Monkey Wars (13 page)

But Mico didn't want to forget the battlefield. He felt a primal need to face the sea of corpses, to get their blood on his hands. He was not innocent; he should not stay clean.

“If it's all the same to you, Deputy Tyrell, I'd rather return to my unit,” Mico said curtly.

Tyrell shrugged; no point forcing the issue. Give the young cadet time to understand what was in his best interests.

Give him time.

T
he langur had never seen a celebration like it; close encounter with defeat made their eventual victory that much sweeter, and the troop was determined to savor the moment.

Flowers had been gathered from all over the neighborhood to create a colorful carpet of blossom for the returning soldiers. The females, elders and young all lined the central pathway, and as General Pogo led the elites in through the cemetery gates, a huge roar went up and the waiting monkeys started throwing armfuls of petals.

Mico's cadet squad was right at the back of the victory procession and secretly he'd been hoping that by the time they entered the cemetery the euphoria would have died down; no one should be cheered for slaughter.

He was out of luck. The adoring monkeys waited until every last fighter had returned, welcoming each like a hero, forcing Mico to celebrate just like all the others, even though inside he was desolate.

The procession doubled back and came to a halt outside the Great Vault, where Lord Gospodar stood, flanked by Deputies Tyrell and Hani, greeting each squad as it arrived.

As ever, Gospodar read the crowd perfectly. He knew the monkeys didn't want to listen to speeches, so, carried along by the magnanimity of victory, he simply reached across, grasped Tyrell's hand and raised it high in the air, publicly acknowledging the deputy's decisive role in the battle.

A huge roar went up; Tyrell looked surprised and modestly tried to back away. It was all an act—secretly he had made sure that word of his brilliant beehive ploy had spread to all corners of the troop, but he knew that humility would win hearts in a way that arrogance never could.

From his place in the throng, squeezed and jostled by the other cadets, Mico watched with a growing sense of dread. His idea had not only devoured the bonnets; it had turned Tyrell into a war hero.

As the doors to the Great Vault were thrown open the troops surged into the victory feast, but Mico pulled back. He had to get things straight, work out who he could trust.

And there was only one monkey who could help him do that.

The moment he swung round the corner and saw the Hanuman statue, Mico knew the world had changed. The last time he'd been here rhesus monkeys came and went as they pleased, chaotically spilling into the surrounding streets; now everyone had been marshaled inside Temple Gardens, and a group of large monkeys patrolled back and forth.

Mico drew a deep breath and started toward the gardens, when suddenly there was a shout: “No further!” and a figure leaped down from one of the overhanging trees and landed right in front of him, blocking his path. It was Twitcher, bristling with aggression.

“I just want to see Papina,” Mico said quietly.

“What makes you think she'd want to talk to a thug like you?”

“You don't understand—”

“The bonnets are lying dead in a ditch!” Twitcher couldn't contain his outrage. “All of them! And for what?!”

Mico didn't want to get into another fight. “We were told they'd stolen a human baby. We were only trying to keep the peace—”

“How can you say that?!” Twitcher snarled furiously. “The bonnets kept themselves apart from humans!”

“I didn't know! I thought it was true. It's what they told us.”

But Twitcher wasn't interested. He started pacing round Mico like an animal stalking its prey. “The truth is,
you
are warmongers! The langur are the cause of all the misery in the monkey world.”

The words cut into Mico, hard and uncompromi
sing. It was painful to hear it said so clearly, painful because in his heart he feared it was true.

“No one's more sorry than me.” Mico's voice was thick with emotion.

“It's too late for sorry! They're all dead!”

“I know! I saw it!” Mico rounded on Twitcher. “But it doesn't make me proud. It makes me sick.”

“Why should I believe a word you say?”

“Because I came back! I came here to find out what's really going on!” The two monkeys were nose to nose, glaring at each other.

“I could have led a troop here,” Mico pointed at Temple Gardens, “and cleared you out myself! But I didn't.”

He hadn't meant it to sound like a threat, but it silenced Twitcher, who edged backward. So that was how it worked—when you were feared, you were listened to.

