Chapter 195: Georg von Scheither

The chaos at Hotel Junkernschänke could not escape the ears of the surrounding districts. The news spread quickly: an international student had been brazenly kidnapped in one of the finest hotels in Göttingen. Shock turned into fear just as fast. Guests began canceling their stays, and within days the hotel started losing clients. After all, no one wanted to sleep in a place where one could vanish in the night. With such a precedent, Junkernschänke’s future was suddenly uncertain.

Yet the greatest pressure did not fall upon the inn—but upon the soldiers.

Francisco was not merely a foreign student. He was the man who had developed an alternative to the Watt steam engine, effectively shattering Britain’s industrial monopoly. The university pressed the military government relentlessly, but it wasn’t alone. As word of the kidnapping spread beyond Hanover, foreign powers began to apply pressure of their own.

Among them was the Russian Empire. Several Russian students in Göttingen had already benefited from Francisco’s engine, turning his invention into a technological jewel in the eyes of Tsarina Catherine, who sought independence from British industrial dominance. To her, Francisco represented an opportunity—perhaps the only one—to break that control.

France and Prussia followed closely. For Prussia especially, Francisco’s importance went far beyond steam. He was the grandson of General Krugger, a man whose very name still carried weight across Europe. Krugger himself was the greatest deterrent of all. If harm came to the boy, the old general would almost certainly return to Europe—and few doubted he would turn the continent into a hunting ground.

In his office, Georg von Scheither sat quietly behind his desk, hands folded. His orders to the troops were, at best, half-hearted. He instructed them to search the city and its surroundings—slowly, methodically—buying enough time for the king’s agents to escape.

The soldiers, however, were visibly panicked.

“Sir, we must find the student Francisco,” one officer insisted. “The university is already causing a ruckus.”

Scheither replied calmly, almost lazily.”We are looking. Perhaps the kidnappers are still hiding within the city. Every hotel must be searched. Even civilian houses, if necessary. This situation is not something we can rush. We must be prepared for… unexpected developments.”

The officers frowned. The military government had been appointed directly by the British king, so open defiance was impossible. Still, suspicion began to grow. Deep down, many of them already believed the truth: if another nation had been responsible, the governor would have been the first to mobilize everything to save Francisco.

After all, the boy was a treasure.

Beyond the steam engine, there was Roman cement, the distillation tower, inventions that had already made the University of Göttingen wealthy and influential. If Francisco were to defect to another power, Britain’s enemies would protect him with their lives. The only force with a reason to silence—or steal—him was Britain itself.

“But sir,” another officer said carefully, “the witnesses claim the kidnappers already left the city. Searching Göttingen now is a waste of time. The rooms at Junkernschänke only yielded burned papers and old clothing.”

“That is precisely why I believe they must have another hiding place within the city,” Scheither declared. “How else could such a group of kidnappers simply appear in Göttingen? It is our duty to prevent this tragedy from ever happening again by investigating how they were able to enter in the first place.”

His voice carried a tone so self-righteous that several officers exchanged uneasy glances. More than one of them began to doubt whether the governor was truly protecting Göttingen—or deliberately misinterpreting his duties.

Suddenly, a young soldier rushed into the office.

“Sir! The Prorektor, Christian, is here,” he announced nervously. “He is extremely angry. He demands to know why the troops are not pursuing the carriage that escaped with Francisco. He also says he will report you to His Majesty and the council for negligence and inaction.”

Scheither’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. The Prorektor’s threat was deeply unpleasant—but Scheither knew, deep down, that this was the limit of what the Hanoverian government would tolerate. If he ignored them again, he would be stripped of his authority and expelled from Germany altogether.

This is as far as I can go, he thought bitterly. The rest depends on you. I wish you luck, agents.

Suddenly, Scheither stood up and slammed his hand against the table.

“You hear that?” he barked. “The Prorektor is deeply displeased with your incompetence! Why are you still wasting time investigating the city? Go out—hunt down the carriage and arrest those criminals! It is our sacred duty to protect the students of Göttingen!”

