CHAPTER 160: CHAPTER 160 - THE THORN IN THE CROWN

The streets of M’banza-Kongo were never truly quiet, even at night. But the further Zara followed Lumingu into the outer quarter, the more the noise thinned—drums became murmurs, footsteps became echoes. She walked a careful distance behind him, blending with shadows cast by clay lanterns and the uneven torchlight of patrolling guards.

She wore a loose, faded tunic borrowed from a local washerwoman, her hair wrapped in worn cloth to mask her face and features. Her only weapons were her memory and a thin blade sewn into the back hem of her cloth sash—barely enough to count for anything if she were discovered.

But she didn’t plan to be discovered.

Ahead, Lumingu ducked into a narrow alley flanked by stacked crates and broken pottery. Zara hesitated, crouching behind a low wall where the scent of burning fish and goat entrails wafted from a nearby tavern. Beyond the alley, she glimpsed movement—three pale men, one bearded and fat, the others tall and lean with hardened, sunburned faces.

Portuguese.

They met Lumingu with curt nods. One of them reached into his tunic and passed over a rolled parchment. The exchange was silent but urgent.

Zara lowered herself further. Her heart pounded against her ribs. One wrong breath. One scrape of her sandal. If they noticed her, she would never escape in time—and Nuri would lose everything she knew.

She strained to listen.

"You disappoint us, Lumingu," the fat one said, speaking in fluent Kimbundu, a local tongue the Portuguese had begun to adopt.

Lumingu raised a hand calmly. "I assure you, my reach grows by the day. The current king’s men grow tired of him. And I’ve begun to sway the clergy."

"It is not enough," the Portuguese said sharply. "Your neighbor—the kingdom called Nuri—is no longer a minor disruption. They’ve disrupted everything."

"What do you mean?" Lumingu asked, clearly thrown off.

The second Portuguese man stepped forward, voice low and bitter. "They interfered in Abyssinia. Supported their king. Pushed our influence back along the coast. And they rejected our trade delegation outright. Even expelled our agents from Malindi."

Zara’s eyes narrowed. So it was true. The enemy saw Nuri now.

"They’ve cut our trade along the Indian Ocean," the man went on. "And worse—our reports say they’ve begun forming military ties with Buganda, Abyssinia, and even traders from the Swahili coast. We are being strangled."

Lumingu leaned forward, voice sharp. "You didn’t tell me Nuri had such power."

"Neither did we expect it," the first Portuguese said. "They rose too quickly. Too carefully. They’re clever. They haven’t aligned with the Ottomans either. That’s the only thing working in our favor—for now."

Silence stretched.

Then Lumingu’s voice, a dark hunger beneath it:

"Tell me how to destroy them."

Zara tensed.

"Share what you know. Every weakness. I will bend Kongo to your will, but I want Nuri for myself."

"You’ll have it," one of the men said with a grim smile. "Cripple them. Poison their roads with doubt. We’ll supply weapons. We’ll spread rot. But you will strike the heart."

Zara had heard enough.

She slowly began to back away, every muscle in her body coiled tight. One wrong move, one snapped twig—

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

Zara dropped to the ground, breath frozen.

A patrolling slave-handler with a lantern appeared just yards from her position. He peered down the alley where the meeting was still underway, gave a respectful nod, then walked past—never noticing her silhouette pressed to the wall like a shadow painted in fear.

She waited three full breaths.

Then ran.

The forest welcomed her like an old friend—damp, cool, and silent. She moved through the thickets with a speed born of training, the long grass whispering against her skin as moonlight filtered through the canopy.

By the time she reached the clearing at the forest’s edge, dawn was brushing the sky with pale orange.

Two figures stood waiting beside a smoldering cookfire.

Faizah turned first, alert.

Then her eyes widened with relief.

"Zara," she said, standing.

Zara staggered forward, not even bothering to hide her exhaustion. "They’re working together," she said hoarsely. "Portugal and Lumingu. It’s worse than we thought."

Kiprop stepped forward, brows drawn. "How bad?"

"They want to destroy Nuri. Every trade route. Every ally. They called us a thorn in the Crown’s side."

Faizah’s jaw tightened. "So it’s war."

