Chapter 202: An Outrageous Idea

During the treatment, the doctor prepared to clean Francisco’s wounds using a sponge and a basin of water. The sponge looked as though it had been sitting in the library since the day the building was first constructed. Francisco recoiled at the sight.

“Sorry, doctor,” he said calmly, “but I wouldn’t dare let something that dirty touch an open wound. Do you have anything cleaner? And perhaps some alcohol?”

The doctor gave him a look that clearly said you are one of those and nodded, visibly irritated. Someone questioning his methods—his knowledge—was never well received.

Francisco ignored the expression. He knew there had to be a reason why the Pijao preferred treating wounds with clean cloth. Even if he didn’t fully understand the science behind it, he knew enough to avoid pressing old blood and grime into fresh cuts.

Seeing Francisco refuse, Weber followed suit. Though he hadn’t been pierced by glass, he had suffered scrapes along his arms and legs when he slammed against the floor of the overturned carriage. He, too, had no desire to be treated with a filthy sponge.

Clearly frustrated, the doctor huffed.”If you are so particular, then you may treat yourselves,” he snapped, before storming out of the room.

As soon as the door shut, Francisco and Weber exchanged glances—and chuckled.

The soldiers fared the worst. They said nothing and endured the same rough treatment before the doctor left, their expressions stoic but clearly unhappy.

“Hiss…” Francisco muttered, wincing. “Give me a moment. I’ll find clean cloth—and alcohol.”

Weber nodded and waited.

A few minutes later, Francisco returned carrying clean paper taken from the library and a flask of alcohol borrowed from the soldiers’ stash. When Weber saw the paper, his eyes widened.

“Are you insane?” he whispered urgently. “That paper is extremely expensive! And taking it from the library is illegal. If the Director finds out, he’ll kill you.”

Francisco chuckled.”Relax. I’ll pay for it. One of the advantages of having money is being able to use clean, expensive paper to keep your wounds from rotting.”

He handed paper and alcohol to the soldiers as well.”Drink a little—it helps with the pain. Clean the wounds properly, then bandage them. You’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly at first, then with growing confidence, everyone followed his instructions.

Once they were treated, Francisco and Weber made their way toward the Director’s office. As they approached, they heard Christian’s voice, sharp with anxiety.

“No—this is very bad,” the Director said. “If anything happens to the Governor, we could find ourselves dragged into war. Why are they acting so aggressively? The restrictions on research haven’t even been made official yet! Hanover hasn’t accepted them—the King himself is still uncertain!”

A pause.

“If they attack the Military Governor and something happens, the United Kingdom will use it as an excuse to occupy Göttingen. And then they’ll impose whatever policies they wish. Why would the students act now?”

“I don’t know, sir,” an officer replied. “The information came from your assistant and a patrol of soldiers. I felt it necessary to inform you immediately.”

Christian fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice was grim.”Call them to my office. I need to speak with them at once.”

Francisco and Weber exchanged a glance, then stepped forward. Francisco opened the door.

“That won’t be necessary, Director,” he said calmly. “We’re already here.”

Christian sighed in relief when he saw that both men were standing on their own feet. Though bandaged, it was clear their injuries were superficial. He glanced at the officer, who nodded in confirmation before quietly leaving the room.

Christian turned first to Francisco.”What do you make of this?” he asked. “I see no reason for the students—or the townspeople—to be marching so violently toward the Town Hall. Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

Francisco paused, deep in thought. Behind him, Weber did the same. After a long moment, Francisco spoke carefully.

“Perhaps someone is fanning the flames,” he said. “Someone who wants to regain control over Göttingen.”

Christian frowned, a realization slowly forming. When it did, his expression darkened.”You believe the British are behind this?”

Francisco hesitated, then nodded slightly.”After my kidnapping, I understood something very clearly. London not only has agents willing to risk their lives here—they are willing to do whatever is necessary to achieve their objectives.”

He continued, his voice steady but grave.

“With the defeat at Toulon, they must be desperate. And they know their greatest weakness on the continent is Hanover—not just Göttingen. It is far from their mainland and their true center of power, yet they cannot simply force it into submission.”

“The discovery related to the steam machine has only made matters worse. Hanover is, step by step, drifting away from London’s interests. But Britain cannot send troops openly. If they do, France, Prussia, or the Habsburgs could intervene in the name of liberation and drive the British entirely out of Germany.”

