“There’s going to be a ballot.”
“A what?”
“It’s a new thing. Every monkey has a say in choosing the leader. It was Tyrell’s idea, but I think it’s a good one.”
Papina chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t trust him. How can the whole troop speak at once?”
“That bit was my idea,” said Mico proudly. “Each monkey will be given one of my father’s pebbles. They have to place it at the feet of the monkey they’d like to be leader. Whoever gets the most pebbles wins.”
Mico spat out his date stone; they watched as it drifted down…and just missed the pool.
“Hah!” Papina smiled triumphantly, then demonstrated how it should be done, sending a stone plopping right into the water.
“Tyrell’s a cunning operator,” Mico admitted, “but this ballot, it could be a whole new way of doing things. It makes the leader answerable to the troop.”
“Nothing good ever came from cunning,” replied Papina.
“Give things a chance to settle down,” urged Mico. “Tyrell trusts me—I’m his closest advisor. If we time it right, I know I can swing his thinking, make him stop this war between the troops.”
Papina gave Mico a wan smile. “I want to believe you, Mico, I really do.” She reached out and took his hand, gazing darkly at the tattoo that marked him as one of Tyrell’s creatures. “But I have a bad feeling about Tyrell. Very bad.”
“You and I make a fine team,” Tyrell said with an approving smile, as Mico led him into the room where all the polished pebbles were stored.
For as long as anyone could remember, Trumble’s stone accounting system had been a vital part of keeping the langur running smoothly; now it was to determine the very leadership itself…one pebble for each member of the troop.
Tyrell stepped forward and ran his fingers delicately over the stones.
“Beautiful,” he muttered to himself. “And so simple.”
—
Commandeering a squad of cadets for the afternoon, Mico set about distributing the stones; by the time the sun set, there was a line of eager monkeys—each clasping a pebble—stretching from the Great Vault back through the cemetery paths.
The air buzzed with chatter and restless energy; the monkeys couldn’t contain their excitement at this new way of making decisions and were eager to get started. Finally the two candidates emerged from the heavy doors of the Great Vault to a rousing cheer.
Hani made sure he walked at his full height, confident that when it came to the crunch, the troop would never choose an undersized monkey as leader. Tyrell didn’t bother with such theatrics; he believed that physical bulk paled into insignificance next to his sharp intellect.
The two deputies took their places; then Hani drew a deep breath and made his proclamation:
“By the authority vested in me from the hand of Lord Gospodar, I call on each monkey to step forward and place his stone at the feet of the one who shall be his leader.”
Thrill galvanized the troop as Hani beckoned the first monkey in line to come forward. It was Nappo, now a young footsoldier. But he sprang forward with such excitement he tripped and went flying headlong in the dirt, sending his stone skittering across the ground.
The whole line of monkeys burst into laughter as poor Nappo scrambled to his feet and tried to make light of the accident, but when he looked for his voting stone, he saw that it had landed at Hani’s feet.
“Good choice,” smiled Hani indulgently. But Nappo shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Then he quickly darted over, retrieved the stone and placed it at Tyrell’s feet instead.
“Better choice.” Tyrell smiled.
Trying to hide his embarrassment, Hani gruffly ordered the next monkey to step forward; fortunately for Hani, the next stone did go to him, and by the time the first few dozen votes had been cast the piles were pretty even.
But as twilight crept up on the monkeys, the balance started to shift—slowly Tyrell’s pile grew larger as the weight of support eased his way.
It was not completely one sided; Hani came from a big family and they all voted for him, but many others seemed to be in the mood for change.
And then Mico noticed something sinister: Tyrell was scrutinizing each monkey as they stepped forward, as if he was making a mental note of everyone who voted against him and filing the information away for future use.
A shudder ran down Mico’s back as he realized the terrible flaw in this ballot: there was no anonymity. Monkeys were forced to declare their loyalties in front of the whole troop. So once it started to become clear that Tyrell was in the lead, those Hani supporters who had not yet cast their vote worked out that they would only harm their prospects by voting with their hearts. Better to hide their true beliefs and place their stones at Tyrell’s feet instead.