“Now, please,” Mico said, regaining his composure, “I'd like to see Papina.”

Twitcher said nothing; he just stared at Mico.

It was another voice that broke the deadlock:

“Wait over there.”

Mico spun round and saw Willow pointing to the far side of the road. He had no idea how long she'd been standing there or how much she'd heard.

“I just want to talk to her.”

“I thought I'd raised her to have more sense,” Willow replied curtly, and pointed again to the far side of the road. “Wait.”

Mico felt like an outcast. With every passing moment he became more anxious. Maybe Twitcher had double-crossed him; maybe right now he was rounding up a gang to come and attack him, throw him in the gully with all the other dead monkeys. Why else would it be taking so long?

But just as Mico was about to turn and run, abandoning all hope of seeing Papina, she emerged from the horde of monkeys in the gardens and walked slowly toward him. Her gait was cold and steady, and she resolutely avoided his gaze until she was standing in front of him.

“Papina—” He stepped toward her, but she backed away.

“So you finally decided to show yourself?”

“Can we go somewhere else to talk?”

Papina shook her head.

“I was mobilized. I had no choice.”

“So you were there,” she said accusingly, determined not to make this easy.

“Papina, I swear, if I could have been somewhere else, anywhere—”

“Spare me the sob story,” she scoffed.

“I had to follow orders.“

“You were
there
! You were part of the massacre!”

Mico fell silent. Her indignation was like a spotlight shining on his own guilt.

“There are some good langurs,” he said quietly. “My friends, my parents. If you could only meet my father—”

“If you could've met
my
father!” Papina cut him off sharply. “He was gentle and kind; he harmed no one. But he was killed by langurs. And all for what? Because you wanted to live in the old cemetery. And now you want the land that belonged to the bonnets. And after that, it'll be somewhere else. You'll never stop.”

Mico shook his head, desperately trying to distance himself from the bloodshed. “I was too young when we moved to the cemetery. I didn't know any better.”

“But you're not too young now, Mico.” It was the first time that morning she'd used his name; perhaps it offered a glimmer of hope that she was reaching out to him.

Mico hung his head low. “If I could change the past, undo what happened…” His voice was heavy with regret. “But it's too late.”

“Then change the future,” Papina said. “Choose which troop you'll stand with, and fight with them.”

Mico was taken aback by the bluntness of her ultimatum. “I can't just turn my back on the langur.”

“Why not?”

“They're my home, my family…eve
rything.” Mico looked at her earnestly, hoping for some form of reprieve.

It didn't come.

“Then we can never see each other again.”

“Papina, please! I need you to believe me!”

Mico looked at her, his eyes pleading with hers, and just for a moment he glimpsed sadness behind her coldness.

“You need to choose, Mico. You can't be a bystander any longer. That's what it means to grow up.”

And she turned and walked back into Temple Gardens, leaving Mico utterly alone.

T
wo days later, Lord Gospodar made the proclamation: “Following our successful clearance of the derelict Ambassador's Palace and Gardens, a langur colony will be
re
established there.” His words were met with rapturous enthusiasm—a new colony was exactly what the langur needed.

Thanks to plentiful food supplies, birth rates were up, and the younger families longed for space to make homes of their own. This was their chance, and what homes they would be—everyone knew the old bonnet lands were among the best in the city.

All cadets were assigned to help the new settlers move into the Eastern Province, as it was now to be called, and as the excited column gathered at the cemetery gates, ready to move out, the leaders swung up onto the perimeter wall to make the inevitable speeches.

Mico groaned inwardly; the very last thing he wanted to hear was Tyrell's rhetoric. At one point the deputy even went so far as to claim he wished he could go with the settlers.

And then something strange happened—an anonymous voice in the crowd called out, “There's always room for one more!” Which provoked a laugh.

Even Tyrell chuckled, before humbly declaring that he was too old for such an adventure, and he really didn't have the energy or stamina.

A chorus of “No! Not true!” mingled with more cries of “Join us! Join us!”

Mico looked from Tyrell to Gospodar and saw rivalry bristle between the two senior monkeys.

