Imperium Lupi Page 10

  Uther unbuckled his twin swords and threw them in with the helmet. They, and indeed all Howler weapons, were made of eisenglanz’s cousin, kristahl. Kristahl was steel impregnated with active imperium, blue and red being the most useful and economically viable options, though white-imperium swords were known. The imperium within kristahl performed the opposite task to eisenglanz, it channelled and even enhanced a Howler’s plasmatic attacks, like lightning rods.

  “Someone’s in a good mood,” Linus laughed, watching Uther dance. “Have you just been promoted?”

  “Hah! It’s not that easy, mate.”

  Uther unpinned his brooch and peeled off his waist-length, hooded cloak, or mantle to give it its proper name, revealing his smart, dark red Bloodfang tunic with its many shiny buttons running exclusively down the left side.

  Howler mantles and tunics were made of imperium-weave, woven from the thread of giant silkworms fed upon imperium-laced mulberry bushes. Like eisenglanz, imperium-weave was a kind of armour. The conductive fabric helped spread and dissipate the energy-based attacks of an enemy, but was less disruptive to a Howler’s own corona than eisenglanz. Eisenglanz breastplates, gauntlets, greaves and so forth protected a Howler from another but also dampened the wearer’s corona, and were cumbersome to boot. The Bloodfangs extolled the speed and strength of their Howlers above defence or mechanical contrivance, so they did not wear breastplates, nor even gauntlets; only their legs which played little role in projecting their imperious fury were well-protected.

  Tossing his glowing brooch carelessly in the locker, Uther hung his cloak over a radiator to dry and swiftly unbuttoned his tunic to do the same, exposing his dark, blue-grey back to Linus. His chest and belly were white; a marked contrast. Uther was one of those strikingly dichotomously-coated wolves who looked like they had fallen face-down in a puddle of paint.

  More striking still, Uther’s fur rippled with muscle and sinew like no other wolf Linus had seen. Broad-chested and wasp-waisted, he looked a matchless athlete even amongst Howlers.

  The stocky Linus felt quite inadequate.

  “Mate… something’s happened,” Uther sighed gravely, shaking his head.

  His woes forgotten, Linus pushed himself off the sink and approached his partner. “Not Captain Rufus?”

  Uther whirled around, paws spread. “I’m afraid we’ve got the day off!” he whooped.

  “What?” Linus gasped in relief, stammering, “S-sss-says who?

  “Janoah! She said we deserved it, me and Ivan. I convinced her to let you off too, Woodlouse.”

  Silence.

  Uther gruffed at length, “Well, whatcha say?”

  “Thank you,” Linus replied. “Sorry I-I was miles away.”

  Sitting on a bench, Uther unbuttoned his ash-stained white gaiters, removed his boots and made grand plans. “We’ll go to the Common, get a little merry, maybe pick up some company, eh?” He looked to Linus, “Anything you wanna do?”

  “Do?”

  “Yeah, as in fun.”

  There was a distinct pause.

  “You do do fun, doncha, Woodlouse?”

  “Yes of course,” Linus replied, grimacing, “Sorry, what is this ‘Woodlouse’ thing?”

  Uther cackled, glad Linus had finally noticed, “That’s yer name.”

  “It’s Mills, Linus Mills-”

  “Yeah, yeah, but you remind me of a woodlouse, mate, or a pea bug if you prefer.”

  “Pea bug?” Linus whined – he did not prefer it.

  “Yeah!” Uther went on. “What with yer shield on yer back and short little legs, you look like you’re gonna roll up just like a pea bug. Hahahaha!”

  “Yes, well, I-I-I can’t help my shape,” Linus defended.

  “No, but you didn’t even know what a gazer was. You been living under a log, Woodlouse? Haaaah! You’re too funny, mate.”

  Ears low, Linus looked down and away.

  “Aww, come on, Linus,” Uther cooed. “It’s a term of endearment! Really, I mean it. I give all my partners a name, just like them hyenas do. It’s an honorific title, like Blade-dancer and Red-mist. You’re Wood-louse. Hahahahaha!”

  Succumbing to Uther’s contagious laughter, Linus fought a smile for the longest time. Once all merriment had faded, he asked, “So what happened to your last partner?”

