Chapter 260: On a New Inquiry

“Your father’s time grows short,” Heyne said, his voice measured, though there was a clear note of urgency beneath it. “And from what I understand, you alone possess the knowledge required to guide him. If you cannot establish a suitable system, he will likely resort to a republic—perhaps modeling it after the United States or Britain.”

Francisco gave a slight shrug.

“If that is his decision, I have little reason to oppose it,” he replied. “It may even prove advantageous. It would allow me to devote more of my attention to my experiments.”

Heyne regarded him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“Are you still pursuing that theory of yours—the great metal machine that moves across the land?”

Francisco nodded, his expression sharpening with quiet conviction.

“I am certain it can be made to work,” he said. “But the current steam engines are insufficient. A more efficient design is required. Still, if such a concept could be brought to New Granada, it would greatly strengthen our position. We could resist any Spanish reconquest more effectively… and defend ourselves against future invasions.”

Heyne and Blumenbach exchanged a brief glance—the kind shared by men uncertain whether they were in the presence of uncommon genius or quiet madness.

The steam engine, as it stood, was a cumbersome device, used chiefly to drain water from mines. To imagine it mounted upon wheels, fashioned from great quantities of iron, and set in motion across the countryside… it bordered on the fantastical.

Yet neither man wished to extinguish such ambition outright.

Blumenbach, however, was less inclined to indulge the idea.

“Setting aside, for a moment, whether such a machine could exist,” he said, his tone calm but firm, “there remains a more immediate concern. Who would finance such an endeavor? Have you calculated the cost?”

He gestured toward the map.

“Consider the distance from Göttingen to Northeim—some twenty kilometers. How much steel would be required?”

Francisco hesitated only briefly before reaching for a pen. Though he already suspected the answer, he worked through the figures with care.

At last, he set the pen down.

“Approximately… one thousand tons.”

For a moment, neither Heyne nor Blumenbach spoke.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant scratching of a quill elsewhere in the building. The number itself seemed to settle over the room like a weight.

A thousand tons of steel was not merely a cost—it was a challenge to the limits of their age.

Heyne was the first to recover.

“A thousand tons…” he repeated softly, his eyes fixed on Francisco’s ink-stained hands. “Do you understand what that implies? The entire mining district of the Harz, with all its furnaces in constant operation, would require years to produce such a quantity.”

He leaned forward, his shadow falling across the map.

“To lay so much steel upon the ground—merely to support a carriage—would be regarded as madness by any sovereign. They would sooner forge muskets in their tens of thousands, or build fleets to command the seas.”

He paused, then continued more sharply.

“And even if the material were obtained—who would guard it? A road of refined metal, exposed across the countryside?” He shook his head. “The peasantry would dismantle it within days, repurposing it into tools, weapons—whatever they required.”

His gaze hardened slightly.

“You would not merely be constructing a road, Francisco. You would be laying down a treasure… one that invites its own destruction. Even if it were not taken all at once, piece by piece it would vanish—and the cost of constant replacement would be ruinous.”

Blumenbach, however, regarded the calculation from a far darker perspective. He began to pace slowly, his hands clasped behind his back.

“It is not merely the steel, boy,” he said, his voice regaining its sharp, clinical edge. “Consider the metabolism of such a project. To smelt a thousand tons of steel, you would consume entire forests. You would reduce the Duchy of Hannover to ash merely to reach Northeim. You propose a system that devours nature faster than it can recover.”

He stopped abruptly and pointed toward Francisco.

“And the labor,” he continued. “To move such quantities of earth, to level hills so that your iron machine does not fail—you would require an army of thousands. Ten thousand men, perhaps more, working without pause for years. In the ancient world, only Pharaohs and Caesars could command such effort.”

He paused, his expression shifting briefly as a thought crossed his mind. For a moment, he seemed almost amused—imagining, perhaps, Francisco’s father elevated to such authority. A faint, dry chuckle escaped him before he composed himself once more.

Francisco, uncertain whether to interrupt, waited until the moment passed.

Then, cautiously, he spoke.

“We have the Amazon,” he said. “The largest forest in the world.”

