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 incomprehension.
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—Castro 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…complicated 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.
“Was it strength that won us all this?” Tyrell pointed out of the window. “If I remember rightly, it was a small monkey with a big brain.” A fleeting glance between Tyrell and Mico, for a moment acknowledging the truth before burying it.
“It was me who devised the strategy that won the day, not Hani,” said Tyrell firmly. “What the langur troop needs is a leader with intelligence.” He turned to face his monkeys. “And it is your job to make them realize it.”
So now it was clear: Tyrell’s ambition was to be the next lord ruler.
There was a critical moment of silence between the wavering monkeys. Tyrell locked eyes with Mico. “I’m counting on your full support in this.”
Mico’s mind raced through the implications. What Tyrell was proposing was treason, the leadership should pass to Hani; not only was he older, but he had twice the size and strength.
But Mico wasn’t here just to serve the langur—he had his own secret agenda, and that cause would surely be helped if Tyrell became the lord ruler, as it would put Mico right at the center of power.
Which is why he lowered his head and with great solemnity announced, “I am the rock for you to build on.”
A compliance which instantly robbed Castro and Rani of any lingering doubts.
—
They had two days. Two days to subtly infiltrate the mind of the troop. Two days until Lord Gospodar’s funeral and the anointing of the new leader. It was a fine art, shifting opinion, but Tyrell had taught them well.
Mico, Castro and Rani started by dividing the troop into sections, and identifying the monkeys in each section whose voices could sway others, the so-called “rainmakers.” Then they created a set of political messages that they could inject into casual conversation in such a way that these rainmakers would pick up on them.
The shock of Gospodar’s death had made the langur troop a hotbed of speculation—ordinary monkeys struggled to understand why he had died. Was it the work of rhesus monkeys? Was it the dead bonnets somehow exacting revenge? Would the humans still favor the langur as the chosen monkey without Gospodar as leader?
Into these fevered speculations, Mico, Castro and Rani planted their carefully worded suggestions, that “the problems facing the troop were complex,” that “the wind of change is in the air,” and that “Gospodar would have wanted the troop to be bold in this crisis.”
The trick was timing—they couldn’t just blurt out the messages; they had to listen to the conversation and drop them into the flow, subtly steering thoughts this way and that.
A good sense of humor helped—a couple of witty remarks always made the monkey on the branch more receptive.
Rum
ors and speculation swirled around the troop, and by the time of Gospodar’s funeral, langur minds were hungry for change.
The langur troop had never seen so much honor lavished on the dead.
It was their tradition that any monkey who could feel the grip of death in sickness would share a final meal with their loved ones, then quietly crawl away in the night never to be seen again. A monkey who fell in battle was disposed of as quickly as possible in the nearest ditch. But for Lord Gospodar it was different. Gospodar had been the architect of the langur’s rise to greatness and he needed a final resting place that would keep him at the heart of the troop.
Which is why, as the black monsoon clouds loomed threateningly in the sky, the langur lined the avenues of the cemetery clutching fistfuls of flower petals. They stood, silent and solemn, as Deputy Hani emerged from the Great Vault followed by four elites who carried a long flat stone on their shoulders. Lying on the stone was the body of their dead leader, wrapped in a silk shroud.
The shroud had been Hani’s idea, a very practical solution to a rather sordid problem. Because the monkeys had no experience of storing corpses, they had been caught unawares when, in the heat, Gospodar had started to rot. To counteract the stench, aromatic herbs had been stuffed around him, and to conceal the damage the maggots had done, Hani ordered the theft of a silk sheet from one of the nearby street markets. But it had been Tyrell’s idea to present the shroud as a gift from the humans, celebrating the unique bond Gospodar had forged between monkey and man, transforming a practical solution into a potent symbol.
As the body came into view, tightly wrapped apart from the head, a wave of raw emotion swept over the monkeys. A plaintive wail erupted as they threw petals in the air and watched them drift down onto the passing body.
Tyrell was waiting at the foot of the great banyan tree, next to a hole that had been dug between its jutting roots—this was to be Gospodar’s final resting place, forever protected by the huge tree.
As the elites gently placed the stone on the ground, Tyrell studied the crowd, fascinated by the baying of their collective grief.
Hani crouched down and with great solemnity touched Gospodar’s cold face, as if the gift of leadership was being passed from the dead to the living. Then he stood up, letting all see the size and power of his body.
“I have chosen this tree for Gospodar’s resting place,” Hani’s voice boomed across the cemetery, “because it towers over us just as he did. This tree has weathered storms and droughts, just as Lord Gospodar guided us through good times and bad.” He looked up respectfully at the huge canopy of the banyan, then gave a signal to the elites, who lowered the body into the hole.
Tyrell watched impassively, considering the merits of Hani’s oration. Simple, short, sincere, but not very inspiring. An easy act to follow.
The elites stepped back—Gospodar’s body had been placed feet first in the grave, his head a little below ground level. But just as they were about to start filling the hole, there was an emotive shout:
“NO! Let the final honor be mine!”
All eyes searched for the monkey who had interrupted the funeral…and found Tyrell.
“Let it be my hands that serve our leader for the last time,” he cried, his voice bursting with emotion. “It’s the least I can do for the monkey who gave me everything, taught me everything…like a father.”
The troop watched, astonished, as Deputy Tyrell threw all rank and dignity aside and scooped the sticky mud into his arms.
“Wisdom, hope, ambition—it all flowed from him,” Tyrell declared, as with great reverence he placed an armful of mud around the corpse then dramatically held up his stained palms. “These hands bury Gospodar, but remember that it was his hands that guided us to greatness. His was the mind that had the vision.”