  “First one, Smiles, he was promoted away,” Uther said, continuing on a heavier note, “Second one, Dusty, got topped by a sting dealer. We were raiding an illegal imperium refinery and… bang, some bastard shot him. Dead in a flash.”

  “I’m s-sss-so sorry,” Linus seethed.

  “Yeah. Just how it goes, you know.”

  Another, most protracted silence.

  “We could go to the pictures,” Linus suggested out of the blue, though it sounded more like a question.

  “Pictures?” Uther repeated, breaking from a trance. “Yeah, good idea. We’ll take ‘em to the pictures. I recommend a horror flick, so we can comfort ‘em, if you know what I mean. Eh, eh?”

  “Them?”

  “The girls!” Uther tutted, slapping Linus in the stomach with the back of a paw. “You in?”

  Linus rubbed the back of his neck, “Well… uh….”

  Uther threw a paw up, “What? I’ll pay. My treat, mate.”

  With a tiny grunt, Linus caved in, “All right.”

  “That’s better! Oi, where’s Ivan; we should invite him too.”

  “He said he was going to the infirmary wing,” Linus said.

  “What for, to see Rufus?” Uther scoffed. “There’s nothing we can do to help him. Best to take our minds off it. We got the roach who attacked him and that’s all we can do.”

  Linus made his way to the mirrors again. “We shot the messenger, at least,” he said.

  Uther kicked off the last trappings of Howler armour and donned a towel. He looked perplexed whilst he tied it off, but soon figured out what Linus meant. “Oh, Vladimir’ll get it out of him,” he growled. “If that cackling hyena knows who hired him, he’ll talk. They all talk on the rack.”

  “Rack?” Linus squeaked. “Do they still use that here?”

  “Puh! Everyone does mate, don’t you doubt it.”

  “But… but the Lupan Laws forbid it!”

  “Hahaha! Lupan Laws, he says. Oh, Woodlouse, you’re killing me. Hahahaha!”

  “It’s n-nnn-not funny! The Lupan Laws are important-”

  “Aye! But he’s a hyena, mate! They don’t rack us wolves no more, at least not officially, but hyenas are another matter.”

  Linus looked nonplussed.

  “Oi, did you see his eyes, mate?” Uther went on. “Purple! That’s the purple-imperium them hyenas take. That stuff is the worst, goes straight to the brain. Makes ‘em nuts.”

  “Yes. He must be very strong to retain his wits.”

  “Puh! Has he though?”

  Without comment, Linus popped the cap off his little white bottle of Glimmer, the most trusted brand of wolfen grooming oil in Lupa, and sprayed it over his body. After rubbing in the scented oil he combed his fur through, removing loose hair and flicking it into a special sink reserved for the task of grooming. Linus combed every exposed inch, under his arms and chin, down each leg, but not his back, for he couldn’t reach – that’s what grooming parlours were for, or failing that, a friend. Some considered it demeaning to groom another wolf, something subservient betas did for dominant alphas.

  Uther is unlikely to comb my back, Linus thought, remembering this morning’s conversation in Riddle Market. Uther ‘ain’t nobody’s beta’ and all that.

  “Grrrffaaagh!”

  Hearing a growl of pain, Linus looked for Uther in the mirror – he’d disappeared!

  “Uther?”

  Abandoning all grooming, Linus hurried round the bench, where he found Uther doubled up on the floor.

  “Uther!” Linus gasped, crouching down in all fours. “Uther, what’s w-www-wrong?” he stammered.

  “Aaaah…ffff… it’ll pass,”
Uther seethed, chest heaving fitfully as he grasped one leg, “I’m all right, mate.”

  “Rot?”

  “Yeah. I knew it were comin’ on! Gagh!”

  Linus looked on helplessly as Uther writhed on the tiled floor. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  “Don’t… let anyone… see me,” Uther begged.

  With a moment’s hesitation as he figured out what Uther meant, Linus went to the washroom door. He couldn’t lock it, but stood guard lest someone came in. Linus was still thinking of what excuse he could feed a fellow Howler who wanted to bathe when Uther suddenly recovered and clambered up onto the bench. He sat there, massaging his right leg, breathing and grunting and swearing.

  Linus returned to his side. “Is it going away?”

  “Yeah,” Uther said, with a mortified chuckle.

  “Must’ve been bad to have you on the floor.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll get you a sting,” Linus suggested.

