The Andes Dream

Once they reached the estate, Carlos went straight to his office with his aide, Ezequiel. After sitting down for a moment and sighing, he looked at him and asked,

"What do you think we should do now that we know we can't fully trust those so-called liberals?"

Ezequiel hesitated before answering."I'm not sure, sir. We still need them, but it's true that they'll be difficult to control. Everyone has their own ideas and their own interests. Independence won't benefit all criollos equally—some will be hurt by it. So we should tread more carefully with the people we associate with."

Carlos sighed."How is Francisco's school in Antioquia going? They might be the future of independence."

Ezequiel nodded."We're doing well. We hired some mestizos and criollos to teach the children, Mutis sent a few apprentices to help with the classes, and the dormitories are finished, so the orphans can live there. But there's a problem—the mayor of Medellín is getting suspicious."

Carlos frowned."Why? Didn't Francisco get the permission and the land from him?"

"He did," Ezequiel replied, "but our men gathered some information. It seems the Church is causing trouble."

Carlos narrowed his eyes."The Church? You mean the Gómez de Castro family?"

Ezequiel nodded again."It looks like they've been waiting for a chance to move against us. And the school directly challenges the Church's interests, so they influenced the priest in Antioquia to complain to the governor and the mayor. The mayor can't oppose them openly, so he has to act wary toward us."

Carlos clenched his jaw."Then we'll need to deal with that family. Have you gathered any proof of their involvement with the Church?"

Ezequiel lowered his head."It's harder than I thought. Our men aren't trained in intelligence gathering. They're fine with overhearing rumors, but obtaining real evidence is extremely difficult for them."

Carlos leaned back, thinking. It was becoming clear he needed proper agents—an invisible hand to do the dirty work. A black hand his movement desperately lacked. Then he remembered Óscar, the Alvarez family's agent, the one Francisco had saved… the same man who had taken down three men of the Castro family by himself.

A spark lit in his eyes.

Yes. He would need to speak with the Alvarez family. If he could get Óscar to help—and even better, train some of his own men—their intelligence network might not reach the level of the Spanish crown, but it would be more than enough to strike back at the Castro family.

He looked at Ezequiel and said, "Leave it to me. I think I already know who can teach them those things, though I'll need some help from the Álvarez family."

Ezequiel, noticing Carlos expression, nodded. "If you mean young Oscar, that might be a good idea. I heard they sent him to the Captaincy of Venezuela."

Carlos nodded. "That's him. We should also start preparing. Francisco should already be training troops in Germany, so we need to build some houses on the hill and a place for them to train."

Ezequiel nodded and asked, "How many people should we prepare for?"

Carlos answered thoughtfully, "Let's be optimistic—two hundred people. If it's less, we can hope that next year he'll be able to hire more."

Ezequiel hesitated before saying, "Sir… maybe we should prepare for more. Francisco's grandfather is a general. I doubt he'll have trouble hiring additional men."

Carlos looked at Ezequiel's face, fell into deep thought, and then said, "Alright, prepare for five hundred—but only stock food for three hundred. Even if he is his grandfather, we don't know how much support he'll give Francisco. It's the first time he's meeting him. Maybe he won't like my boy… who knows."

Ezequiel wanted to argue further, but seeing Carlos's expression, he knew it wasn't worth pushing. Instead, he reported, "The soldiers from the barracks in Antioquia have already left the area. They only left a small group behind to look around, though their discipline is awful—they spend most of their time drinking in Medellín."

Carlos smiled. "Good. Then we won't need to worry about them anymore. I was tired of having to look over my shoulder. We can restart the armory and the steelwork. Tell the blacksmiths to start forging weapons—two hundred should be enough. Also, try to attract more children to the school and start teaching them things related to bureaucracy."

Ezequiel nodded. He was about to speak, but before he could, a knock sounded at the door. Both men looked at each other, puzzled; usually no one came to Carlos's office without reason. Still, Carlos asked, "Who is it?"

A small girl's voice answered, "Father, I brought you something to drink. I heard you were stressed after your meeting, and Grandma María taught me about some medicinal herbs. May I come in?"

