Code of Honor Read online

  Thorn nodded slowly. “You’re not wrong: I don’t like it either.”

  “I’m so relieved you weren’t hurt,” she blurted. Tentatively, she reached out and grasped his paw. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, Thorn.”

  Thorn’s eyes widened; all he could do was stare at her sturdy paw in his. This is awkward.

  He was still casting for a way to let her down gently when a greasy, rotten scent drifted to his nostrils. He tensed, taking the opportunity to loosen his paw from hers. “Do you smell that, Frog?”

  “Hyenas,” she hissed. “We have to raise the alarm!”

  Swiftly the two of them bounded to alert the other Strongbranch sentries; in a short time, the whole troop was roused and on the move.

  The first sunlight was breeching the horizon anyway, sending brilliant rays beneath the rim of the storm clouds. The exhausted baboons finally halted again in a cluster of straggly trees; few of them bothered to try to go back to sleep. Thorn surveyed the troop from the edge of the trees’ long shadows, hoping they wouldn’t have to move again today.

  A soft paw touched his arm. “Hello, Thorn,” said Berry.

  Thorn’s heart turned over; his throat felt tight. The low sun caught the golden strands in her fur, and her eyes were as rich as damp earth. Almost without thinking he reached out a paw, but her ears flattened and she glanced away.

  “Will you meet me at the Lightning Tree at High Sun?” she whispered. “It’s important.”

  Thorn hesitated, his stomach twisting. There was nothing he wanted more, but for both their safety, he had to try to keep his distance. “I don’t know—”

  “I need to talk to you. Please.”

  How could he say no? Thorn nodded helplessly. “I’ll see you there.”

  The Lightning Tree stood stark against the gray sky, its three forks seeming almost to pierce the lowering clouds. Thorn loped to its leeward side and crouched to wait, resting his forepaws on his knees. The capricious wind still snatched and tore at his fur, but he was out of the worst of it. Distantly, a small herd of zebras roamed, grazing hungrily; there seemed to be surprisingly few of them. Thorn counted them to pass the time as he wondered what Berry could possibly want.

  Was she hoping for reconciliation? They’d been meeting in secret for so long; he remembered their whispered promises as they held each other. One day we’ll be the same rank. We’ll be together. I’ll never take another mate. They had both said those words, over and over again. Could Berry be hoping to hold him to them?

  I’d have to turn her down, thought Thorn miserably. Again. He picked a pebble from the grass and threw it at a pair of pied crows. They gave him an indignant caw.

  More likely, he decided, Berry wanted to make clear it was over forever between them. It would be the smart thing for her to do. Thorn had been cold and distant toward her, and he’d never properly explained himself; why would she want to be with him now? A final split would be the best outcome, the smartest outcome. It would separate them forever, and Berry would be safe from Stinger; Thorn would not spend his days in fear of what might happen to her.

  So why did the thought make his heart twist with pain?

  A golden-brown figure emerged from the belt of trees that lay between the Lightning Tree and the troop; Berry loped toward him, sending the two crows flapping skyward. Thorn took a deep steadying breath. Berry’s face was unreadable as she trotted to his side and sat down.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” she said.

  The crows had settled once more, pecking at some insect in the grass; Berry stared at them for long silent moments. Thorn stole a glance at her, lost for words.

  At last Berry turned to him. “You haven’t been yourself for days.”

  Thorn looked back at the crows.

  “I know something’s wrong,” Berry pleaded. “But you won’t talk to me, Thorn. I could help, if you’d just trust me.”

  Thorn rubbed his eyes. For a moment he tried to imagine telling her the truth. Here’s the thing, Berry. Your father is Crownleaf because he smashed Bark’s head with a stone. Oh, and because he poisoned Grub with scorpion venom. I’m telling you this because I trust you, but by the way, don’t turn your back on your father. . . .

  His head sagged. He couldn’t do it.

  Berry was studying him intently.

  “Things have been hard lately,” Thorn blurted at last. He plucked feverishly at the grass. “For everyone in Bravelands. Bark dying, and then Grub . . . Great Mother, too.” He glanced at Berry. “And I’m stuck as a Middleleaf forever. We can never be together, you know it.”

