—
Two days later, everything was in place. As Mico led his rhesus fighters downtown on the roof of a tram, he’d never felt more proud.
Or more apprehensive. This time there was no margin for error.
As the tram pulled into the terminus, they jumped from the roof and scampered into the sidestreets, where they gathered round Fig protectively.
“Is there anything else you need?” Papina asked gently.
Fig shook her head.
“I’m sorry you have to face it on your own.”
“Don’t be sorry,” replied Fig. “It’s how it needs to be.”
The monkeys fell silent.
“Well…,” Mico said, looking up at the sky, “we’d better get on with it.”
Fig nodded. “Good luck.”
“I think you need it more than us,” he replied.
“We’ll see.”
Then Fig put her arms around Twitcher and held him tightly, for a few moments rekindling memories of happiness they’d once known.
“Live for me,” she whispered.
Twitcher nodded silently, clinging to her fur, desperate to prolong the moment. But too soon, she let go.
“Goodbye,” Fig said gently; then she turned and headed off on her lonely mission without even a backward glance.
—
“Well, well,” said Sweto with a malicious smile. “This really is our lucky day.” He pointed across the bustling street; the langur troopers with him looked over and were stunned to see a couple of rhesus monkeys lazing in the sunshine.
Sweto knew that if he returned with enemy corpses he would be handsomely rewarded, but live captives who could be tortured and interrogated would secure his place as Tyrell’s favorite.
The problem was, three against two didn’t give them much advantage. In situations like this the protocol was clear: keep the enemy in sight and call for reinforcements.
But Sweto was too ambitious for protocol.
“Let’s get them…NOW!” he roared, and led his troopers charging across the street.
Which was exactly what Twitcher and Cadby wanted. Immediately they turned and bolted into a side alley, scampering as fast as they could. But the langurs were faster, and as Twitcher and Cadby raced toward a fire escape at the far end of the alley, they heard langur feet thundering through the puddles behind them, gaining ground with every heartbeat.
Cadby glanced over his shoulder, saw the angry faces and sharp incisors, saw the excitement of violence in the langurs’ eyes.
“Don’t look!” roared Twitcher. “RUN!”
It jolted Cadby to his senses and he refocused on the fire escape, trying to ignore the pain splitting his lungs, the heaviness pulling at his legs.
Ten paces, five…he had just reached out to grab the ladder when suddenly Rafa and Joop leaped down from a first-floor window, locked eyes with the pursuing langurs and ran.
For a few confusing moments Sweto didn’t know what to do. The two rhesus they’d been chasing were tiring, but once up the ladder they’d have the run of the rooftops, where their size and lightness would give them the edge. The new rhesus may be fresher but they were down here, and when it came to it one rhesus scalp was as good as another.
“THEM!” Sweto commanded, and he charged along the alley after Rafa and Joop.
As the langurs hurtled through the maze of backstreets their nostrils flared with bloodlust, their judgment clouded and they forgot about everything but the kill…so when they emerged into the dump and saw two monkeys standing on a mound of trash, they assumed these were the ones they’d been chasing. In their frenzy they scampered over the garbage hills, creating an avalanche of plastic.
Only when they were halfway across did Sweto realize that the rhesus weren’t trying to escape; they just stood there defiantly. He blinked in the hard morning light, looked closer, and saw that these were different monkeys—one rhesus and one langur.
Could this really be the traitor Mico? Could Sweto now return with the greatest prize of all to offer Lord Tyrell?
But as quickly as hope raised its head, reality whistled past and cut it off at the neck—Sweto watched, openmouthed, as two ropes dropped down, allowing Mico and the rhesus to escape by scrambling up to some overhead cables.
Yet strangely, the monkeys didn’t scamper along the wires and disappear; they just clung there, looking down, enthralled.
Sweto glanced around the dump, wondering what could be so interesting…and then he heard the sound of movement close by.
The rubbish was stirring.
