Monkey Wars (27 page)

T
rumble and Kima had to wait longer in the ration queue than usual, but it was worth it. A generous portion of figs had been added to the regular staple of soft fruits, so everyone was in good spirits.

Then, just as they started to make their way home, a murmur of excitement ran through the crowd. Heads turned and they saw Breri approaching, clearing a path; he was leading a small group of elites and in their midst was Lord Tyrell.

The supreme leader exchanged pleasantries and patted young monkeys on the head. It all looked casual and impromptu, but nothing Tyrell did was ever truly spontaneous. The elites made a space by the food distribution platform and the leader climbed up to address the crowd.

“I trust we're keeping you well fed,” Tyrell said with a smile, which earned an enthusiastic cheer.

“However, I'd like us to pause for a moment to pay tribute to our fighters who make all this possible. They are the ones who brave the dangers of the streets to collect this food.”

The crowd thumped the ground solemnly in a show of support.

“Most of you have loved ones serving, and I know you worry about their safety. But let me tell you, each and every one of them is a son to me too. Which is why I understand that there are only so many sacrifices we can ask our brave young monkeys to make. So it is to keep
them
safe that I have forged a new alliance.”

Anticipation crackled through the crowd. What alliance? Had Tyrell made peace with the rhesus? Was this the end of the war?

“The Barbary apes have come to serve and protect the langur troop,” Tyrell announced calmly.

There was a moment of confusion. Kima looked at Trumble, her brow furrowed. “Did he say Barbaries?”

Trumble shook his head. “It's impossible—”

But all speculation was abruptly cut short as the huge metal gates creaked open and a column of Barbary warriors strode into the cemetery.

Stunned disbelief gripped the langur. This couldn't be happening.

“It's all right, my monkeys,” Tyrell reassured them as the Barbaries lined up before him. “Stay calm.”

He studied the crowd, saw fear and incomprehe
nsion; that was good, it kept them off balance. What he didn't want was panic, so he jumped down, walked up to the lead Barbary and embraced him like an old comrade.

The crowd could hardly believe their eyes.

“Those terrifying stories you've heard about the Barbaries,” Tyrell smiled, “they're all true. But now they are on
our
side!” He paced down the Barbary line. “They've sworn to help us fight the resistance!”

Members of the Intelligence Division strategically placed in the crowd started to voice their approval.

“Under their leader, Hummingbird, the Barbaries will spearhead the next phase of our expansion,” Tyrell went on. “And as they're risking their lives for us, it's up to us to extend our best hospitality. The Barbary fighters will live among us as privileged guests.”

The carefully placed monkeys thumped the ground in appreciation, and gradually acceptance started to spread through the crowd; after all, if there was one thing the langur understood it was how to honor courage.

The practicali
ties, however, were more far-reaching than anyone had imagined.

The best living quarters were immediately requisitioned for the Barbaries, and a generous food allowance was created for them by skimming portions off every langur's meal.

Two days later, Tyrell changed the composition of his personal guard. Traditionally, a handful of select elites served as the lord ruler's bodyguards, but suddenly Tyrell was striding out surrounded by a shield of Barbary apes, advertising to the world that
they
were now the most trusted faction.

Castro and Rani, who had been loyal henchmen for so long, foolishly dared to object. Waylaying Tyrell as he entered the summer house tower, they warned him that this would stir up resentment in langur ranks.

Tyrell listened and nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for your advice. I'll consider it,” he replied politely.

That evening, Castro and Rani were transferred from Intelligence and put on front-line duties, patrolling the most dangerous areas of the city. A few days later news filtered back that they were missing in action, presumed kidnapped.

It was a blunt lesson to any monkey who was thinking of objecting, because in Tyrell's mind, dissent was weakness. He didn't want inquisitive monkeys; he wanted an obedient mass.

With this in mind, Tyrell created the idea of “swarm activities.” He ordained that every morning the entire troop had to gather for a communal workout. Ostensibly this was to improve levels of fitness, and to get the whole population living up to the ideal of physical perfection epitomized by the army. But its real purpose was to get everyone moving and thinking in unison.

