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…they’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.
“Look, if you want your parents’ blessing, talk to them,” Tyrell said with affable ease. “It’s rather touching that you respect them so much. But be careful what you tell them. Secrecy is the great weapon of the Intelligence Division.”
Mico nodded. “I understand.”
“Tell them you’ve been offered a chance to come and work on my personal staff. See what they say then.”
And with the offer left dangling tantalizingly in midair, Tyrell pointed to the door. The interview was over.
The last supply monkeys were just entering the Eastern Province as Mico made his way out into the street. He stopped and looked back as the gates were swung shut. Across the city, guards would be closing the cemetery gates as well, securing everything for the night.
There was a time when Mico would have felt anxious to be alone in the city without the secure embrace of langur walls around him, but right now he needed to be alone; he needed to think.
At this time of day the city streets were crowded with humans, so Mico scrambled up the tangle of drainpipes that clung to an apartment block, skittered across the roof and leaped onto a railway embankment that carved through Kolkata in a lazy arc. He could follow this to the disused signal box, then branch off back to the cemetery.
It was turning into a beautiful evening, the sky was filling with great flocks of swallows wheeling above the buildings, the ramshackle markets were buzzing with the banter of a thousand hagglers, but all Mico could see was the huge decision looming in front of him.
If he accepted Tyrell’s offer and threw himself into the langur cause, maybe he would come to understand why the war on the rhesus and the destruction of the bonnets were necessary. Tyrell had spoken of a secret master plan; perhaps that would explain the morality behind the trail of blood.
But even if he could forget about the violence of the past, what about the future? If he became Tyrell’s creature he would have to play his part in bloody deeds yet to come. Mico shuddered at the thought of being implicated in more slaughter.
And there was another, more personal fear gnawing away at Mico’s heart: if he followed Tyrell, he would never be able to see Papina again.
The sense of loss cut sharply across Mico as he imagined what that would mean. From the moment he first glimpsed her in the cemetery, he had felt a special connection to Papina; it was as if a part of him had always known her, always trusted her. Without understanding why, he felt deep down that if he lost Papina, he would lose his way altogether.
Which meant he could not take Tyrell’s offer.
Except that wouldn’t be so easy.
Tyrell had made it quite clear: if you weren’t for him, you were against him; and Mico feared the deputy would make a very bad enemy. It was a harsh reality of the langur troop—upsetting powerful monkeys meant you were denied any chance of moving up the hierarchy.
The repercussions might not even stop with Mico; his parents might suddenly find themselves spurned; maybe his father would be stripped of his duties controlling troop supplies, which would break his heart.
And it would all be Mico’s fault.
To accept, or not to accept? The conflicting thoughts bumped relentlessly into each other as Mico made his way back, until before he knew it, he could see the outline of the cemetery walls in the twilight. He paused and looked at the guards perched on top of the gate pillars, proud servants of a triumphant troop. How he envied those monkeys who never questioned anything, who lived their entire lives accepting the world as it was given to them. How easy that must be.
Instinctively he went round to the drinking pool in the back wall. There was no particular reason to avoid the guards; after all, he was returning from vital work establishing the Eastern Province. But this evening Mico didn’t want to deal with anyone.
He plunged into the cool water and stretched out his hands, feeling for the hole in the wall, but instead of pulling himself through, he paused, holding himself in the currents, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness.
The water tickled as it flowed through his fur, brushed past his face…There was something deeply comforting about its cool caress; it made him think of the happy, secret times he’d shared with Papina before everything became so complicated.
Maybe Papina was the answer—get everything back to simpler times. She had urged him to choose sides—what if he chose the rhesus?
If he was living in Temple Gardens, surrounded by hundreds of rhesus, he wouldn’t have to fear Tyrell’s anger. He and Papina could be together, playing in the trees and lounging in the sun without a care in the world.
But as Mico tried to imagine that life, the vision started to crumble before his eyes, because it meant he would never see his parents or friends again; he would be turning his back on everything he’d ever known. And for all the sacrifice, he could never become a rhesus, never truly be like them. When the langur went to war again, maybe the rhesus would turn against him, drive him out of the gardens to live as a lone monkey.