  “No, I used mine weeks ago, mate,” Uther admitted. “I’ll be all right in a minute. It’s only ‘cause of all that running. That’ll teach me. Puh!”

  Glancing around, Linus whispered, “I… I still have a sting.”

  Uther’s dark ears pricked with interest.

  “You can have it.”

  Nodding, Uther conversely declined the offer, “Nah. I’m fine, mate. Best you keep it.”

  “I-I don’t need it as badly as you.”

  Uther frowned, “You might yet.”

  Linus spread a paw. “I haven’t had any pains for months,” he beamed.

  “Well la di dah, good fer you!” Uther snarled over his shoulder, ears flat to his skull

  Linus backed off.

  “I don’t need your charity,” Uther claimed. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, of course. S-sss-sorry, I….”

  Giving the proud Uther one last glance, Linus slowly returned to the sink. He opened his white tin of ‘Imperator’, the most trusted brand of toothpaste in Lupa, and scraped out the recommended pea-sized amount with the end of his toothbrush. The advice films on dental health promoted brushing for a minute, no more, no less. Linus checked the second-hand on the clock and timed his brushing accordingly. If he went to the pictures with Uther as planned, there was a fair chance Linus would see the same old information reel whilst waiting for the film. There was a fair chance also that Linus’s bored mind would wander then, as now.

  ‘Uther doesn’t want your pity, it narrated, like one of those info reels. ‘One day that’ll be you. You’re only a couple of years younger. You’re healthy now, but you’ll feel the insidious rot again soon enough. And one day, just like your parents, you’ll be bedridden long before your natural time, your sight failing, your lovely golden fur falling out in clumps, your once-firm muscles withering-’

  Minute up!

  Linus rinsed his mouth out and splashed cold water on his face to banish mortal thoughts. When he looked up, water dripping off his chin, he saw Uther standing behind him, dark, muscled arms folded across his white chest, his fierce yellow eyes staring right into Linus’s soft blue peepers via the mirror.

  “Listen,” he grunted, clearing his throat, not that it made any discernable difference, “if you wanna give yer sting to someone, give it to Rufus.”

  “Rufus?” Linus woofed

  “Yeah. He needs it more than anyone.”

  “B-b-but, surely he’s being looked after? They must have stings put by for emergencies.”

  “I dunno so much, Woodlouse.”

  Linus turned to face his taller partner, eyes darting to and fro as he tried to get his head around Uther’s words.

  With a check of the door, Wild-heart took the naïve newcomer aside. “Janoah wanted to see me because she was fishing for extra venom,” he whispered. “There’s none left for Rufus and by the look on her face he’s not gonna make it without some.”

  “B-b-but he’s one of the finest Howlers alive!” Linus spluttered in disbelief. “Surely our Elders r-rrr-recognise that.”

  “Puh! The Elders are out of touch, mate,” Uther dismissed, with the certainty of one who knew, at least in his own mind. “They don’t walk the streets like we do, not even Elder Amael. They don’t see how it is. They’ve forgotten, ‘en they? That’s what happens when they stop being Howlers and start being Elders. Too busy jostling and dealing with each other over money and territory to care about us Troopers. Rufus’d be in a Howler Hospice already if Janoah didn’t stand up for him all the time. She’s always having to scrounge stings off me and Ivan for him, but… we’ve given all we can. I got nothing left for me.”

  “I see,” Linus said tentatively, wondering how much of Uther’s gossip and opinions were true. He believed the last claim at least. “Well, he can have mine, of course.”

  Uther felt he had to add a caveat. “If someone catches you you’ll be in big trouble. Giving stings away is as bad as selling ‘em on the black market; at best they’ll flog you, and at worst, well… they’ll send you down.”

  “I’m hardly going to sit on a sting whilst another Howler dies.”

  “Hah! You’re no stick-in-the-mud, Woodlouse, I give yer that,” Uther tutted fondly, pinching Linus on the cheek like an adorable cub. “All right, we’ll go see Janoah about it now.”

  Linus nursed his cheek, “We?”

  “Yeah; me ‘n’ you.” Uther chirped. “What, think Janoah will see you without me to back you up? You’re nothing to her mate; ash on her shoe.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ah, but you’ll be something now,” Uther assured Linus, heading for the baths. “She’s tough, by Ulf is she, but Janoah never forgets a good turn. She’s a good friend to make, not like that slimy git Vladimir.”