Inexorably, Tyrell’s lead gathered momentum, until every single monkey that stepped forward voted for him.
It was painful to see Hani standing in silent humiliation, desperately hoping for a few stones to go his way. It was no longer about winning; now he just wanted someone to acknowledge his existence.
But no one did.
Collective cowardice had taken control. Just hours before, Hani had been the lord ruler of the troop; now it was as if a curse had descended on him.
By the time the last stone was cast, dusk filled the cemetery. For Hani the gloom brought some relief—at least his shame was partially hidden by the darkness.
Tyrell turned to him and with surprising gentleness said, “The troop has spoken.”
Hani nodded. It had been agreed before the ballot that the winner would take up his duties at dawn the following day, which meant that Hani had the right to sleep in the Great Vault for one last night. In a final act of defiance, he stubbornly insisted on sticking to the terms.
“That’s all for tonight, Deputy Tyrell,” said Hani, desperately trying to sound authoritative. “You may go.”
“Until dawn?” Tyrell replied sharply.
“Until dawn.” Then Hani turned and disappeared into the Great Vault, a broken monkey, his brief reign over before it had begun.
—
Failure has no friends; it is the loneliest solitude of all. Hani sat in his rooms in utter silence, trying to comprehend the speed of his downfall. In just a few short hours his world had crumbled to dust, all his hopes and plans shattered.
The more he brooded, the more Hani felt he had been dealt a mortal blow. All the achievements of his life, his loyal service under Gospodar, the high rank he had enjoyed for so long, all that would be forgotten. From now on, he would only be remembered for the crushing defeat that had snatched the leadership from him. Behind their false smiles, the troop would be laughing at Hani’s humiliation; his voice would never be taken seriously again.
In the dark stillness, Hani came to believe that his only hope of peace would be to run away and wander the city alone. Life as a lone monkey, with all its dangers, was surely better than the daily ignominy that would eat away at him in the cemetery.
It was perhaps the most courageous decision Hani had ever taken. And, like so many courageous decisions, it was born out of desperation.
—
The next morning it was as if Deputy Hani had never existed. Mico, Castro, Rani and General Pogo were summoned to the leader’s quarters to receive their briefing, and when they arrived they found Tyrell perched on the raised plinth at the far end of the vault, from where he could look down on all who entered.
“Good morning, monkeys,” Tyrell began. “I suggest we get straight to work.”
And then the bombshell:
“Deputy Hani has gone.” He spoke as casually as if he was talking about a mislaid coconut.
“Gone where?” exclaimed Pogo.
Tyrell just shrugged.
“Is he unwell? Does he need help?” Pogo asked, genuinely concerned for his old friend.
“There are more pressing matters to engage us than the fate of Hani,” Tyrell said tersely.
“But—”
“He was rejected by the troop,” interrupted Tyrell, as if he had merely been an innocent bystander in the whole affair. “The burden of leadership can be heavy; the duty to serve exacts a high price.”
Tyrell hesitated as he looked Pogo up and down, like a fighter sizing up his opponent. “Which is why I feel it would be unfair—cruel even—to impose that burden on another,” he continued. “For this reason, I have decided to shoulder the full responsibility of leadership on my own.”
Tyrell waited to see if anyone was going to howl in protest, but they all just stared at him in stunned silence.
“It was in my name that the troop demanded a ballot,” Tyrell explained. “It is me who the monkeys are looking to for leadership. The troop has asked me to bear the responsibility for their prosperity and safety. It would be a dereliction of duty if I was to delegate that to others.
“Henceforth, I shall lead without deputies or a Ruling Council. And in recognition of this new role I shall be called Lord Tyrell, Supreme Leader of the Langur Troop, Overlord and Protector of the Provinces.”
