Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

Sara offered a contrite, “Aye.”

  Once her peace-making father had departed, Sara approached and sat on the sofa with her exasperated mother, who was tugging furiously at her white cloak.

  “Mum….” Sara began, faltering.

  “You and your father will be the death of me, Ah swear tae Ulf. He’s like putty in your paws!”

  A pause, as Sara found courage and words. “What Ah have tae say cannae leave here. You cannae make a fuss, or tell anyone. Promise me. There could be spies anywhere, even amongst your closest Howlers and if anything were tae happen tae you because of me.”

  “Saraaa-”

  “Ah’m nae crazy or been taken in, this is real!” Sara insisted, taking Cora’s nearest paw and glancing about, lest anyone were lingering nearby. “If ye do nothing else, if ye nae even believe me, fine, but at least send mah sisters somewhere safe. Don’t let them die too, nae like that!”

  Perceiving the terror in Sara’s watery eyes, Cora overcame stately protocol long enough to hug her daughter to her cloaked body. “Hush, child, hush now. Ah’ll nae let anyone die, you daft wee thing.” Offering Sara a kerchief, Cora raised that little chin with a finger and beamed, “Now, speak as daughter tae mother. The truth now. All of it.”

  *

  Brrrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrr-rrrrrup! Ppp-ppp-p-p-p!

  Engines thrumming and tracked wheels whirring between their gaitered legs, Linus and Uther sped across the black Everdor countryside, the stony road surface glittering by the twin beams of their fierce headlamps. They were the only light sources around, but for the stars and the occasional roadside establishment passing at speed, the glow of Hummelton being now firmly in the rear-view mirror.

  One, then two, headlamps winked independently into existence – bikes.

  Deafened by engines, Uther drew alongside Linus and gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. Linus signalled back, acknowledging he had spotted the company; no doubt Hummels from the checkpoint they had run, or others parked unseen elsewhere.

  There was no choice but to keep going, the Howlers mutually, tacitly consented, simultaneously twisting their accelerators. Try as he might, Linus squeezed no more speed from his duo. The lights behind advanced, growing ever brighter. Uther pulled away at first, either because he was somehow a better rider or had, by chance, picked a better-tuned bike. However, seeing Linus lag behind, Wild-heart fell back, unwilling to abandon his friend.

  Linus waved him forward, shouting, “Go! Go!”

  To which Uther shook his head, drew a sword, and prepared to make stand.

  Stomach churning at the prospect of fighting fellow Howlers, Linus readied his pistol and clung to reason and necessity to salve his conscience. There was no choice. To be arrested now was to doom any chance of making Rumney Farm in time and stopping THORN. If the conspiracy ran as deeply as Janoah and Vladimir claimed then even the very Howlers coming up fast could be traitors, sent to silence any bearers of bad tidings.

  Life had been much simpler in the Academy.

  A flash! Linus’s right wing mirror exploded with all the colours of the imperionic spectrum. Someone back there had fired and meant to hit him!

  “Come on then!” Uther snarled – at least Linus could swear that’s what he heard over the throbbing engines.

  Uther braked, falling rapidly back towards the first upcoming mono; Linus glanced over his shoulder to see the black-cloaked Wild-heart and a predominantly white Hummel Howler meet swords, slashing, thrusting, veering away on their bikes and then returning for a second bout as fierce as the first.

  It was madness! One false move and Uther would be dismounted at breakneck speed, his flesh torn away on the road, bones shattered, winding up a mangled heap, just like those fresh young Howlers who went too fast in pursuit of justice on their shiny new Springtails and slammed into an oncoming bus or tram – Linus had read many a sad obituary.

  The young Bloodfang readied his pistol and took aim, yet the thought occurred that he might simply kill an innocent Hummel instead, a wolf or wolfess just doing their job.

  Suddenly the second pursuing Hummel advanced on Uther’s flank, sword raised to strike!

  In an instant of sheer instinct Linus aimed and fired.

  Crack!

  The second Hummel careened away into the night and disappeared, lost to grassy fields and darkness.

  Linus flinched in horror. Did I kill them? Ulf forgive me.

