Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  Brynn lowered her blade, “Doctor Josef Grau, right?”

  “My name precedes me, as usual.”

  Reaching into her pocket, Sara turned to the cat and showed him the bejewelled phial. “Ah’ve brought Bruno something. It should help tae sort him out.”

  Josef peered witheringly over his spectacles. “White-imperium can’t help him now,” he scoffed. “He’s already overdosed. The best we can do, short of my patented imperium shock therapy, is to leave him alone. If he can stand by tomorrow morning it’ll be a marvel.”

  “It’s nae white-imperium, doctor,” Sara claimed flatly.

  Unscrewing the sapphire-topped phial, the little Hummel wolfess pulled the lid away, revealing a delicate glass dipstick attached to the underside, like a perfume dabber. A waxy, golden substance clung to the dabber, and a sweet smell pervaded the dingy carriage, like incense.

  Josef flew over. “Royal jelly?” he hissed, looking between Sara and the phial.

  Sara laughed falsely, “Aye! Somehow Ah thought someone like you would recognise it.”

  “Where did you get it?” the doctor demanded, answering immediately, “Den Mother Cora no doubt. Yes, I bet she’s sitting on a pretty stockpile of the stuff all for herself whilst the rest of the Den Fathers rot.”

  “Ah wish,” Sara said. “This is the last.”

  Like a pupil at class, Olivia raised a finger, “Excuse me, but what’s royal jelly?”

  Sara tried to explain, but Josef pompously took over. “It’s a waxy substance produced by a great queen bee when she wants to make daughter queens. She secretes it from glands on her head and feeds it to selected grubs.”

  “Lovely,” Olivia said, sarcastically.

  “It’s remarkable stuff,” Josef insisted. “It induces grubs to form into new queens, instead of mere workers,” he lectured, peering longingly at the phial. “Ancient hyena stories tell of its restorative properties, that it’s a cure for the rot, an aphrodisiac and more. I’ve tried for years to get hold of some to test its veracity, but since only great bees like those under Hummelton Den produce this particular brand of royal jelly, and even then only when the old queen is good and ready, it’s rarer than worm’s teeth!” The doctor smiled one of his menacing smiles, “Still, the Hummel Den Fathers and Mothers are renown for their longevity and unusual good fortune. Cora’s not so old, but she has produced quite the brood when a Howler’s cubs ought to die at a rate of at least a quarter, even with a healthy partner.” Josef looked at Sara meaningfully, as if inspecting her health, and demanded, “Does it work then? How is it taken, orally or topically? Perhaps you’d best give it to me to administer.”

  Sara tucked the phial close to her chest, lest the frantic cat tried to snatch it from her. “Ah know what Ah’m doing, all right?” she growled. She looked down at the glittering phial in her paws, “Ah remember how it’s used. Mah mum gave me some when Ah was a wee lass. Ah was in a fever for weeks and weeks. Ah was dying, everyone was sure. Dad sat with me for days, whilst Mum disappeared. Then one day, she came running in all muddy and messy, like… like from a battle, and rubbed this stuff tae mah lips.” Sara touched her mouth, recalling the childhood memory, “Ah can remember the cold glass of the bottle, the sticky jelly, and… and just licking mah lips. Mum begged me tae swallow. It tasted a little sweet, but oily, like beeswax. The next Ah knew Ah woke up feeling grand again.” She looked to Eldress Brynn, “Ah reckon Mum raided a great bee’s nest in the wilds tae find some jelly. Pillaging nature; it goes against everything Hummel stands fer. Howlers probably died for me. Mum always denied it, but Ah know what’s what happened. Ah’m nae a fool.”

  Eldress Brynn remained silent on the matter.

  “So, you take it orally then,” Josef surmised, quite unmoved. “I would suggest a small dose.”

  Sara scoffed, “Aye, because you want tae keep some tae study!”

  “No, not at all!” the cat spat, whiskers hiked. “Though that would be expedient. There could be a cure in that very bottle. Wouldn’t have to raid nests in future if the active ingredient was isolated and reproduced, would you?”

  “Maybe not, but Bruno needs it all,” Sara said. “Ah told mum he’s a big lad. She said tae either give him all of it, or not tae bother. So, there it is.”

  “You might kill him, meddling with things you do not understand.”

  “It’ll work!”