Likewise with “drumming days,” where all civilian monkeys had to form a line around the perimeter wall of the cemetery. Tyrell would stand by the gates next to a large empty barrel and, with great ceremony, pound a single note on the drum. Immediately the next monkey in line had to thump the ground and grunt, followed by the next monkey, and the next, so that the sound rippled around the cemetery. When it returned to Tyrell, he would bang the drum again to keep the wave going.

Each monkey, totally absorbed in the hypnotic rhythm, had to look to his neighbor for his cue; the longer it went on, the more their individuality was smothered, as they became just a tiny part of the bigger, swirling movement.

And at the center of it all stood Tyrell, towering above every aspect of langur life.

I
t was the middle of the night when they came for Trumble.

An iron grip around his throat forced his eyes to snap open. He saw three menacing figures looming over him. Instinctively Trumble's arms flailed up, trying to grab his attackers, but he was no match for the Barbaries, who hauled him to his feet and yanked his hands behind his back.

“What is this?!” Trumble yelled.

Kima woke with a start, but before she could even sit up, the Barbaries grabbed her and slammed her against the wall. “Go back to sleep,” hissed a voice.

“Leave us alone!” Kima begged, but Trumble caught her eye.

“Do as he says,” he urged; then, turning to his attackers, demanded, “Who ordered this?”

The Barbaries didn't even bother to answer, and before he could say another word Trumble was bundled out into the muggy night.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, trying to sound more conciliatory. “Please, at least tell me that.”

Silence.

As the brutish arms pushed him down the path toward the main gates, Trumble glimpsed other furtive groups moving through the shadows. Then a sack was pulled over his head, plunging him into darkness. But he had seen enough to know that he wasn't the only monkey arrested that night.

Far from it.

All across the cemetery and the Eastern Province, Barbary hit squads were bursting into monkeys' homes, hauling away anyone that might pose a threat. Retired elites who questioned military strategy, mothers who complained about the size of food rations, infants who were cheeky in class: all gone.

The sack was yanked off Trumble's head and he found he was in a gloomy, damp room that smelled of old rope. He tried to spin round but was immediately kicked in the back and slammed to the floor, his face grinding into the dirt.

Even so, Trumble recognized the place—it was the labyrinth of derelict buildings that had been used for street combat training. As he strained his ears he could hear the sounds of other prisoners.

Some shouted, some sobbed, some screamed in pain. As for the ones who remained silent, Trumble hoped it was because, like him, they had nothing to fear since they'd done nothing wrong. He didn't realize it was because they were already lying dead in pools of their own blood.

He heard a familiar rattle; then suddenly his counting stones were scattered across the floor. Angry at seeing his precious stones treated with such disrespect, Trumble tried to move, but the hands holding him tightened their grip.

And then a face loomed into view. It was Hummingbird.

What had he done that the most senior Barbary of all was taking charge of the interrogation?

“Explain,” Hummingbird said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“Talk.” And he thrust some stones into Trumble's face.

“They're my counting stones,” he answered. “For supplies. For organizing supplies to the army, and—”

“Tell me something I don't know,” growled the Barbary.

“Well, it's complicate
d….There's a system….”

Hummingbird snorted with derision, turned his back and walked to the far side of the cell.

“Accusations have been made,” he pronounced.

“Accusations?”

“Against you. We have witnesses.” Hummingbird spoke with chilling certainty.

“What have they said?”

Silence.

“I've been a loyal servant to this troop!” exclaimed Trumble. “I fought in the elites, and now—”

“Now you're in trouble.”

There was no give in Hummingbird.

“What have I done?!” Trumble couldn't hide the exasperation in his voice.

“You've kept the secret of these to yourself,” Hummingbird replied, flicking some stones across the floor with his foot. “That gives you power. Power to use against Lord Tyrell.”

Trumble could barely believe his ears. “This is insane!
Who
has said these things about me? WHO?!”

Hummingbird crouched down and scrutinized Trumble, reading every line on his face.

And then, strangely, the Barbary smiled. A thin, grudging smile of satisfaction. He had got the answer he wanted: Trumble was loyal. If he'd been hiding a guilty secret he would have been more defensive, and eager to denounce someone else. But Trumble's indignation smacked of honesty.

