Monkey Wars

by Richard Kurti

  “Barbaries learn fast.”

  With that, Hummingbird opened the cell door and Trumble was free.

  Still in shock, he hurried down the corridor, desperate to get away from this place of shadows. He should have been burning with indignation, furious at his mistreatment; he should have gone straight back to the cemetery and told everyone about the appalling behavior of the Barbary thugs.

  But he didn’t.

  Because Trumble felt grateful. Grateful to have been given his freedom back, to have a chance to prove his loyalty. Grateful not to be lying in a pool of his own blood.

  From now on he would be quiet and dutiful; he would teach his counting method to the Barbaries; he would do exactly as he was told.

  Whatever happened, he did not want to go back to that cell. Ever.

  —

  Even though he was isolated in his convalescent room, Mico heard about the purge. It shocked him to the core—if loyal monkeys like his father were not safe, Mico knew that his life in the troop was now untenable. He needed to find a way out.

  The problem was knowing who to trust in this new climate of fear.

  An answer came from the most unlikely quarter, on the day smoke pots and vine ropes were banned. The official reason for the prohibition was that Gu-Nah’s innovations were difficult to use, but in truth it was because they relied on the individual being in control. Now everything was about Central Command.

  In desperation Gu-Nah went to Mico and begged him to intervene.

  Mico gazed at his old drill instructor. Gu-Nah had a strong face, simple, loyal, battle scarred, but already its strength was starting to be eaten by signs of age—white hairs flecked his fur; his athletic body was carrying too much weight; his eyes looked tired, as if they’d seen too much life. Yet for all his weariness, Gu-Nah was the only langur who had the strength to speak his mind.

  “You have to run,” said Mico. “Go into hiding.”

  Gu-Nah hesitated, uncertain if his loyalty was being tested.

  “But this is my home, Colonel. Everything I know is here. I can’t just leave.”

  “Then you’ll die here. Sooner than you think.”

  The words sent a cold chill through Gu-Nah’s bones.

  “Has he…has he given the order?” Gu-Nah asked fearfully.

  Mico shook his head. “I don’t know. But I can see why Lord Tyrell would want you dead. And that’s reason enough to run. I’ve heard talk of railway sidings where the troop once lived. Somewhere near a button factory?”

  “I know them.”

  “No one will look for you there. Too many bad memories. Try and survive as a lone monkey…until the moment is right.”

  “What moment? What’s going to change?” Gu-Nah asked, desperately. “How will running away help anything?”

  Mico shook his head. “I don’t know. All we can do is prepare for an uncertain future…and hope.”

  —

  It was the pain that woke him; then he felt the warm stickiness and smelled the blood.

  Mico looked at his hand, throbbing with pain, shocked to see lacerated skin and bits of torn flesh. Hauling himself up, he started licking the thick clot of blood away, and then with a jolt he understood. In his fevered sleep he had been clawing at his own flesh, trying to erase the Intelligence Division tattoo from his palm.

  Staring at his bloody hand, Mico was now forced to confront his guilt.

  In the lonely predawn, he finally realized with dreadful clarity what a coward he’d been. All his attempts to bring about peace had just been a smokescreen obscuring his own fear. His craving for acceptance had been his biggest weakness.

  Now Mico could see that Tyrell’s corrupt will sucked the life out of everything it touched. Now he could see that conflict was the only solution. A conflict that would define who Mico was and what he stood for.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but he could no longer live a life of lies. Mico had to destroy what he had helped to create.

  And his only chance of doing that was to get to the one monkey he knew he could trust with his life: Papina.

  Making the decision changed everything.

  Mico tensed his muscles and with a huge effort hauled himself up. He swayed unsteadily and reached out to hold the wall, standing on his own feet for the first time since his collapse.

  He tried to force his legs to move, but immediately stumbled and fell.

  Crawling out of his room on hands and knees, Mico dragged himself toward the gently gurgling waters that ran the length of the Great Vault. When he reached the pool’s edge, he crouched, gazing into the dancing reflections of the moon in the water.

