The ape started writhing, enraged and in pain.
“AGAIN!” screamed Mico.
Trembling, the rhesus raised his arms and struck again, sending a sickening crack echoing round the street.
The Barbary stopped struggling, his eyes swam as they tried to focus; then he heaved a huge sigh and collapsed into the dirt, unconscious.
For a moment Mico and the rhesus volunteers just stood there, breathless.
“Well, that’s one way to open a coconut,” said Twitcher, pointing to the trail of sticky fluid trickling across the street. The grim joke snapped them all to their senses.
Working with frantic speed, they bound the Barbary with the remaining vines, then dragged him away through the dark backstreets.
The Barbary awoke to pitch black and a searing headache.
He tried to stand up, but it was no good—he’d been tied to a pillar.
Everything was a blur of confusion.
How had he got here?
He struggled to piece together the jumble of memory fragments. He’d been walking down the street…there had been shouting and screaming…a fight…a gang attacked him…then suddenly everything went black.
Not much to go on.
The Barbary blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the gloom.
His nose drew in the strange medley of smells—stagnant water, dirty drains, old smoke…and a langur monkey.
Suddenly he remembered that smell. It was the same langur who had attacked him.
“What are Barbary apes doing in the city?” Mico’s voice echoed in the gloom of the deserted rooms where the langur practiced street fighting.
He stepped out of the shadows carrying an iron bar and glared at the ape. “Answer me!”
The Barbary looked Mico up and down, then with a derisive snort said, “You’re making a big mistake.”
Mico felt anger rising in his gut—the Barbary was laughing at him. No fear, no respect.
“Untie these vines and run along. Before I get mad,” the ape said contemptuously.
The arrogance tipped Mico into rage—he raised the iron bar and brought it smashing down on the Barbary’s torso.
“I am not an infant!” he yelled. “I am a langur colonel! And I want answers!”
He smacked the iron bar down again, venting all his frustration.
The battle-hardened ape grunted as he absorbed the pain. He shook his body and dug in for the long, painful haul of interrogation.
“Have to do better than that,” he muttered.
Mico could feel fury boiling inside him, but he had to control it. Information, he wanted information, and he couldn’t get it if the ape was unconscious, or dead.
“What are Barbaries doing in our city?”
“Your city?” the ape scoffed.
Mico thrust his face close to the prisoner. “Are you going to invade?”
Silence.
“I can’t hear you.”
Silence.
Mico jammed the end of the bar into the Barbary’s foot. “Tell me!”
The Barbary grunted, fighting the pain.
“Is there going to be an invasion?”
Mico pushed harder, feeling the bones creak under the metal. “Because you need to think again. This city is not for the taking.”
Suddenly the Barbary let out an almighty roar, startling Mico, jolting him backward. The ape chuckled, amused at how easy it was to unsettle his interrogator.
Humiliation cut into Mico; his plans were unraveling and it was all because of the Barbaries. He lashed out with the iron bar, thudding into the ape’s chest, knocking his breath away.
“Why are you stirring up war between the monkey troops?”
He swung again, the bar cracked across the ape’s knuckles.
“Why are you framing the rhesus?”
He smashed down on the Barbary’s toes.
“Tell me! Or you don’t leave here alive.” Mico said the words with a coldness so ugly, it was as if death itself had spoken.
For the first time doubt flickered across the Barbary’s face; he had pushed this monkey to the brink.
“One more time,” the ape warned, “let me go. Maybe you’ll live to tell the tale. Maybe.”
Enough. Mico would take no more defiance. He raised the iron bar and channeled all his rage into it; he felt powerful, unstoppable; he held the Barbary’s life in his hands, and he braced himself to bring the bar smashing down on the ape’s skull, to finish this once and for all—
When suddenly there was a noise outside. Mico spun round as a monkey appeared in the doorway, silhouetted.
“Well done,” the shadow said drily.
Mico squinted, trying to identify him.