  “Yes, it will,” Brynn said, drawing her pistol. “That’s why I cannot allow this monster tae have it.”

  “What?”

  “Give me the jelly, Sara.”

  “But Eldress-”

  “This… abomination is the same breed of horror that wreaked havoc during the Wolfen Wars. When an Eisenwolf goes mad, and they often do, there’s nae a force in the land that can stop them. Their kind is nae fit tae walk Erde again, do you understand?” Brynn held out a dark paw, “Now give me the jelly.”

  Sara stood dumbfounded. Clutching the phial close she instinctively backed away.

  “Sara!” Brynn growled. “These are my orders.”

  “Orders?”

  “Your mother is nae so foolish as you think. She knew ALPHA had something tae hide. Now, give me the phial and come with me.”

  “No! You’re lying! She’d nae trick me!”

  “Give it here!” the Eldress growled, pressing her pistol to Bruno’s temple, pushing his head to one side. “Give it over or Ah’ll kill him this instant!”

  “No! Please!”

  “Give me the phial!”

  “Ah will, Ah will, just don’t hurt him.”

  Slowly, shakily, watched in shocked silence by Josef and Olivia, Sara passed Brynn the phial. The moment the royal jelly was in her paw, Brynn pocketed it safely in her cloak.

  “Ah’m sorry,” she said.

  “Sorry?”

  Brynn cocked her pistol and aimed at Bruno’s head.

  Olivia raised a paw, “No!”

  Bvvsssstt!

  With a blinding flash, Eldress Brynn was punched across the carriage and slammed into the far wall with a fleshy metallic thud, streaks of white-hot plasma coils following her all the way to her final resting place.

  All fell silent as the grave.

  Plasma trickled over Olivia’s trembling, steaming paw. She turned it about and looked at her palm.

  “By Ulf,” she gasped.

  “Olivia?” Sara said.

  “Hahahahaaaahaha!” Josef burst out laughing, clapping his paws at Olivia. “Magnificent! I knew it. You just decked an Elder and you’ve not even had a day’s training in your life; that, my wolfen girl, is raw talent!”

  “I had to!” Olivia excused. “You all saw it. She was going to kill him.”

  Josef shrugged, paws wide, “By all means, do it whenever the mood strikes. I shan’t complain.”

  Gathering her wits, and checking Bruno for holes, Sara fell upon the still form of Eldress Brynn and turned her cloak out for the phial. It was still in once piece. She then kicked away Brynn’s pistol and removed her sword, dropping it into some box like it was diseased.

  “Is she dead?” Olivia asked, with more curiosity than horror.

  “Probably,” Josef mewed.

  “She’s fine,” Sara claimed, whether she knew that to be the case or not.

  Acting quickly, lest more Hummels should seize upon the commotion in the carriage and stop proceedings within, Sara scuttled back to Bruno with the jewelled phial and removed the lid. Turning Bruno’s thick jaws towards her, she dabbed the royal jelly on his lips, rather like a naughty cub applying makeup to a dozing father.

  At once Bruno licked it away in his sleep and swallowed it.

  Sara emitted a sharp breath and, scraping out the last of the jelly, dabbed his lips a second time.

  Again he took it in.

  Josef stood back a little, expecting a violent reaction. But nothing happened, no fit, no eruption of coronal energy, just steady breathing.

  “It really isn’t venom,” he marvelled, snatching
the phial before Sara could stop him.

  “Oi!”

  “What’s in it? I must know!”

  “Keep it then, ‘tis all gone anyway,” Sara woofed. She stroked Bruno’s feverish brow and whispered in his ear. “It’s up tae you now, Bruno. Fight, mah friend. Fight.”

  *

  The sharp aroma of smelling salts attacking his flaring nostrils brought Linus back into the world. He sat up on a bed with a start, then a growl as bone-deep bruises wracked his arms and back.

  “Agh! Fssss!”

  “Easy, mate,” Uther said, beaming, “By Ulf you scared me for a minute.”

  Looking past Uther’s white face, Linus judged he was upstairs in some house or tavern or somewhere. Hummel Howlers were lingering about the periphery, whilst a rabbit doctor in a bowler hat kept up the revolting smelling-salts until Linus pushed his paw away.

  “That’s enough,” he said, adding, “Thank you, sir.”

  The rabbit was gently dismissed by a Hummel Grand Howler, who stood over Linus.

