Year: 1880
Osaze's report came at midnight.
"Chief Osaro. Meeting tonight. The warehouse by the eastern dock."
Akenzua was moving before she finished speaking.
"How many?"
"Five men entered before I lost sight. Osaro's guards are patrolling. They don't want witnesses."
"Then we won't be witnesses. We'll be shadows."
---
The warehouse district was dark except for a single light.
Akenzua and Osarobo crept along the rooftop of an adjacent building. Below, guards paced in predictable patterns.
"There." Osarobo pointed to a gap in the roof tiles. "We can hear from there."
They moved silently. The voices drifted up through the wooden planks.
"—can't keep funding this forever." A voice Akenzua didn't recognize. Heavy accent. British.
"The investments will pay when we move." Osaro's voice. Calm. Confident.
"When do you move?"
"When the prince has been dealt with. The boy is dangerous—he knows things he shouldn't know. If he convinces his father—"
"Your problem. Not ours. We're paying for results."
"Results require patience. The Oba still protects his son."
"Then remove the protection." A new voice. Colder. "We have methods."
Silence.
"You're suggesting—"
"I'm suggesting nothing. I'm stating facts. Obstacles can be removed. Permanently."
Akenzua's blood ran cold. They were discussing assassination. His assassination.
"That's... extreme."
"Extreme is what happens when half-measures fail. You've had weeks. The prince is still asking questions. Still building networks. Still preparing for something."
"I've restricted his funding. Cut his access—"
"Cut his head. That's the only solution that lasts."
Osaro's voice went tight. "I won't commit murder in my own court."
"Then we'll find someone who will."
---
Akenzua was already moving when the warehouse door opened.
"Down. Now."
They dropped flat on the roof.
Below, the conspirators emerged. Osaro. Two British merchants Akenzua recognized from court. And two others—harder men, with the bearing of soldiers.
"The arrangements are finalized." One of the strangers spoke. "Payment will arrive through the usual channels."
"And the... other matter?"
"Leave it to us. By the next new moon, the prince will no longer be a concern."
They separated into the darkness.
Akenzua's hands were shaking.
"Prince," Osarobo whispered. "We should go."
"Wait."
One guard remained behind. Alone. Counting something in his hand—coins, gleaming in the torchlight.
The man turned toward the water.
And stopped.
A shadow detached from the wall. A blade glinted.
The guard's throat opened in a red line. He fell without a sound.
The killer cleaned his blade methodically. Then he lifted the body and dropped it into the water.
No splash. Weighted down.
Osarobo's breath caught.
"They're cleaning up."
"Witnesses. Anyone who saw too much."
"That guard knew something."
"Knew something. Or was going to say something." Akenzua watched the killer vanish into the shadows. "This is what we're dealing with. Not just politics. Murder. Conspiracy. Foreign agents willing to kill to achieve their goals."
"What do we do?"
"We survive. We document. We build our own network faster than they can destroy it."
"And the assassination plot?"
"We have a new moon coming. That's our deadline. Before then, I need protection they can't penetrate. Or I need to expose this conspiracy in a way that makes killing me too costly."
---
The bundle arrived from the coast the next morning—through Father Domingos's contacts.
Six months of European newspapers. To most in Benin, incomprehensible curiosities. To Akenzua, windows into the minds of his enemies.
He worked through them systematically. The Times of London discussed trade concessions. Le Figaro analyzed French colonial expansion. Berlin papers debated the upcoming conference.
"My contacts in Lagos send what they can," Domingos said. "Ship captains. Traders who understand the value of information."
"The Berlin Conference. What do you know?"
"It's happening. The major European powers will meet to establish rules for territorial claims. Avoid war between themselves while dividing Africa."
"How soon?"
"Months. Maybe weeks."
Akenzua unfolded the map Domingos had provided.
His stomach dropped.
British pink along the Niger Delta. French blue spreading across the Sahara. Portuguese green marking Angola. German yellow appearing in Southwest Africa.
They've already divided the coasts. Now they're moving inland.
"This area here." He pointed to the Niger River region.
"The Oil Rivers Protectorate. Trading posts. Military advisors. Missionaries." Domingos traced the pink regions. "Protectorate becomes colony. Always."
Right next door to Benin.
"Benin isn't on this map."
"Benin isn't claimed. Yet. But you're surrounded by claims. Eventually, someone will decide you're too valuable to leave alone."
---
Akenzua had transformed his private chambers into a command center.
Maps covered every wall. Notes in multiple languages. Intelligence reports from Osarobo's growing network.
"Servants are talking," Osarobo reported. "The prince. Gone mad. Covered his walls with foreign papers."