“You’ve got to the heart of the matter,” the shadow continued. Then it stepped into the room, and Mico saw that it was Lord Tyrell.
“Made of strong stuff, aren’t they?” Tyrell said. He opened the palm of his hand to reveal a small metal blade, just like the ones Mico had found in the undercroft.
Tyrell swung across the room and thrust the blade against the Barbary’s throat. “Frighteningly strong.”
Mico braced himself for the ape’s blood to spurt across the floor when, strangely, Tyrell stretched his arm behind the ape, and with one swipe cut through the vines that tied him to the pillar.
Panic tore through Mico. “They are the enemy!” he cried. “The resistance is a gang of Barbaries!”
Tyrell just smiled. “I know.”
Mico looked on, astonished, as the Barbary stood up, rubbed his bruised body, then turned respectfully to Tyrell.
“You want me to silence him?” the ape asked, casting a sideways glance at Mico.
Tyrell laughed. “Silence him? No, no. He is one of our finest monkeys!”
The Barbary grunted, disappointed but obedient.
“I appreciate the thought, however,” added Tyrell. “As I appreciate the heroic effort you’ve made tonight.” He patted the ape like a pet. “You’ll be handsomely rewarded.”
Pacified by the promise, the Barbary turned and paced out of the room.
Mico looked at Tyrell, stunned. “You—you know him?”
“I own him,” said Tyrell with a smile. “Him and all his gang.”
The iron bar slipped from Mico’s grip and clattered to the floor. Everything suddenly felt unreal, as if the ground was melting under his feet.
“If we weren’t on the same side I’d be quite worried about you,” Tyrell said with a knowing smile. “You have penetrated the deepest secret of the langur troop.”
Mico stared at his leader, frightened and confused. “Tell me everything. The truth.”
“The truth is sometimes ugly.”
“Tell me!”
Tyrell knew he had to be patient. Mico was understandably in some shock.
“As we know, many seasons ago the rhesus murdered a human leader, which is why the humans turned to us to restore order.” Tyrell nodded pensively. “Well, that’s not quite how it happened. You see, there was no murder.”
Mico stared at Tyrell in disbelief.
“Oh, the rhesus were wild, for sure. But they didn’t kill anyone. The human leader tripped and fell from his balcony. He panicked. It was a simple accident. But that’s not how the humans saw it. They saw malice and were afraid.
“So Gospodar led us into battle and we punished the rhesus. But in all the euphoria, I was the only monkey to see the fragility of our victory. Because I understood that the langur were only needed as long as the rhesus were dangerous. Once the humans felt safe, they would reject us again. So I seized the moment. Covertly, I…” Tyrell paused to find just the right words. “I engineered another incident, to make it look as if the rhesus were waging war on the people of the city. Again the humans encouraged us to deal with the problem. And so it went on. Every time we vanquished the rhesus, the humans gave us more food, better lands.”
A broad smile broke across Tyrell’s face. “Do you know the funniest part? Gospod
ar took all the credit, but even he didn’t know that it was me who was controlling the whole situation.”
Tyrell cradled Mico’s face in his hands and looked at him earnestly. “You are only the second monkey to know the truth.”
“So…so our entire history is built on a lie?”
Tyrell bridled at the choice of words. “Our history is built on an idea,” he corrected. “And not only our history, but our future as well. The bonnets didn’t kidnap a human—there never was a baby.” Tyrell said it with such twisted pride. “But the idea of the baby won us the Eastern Province.”
“The bonnet macaques…they were wiped out.” Mico couldn’t hide the disgust in his voice.
“That was unfortunate,” Tyrell agreed. “Unfortunate, but necessary. There can only be one top monkey, and that is us.”
Mico’s mind flashed back to the battle of the summer house and all its bloodshed. “So we’re murderers…the entire langur troop?”
Tyrell was annoyed; he had been expecting admiration not moral judgment. “Mico, you have to understand how power works,” he said edgily. “Power is like a deadly snake—if you don’t have your hands tightly round its neck, it’ll destroy you.”
