Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “I can manage two things at once, Duncan,” the Alpha said, beckoning the newcomers. “I’m not so far gone as old Vito.”

  “You’re but a wee slip of a lad, my Alpha,” Duncan woofed.

  “The rot’ll come for us all one day,” the Alpha said soberly. “Not before our work is done, Ulf willing.”

  “Aye.”

  Janoah and her comrades approached the Alpha’s desk whilst Duncan lingered on the periphery. The big black wolf, usually the biggest in any room, was dwarfed by the bigger brown Rafe.

  “Welcome aboard, comrades,” the Alpha said, even whilst still writing. “We’ve been tacked onto the end of the train, as far from the Bloodfang Den Father as possible, though that suits me just fine.” He looked up a moment, “What do you think of our accommodation?”

  Janoah glanced about the opulent, if faded trappings of the carriage. “Tawdry,” she hummed.

  The Alpha chuckled appreciatively, “I’m afraid it’s the best we could do. Silvermane sourced it from a Greystone scrap yard. Must be a hundred years old if it’s a day. We didn’t have the time or money to refit it with simpler furniture.” He flicked his plain-looking silvery pen to one side, indicating the passage to his left, before continuing to write an unrelated yet coherent sentence even as he spoke, “Your cabins are down the hall. I’ll leave you to decide who gets what room; they’re all much the same.” He looked up again, specifically at the towering Rafe and sat back in amazement, “By Ulf it really works. Well done, Josef.”

  Doctor Josef bowed a little, “Thank you, my Alpha.”

  After a tiny ‘Mm’ of approval, the Alpha continued. “Now, Rafe, as far as anyone outside this room is aware, you’re just a Howler that’s recently come over to us from the Greystones. I picked you out to be my bodyguard because, well, who wouldn’t want a wolf the size of a house at their back?”

  “Aye, sir,” Rafe chirped – Janoah trod on his foot, spurring him to add, “my Alpha.”

  The Alpha let it slide. “You’re Prefect Bruno Claybourne now, not Eisenwolf Rafe Stenton. Remember that.”

  “Yes, my Alpha.”

  “Best thing you can do is be quiet, look menacing, and stay close to me or Janoah.”

  “I will, my Alpha.”

  “Surely our own Prefects will suspect something,” Horst snorted, swirling his drink. “They’ve all seen Rafe lingering about HQ with that prim little Nurse Stroud.”

  Rafe’s ears pricked at Horst’s tone.

  “I’m sure the good doctor’s cloak will give even them pause for thought,” the Alpha replied, giving Josef and the black-imperium cloak he’d made for Rafe a decidedly guarded look. He returned his gaze and pen to his paper, “Be vigilant, Prefect Claybourne. Whatever is to happen will happen; all we can do now is meet it when it comes.”

  “Yes, my Alpha,” Rafe replied – or was it Bruno?

  *

  Given a quick glance up and down the swaying train corridor, Linus knocked on the door and entered the cabin at Olivia’s behest. He hadn’t even shut said door before ‘Howler’ Sara leapt to accost him.

  “Well?” she pleaded, still disguised by her stripy Cub gear.

  After too long a breath for Sara’s frayed nerves, Linus declared that, “It’s all right. We’re through.”

  “Och!” Sara exhaled. “Thank goodness.”

  “Vladimir… he knows who you are,” Linus admitted awkwardly, adding quickly, “but he’s not interested. He’s looking the other way. To be honest I… I think he likes me.”

  Olivia blurted, “Likes you?”

  “Well, he trusts me at least. He’s often confided in me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading him wrong-”

  “He could do worse than confide in you,” Olivia said. Approaching Linus she grasped his shoulder and said, “I’m grateful for what you’ve done. Really, I am.”

  Linus stared at Olivia, wondering if she even knew what she was, if indeed she was anything. “It’s nothing,” he said.

  “If I can repay you in any way-”

  “Repay me by living a life free of imperium’s grip from here on… if you can.”

  Olivia nodded a little.

  “What about the Professor?” Sara asked. “Have ye heard anything?”

  “I’m sure Werner’s taking care of him,” Linus reassured chirpily, paws raised. “Now, please, don’t leave this cabin unless you have to. We’ll be at Hummelton in a day and then you’d best disappear. Don’t worry about goodbyes, just slip away.”

