city is looking to us,” Gospodar declared. “It needs us to eradicate the scourge of savage monkeys! The Ruling Council and I are of one mind: in the name of peace, we must mobilize for war!”
A roll of ground-thumping broke out, everyone was talking at once, fired up with a sense of purpose. Even Mico was caught up, now he could confront Twitcher with proof—the bonnet macaques had crossed the line between humans and monkeys, they had violated the natural order, and only the langur had the courage and strength to set things straight.
Immediately the whole troop went onto war footing. Trumble was assigned three assistants to help with the complex task of setting up a supply chain for the soldiers; female monkeys were instructed to set aside their domestic chores and report for special duties gathering stones for ammunition and sorting branches to be used for fighting sticks; throughout the cemetery, monkeys old and young psyched themselves up for battle.
Breri’s elite squad was to be part of the main attack force and they were moved into advanced positions near the bonnets’ territory. Mico’s cadet squad was deployed to an old railway signal box that had long since fallen into disuse. From here they could see both ways: forward to the bridge that marked the start of bonnet territory, and back to the cemetery perched on the hill. The cadets’ job was to ferry food and weapons forward, and carry any wounded langurs safely back.
The preparations were arduous, and as daylight faded so did the cadets’ initial excitement; the sense of imminent danger became palpable.
As Mico looked around the gloomy signal box, he couldn’t help thinking that by this time tomorrow it could be strewn with the bloodied bodies of wounded fighters. Suddenly warfare wasn’t something that happened to others; it would be his friends—his own brother—who would be right in the thick of it.
And there was another worry.
It made Mico feel guilty even to be thinking about it at a time like this, but he couldn’t help it: Papina.
He looked up at the moon—it was just reaching its highest point, which meant he should have been secretly meeting her. Defying her mother, she’d still agreed to meet him and hiding in the shadows outside the cemetery wall, she would have no way of knowing that there’d been a sudden mobilization. Most likely she would assume that Twitcher’s harsh words had made Mico change his mind about her, that he wanted to end their friendship.
Nothing could have been further from the truth, but Mico had no chance of explaining that to her now. And if the battle turned ugly, who knew when, or if, he’d ever have a chance.
S oames snorted with laughter.
“I get it! Good one…very good.” And still chuckling, he popped a couple more juniper berries into his mouth.
His friend Morton looked up quizzically. He’d told Soames the joke yesterday, and he’d only just got it? Morton shook his head. Good job they weren’t in a hurry. But then the bonnet macaques were never in a hurry, especially in the afternoons.
For as long as any of them could remember it had been their custom to gather when the shadows of the trees reached the crumbling walls, and take juniper berries on the Great Lawn. It was one of those traditions that made the troop feel calmly in control of its destiny.
Morton and Soames were the leaders of the bonnets. Getting on in years, they weren’t particularly bright or agile, but they had an aristocratic bearing that commanded respect.
“Hot one today,” mumbled Soames as he chewed.
“Blistering,” replied Morton.
“Maybe it’ll be cooler tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
Not the thrusting talk of dynamic leaders, but Morton and Soames didn’t need to be. They were really only guardians of tradition.
Many generations ago the bonnets had stumbled into the city as refugees and battled their way up the pecking order. Being courageous fighters, it wasn’t long before they controlled a very
A roll of ground-thumping broke out, everyone was talking at once, fired up with a sense of purpose. Even Mico was caught up, now he could confront Twitcher with proof—the bonnet macaques had crossed the line between humans and monkeys, they had violated the natural order, and only the langur had the courage and strength to set things straight.
Immediately the whole troop went onto war footing. Trumble was assigned three assistants to help with the complex task of setting up a supply chain for the soldiers; female monkeys were instructed to set aside their domestic chores and report for special duties gathering stones for ammunition and sorting branches to be used for fighting sticks; throughout the cemetery, monkeys old and young psyched themselves up for battle.
Breri’s elite squad was to be part of the main attack force and they were moved into advanced positions near the bonnets’ territory. Mico’s cadet squad was deployed to an old railway signal box that had long since fallen into disuse. From here they could see both ways: forward to the bridge that marked the start of bonnet territory, and back to the cemetery perched on the hill. The cadets’ job was to ferry food and weapons forward, and carry any wounded langurs safely back.
The preparations were arduous, and as daylight faded so did the cadets’ initial excitement; the sense of imminent danger became palpable.
As Mico looked around the gloomy signal box, he couldn’t help thinking that by this time tomorrow it could be strewn with the bloodied bodies of wounded fighters. Suddenly warfare wasn’t something that happened to others; it would be his friends—his own brother—who would be right in the thick of it.
And there was another worry.
It made Mico feel guilty even to be thinking about it at a time like this, but he couldn’t help it: Papina.
He looked up at the moon—it was just reaching its highest point, which meant he should have been secretly meeting her. Defying her mother, she’d still agreed to meet him and hiding in the shadows outside the cemetery wall, she would have no way of knowing that there’d been a sudden mobilization. Most likely she would assume that Twitcher’s harsh words had made Mico change his mind about her, that he wanted to end their friendship.
Nothing could have been further from the truth, but Mico had no chance of explaining that to her now. And if the battle turned ugly, who knew when, or if, he’d ever have a chance.
S oames snorted with laughter.
“I get it! Good one…very good.” And still chuckling, he popped a couple more juniper berries into his mouth.
His friend Morton looked up quizzically. He’d told Soames the joke yesterday, and he’d only just got it? Morton shook his head. Good job they weren’t in a hurry. But then the bonnet macaques were never in a hurry, especially in the afternoons.
For as long as any of them could remember it had been their custom to gather when the shadows of the trees reached the crumbling walls, and take juniper berries on the Great Lawn. It was one of those traditions that made the troop feel calmly in control of its destiny.
Morton and Soames were the leaders of the bonnets. Getting on in years, they weren’t particularly bright or agile, but they had an aristocratic bearing that commanded respect.
“Hot one today,” mumbled Soames as he chewed.
“Blistering,” replied Morton.
“Maybe it’ll be cooler tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
Not the thrusting talk of dynamic leaders, but Morton and Soames didn’t need to be. They were really only guardians of tradition.
Many generations ago the bonnets had stumbled into the city as refugees and battled their way up the pecking order. Being courageous fighters, it wasn’t long before they controlled a very
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