  Uther dispatched the other fellow by slashing down at his bike’s tracked wheel with a great plasmatic strike. His acquired ALPHA rapier was sacrificed to the whirring mechanism, pinched by the tracks and dragged under, before pinging off into the night a twisted, imperiously-glowing parody of its former self. The blow did its work and the Hummel’s tracked wheel disassembled, flinging pieces of itself in all directions until the anonymous Howler thought it wiser to drop out of the race, then out of sight, coming to a juddering stop.

  Triumphant, Uther stuck his finger up at his vanquished foe and rejoined Linus. Cloak fluttering about him he saluted his partner and laughed.

  Linus, despite his misgivings, felt that wave of euphoria only battle provided.

  It was strangely addictive.

  *

  Angus swung aside a small painting located on the wall beside Cora’s huge four-poster bed. The painting depicted the last Den Mother to serve before Cora, a severe-looking wolfess dressed in the same armour and cloak of the incumbent Den Mother, it being passed down for centuries now. Sara would never inherit the Hummel mantle, or any other, being too healthy to wield imperium and all. She never knew how to feel about that. At least Mum always knew what she had to be; a Howler, Sara had to make her own way, take her own decisions.

  Not that there was any choice now.

  Behind the painting was a safe which Sara’s smartly-attired father deftly twiddled his way into. He retrieved a tiny jewel-encrusted golden phial from within. Holding the pretty heirloom back from Sara’s eager grasp a moment longer, he asked one last time, “Do you really know what you’re about, mah girl?”

  “Ah’m nae a fool, Dad.”

  “No… but you’ve put your mother in a bind, tae be sure. Ah know you’d nae do it lightly, nae make stories up, but this is ALPHA’s word against the integrity of a Den Father. Can ye nae see how that slimy worm Adal stands tae gain by Amael’s fall. Showing the Den Fathers up as corrupt is a sure way tae make ALPHA stronger.”

  “Amael is corrupt,” Sara replied curtly. “Would ye rather he gassed us all and ruled as king?”

  Angus hadn’t the words to speak.

  Sara looked to the door, “Ah believe Prefect Janoah’s story, Ah really do.”

  “But she’s a well-known schemer, lass!”

  “Maybe, but she’s dealt fair with me and Olivia. Besides, if Bruno says she’s a good ‘un, then she’s a good ‘un. He was never a wolf tae mince his words.”

  Grumbling, Angus Hummel slowly, reluctantly, surrendered the tiny golden phial to his daughter. “‘Tis the nearest thing tae a cure in this world,” he said. “Your mother was saving it for herself; Ah told her to. There’s nae telling when the Queen Bee will make more.”

  Sara beamed, “Ah know, but mum’s strong. You’ll have tae put up with her for years tae come.”

  “Aye,” Angus chuckled back. “Ah hope this Bruno’s worth it.”

  Taking the phial, tiny Sara kissed her towering father on the cheek, “You’d better believe it.”

  Given a silent moment, Angus went to the bedroom door and gestured for someone to approach. A Hummel Howler walked in, saluted.

  “Eldress Brynn?” Sara gasped, as if betrayed.

  “Hallo, Miss Sara,” Brynn replied with a nod.

  “Brynn will escort ye through town,” Angus explained.

  “Dad, Ah said tell nobody-”

  “Yer mother insisted, as do I. She’ll be discreet, won’t you Brynn?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Sara huffed, but accepted the compromise. At least nobody would stop he
r on account of the curfew with an Eldress by her side. Pocketing her precious cargo, she said her farewells to father and took her leave with Brynn.

  *

  Den Mother Cora returned to her place at the reception dinner and, forgoing her usual dignified composure, nabbed a gulp of brandy.

  “How’s Sara?” Thorvald asked cordially.

  “Och! That daughter of mine,” Cora bristled back. “Nought but trouble that one.”

  “Nonsense. She’s a star pupil at the Ark, I understand.”

  “She’s been too long in the city, Thorvald, surrounded by addicts and troublemakers! Ah’m only aggrieved she’s caused you such harm of late.”

  “Me, Cora?”

  “Aye. Your Howler Tristan.”

  Thorvald still didn’t entirely follow.

  “It’s because of Sara’s dodger friend that he was arrested, is it not?” Cora explained. “He was only trying tae serve Sara, as he was instructed by you through me, but she has abused her position as mah daughter and taken advantage of him. Tristan must’ve been put in an impossible position, for which Ah’m truly sorry.”

