After leaving the palace, Carlos made his way back to the estate where they were staying. Inside, Francisco was being lovey-dovey with Catalina, and the sight made Carlos frown. The contrast irritated him — while he had spent the day negotiating with the Viceroy, the young man responsible for all this trouble was here, enjoying a peaceful evening with his beautiful wife.
Francisco noticed his father's gaze and chuckled. "You should find yourself a partner too, Father. Maybe a new mother for Isabella and me."
Carlos's expression darkened. "If it weren't for you two, do you think I wouldn't want to? But taking another wife would only bring trouble — especially if there's another son involved."
Francisco grinned. "Come now, Father. These days, I'm richer than you. You have the estate and a few slaves working the land, but I have the cement factory, the distillery, and the armory we're building in the mountains. Who would even fight over your lands?"
Carlos's gaze turned sharp. "Don't forget those factories are hanging by a thread. Without your grandfather's influence, you'd already be lying in a cemetery. At least these lands will still have value if you lose everything else."
Francisco gave him a strange look. "Did the Viceroy say something?"
Carlos sighed. "He was testing me. He's clearly interested in the formula—and probably the factory as well. I doubt he'll act without your grandfather's approval, but you should be prepared. If this draws the court's attention, their interests may shift, and your grandfather's protection could fade."
Francisco's expression hardened. "Then preparing the mercenaries will have to be a priority once I meet my grandfather."
Carlos raised an eyebrow. "You're depending too much on him, don't you think? You don't even know if he is who you think he is. He could be an impostor. And if he's not the man you expect, what then?"
Francisco met his father's gaze, understanding the worry behind it. He knew Carlos feared he might idealize his supposed grandfather only to be disappointed. "Did you forget I'm going to study in Hanover?" Francisco said calmly. "That's where most of Europe's elite send their sons. Even if my grandfather turns out to be fake, with the money I'm bringing, they'll still accept me. Once I'm there, I'll make connections—and the result will be the same. The Germans have a reputation for being excellent mercenaries. Maybe they won't be as loyal without family ties, but they'll be reliable enough to protect our interests from Spain."
Carlos exhaled slowly. "I hope you know what you're doing. But be careful—wolves and dogs can look the same from a distance. Mercenaries won't die for your cause, only for your coin. And don't forget, Spain is still a superpower. Even its colonial troops aren't to be taken lightly."
He leaned back in his chair, voice growing graver. "Besides, there's something you haven't considered. You were born here—you're used to this land. You don't realize how dangerous it is for outsiders. The Spanish troops have adapted to the tropics, but the Germans haven't. The climate, the insects, the diseases… half your soldiers might die before they even fire a bullet."
A chill ran down Francisco's spine. "Is it really that serious?"
Carlos nodded grimly. "There's a reason these lands were called savage—not because of the natives, but because of the sickness that thrives here. The animals, the heat, the air itself can kill. Only Spain and Portugal managed to colonize South America fully, and that's because of mestizaje. The British and French refused to intermarry, and that doomed their colonies here. Spain survived because our blood mixed with the natives—creating mestizos and criollos who could resist the fevers. Even the soldiers sent from Spain now carry some resistance from generations of exposure."
Francisco frowned. "Then what should we do if we bring German troops?"
Carlos sighed. "You'll need to give them time to adapt—six months, maybe a year. Tell them some will die, so they're prepared. The ones who survive the first six months will begin to build resistance. After a year, they'll be fit to fight here."
Francisco groaned. "What a nuisance. Maybe we can use quinine to help against malaria? It could lessen the damage."
Carlos gave him a look. "Easier said than done. The Crown keeps quinine under tight control. You'll need Mutis's help for that."
Francisco chuckled awkwardly. "Can't you talk to him? I'm going to leave the continent in the next few months—it would be impossible for me to speak with him directly."
Carlos snorted. "You're his friend, not me. Leave me a letter to deliver; that way it'll be easier for me to make contact."
Francisco nodded. "The bigger problem is disease. We'll need logistics to deal with the illnesses once the men arrive."
Carlos rubbed his chin. "And where are you planning to bring them from? You can't be hoping they all enter through Cartagena. The viceroy might not notice ten or twenty Germans coming in now and then, but an army—one hundred or more—would be obvious. The viceroy isn't a fool; once he sees that many foreigners, he'll act before it becomes a real danger."
"I know," Francisco said. "I've spoken with some smugglers." He winced and slapped his forehead. "I forgot to tell you. I struck a deal: they'll bring people from the Gulf of Urabá. I've arranged with the mayor of Medellín to offer those families some land to spur Antioquia's economy. We'll have to pay them by family."
Carlos frowned. "So more outsiders? Slaves?"
Francisco shook his head. "Free men. Our industries need wage labor — we can't rely on slaves for that work. The idea is to attract settlers and workers; it also helps disguise soldiers among civilians. Without the viceroy's authorization, the mayor would risk a lot by admitting them, so he's looking the other way."
Carlos considered for a moment and finally nodded. "Fine. I'll look into it."
then francisco slipped his arm from around Catalina, and went to the office to write. the lletter
Left alone with her father-in-law, Catalina smiled politely. "Would you like something to drink, Father-in-law?"
Carlos grunted. "Coffee will do."
She nodded and went to the kitchen. The smell of roasted beans soon began to fill the air as Carlos stared out at the sea, his reflection trembling in the windowpane.
"Find myself a wife, huh?" he muttered under his breath. "Maybe it's possible… but with what time?"
Frustrated, he followed Francisco toward the office, the scent of coffee trailing behind him.