Sweto’s spine tingled with fear, but it was already too late. In an explosion of debris the monstrous python burst into the light and loomed over the monkeys.
The langurs staggered backward…straight into the waiting coils of the snake’s grotesquely long body. It happened so terrifyingly fast Sweto didn’t even have time to put his thoughts in order.
A sudden jerk of the python’s body and the monkeys were being dragged down toward the mysterious subterranean world under the trash.
They clawed at the rubbish, desperately trying to pull themselves back to the surface, but their efforts were pathetic against the strength of the mighty reptile.
As the garbage closed around him, Sweto looked up at the sky one last time; he glimpsed Mico, perched on the overhead wire, a look of triumph on his face, before a last violent tug dragged the langur down into the darkness forever.
“Now for the really tricky bit,” said Mico.
He looked across to the roof team, Twitcher and Cadby, who signaled that everything was ready; Gu-Nah, who was going to do the drop, was already sliding out to take his place on the overhead wire; the remaining rhesus lined the surrounding rooftops, ready to intervene if the plan went wrong, although what they could possibly do against an angry python was anyone’s guess.
With an almighty heave, Twitcher and Cadby started dragging a huge, rusty air-conditioning unit until it was teetering on the very edge of the roof; then they gave it a final kick and sent it tumbling down the side of the building.
The unit hit the trash and shock waves rippled through the garbage in all directions. There was no way the python hadn’t felt the impact.
The monkeys waited fearfully for a reaction.
Nothing happened.
Mico dangled from the rope just above the surface, his eyes scouring the trash, braced for the slightest movement. Above him on the telephone wire, Gu-Nah held his breath; Papina watched from the roofline, wondering what could be taking so long.
Then they saw it.
Not a dramatic surge of power, but an irritable heave, as the python surfaced and looked around. Having just swallowed the first monkey, all it wanted was to digest in peace.
Mico screeched to attract its attention. The snake craned its head round and saw the lone monkey swinging from a rope just above the trash.
The python wavered, as if tempted to ignore this irritating creature.
Quickly Mico stretched out, picked up some tin cans and started hurling them at the snake.
That did the trick.
The python opened its mouth, stretching grotesquely wide then, with a heave of its gullet, started to regurgitate its meal. Covered in nauseous slime, Sweto’s lifeless body gradually emerged from the python’s mouth, feet first, limbs bunched together. As it disgorged, the python rolled onto its side to relieve the discomfort, until finally the monkey’s head slid out, an eerily peaceful expression on its face.
Now the trouble could begin.
The snake dived under the surface.
Moments later its head shot vertically upward, jaws fully dislocated, hurtling straight toward Mico, who scrambled up the rope in a desperate attempt to escape.
This was Gu-Nah’s moment. He looked down into the python’s mouth and stretched out his hand. The snake loomed closer and closer; Gu-Nah aimed…and finally let the ball of hemlock root drop…straight into the python’s gullet.
Shocked at the unexpected m
orsel, the snake snapped its jaws shut and swallowed, disappointed not to be swallowing a monkey. Furious with frustration, and now at the limit of its reach, the python could only slump back onto the garbage, thrashing its body angrily.
Gu-Nah watched anxiously, looking for signs that the drug was taking effect. He had guessed that the same quantity of hemlock needed to kill three monkeys would put the huge snake to sleep, but it was just a guess.
The monkeys all watched with bated breath…and then they saw the confusion kick in. The python swayed, looked left and right, its eyes struggling to focus. It shook its head, trying to clear its mind, but that just made everything worse.
“All right—let’s take him for a walk!” Mico shouted, and immediately the rhesus leaped down onto the trash and started running toward the rain-swollen storm gully.
The python craned its head round, but its drug-addled mind couldn’t concentrate—all it could see was a confusion of running monkeys.
Attack. It had to attack. That was the only form of defense it knew. The python marshaled its will and slithered through the garbage in pursuit.
As the rhesus converged on the storm gully, they scrambled onto two rafts they’d lashed together from discarded tires, and pushed off into the angry waters.