The officers stiffened in surprise. Several cursed under their breath.

This bastard changes faces faster than he changes his trousers, one of them thought.

Still, they cheered. At last, they were being allowed to do their jobs without obstruction. One by one, they hurried out of the Old Town Hall.

Downstairs, Christian watched the soldiers finally mobilize and let out a sigh of relief. After everything he had witnessed, he was now at least eighty percent certain that the true force behind Francisco’s kidnapping was the British Crown.

The moment he learned of Francisco’s invention, Christian had known something like this could happen. That was why he had wanted to speak with the young man immediately—yet events had moved too quickly. They hadn’t even given Francisco a single day of rest.

Suddenly, the heavy doors of the hall burst open.

A fiery young woman stormed inside.

Without hesitation, she slapped Christian across the face.

“You promised us you would protect Francisco,” Catalina snapped. “So tell me—how the hell was he kidnapped right under your nose?”

Christian froze. Though his thinking still carried traces of old-fashioned chauvinism, he had come to respect Catalina deeply. And more importantly—he knew he was at fault.

He accepted the slap without protest.

“I’m sorry, Catalina,” he said quietly. “But the situation is far more complex than you think. What Francisco achieved threatened the interests of very powerful people. I am doing everything I can to find him… but even the military governor is working against us.”

Catalina, her eyes red with fury, hissed,”I will kill that bastard—and everyone who dares to play with Francisco’s life.”

She drew a pistol, making Christian recoil in alarm.

“Wait, miss—don’t!” he pleaded. “If you lay a hand on the governor, they will kill you and use it as an excuse to abandon Francisco completely. And think—how would he feel if he learned you died because of him?”

Catalina’s chest rose and fell as she forced herself to breathe. She knew Christian was right. Killing that man would only make everything worse.

Then she froze.

Her eyes suddenly lit up.

“Yes… I have a way,” she said slowly. “We brought dogs from New Granada—trained to track people by their scent. I don’t know how to explain it properly in German, but they are very good at capturing the essence of a person and following it. They are usually kept by the servants. I’m going to get them.”

Christian frowned, incredulous. To him, her words sounded almost like witchcraft. For a moment, he wondered if the Spaniards were right about rumors of sorcery in the Americas. Still, Catalina’s certainty was unsettling.

Curious, he followed her.

In Germany, hunting dogs existed—but they followed blood trails in forests. In cities, they were nearly useless. Yet Catalina walked with absolute confidence.

They rode quickly to the servants’ inn. It was clearly of a lower class than the hotel where Catalina and Francisco had stayed, but it was clean enough. Inside, the servants were gathered in the tavern, anxious and pale. They spoke in hushed voices about their young master—and about Hugo, who lay in the hospital, his fate still unknown.

The thought of returning home without Francisco sent a chill through them. They imagined how Carlos—their patron—and their own families would react.

When Catalina entered, everyone stood at once.

“Miss Catalina,” one of them asked urgently, “have the soldiers found anything about the young master?”

She shook her head.

“No. But I remembered something. Carlos sent trained dogs with us.” Her voice hardened. “I have the clothes Francisco wore before bathing at the hotel. Take them back there. And take your weapons.”

She looked around, her eyes burning.

“The guards are useless. We will hunt the bastards who dared to kidnap Francisco ourselves.”

For the first time, the servants saw the full force of her resolve.

Their hearts began to pound.

This is a leader worth following.

They cheered and rushed to their rooms for their muskets. Old Spanish weapons—worn, outdated—but in the hands of men who had fought and killed in jungles and mountains, they were deadly.

Christian watched them prepare and swallowed.

For the first time, he understood something clearly:

These were not servants anymore.

They were hunters, shaped by the most hellish lands on earth. The red fire in their eyes promised suffering to anyone who had dared to take Francisco. Christian still doubted they could find their prey—until he saw the dogs. Gaunt, yellow-eyed, and feral, they looked less like animals and more like something summoned. He had no word for them.

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