  *

  Grand Howler Vladimir Oromov entered the room in his full uniform; silver helmet, red tunic, white mantle and all. Kicking the door shut he tossed a hefty file onto the table and turned up the desk lamp. As the rate of imperium gas coming in through the lamp’s rubber hose changed, the fire within the glass coughed and sparkled with a mini display of beautiful colours, before settling down to a warm, steady light.

  Satisfied, Vladimir slowly pulled the simple wooden chair from under the table, its legs scraping painfully over the rough tiled floor, and sat. Tugging at the chest of his white mantle so it hung more comfortably about his robust Howler frame, he busied himself by flicking through his file and making notes with his golden pen, apparently uninterested in the hyena slouched opposite him in the middle of the depressingly stark, off-white room.

  This continued for some minutes, before Vladimir said without even looking up, “The Hyena Organisation for Recognition of Nationhood,” adding in a mocking tone, “THORN.”

  No reply.

  “Is that what you’ve become, Prince Noss, a lowly terrorist? Hmm?”

  Still nothing.

  “Why target Rufus and Ivan?” Vladimir probed. “You’re all old friends. Rufus especially is an ally of your people. He’s always stood up for you, sung your hyena virtues, still does. He even saved your life. Yet of all the wolves in Lupa you blow him up. Why?”

  Faced with Noss’s silence, Vladimir nodded at the Howler Troopers standing in the corners of the room. Like the vast majority of Bloodfang rank and file they were both clad in standard red cloaks, which is where the widely recognised nickname for a Bloodfang, a ‘Redcloak’, originated. Some had black trims on their mantles, some white, some none, depending on the rank, but most of the lower ranks were red.

  One of the Redcloaks stepped into the light, grasped the bound Noss by the scruff of the neck and pulled him upright, revealing his bloodied snout and ripped ear.

  “Well?” Vladimir urged impassively from under the fierce anonymity of his silver-plated eisenglanz helmet.

  Nothing.

  With a nod from the Grand Howler, the Redcloak thumped Noss in the ribs, right where Ivan had wounded him.

  “Gaaaagh!”

  Ivan’s s
hot had only scraped the hyena’s muscled ribs, but the wound was doubtless excruciating.

  “Such a disgrace,” Vladimir tutted, shaking his head and twiddling his pen.

  Prince Noss writhed and seethed.

  Vladimir sniffed, “Still, I know what you’re made of. I know that even the rack may not break you, though that is what Doctor Josef is going to prepare for you once he has finished setting Rufus right.”

  “So Red-mist lives!” Noss woofed through a toothy grin, twisting his wire-bound wrists – mere rope wouldn’t hold a beast who could channel imperium, only Howler-wire made from insulating eisenglanz would suffice. “I never doubted it!”

  “You sound pleased,” Vladimir said. “Why is that?”

  Noss snorted, “I didn’t want to kill Rufus. It was just… business.”

  “What business?”

  Silence.

  Vladimir nodded at his accomplice again. The obedient Redcloak smacked Noss across his thick snout with the back of a paw, setting off his nosebleed again. Blood dribbled off the hyena’s dark chin and onto his mighty chest, the pale fur there being already clotted and darkened with streaks of gore.

  “You’ll talk, in the end,” Vladimir assured. “You should have thrown yourself under that train, not boarded it.”

  “Hah! During… the morning rush?” Noss replied, licking his nose of blood. “Hahaaaa! Oh, yes. Just think of the disruption caused to Lupa’s busy schedule if… if the train-hogs had been forced to scrape my carcass off the rails. Think of the money lost! I could have set Lupa back millions. Now that would’ve been a terrorist atrocity for the ages. Hahahahahaaaa!”

  Vladimir hummed, “I wager the train-hogs would have left your corpse for the ants to pick over sooner than stop the trains.”

  “Ants he says! What ants?” Noss laughed. “I see none in this nightmare of our creation! No trees, or bees, or wholesome life at all within a thousand miles of Lupa. Only the roaches and the flies that tolerate the ash and feed on our waste, and if it goes on like this the Erde entire will be like the Far Ashfall one day, a rotting, festering sore!”