Moments later they heard a splash—Mico turned and saw the python slide into the gully in pursuit.
“It’s coming!” yelled Mico. “Hold tight!”
Desperately, the monkeys tried to keep the rafts in the fastest currents, steering with their hands, kicking away from the brick walls with their feet.
Whipping its huge body through the water, the python surged after them. Closing in with every thrash of its tail, it raised its head out of the water to strike, only to see the rafts veer off down a side gully.
Every attempt cost the python precious energy, which made the next strike even more difficult.
Mico could see the snake’s strokes get weaker and weaker as the hemlock pumped around its body, until finally, too exhausted to carry on swimming, the python rolled to the side of the storm gully and let the currents wash it up onto the bank.
“PULL OVER!” Mico yelled.
Twitcher and Gu-Nah grabbed on to some overhanging branches while Papina and the others furiously paddled to the bank. Further downstream, the second raft saw them clamber ashore and swerved their raft so that it rammed to a stop against the pillar of a bridge, giving them a chance to scramble onto dry land.
The monkeys stood on the gully edge, soaking wet and trembling.
“Is it close enough?” Papina asked.
Gu-Nah peered through a gap in the buildings and glimpsed a section of the cemetery wall a little way up the hill. “We can manage that.”
“But only if the snake’s really out,” said Twitcher, looking anxiously at the motionless python sprawled over the gully bank upstream.
“One way to find out,” said Mico, and he started edging toward the python.
Closer and closer he crept, his eyes locked on the snake, ready to bolt at the slightest movement…until he was standing right next to the grotesquely small head with its cruel expression. He reached out and prodded the creature. Nothing.
He leaned closer, until he could smell the freshly killed meat on its breath…in…out…It was still breathing.
Mico beckoned urgently to the others, who immediately scrambled along the storm gully carrying a large muslin sack they’d stolen from a fruit warehouse the night before.
“Quick!” he urged. “We don’t know how long we’ve got!”
And they all started coiling the python into the sack. It was unbelievably heavy, each armful a dead weight, and it took far longer than they’d planned.
They tied up the sack and slumped down to rest, but Mico knew there was no time.
“Up! UP!” he yelled. “Come on! We’ve got to get there before it comes round!”
And with weary legs, the monkeys started dragging the sack through the final few streets to the cemetery, desperately hoping that the effects of the hemlock wouldn’t wear off too soon.
It fell to Breri to deliver the ominous news that Sweto and his troopers had vanished. Tyrell didn’t even try to hide his alarm—he slumped onto his haunches, cradling his head in his hands. He knew Sweto was too smart to get himself killed, but what if he’d been captured? What if the rhesus were holding him hostage?
Tyrell’s brow furrowed; he would not have his hand forced by a bunch of savages. If the enemy thought they could trade Sweto’s life for some military advantage they were wrong. Everyone was disposable. Tyrell would just have to pluck another bright monkey from the langur ranks and train him up. He’d done it before; he could do it again.
Suddenly he heard noises in the stairwell outside—General Pogo entered, breathless and animated.
“My lord, we’ve captured one!” he exclaimed as two elites dragged a rhesus monkey into the room and threw her to the floor. She was battered and bruised; it was clear the guards had already dispensed some street justice.
“She was in the bushes outside the perimeter wall.”
“On her own?” demanded Tyrell.
“She was digging a hole, trying to tunnel under the wall. She had food—she was well prepared. She’ll have information. But she’s stubborn.”
Tyrell strode over to the rhesus and looked down at her small, defenseless body.
“I don’t like stubborn,” he said softly; then he reached out and yanked her head up. “Do you hear me?”
Fig looked back at him with fearless eyes.
Finally she was face to face with the monkey who had destroyed everything she loved.
“I’ve nothing to say,” Fig said quietly.
Tyrell gave a curt laugh. “Trust me, everyone talks in the end.”
—
This time the torture was personal.