  Nodding, Thorvald grunted, “Tristan’s erred, as I’m sure Sara has, but naïve, well-meaning wolves will be taken in by Lupa’s desperate addicts. It’s all gotten out of paw, somewhat. I have already advised Den Prefect Adal to release Tristan with a warning, which he will, and drop all charges regarding this matter, which he has.” The oldest Den Father leant forth to meet eyes with the youngest a few seats along, “You see, I also refuse to be bullied.”

  Amael nodded and raised his glass, “I’m gratified to hear that, Den Father Thorvald.”

  Cora raised her glass also, then looking to all, but resting mostly on Amael, said somewhat out of the blue, “Do you gentlebeasts realise there’s tae be a great balloon flying over us tomorrow?”

  “Balloon?” said Flaid, appearing genuinely surprised.

  Amael gulped his drink and looked elsewhere with feigned disinterest.

  “The famous Buttle cats have built a new flying machine, their biggest yet,” Cora explained. “Ah’d almost forgotten, but seeing mah daughter reminded me; she’s befriended them of late. Their balloons are one of the few healthy interests she has outside of bugs.”

  “Perhaps she should take it up as a career?” Thorvald laughed, joking, “Up, up and up some more!”

  Cora cocked her head, “You laugh, Den Father, but it could well be the way of the future.”

  “Elder Trains replaced by Elder dirigibles, perchance?”

  “Indeed. That’s why we at Hummel have backed the enterprise, despite intense Felician pressure to banish Montague Buttle from our territory; they nae mention banishing his wife but she is, of course, royalty.”

  “Decadent and backward race,” Amael gruffed.

  “Cats will be proud, Amael,” Thorvald said, noncommittally.

  Flaid sat forward, apparently interested in where the discussion was suddenly headed, “Our finest Greystone engineers envisage heavier than air flight being more likely than these... unwieldy balloons the cats and others have dreamt up. Winged vehicles emulating insects, fast and nimble, will win out, not some gasbag at the mercy of the wind. Nature is ever our guide.”

  “And have your finest engineers produced such a machine to date, Flaid?” Thorvald needled – the old Howler enjoyed a good wind up.

  Flaid smiled, “Don’t confuse lack of success with lack of progress, Thorvald.”

  “Lack of evidence is my point.”

  Cora joined in the ribbing. “Of course, clouds are mere gas at the mercy of the wind, but they do travel further than any insect, and for free,” she said artfully, asking, “What do you think Den Father Amael, balloons or wings?”

  Amael Balbus spread a steel-grey paw. “Unlike Flaid and yourself I don’t pretend to know much about these new machines, but I’m sure this ‘flyover’ of yours will be an historic event regardless.”

  Cora’s bright eyes narrowed in her dark face, “Then we must none of us miss the occasion, must we?”

  Amael squinted in bafflement, but nodded. “Not for the world, Den Mother.”

  “Ah’m glad tae hear it.”

  Elsewhere, Vladimir was eating his meal and sharing tales of administrative woe with fellow long-suffering Grand Howlers, when a Bloodfang approached and reported surreptitiously, “We’re missing a Howler, sir.”

  “Mm?” Vladimir urged.

  “Howler Linus, sir. He seems to have… disappeared. The Hummels have had some bikes stolen and one of the thieves was described as a Bloodfang, sir. Not confirmed, but that’s what I’ve got out of ‘em.”

  Vladimir nodded throughout, pondering the news with seeming calm. “Have you searched his room?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The pubs and Lupanars?”

  “Would do sir, but for the curfew. The Hummels said they’re taking care of it.”

  “Then that’s all there is to it, Howler. No doubt Linus will turn up drunk in a bar sooner or later, or a bed. What happened at the hot springs has quite affected him.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Howler saluted and left Vladimir to knock back some brandy – he needed it.

  *

  “Schmutz!”

  It was a rare thing to hear Linus curse, and Uther missed the momentous event on account of his ears being assaulted by clamouring engines and whistling wind.

  The approaching cause of Linus’s consternation was an elegant stone bridge arcing over a river, specifically the checkpoint kiosks and stripy arm-barriers barring both the near and far side.