  “You’re lucky you weren’t killed, Bloodfang,” he said, in a distinctly unimpressed manner.

  Rubbing his sore (and bandaged) head, Linus wondered why he wasn’t wired up like an uncommon criminal. He looked to Uther, who seemed chirpier than he ought to be for a wolf under arrest, and freer too.

  “Our Den Mother has sent word you’re tae be allowed tae pass unhindered,” the Hummel explained. “They weren’t specific on the matter at paw, but… we understand it is a matter of territorial security.”

  “We need to get to Rumney Farm, sir, and fast.”

  “Aye, so your friend here said,” the Hummel replied, looking to his wolves. “Ah’ve nae heard of it.”

  “It’s in Grunrose,” Linus grunted, swinging his armoured legs off the bed.

  The Hummel woofed, “Grunrose! ‘Tis miles away.

  “We know,” Uther acknowledged. “Look, just give us some bikes and tell everyone to get out of our way, mate.”

  The Grand Howler shook his head. “Why don’t Ah just ring through to this farm?”

  “I told yer, there’s no phone near it for fifty thumping miles! It’s on the edge of the wilds.”

  “Ah could have some Howlers sent there tae investigate or whatever’s needed.”

  Linus asked pertly, “Do you run the District?”

  “Well… no, of course not, Ah’m nae an Elder-”

  “Then don’t lift a finger, sir. The Elder there could be a traitor. In fact I’m almost certain he or she must be for THORN to have come and gone unimpeded for the last year.”

  The Hummel scowled, “THORN?”

  “Yes sir, and if they’re warned, someone may lie in wait for us, or worse they might bring their attack forward a few hours, or change tactics altogether. Our best chance lies in surprising them in the act.”

  The Hummel nodded sagely, yet worriedly.

  Linus stood up, shoulders back. “Now, if you could show us to a fresh bike I would be most grateful.”

  The Hummel was amazed that Linus could stand.

  “Is the mouse all right, by the way?” the youth asked, his blue eyes wide. “I-I-I didn’t hit him, did I?”

  Uther cackled and slapped Linus on the hollow of his broad back, making him wince. “Don’t worry, Woodlouse, you only nearly killed yourself instead, is all.”

  Linus exhaled gratefully.

  After some thought, the Grand Howler declared, “Ah’ll escort you tae Grunrose; it will be safer that way. Name’s Lachlan, pleased tae meet yer.”

  “And I you,” Linus said, shaking paws. “Thank you.”

  *

  As the midnight hour drew near, Meryl stole across the ALPHA grounds with big Tristan in tow. He was cloaked in a Prefect’s mantle and helmet so nobody would stop him. In fact, at a glance, any observers might’ve easily mistaken him for the resident Eisenwolf, since Rafe was often seen shadowing the prim little Miss Stroud, and Tristan’s stature was similar – in the dark none could easily discern his colouration, nor the bandages.

  Keys rattling, Meryl opened the rusty side gate with an uncomfortably loud squeak and Tristan slipped through onto the streets of the Common Ground.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, lingering dangerously. “I know you’re an impartialist too, like Rufus,” he added, nursing a bandaged arm. “You must understand why I-”

  “I’m a pacifist first!” Meryl seethed. “I do not condone your violent actions, or THORN’s, though I pity the hyenas.”

  Tristan huffed, “Pacifist? What about that monster you tend? How many has he killed in your name, Meryl?”

  The nurse suddenly shut the gate and about-faced, “Goodbye, Tristan Donskoy!”

  *

  Queen Arjana Jua-mata sat nobly enthroned in Nurka’s fine tent, a tent that had always stood ready to receive her with all its regal splendour; it never had been the austere Nurka’s after all.

  Arjana gently stroked a white pepper moth nestled beside her; the very same moth Nurka had used to communicate back at the mines. He, Themba and the freshly-bandaged Madou knelt before their Queen, the low table between them and her strewn with the rolled papers and inky reeds of their final council.

  All was in paw.

  “Take him,” Arjana declared, picking up her trembling messenger moth and placing it on her black, velvety lap.

  Nurka stood, chin dipped to avoid eye-contact with his golden-faced Queen, and coaxed the beautiful moth onto his forearm, where it hung neatly, like a fine white tribal shield of ancient hyena origin.

  “Send word to me when it is done,” Arjana said, passing Nurka two message canisters, adding, “or not done.”