A low moan of assent echoed through the cemetery. Tyrell had captured the drama and the grief of the moment.
“But,” Tyrell declared, “the lands we rule, the power we wield, these are just trifles. Gospodar’s real gift was in here.” Tyrell put his hands on his head, letting the damp soil mark his face as if anointing himself.
“He taught us that we can choose who we are. We can choose to be oppressed or we can choose to be free; we can choose to follow, or choose to lead. If you want to honor Gospodar, never forget, monkeys can choose their own fate. Don’t meekly accept what you are given; strive for what you desire!”
As he spoke, Tyrell could feel the mood of the monkeys lifting.
And then a lone voice spoke from the depth of the crowd: “Lead us, Tyrell.”
Was it Mico, or Castro or Rani? Or was it some anonymous monkey who had been genuinely moved by Tyrell’s words? Whoever it was, the voice articulated what many of the troop were feeling.
“Lead us, lead us!” The cry was taken up by others.
Tyrell shook his head, modestly. “I’m not your leader. This is your leader.” Tyrell turned and bowed respectfully to Hani. “Hani, lord ruler of the langur.” Without a hint of irony, Tyrell started to thump the ground in a show of loyalty.
The elites immediately took up the rhythmic beating, their loyalty beyond question. But the dissenting chorus in the crowd would not be silenced.
“Tyrell! Lead us!”
“We choose you!”
“Lead us!”
Hani looked at the crowd anxiously as the chanting escalated.
“Monkeys! My monkeys!” he boomed. “Tyrell has spoken wisely. Which is why he is our most valued and trusted advisor. I swear, everything he spoke of is safe in my hands!”
Pathetic, thought Tyrell; he can’t even articulate his vision without referring to me.
Many in the crowd sensed this same weakness and joined in the pro-Tyrell chanting, but others rallied behind Hani, preferring to stick to the time-honored rules of succession.
The troop split in two, and the solemnity of the funeral was all but forgotten as each faction chanted for their chosen leader.
Then out of the chaos, a new refrain started to grow, one that unified the troop: “Let us choose! Let us choose!”
Hani could feel his authority slipping away. Suddenly he was facing a crisis in the first moments of his reign.
“Show them strength, my lord!” advised Tyrell, shouting above the noise. “They must listen to you!”
Hani looked at the restless surge of monkeys, wondering what Gospodar would have done. The crowd seemed evenly divided, but when it came to it, surely no one really wanted Tyrell as leader; he was too small and weak, and he had no charm. Perhaps in a straight contest everything would sort itself out.
“Very well!” Hani boomed above the chanting. “If that is your wish, you shall choose the leader!”
A huge cheer went up and the ground started to tremble with the deafening thump of fists pounding the dirt in a show of support.
A smile spread across Hani’s face; he’d made the right decision. The first of many, no doubt.
No one knew why, but the trees in Temple Gardens had enjoyed a spectacular growth spurt that year, enabling the bravest monkeys to clamber to the ends of the topmost branches and swing down onto the head of the giant Hanuman statue. Not many were brave enough, though, which is why this had become the perfect rendezvous for Mico and Papina.
Perched on the statue’s shoulder, tucked discreetly in the shadows of his flowing stone hair, Mico had commanding views of the surrounding streets, enabling him to make covert visits to Papina while keeping a lookout for langur patrols.
The system worked well—their clandestine meetings took place every other day, allowing Mico to pass vital information about attacks all across the city. Although he couldn’t stop the land grabs, his espionage had prevented any more massacres.
So far.
But there had been some close calls. Only a few days earlier a patrol had targeted some rhesus families living on the roof of a new shopping center, allegedly scavenging from the cafés. By the time Mico had got word to Papina, the langur elites
were already storming across the city and the families only just escaped.
No matter how dangerous it became, though, Mico wasn’t going to give up. Beyond the rhesus lives that he was saving was a more powerful reason: every time he delivered secret information, he got to see Papina.
The danger of getting embroiled in the struggle between the warring troops had forged a new intensity in their relationship, and their meetings were so absorbing, there was never any time for the excitement and longing to fade.
From the top of the statue he could see Papina now, scampering through the crowds of monkeys, clutching a sprig of fresh dates for them to share. He recognized so many of the monkeys she passed that, even though Mico’s visits were covert, in a strange way he felt part of the rhesus troop, especially as Papina always found time to update him on the latest gossip.
He knew that Rowna was now on her third mate—the previous one had found her overbearing manner too much to handle, and one night he simply ran away. But far from mellowing Rowna, this had made her even more outspoken. She wanted a male to boss around, and she found one in a chubby monkey called Uzi who spent much of the time teasing her, but was careful to do exactly what she said.
Fig didn’t have to do any of the pursuing. As she was still young and pretty, there was no shortage of males trying to woo her. In the old days she would have been swayed by a muscular body, but the trauma of exile had taught her that real strength came from knowledge and connections, which is why Fig chose Twitcher as her new mate.
Observing all this pairing-up from a distance was entertaining enough, but it also made Mico feel anxious, because the pressure on Papina to choose a mate had started to grow. Strong as their feelings were for each other, the fact remained: she was rhesus; he was langur—and neither knew how that would end.
There was a sudden rustle of leaves and Papina swung across from the top branch and landed right next to him on Hanuman’s shoulder.
“So, who grabbed the leadership?” she asked, offering him a date, then popping one into her own mouth.
Monkey Wars Page 13