“You need to
prove
your loyalty,” Hummingbird said, gesturing to the Barbary guard to loosen his grip.

“What more can I do? I've served the troop all my life,” Trumble said, real hurt in his voice.

“Much more.”

Hummingbird nodded to the guard, who started gathering up the stones from the floor.

“Teach others,” the Barbary commanded.

“But…but it's complicated,” stammered Trumble. “No one's ever wanted to know.”

“We do now.”

For a few moments Hummingbird crouched there, silent, menacing; then slowly he extended his hand.

Trumble was astonished
—behind this simple gesture was acceptance and trust. He put his hand in Hummingbird's and felt the ape's strength pull him to his feet.

“Barbaries learn fast.”

With that, Hummingbird opened the cell door and Trumble was free.

Still in shock, he hurried down the corridor, desperate to get away from this place of shadows. He should have been burning with indignation, furious at his mistreatment; he should have gone straight back to the cemetery and told everyone about the appalling behavior of the Barbary thugs.

But he didn't.

Because Trumble felt grateful. Grateful to have been given his freedom back, to have a chance to prove his loyalty. Grateful not to be lying in a pool of his own blood.

From now on he would be quiet and dutiful; he would teach his counting method to the Barbaries; he would do exactly as he was told.

Whatever happened, he did not want to go back to that cell. Ever.

Even though he was isolated in his convalescent room, Mico heard about the purge. It shocked him to the core—if loyal monkeys like his father were not safe, Mico knew that his life in the troop was now untenable. He needed to find a way out.

The problem was knowing who to trust in this new climate of fear.

An answer came from the most unlikely quarter, on the day smoke pots and vine ropes were banned. The official reason for the prohibition was that Gu-Nah's innovations were difficult to use, but in truth it was because they relied on the individual being in control. Now everything was about Central Command.

In desperation Gu-Nah went to Mico and begged him to intervene.

Mico gazed at his old drill instructor. Gu-Nah had a strong face, simple, loyal, battle scarred, but already its strength was starting to be eaten by signs of age—white hairs flecked his fur; his athletic body was carrying too much weight; his eyes looked tired, as if they'd seen too much life. Yet for all his weariness, Gu-Nah was the only langur who had the strength to speak his mind.

“You have to run,” said Mico. “Go into hiding.”

Gu-Nah hesitated, uncertain if his loyalty was being tested.

“But this is my home, Colonel. Everything I know is here. I can't just leave.”

“Then you'll die here. Sooner than you think.”

The words sent a cold chill through Gu-Nah's bones.

“Has he…has he given the order?” Gu-Nah asked fearfully.

Mico shook his head. “I don't know. But I can see why Lord Tyrell would want you dead. And that's reason enough to run. I've heard talk of railway sidings where the troop once lived. Somewhere near a button factory?”

“I know them.”

“No one will look for you there. Too many bad memories. Try and survive as a lone monkey…until the moment is right.”

“What moment? What's going to change?” Gu-Nah asked, desperately. “How will running away help anything?”

Mico shook his head. “I don't know. All we can do is prepare for an uncertain future…and hope.”

It was the pain that woke him; then he felt the warm stickiness and smelled the blood.

Mico looked at his hand, throbbing with pain, shocked to see lacerated skin and bits of torn flesh. Hauling himself up, he started licking the thick clot of blood away, and then with a jolt he understood. In his fevered sleep he had been clawing at his own flesh, trying to erase the Intelligence Division tattoo from his palm.

Staring at his bloody hand, Mico was now forced to confront his guilt.

In the lonely predawn, he finally realized with dreadful clarity what a coward he'd been. All his attempts to bring about peace had just been a smokescreen obscuring his own fear. His craving for acceptance had been his biggest weakness.

Now Mico could see that Tyrell's corrupt will sucked the life out of everything it touched. Now he could see that conflict was the only solution. A conflict that would define who Mico was and what he stood for.

It wouldn't be easy, but he could no longer live a life of lies. Mico had to destroy what he had helped to create.

And his only chance of doing that was to get to the one monkey he knew he could trust with his life: Papina.