  From the gentle hill he and Uther were speeding down towards the river, Linus enjoyed a good view of the surroundings. Eddies of black water swirled beneath the bridge like octopus tentacles, reflecting the lights of a sleepy Everdor town nestled on the far side. Linus spied a turning watermill and a busy pub. The Diving Beetle, said the latter’s illuminated sign, complete with an appropriate picture of a beetle swimming amongst weeds. Linus recalled these landmarks from Sara’s map and was glad to be on track, albeit dismayed there was no way of avoiding the checkpoint without going into the deadly-looking river.

  Well, there was one way.

  Coming alongside Linus, Uther pointed ahead at the checkpoint and calmly motioned his paw as if to dive, like a diving beetle. Go under, he was saying. Despite his misgivings, Linus thumbed-up.

  You’ve ducked a barrier once, Linus told himself, you can do it once more.

  Twice more, even.

  Uther pulled ahead, engine thrumming, leading the way. Expecting the bikes to slow down, the Hummel Howlers at the checkpoint looked up from their hot chocolates just in time to be blinded by Uther’s headlamp.

  Vrrrum!

  Pulling the same stunt as before, Uther ducked under the barrier; Linus followed mere seconds later, a little more sedately.

  Vrrrrrrrum!

  Cresting the bridge and down the other side to the second barrier. The Howlers there waved and hollered, but did not raise their weapons like those back at Hummelton. Uther ducked, defying them and their barrier.

  Vrrrum!

  Righting himself he zoomed past the pub, leaving the little beast patrons standing outside smouldering and drinking on this fairly clement night scratching their heads at the commotion.

  A young miller mouse in flour-dusted dungarees and a cap left his table and ran into the road to catch a glimpse of the speeding bike.

  “Cor! Did you see-”

  Vrrrrrr!

  A second bike was on him in a flash, lighting-up his terror-stricken face.

  Screee! Kfff-ffff-f-f-fgh!

  Desperate to avoid a collision, the bike and its rider twisted away and fell to one side, sliding past an inch from the cringing mouse. The bike spiralled wildly away across the street whilst its rider rolled to a fleshy stop on the cobbles. He came to rest flat on his back, blonde arms spread wide.

  It was over in a moment.

  The pub patrons hurried t
o the mouse and pulled him back into anonymity, lest he was set upon by the Howlers for causing an accident.

  The first bike returned and its wolfen rider hopped off to attend his stricken comrade.

  “Linus!” he cried, lifting his bloodied head. “Mate!”

  The Hummel Howlers from the checkpoint soon surrounded them, rifles aimed and ready.

  *

  Driven to the station with Eldress Brynn, Sara crossed the deserted platforms unchallenged and climbed aboard the last carriage of the Eisbrand Train.

  “Ye must keep this under your cloak, Eldress,” she told the white-cloaked Brynn, barring the doorway. “Nobody knows what’s in this carriage.”

  “Ah’m only here tae protect ye, Sara,” replied she.

  “Stay here then.”

  “Ah cannae do that. Mah orders were specific.”

  Nodding, for there could be no arguing, Sara entered, Brynn just behind, the latter casting her gaze all around the boxes and barrels.

  Sara hurried straight to Bruno, who was still lying on the metal table under the lamp, his eyes blindfolded against the light that was so painful to his rotten eyes.

  “Sara?” Olivia said, emerging tiredly from the gloom.

  “How is he?”

  “Not too good, I think,” was the disappointing reply, with a chirpier, “How’d it go with your mum?”

  Sara puffed uneasily, “As well as can be expected. Mum knows now; Ah dunno if she believes half of what Ah said, but Ah could nae keep a lid on things for trying.” She gestured at Brynn, “Don’t worry, she’s only here tae baby-sit me.”

  Olivia nodded at Brynn, who approached the prostrate Bruno laden with suspicion.

  “This is Bruno,” Sara explained, reading Brynn’s bafflement. “He’s… well….”

  “ALPHA’s Eisenwolf,” Brynn guessed. “So it’s true, they found a pure-blood.” She held out a black paw. “His corona… by Ulf’s fangs, it burns.”

  “Yes,” Olivia agreed, smiling fondly. “He’s quite something.”

  Brynn suddenly backed away and drew her rapier, threatening the darkness by the van. “Who goes there?”

  Slowly a grey cat in a black coat stepped into the stark light whilst rubbing his paws on an oily cloth. “Put your sword away, Hummel, I’m on your side.”