The words lingered in the air.

For an instant, both men were silent. The scale of New Granada—its vast and untapped resources—had not fully entered their calculations.

Yet Heyne was the first to respond, tempering the idea.

“Perhaps,” he said, “but that would suffice only for a single road—such as the one you describe between Göttingen and Northeim. If you intend to extend such construction across all of New Granada…” He shook his head slightly. “Even a forest of that magnitude may not be enough.”

His tone grew more practical.

“And consider the cost. In the midst of war, where would you obtain the funds for such an undertaking? Even if one were to rely upon forced labor, the expense of feeding and maintaining such a workforce alone could lead to ruin. I doubt even the British could sustain a project of that scale at present.”

Francisco sighed quietly.

He knew they were right. For now, such an endeavor lay beyond reach. Yet he also knew—though only from fragments of knowledge—that in the years to come, something like it would indeed be achieved.

The difficulty was that he did not understand how.

Then, suddenly, a thought struck him.

He raised a hand to his forehead.

“Of course…” he murmured. “If it has been done with the technology of this age… then it is not impossible. Perhaps I am simply attempting the most advanced form of it too soon.”

Heyne and Blumenbach exchanged a brief, uncertain glance. The phrasing struck them as peculiar, though neither interrupted.

Francisco looked up again.

“Master,” he said, “what if most of the road were constructed from wood… and only reinforced where necessary to bear the weight?”

“Wood?” Blumenbach repeated, his brows drawing together. “You propose to step backward in order to advance.”

He considered it for a moment.

“You refer, perhaps, to the German Hund—the mining carts of the Harz. We have long used wooden rails to transport ore. But a steam engine?” He shook his head. “The friction alone might set the structure alight, and the weight would crush it as dry wheat beneath a cart.”

Heyne, however, did not dismiss the idea so readily.

“Wait,” he said, beginning to pace once more, his interest clearly awakened. “Johann, he may be suggesting something more refined—a composite system.”

He turned toward Francisco.

“If you construct the base from strong timber—oak, perhaps, or even teak from your jungles—and reinforce it with a narrow band of wrought iron, just sufficient to protect the surface…” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as the implications settled. “You could reduce the required steel by a considerable margin. Perhaps even by nine-tenths.”

He fell silent for a moment, as though testing the idea against the limits of reason.

“It is not madness,” he said at last, more quietly. “Not entirely.”

Blumenbach gave a short, dry chuckle.

“Even so,” he said, “that would still require near a hundred tons of steel merely to reach Northeim. Reduced, yes—but not sufficiently. The cost would remain so high that no state would willingly undertake it. You are aware that such a quantity approaches the annual output of the Harz itself.”

Francisco hesitated, then spoke more slowly, measuring his words.

“Then perhaps the solution lies not in reducing the demand… but in increasing the supply. If we can improve the production of steel, the project may become feasible.”

He looked toward Heyne.

“Teacher, may I request assistance from other students? I would begin with the problem of steel itself. If I can increase production capacity, I may take the first true step toward my objective.”

Heyne did not answer immediately.

The proposal was not without merit—indeed, it was the most practical direction the idea had yet taken. Yet the cost remained formidable, and worse still, it would not be a single expense, but a continuous one.

He studied Francisco in silence.

The young man possessed vision—that much was undeniable. But he also carried a troubling lack of restraint. Heyne had observed it more than once. Francisco’s ability to manage money was, at best, unreliable. He spent with a kind of careless ease, as though coin held no weight in his hands. Whatever he acquired, he seemed compelled to use at once, with little thought for what might be required later. It had even reached Heyne’s ears that his wife had taken charge of the household finances, precisely to temper this tendency.

If granted a month’s worth of support, would he exhaust it in a single day?

The thought gave him pause.

Francisco, noticing the hesitation, understood at once. A faint unease crossed his expression.

It seemed his reputation in such matters had preceded him.

After a brief moment, he spoke again, more quietly.

“Catalina can manage the funds.”

Heyne regarded him for a moment longer.

Then, at last, he nodded.

“With Catalina overseeing the finances,” he said, “I am willing to allow it.”

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