anonymous-looking Bloc station, billowing ash across the platform and ruffling the Alpha’s black cloak. The stocky brown wolf stood with his paws cupped before him, flanked by Duncan and Horst and a pawful of meaner-looking Prefects sporting more scars on their muscled arms than the average veteran.
“This is so demeaning, my Alpha,” Horst complained from under his helmet, shielding himself from the judgemental gaze of countless Bloodfang eyes with a paw to his brow. “We’ll never live this down.”
“Och! Who cares what they think?” Duncan said jovially.
“I do! We should have our own train.”
The Alpha growled, “For the last time, Horst, I’ll not squander money on such extravagance. We must remain above financial reproach – it’s all that protects us.”
“But it could be any train, my Alpha,” Horst whined.
“Oh aye?” Duncan chortled, “Even a rusty old hulk?”
“Yes! Why not? Just so long as we didn’t have to share it with anyone else. The engine doesn’t matter; we only need a nice sleeping car. And maybe a nice lounge too-”
“A pathetic mockery of an Elder Train would be even worse than riding on the real thing!” the Alpha declared, whirling on Horst. “There’s no shame in honest poverty, but much in the pretence of wealth. Now suck in your pride… and that gut, for Ulf’s sake.”
The leader of ALPHA finished by giving Horst the reproachful once-over with those ice-blue eyes, which, as always, signified an end to the debate, but not the lecture.
“The packs give us nothing to work with and yet what trouble we cause them, eh?” the Alpha rumbled on, even as the lead carriage’s doors opened and the red carpet lolled forth like a gigantic tongue. “Our ‘Den’ is a leaky, mildew-ridden, concrete dump and we can’t even pay our Prefects properly, yet ALPHA’s are the loyalist of wolves,” he continued, gesturing at the Prefects roundabout, who all stood extra smartly, chests out and ears pricked, whilst the Alpha himself sang their virtues. “They’re here because they love justice and peace, Horst, not wealth and comfort. My bed is no better than theirs, my rations the same; even my cloak and armour no finer. That’s how it should be. What joins ALPHA is the common wish to derail that trainload of decadence before you, not ride it! So don’t talk to me of Elder Trains again you utter buffoon.”
Horst raised his chin, “Yes, my Alpha.”
“I knew I should’ve brought Silver along instead of you. If you hadn’t been at my side so long, Horst, I would’ve.”
“Yes, my Alpha.”
“Just try and keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.”
“Yes, my Alpha.”
The puny ALPHA contingent watched as a veritable army of Bloodfang Den Guards emerged from the splendid carriage and formed a line down each side of the red carpet. A Howler stepped into this living tunnel, a grey wolf in a red cloak and black armour, the armour being trimmed with white at the joints and seams – red, white and black, the Bloodfang tricolour.
It was Den Father Vito Bloodfang, no doubt about it!
As Vito walked along the carpet with surprising vigour for one rumoured to be a rot-ridden, senile old wreck, his guards peeled off behind him and formed a circle, raising a living barrier between their Den Father and any assassin. Short of mowing the entire retinue down or blowing them up it would be nigh on impossible to take Vito out.
The Alpha wondered how the treacherous Amael would manage to assassinate his leader even as he raised a paw in ALPHA-style greeting.
“Den Father Vito,” he said. “You honour us.”
Before any amongst Vito’s swarming entourage could take offence, and despite his beliefs, the Alpha knelt as a wolf was expected to do before a Den Father. Duncan and Horst followed their leader’s cue and swallowed their pride, the latter only after being surreptitiously slapped on the leg by the Alpha. The other Prefects did the same, however much it may have pained them to bow and scrape before the decadent old order it had to be seen to be done, for now.
The magnificent red, white and black Vito raised his helmeted head a little. He said nothing, but leant to one side, close to a member of his entourage.
“Den Prefect Adal,” the lesser wolf whispered in Vito’s pricked grey ear, “the leader of ALPHA.”
“I know that!” Vito snapped back.
The Den Father waited, staring vacantly, trying to remember what all this was about – the Alpha could almost hear the rusty gears grinding between his rotten ears.
