Monkey Wars (15 page)

Kima's reaction was just as effusive—she gripped his hand, refusing to let go. “I can't wait to tell—”

“No!” exclaimed Mico. “You can't tell anyone. It's secret work.”

Which made Kima even prouder. “They'll know when they see you living in the finest quarters, moving in the highest circles. They'll all know that my son is important.”

It was the first time in Mico's life that he'd felt so unhesitatingly loved by his parents.

But what surprised him most of all was Breri's reaction. At first he was incredulous; then jealousy crept into his heart. But as Breri worked out that having a younger brother high up in the echelons of power could help his own career, jealousy gave way to respect.

“I'm glad they found a place for your talents,” he said, patting Mico on the back. “That's what makes the langur great: we all do our bit in the fight.”

So this was what success felt like—an intoxicating mix of flattery and respect. Suddenly Mico no longer felt small or vulnerable; he felt as if he had power.

Mico strode into Tyrell's room at the top of the tower and was puzzled to find the deputy scratching a squiggle of random, intersecting lines across an entire wall.

“Impressive, isn't it?” Tyrell said without even turning round. Mico tilted his head left and right, trying to make sense of it.

“It's the city,” said Tyrell proudly, pointing from the lines to the panoramic view through the window. “The lines represent the streets below.”

Mico half closed his eyes and looked from the lines to the streets and back again…and suddenly he understood. It was a beautiful, brilliantly simple idea; for all his darkness, Tyrell was touched by genius.

“Your parents were suitably impressed by my offer, I take it?” the deputy said, scratching another line.

“They were. Very.”

“You were discreet, of course—about the nature of your new life.”

“Yes, sir. Very discreet.”

“And?”

Mico drew a deep breath. There would be no turning back from this moment.

“And?” Tyrell repeated.

“And I would be honored to serve in the Intelligence Division…to pledge my loyalty to you, Deputy Tyrell.”

A genuinely warm smile broke across Tyrell's face. “Then welcome to my world, Mico. This is the start of your new life. Great things await.”

“I won't let you down,” Mico said, surprised how easy it was to tell a blatant lie.

A thrill of excitement ran down Mico's spine. His double life had started, a life of secrets and lies, of plotting and duplicity, of diverting the course of power.

All in the name of peace.

For this is the true strength of guilty kings,

When they corrupt the souls of those they rule.

—
M
ATTHEW
A
RNOLD, “
M
EROPE”

H
e was dead.

The news ran through the cemetery like a shock wave. Gospodar, lord ruler of the langur, had been found dead at dawn.

In the seasons since the conquest of the Eastern Province the langur had been confidently sweeping all opposition aside. Now suddenly their beloved leader, the monkey who had guided them from outcasts to conquerors, had been snatched from them by death.

Mico first heard the news as he enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in his private rooms. One of the immediate benefits of joining Tyrell's secretive Intelligence Division had been the provision of exclusive quarters close to the Great Vault. They were spacious and light, and had a carefully concealed door that enabled Mico to come and go at any time of the day or night without attracting attention. Best of all, a cadet had been assigned to look after all his domestic needs, from keeping the rooms clean to delivering fresh meals and running errands.

Tyrell had set this system up to sharpen the sense of obligation among his Intelligence operatives, and the psychology seemed to be working—Mico was proving to be an assiduous officer, learning all about the many secret sources of information that kept the langur safe.

His star was rising fast.

But that was yesterday. Gospodar's sudden demise could change everything.

“He's dead! He's dead!” was all the cadet messenger could blurt out. “It can't be true! It can't!”

He was too overwhelmed to make much sense, so Mico forced him to sit still and drink some water.

“Deputy Hani went to wake Lord Gospodar…to give him the report just like normal. But he was…he was lying on the floor…cold….” The cadet slumped forward, clasping his head in his hands.

Mico felt his entire world reel and judder as if it was about to collapse. Turning his back on the grieving cadet, he left his rooms and hurried out into the cemetery.

Had this happened a year earlier, Mico would have rushed straight to the Great Vault, but one of the first lessons Tyrell had taught him was never to do the obvious; a monkey that was hard to predict was hard to outwit. So, instead, Mico headed for the tree-lined avenues of the cemetery, mingling with the troop, tuning into the monkey on the branch.

Everywhere he looked, monkeys were milling around aimlessly, all sense of routine erased. They clung to one another for comfort, they spoke in subdued tones, each compelled to explain exactly what they were doing when they heard the news, as if their actions were in some strange way linked to their leader's sudden death. Mothers weren't bustling their youngsters off to Cadet School; patrols weren't setting off in every direction; the normal buzz of morning activity had dissipated into a cloud of shock and grief.

It was as if the very future of the langur was hanging in the balance.

A large, forlorn throng of monkeys had gathered outside the Great Vault, desperate for news. All eyes gazed at the main doors, which were shut tight and guarded by a squad of elites. As Mico edged his way through the crowd he caught sight of his own parents standing silently with all the other monkeys. Kima was trembling fearfully while Trumble held her tightly, trying to calm her down.

As Mico emerged from the crowd, the elites immediately stepped forward. “Stay back!”

