Monkey Wars

by Richard Kurti

  People. That was all she could think.

  Head toward people—the langur wouldn’t kill in front of humans. So Papina headed toward the fireworks being let off in the center of the city, her heart pounding, her mind overwhelmed, letting her instincts take over.

  Eventually she found herself on a low rooftop overlooking a shrine where revelers were enjoying some impromptu street dancing.

  The very last thing Papina wanted right now was to be around the drunken laughter of humans. She felt numb, as if someone had scooped out her insides. But for now this was probably the safest place in the city.

  —

  That the whole massacre was carried out to the distant echoes of music was an irony not lost on Tyrell.

  “Where were the humans when the rhesus needed them most?” he said to Hummingbird as he looked down at the body-strewn street. “They were busy worshipping their gods.”

  Hummingbird just nodded. He was a monkey of action, not fancy words. He had been commanded to take the gardens and eliminate the rhesus, and he’d done it with brutal efficiency. Now he and his troops were looking forward to the rewards that would be lavished on them.

  There was, however, one last bit of dirty work.

  “And the bodies?” Tyrell asked.

  “Leave them for the rats,” replied Hummingbird.

  Tyrell shook his head. “Too slow. And too messy.” He waved his hands with disgust at the mass of twisted corpses. “We can’t risk the humans seeing this. Dispose of the evidence.”

  Tyrell turned and started to stride away, surrounded by advisors, when suddenly he winced—something sharp had stabbed his foot. He looked down and saw some colored pieces on the ground.

  “What’s that?”

  One of his advisors obligingly scooped up the bits and handed them to Tyrell—they were the remains of a carved object that must have been trampled underfoot during the operation.

  Curious, Tyrell pieced the fragments together, until he could make out three rhesus monkeys, one covering its eyes, one its ears, and the third its mouth.

  “Pathetic,” he scoffed, and with irritated contempt dropped the broken carving into the gutter.

  Hummingbird watched Tyrell go. There was no fight, no battle the Barbaries would shy away from, but taking away the bodies? His warriors could not be seen to demean themselves with that kind of work, so he delegated the job to General Pogo, then took his troops back to the cemetery to bathe.

  Through the night Pogo organized langur patrols to carry away rhesus bodies. One by one they were scattered in ditches and dumps across the city, so that for weeks to come, bewildered humans would find decomposing monkeys in bins, stuffed down sewage pipes, hidden in derelict buildings.

  —

  As the sun crept above the city skyline, a few more rhesus survivors emerged. Seeing Papina on the rooftop gave them the courage to scamper from the shadows and huddle next to her. Some she knew; most were strangers—before the massacre, Temple Gardens had become so overcrowded it was impossible to know all the faces.

  Each survivor had a tale to tell about the night’s horror—some had been out scavenging and, returning to find the attack in full frenzy, fled for their lives; others had hidden under dead bodies and waited until the massacre was over before scrambling into nearby buildings.

  But some wished they hadn’t survived—like Fig and Twitcher. When Papina saw them she ran over and hugged them tightly.

  They just crouched, silent and unresponsive. No words could begin to express the pain of their grief—both their precious infants had been killed. Fig and Twitcher stood in a place of total darkness; they had survived with nothing to live for.

  Papina had always regretted the fact that she wasn’t a mother, but at least today it meant that she didn’t have to suffer the harrowing pain that came with maternal love. Now her loneliness was a source of strength, and the other monkeys sensed it too. Instinctively they gathered round, waiting for her to lead them.

  As the humans finally ran out of energy and staggered home to their beds, Papina knew they couldn’t stay on the roof any longer—it was too exposed and still too close to the langur.

  As gently as she could, Papina organized the survivors; there were about twenty altogether—she had to assume the rest of the troop were dead. With broken hearts, the desperate band of refugees followed her down from the roof and away through the streets.

  Where were they going? She didn’t know. In this new world, where could a rhesus go to live in peace?