The second wolf, clearly Vito’s adjutant, gently reminded his leader that, “ALPHA lacks an engine, sir, but have their own carriages. You decided they could attach their train onto ours and hitch a ride to the Pack Summit this year since it is being held so far out of a wolf’s way in Hummelton.”
“Did I, by Ulf?” Vito woofed, as if doubting his own decision.
The adjutant sniffed, “After lengthy negotiations, Den Father. No other pack would take them.”
“Then why in Ulf’s name are we?”
“Because we’re the strongest and the most righteous of the packs; we’ve nothing to fear from them. Your own words, Den Father.”
“Yes. Yes, it’s becoming… clearer now.”
“Such wise words couldn’t have come from any other.”
Vito waved away the sycophantic flattery and gestured for the meagre ALPHA contingent to rise. “The honour is mine, Grand Prefect… Adal,” he said, the name almost escaping his memory again. He continued with more confidence, “You’re welcome aboard our train, but I’ll warn you now that I’ll grant ALPHA no more powers. My mind is made up, so do not try to bend my ear during this trip.”
“On the contrary, sir, my Prefects and I will keep to our own carriages,” the Alpha promised, bowing a little. “You’ll be left in peace.”
“You’ll not dine with us then?” Vito guffawed in a high-pitched tenor, perchance offended.
The Alpha spread a paw, “If so invited, Den Father, but I wouldn’t presume to intrude further than I already have. Besides, I’m a wolf of… simple pleasures.”
Vito slapped Adal on the arm like a rough old soldier and chuckled, “What could be simpler than dining? No, no, you shall be our guest. Anything less would be churlish, and the Bloodfangs are not churlish.”
“You’ve proven that merely by allowing us to ride on your train, Den Father, which is magnificent, if I may say,” the Alpha praised, casting his gaze along the Elder Train.
“Yes. She’s not bad. We’ll have to see about getting a train for you lot one day.”
The Alpha laughed politely.
Things were proceeding swimmingly, until an upset arrived in the form of a Bloodfang Elder bullying his way to the front of the goings-on.
It was Amael.
“Den Father Vito!” he panted, kneeling perfunctorily before rising without being beckoned, and glaring at the three ALPHA wolves. “Den Father, I must protest!”
Vito replied airily, “Protest, Amael?”
“Allowing ALPHA to inspect this train is an affront to your high office. They’ve been allowed to traipse over everything else, but the Elder Train is sacred ground. I will not stand by and let such a precedent be set-”
“Calm yourself, Elder,” Vito’s adjutant grunted. “You misunderstand, there’s to be no inspection.”
Baffled, and not a little afraid he’d made a fool of himself in front of everyone, Amael huffed defensively, “Then what’re they doing here, Den Father?”
“Hitchhiking,” the Alpha freely admitted. He saluted Amael, ALPHA-style, then said, “You’ve nothing to fear from our presence, Elder Amael. Only guilty Howlers need fear the paw of ALPHA.”
“Indeed,” Amael rep
lied. “Rooting out the corruption within Lupa’s ranks is a necessary affair, but you lot go about it with too much zeal than is natural for a wolf.”
The Alpha indignantly cupped a paw to his cloaked chest, like an affronted housewife, “We but meet the enemies of the republic with the same robustness as any Howler should, Elder. The only difference being our jurisdiction is limited to Howlers, who are still not used to being scrutinised and will grumble.”
“But who scrutinises ALPHA?” Amael snorted haughtily, adding with street-side gruffness, “Eh?”
“The Den Fathers, sir,” the Alpha responded deftly. “No wolf we bring charges against is convicted by us, but by a jury of Elders picked by the Den Fathers. If ALPHA’s evidence is lacking then that wolf goes free. What more safeguards do you need on our power?”
“Gentlebeasts, the Bloc is no place for a debate,” Den Father Vito declared, holding out his paws to the rain. “You’ll have your say at the Summit, all of you. Save your breath for then.” Turning to his adjutant and clapping a paw on his shoulder he said through a restrained, pained growl, “Take care of our guests, I’m… I’m going inside. This rain does not agree with my bones.”