  “Ah’ll be all right, mah mum will protect me,” Sara said, taking Olivia’s nearest paw, “but won’t they look for Olivia, even out in Everdor?”

  “I don’t think so,” Linus assured, looking out the window at the passing fog-bound wastes of the Ashfall. “I suspect they’ll have other worries by then.”

  Olivia frowned, “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing you need worry about. Just play your role. You’re very good at it you know.”

  “I try.”

  After a shared chuckle and mutual stare, Linus took his leave. “I-I-I’d better go.”

  Once the real Howler had gone, the disguised Sara sat on the bed, paws resting on her armoured knees.

  “He’s rather sweet isn’t he?” Olivia hummed.

  Sara collapsed sideways on the bed and exhaled in disbelief, “Och, Olivia, not now!”

  Codex: Hummel

  Of the four great wolf packs of the Lupan continent, Hummel are the outliers in every respect, being both physically and psychologically removed from Lupa.

  As Lupa and its ashen effluent expanded over the centuries, slowly transforming the once green plains to the grey desolation of the Far Ashfall today, so were most other packs and their citizens necessitated to migrate into Lupa to earn a living. Not so Hummel. Everdor, home of the Hummels, remains beyond the choking hold of the Ashfall, the pollution’s spread being largely blocked by the Sunrise Mountains. Thus Hummel and their little beasts have stayed put, necessarily so, for someone has to sow seeds and provide food – an impossibility under the Ashfall.

  Hummel territory is vast and Howlers thin on the ground, making Everdor hard to police despite the low crime-rate, especially at its fringes where the truly wild world begins to encroach. To maintain order, Hummel could have pursued one of two paths, indomitable cruelty or relative lenience; they chose the latter. The citizens of Everdor enjoy near-equality with their wolfen protectors, at least nominally. In truth, the little beasts would quickly be conquered without Hummel and its powerful Howlers to protect them, and thus a cult of quasi-monarchy has developed whereby the Hummel Den Father or Mother is regarded almost as a Wolf King or Queen. Even Hummelton, capital of Hummel, has a medieval vibe, with heavy industry strictly prohibited by law. Hummelton can never become a rival to Lupa, or else Everdor would wither under a second Ashfall and the race of wolfkind starve.

  Hummel are notoriously insular regarding Howler uptake, recruiting almost exclusively from their own stock and not importing afflicted talent from the Steppes, Rostsonne, Lupa or anywhere else but Everdor. Curiously, and perhaps because of their pure breeding, Hummel Howlers are as likely to be female as male, whereas the rot mostly afflicts males amongst the city-based packs. For reasons Lupan science is only just beginning to grasp, females are able to remove imperium from their blood more readily than males, making them less likely to develop and maintain a corona. In Hummel this seems not to be the case and female Howlers are both common and deadly.

  However, some wonder how Hummel matures enough Howlers to even maintain their borders. The low-pollution environment makes ambient imperium uptake slow and candidates hard to detect, as the rot can linger for decades before expressing itself. It is a question this secretive pack refuses to be drawn upon.

  Chapter 37

  Screaming across the endless Far Ashfall towards the Sunrise Mountains, twilight snapping at its wheels, the titanic Bloodfang Elder Train stopped for no beast. The occasional shanty town hugging the rails was br
iefly dazzled by the great, glowing, mechanical millipede, its inviting windows illuminating the faces of noble and little beast, filling them with awe and wonder alike, before choking them all with swirls of hot imperious ash.

  There seemed to be quite the crowd gathered at the rail side, perhaps in anticipation of other Elder Trains to follow. Eisbrand, Greystone and the representatives of the Bloc, they each had their own. The Eisbrand’s was the most magnificently decorated and luxurious of all, wolves said, but the Greystones had built a better engine, others countered. The Bloodfangs could lay claim to neither accolade, and the weak Bloc nothing much at all. Still, ALPHA didn’t even have their own train. Pathetic!

  That was the joke swilling around the vapour-clogged dining carriage this evening. It amused the Howlers no end, even reassured them, to know that those pesky Prefects spoiling everyone’s fun of late couldn’t even get to the Summit without a lift. It was only the munificence (or rot-induced senility some whispered) of Den Father Vito that had allowed them to attend with any sort of dignity at all. The other packs had refused to help, and to drive to Hummelton in their dour ALPHA trucks, or worse take some civilian train with all the riffraff coming and going from Lupa, would’ve made them appear even more ridiculous.

