The protocols for dining with the Viceroy were rigid, almost ceremonial.Francisco and Carlos first had to salute him properly. Francisco bowed deeply before the Viceroy and his wife, following every motion he had rehearsed.
"It is an honor to et you, Viceroy José de Ezpeleta y Galiano," Francisco said respectfully.
José extended his hand with a warm, almost calculated smile. "A pleasure to et you, Francisco Góz. I’ve heard quite a bit about you in recent months. In fact, soone even recomnded that I grant you the title of Honorary Engineer of the Crown. So opposed the idea—said you were too young. But don’t worry," he added with a grin, "we’ll fight for that title."
Francisco felt a chill beneath the polite warmth of those words but kept his tone composed. "Thank you, Your Excellency."
The Viceroy’s eyes glead with a mix of interest and amusent. "Good. We’ll speak more later."
Then Francisco turned to the Viceroy’s wife. He gently took her hand and kissed the back of it—a gesture of formal courtesy."It’s a pleasure to et you, Madam María de la Paz."
Doña María smiled, her fan half-raised as if to hide her amusent. "A pleasure, Francisco. My husband speaks highly of you. I hope you enjoy the dinner."
"Of course, Madam. Thank you," Francisco replied with a small bow.
A servant guided him and his father to their seats. The dining hall shimred with the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off silverware and porcelain. The air was thick with the scent of roasted ats, sweet wine, and polished oak. At the head of the table sat the Viceroy, surrounded by officers of the Crown, wealthy rchants, and a few influential local figures.
But what drew Francisco’s attention imdiately were two unexpected guests—both unmistakably English. One was an older man with a stern face, likely a commodore; the other, a young woman in her early twenties with bright, observant eyes.
The murmur spreading through the hall confird he wasn’t the only one surprised."Why are these pagans here?" a rchant whispered harshly."Are they bribing the Viceroy?" another muttered in confusion.An officer leaned closer and spoke in a low voice. "It’s not a bribe. They’re here about an alliance—Spain and England joining forces against the rebels in France. The Royal Navy is expected to protect New Granada from French attacks."
At that, several rchants fell silent, their eyes fixed on the English guests. For many of them, the sight of British uniforms still carried a sting. Only thirty years earlier, the United Kingdom had shattered Spain’s global dominance during the siege of Havana and the capture of Manila. Those battles had ended Spain’s age as a superpower, reducing it to a middle power in the shadow of Britain’s rise.
The Viceroy noticed the murmurs and lifted his hand. The room fell silent.
"I know you must be wondering who these gentlen are," he said, his voice commanding but calm. "Before rumors spread, let be clear—Spain and the United Kingdom have ford an alliance. Our enemy is no longer each other but those traitors who have overthrown the King of France and thrown Europe into chaos. This man is a Commodore of the Royal Navy. In the coming months, beware of French vessels—if attacked, seek the nearest naval port and declare the Royal Navy’s protection."
A wave of murmured surprise rippled through the table, soon giving way to solemn understanding. The ssage was clear—the seas would not be safe for years to co.
The Commodore rose, asking the Viceroy’s permission to speak."Friends of Spain," he said in firm but courteous Spanish, "I am John Smith, sent by His Majesty, the King of the United Kingdom, to guard these waters against Jacobin rebels. This is my daughter, Elizabeth—she accompanies to see the world."
Francisco frowned slightly at that. See the world? he thought. You could see the world in Paris, Vienna, or St. Petersburg. What could one possibly learn in a colony?But he said nothing. It wasn’t his place to question it.
The dinner followed the usual formalities. The Viceroy was served first, and then, by rank and hierarchy, the rest received their dishes. Silver cutlery clinked softly, the low murmur of polite conversation filling the hall.
Viceroy José turned toward the Commodore, his voice carrying easily across the long table."So, Commodore, how are things in Europe? Is it truly as bad as we’ve heard?"
The Commodore inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, Your Excellency. Quite grim, I’m afraid. The Jacobin rebels have taken the King hostage, stripped him of his power, and turned the realm into chaos. What worries us most, however, is the spread of their ideology across the rest of Europe. My King and other royal families are in discussion, though for now no open war has begun—but it seems inevitable."
A ripple of unease moved through the room. rchants exchanged anxious looks, whispering under their breath. War was terrible for trade. A few cursed the Jacobins outright, blaming them for whatever losses were to co.
The Viceroy’s expression darkened. Until that mont, he had still clung to a faint hope that he might avoid raising taxes. Now, he could see the truth—there was no escaping it.
After a pause, he resud eating, then spoke with a forced smile. "You know, the Spanish Empire has given birth to a most promising young mind."
Every gaze turned toward Francisco.
Inwardly, Francisco cursed the Viceroy and all his ancestors. Outwardly, he managed a polite smile."I’m honored by Your Excellency’s words," he said carefully. "But the recipe was already there. I rely copied it and made a few personal improvents."
The Commodore and his "daughter" exchanged surprised glances. Francisco couldn’t have looked more than seventeen. Curious, he leaned forward slightly and asked, "May I ask what it is you’re referring to?"
The Viceroy, clearly pleased with himself, explained proudly how Francisco had rediscovered Roman cent from an ancient Book—and how he had successfully recreated it. He gestured dramatically as he spoke, the candles flickering in the polished silver of his rings."With this material," he said, "our strongholds across the Empire will be ten tis stronger!"
The Commodore’s polite expression faltered for a mont. That was not good news for Britain. Even as a diminished power, Spain remained wealthy and vast—any innovation that strengthened it was a concern for London.
But while the Commodore’s face turned grim, his daughter seed intrigued for an entirely different reason. Her gaze lingered on Francisco—asuring him, curious, and quietly amused. She studied him for the rest of the dinner, as if he were a puzzle she intended to solve.
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