  One thing was certain, never again would she trust a langur. Never. The horrors of the night had hardened her anger into hatred.

  Once she had trusted Mico, shared his dream for a city that wasn’t riven with fighting.

  No more.

  If Mico was alive, he should have warned them.

  And if he was dead, then there was nothing good left in the langur world. Nothing.

  Rumors of the massacre swirled feverishly around the cemetery, as returning soldiers talked excitedly about a “permanent solution” to the rhesus problem.

  There had been no official announcement, that wasn’t how Tyrell played things; instead, all the monkeys were summoned to a sunset rally where a “great victory” would be proclaimed.

  But Mico couldn’t wait until sunset—he had to know now.

  He arrived breathless at his parents’ home, only to find Breri already there. Kima and Bandha were fluttering around him making a great fuss of the returning war hero, while Trumble hung off his eldest son’s every word.

  Breri glanced up and gave Mico an imperious smile.

  “So good to see you,” he said, extending his arms, inviting Mico to embrace him as if he was the head of the family.

  “What happened?” asked Mico impatiently. “Were you there?”

  The atmosphere in the room suddenly bristled.

  “Is it true? Was there a massacre?”

  The females looked down, reluctant to get involved.

  Breri looked searchingly at Mico. For so long his younger brother had been the star of the troop, commanding all the respect. But he had fallen and been marginalized, while Breri had risen to command key battles that would change langur fortunes forever.

  So Breri just smiled cryptically, enjoying the moment, and pronounced, “There is only one monkey now.”

  Kima and Bandha thought it was an assertion of Breri’s rank within the family—he was now the dominant male. But Mico and Trumble knew it meant something quite different: the rhesus monkeys had been annihilated.

  Mico slumped down onto his haunches. Images of all the innocent monkeys at Temple Gardens raced through his mind, but more than anything, he thought of Papina. Had she survived the night? When she needed him most, Mico had not been there to protect her. He had failed her again; he had been weak at the very moment he should have been strong. The claws of remorse dug deep into his guts.

  “How shall we celebrate?” asked Kima brightly, trying to move things on.

  But Breri was studying his brother’s reactions. “You don’t seem pleased.”

  Mico was sick of hiding his true feelings; he wanted to howl his disgust, to condemn the barbarity. He looked over to his father, desperate for someone to share his outrage, but Trumble avoided his gaze.

  It was pathetic. Mico had grown up thinking of his father as such a tower of strength, but now he was just a crumbling ruin. And if Trumble was broken, who else was there in the langur troop with the courage to make a stand?

  “I think I’d better leave,” Mico said quietly, and hurried away as fast as he could.

  —

  There was little comfort to be had elsewhere.

  Mico wandered, dazed, through the cemetery walkways, eavesdropping on conversations, but no one seemed in the least disturbed by the rumors of massacre. No one was appalled because no one else was appalled. Conformity had eaten away courage.

  Then, just as he made his way back from one of the food stations, Mico was startled by a voic
e from the shadows.

  “So it’s true.”

  Mico looked up. A monkey he didn’t recognize was sitting in the trees, nonchalantly picking his teeth.

  “You’re really not pleased.”

  “Who are you?” Mico asked, trying to peer into the gloom.

  “No one.”

  A shudder ran down Mico’s back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, trying to sound innocent.

  “Is that so?” The stranger dropped down, looked long and hard at Mico’s face, then scurried off toward the Great Vault.

  —

  One of Tyrell’s strengths was his ability to harden his heart. Through an act of sheer will, he could become like granite, impervious to all sentiment. When word came to him that Mico was now openly hostile to official policy, Tyrell knew exactly what to do. With ruthless speed he summoned Hummingbird and issued orders for Mico’s immediate assassination.

  Even the Barbary, with his battle-tempered soul, was momentarily taken aback. Hummingbird knew how much Mico had once meant to Tyrell; to see all that affection revoked with the cursory flick of a tail made him question whether any monkey could be safe in Tyrell’s world.