Calmly Mico opened the palm of his left hand to reveal a strange, intricate mark of swirling black lines—the mark of the Intelligence Division.

Once Mico had sworn loyalty to Tyrell, they had retired to the privacy of his rooms in the tower, where Tyrell spent an entire afternoon creating the pattern using the dye from crushed berries. Dot by dot, he'd used a cactus thorn to inject the dye under the skin of Mico's palm; it had been painful, and Mico's hand was swollen for several days, but Tyrell had promised that the insignia would open doors that were closed to other monkeys.

He hadn't exaggerated. Whether it was going out after curfew or gaining entry to restricted weapons stores, the insignia always got Mico in, and today was no exception.

Seeing the mark, the elites hurriedly swung the doors open. Mico heard anticipation ripple through the crowd; everyone else had been kept waiting outside, and now he alone was being ushered into the troop's inner sanctum. As he strode through, Mico glanced over his shoulder and just for a moment caught the look on his parents' faces, impressed that their son wielded this kind of power. Despite the gravity of the situation, Mico couldn't help feeling a swell of pride.

His sense of empowerment didn't last long—as Mico entered Gospodar's private rooms the true horror of the situation struck home.

The two deputies, Tyrell and Hani, sat on opposite sides of the room, silently staring at Gospodar's corpse—the lord ruler looked as if he had died in appalling agony. His body lay contorted on the stone floor, hands gripping some invisible enemy, mouth twisted open, legs splayed at an awkward angle. It was as if life had been physically ripped from his body.

Deputy Hani turned slowly to Mico.

“Get out.”

His voice wavered with fear and incomprehe
nsion.

Mico bowed and turned to go when Tyrell's hard voice cut through the gloom.

“He stays.”

Mico froze, looking from one deputy to the other.

“I need time to think!” growled Hani, angry to have been contradicted.

“Right now we need to manage what the monkeys out there are thinking.” Tyrell pointed to the cemetery. “Which is
my
job. Now.” He glanced at Mico. “And
he
is with me.”

The air was brittle with tension. Mico hardly dared breathe as Tyrell and Hani tried to glare each other down, until the heavy-footed General Pogo thundered into the room. His solitary eye gazed at the twisted body.

“By my beating heart!”

Even though the general had seen plenty of death in battle, the image of his leader splayed on the floor still shocked him.

“What happened?”

Hani shook his head slowly. “I came in, as usual, to give him the plans for the day. I knocked, waited for a reply. When none came I entered…” Hani looked down at the silent corpse. “And found him like this.”

The general scowled; monkeys didn't just die for no reason.

Sensing Pogo's unease, Tyrell stepped toward the body and turned it over.

“No signs of violence; nothing to suggest a struggle.” Tyrell ran his hands through the cold fur. “He's not been murdered.”

“Then why did he die?” Pogo shook his head, bewildered. “He wasn't old; he wasn't sick!”

“I don't know why, General. All I know is that the troop must never know Lord Gospodar was found like
this
.” Tyrell pointed at the grisly corpse. “Our great leader does not deserve such a demeaning end. We owe him everything; the least we can do is give him a death worthy of his life.”

Seeing Tyrell move back into the political arena jolted Hani to his senses. He drew himself up to his full height.

“I'll organize a fitting ceremony. And I expect your full cooperation,” Hani commanded. “I want the transition of power into my hands to be as smooth as possible.”

“The arrogance of the monkey!” Tyrell bellowed when they were back in the privacy of his rooms in the summer house tower. “The presumption that
he
will be Gospodar's successor! The troop deserves better than that plodding oaf.” He turned and looked out of the window, gazing across the city.

In the silence, Mico glanced at the two other members of the Intelligence Division who had been summoned—C
astro and Rani. Handpicked from Cadet School many seasons ago, they had a talent for remaining unobtrusive, while always being by Tyrell's side when he needed them. They were trusted, hardworking and loyal, but right now they were out of their depth—neither had ever seen Tyrell so rattled.

Mico's agile mind quickly ran through the options; this ability to grasp new situations was what had earned him a special place in Tyrell's heart.

“Hani is considerably larger than you, sir. And he still believes that's enough.”

Tyrell turned his sharp eyes on Mico, insulted at the rudeness of the comparison.

Aware that he had to underline where his loyalties lay, Mico hastily added, “He doesn't understand that times have changed.”

“He's not the only one,” Tyrell mused as he gazed down at the langur families on the lawns. “I dare say many of
them
are still dazzled by bodyweight. Such a pity that in Hani's case his intellect is out of all proportion to his size.”

Castro and Rani exchanged an uncomfortable glance; Tyrell was now criticizing the lord ruler-in-waiting, and that amounted to sedition, but Tyrell was quick to reposition his thinking.

“Don't get me wrong, I like Hani. He makes a fine deputy, and in another time he would have made a competent leader. But these are…compli
cated days for our troop. We've won so much, but we've made enemies along the way. If we're not careful, we could lose everything.”

Tyrell scrutinized Mico, Castro and Rani; they had taken an oath to him personally, but you couldn't always rely on that. He needed these three to really believe that, for the sake of the troop, they shouldn't back Hani.