  Slowly Mico rocked forward, and closing his eyes, he plunged into the pool head first.

  And sank.

  The water was cold and gripped his body like a vise. He urged his limbs to kick, but it was as if he was paralyzed.

  Mico knew he would have to dig deeper, much deeper. How could he hope to challenge a tyrant if he couldn’t even command his own body?

  Tensing his lungs, he opened his mouth and screamed. A bubble of air burst from him as the water rushed in, and suddenly Mico’s limbs twitched. At first they thrashed wildly; then, finding their coordination, his feet slammed on the bottom of the pool and pushed. He shot up, breaking the surface and gasping in great lungfuls of air.

  He hauled himself from the water and rolled over until he was gazing up at the moon; then he started to laugh.

  It was the beginning of a remarkable recovery. Every day Mico set himself a new challenge to rebuild his wasted muscles. Each day he pushed further and harder, grinding on with an unbreakable will, relishing the feeling of strength returning to his mind and body.

  —

  But outside the seclusion of the Great Vault, Tyrell’s regime was also flexing its muscles.

  Determined to stamp his identity on langur life, Tyrell scoured the cemetery, studying the strange human markings on the gravestones, until he came across one that particularly fascinated him.

  The way it simultaneously pointed in two directions resonated with Tyrell’s cunning mind, and from that moment on it became his symbol—the Twopoint.

  He ordered a team of monkeys to carve the Twopoint above the entrance to the Great Vault, the Cadet School, the food stores and the summer house. Then they set to work on the stone pillars at the entrance to both the cemetery and the Eastern Province.

  Soon the elites were carving the symbol above the doors of their living quarters, and before long, any monkey who wanted to make a public display of loyalty carved Twopoints on the outside of their homes.

  It spread across the langur empire, until the innocent symbol had been thoroughly corrupted by Tyrell’s dark purpose.

  —

  Stealthily Mico left his room and made his way down the length of the pool. That morning he’d seen Hummingbird, General Pogo and other senior advisors enter the Great Vault, heading for Tyrell’s inner sanctum. Even though the sun was now at its highest, the monkeys still hadn’t emerged. Which meant something was being plotted.

  When he got to the entrance, Mico hesitated. A strip of green marble was inlaid across the floor—on this side of it was the quiet sanctuary of his convalescence, on the other were the corridors of power. Mico ran his fingers over the cool marble line, the border between the two worlds.

  He closed his eyes, trying to find his old confidence. Once, he had been a monkey who roamed the city, knew his way through the crumbling backstreets and over the patchwork of roofs….He had to be that monkey again.

  Snapping his eyes open, Mico forced himself to step over the threshold.

  —

  The Council Chamber was being guarded by two elites, who were surprised to see Mico.

  “Glad you’re better, Colonel,” said the senior guard.

  “Nice to be back,” Mico said. But as he made for the door leading to the chamber, the senior guard stepped in front of him.

  “Lord Tyrell is in private session, sir.”


  “Nothing is private to me. I have authority in all areas,” Mico said, finding his old voice.

  The two guards exchanged an uncomfortable glance. “Perhaps Lord Tyrell could come and see you once he’s finished?”

  “Perhaps not,” replied Mico. And with an uncompromising smile, he pushed past the guards and entered.

  The discussion inside immediately stopped.

  Mico saw Tyrell sitting at the head of the meeting, next to him was Hummingbird, then came General Pogo. None of the other faces in the room were familiar.

  For a moment there was a dreadful silence. Then Tyrell snapped to his senses.

  “Mico! How good to see you,” he declared, and scampered over. “This monkey has been one of the guiding lights of the troop!” Tyrell said like a proud parent. “Our business can wait a moment.”

  The monkeys all started chatting among themselves, while Tyrell inspected Mico.

  “They told me you were getting stronger, but this is remarkable.”

  “There’s so much going on, how could I languish in a sick room?” said Mico, probing for information.