  —

  From the roof of his home Mico heard the buzz of anticipation as the crowds gathered for the victory rally. He knew that his presence was expected, but the thought of joining the cheering throng made him feel sick.

  Hister sat next to him, silently grooming him. She knew his worries occupied a different world to hers, but she also knew that talking would solve nothing, so she comforted him in the only way she understood—with the gentle touch of grooming fingers.

  Finally she tickled his ear. “Time to move, dreamy head. Or we’ll miss the speech.”

  Mico nodded, but didn’t stir; so, giggling, Hister grabbed his tail and pulled him playfully from the roof. Mico tumbled over and landed on her; he gazed into her pretty face, marveling at how she managed to remain so untroubled by all that was going on around her.

  “Catch me if you can!” she declared, and wriggling free, scampered off toward the Great Vault.

  By the time they arrived at the rally, the entire troop had massed and the crowd was chanting itself into a frenzy.

  “Lan-gur! Lan-gur! Lan-gurrrrr!” echoed round the cemetery walls, followed by “Ty-rell! Ty-rell! TY-RELL!”

  Hister laughed as she felt the power of the crowd, but a cold shudder ran down Mico’s back—it was terrifying to see monkeys abandon all reason and give themselves to hysteria.

  The chanting grew louder and louder, refusing to fade, until with perfect timing Tyrell climbed onto the podium.

  He raised his arms, basking in the adulation, then modestly pointed to General Pogo and Hummingbird, acknowledging their role in the historic day. This simple act of mock humility entranced the mob, turning their adulation into love.

  Somewhere in all this euphoria, Tyrell looked down…and caught Mico’s eye. It was only for a fleeting moment, but it was long enough—in the tyrant’s cold eyes Mico glimpsed farewell.

  Mico spun round, scanning the faces of the crowd jostling around him…and saw a lone Barbary lurking nearby, his dark eyes locked with a deadly resolve. The Barbary didn’t care about speeches; he was only interested in Mico.

  His prey.

  Mico grabbed Hister and pulled her through the crowd, desperate to get away. But every time he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the assassin following. Fighting back was impossible; escape was his only chance.

  With no time to explain to Hister, all Mico could do was hug her tightly as they reached the edge of the crowd. “I have to leave you now.”

  The words hit Hister like a physical force. “No—”

  “Forgive me—”

  “No! Mico! Don’t go!”

  “It’s safer this way.”

  She grabbed hold of his arm, refusing to let go. “I’ve done everything for you. Everything! You can’t abandon me!”

  The look of pain and rejection in her eyes tore Mico’s heart, but he knew she wouldn’t survive the hardships of exile.

  He put his hands on her face and looked into her eyes, trying to make her understand that everything they knew was turning inside out.

  “I’m sorry, Hister. I never wanted to hurt you.” But it was no use; every word drove the knife deeper. Desperate to put an end to the pain he was inflicting, Mico turned and ran.

  Numb with shock, her world shattered; Hister swayed back and forth. Suddenly a shadow slipped out of the crowd. She turned and saw a lone Barbary, his eyes searching the shadows. He looked at Hister, and the coldness of his gaze made her recoil. But the Barbary hadn’t come for her. Not just yet.

  He snorted, then swept past her.

  —

  If Mico was to survive the night, he needed to confuse the Barbary assassin, buy some precious time. Dodging from shadow to shadow, he ran to the Great Vault, but instead of returning to his old sick room, he took one of the corridors that led to the far side, then doubled back until he arrived at the long pool. Mico drew a deep breath, then stealthily slipped into the water.

  He looked up through the ripples, waiting for the assassin to appear. As Mico’s lungs tightened a twinge of panic fluttered down his back, but he couldn’t come up for air now; he had to wait…

  Still nothing moved up there.

  As air seeped from his lungs, a lightness came over Mico, the pain cut deep into his chest, and just as he was about to open his mouth and breathe in the water, he saw movement above.

