Year: 1884
The dawn after the wedding, Akenzua found his wife already awake.
Esohe sat by the window, watching the palace compound stir below. She had exchanged ceremonial robes for practical cloth, gold ornaments for simple coral beads.
"You don't sleep much," she observed without turning.
"Neither do you."
"I was thinking about what you told me. The visions. The British coming. What you're trying to prevent."
Three days of celebration had given them little privacy. Now, finally, they could speak freely.
"And?"
"That you're either mad or the most dangerous man in Benin." She turned to face him. "I want to see it myself. Today."
Before he could answer, urgent knocking at the door.
"My lord." Osarobo's voice. Tight with controlled alarm. "There's been an incident. At the forge."
---
They rode through darkness, Esohe at Akenzua's side despite his protests.
"If you want me as partner, I see what you face. Not summaries. Reality."
The hidden forge lay three miles from the palace. When they arrived, the outer guards stood in grim formation. Blood on the ground near the concealed entrance.
"Report," Akenzua said.
The guard captain stepped forward. "Night patrol found them two hours ago. Three men, trying to enter through the secondary tunnel."
"Trying?"
"They had the entrance pattern. The old one--the one we changed three weeks ago."
Someone had leaked information. But not current information.
"What happened to them?"
"Two escaped. The third..." The captain gestured toward a covered form on the ground. "He fought when cornered. We had no choice."
Akenzua crouched beside the body. Pulled back the cloth.
Young. Perhaps twenty. Features that suggested mixed heritage--Benin mother, European father. His hands showed no calluses. Not a laborer.
"Search him."
The guards had already found it. Documents. Hand-drawn diagrams of the forge entrance. Partial notes on production schedules.
"He wasn't just scouting," Esohe said quietly. "He was recording."
"For someone." Akenzua examined the papers. "Someone who already knows enough to know what questions to ask."
---
Inside, the workshop hummed with its usual rhythm. But the workers' faces showed fear.
Igue met them at the main chamber entrance. His expression was stone.
"They didn't reach the production floor. But they got close enough to see the secondary storage."
"What's in secondary storage?"
"Completed rifles. Documentation. Training manuals." Igue's voice was flat. "If they'd made it another hundred yards, they'd have seen everything."
Esohe walked the perimeter, her eyes cataloguing. Akenzua had brought her here to see strength. Instead, she was seeing vulnerability.
"The entrance pattern," she said. "How many people knew the old sequence?"
"Thirty. Maybe thirty-five."
"And how many of those have reason to share it with outsiders?"
The question hung in the air.
"We need to find the leak," Akenzua said. "Before tonight."
---
They found him within hours.
Uwagboe--a supply runner who transported charcoal to the forge. He had been recruited into Osarobo's network two years ago. Reliable. Trusted.
Apparently not.
The interrogation chamber was deep beneath the palace. No light reached it except what they brought.
"You gave them the entrance pattern."
Uwagboe's face was a mask of terror. "I didn't--I never--"
"The dead man had diagrams. Accurate diagrams. Only someone who had been inside could draw them." Osarobo circled slowly. "You've been inside. Weekly. For two years."
"I'm loyal! I've served faithfully--"
"You've served whoever pays best." Osarobo produced a small pouch. Coins. British coins. "We found these in your quarters. Hidden beneath your sleeping mat."
Uwagboe's face collapsed.
"They approached me six months ago. A merchant. He said he just wanted to know about trade routes. Charcoal sources. Nothing important."
"And you believed him."
"The money... my family... I thought--"
"You thought you could sell small secrets safely." Akenzua's voice was cold. "What else did you tell them?"
"Nothing! Just the entrance. The old pattern. I swear I didn't know--"
"A man died tonight because of what you shared. Our secrets are compromised because of what you shared." Akenzua leaned close. "Who was the merchant? What did he look like? Who does he work for?"
The interrogation continued until Uwagboe had nothing left to give. A British agent working through local intermediaries. Questions about weapons production. Interest in training schedules.
They knew.
Not everything. Not yet. But enough to know something was happening.
---
"What happens to him?" Esohe asked afterward.
They stood in Akenzua's chambers, the first light of dawn coloring the windows.
"What should happen?"
"He's a traitor. He endangered everything you've built. The traditional penalty is death."
"And?"
