The explosion threw Akenzua across the workshop.
He hit the ground hard, ears ringing, smoke burning his lungs. Through blurred vision, he saw flames climbing the walls where the experimental furnace had stood moments before.
"Prince!" Igue's voice cut through the chaos. "Are you injured?"
Akenzua pushed himself up. His arm screamed—burned, he realized, the sleeve of his robe charred away. The pain was distant, muffled by shock.
"The apprentice—"
Igue's face went gray. "Amenze was tending the bellows."
They found him in the debris. Eighteen years old. The right side of his body blackened beyond recognition. Still breathing, but barely.
"Water!" Igue screamed. "Get the water!"
Akenzua knelt beside the dying boy. He had seen wounds like this in Afghanistan—IED victims, burn casualties. The survival rate was measured in hours.
"He was doing what I asked," Igue said, voice cracking. "I told him to increase the airflow. Hotter than we'd ever tried."
"The temperature was right. The theory was sound."
"The theory killed my nephew."
Nephew. Igue's own blood, sacrificed to an experiment based on knowledge from another world.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't bring back the dead." Igue's eyes were red. "My sister gave me her son to train. To teach him a craft that would feed his family. And I used him to chase a prince's fever dreams."
Amenze died before the sun set.
---
The funeral was small. Igue's sister wailed through the night. The other smiths watched Akenzua with eyes that held something new—suspicion. Fear.
"The guild is talking," Osarobo reported the next morning. "They say the prince brings dangerous ideas. That innovation kills."
"It does. Sometimes."
"They're saying other things too. That the explosion wasn't an accident."
Akenzua went still. "What do you mean?"
"One of the apprentices—the one who survived—said someone had been in the workshop the night before. Moving things. He thought it was another smith, didn't think to mention it until after."
"Someone sabotaged the furnace?"
"Someone who knew exactly what would happen if the airflow was increased with the seals damaged."
Osaro. Or someone working for him.
"Can we prove it?"
"The evidence burned with Amenze. But I can find out who was in the quarter that night."
---
The crowd had gathered in the market square before dawn.
Akenzua stood at the edge, hooded against recognition. Osarobo beside him, barely visible. A wooden platform occupied the center, stained with old blood. Three figures knelt upon it—hands bound, heads bowed.
"Who are they?"
"Thieves. Supposedly." Osarobo's voice was flat. "The woman stole three yams. The man took cloth for his family. And the child..."
A boy. Skinny as a river reed.
"Efe. Twelve years old. Stole bread from one of Osaro's merchants."
"Bread?"
"His mother worked in the palace. Overheard things. Repeated things she shouldn't have. She died of fever two weeks ago. Very sudden."
And now the son dies too. Osaro cleaning up loose ends.
The executioner stepped forward. A heavy blade gleamed.
Akenzua's burned arm throbbed. Another death he hadn't prevented. Another failure.
"Stay here."
He pushed through the crowd. Threw back his hood.
"STOP."
The executioner froze, blade suspended mid-swing.
A well-dressed functionary stepped forward. Iwebo Society robes.
"Your Highness. These criminals were condemned by proper authority—"
"I am proper authority. I invoke the Right of Royal Inquiry."
Silence.
"The Iwebo Society has already reviewed—"
"The Iwebo serves the throne. It does not supersede it."
Akenzua climbed onto the platform. His arm screamed with every movement.
The woman—thin, exhausted. A farmer's widow.
The man—barely twenty. Callused hands. A craftsman.
The child. Eyes too old for twelve years.
"What are the charges? Specifically."
"Theft from licensed merchants."
"What did she steal?"
"Yams. Perhaps three tubers."
"And him?"
"Cloth. For his family."
"And the child?"
"Bread. Three loaves."
Akenzua turned to the crowd.
"These people are not criminals. They are hungry. Yesterday, I watched a man die for my experiments. Today, we prepare to kill children for bread." His voice carried across the square. "A kingdom that treats its own people this way has lost its way. I invoke the Right of Royal Mercy. These prisoners are pardoned."
"Your Highness, the Society will protest—"
"Let them protest. To my father. Who will decide whether their codes serve the kingdom or those who profit from enforcing them."
---
Efe was even smaller up close.
"You're the prince. The one who stopped the blade."
"I am."
"They were going to kill me. For bread." His voice cracked. "Because my mother was dead and there was no one to feed me."
"I know."
The boy stood straighter. "I owe you my life. My mother taught me that debts must be paid."
"You don't owe me anything. What happened to your mother—she didn't deserve it."
"You know what happened to her?"
"I know she heard things she shouldn't have. And that powerful people wanted her silenced."
Efe's eyes went hard. "Chief Osaro visited the palace three days before she got sick. He spoke to her supervisor. The next day, my mother started coughing. A week later, she was dead."
"Can you prove any of this?"
"No. But I watched. I remember."
"What's your situation now? No family?"
"Dead. My father when I was small. My mother two weeks ago." He looked at Akenzua directly. "I have nothing. But I remember everything."
"I might have use for someone who remembers."
"You want me to spy."
"I want you to survive. And help this kingdom survive with you. Osaro's people killed your mother and almost killed you. Working with me gives you protection—and eventually, maybe justice."
Efe was silent for a long moment.
"The other children in the market say you're different since the fever. That you see things no one else sees."
"I see that powerful men are preparing to sell this kingdom to foreigners. I see that they'll kill anyone who gets in their way. I see a future where everything we know is destroyed—unless we stop it."