“Yes, Den Father.”
The rot really was gnawing at Vito; one could hear it in his voice and see it in his checked walk as he hobbled back to the train amidst his swirling Den Guard. Still, he wasn’t as far gone as Adal had been led to believe. Perhaps it was a good day? The rot had its good and bad days.
“Where are your carriages?” Vito’s adjutant asked sharply, unwilling to say ‘Alpha’ or even Grand Prefect. “I would like to inspect them.”
“You inspect our carriages?”
“Horst!” the Alpha grunted, before continuing to the adjutant, “By all means, sir.”
“If you’d kindly point me to them.”
“They’re in a siding somewhere around here,” the Alpha replied airily, looking about and shrugging. “Ask the local train hogs, I left all the arrangements to them.”
“Ah know where they are,” Duncan volunteered. “Follow me, lad.”
“I’m not a ‘lad’, Grand Prefect!” the adjutant protested.
“Och! Pardon me, sir. Habit is all.”
Amael lingered on the periphery. Once Duncan and Vito’s adjutant had departed, he said, “You surprise me, Prefect Adal,” intentionally omitting the ‘Grand’ prefix.
The Alpha icily met Amael’s fiery gaze, “How so?”
“You must have many enemies after all the Howlers you’ve sent down. You should take more care and keep your transport well-guarded, especially in the Bloc.”
“It is well-guarded,” Adal insisted, adding, “as am I.”
*
Rafe felt the van tip some twenty degrees or so and struggle up what had to be a ramp. With no windows he couldn’t see what was happening, but the sound of the engine took on a distinctly tinny tenor, as if entering a metallic tunnel. As quickly as the van had tipped up it levelled out again and its engine shuddered to a stop.
The drivers got out, shutting their doors and walking around the van. Rafe expected them to open the back doors but instead a bigger-sounding door slammed shut and was bolted.
“What’s going on?” Rafe whispered, a little unnerved.
“Shh,” Janoah replied.
Time passed, minutes only, but an eternity in the claustrophobic space. There came voices outside, muffled beyond comprehension. Doors opened; the voices grew louder and clearer.
“What’s this?” someone asked sharply tapping on the side of the van.
“For the Alpha’s protection,” someone replied – it sounded like Grand Prefect Duncan.
“Protection?” said the beast with him.
“Aye. His bodyguards travel in it; behind his car.”
“Open it up.”
“Ah’m afraid Ah don’t have the keys.”
“Then get them, Grand Prefect.”
“Gladly, sir, but Ulf knows who has them. It could take me some time tae track them down. Maybe later?”
Duncan (surely) and the grumbling stranger moved on, clunking around the metallic space in their Howler boots. After more unintelligible words from both parties the big doors were shut and bolted again.
Silence.
Janoah passed Rafe a reassuring smile, whilst Josef sat twiddling his fine feline whiskers, perhaps contemplating some deep scientific truth, but more likely contemplating breakfast since everyone had skipped it in their rush to get ready. Rafe for one felt his stomach churning, but knew better than to complain right now.
The van rocked slightly, then a few seconds later Rafe detected a definite forward acceleration. He hadn’t ridden a train for some time, but it felt to him like pulling away from a station. The sounds of rail joins clacking underneath confirmed his suspicions, though not all.
“Are we on the Elder Train?” he whispered.
“In a manner of speaking,” Janoah confirmed circumspectly, standing up and throwing the van doors wide.
Expecting daylight to flood into the poorly lit van, Rafe was surprised to see utter blackness beyond. Glancing at Josef, he joined Janoah as she stepped out into the void. Both Prefects unconsciously brushed their white-imperium brooches with a paw, commanding them to shine and drive back the darkness. The metallic panelled interior of a freight carriage was revealed to Rafe, the rivets joining the plates running with streaks of rust and ash. It reeked of imperium fuel and oil, a heady mix.
The train was picking up speed, the carriage rocking to and fro. Janoah steadied herself against the ALPHA van as she walked round towards its front.
“This way,” she said.
Rafe followed, as did Josef, the latter shutting the van doors. With Janoah in the lead all three edged their way around the van.