  Nurka bowed, fist to cloaked chest, “My Queen,” and retreated from her presence.

  “You are the last hope of the Jua-mata,” Arjana told the three Chakaa. “Make the Black Rain fall again; cleanse the land of the wicked, as the Sky did once before, and we shall return the world to its wild heritage.”

  The Chakaa listened well to the Queen’s latest tirade. Their old teacher, Noss, remained unconscious throughout proceedings. Madou dared look upon his Prince, lying off to the left, his mighty body nestled amongst the plethora of dichotomously-coloured pillows that constituted Arjana’s bed. Noss had been stripped of his cloak and his paws bound at the Queen’s command – for his own safety.

  The madness would pass, Arjana claimed, the curse of the gods visited upon her Prince for years of drinking chunta rose and fell as the tides. During the affliction’s next low ebb, Noss would see above the waves and realise THORN’s actions were just.

  Rufus and Tomek’s prospects were bleaker; Madou could glimpse them through the wafting tent flaps. Each sat tied to a separate stake out in the camp, awaiting execution at Arjana’s pleasure. A lingering death at the nibbling jaws of the forest denizens, or perhaps a merciful beheading; the Queen had yet to decide.

  They had saved many lives. Was death for them just?

  More doubts, like buzzing, biting mosquitoes, assaulted Madou’s fevered mind. Was it right to kill so many innocents? This is a war, war is about killing the enemy, is it not? Am I going mad too? Am I weak, like Prince Noss?

  “Madou!” Nurka hissed, as he and Themba made the tent flaps – they were leaving.

  Gathering his wits, Madou got up and backed out, bowing and supplicating his way into the night.

  Once clear of Arjana’s majesty Nurka took his brother Chakaa to one side, like a naughty cub. “You’re wounded,” he reasoned. “Perhaps you should stay here and-”

  “No!” Madou woofed, standing up straight. “I’m ready.”

  Nurka inspected Madou’s thick hyena face for the longest time, then nodded, slapped his arm, and led the way with Themba following loyally. Chakaa Madou lingered long enough to notice Rufus and Tomek staring silently, judgingly, before he fled to the safety of Nurka’s charisma.

  “What now?” the bloody-nosed Tomek grunted, twisting his painfully-wired wrists and looking across to Rufus, t
ied in a similar fashion to the stake next-door.

  “It’s out of our paws, dear boy,” Rufus replied, watching the Chakaa go. “We’ve done all we can.”

  Glancing about, young Watcher Usenko leant as close as he could and whispered, “Casimir… he get away. I see it. Madou lied to Themba.”

  Rufus frowned. “Then….” he snorted, getting no further.

  Tomek nodded. “As you say, is out of our paws.”

  Chapter 51

  Morning’s light poured down the valley, sloshed between the trees and outbuildings of Rumney Farm, and filtered through the dusty windows of the hanger.

  Big old rusty barn was a more apt description, Penny felt, for unless one was blind it was painfully obvious the hanger had been a silk worm house in a previous life. However, Penelope Buttle knew the power of shameless self-promotion, and outright fibs. Rumney Farm was sequestered away in the sticks, miles from civilisation, and few strangers happened across it, even fewer had glimpsed its secretive contents. Well-staged newspaper photographs and articles were all the distant folks of Lupa and Felicia knew, thus the illusion of total professionalism was maintained.

  Just about.

  Pffffffshhhh!

  “Oh my! Pleh! Gagh! Turn it off! Turn it off, Sweetpea! I’m drowning down here!”

  “Oh!”

  Penny twisted the big red valve; the connected hosepipe ceased whipping around the hanger, though not before drenching everything high and low. Water ran down the side of the vast, bulging flank of the dirigible in rippling sheets, clinging to the taut grey fabric until the under hang reached about forty-five degrees, whereupon it dripped off onto Monty’s sodden, capped head.

  Penny hurried down the ladder, her steel-toed boots clinking on the rusty metal rungs. “Sorry, Monty dear,” she excused, stifling a spontaneous giggle.

  “I know you said I needed a bath before the flyover, but this is the limit.”

  “It’s about time we got changed anyway,” Penny said, plucking at her oily coveralls. “We can’t fly over Hummelton dressed like this.”

  “You go; I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t leave it until the last minute. At least wash your face, we could be meeting all the Den Fathers later.”