Year: 1881
The warehouse near the eastern docks belonged to one of Osaro's merchants.
"This is the test." Akenzua briefed the new recruit—a palace servant named Uwagboe who had agreed to work for him after being caught spying. "Osaro's people will be watching. They expect you to report to them. Instead, you report to me."
"And if they suspect?"
"They won't. Because you'll give them exactly what they expect—information about my movements. Most of it true."
"What's the difference between true and useful?"
"The difference is what you leave out. They learn I visited the Portuguese mission. They don't learn what I brought back. They learn I met with the guild masters. They don't learn what we discussed."
Uwagboe nodded slowly.
"I deliver truth wrapped in ignorance."
"Exactly. Now—the warehouse. What did you observe?"
"Shipments arriving at night. British markings on the crates. And conversations I wasn't supposed to hear."
"What conversations?"
"They mentioned a 'resolution' to the prince problem. Payment arrangements. And a name—someone who would handle 'complications.'"
"What name?"
"Barnes. The same man you told me about from the conspiracy meeting."
The professional killer. Still active. Still planning.
"Your first real task: find out when Barnes is returning to Benin. And who he's meeting when he arrives."
---
Three days later, Osarobo appeared with grave news.
"We have a problem. The information network."
"What kind of problem?"
"One of our sources—the woman in Osaro's kitchens, Amenze—her reports have been inconsistent. Details that don't match other intelligence. Timelines that contradict what we know."
"You think she's been turned?"
"I think someone's feeding us bad information through her. Whether she knows it or not."
The implications were chilling. If one source was compromised, others might be too.
"What do we do?"
"I've already started. Compartmentalization. Each source gets different versions of the same question. Whoever reports the wrong version reveals themselves."
"How long?"
"A few days. Maybe a week."
"And in the meantime?"
"We trust nothing. Verify everything. Act on intelligence only when we can confirm it through multiple channels."
---
The whispers followed him like shadows.
"...speaks to demons in the night..."
The voice came from junior nobles near the eastern colonnade. Akenzua did not turn his head, but he noted the speaker.
"...the Iwebo society wants him examined by the priests..."
Chief Adagunodo materialized at his elbow.
"The prince looks troubled this morning."
"The prince is thoughtful. There is a difference."
"Much talk in the court today. Much concern."
"The wise man worries about tomorrow. The fool worries about yesterday's gossip."
Adagunodo's smile faltered. He retreated with a bow that was slightly too shallow.
Another piece moved on the board.
---
The great drums sounded. The Oba's arrival.
The Oba entered through the ivory doors. Crimson robes. Coral beads weighing his neck.
Then the messenger arrived.
A royal runner, dust coating his robes, prostrated himself before the throne.
"Great Oba. I bring word from the coast. The British have signed treaties with Opobo and Calabar. The Oil Rivers are now under their protection."
Murmurs rippled outward. Fear on some faces. Confusion on others. And on a few, barely concealed satisfaction.
"What manner of protection?" the Oba asked.
"Exclusive trading rights. Administrative authority. The right to station soldiers. The kings now answer to British consuls."
"Sovereignty sold for promises." The words escaped Akenzua before he could stop them.
"This concerns distant kingdoms," Osaro said quickly.
"Not yet. But what is Opobo today will be Benin tomorrow."
"Enough." The Oba's voice cut through. "This is a matter for council discussion. Privately."
---
That night, Osarobo appeared at his window.
"Osaro has doubled security. And one of our people is dead."
"Who?"
"Amenze. The woman in his kitchens."
A face rose in memory. Young, clever. Two children in the eastern quarter.
"How?"
"Poisoned. Made to look like spoiled food. But the symptoms were wrong."
"Was she the leak?"
"No. The compartmentalization test cleared her. But someone in Osaro's household suspected she was reporting to us. They killed her to be safe."
The first death directly attributable to his network.
"Her family?"
"Being moved tonight. Safe houses outside the city."
"Pull back the others. Anyone close to Osaro's inner circle."
"That creates blind spots."
"I would rather have blind spots than corpses."
---
The passage to the Oba's private chambers was known to fewer than a dozen people.
The Oba was waiting. Simple chair. Single oil lamp.
"Tell me about the weapons."
"What have you heard?"
"That you've partnered with the smiths' guild. That they produce rifles. That your guards defeated bandits three to one."
"All true."
"Why didn't you come to me first?"
"Because I needed to prove the concept before asking for support. And because I wasn't sure who I could trust."
The Oba was silent.
"You thought I might stop you."
"You might have. Osaro has influence. The priests have concerns. A king who protects his son from all challenges does that son no favors."
"So you operated in secret."
"I operated with discretion. There's a difference."
The Oba rose. Walked to the window.
"Osaro is planning something. A formal accusation. Religious trial."
"I know."
"He has the priests. He has support on the council. He might win."
"Then I need to move first."
"What do you propose?"
Akenzua took a breath. This was the point of no return.
"I propose we expose his conspiracy. The meetings with British agents. The payments he's received. The assassination plans."
"You have proof?"
"I have witnesses. Intelligence. But not enough for a formal trial—only enough to destroy his reputation."
"If you expose him without proof sufficient for conviction, you create a wounded enemy. Dangerous."
"If I wait for proof, he moves first. Also dangerous."
The Oba turned.
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
"Call an emergency council session. Give me leave to speak freely. And when I name Osaro's British connections, don't stop me."
"That's not proof. That's accusation."
"That's strategy. Make him defend himself. Make his allies question whether they want to be associated with treason. Buy time for the weapons program to reach scale."
The Oba studied his son for a long moment.
"You're asking me to choose between you and the chief who has served me for twenty years."
"I'm asking you to choose between the son who's preparing for survival and the chief who's selling the kingdom to foreigners."
Silence stretched.
"Three days. The council meets in three days. You'll have your opportunity."
"Thank you, Father."
"Don't thank me yet. If you fail, I cannot protect you from the consequences."
---
The next three days were a blur.
Osarobo coordinated witness preparation. Igue ensured the weapons stockpile was secure. Idia worked her own networks, building support among wavering chiefs.
"Fourteen solid votes," she reported. "Eight opposed. The rest uncertain."
"That's not enough to convict him."
"It's enough to wound him. To make his allies question their loyalty."
"And the priests?"
"Split. Half believe you're possessed. Half think you're just unusual."
"What about Oronmwen?"
Idia paused. "He's been asking questions. About you. About what you're really planning."
"Questions for Osaro?"
"Questions for himself. He's not sure which side to choose."
"Can I talk to him?"
"You can try. But be careful. If he's already committed to Osaro, anything you say could be used against you."
That night, Akenzua found his brother at the training grounds.
"We need to talk."
"Do we?"
"I know you've been attending Osaro's meetings."
Oronmwen's face went still.
"Osaro thinks you're possessed. A danger to the kingdom. He says removing you is necessary for Benin's survival."
"And what do you think?"
"I think you're different. Strange. Maybe dangerous." Oronmwen met his eyes. "But I also think you might be right about the British. About what's coming."
"Then help me. Stand with me at the council session."
"I haven't decided."
"The session is in three days. Decide before then. Because after that, there won't be a middle ground."
Oronmwen was silent for a long moment.
"I'll think about it."
Not a commitment. But not a rejection either.
The countdown had begun.
---
END OF CHAPTER TEN