Francisco leaned forward slightly.

“So instead, they provoke chaos. They let unrest grow, encourage dissent, and then march in under the banner of punishment. And once that happens, no one—not even the Hanoverian government—can object. Göttingen will be blamed.”

Christian said nothing as Francisco continued.

“After that, London can do whatever it wants. They can keep the university, but control its research and patents. Or they can shut it down entirely, expel the scholars, and replace them with their own people—professors who teach only what London allows.”

Christian was silent for a long moment. Then he shook his head slowly.”Your theory is… disturbing,” he admitted. “But right now, our concern must be stopping what is happening outside. For the moment, they are only protesting. But if this continues, they may attack. And if that happens, everything collapses.”

Francisco smiled—not warmly, but with a sharp glint in his eyes.

“Director, that is precisely why I came to ask you for a favor,” he said. “And this favor may do more than calm the crowd. It could show the people that the university is autonomous—that it listens. And it will also show how far the university is willing to go for its students.”

A sense of unease crept over Christian. He had seen that expression on Francisco’s face before—just before he began his work on the steam machine, the very project that had reshaped Göttingen’s relationship with the United Kingdom.

Part of him feared what was coming. Another bold proposal could sever ties with London entirely. Yet doing nothing would only play into British hands. Whether the unrest was foreign manipulation or genuine fury, the result would be the same.

Christian closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Tell me,” he said at last, his voice firm but cautious. “I make no promises.”

Francisco nodded. “I want to open a laboratory—and a class—for women. I want my fiancée, Catalina, to work with me on a cure for smallpox. As you know, my goal has always been to build a future for New Granada. But without cures for the great diseases, no one will risk crossing the ocean. No family will gamble their lives on a land where death waits in the air.”He paused. “And the men of the medical faculty are not exactly eager to work alongside women.”

Director Christian paced the length of his office, his boots clicking sharply against the polished oak floor. Outside, the distant roar of protesting students rolled like thunder. He stopped near the window, glanced at Francisco’s blood-stained sleeve where shards of glass had torn through the fabric, and sighed.

“You are asking me to light a fire to extinguish another, Francisco,” Christian said quietly. “London is already breathing down my neck because your steam engines threaten their monopoly. If I authorize a laboratory for women—especially for Catalina—I will not merely defy the Faculty of Medicine. I will defy the King’s vision of social order itself.”

Francisco did not flinch. “Exactly, Director. And that is why it will protect you.”

Christian turned sharply. “Protect me?”

“The people outside don’t only want relief—they want dignity,” Francisco said, his voice low but firm. “They want to know that Göttingen belongs to its scholars, not to Parliament in London. If you announce the creation of an Institute of Experimental Medicine and Female Instruction, you send a message. You declare that this university is autonomous enough to educate women, to challenge tradition, while London debates how to chain us.”

Christian remained silent, calculating. Francisco pressed on.

“The students despise London’s interference in research. Give them a victory. Show them that a scholar from New Granada and a woman with the mind of a surgeon matter more than decrees written by English lords. Announce this today, and the crowd will not storm the Town Hall—they will rally behind the university.”

Christian stared at the papers scattered across his desk—drafts of restrictive policies, letters from Britain, warnings disguised as suggestions. Then he looked back at Francisco.

“The medical faculties will call this heresy,” Christian murmured, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “And London will call it provocation.”

Francisco chuckled softly. “Then let them. You will gain the sympathy of Prussia, the Holy Roman Empire—perhaps even Russia. After all, they are ruled by an Empress. A woman on the throne makes female scholars rather difficult to condemn.”

Christian hesitated. “And yet this could provoke retaliation from medical institutions across Europe—from Berlin to London. They could declare our titles invalid. Göttingen’s prestige could suffer.”

Francisco fell silent. He knew Christian was right.

After a moment, he spoke more quietly. “I have no answer to that, sir. Only this: if Catalina and I produce results—real cures—the world will be forced to listen. Success silences outrage.”

Christian ran both hands through his hair. “I must think on this. I will need the Curatorium’s approval—without it, I dare not proceed. Your proposal is… extraordinarily bold.”He exhaled heavily. “And yes, Francisco. It may very well get me killed.”

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