CHAPTER 111: GOING TO NEWCASTLE

A couple of minutes later, the ambassador came down. Bernardo, upon seeing Francisco, nodded to him, and Francisco responded with a small bow.

"You’re going in my carriage," said the ambassador. "I need to talk with you."

"Yes, Mr. Ambassador," Francisco replied.

After everyone entered their respective carriages, the vehicles began to move.

"We are going to a mine, not a factory as you might have believed," the ambassador said after a short silence.

Francisco frowned. "A mine? Do these machines work in mines as well?"

The ambassador nodded. "Actually, their first and greatest use was in mining. It wasn’t until Boulton and Watt improved the design that the machines began to spread into factories."

"I see," Francisco said thoughtfully. "Can you tell me more about the machine?"

The ambassador hesitated. "I can only share limited knowledge. Even in Spain, it’s considered a military secret."

Francisco frowned slightly. "Then... if I manage to understand the machine, wouldn’t that mean I can’t go back to New Granada?"

The ambassador chuckled softly. "Why? Are you unwilling to stay in spain?"

Francisco shrugged, though inside he was panicking. Still, he said calmly, "I mean, my family is there, so expecting me to just abandon my home isn’t exactly a good decision."

The ambassador chuckled. "Don’t worry. I doubt you’ll be able to decipher the machine with only a look. And if you somehow did, you’d probably become a noble in Spain—maybe not at your grandfather’s level, but high enough to make you forget the colonies."

Francisco rolled his eyes. "See? I knew it was impossible to recreate blueprints just by seeing the machine."

The aide was speechless; he hadn’t expected the dignified ambassador to throw him under the carriage like that.

The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Francisco explained the earlier conversation with the aide. The ambassador laughed. "Ah, I see. He probably said it that way because admitting we stole the design would sound... less elegant, don’t you think?"

Francisco nodded, amused. "So, the problem is that the parts are too demanding. Is there a way to make them manually?"

The ambassador shook his head. "Almost impossible. It takes months to produce a single working set. We’re certain the British have a special machine to craft them—but we have no idea how it works. That’s why I thought of you. If you can figure it out, we could earn considerable recognition from the king and the court."

Francisco nodded in understanding, then asked, "But if I manage to build it, who owns it? It wouldn’t be worth it to create such a machine without earning anything."

The ambassador smiled like an old fox. "You’re clever. Let me tell you something: the machine would technically belong to the royal family. However, given your grandfather’s status, I’m sure they’d grant you a percentage of the profits—and perhaps even an exemption from certain taxes."

Francisco raised an eyebrow. Considering the royal monopoly, even if it looked like he’d earn a fortune, between sharing profits with the Lozano and Alvarez Familiez and sum to that paying taxes, he’d lose at least two-thirds of it. But with a tax exemption... his eyes practically turned into gold coins.

"Alright," he said finally, a spark of determination in his voice. "I’ll do what I can—but I’ll be working in Hanover for obvious reasons. I need to learn more before I can even start."

The ambassador shrugged. "Don’t worry. Like I said, we’re not really expecting much from you. This is more of an alternative—and a personal one at that."

Francisco nodded in understanding. "Can I ask how much knowledge Spain has actually obtained from the British?"

The ambassador grinned widely. "I can only say this: a lot. You could call it the most advanced technology in all of Europe."

Francisco was shocked and let out a long sigh. "That Agustin de Betancourt deserves a lot of praise. Stealing something right under the nose of the British king and taking their most advanced technology... my respects."

The ambassador nodded solemnly. "That’s right. We also lost many people trying to acquire that knowledge, and only he succeeded. He actually became the first director of the Royal Machine Association for his merits."

Francisco nodded again. "Can I ask another question? Why isn’t the mainland working to create universities like Oxford in England or Göttingen in Hanover?"

The ambassador went silent for a moment, then finally said, "That’s not something you should know. I can only give you a hint—the Church."

Francisco frowned. "Do they really have that much influence? Enough to stop the Spanish government?"

The ambassador shook his head slowly. "It’s more complicated than that. It’s not only the Catholic Church—the Bourbon family itself isn’t very interested in attracting liberal knowledge from Europe. And now, with the French Revolution on their doorstep, they’ll likely block it even more fiercely."

He sighed, his tone heavy. "Some people, fascinated by the knowledge spreading through the rest of Europe, have tried to change the royal family’s mind. But it’s been almost impossible. The crown doesn’t want to lose its power, and the Church feels the same. So the two most powerful entities in Spain are working together to prevent those changes."

The aide, visibly nervous, looked around and whispered, "Sir, you shouldn’t talk about that. Even in private—you know there are ears everywhere."

The ambassador immediately fell silent and glanced around as well. "You’re right," he muttered, then turned to Francisco. "Sorry, kid. I can’t say any more. It’s risky."

Francisco nodded in understanding.

After a while, the carriage left London behind. The air grew cleaner, and the streets gave way to countryside roads. Francisco looked out the window, puzzled. "Are we leaving London?"

The ambassador looked slightly surprised. "You didn’t know? The mine is in Newcastle—three or four days from here."

Francisco’s eyes widened. "What? No one told me that!"

The ambassador turned toward his aide, who looked at Francisco with a touch of pity. "Sorry, kid. I wasn’t allowed to tell you beforehand. Information about the ambassador’s movements has to stay confidential."

Francisco slumped back in the seat, frustrated. "I didn’t bring any clothes, and I didn’t tell my crew."

The aide offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Don’t worry, I already sent someone to inform Captain Ramiro about how long we’ll be gone."

Francisco nodded, still uneasy. Outside, a thick smog began to descend, the gray mist curling around the carriage as if reflecting the uncertainty clouding his mind.