  He froze, watching as the hulking form of the Barbary assassin ran down the side of the pool and kicked open the door to Mico’s room….

  Empty.

  The assassin spun round, glared left and right; he knew Mico was hiding somewhere in the Great Vault. Determined to draw blood, the Barbary stalked back to the entrance to start a systematic search.

  As soon as it was clear Mico burst to the surface, gasping. With the air came clarity.

  And fear.

  No time to waste.

  Mico scrambled up the vault wall, dropped down into the feeder stream, and waded along it until he was standing by the water inlet at the bottom of the perimeter wall.

  He turned and took one last look at the cemetery. He could hear the frenzied chanting of the troop, the sound of ignorance and violence.

  Mico drew a breath, then slipped underwater and was gone.

  They enslave their children’s children who make compromise with sin.

  —JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, “THE PRESENT CRISIS”

  Returning empty-handed was not an option.

  Having failed to kill Mico, the assassin knew that his own position was now gravely compromised. In an attempt to shield himself from the worst of Tyrell’s rage, the Barbary hastily gathered some reinforcements and stormed Mico’s home, dragging the grieving Hister off to the interrogation cells.

  She didn’t put up any resistance. Her world had already fallen to pieces, and the physical pain inflicted by fists and sticks made no difference now.

  Having Hister under arrest, though, made a big difference to the assassin. He stood anxiously in the summer house next to Hummingbird, who explained the situation to Tyrell.

  “If she knows anything, she’ll talk.”

  “Even if she was involved, Hister couldn’t have acted alone. She’s nothing more than a pretty bauble.” Tyrell’s paranoid mind quickly wove a web of intrigue from this single strand. “There must have been others helping Mico escape. Others who knew of our intentions…”

  Hummingbird hesitated. If he agreed, he would inflame Tyrell’s paranoia; if he disagreed, he risked a furious outburst. So he just reiterated, “I’ll make her talk.”

  “Press her hard.”

  Hummingbird nodded, darkly amused at the way the more palatable “pressing hard” had become an integral part of the regime’s vocabulary.

  “For what it’s worth, I think Mico’s finished,” Hummingbird added, trying to close the whole issue
down. “He’s run for his life.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Tyrell replied with thinly veiled scorn, “I think whoever has even the slightest sympathy for Mico must be rooted out and dealt with. No dissent will be tolerated. None. Is that clear?”

  Hummingbird lowered his head respectfully. “Perfectly.”

  With a sweep of his hand, Tyrell dismissed the Barbaries and swung over to the window of the tower, where he sat, stroking his tail thoughtfully.

  Of all the monkeys in the city, Mico was the only one who Tyrell feared. He tried to tell himself that he was being irrational, that Mico was insignificant. Why should the supreme leader of the langur troop, Overlord and Protector of the Provinces, be afraid of a refugee who had never even fought with the elites?

  Intelligence. That was why.

  Mico was the only monkey who could think on Tyrell’s level. He might be an exile, but he was too clever for that to be the last anyone heard of him. Tyrell would never know peace until Mico’s severed head was brought back to the cemetery.

  But as the Barbary assassin had failed, who could now be trusted with the task?

  —

  In the days after the massacre, Papina led her shattered troop of monkeys away from the city.

  They walked and climbed and scrambled.

  They made their way past long lines of shanty huts, too crowded with seething humanity to afford any space; past the quiet, affluent houses of the suburbs, which would not tolerate a troop of monkeys…until finally they came to a sprawling steelworks.

  The survivors crouched outside the chain-link fence, looking at the mess of huge, ugly buildings that grew around each other without any obvious logic; tangles of smoke-belching pipes burst from the roofs at random, and everything was coated with a grimy blackness that matched the mood of the monkeys.

  Food would be hard to come by here as there were no markets to pilfer. On the other hand that would keep rival animals away, and as long as the monkeys could avoid the human factory workers and dodge the trucks that rolled in and out, they should be safe.