Mico tried to back away, but Tyrell grabbed him. “You don’t know what it means to be downtrodden! What it means to sleep in a slum or beg for rotten scraps of food!” The emotion quivered in his voice; he drew a breath, trying to regain his composure.
“And that’s good. Really. No langur should have to endure that humiliation. But if you had, you would know that a little deception is a small price to pay for what we have now.”
“And what about him?” Mico pointed to the pillar where the ape had been tied. “He’s not in the past.”
“It’s all part of my bigger plan. You see, there never was a rhesus resistance,” acknowledged Tyrell. “They’re too cowardly to attack us. They should have fought back. I needed them to fight back—that’s why I went to such lengths to dump their bodies at the scenes of the attacks.”
Tyrell stepped closer to Mico, drawing him in. “The entire langur troop looks to us for leadership in these difficult times. You and me.”
Mico scrutinized Tyrell, desperately trying to come to terms with how deep the conspiracy ran. “But when this is all over, the Barbaries won’t just walk away. They’re killers.”
“The Barbaries will follow me anywhere,” replied Tyrell with utter conviction. “I am worshipped in a way Gospodar could only dream about. There is nothing I cannot do.”
“What more do you want to do?” Mico asked fearfully.
Tyrell studied Mico’s eyes; he could see the doubt lurking there and he needed to dispel it—Mico was too intelligent to lose.
“I’m sorry I deceived you, Mico. I’m sorry you had to learn the truth like this. But now there are no secrets between us. I need to know that you are still with me.”
It was a dangerous moment. The truth Mico had stumbled on was devastatingly powerful. If the langur knew how they had been deceived and manipulated, how their entire history was built on lies, the troop would collapse into anarchy.
Everything was at stake now; everything hung in the balance.
With frightening clarity, Mico realized that unless he convinced Tyrell of his loyalty, he would never leave this room alive. For all he knew, Barbaries were waiting outside the room right now, ready to deal with him swiftly should he become an obstacle.
Right and wrong would have to wait. Mico had to survive the next few moments.
So, with great solemnity, Mico prostrated himself on the floor with his arms spread wide and his nose in the dirt. “Forgive me for being unsure, Lord Tyrell. There’s so much to understand. It’s an honor to serve you…to be part of the world you’ve so brilliantly constructed.”
Mico waited in silence to see if his lie would be swallowed. All he wanted was to get away from Tyrell, to find a place where he could think through the chaos in his mind.
He felt Tyrell’s hands grip his shoulders and lift him up. “You’ll serve by my side, Mico, not at my feet. I couldn’t have done this without you. Your brilliant mind, stuffed so full of ideas, has made all this possible.”
The Supreme Leader of the Langur Troop, Overlord and Protector of the Provinces, held Mico tightly in his arms, convinced of the undying loyalty of his faithful colonel.
But inwardly Mico shuddered.
Silence.
More than anything that was what Mico needed. Silence in which to try and untangle the twisted mess of his life. But he had forgotten that today was Empire Day, the traditional celebration of the langur conquest of the Eastern Province, a day about as far from silence as you could get.
He arrived home to find Hister setting out piles of fruit and dates, cleaning the rooms with a bundle of grass and laying new palm leaves on the floor. As soon as she saw him, she hurried over. “You look tired, Mico. Why not get some sleep before everyone arrives?”
Hister was always so concerned for him, but they both knew there was no time to rest; their families would be arriving shortly in a noisy rush. Mico would just have to grit his teeth and get through this.
Breri and Bandha were the first to turn up, followed by Trumble and Kima carrying yet more food. Hister had three younger sisters, who arrived screeching and cavorting with delight as their parents struggled to control them. In no time Mico’s home was transformed into an energetic whirl of wrestling and chasing. While the youngsters ran riot, the males talked about troop politics and the females congregated by the piles of food to share gossip.