  And yet, those with eyes saw the opposite. While the Howlers revelled in luxury, humble ALPHA lingered in the back of the train, in some modest carriage found in a scrap yard. Poor, noble, wronged ALPHA, doing what it could to uphold wolfen law, taking only what it had to, functioning on a shoestring, now as they’d always done since their inception.

  It looked bad for the Howlers, but Vladimir knew he couldn’t pick that fight yet.

  ALPHA would have to wait their turn.

  A rabbit waiter dressed in red and white pushed a trolley laden with cups and saucers and all things drink-related down the aisle. Stopping next at Vladimir’s table he asked, “Coffee or tea, sir?” with impeccable poise, ears erect and all.

  “Tea,” Vladimir gruffed sharply.

  “Rostsonne or Hummel?”

  “Rostsonne.”

  A tiny teapot, a cup and saucer, honey pot and a soy milk jug, were all laid out before Vladimir, all so delicate and fine that Linus, sitting beside him, could see light from the table lamp diffusing through the translucent porcelain. Each piece was painted with an idyllic countryside scene, with rolling hills, trees and cottages.

  The rabbit added tea leaves and boiling water to the teapot with near ritualistic care.

  “And you, sir?” he asked Linus.

  It took the Howler a moment to respond, “Uh… tea please.”

  “Rostsonne or Hummel?”

  “Rostsonne, please.”

  The same rite was performed, the difference being that Linus added a “Thank you,” afterwards, which surprised the rabbit enough for him to throw the golden wolf a questioning glance.

  ‘Tara’ was sitting opposite Linus. When asked, the black wolfess went for Hummel tea and said to the rabbit, “Thank you very much,” with an acknowledging nod and smile, which sent the little beast’s whiskers twisting in alarm.

  ‘Livia’ was last. “Coffee,” she demanded, without so much as waiting to be asked, even less thanking anyone.

  Now that’s more like it.

  His confidence in the system restored, the rabbit set about preparing Livia’s beverage, comfortable in his place as a little beast and taxpayer, backbone of Lupa, not the brain. If only all citizens were so content, and if only the hyenas could accept wolfen leadership, all would be well. Someone had to be on top, if not wolves then someone else would take over. It was the natural order. Right?

  Maybe not, Linus thought – only thought, mind you.

  He observed the Elders sitting at the ‘Elder Table’ in the middle of the dining carriage, with Den Father Vito at the head. Whatever wolves said of his mind, Vito looked magnificent in his Den Father’s mantle, his grey face scarred but strong, a seasoned wolf one felt safe following. Amael was there, drinking and mingling, laughing when applicable, fitting in convincingly with his fellow Elders, yet every movement, every word an act, surely. Was he really plotting the downfall of Vito Bloodfang, Thorvald Eisbrand, Cora Hummel, the newly elected Flaid Greystone and the other Den Fathers, the whole rotten system?

  Lupa might change for the better, might it not?

  No! Stop it, Linus! You’re no rebel. You’re helping Sara and Olivia get out and that’s all it is, a favour for good friends. Uther would do no less.

  But… Uther’s conspiring, isn’t he? Him and Ivan are with Amael, aren’t they? No… no they can’t be. Vladimir’s got it wrong. They’re about something all right, but it’s for the best whatever it is. Perhaps they’re double agents, working against Amael, waiting to spring into action against him. Yes. Or maybe they’re just going along with Amael to placate him. Did he even give them a choice? Did he force them? Either way, what if I see them? What should I do?

  Ulf, help me.

  “No sign of Adal, yet.”

  Vladimir’s words and over-the-shoulder glance brought Linus back into the carriage, to the hubbub, and the scenery rolling by the window.

  “Adal, sir?” he said.

  Vladimir looked Linus over. “The self-styled ‘Alpha’,” he said, derisively. “That’s his real name; Den Prefect Adal Weiss. Make sure you call him that and not ‘Alpha’, should he deign to turn up for dinner.”

  Livia sipped her steaming coffee. “Was he invited, sir?”