Tyrell looked at the four monkeys, his eyes searching for any trace of doubt. “I will of course be looking to you, my most trusted advisors, to support me in this great task.”
Still trying to absorb the enormity of what had just happened, Mico and the others could only nod silently.
“Good,” said Tyrell with a smile. “Then your task for today is to make sure the troop understands the huge sacrifice I am making by taking on this duty of office.”
With a curt wave of his hand, Tyrell dismissed the monkeys. “That will be all.”
Mico was stunned.
Without the slightest compunction, Tyrell had dashed all hope of a more enlightened future. As casually as if he was gathering fruit, he had plucked total power into his hands.
Mico paused in the shadows between two buildings to get his bearings—he wasn’t too familiar with this part of Kolkata, but had been forced to abandon his normal route because Tyrell’s first proclamation had been to double langur patrols across the city.
With eyes darting left and right, he sprinted across the street and slid down a side alley; these covert visits to Temple Gardens were going to get more and more dangerous.
The one thing Mico couldn’t do, though, was share his concerns with the rhesus. If they sensed things were slipping out of his control, it would only spread panic.
Papina knew him too well to be deceived. As Mico dropped down onto Hanuman’s shoulder, she took one look into his eyes and knew things had gone wrong.
“I warned you,” she said.
“It’s all right. I still have sway over him.”
Papina shook her head anxiously. “Not anymore.”
Doubts roared up in Mico’s mind, but he wrestled them back down.
“Tyrell still listens to me,” he insisted.
“You’re supposed to be his most trusted advisor—look how he just ran rings around you! It’ll only get worse.”
Papina hadn’t meant it to sound so harsh, and a pang of guilt stung her as she saw Mico wilt under her judgment. She shuffled next to him and with soothing fingers started to groom his fur, gently stroking the back of his neck and scratching his ears.
“You have to get out,” Papina said quietly. “Before it’s too late.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“I can help.”
Papina clasped his hand and squeezed it—a simple gesture, but for a few moments it made Mico believe that he could find a way through the complex tangle.
A sudden rustle of leaves, the branches bowed and Twitcher dropped onto the statue, startling Mico and Papina, who quickly pulled apart.
Twitcher looked warily from one to the other. “What’s going on?”
There was an awkward silence. How long had Twitcher been there? How much had he heard?
“Tyrell’s grabbed power. All of it,” Mico said finally, trying to keep things businesslike.
“Not good,” said Twitcher pensively.
“And things may well get worse before they get better.” It was the only spin Mico could think of to explain the wave of renewed langur aggression that was coming.
Twitcher looked down at the hordes of monkeys crowded into the gardens; they occupied every nook and cranny, playing, grooming, idling in the sun, digging for grubs in the shadows.
“It’s going to give us a big problem,” Twitcher said grimly. “These gardens are the only safe place for rhesus now. But every day more arrive, from all corners of the city. I don’t know how many more we can take.”
“You’ll have to find room somehow,” said Mico.
Twitcher examined him closely. “If Tyrell keeps pushing for expansion, sooner or later he’s going to find it hard to keep control.”
“Don’t underestimate him.”
“Nevertheless, you can’t patrol the entire city.”
“Tyrell knows all other monkeys are frightened of the langur. No one dares raise a fist against them.”
“He knows that, does he?” Twitcher nodded. “He knows that….”
Mico and Papina looked at him, waiting for an explanation, but Twitcher just turned and leaped across to the low hanging branch, then vanished into the tree canopy.
—
A few days later, Breri was on a routine patrol in the city. The langur elites were in good spirits, heading home after an uneventful shift, when suddenly they heard monkey shrieks close by, then the shatter of glass.
Stoneball, the patrol commander, immediately went to battle stations. Homing in on the violent racket, the langurs stalked toward the mouth of a narrow passage. They peered into the gloom, but dusk had cloaked the alley with impenetrable shadows.
“Breri, guard the entrance with Nappo and Mudpaw. The rest, with me, in there,” Stoneball said, pointing into the blackness. “If they get past us, make damn sure they don’t get past you,” he said to Breri with a grim smile.