"Let them talk. Mad is underestimated."
"The British agents who met with Osaro—I have more."
"Tell me."
"They've been seen at other courts. Ibadan. Oyo. Lagos. They're building networks across the entire region. Mapping weaknesses. Identifying potential collaborators."
"Same thing we're doing."
"And the conspiracy? The assassination plot?"
"We document everything. When the time comes, we'll need proof."
Akenzua traced the vassal territories on his map.
"The Itsekiri at Warri—founded by Prince Ginuwa four centuries ago. They control the Benin River outlet. The Ijaw control the delta channels. The Urhobo maintain the interior routes. The Isoko connect our trade networks."
"This is what we have."
"This is what we must protect. Before we can expand—to Lagos, to Ibadan, to the north—we must secure what we have. Consolidation before expansion."
---
Osaze brought new intelligence that evening.
"I have names. The men meeting with Osaro."
Akenzua leaned forward.
"The British merchants are James Halliday and Thomas Morton. Both represent the Royal Niger Company. They've been in the region for three years, building commercial relationships."
"Commercial relationships that include conspiracy?"
"The company wants trade concessions. Osaro can provide them—once he has enough power."
"And the harder men?"
"Former soldiers. One is called Barnes. The other is called Shaw. They handle... problems. There are rumors about deaths in Lagos that couldn't be explained."
"Professional killers."
"Working for the company. Or working for someone who works for the company."
"And the payment Osaro receives?"
"Gold. Delivered through intermediary merchants. Enough to fund his faction, bribe officials, maintain his position."
Akenzua wrote the names carefully. Halliday. Morton. Barnes. Shaw. Osaro.
"Motives?"
"The British want trade access and eventual control. Osaro wants power—he's been second to your father for twenty years. He sees the succession as his opportunity."
"To rule through a puppet Oba."
"Through your brother, most likely. Egogo is young. Controllable."
"And I'm the obstacle."
"The only obstacle that sees what they're doing and has the ability to stop it."
---
That night, Akenzua's mother came to his chambers.
"You should sleep."
"I can't."
She walked to the maps. "This is what the ancestors showed you?"
"Part of it."
"It looks like invasion plans."
"It is. From the other side. How the Europeans intend to divide us."
She touched the pink regions marking British claims.
"They've taken so much already."
"And they'll take more. That's what empires do."
"What stops an empire?"
"Usually themselves. They expand too fast. Costs exceed benefits." He pointed to the unmarked interior. "But we can help that process along. Make conquering us so expensive they choose easier targets."
"How?"
"Unity. Weapons. Preparation." He paused. "And surviving the next two weeks."
Idia's eyes sharpened. "What happens in two weeks?"
"The new moon. I have reason to believe... someone wants me dead before then."
"Osaro?"
"Osaro and his foreign sponsors. I overheard them planning."
"You have proof?"
"Enough to know. Not enough to act. Not yet."
Idia was silent for a long moment.
"Your father needs to know."
"My father doesn't trust me. The council restricted my funding on Osaro's recommendation."
"Then give him reason to trust you." She gripped his arm. "Whatever you're planning—accelerate it. If they're moving against you, you need to move faster."
---
Osarobo's report arrived with first light.
"The British meetings. Someone overheard more than expected."
"And?"
"They mentioned a name. Someone they want Osaro to watch. Phillips. James Phillips. A consul. Rising fast in the colonial service."
Phillips.
The name echoed like a warning bell. In the visions—in the general's memories—that name had been attached to destruction. To the expedition that had burned the palace.
"Tell me everything about Phillips."
"Young. Ambitious. Currently on the Gold Coast. They expect him to be consul-general for this region within ten years."
Building his career. Waiting for his moment.
"He's the one."
"The one what?"
"The one who will come for us. Not Halliday or Morton. Not Osaro. Phillips." Akenzua stared at the map. "Everything we're building—every weapon, every alliance, every preparation—it's to stop him. Him specifically."
"You sound certain."
"I am certain." The general's memories were clear. "In another... version of events, James Phillips leads an expedition that destroys everything we know. That's what I'm trying to prevent."
Osarobo was quiet for a long moment.
"Then we have two deadlines. The new moon for the assassination plot. And whatever timeline Phillips is following."
"Yes."
"What do we do?"
"We survive the first. We prepare for the second." Akenzua looked at the map one final time. "And we hope we have enough time to do both."
The sun rose over Benin City.
But somewhere in London, men were drawing lines on maps. And somewhere in the colonial service, James Phillips was building the career that would lead him, one day, to Benin's gates.
The race had begun.
---
END OF CHAPTER SIX