Ever since the Battle of the Summer House there had been tensions at the top of the troop. Gospodar had been generous in his praise of Tyrell's role in the victory, but rather than showing humility, the deputy had subtly kept reminding everyone that it was his actions that had averted disaster.

It made Gospodar very wary. Had Tyrell now set his eyes on higher things? Did he see himself as lord ruler of the langur?

If that was true, the very last thing Gospodar wanted was for Tyrell to move to the Eastern Province and establish a power base of his own.

Now, however, with this clamor from the settlers, Gospodar had been publicly backed into a corner: if he refused to let Tyrell go he would be seen as mean spirited.

Tyrell could see Gospodar's discomfort and deliberately let him swing in the uncertainty for a few moments, before finally coming to his rescue. “I'd be honored to play a small part in helping you get started, just for the first few days. If Lord Gospodar agrees…”

The settlers immediately thumped their approval; Gospodar had little choice but to go along with it and hope that his deputy meant what he said.

Which is how Tyrell came to take his place at the head of the column of settlers, leading his monkeys to a bright new future.

General Pogo and a squad of elites were waiting in the Eastern Province when the gates creaked open. Deputy Tyrell strode majestically in and looked around, his nose twitching as it caught the last remaining scents of blood. He smiled as he gazed across the beautiful lawns that stretched around the summer house.

“Good work, General. Excellent. You'd never know. Line your troops up to welcome the settlers. Let them know who they have to thank for all this.”

In a well-rehearsed ritual, two rows of elites lined up on either side of the entrance to form a guard of honor; then the cadets escorted the settlers into their new home. For most it was a moment of pure excitement, of hope, of pride; but for Mico it was eerily reminiscent of his own family's arrival in the old cemetery all those seasons ago.

With one big difference: now he knew the bloody price that had been paid.

As he watched young monkeys squabble innocently over who would sleep where, without even a passing thought for the bonnets who had lived here for so long, Mico realized that Papina's dark warning was coming true: this was nothing more than a land grab.

Who would be next?

Suddenly Mico sensed a presence behind him—he spun round and saw two large elites looming over him.

“You're to come with us.”

“Why? What have I done?” Mico said defensively.

“Deputy Tyrell wants you.”

It was clear from their tone that he had no choice.

As they approached the summer house Mico's mind was racing; you never knew which way it would go with Tyrell. By rights the deputy should be grateful, keen to reward Mico for his loyalty and discretion, but he could equally feel threatened that Mico knew the truth behind the defeat of the bonnets, and there was always a risk that a monkey under threat would lash out.

Mico tried to steady his nerves as he was taken up the tower staircase; even if he wanted to run there was no way he could evade the elites. All he could do was keep calm and hope.

As they emerged into the room at the top of the tower, Mico was stunned: the whole space had been transformed into luxurious living quarters. The last time he'd been here was just after the battle, when the roof was smashed through and broken weapons littered the bloody floor. Now all traces of violence had been erased, the roof had been repaired with a mat of leaves, windows had been opened up in each wall to give spectacular views across the city, and the whole room was stuffed with fruit and sweet-scented herbs. There was even a water trough at the far side filled directly from the guttering on the roof.

And at the center of it all stood Tyrell.

“Impressed?” he asked with a smile.

Mico could only nod, wide eyed. But he wasn't just marveling at the room; he was marveling at the deputy's cunning. Tyrell had given the impression that his decision to accompany the settlers had been made on the spur of the moment. But all this? It seemed to have been prepared ahead, for a leader, for Tyrell. What he said and what he did were clearly two very different things.

Tyrell put his arm around Mico and drew him to one of the windows. “What do you see?”

Mico squinted in the bright light and started to pick out familiar Kolkata buildings, but Tyrell chuckled indulgently—he wasn't interested in geography.

“Opportunity, Mico. That's what I see. Opportunities are opening faster than at any other time in langur history. Fruit? Or bugs?”

He offered Mico two coconut shells, one containing some juicy berries, the other a collection of freshly killed insects; Mico went for fruit.