"No," Zara said, sinking to her knees. "Not yet. But they want it. And Lumingu will stop at nothing to give it to them."

Kiprop passed her a gourd of water.

Faizah looked toward the forest path behind Zara.

"Then we dig deeper," she said. "Now that we have the outposts... we don’t stop until we rip the roots out."

***

Taban moved like a leaf in wind — never still for too long, never loud enough to be noticed.

The Restorers were seasoned. Men of iron discipline and merciless ambition. Dressed like ordinary nobles in daylight, but their steps were too clean. Their eyes too alert. These were not merchants or court flatterers. These were killers, trained by Portuguese hands, wearing civility like a mask.

He had tracked them for nearly two weeks.

They moved between quarters of M’banza-Kongo like snakes through tall grass, whispering in dark halls, disappearing behind compound walls. Always guarded. Always armed.

And always one step from noticing him.

Tonight, they gathered at a half-finished estate on the city’s northern ridge—abandoned by a merchant who had "mysteriously" vanished two weeks ago. Taban hid beneath a collapsed bamboo lean-to, just meters from the open chamber where lanterns cast long, spidery shadows on cracked mud walls.

Their Kimbundu was laced with foreign phrasing—military Portuguese commands twisted into local cadence. Taban’s ears strained as he translated, one word at a time.

"—Lumingu’s next step is to isolate the throne."

"He already controls three provincial governors."

"The king is weak. His own guard is divided."

"Assassins have been placed. The palace staff won’t interfere. A few more weeks and the royal line will disappear without a single scream."

Taban stiffened.

They weren’t just planning a coup—they were nearly done.

Another man spoke: "The people will follow whoever brings food and peace. With Lumingu, the slave trade is feeding markets again. That alone buys loyalty."

They laughed. A dry, joyless sound.

A fourth Restorer leaned forward. "What of the churches?"

"Half have already pledged to him. The priests want peace more than truth. Those who resist will disappear quietly."

Silence followed.

Then the eldest among them, a man with a scar across his nose and a voice like crushed stone, spoke in Portuguese, low but audible:

"Once Kongo is his, Lumingu will offer our ports and soldiers to the Crown. Then all of Central Africa will fall like fruit into Portuguese hands."

Taban’s blood chilled.

He shifted too fast—just a slight crunch of dried leaves beneath his foot.

But it was enough.

"Did you hear that?" one of them snapped.

Two of the Restorers rose immediately, scanning the room, their hands on curved swords.

Taban ducked, heart hammering. He slid backward on his stomach, inch by inch, mouth pressed to the dirt to slow his breathing. He reached for a carved stick in his satchel and threw it toward the far trees. It snapped against a branch.

One of the guards bolted in that direction.

The others followed.

Taban didn’t wait.

He rolled to his feet, sprinted low and fast through the underbrush. Leaves slashed at his arms. Roots clawed at his sandals. He didn’t look back until he was at least half a mile away, breath tearing through his lungs.

When he reached the outer woods beyond the northern market, he didn’t stop until the lanterns of M’banza-Kongo were far behind him.

---

The forest clearing came into view just as twilight cracked the horizon.

Zara was there—seated near a fire pit, her eyes distant. Faizah was cleaning a dagger by firelight. Kiprop sat against a tree, sharpening a spear with rhythmic focus.

Taban staggered into view, his tunic torn at the sleeve, breath ragged.

"They’re going to kill the king," he said, barely able to speak. "The whole royal family. In weeks. Maybe less."

Faizah stood. "Slow down—who?"

"The Restorers," Taban gasped. "I followed them. I heard everything. Lumingu is ready. The people are hungry. The slave markets are open again and the priests—some of them—have already turned."

He looked at Zara.

"They want to give the kingdom to the Portuguese."

Zara exchanged a look with Faizah.

"That confirms it," she said. "They want to use Kongo to strangle the rest of Africa. And Nuri is next."

Kiprop stood slowly. "Then we move. Tonight."

Faizah nodded. "We’ll relay this to Onyango’s squad. They’re stationed near the Kongo border. Now that we have the outposts... we’ll send runners."

Taban sank to the ground, exhausted but alive.

"We’re running out of time," he said. "If the king dies... all of Kongo becomes theirs."

Zara placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Then we make sure he doesn’t."