Chapter 163 - The Blade in the Dark
The city breathed as if nothing were wrong.
M’banza-Kongo’s temples stood serene in the rising sun, their stone facades kissed by early morning prayers and the slow clang of copper bells. Children still played in narrow alleys, merchants still opened their stalls, and incense curled lazily from the inner courtyards of shrines. But for Zara and the others, the illusion of peace was unbearable.
They moved with care.
The search for a trustworthy priest had begun two days ago. And already, it was clear—most had chosen their side.
Sarai kept a rotating watch near the central cathedral, where gold-trimmed robes passed too easily between Portuguese soldiers and senior clergy. Taban observed smaller parishes tucked between the merchant compounds, while Faizah and Kiprop spent hours posing as devout pilgrims, offering alms and watching reactions. Mwinyi worked the back streets, listening for names whispered with respect—or caution.
Zara met a dozen priests. She smiled, bowed, pretended to ask for prayers for sick parents and distant husbands. But beneath every word, she studied eyes. Looked for fear. Or worse—loyalty.
Corruption stank like old blood. And it clung to too many collars.
It was on the fifth day—beneath a hollow fig tree at a shrine just outside the city—that they found him.
Father Nzuzi.
He was old but not frail, tall but stooped. His robe was clean but patched with age, and he wore a wooden crucifix carved by his own hand. He did not flatter the nobles. He did not bow to the guards. And he had once been arrested for giving sanctuary to a runaway girl—sold into slavery by her own uncle.
They watched him for another day.