"And he's also a man who sold secrets to feed his family. A man who thought small betrayals were harmless." She met his eyes. "Executing him sends a message. But so does the manner of execution."
"What do you suggest?"
"Public enough to discourage others. Private enough to avoid explaining what secrets he sold." She paused. "Let it be known he was executed for theft from the royal treasury. The truth serves no one."
Uwagboe died that afternoon. The official announcement mentioned embezzlement. The inner circle knew the reality.
The first blood paid for secrecy.
---
That evening, Akenzua finally showed Esohe the forge properly.
They walked the production floor while Igue explained each station. The smelting furnaces. The crucibles for steel. The precision machines.
"Three hundred and twelve completed," Igue said. "Before you ask--not enough. Never enough."
Esohe picked up a completed rifle. Tested its weight. Sighted down the barrel.
"The British have thousands. Artillery. Machine guns. Ships." She set down the weapon. "Three hundred rifles won't stop them."
"Three hundred rifles will make them bleed. Make them calculate. Make them wonder if the cost is worth it." Akenzua gestured at the workshop. "We're not trying to match them. We're trying to make conquest expensive enough that they choose not to pay."
"And if they pay anyway?"
"Then we've done everything we could. And we go down fighting."
---
Osarobo arrived as they prepared to leave the forge.
"The dead infiltrator. We've identified him."
"Who?"
"His name was Adewale. Half-British, half-Yoruba. He's been living in Lagos for three years. Working as a translator for the Oil Rivers Protectorate administration."
"A British agent."
"A British employee. The distinction may matter." Osarobo handed over a document. "We found this sewn into his clothing. A list of questions. Specific questions about our operations."
Akenzua read the list. His blood cooled with each line.
- What type of weapons are being manufactured?
- What is the current production rate?
- How many trained personnel are involved?
- What is the source of raw materials?
- What European assistance has been obtained?
"They know," Esohe said quietly. "They don't know everything--but they know enough to ask the right questions."
"The merchant who recruited Uwagboe. He was asking these questions. Feeding them back to Lagos." Osarobo's voice was grim. "This wasn't random intelligence gathering. This was a targeted investigation."
"Into us specifically."
"Into Benin specifically. Into whatever we're building that's caught their attention."
The secret was no longer secret.
The British knew something was happening. They were asking questions. Sending agents. Paying informants.
The race had begun.
---
That night, the inner circle gathered.
Akenzua laid out the situation. The infiltration attempt. The questions found on the dead agent. The evidence of organized British intelligence gathering.
"We've lost the advantage of invisibility," Osarobo said. "They know we're preparing for something."
"They don't know what. Or how much." Erebo's voice was steady. "That's still worth something."
"Not for long. They'll send more agents. Recruit more informants. Eventually, they'll piece together enough to understand the full picture."
"Then we accelerate." Akenzua stood. "Production increases. Training intensifies. Alliance building moves faster."
"And security?"
"Triple it. New entrance patterns. Smaller cells. Compartmentalization." He looked around the table. "From now on, no one person knows everything. Even within this circle."
"That includes me?" Esohe asked.
"That includes everyone. The cost of captured knowledge is too high."
The room was silent.
"There's something else," Osarobo said. "The questions found on the agent. One of them referenced 'European assistance.' They suspect we're getting help from somewhere."
"The Germans. Schmidt's trade network."
"If the British learn about that connection, they'll pressure Berlin. Close off that supply route." Osarobo shook his head. "Every relationship we've built is now a vulnerability."
"Then we build more relationships. Diversify. Make sure cutting one connection doesn't collapse everything."
The meeting continued through the night. New protocols. New security measures. New urgency.
When it ended, Esohe remained.
"Your first day in the circle," Akenzua said. "And already you've seen execution, infiltration, and the collapse of secrecy."
"I've seen reality." Her voice was steady. "I've seen what it costs to build what you're building. And I've seen that the cost will only increase."
"Does that change anything?"
"It changes how I think about time. We have less than I assumed." She moved to stand beside him at the window. "The British know something is happening. They'll find out what. The only question is whether we're ready when they do."
"And if we're not?"
"Then we make ourselves ready. Starting now."
Outside, the city slept unaware. The palace guards maintained their vigils. The forges prepared for another day of production.
But something fundamental had shifted.
They were no longer invisible.
They were no longer unknown.
The enemy was watching. Learning. Preparing.
And the race to see who prepared faster had begun.