“But change brings upheaval,” Tyrell continued. “New allegiances are being formed; old loyalties are being tested. If you listen carefully”—he cupped his ear—“you can almost hear the footsteps of power on the move.”

He gave a wry chuckle. “The question is, Mico, are you ready to take advantage of these opportunities, to play your part in the new world?”

“Once I've finished my cadet training I hope to follow in my brother's footsteps—”

“No, no, no. Forget the elites. Use this.” Tyrell put his finger right in the middle of Mico's forehead. “Your mind,” he continued. “Your mind is the key to power.”

Tyrell lounged back against the wall and made himself comfortable. “You know, when I was a cadet, times were harsh for the langur. We lived in the shunting yards, every scrap of food had to be fought for, every sliver of territory defended. I knew I had a lot to offer, but just because I was small, I was ignored. None of the instructors would take me seriously because I couldn't win those puerile hand-to-hand wrestling matches. So I fought back with
my
weapon of choice.” Tyrell tapped his fingers on his head.

“One night, I crept out of the shunting yards and made my way along the tracks. It was lonely and frightening. Trains rumbled everywhere; one slip and I'd have been killed. But I found what I was looking for: a boxcar stacked with kiwi fruit.

“I hid in the shadows until the laborers arrived to unload the train; then furtively I swung down and stole a sackful of fruit.

“Next morning, the cadets woke to find piles of fresh kiwis waiting for them. Too hungry to care, they just tucked in. But after breakfast, their stomachs were unsteady, their minds cloudy and sickly. So when it came to training, they struggled. Especially in hand-to-hand combat. Imagine their astonishment when they were beaten by the weakling Tyrell.”

“You poisoned them?!” exclaimed Mico.

“It was just a little effluent from the railway latrines. They were queasy for a couple of days, no harm done,” Tyrell said dismissively. “But it taught me a valuable lesson: if your will is strong enough, an enemy can always be beaten. I started applying that lesson every day, climbing the ranks, outsmarting my rivals, until I became what I am today. Now the whole langur troop benefits from my wisdom.”

He leaned forward, fixing Mico with his intense gaze. “The monkey who can out-think his enemies can achieve anything. Like this magnificent home.” He waved an arm extravagantly around the tower room. “Don't you want to live like this, Mico? Perhaps even be the commander of a province of your own?”

Mico couldn't hide his astonishment. “You really think…”

“With a mind like yours, why not?”

The cadet's stomach tightened with anticipation. Suddenly the allure of power filled the room.

“Of course, you're very raw. There's much you need to learn,” Tyrell said casually, showing how easily he could slam the secret door shut again. “Perhaps I could make arrangements for you to join my Intelligence Division.”

Mico frowned. “I've never heard of an Intelligence Division.”

“Which just proves how good we are. Only a few…
chosen
monkeys ever get a chance to serve in Intelligence. Those who understand the importance of absolute loyalty…to
me
.”

The way Tyrell said the words filled Mico with unease—there were dark undercurrents to this proposition. He needed time to think it through, to understand what he was getting himself into.

“My parents…th
ey'll be disappointed if I don't go for the elites,” Mico said, trying to extricate himself.

“Make no mistake about what's on offer here, Mico. The Intelligence Division is a fast track to the top of the troop. The
very
top. You will be looking
down on the elites, and I can't tell you how good that feels.
” He gave a sharp laugh, then leaned forward and whispered, “Intelligence is where leaders are made.”

Tyrell reached out, put a conspiratorial hand on Mico's shoulder, and just for an instant felt the cadet bridle under his touch. In that moment he knew Mico's conscience was still wrestling with the realities of power.

“Ruling a troop is a difficult calling,” Tyrell said. “To innocent eyes, it may look at times as if the line between right and wrong has been forgotten. But once you've seen the vision behind everything, then you will understand.”

Mico looked at Tyrell, trying to read the deep, calculating eyes. “I thought we were the chosen troop because we kept the peace,” he ventured. “Isn't that the vision?”

Tyrell nodded thoughtfully. “That's true. But it's not the whole truth.”

He fell silent; clearly nothing more would be revealed until Mico had made his choice.