  Tyrell hesitated.

  “Mico…it’s precisely because things are moving so fast that you need to be completely recovered before stepping back into the fray.”

  “But I am better, my lord. And I want to play my part.”

  “Your seat is by my side. You know that,” Tyrell said, gently steering Mico back toward the door. “But I can’t put your health at risk by burdening you with the pressures of leadership so soon.”

  “I’m much stronger now—”

  “When I saw you, lying collapsed on the floor, drained and exhausted…” Tyrell shook his head sadly. “I beg you, look after yourself. And think of Hister.” He chuckled suggestively. “Maybe now is the time the two of you should start providing the troop with more of those brilliant minds.”

  So that was how it stood.

  Mico knew that something of huge importance was being discussed here, but he was not to be a part of it; he was now shut out of the higher echelons of power.

  Mico looked over at the huddle of anonymous monkeys. You could almost smell the fear and paranoia as their eyes darted this way and that, constantly assessing where the balance of power lay. It was vital that Mico not arouse their suspicion, so he smiled dutifully and bowed his head. “You’re right, my lord. I’m sorry. In my eagerness to serve—”

  “Don’t apologize, Mico. Your loyalty does you proud.”

  With that, Tyrell patted Mico on the back and ushered him out of the room.

  It was just as the moon emerged from behind Hanuman’s stone head that Papina woke from an uneasy dream. For days now she had found it impossible to sleep properly—normal life in the city had been turned on its head because the humans were in the throes of a religious festival.

  Countless shrines adorned with gaudy statues and blazing candles had sprung up like mushrooms along the main thoroughfares; rooftops were decked with lights, so that from dusk till dawn the city became a glittering reflection of the star-studded sky; street musicians jostled on every corner, each banging and blasting louder than the next.

  Temple Gardens didn’t have any of the shrines, but the festival made the rhesus’ lives difficult in other ways: all the street markets had temporarily relocated, making the day-to-day business of pilfering food much harder, and the incessant noise of chanting and fireworks surrounded them and seemed to drag on all night.

  What made it worse for Papina was that the other monkeys had quickly adapted to the clamor, and her insomnia was aggravated by their contented snores and grunts. Unable to lie still any longer, she decided to go for a wander, and clambered all the way up to the top of the Hanuman statue. But as she gazed out across the noisy skyline, the memories assailed her. She had tried so hard to forget what she couldn’t control, to close her heart to Mico, but these long, lonely nights always let the past back in.

  Then, strangely, just as Papina was thinking about the langur, she glimpsed one, moving across the rooftops. Her eyes scoured the darkness….There it was again, the sweep of a long tail past the cold whiteness of the moon.

  Papina tensed—for a few moments she wondered if Mico had finally returned, but in this light it was impossible to be sure. She watched as the langur leaned over the edge of the roof and signaled to someone in the street below. Papina’s eyes followed….

  Shadows…lots of shadows, teeming through the backstreets.

  Shadows that were coalescing into thick lines, blocking off the streets.

  Papina spun round—the same sinister movement was building in all the streets around the gardens, encircling them. She felt fear in her mouth, a bitter, all too familiar taste.

  A rogue firework exploded, and in the bloom of decaying light, Papina glimpsed the entire langur army bearing down on Temple Gardens, led by a terrifying horde of Barbary apes.

  She screamed at the top of her voice, but none of the sleeping rhesus so much as stirred.

  Urgently she scrambled down the statue and dropped into the sleeping throng.

  “GET UP! GET UP!”

  Finally they started to wake, confused and irritated.

  “LANGUR! They’ve come for us!”

  Too late. Suddenly a ghastly, deathlike roar echoed through the streets. It froze the marrow in Papina’s bones. She spun round and saw the langur army charge.

  Mayhem erupted. The gardens became a heaving mass of rhesus running for their lives; but in whatever direction they fled, they found Barbaries bearing down on them, herding the rhesus into as small an area as possible.