  Berry laid her paw on his arm. Her touch made him shiver with longing. “But you still want to be with me?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, unable to help himself.

  “Then don’t you see?” she exclaimed, her eyes bright. “Now that my father’s Crownleaf, things will be different. He’s always liked you, Thorn, and he’s not a stickler for rules and traditions. Things could easily change! If I talk to him—”

  “No!” Thorn jumped up, dislodging her paw abruptly. “Don’t ask him. You mustn’t!”

  Berry flinched. “But why not? I’ve been thinking and thinking about how we can be together, and it’s obvious now. Father was voted Crownleaf precisely because he’s willing to adapt. Because he listens to new ideas!”

  Thorn gaped, his mind empty of excuses. “I just . . . it’s such a bad time for the troop,” he babbled. “I don’t think we should bother Stinger. Not now, not with everything he’s got to worry about. He wouldn’t change the rules anyway.”

  Berry frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  Thorn floundered for a reason but came up with nothing. “I just don’t think he’d want to,” he said lamely.

  Berry jumped up, her eyes flashing. “Why don’t you like Father anymore? Oh, don’t lie, Thorn! You two used to be close, and now you’re avoiding him—just like you’re avoiding me.”

  “I’m not —”

  “Don’t you realize how lucky we are to have Father?” Her fists were clenched with fury. “He came to Brightforest Troop as a stranger, carrying me on his back. He had to make his own way and prove himself, and now he’s Crownleaf! All he’s ever done is try to help our troop.” She was shaking now. “I wish you were more like Father!”

  Thorn’s eyes burned; his chest felt so tight he could hardly breathe. He spun away, staring at the crows.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if you told me the truth?” she growled behind him.

  His gut lurched and he turned. “What truth?”

  “You’ve found someone else, and you’re too cowardly to say it.” Berry’s tone was so contemptuous, it was like the stab of a fang in his gut.

  “I haven’t—”

  “Oh, come on. I’ve seen you and Frog cozying up together.” Berry’s snout curled. “It doesn’t say much for you that you’re denying it.”

  Thorn was so stunned he couldn’t reply.

  “You’ve made it clear how you really feel.” Berry took a deep breath. “I’m going back to the troop. Don’t bother to come with me.”

  She stalked off across the grassland, ignoring the angry protests of the crows. As she disappeared into the belt of trees, Thorn sank to the ground, his head in his forepaws. How could Berry have misread his feelings—or his lack of them—for Frog?

  “It’s for the best,” he muttered to himself. “It doesn’t matter. What counts is that I’m keeping her safe.”

  Along with the pain, a roiling anger was building inside him. This was all down to Stinger: all of it. I need to do something!

  He didn’t know what, that was the trouble. No other baboon even shared his suspicions, let alone took his side. Except maybe Frog . . .

  Berry might be scrambling up the wrong fig tree about Thorn’s feelings for the sturdy, solemn baboon, but it was true that he liked and respected Frog. She was the only Strongbranch who felt the same way about the orders Stinger was giving them. She told me as much this morning. He could
go to Frog with his knowledge, confirm her suspicions, ask her to help him beat Stinger . . .

  And then what? prodded a voice inside him.

  Frog might be a big, strong baboon, but that hadn’t saved either Bark or Grub. If Thorn made her his ally, he could be sentencing her to death by scorpion poison, or a rock to the skull, or worse. Could he live with himself?

  Thorn raked at his neck fur in frustration. There had to be another way, someone who could help—someone Stinger couldn’t threaten. He just couldn’t imagine who that might be.

  Staying away from the troop any longer would look suspicious. With a sigh, Thorn rose and plodded back across the grassland, ignoring the crows’ cackling Skytongue. Ahead of him, in the tree line, a flock of blue starlings erupted from the canopy, chattering in alarm, but he was too preoccupied to worry. He loped into the trees and almost immediately heard a raucous screech. A pair of lilac-breasted rollers burst up through the canopy, swooping and diving toward the grassland. They’d left the shelter of the trees even though it exposed them to the violent wind. Thorn frowned, snapping out of his reverie. Something was disturbing the birds.

  A screech heralded a crashing of foliage. Leaves and branches swayed and shuddered. Then, on the stiff breeze, the odor of fruit pulp and nuts reached Thorn’s nostrils. . . .

