Year: 1880
The rifle fired.
The sound split the morning air in Igue's hidden workshop—a small cave in the hills outside Benin City, far from ears that might report.
Akenzua lowered the weapon, ears ringing.
Downrange, the target—a wooden board—had a hole clean through its center.
"It works." Igue's voice held wonder. "It actually works."
"First prototype." Akenzua checked the mechanism. "The barrel held. The action cycled. We have proof of concept."
"What's next?"
"Testing. Refinement. Making sure it works reliably, not just once."
Igue took the rifle, examining it with a craftsman's eye.
"The barrel shows stress marks. This one might last fifty firings. Maybe less."
"Then we improve the metal. The process. We iterate until it's right."
"That takes time."
"Time is exactly what we may not have." Akenzua looked toward the city. "I need you to do something for me. Something dangerous."
---
Igue set down the rifle.
"What kind of dangerous?"
"I'm being hunted. Osaro and his foreign allies—they plan to kill me before the new moon."
"Kill you? The crown prince?"
"The crown prince who threatens their plans. The prince who sees too much." Akenzua met Igue's eyes. "I need allies I can trust absolutely. Not the kind bought with gold. The kind bound by something stronger."
"What are you asking?"
"I'm asking for your oath. Not a political arrangement. Not a business deal. A blood oath. The kind our ancestors made before battle."
Igue's face went still.
"You know what you're asking."
"I know. I'm asking you to bind your fate to mine. If I fall, you fall. If I rise, you rise. No middle ground."
"Why would I agree to that?"
"Because you've already chosen sides. The moment you started building weapons for me, you became my ally. Osaro knows it. His British friends know it. The only question is whether we formalize what already exists—or pretend otherwise until they come for both of us."
Igue was silent for a long moment.
"My nephew died for your experiments."
"Yes."
"I blamed you for that. Part of me still does."
"You should. I gave him knowledge that killed him."
"But you also gave him purpose. Amenze believed he was building something that mattered. Something that might save the kingdom." Igue's voice cracked. "He died believing that. I can honor his memory by finishing what he started—or I can walk away and let his death mean nothing."
"I can't promise survival. I can only promise meaning."
Igue drew a knife from his belt. Old iron. Well-worn.
"My father's blade. The one he carried into the mines where he died."
He drew the edge across his palm. Blood welled.
"I swear by my father's memory, by my nephew's death, by every ancestor who shaped metal with their hands—I am yours. Until the kingdom is safe or until I fall."
Akenzua took the blade. Drew it across his own palm.
"I swear by the visions that guide me, by the burden I carry, by every death that weighs on my conscience—I am yours. We rise together or we fall together. There is no other way."
Their bloody hands clasped.
The oath was sealed.
---
Three days later, the guild masters gathered in Igue's workshop.
Twelve men. Senior smiths of the Igun Ematon. The guild master—Osemwenkhae, ancient, with burn scars covering half his face—presided.
"Master Igue. You requested this assembly. Explain."
"The prince has a proposal for the guild."
Eyes turned to Akenzua.
"Honored masters. I come not to command but to propose. A partnership. Between the guild and the throne."
An older smith snorted. "We already serve the throne."
"I'm proposing something different. Not service. Collaboration."
"Explain the difference."
"Service is one direction. Collaboration is mutual." Akenzua gestured to the workbench where the prototype rifle lay concealed beneath cloth. "The guild contributes knowledge and skill. The throne contributes resources and protection. Both benefit."
The guild master leaned forward. "What would we be building?"
Akenzua pulled the cloth away.
The rifle gleamed in the lamplight.
"This."
Silence.
"That's... a European weapon."
"It's a weapon built by Edo hands, using Edo techniques, in an Edo workshop." Akenzua picked up the rifle. "It fires. It works. And it represents what we can achieve together."
---
"Prove it."
The guild master's voice was flat. Challenging.
"Gladly."
They moved to the back of the workshop, where Igue had set up a target range. A thick wooden post stood thirty paces away.
Akenzua loaded the rifle. The mechanism was smooth—Igue's craftsmanship showing in every component.
He raised the weapon. Sighted.
Fired.
The report echoed off the walls. Smoke billowed.
The wooden post now had a hole through its center.
"One shot," the guild master said. "Impressive. But European rifles fire many shots."
"This one will too. When we refine the design."
"And the barrel? How long does it last?"
"This prototype—fifty firings. Maybe less. The next version will be better."
"You're asking us to invest in something unproven."