  Vladimir looked at her, his eyes dancing over Olivia’s fine brown features, before saying, “Apparently so.”

  “Puh!”

  “You disapprove, Cub?”

  “ALPHA are a bunch of common pigs, Grand Howler.”

  Vladimir cocked his head a little. Linus half expected his superior to explode in some kind of rage at Olivia for speaking so out of turn, but no.

  “Maybe,” Vladimir said, “but those pigs are dangerously close to snatching the strings of power.”

  Even though Vladimir knew who she was, and the girls knew that Vladimir knew who they were, neither party had formally acknowledged the fact, thus Olivia still played the part of a zealous young Howler perfectly, which was just as well for the benefit of any onlookers.

  “ALPHA’s rise will be halted at the Summit,” she claimed haughtily. “The Den Fathers have had enough of their meddling, thank Ulf.”

  Vladimir stirred his tea. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Adal is a clever wolf gifted with a silver tongue. He got on this train, one way or another, and now he’s going to be fashionably late for dinner just to upstage everyone, perhaps by fabricating some crisis that needed his attention. They’ll be angry at first, but within five minutes of sitting down he’ll have Vito and most of the Elders eating from his paw like a herd of compliant, plump silkworms. He shan’t fool Amael, of course, but that’s neither here nor there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Intuition and experience. I could be wrong, but I doubt it.”

  Putting her coffee down and nursing the elegant cup, Olivia indicated beyond Vladimir with her violet eyes and said in a rather coy manner, “Looks like we’re about to find out, Grand Howler.”

  The carriage-to-carriage door opened and the black-cloaked Adal entered the dining car, accompanied by his retinue, all in their full gear, minus weapons – Howler uniform was what Howlers wore to a posh dinner, and Prefects were no different there.

  Vladimir recognised most of the Alpha’s entourage; the bloated Horst with all his medals, the mighty Duncan, whose black fur melded with his black cloak, and of course little red Janoah, lingering at the back with some giant of a Prefect looming over her shoulder.

  By Ulf, is it? No. She’d not be so foolish, would she?

  The ALPHA contingent picked their way through the carriage, watched surreptitiously, or blatantly depending on who was doing the watching, by all. As they breezed by Vladimir’s table the Grand Howler felt their coronas mingle with his, felt Janoah’s familiar bubble o
f imperious energy push up against his own – one never forgot her flavour.

  Yet, as that giant wolf bringing up the rear passed him Vladimir felt nothing particularly unusual, certainly not the overwhelming glacier of a corona that he had expected. He glanced up at that anonymous helmet-clad face, but gleaned no clues from its black, metallic surface.

  Vladimir performed one last visual check by leaning down and sideways somewhat.

  The fellow had a tail.

  “What’s wrong, sir?” Linus said, as Vladimir levered himself upright again.

  “Nothing,” the Grand Howler dismissed, tugging at his cloak. “Just drink your tea.”

  Sara, meanwhile, also turned to watch the representatives of ALPHA pass. Her wide eyes lingered exclusively on the huge wolf at the back, with his broad shoulders and confident rolling gait.

  “Who’s that?” she whispered.

  “ALPHA,” Linus said, surprised Sara didn’t know. “Don’t worry about them.”

  “No, Ah mean-”

  Before Sara could continue, Olivia huffed none too quietly, “Bunch of pigs.”

  Vladimir glanced at the bold wolfess, but tendered neither rebuke nor praise for now. He instead strained to glean through the multicoloured, cacophonous fog of ember vapour and raucous chatter permeating the carriage what was said at the Elder table as the Alpha and his party presented themselves to Den Father Vito.

  “Den Prefect Adal,” Vito acknowledged, seated amongst his suddenly silent Elders, all of whom were cautiously eyeing Adal and his Prefects up like an approaching swarm of wasps. “Stand you stinking hyenas!” Vito snarled, glaring at his rude entourage. “This wolf wears the Imperium Heart. Exalt him!”

  The Elders hurriedly stood, Amael Balbus noticeably last. Vito, as a Den Father, was not required to pay deference, not even to a bearer of the Imperium Heart.

  “You’re late for tea, Den Prefect,” he said.

  Removing his helmet to reveal his white, mask-like face, Adal Weiss bowed courteously. “My apologies, Den Father Vito; there were matters requiring my attention.”