Ezequiel lowered his head and opened the door. Isabella stood there with a mug, a thin trail of steam rising from the lid. It smelled sweet."If you want, miss, I can take it from you," Ezequiel offered.

Isabella puffed up proudly. "It's not necessary. I'm a grown girl, and I want to give it to Father myself."

Ezequiel smiled and stepped aside to let her in. Grandma María followed right behind her.The little girl spotted her father, and her eyes lit up. She hurried forward, placed the mug on his desk, and said, "Look! I prepared this almost by myself."

Carlos smiled and glanced at Grandma María, who nodded. He smiled again, ruffled Isabella's hair, and said, "Look at that. My little girl is learning fast."He took the mug and drank a sip. Some of the herbs were a bit too concentrated, making it bitter, but seeing Isabella's expectant expression, he didn't dare show it."It's good," he said. "What is it?"

"It's toron… toron…" Isabella looked back at Grandma María, clearly hoping for help.Grandma María leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Toronjil."

"Toronjil!" Isabella repeated quickly. "It's an infusion that shamans used to drink to calm themselves when they were stressed."

Carlos smiled. "Thank you for thinking of me. It's good. I'm going to enjoy it."

Isabella jumped with excitement. "Yay! Did you hear that, Grandma María? Father said it was good!"

"That's right," Grandma María replied. "You're getting closer to becoming a good shaman."

Isabella's eyes sparkled. "Really? So… can I transform into a jaguar in the future?"

Grandma María froze for a moment. She had no idea where the Spanish Church had gotten the idea that shamans were magicians who could perform all sorts of tricks. Still, she smiled and answered gently, "I doubt it, dear… but you could cure your father if he ever becomes sick."

Isabella's excitement dimmed a little, but then she nodded firmly. "That doesn't matter. Curing Father is more important."

Carlos laughed softly, then asked, "And how are your studies going? You know you can't ignore mathematics and history just to learn medicine."

Isabella lowered her head and whispered, "I'm a little bad at mathematics. My brother used to teach me, but without him it's extremely hard to understand all those numbers. And history is becoming boring… My brother used to act out the stories, so it was easier to learn. Now… I don't really understand much."

Carlos sighed and said, "Then let's study together. What do you say?"

Isabella's eyes lit up again. "Really? Are you going to teach me like my brother did, Father? Aren't you busy?"

Carlos shrugged. "A little. But you know I can't ignore my little girl."

Isabella grinned. "That's fine then!"

Father and daughter spent some time together, and both Ezequiel and Grandma María smiled as they watched the two interact. Then, as if something had suddenly come to her mind, Grandma María glanced toward the window—her eyes distant, as though trying to see beyond the ocean, where her own granddaughter was.

Far beyond the ocean, Catalina was learning which herbs were most common in Europe and how they were used to treat wounded soldiers.

Ludwig was busy tending to several injured men. The screams of pain made Catalina uncomfortable; after all, it was her first time seeing so many wounded. In New Granada, her grandmother only treated one or two injuries every now and then—but here, after every training session, nearly ten men ended up hurt.

"Bring me the scalpel," Ludwig said. "I need to make a suture. This guy has a stone lodged in his leg."

Catalina nodded and went to fetch it. Seeing the blade stained with blood, she walked to a mug of water and began to clean it. Ludwig, slightly irritated by the delay, glanced back—and was surprised to find her washing the scalpel. He frowned.

"Why are you cleaning it? I'm going to get it dirty again. It's unnecessary."

Catalina startled a bit under his sudden tone. "I… I don't know exactly why. But the Pijaos believe dirt brings impurity and sickness. They always kept their bodies clean. They taught that a person is less likely to die when clean than when dirty."

Ludwig shook his head. Those Indians had strange ideas, he thought—but he didn't comment further. He took the cleaned scalpel, removed the stone, and finished the suture. With a long exhale he muttered, "Since this new training began, the number of wounded has only increased."

Catalina nodded, though her mind was elsewhere—worried that the next patient carried in… might be the man she loved.