  Monkeys!

  He broke into a run. One baboon, alone, stood no chance against a troop of vervets. High in the trees behind him he could hear their echoing calls: “This way! This way!”

  Thorn wove and dodged between trunks, but whichever way he turned he could still hear the monkeys behind him. When he paused, panting, to glance over his shoulder, he caught sight of a score of green-brown bodies racing through the branches. Their white-fringed faces brimmed with malevolent excitement.

  They’re coming closer. They’ll see me!

  All he could do was hide and hope. Ahead was a clump of crotons, their sunset-colored leaves brushing the ground. Thorn leaped and dived into their midst—and collided with something large and furry.

  “Oof!” he gasped. A monkey! His stomach flipped and he tensed for a fight.

  “Thorn?” The voice was querulous with surprise.

  He blinked, squinting into the dappled shadow. After a moment he made out a familiar face, scowling through parted leaves.

  “Nut?” Thorn squinted at his old enemy. “Is that you?”

  Nut wriggled through the leaves. He looked filthy. Thorn remembered him as a large-framed, muscular bully, but he looked shrunken and thin. Nut’s once-fine fur was matted, he smelled as if he’d rolled around in a pile of dung, and his sunken eyes held the hunted look of a grass-eater. Life since his exile from the troop had not been kind.

  Nut bounded forward and shoved Thorn’s chest, sending him sprawling.

  “This is my bush. Get lost.”

  Thorn’s old dislike flared into loathing. Hadn’t his day been bad enough already? Nut had always been a bully—he’d almost gotten Mud killed during the Three Feats.

  And yet, staring into his hollow, haunted face, Thorn couldn’t repress a surge of pity. Nut had deserved a lot, but he hadn’t deserved to be run out of the troop. Thorn of all baboons knew he wasn’t guilty of the crime he’d been accused of. He certainly couldn’t leave him to be torn apart by monkeys.

  “Shut up and listen,” he snapped. “There are monkeys coming and we’ve got to hide.”

  Nut sneered. “I’m not helping you. I never want to see you again. You or that weedy Mud.”

  Thorn growled and pointed at the trees. “Listen to that racket. Do you think you can fight all those monkeys alone? We’ll be safer together.”

  Still glaring, Nut hesitated. An earsplitting screech made him start and glance up at the treetops. He curled his snout in angry defeat. “Fine. This way.”

  Thorn scrambled after him up the cracked bark of a big kigelia tree. In a fork between two branches at the top, a smear of black shadow revealed a hollow; Nut twisted and lowered himself in. The space looked tight, and Thorn balked for a moment at the idea of squeezing in there with the malodorous Nut.

  Nut rolled his eyes at him. “Well, get in!”

  With a sigh of resignation, Thorn wriggled in beside him.

  “Keep your elbows to yourself,” Nut grumbled.

  “Keep that stink to yourself,” Thorn retorted, trying not to breathe too deeply. There were disadvantages, he thought, to being out of the wind.

  Craning his neck, Thorn glimpsed a few monkeys as they bounded screeching through the canopy. He squirmed tentatively up and peered around.

  A branch to his right dipped wildly and bounced as two monkeys leaped onto it.

  “Do you smell that?” one monkey said, sniffing the air.

  Thorn held his breath. Beside him, he felt Nut twitch.

  “Baboon?” the other monkey asked. “It’s probably blown in on that wind. You couldn’t escape baboon-stink if you flew up to the Great Spirit in the sky. They smell worse than rot-meat.”

  The monkeys laughed like hyenas; as they loped on, Thorn ducked down. Huddled in the hollow, he and Nut kept still until the chattering and screeching faded.

  “Well, they’re right about one thing,” Thorn remarked, rubbing his nose. “You could do with a groom.”

  Nut squirmed past him, pulled himself out of the hollow, and scrambled down the tree. “What’re you doing here anyway?” he snapped as Thorn followed. “Having a break from bowing down to Stinger?”

  Thorn jumped to the ground and dusted his paws. “I never bowed to Stinger.”

  “Whatever you say,” Nut sneered. “Go on—run back to your precious Crownleaf.”