"And you think a street boy can help stop that?"
"I think a street boy who watches, who remembers, who has nothing to lose—that's exactly what I need."
Efe extended his hand. Akenzua clasped it.
"I accept."
---
The master smith's forge was cold.
Akenzua found Igue sitting among the debris of the explosion, staring at nothing. The funeral ashes were still fresh on his clothes.
"Master Igue."
"Go away."
"I can't."
"My nephew is dead because of your experiments. Your fever visions. Your promises of weapons that would save us." Igue's voice was hollow. "What have you saved? Nothing. Just another young man burned alive for a prince's ambition."
Akenzua sat across from him. The burned flesh of his arm protested the movement.
"My father was a metalworker," Igue said quietly. "Not a smith—a miner. He worked the iron deposits in the eastern hills. The guild masters promised him advancement if he found new sources. He found one. Deeper than anyone had gone before."
"What happened?"
"The tunnel collapsed. Fourteen men died. My father among them." Igue's hands clenched. "The guild masters took credit for the discovery. My mother received nothing. I raised my sisters alone."
"I'm sorry."
"I became a smith because I wanted to prove I was more than my father's failure. Because I wanted to create something the guild masters couldn't take. And now..." He gestured at the ruined workshop. "Now I've killed my nephew the same way the mines killed my father. Chasing progress that costs more than it gives."
"The explosion wasn't your fault."
Igue looked up sharply.
"Someone tampered with the furnace. Damaged the seals so the increased airflow would cause exactly what happened."
"Who?"
"I don't know yet. But I intend to find out."
Igue was silent for a long moment.
"If you're lying to me—if this is just a story to make me keep working—"
"I'll bring you proof. When I have it. But whoever did this wanted to stop our experiments. Wanted to scare you away from helping me. Are you going to let them win?"
"Amenze is dead."
"Yes. And nothing changes that. But we can make his death mean something. Build the weapons he died trying to create. Make sure the people who killed him face consequences."
Igue stood slowly.
"My sister will never forgive me. The guild will watch every move I make. And if we fail again..."
"If we fail again, we adjust and try differently. That's what progress is—failure after failure until something works."
"Easy words from a prince who can afford to fail."
"I watched my apprentice die yesterday, Igue. My experiments killed him as surely as if I'd held the flame myself. I'm not asking you to risk anything I haven't already risked."
Igue walked to the ruined furnace. Ran his hand along the twisted metal.
"We rebuild. But differently. Multiple safety measures. No single failure point. And no one works alone."
"Agreed."
"And when you find proof of who sabotaged us?"
"Then we decide together what justice looks like."
---
The hidden courtyard was small and forgotten. Four figures sat in the darkness.
Osarobo. Efe. A girl—maybe fifteen, with careful eyes. And a young man Akenzua didn't recognize.
"Osaze." Osarobo gestured to the girl. "Daughter of a palace cook. Access to the kitchens, the servants' quarters, the storage rooms."
Osaze looked at Akenzua. "Osarobo says you're building something."
"I am."
"What?"
"A network. Eyes and ears throughout the city."
"I believe something's changing. I see it in the palace. The way the chiefs whisper. The fear that seeps through the walls."
"What do you want in return?"
"What everyone wants. A future. My mother has served in this palace for twenty years. Invisible. The chiefs say things around her like she's furniture."
"And the young man?"
"Erhun." The youth spoke for himself. "I work in the Igun quarter. Apprentice to a lesser smith. But I move freely between the workshops."
"Can you watch without being noticed?"
"I've been invisible my whole life. No one sees a sweep boy."
Akenzua nodded. "Osarobo coordinates. Watch. Listen. Report. Never speak of this to anyone outside this group. And understand—what we're doing is dangerous. People have already died."
"The explosion," Osaze said quietly. "Everyone's talking about it."
"The explosion was sabotage. Someone doesn't want me to succeed. If they find out about this network, they'll try to destroy it too."
"Then we'll be careful," Efe said. His voice was hard. "I already died once today. What's left to fear?"
---
Three days later, Erhun's report came at dawn.
"The night before the explosion. A man entered the Igun quarter after dark. Not a smith—wrong clothes, wrong walk. He spent an hour in the area around Igue's workshop, then left."
"Did you see his face?"
"No. But I saw the pattern on his robe. Iwebo Society."
Osaro's people.
"Can you identify which member?"
"Not yet. But the pattern was distinctive. Embroidered edges. Senior rank."
"Keep watching. And Erhun—be careful. If they suspect you..."
"They won't. I told you. No one sees the sweep boy."
After Erhun left, Osarobo spoke.
"You have evidence now. Partial, but evidence."
"Not enough. Not yet. But we're getting closer."
"What will you do when you have proof?"
"Depends on what the proof shows. If it's just Osaro's men acting independently, I expose them publicly. If Osaro himself ordered it..."
"Then what?"
Akenzua looked out the window. The sun was rising over Benin City—over the palace where Osaro plotted, over the Igun quarter where Amenze had died, over the market where Efe had nearly been executed.
"Then I find out if my father values tradition more than justice. And if he does..." He turned back to Osarobo. "Then I start planning for a very different future."
The game was becoming deadlier. The explosion had proved that Akenzua's enemies were willing to kill to stop him.
He would have to be willing to do the same.
---
END OF CHAPTER FOUR