"I'm asking you to invest in survival." Akenzua's voice hardened. "The Europeans have weapons like this. Thousands of them. In fifteen years—maybe less—they'll come for us. The question is whether we'll be ready."
The guild masters exchanged glances.
"We will discuss among ourselves. This is not a decision one man can make."
---
That night, Akenzua stayed in the workshop.
The guild masters were deliberating in Igue's main forge. The decision would come by morning.
He was reviewing the rifle design when Osarobo appeared at the window.
"Prince. We have a problem."
"What kind?"
"Someone followed us here. One of Osaro's men—I spotted him on the road from the city."
Akenzua's blood went cold.
"Does he know about the workshop?"
"He knows something is here. He's been watching for hours."
"Where is he now?"
"East slope. Behind the rocks."
Akenzua picked up the rifle. Loaded it.
"Take me to him."
---
The spy was exactly where Osarobo said.
A young man, maybe twenty, crouched behind a boulder with a clear view of the workshop entrance. He was so focused on watching that he didn't hear them approach.
"Don't move."
The spy spun. Found himself staring at the rifle's barrel.
"Who sent you?"
Silence.
"I won't ask again."
"Chief Osaro." The words came fast. "He wanted to know where you were going. What you were building."
"What have you reported?"
"Nothing yet. I was supposed to wait until morning. Report when I returned."
"Who else knows you're here?"
"No one. Just me and the chief."
Akenzua studied the spy's face. Young. Scared. Just a boy following orders.
"What's your name?"
"Uwagboe."
"Uwagboe. You have a choice. You can die here, tonight, and no one will ever know what happened. Or you can become useful."
"Useful how?"
"You report to Osaro. But you also report to me. Everything he tells you, everything you learn—I hear it first."
"He'll kill me if he finds out."
"He'll kill you anyway. You've seen too much. Spies who fail to report back usually don't survive." Akenzua lowered the rifle slightly. "Work with me, and I'll protect you. Refuse, and you become one more body that disappears."
Uwagboe's face was pale in the moonlight.
"How do I know you'll keep your word?"
"You don't. But you know what happens if you refuse."
A long silence.
"What do you want to know?"
---
Uwagboe talked until dawn.
The information was devastating.
"The British agents—Halliday and Morton—they've been receiving reports about the guild experiments. Someone inside is feeding them information."
"Who?"
"I don't know the name. But the reports are detailed. Technical. Whoever's leaking knows metalworking."
A spy inside the guild. Someone with technical knowledge.
"How are the reports transmitted?"
"Through a merchant house in Ughoton. The British collect them monthly."
"And Osaro knows about this?"
"Osaro arranged it. He offered the British access to your weapons development in exchange for support. They want to know if Benin is becoming a threat."
Akenzua felt sick.
Everything they had built—the prototype, the techniques, the plans—all of it potentially compromised. The British knew what he was trying to do. And Osaro had given them that knowledge.
"The guild masters are deciding right now whether to help me. If there's a spy among them—"
"Then whatever they decide, the British will know before you do."
---
Dawn came gray and cold.
The guild masters emerged from their deliberation.
"We have discussed the prince's proposal. At length."
Akenzua waited. Knowing that whatever they said, someone in this room might already have betrayed it.
"Our traditions are sacred. You asked us to extend those traditions. To apply ancient skills to new purposes."
"I did."
"Some believe this is dangerous. Others believe traditions must evolve or die."
A pause that stretched like eternity.
"We will work with the prince. On conditions."
"Name them."
"Everything we create remains property of the guild. We share with the throne, but we don't become servants."
"Agreed."
"Second: The prince shares what he knows. All of it."
"Agreed."
The guild master extended his hand.
Akenzua clasped it—knowing that somewhere in this room, among these men who had just sworn to help him, was someone working for his enemies.
He would find the spy. He would expose the leak. But first, he would use this alliance to build what the kingdom needed.
"When do we begin?"
"We've already begun. Master Igue has been working toward this for weeks."
"Then we accelerate. More workshops. More apprentices. More weapons." The guild master's eyes were sharp. "The prince said fifteen years. That's our timeline."
"Fifteen years. Or less." Akenzua thought of Phillips. Of the conspiracy. Of the deadline closing in. "We need to be ready for whatever comes."
The guild master nodded.
"We'll be ready. The Igun have never failed their kingdom."
As Akenzua left, he caught Igue's eye.
One spy among the guild masters. One leak feeding the British.
They had won an alliance. But they had also discovered a traitor.
The war within had just grown more complicated.
---
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN