Monkey Wars (5 page)

T
he recent horrors had left the rhesus survivors utterly exhausted. Despite the agreement that there would be no leaders, they all looked to Willow for a decision about whether to go with Twitcher (his distinctive ear movements had apparently earned him the nickname many seasons ago).

Willow agreed to follow him mainly because she liked his easy charm; it soothed her jangled nerves. But underneath the nonchalance, she sensed Twitcher was razor-sharp—he obviously knew the city streets intimately, and darted through shortcuts with urbane ease.

He also understood that although the monkeys were numb with shock, there was no point dwelling on what had happened; a lot of wailing and hysteria helped no one.

So he led them to a roof that overhung one of the street markets and announced, “Now, this little place is
the
business for breakfast on the move.” He twitched his ears excitedly. “Anyone care for a bite?”

The rhesus nodded hungrily.

Twitcher cracked his knuckles. “Excellent.”

The market had an array of large canvas sheets strung chaotically across it, offering shade from the burning sun. Underneath, traders were already setting up their stalls, selling everything from sweet pastries to cheap jewelry and gaudy makeup.

Papina leaned over the parapet, watching Twitcher as he navigated his way through the rigging until he emerged by a fruit stall where the owner was busy unloading boxes of apples and bananas from his handcart. Audaciously, Twitcher sat himself down on the stall and looked directly at the owner with an unashamedly cute expression.

Papina couldn't believe he was hoping to charm his way to breakfast, but she had underestimated Twitcher.

The owner spun round to dump a box of fruit on the table and suddenly saw the monkey. Impatiently he barked a rebuke but Twitcher stayed put, made his eyes bigger and sadder, and then slowly started to waggle his ears back and forth.

Despite himself, the owner gave a gruff laugh, picked up a bruised apple and tossed it to Twitcher, who caught it and started eating hungrily. This, however, was all cunning misdirection, for the instant the owner's back was turned, Twitcher stole two bananas and quick as a flash hurled them up onto the canvas stretched above the stall. Just as the owner turned back, Twitcher changed his expression again, his big honest eyes earning another affectionate smile.

Getting into the spirit, Papina started to clamber over the roof ledge.

Willow grabbed her. “Stay here!”

“He needs a hand.”

“He said to stay here! We don't know how things work yet!”

But Papina disentangled herself from her mother's grip. “I think breakfast is served,” she said defiantly; then she swung down the side of the building, made her way across the canvas until she was next to the growing pile of fruit, and began tossing it up to the roof so that the others could eat.

By the time the monkeys had finished, the heat of the day was starting to build. Willow knew they still needed to find shelter, but at least none of them would starve today. She looked over to Twitcher, who was licking a few last bits of mango from his fingers.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“No worries.”

“You're the first good thing that's happened to us,” Willow replied, and all the other monkeys murmured their agreement.

Twitcher gave a stoical sigh. “You'd be surprised how many monkeys are in trouble these days.”

It was not what Willow wanted to hear and it didn't bode well for their chances, but it prompted Papina to spring over to Twitcher and clasp his hand.

“Could we live with you?” she asked.

“Don't be rude,” scolded Willow, but Papina had only articulated what all of them were thinking.

Twitcher looked down at Papina and smiled. “Well, that depends,” he said, “on whether you're ready to be gods.”

By midmorning they had arrived. Twitcher led them along a quiet backstreet which unexpectedly opened up on to a lush, circular park, in the center of which was the biggest statue Papina had ever seen.

It was a huge figure, as big as a building, and incredibly, it had a human body but the head and tail of a monkey. Its legs and arms had powerful, carved muscles; perched on its head was an ornate crown; and its right arm clutched some kind of golden scepter.

Even more remarkably, there were hundreds of real monkeys, all of them rhesus, lounging in the dappled sunlight of the small park. Some had found resting places in the nooks and crannies of the statue itself, others lay stretched out on the grass, while many preferred the shade of the trees. The only humans Papina could see were two bald monks dressed in orange robes who seemed to be carrying out some kind of strange ritual at the statue's feet.

“Well, what do you think of the big fella?” Twitcher asked casually, fully aware of how overawed they were.

“What is it?” exclaimed Papina.

“It's a monkey god—conven
iently for us,” Twitcher smiled. “Apparently, the humans know him as Lord Hanuman, but to me he's just a stroke of luck.”

“You mean humans worship monkeys?” asked Willow, struggling to take it all in.

“Took me a while to get used to the idea,” Twitcher chuckled, “but looking back, becoming a god was the best thing I ever did.”

“That's a statue to
you
?” Rowna didn't even try to conceal her incredulity.

“Well, not just me. All of us monkeys. But it's important to get into the spirit of the thing,” he said, leading them into the park. “Now, where do you fancy pitching camp?”

Willow scampered after him. “No! This isn't right—”

“Relax!” Twitcher gave her one of his disarming smiles. “You'll be safe here.”

“But we're not gods! We're just monkeys! They'll find us out!”