Deploying his monkeys into two files, Stoneball advanced into the alley; Breri watched as they were swallowed by the gloom; then he and the two remaining monkeys spread out and braced themselves.
Suddenly the howling and smashing stopped, leaving an eerie silence. Whoever was down there knew they’d been cornered.
“Those rhesus thugs don’t sound so cocky now,” smirked Breri. He strained his ears, trying to pick up a clue about what was happening…and then he heard a weird, shuffling sound, like feet being dragged across cobbles.
Silence again.
Then, without warning, something came flying out of the darkness toward them, a weirdly familiar shape tumbling through the air like a huge rag doll. Breri squinted. It was a monkey. Before he could dodge, the monkey landed at Breri’s feet with a breathless slap.
It took him a few moments to recognize Stoneball’s face peering through a curtain of blood that streamed from a gash across the top of his head.
“Sir!” Breri gasped as he dropped to his knees to help. He could smell the fear on Stoneball’s breath; he wasn’t dead yet, but his eyes were rolling in his head.
“Save us…” Stoneball gasped as his head lolled back.
Anger flared up inside Breri. Who had dared ambush an elite patrol?! Quickly laying Stoneball on a doorstep, he ordered Nappo and Mudpaw to follow him into the darkness of the alley.
They advanced slowly, ears alert to every creak and rustle, eyes straining to adjust to the gloom, clubs raised high, ready to lash out.
“Uurrrrrghh…”
It was more of a gasp than a cry for help. And really close by. Breri froze and signaled to the others to stop. In the silence they heard it again, like air bubbling through liquid. Breri looked down and saw shapes on the ground. He raised his club, but something made him hesitate. One of the shapes reached up, and Breri realized that these weren’t the enemy, they were langurs. His own patrol were lying battered and bloody, sprawled in the filth of the alley.
“L–look…,” on
e of them gasped, struggling to breathe through the blood dribbling from his mouth.
“It’s all right,” gasped Breri. “We’re here now.”
But the trooper gripped Breri tightly, forcing him to listen.
“Look…up…”
Breri gazed up into the grim shadows…and froze as he saw the whites of dozens of monkey eyes staring at him. A shudder of dread ran down his spine; then a guttural shriek tore through the darkness.
“Eeeaaarrrrugggggghhhhhh!!!”
It was the sound of malice, bent on destruction.
“GO!” screamed Breri to his troops. “Get them out of here!”
They grabbed their fallen comrades and desperately started to drag them to the mouth of the alley. But it was too late—rocks and debris started raining down on them, glass bottles smashing onto the cobbles all around.
“Don’t stop!” yelled Breri to his troops, as with each step he felt the attack intensify—missiles were thumping into his body, bruising and lacerating.
Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Breri knew if he paused even for a moment he would be overwhelmed. He tightened his grip on the blood-sticky arm of the trooper as he dragged him along the ground…trying to blank out the chaos around him, ignoring the pain, focusing only on the light at the end of the alley…desperate to escape.
—
The verbal report was stripped of all grisly details.
“One of our patrols was ambushed. We sustained some casualties” was how General Pogo explained the incident to Lord Tyrell.
“Rhesus!” growled Tyrell darkly.
“They hid in the shadows. Our patrol couldn’t see for sure, but who else would attack us?”
“This won’t do,” said Tyrell coldly. “It won’t do at all.”
“Our soldiers displayed great courage under fire,” said the general, trying to offer up some good news.
“Of course. I expect no less. Make sure they’re well rewarded.”
Rewards were important, especially as Tyrell sensed that the coming days would test langur nerves to the limit.
And so it proved.
The following night, three beehives were thrown over the walls of the Eastern Province in an attack mimicking the techniques used to seize the land in the first place. It was a taunt designed to provoke. Someone out there wasn’t afraid of the langur and they were determined to show it.
Monkey Wars Page 14