  He turned his rump on Thorn, stiffening his matted shoulders as he stalked away with what passed for dignity. Once again Thorn felt a pang of involuntary pity. Then something else stirred inside him: the beginning of an idea . . .

  “Nut, wait!”

  “What?” Nut snapped over his shoulder. “I did you a favor: I helped you hide. Don’t push your luck by asking for another one.”

  “I hate Stinger too.”

  Nut stopped, his ears twitching. Slowly, he turned.

  “I hate Stinger,” Thorn repeated, slowly and clearly. “And, Nut—I know you didn’t kill Grub. Stinger did.”

  Nut’s jaw fell open.

  “He killed Bark, too,” Thorn went on, now that he had Nut’s full attention. “He wanted very badly to be Crownleaf. And now he is.”

  “What?” Nut snarled. “Stinger exiled me for something he did?”

  “Yes,” said Thorn.

  Nut made a strange squeaking noise. Snatching up a pawful of gravelly dirt, he flung it at the trees; some of it rattled on the leaves and bark, and the rest gusted back into his own eyes. A tormented growl emerged from his throat as he rubbed at them. At last he slumped onto his haunches. “He’s crazy, isn’t he?”

  Thorn squatted beside him. “I think he’s worse than that. I think he’s cleverer than all of us. He got just what he wanted. And what’s more, the troop loves him.”

  Nut’s muzzle twisted. “They deserve him.”

  “You don’t think that,” said Thorn. “Not really.” He felt a sudden wild urge to hoot with laughter. After everything, the only creature he could talk to was Nut. “Besides, we can save the troop from Stinger and from themselves. We can drive Stinger out.”

  Nut snorted. “We? I don’t want anything to do with you!” He flapped a paw at Thorn. “I hate you, remember?”

  “Fine.” Thorn shrugged. “I’m not asking you to like me. But I’m the only baboon in Bravelands who knows you’re innocent.”

  Nut fell silent. His eyes narrowed.

  “You want to come back to Brightforest, don’t you?” Thorn pressed. “That’ll only happen when Stinger’s gone.”

  “It’s not possible,” Nut muttered. “He’s too clever, as you point out. Too powerful.”

  “For us, maybe. But there’s someone we can ask for help. Someone who’s much stronger than a
ny baboon.”

  Nut frowned. “Who—” Realization dawned on his mean features, and he raked his paws across his patchy-furred skull. “You don’t mean—”

  Thorn nodded firmly. “Yep.”

  Nut groaned and sank his head into his paws. “You’re going to ask Big Talk.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Would you hurry up?” snapped Thorn. “I’ve been away from the troop since dawn. Stinger will be getting suspicious.”

  He stalked through the trees ahead of Nut, his hide prickling with irritation. He might have cajoled Nut into coming with him, but the bigger baboon had made it painfully clear he wasn’t happy about it.

  “This is ridiculous,” Nut griped, as they crouched at the edge of the open plain, flinching at the blast of the gale. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

  “I don’t see you coming up with a better idea.” Thorn bounded out into the long grasses, the wind tearing and tugging at his fur. Grass blades whipped, lashing his face, and he sneezed and spat. He glanced back to check that Nut was following. He was, but the scruffy baboon’s broad forehead was crinkled into a scowl.

  “Why Big Talk?” grumbled Nut. “He won’t help us.”

  “Fearless is my friend, remember?”

  Nut snorted. “He’s Stinger’s friend. Trust me, he won’t be on your side.”

  A sliver of doubt stirred within Thorn. He remembered all too clearly Fearless’s rapt adoration while Stinger taught him the ways of the baboons. But I used to feel the same way, he reminded himself. Stinger fooled all of us.

  He shook his fur. I must have faith in Fearless. “He’ll be on our side—when we tell him the truth.”

  “Sure. That’s if we can even find him,” Nut pointed out. “You can spend all day poking around in the grass if you like—I’m going for a nap. Don’t get blown all the way back to Tall Trees.” With a disdainful flick of his tail, Nut stalked over to the lee of a baobab tree.

  The shelter of its vast trunk did look tempting, Thorn had to admit. But he shot a glare at Nut as he slouched down against it. Just a bit of help would be nice. . . .

  He opened his jaws to tell Nut exactly what he thought of his attitude, but at that moment he felt a tremor in the earth beneath his paws.