“Not necessarily,” replied Twitcher. “You see, we know we're not gods, and the humans know we're not gods. But they think he's a god.” Twitcher gestured to the statue. “And he looks after
all
monkeys. So if the humans harm us, the big fella harms them.” He looked up at the giant stone Hanuman. “And no one fancies their chances there.”

Willow and the others glanced from Twitcher to the giant statue, wondering if this was all some kind of elaborate joke, but there was a multitude of rhesus monkeys here, and they all seemed happy and relaxed.

Papina put her hand up. “Now that we're gods, do we have to behave…dif
ferently?”

“Well, let's see….Don't harass the holy men,” Twitcher said, pointing to the monks. “They keep everything clean. Don't screech at night—it upsets the neighbors. Oh, and try to keep your fingers out of your bum. Doesn't look very godlike.”

He said it with such aplomb, Fig burst into a fit of the giggles. That started Papina off, and soon they were all laughing.

By the time the sun was setting, Willow's troop had found a nice spot in some shrubs near the foot of the statue. Being so close to Hanuman, it stayed in the shade for most of the day, which explained why the other monkeys hadn't already taken the spot. But Willow and the others felt that the closer to the monkey god they were, the safer they'd be.

Having explored Temple Gardens, as they were called, Papina returned carrying an armful of food to share.

“Well?” Rowna looked at her expectantly.

“The monkeys here all seem very friendly,” said Papina. “There's plenty of food and plenty of room.”

“Seems Twitcher was telling the truth,” said Rowna.

Willow nodded skeptically. “Maybe.”

But Papina was impatient with her mother. “Of course he was! Why would he lie to us?”

Willow gave a rueful smile—her daughter had a lot to learn.

As the light faded, so did all optimism, and by the time the moon was up, the monkeys' thoughts had turned inward as they remembered everything they had lost.

Papina huddled closer to her mother to try and find some comfort. “It's going to be all right, isn't it?” she whispered, hoping for reassurance. But none came.

“Why did your father have to go back?” Willow said, her sorrow tinged with bitterness. “He could have been here with us….” Her words trailed off. She was frightened that if she said any more she would break down, so she remained silent and just clung to her daughter.

T
he mango hit the stone baby on the nose and exploded in an orange stain all over its innocent face.

Breri and his friends howled with delight and slapped one another's hands; then the next monkey picked up a kiwi and took aim. He hurled the fruit and watched with bated breath, but this time it clipped the top of the statue's wing and ricocheted off down one of the paths.

Disappointed oohing from the monkeys; then, much to their amusement, Breri shouted, “Fetch, boy!” to Mico, who had to scamper down the path after the fruit, the sound of his brother's mocking laughter in his ears.

How Mico hated all this. Breri and his friends were practicing throwing skills they'd been learning in the cadets, but Mico had been made the “collector,” which meant he had none of the fun of hurling fruit and all the work of scurrying around restocking the ammunition dump.

He found the kiwi, scooped it up and while he was there combed through the long grass looking for any other fruit that could be used. But as he made his way back, he heard his brother shout, “Too slow! Too slow!” urging his friends to take up the chant. Mico braced himself—Breri loved playing rough, and when he and his friends started whipping one another up, trouble was never far behind.

Sure enough, when Mico emerged from the undergrowth he was bombarded.

“No! Leave off!” Mico protested as the fruit splattered around him, but his indignation just encouraged Breri, who howled with delight.

Fed up with the stupid joke, Mico turned and scampered off just as an orange winged his right ear.

“Come back! We were only messing around!” he heard Breri call after him.

“Find your own fruit!” Mico retorted angrily, and he kept going until he reached the safety of the main cemetery cross path, where some females were busy sorting and grading a pile of cashew nuts.

Mico stopped by a tree to break off a chunk of bark rich in sticky gum, but just as he started chewing, a stray orange from the throwing game rattled out of the undergrowth and bounced manically down the path. Intrigued, Mico chased after the orange and picked it up; it was heavy with juice, but surprisingly hard. Was this what made it so lively? Mico wondered.

He started experimenting, bouncing the orange, throwing it, rolling it down the sides of sloping tombs to see how far it would travel; he scrambled up the tallest pyramid he could find and unleashed the fruit.

It picked up speed until it was hurtling down the tomb; then, as it hit the plinth at the bottom it bounced off, flew through the air and plopped into the dense undergrowth at the base of the cemetery wall.

“Nice one!” Mico laughed and chased after the orange.

Finding it, though, was not so easy—the tangle of shrubs made it hard to move, forcing Mico to lie on his belly, his hand flailing around. Finally, his fingers brushed against the smooth waxy skin. He plucked the orange to safety and checked there was no damage. Then, just as he was about to slither back out of the shrubs, Mico noticed a neat hollow in the base of the perimeter wall….Some
thing had been placed inside it.