Suddenly Mico felt suffocated. He pulled himself through the hole and lunged to the surface, filling his lungs with air.
A lone monkey.
There were rumors about exiles who survived like that, but “survive” was the word, not “live.” No one to play with or laugh with, no one to share your food or look after you when you were sick. And at the end of it all, to die alone and forgotten.
Mico shuddered as the dampness of the night crept up on him. He scrambled to the top of the wall and perched himself on the smooth coping stones.
On one side of him was the cemetery, on the other the city stretching out into the distance. He was perched between two worlds in more ways than one. Whichever decision he made seemed to lead to unhappiness. Maybe he should just spend the rest of his life sitting up here on this wall….
Suddenly his mind did a somersault as a whole plan effortlessly revealed itself. Perhaps there was a way he could straddle two worlds, be all things to all monkeys.
Mico leaped to his feet, a huge smile dancing across his face. It was beautiful, the perfect answer to an impossible problem.
—
The last monkey Papina was expecting to wake her was Mico. She sat up groggily and looked around—it was horribly early, her mother and all the others were still fast asleep, and yet here was Mico, standing ov
er her alert and breathless, having just run across the city.
“What’s going on?” she said tetchily.
“Shhh.” Mico gently put his fingers on her lips. “How do you fancy breakfast?”
“It’s too early.”
“It’s never too early for chocolate.” Mico smiled. “The night watchman at the bakery forgot to lock the back window again.”
Papina couldn’t resist.
—
She sat and ate the pilfered chocolate in silence as Mico paced back and forth, exhilarated by his plan.
“So I accept Tyrell’s offer. I play the loyal monkey. But all the time, I’ll be secretly feeding information to you. Everything you need to keep you safe: the routes of langur patrols, which targets are going to be hit next, who’s safe and who’s in danger. I’ll belong to the langur, but secretly I’ll be helping the rhesus!”
His enthusiasm was met with a skeptical silence. Papina pressed her fingers into the chocolate crumbs then licked them clean, as she tried to articulate what her guts were screaming at her: that this was a terrible idea.
“No one can work for two masters,” she said finally.
“It’ll be difficult, but it’s got to be worth trying,” Mico replied, undaunted. “And if I can please Tyrell, rise up the hierarchy, maybe I can change the master plan so that the different troops can live in peace, right across the city.”
His optimism was so laudable, but so naive. “The other langurs don’t think like you, Mico. They’re not interested in peace.”
“Which is why I need to work from the inside. Where I can change things.”
He had an answer for everything, but what really worried Papina was that this whole plan was just a way for Mico to avoid the brutal reality.
“If something is wrong, you have to fight it,” she said.
“But there are many ways to fight. The tiny cobra is as deadly as the giant python,” Mico replied. “Why can’t my weapon be deception?”
Papina shook her head pensively. She wanted to tell him the truth, but Mico was so fired up with hope, she didn’t have the heart to cut him down.
He took her hand and clasped it tightly, willing her to believe that this could work. “Anyone can run away, but to stay and fight for change, maybe that’s the courageous thing to do.”
“But you’ll be lying to everyone. You’ll be so alone.”
“Not if you believe in me.” He looked into her eyes, desperately needing her approval. “I once promised to keep you safe, no matter what. I meant it then, and I mean it now. But to keep that promise, I need to change the world.”
He looked at her as the sun crept above the roof of the bakery, waiting for the reply that would determine the rest of his life. Until finally, Papina gave a hesitant smile…and nodded.
—
Mico had gone up onto the roof to talk with his father, who was using the stones to organize supplies for the Eastern Province, but he had barely uttered the words “Tyrell wants me to work for him,” when Trumble dropped everything and stared at his son in astonishment.
“Deputy Tyrell?”
“Yes. But it’s—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence—Trumble leaped over and hugged his son. “Everyone was so quick to judge you, Mico. Just because you were small.” He cradled his son’s face in his hands and looked at him with such love. “But now you can hold your tail high!”
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.
—MATTHEW ARNOLD, “MEROPE”
He 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.
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