Tyrell didn’t indulge in the physical violence himself; he didn’t have to—that was left to the brutes of the recently established Special Interrogation Unit. They had a formidable array of techniques, from the basic beatings and lacerations to the removal of teeth and claws. The really high-level practitioners had developed a whole set of water-related techniques that simulated the horror of drowning.
Pain, however, was not always enough. The braver the monkey, the greater the risk that pain would harden their defiance; these monkeys would rather die than be broken. But a dead monkey could tell no tales, and information was invariably what Tyrell craved. So he developed his own unique torture technique: mental violence.
Tyrell’s trick was to make everything unpredictable. Sometimes he would present himself as the bringer of pain, ordering brutal beatings; at other times he would pose as the victim’s friend, stopping the torture to offer respite with water or soothing herbs. As soon as the victim thought they understood the rules, he would change them, then change them again; until the victim could conceive of no authority except Tyrell’s, no reality outside the dark room in which they were held.
No monkey was strong enough to withstand this destruction of their identity.
Except Fig.
She had been forged by something much crueler. The pain tearing through her body at the hands of the langur torturers became penance—every blow, every drop of blood somehow eased the agonizing pressure of her own guilt.
Soon it would all be over. Finally she would know peace again.
But not quite yet.
“Enough.” Her voice croaked as she spat some blood onto the floor.
A warm glow of satisfaction welled up in Tyrell’s heart; no monkey had the strength to defy him. He nodded to the torturers, who withdrew to the shadows at the edge of the room; then he crouched down next to Fig’s beaten body and gently stroked her head like an indulgent father.
“Speak.”
“Kidnap…,” rasped Fig, “kidnap you.”
This was hardly a surprise. As the entire langur empire looked to Tyrell for leadership, it was only logical to try and seize him.
<
br /> “Ambitious. But impossible with my security.”
“Informant,” Fig coughed the word out.
Tyrell glared down at her.
“Informant,” she rasped again. “We know…your movements…hiding places.”
Tyrell felt his confidence start to ebb away. He lashed out, grabbed Fig and hauled her up.
“Who?!” he demanded.
Fig couldn’t help smiling—seeing fear grip Tyrell was so rewarding.
“WHO?!” he screamed, infuriated. “WHO IS BETRAYING ME?!”
But Fig just shook her head weakly. “Don’t know…Mico knew. Only Mico.”
That name again, coming back to haunt him.
Mico, Mico, Mico.
Like a swarm of insects eating away at his mind.
Mico, Mico, Mico.
Pulling him to pieces, devouring him alive.
“NO!” Tyrell roared, as uncontrollable rage convulsed him. He watched as his own hands grabbed Fig’s head and smashed it down on the floor, venting his fear and frustration on the contemptible monkey.
But once was not enough. His hands had a will of their own, and they brought her head smashing down again…and again…until Tyrell felt a warm trickle of blood ooze over his fingers.
Only then did he stop, breathless, drained of all emotion.
“Interrogation over,” he said quietly.
This was why it was right to be paranoid, because you really couldn’t trust anyone. Tyrell had long suspected there was a traitor in his ranks. What else could explain the string of military victories the rhesus had enjoyed?
Whoever it was, he would root them out and punish them without mercy. But right now the important thing was to outmaneuver them.
As the plan was kidnap, Tyrell had to assume that the informant had told the rhesus where he was supposed to be on that day—meeting with his council of war in the summer house. Which meant that Tyrell’s best stategy was to give the impression that nothing had changed, that his routine was carrying on as normal, while secretly ordering General Pogo to redeploy the army to the Eastern Province, where they could set a trap to catch Mico and his rhesus insurgents as they made their kidnap attempt.
To complete the deception Tyrell made a big show of going to his rooms at the top of the summer house; but covertly he doubled back and, with a handful of his most trusted Twopoint guards, made his way across the city to the cemetery. There Tyrell withdrew to the innermost sanctum of the Great Vault and positioned his bodyguards at all the entrances.
Monkey Wars Page 29