The remainder of the space was piled high with barrels and boxes strapped securely together, but there was enough space to walk through to the carriage’s interconnecting front end door. Janoah opened it, letting in daylight, as well as a torrent of cold, rain-flecked air. With her mantle whipping about her shoulders, she stepped fearlessly across the small gap between this carriage and the next, sleepers blurring beneath her, and opened the next door.
Rafe was beckoned across the elemental breach. It should’ve been easy for someone as big and tall as he, let alone a wolf fearless enough to face hyena warriors and giant centipedes, yet Janoah’s Eisenwolf hesitated all the same, head darting left and right as he gripped the railings.
“Come on!” Janoah encouraged.
Regaining his composure, Rafe stepped across to the next much nicer-looking carriage. “Where’s all the buildings gone?” he woofed ungrammatically.
Janoah looked out at the passing scenery – flat, ashen wastes as far as the fog allowed her to see. There were no buildings, no nothing, save the odd dead tree and growing puddle. Even the Wall Slums had been left far behind.
Laughing gently at Rafe’s delectable naivety, Janoah patted the giant wolf’s arm and shouted over the wind, “We’ve left Lupa! This is the Ashfall, you daft lump!”
Rafe gasped, “I’ve never seen it.”
“You must’ve, when you went to New Tharona. It’”
Janoah recognised that blank Rafe stare; he was trying to remember it, if not the whole holiday.
“The Ashfall’s not as bad that side,” Janoah excused.
She then encouraged Josef to step across the gap; the cat looked in need of it as the wind and noise buffeted him from all directions. That, combined with the rain and general danger, precipitated a rapid retreat back into the previous carriage.
“I’ll stay here and… and make sure the suit is in good order!” he shouted nervously.
“For Ulf’s sake, Doctor, it’s just a little rain!”
“You go ahead! I’ll wait until the next stop!”
Janoah turned to Rafe, “Help him across, would you?”
“Sure.”
Stepping easily back across the gap, Rafe spread his big
brown paws at the coated cat.
“Come on, Doctor Josef, I’ll help you-”
“No!” Josef snapped, disappearing inside. “No, thank you, Rafe. I’ll be fine here.”
“I won’t let you fall.”
“Let me go! No! Get off me you wolfen oaf!”
Rafe emerged from the carriage with a squirming, hissing Josef slung over one shoulder and hopped across the gap to join Janoah in the next carriage.
“Cats,” she sighed, shutting the door against the elements.
Expecting a carriage like any other, with rows of seats down each side, Rafe was surprised to find a well-lit open space, complete with carpet, sofas, tables and chairs, even a landscape painting or two. The furniture was not the usual preferred minimalist ALPHA style made from new moulded imperium compounds, but old-fashioned organics; decorative wood and green velvet. Though polished it was chipped and worn. The carpet, too, was faded, the curtains threadbare, and the paintings washed out.
This was some kind of posh carriage, Rafe supposed, albeit but one that had seen better days.
At the far end of said carriage, cosseted behind a desk set against an elaborate partition, beneath a banner bearing the A symbol of ALPHA, sat the Alpha himself – helmet off, tea steaming beside him, writing furiously. Grand Prefects Horst and Duncan, meanwhile, were sprawled over the comfortable-looking furniture, supping tea, smouldering embers and chatting, until they noticed Rafe and the others, whereupon Duncan extinguished his ember and stood up to greet them.
“Aye, ‘tis the Eisenwolf himself!” he said, jovial as ever.
Horst scoffed sarcastically, “Yes, tell the whole world, why don’t you?”
Ignoring Horst, Duncan crossed the swaying carriage to meet Janoah, Rafe and Doctor Josef, the last of whom Rafe only that second remembered to put down.
“Sorry,” Rafe excused.
Whilst the indignant Josef brushed water from his black coat, simple, half-hearted ALPHA salutes were exchanged by all, except the Alpha himself, who didn’t so much as look up from his pen and paper.
“He’s working,” Duncan whispered, looking mostly to Janoah, and referring to the Alpha. “His speech,” he added with a wink, “best tae leave him to it-”