  An enraged elder charged at the Barbary line, desperately trying to break free, but the Barbaries slashed their blades mercilessly, drawing crimson lines across his face. The elder staggered backward, collapsed, and was trampled underfoot by the langur troops surging forward.

  Recoiling from the blades, the rhesus crushed each other further. Hordes of monkeys were now jammed together with no way out.

  Desperately Papina tried to wriggle free, but her arms were pinned to her sides. She could feel the heat of the crush, smell fear on the breath of faces pushed into hers.

  Suddenly she heard a flurry of orders shouted down the langur line; then miraculously a squad of attacking troops fell back, creating a break in the line.

  Freedom.

  The rhesus rushed for the gap, pouring out of the gardens. They hurtled down the street away from the Barbaries, and for a few glorious moments it felt like escape…

  Until they saw that they were running into the sheer wall of a tea warehouse that cut across the street.

  A trap.

  Papina spun round, tried to run back, warn the others, but it was too late. More and more monkeys were rushing toward her.

  As the cul-de-sac began to fill, the monkeys desperately began to clamber on top of one another, fighting to keep their heads above the crush, terrified of being trampled.

  Papina leaped onto a side wall and managed to scramble up a solitary drainpipe. Then she saw the true horror of the Barbary tactics—a massive langur line was re-forming across the end of the street, an impregnable barrier of brute force.

  “ADVANCE!” The word bounced off the surrounding buildings, galvanizing the hordes of langur.

  And the massacre began.

  Papina could only watch in horror as the langur front line raised their clubs, and with primal pleasure brought them crashing down on rhesus skulls. The rhesus fell, crumpling to the ground, their bodies twitching, as the langur troops stepped over them and raised their clubs to strike again.

  Hanging from the drainpipe, Papina was deafened by the screams and howls that rent the air, as monkeys struggling in vain to retreat jammed harder into the throng.

  “Please! Take him!” Papina heard the desperate cry and saw a young mother lifting her infant toward her.

  Papina swung down, dangling off the pipe with one hand, and managed to snatch the youngster. She threw it on her back and could feel its
whole body trembling.

  “Don’t let go!”

  The young monkey dug its nails into Papina’s fur and whimpered helplessly.

  Seeing the rescue, more rhesus leaped for the drainpipe, but it was too flimsy to hold their weight. The screws ripped from the wall and the bottom section buckled away, forcing Papina to scramble higher.

  Now she could only watch, powerless, as the rhesus were annihilated. The fear on the faces beneath her blurred into one frantic image of despair.

  “PAPINA!” A scream rang out. She glimpsed Fig a little way off in the throng, desperately holding up her two infants by the scruff of their necks.

  “Pass them over!” Papina screamed back. And somehow, in the midst of all the pandemonium, monkeys who knew they were about to die tried to preserve life, any life.

  They grabbed the baby monkeys and started to pass them over the heads of the crowd, hand to hand like a bundle of stolen fruit.

  Fig howled with relief as she watched her precious young roll away from her, across the heaving bodies.

  And then the first one dropped out of sight into the writhing mass.

  “NO!!!”

  But Fig’s alarm spread more confusion—the second infant peered into the darkness searching for his brother, slipped from the hands holding him and vanished.

  Fig tore at the monkeys around her, trying to get past, but in the mayhem it was hopeless—everyone was now scrambling on top of one another, limbs clawing to reach an impossible freedom.

  And all the time the pitiless langur line advanced, possessed by brutal bloodlust. The air was filled with murderous grunts; the troops relished the power in their hands.

  Suddenly one of the Barbary commanders noticed Papina clinging to the drainpipe. She saw him shout orders to a squad of Barbaries who lingered in reserve, and moments later rocks thundered into the wall around her.

  The infant on her back started screeching hysterically. Papina realized there was nothing more she could do here. She had to escape, save this one life clinging to her while she still had a chance. Clawing at the wobbling pipe, she shinnied up to the roof and scrambled away.