He crawled closer and saw a small bundle, carefully wrapped in bamboo fiber. Someone must have stashed a delicacy here, perhaps a succulent piece of honeycomb. With his stomach rumbling in anticipation, he reached out and took the bundle, but when he unwrapped it, Mico was astonished to find a small carving painted in beautiful colors.

Three monkeys were perched side by side on a branch—the first covered its eyes with its hands, the second covered its ears, and the third clamped its hands over its mouth.

Strange. It had obviously been made by humans—Mico knew how much they loved their gaudy, intricate objects—but what was it doing here, hidden in the base of the cemetery wall?

One thing was sure, if it had been stolen from one of the street markets the thief couldn't have been anyone from Mico's troop, because the carved monkeys weren't langur—they were rhesus. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make the carving, carefully painting the brown fur, the pink faces, just like…

Mico felt his guts tighten as he remembered. Just like the bleeding, mutilated monkey he'd seen being dragged over the wall yesterday, barely a stone's throw from here. Did the carving have anything to do with that corpse?

A shudder ran down Mico's spine. He knew he was straying into forbidden territory, but his restless mind was urging him to investigate this dark mystery.

Carefully, he wrapped the carving up in the bamboo fiber and placed it back in the wall, just as he'd found it. Then he clambered out of the shrubs, steeled himself and made his way down the gloomy path that ran along the perimeter wall.

It wasn't long before he found himself standing at the front of the wall gazing at the handprint stamped in blood. Already it was starting to fade; one big rainstorm and it would vanish altogether. Slowly he reached out to the bloody print, as if hoping somehow to unravel its mystery through touch—

“Oi! You!”

Mico spun round to see two burly elites striding toward him.

“What you doing here?”

“I–I…,” Mico stuttered.

“You–you…,” the elites mocked.

“I think someone's been hurt. Look!” And he pointed at the handprint.

The lead elite bent down to sniff the handprint, and then Mico saw him exchange a fleeting, shifty look with his subordinate. They knew something.

The lead elite stood up and waved Mico aside dismissively. “There's nothing for you here. Run along.”

But Mico wasn't running anywhere. Pandering to their vanity, he looked up at the elites with awestruck eyes and asked, “Was it one of our enemies?”

A dark smirk flashed between the elites.

“Did you deal with them?” persisted Mico.

“As it happens, we did,” said the lead elite.

Mico gasped. “What happened?”

And the one thing no elite could resist was telling a good battle yarn.

“We were so pumped, they never stood a chance,” the lead elite began. “A few lucky ones escaped. The rest…” He snapped his fangs, hinting at the brutality of their demise. “So we'd just finished cleaning up, when this rhesus bolts out of the shadows. Don't know whether we missed him first time, or if he'd come back—”

“Not that it mattered much,” added the junior elite.

Even though he felt cold dread rising in his guts, Mico needed to know the truth. “So what did you do?”

“We took him down.” The lead elite pointed to the bloody stone. “Right there.”

Said with such malevolence, it jarred Mico's imagination, which started painting the horror in vivid colors—in his mind he saw the rhesus scrambling through the undergrowth, desperately trying to escape.

“He was fast, but we were faster….”

Mico imagined the rhesus hurtling down the path, glancing back as the menacing langurs surged toward him.

“He was going for the wall. No way could we let him escape.”

“No way,” the other elite chuckled.

“We circled round and slammed him.”

“BOOM!” The junior elite leaped across the path to demonstrate.

“Heard his bones crunch, we did.”

The impression was so vivid, Mico felt himself reeling from the impact.

“Oh, then he started begging for his life.”

“Begging!”

Mico shuddered as he pictured the helpless rhesus surrounded by langurs, violence burning in their eyes.

“Please! I have a family,”
the elites mocked as they recalled their victim's pleas for mercy.

“That's what you think!”

The lead elite slammed his club down in the dirt next to Mico.

“Right across his legs.”

Mico could almost feel the spasm of pain shooting through his body.

“Mind you, he was stubborn.”

“Very stubborn. Tried to crawl away.” The junior elite pointed to the wall. “As you can see.”

Mico looked at the bloody handprint, heart pounding as he shared the fear of the dying rhesus.

“That's when I dropped him,” the lead elite boasted. “With a rock.”

Mico closed his eyes, feeling the horror as the rock came smashing down.

“Epic kill!” said the lead elite.

“Epic!” echoed his subordinate.

They both looked at Mico, who was desperately trying to hide his nausea. For one dreadful moment, he thought he had betrayed his doubts.

“You got a problem with that?” the lead elite said darkly, looming toward Mico.

“Epic,” mimicked Mico, snapping to his senses. “Epic.”

It was enough to assuage their pride. The lead elite bent down and patted Mico on the head. “Now run along and eat your fruit. One day, if you grow big enough, you can be just like us.”

Mico nodded obediently, then turned and hurried away.

He had his answers all right, but they had only made everything worse.

Now Mico knew for sure that what he'd witnessed was murder. Cold-blooded murder. And somewhere a rhesus family had been left without a father.