The conversations swirled round Mico like warm currents of air on a summer evening. He should have taken such comfort from them, been nourished by their familiarity, but all he could feel was an intense loneliness. He was adrift in the heart of his own family. They seemed to occupy a different reality, an uncomplicated, unquestioning reality where everything meant what it said.
A snatch of conversation drifted past him—Breri was holding forth, broadcasting his half-baked thoughts. “Every animal has its place—it’s what makes the city work. Lord Tyrell’s our leader—that’s his place. I’m an elite—that’s my place. But the rhesus, they don’t know where they belong.”
Trumble nodded, drawn in by Breri’s catchy phrases.
“First they take on the humans,” Breri continued. “Then they wage war on us. Someone has to deal with them, and right now we’re the only ones with the guts.”
What a fool, thought Mico. As usual, his brother went for the easiest answer. Never mind that it was ill considered, it justified Breri’s whole approach to life: follow the strongest voice, because asking questions was too much like hard work.
There was a sudden flurry of excitement outside. Hister put her head round the door to see what was going on, then gave a laugh of delight. She came back into the room followed by some young cadets who were carrying two large baskets between them.
“For Colonel Mico’s family, with the compliments of Lord Tyrell,” the cadets announced as they put down baskets stuffed full with honeycombs, the rarest fruits and stolen chocolate, all garnished with handfuls of sugar cubes.
A delighted cheer erupted and the monkeys vied to congratulate Mico. Trumble and Kima were bursting with pride that their son had achieved such status, Hister clung to him possessively and Breri gloated while greedily eyeing the food.
Mico was the only one who wasn’t impressed; he alone knew his life was a sham, that he was an utter failure.
For all his power, he was impotent—if he exposed the truth about Tyrell’s regime, he would shatter langur society; if he perpetuated the lie, he would be propping up the tyrant.
Worse still was the guilty knowledge stabbing his heart that this was as much his regime as Tyrell’s. He had helped him grab the reins of power; he had manipulated public opinion and created a weapon of terror. Mico had set out to achieve peace, but had ended up escalating the war.
He had been a fool, and he had been fooled. And a pile of de
ad bodies was the terrible price of his mistake.
Mico shuddered as he remembered the slaughtered bonnets; Papina’s mother, plucked from her bath and butchered; and even Lord Gospodar’s agony-racked body on the floor of the Great Vault. Having boasted about using poisoned kiwis to vanquish rival cadets, Tyrell wouldn’t have hesitated to use similar means to remove Gospodar.
As Mico’s family feasted on the delicacies, a feverish heat suddenly gripped his body; it was as if the air inside was too heavy to breathe. Excusing himself, he slipped away from the celebration.
—
Mico cut a lonely figure standing on the roof of his tomb, struggling for breath. He looked at his trembling hands and saw the Intelligence Division tattoo on his palm. Once it had been a badge of office, a symbol that gave him power and influence; now it was a mark of guilt, indelible.
He felt his balance failing and he slumped down, paralysis tearing through his body. A wave of fear engulfed him as he realized he must be dying, his body finally breaking under the strain.
And then a moment of hope. Perhaps death would atone for his crimes, absolve him of guilt.
The panic subsided, replaced by calm resignation. He fell backward and let the peace overwhelm him. No more fighting, no more struggle; the gray haze of resignation numbed everything as it took control of Mico’s little body.
He saw a single cloud, white against the deep blue sky, drifting past high above, utterly indifferent to the fate of monkeys below.
Then Mico closed his eyes and fell into darkness.
No one wanted to come near him. The langur had a fear of sickness, especially one as strange as this, and they stayed away.
Only Hister stuck by Mico. As he lay motionless and silent on the floor of their sleeping chamber, she watched over him, gently bathing his body with water.
At dawn, Tyrell arrived—he’d only just been told the news, and he scrutinized Mico closely.
“Has he spoken?”
“No, my lord,” replied Hister.
“Did he say anything…strange, before he collapsed?”
“Strange?”
“Unusual. About things in the past, maybe?”
Monkey Wars Page 19
