Chapter 261: El Censo de Guirior

Once more, Francisco turned his full attention to the problem of steel.

He understood now that the greatest limitation upon his machine was not the concept itself, but the materials. Steel, above all, stood as the principal obstacle. Yet even if improvements could be made in its production, another question remained—who would demand such quantities?

In most nations, the growth of steel followed necessity. It expanded only as far as society required. Even in New Granada, the limits were clear. With a population scarcely exceeding one million, the total demand would remain modest. Even if every man, woman, and child possessed their own tools, the need would not surpass a few thousand tons.

To produce a thousand tons each month would flood the country with steel… and leave it with no purpose.

He frowned slightly.

“It seems I must press for immigration,” he murmured to himself. “If the population is insufficient, then it must be increased.”

He reached for a book and began making calculations, his pen moving steadily across the page. If such production were to remain economically viable—without collapsing under its own excess—he would require a market of at least two million people. More than double what currently existed.

“This is… difficult,” he said under his breath. “The Hispanic population in New Granada barely reaches eight hundred thousand.”

He paused.

Then his expression shifted.

“Wait… that cannot be correct.”

He straightened abruptly.

“New Granada, the Captaincy of Venezuela, and Quito together… only eight hundred thousand?” He shook his head. “No. Something is wrong.”

Without hesitation, he rose and made his way toward the library.

Francisco entered the University of Göttingen’s library with an urgency that bordered on agitation. What was usually a place of quiet reflection now felt closer to a war room. The familiar scent of leather and beeswax, which once brought him calm, seemed almost oppressive.

He ignored the low murmurs of students seated at long oak tables and proceeded directly to the section on colonial statistics and geography.

There, beneath the dim light of an oil lamp, he found Heyne reviewing a set of folios recently arrived from London, bearing the seal of the Royal Society.

“Professor!” Francisco called, placing his notebook firmly upon the table. “The figures do not align. The Spanish reports claim that the combined population of the Viceroyalty, Quito, and Venezuela scarcely reaches eight hundred thousand. It cannot be true. It is no census—it is a distortion. Spain counts subjects for control, not citizens for a nation.”

Heyne looked up slowly, adjusting his spectacles with measured calm. Without a word at first, he gestured toward a shelf concealed behind a heavy green velvet curtain.

“You are searching for the Guirior Census,” he said at last. “But do not trouble yourself with the version circulated in Madrid. That one serves appearances, not truth.”

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“You will want the annotated copy—the one obtained by Hanoverian intelligence.”

Francisco nodded, already understanding.

“It is kept in the Black Chamber, is it not?”

the professor inclined his head.

“You know the procedure. Secure Heyne authorization, and we shall examine it together.”

After a brief interval, Francisco returned with the necessary signature. Without delay, the proffesor rose and led him beyond the curtain, into the restricted chamber.

The atmosphere within was markedly different—quieter, heavier. Shelves lined with documents from across Europe and beyond filled the space, their contents guarded not by locks alone, but by discretion.

“We hold many kinds of information here,” the professor said, a trace of pride in his voice. “Some of it is unknown even to the kings themselves.”

Francisco glanced about, taking in the weight of it.

“I am not certain,” he murmured, “whether that speaks more to the weakness of kings… or to the strength of Hanover’s intelligence.”

The professor allowed himself a faint laugh, nodding slightly at Francisco’s remark.

He then led him deeper into the Black Chamber, where the air grew noticeably colder, heavy with the scent of dry parchment and linseed oil. This was no place for students. It was a vault—one reserved for those who studied not knowledge alone, but power.

“Here,” the professor said quietly, his voice echoing against the high stone ceiling.

He stopped before a large cabinet of dark mahogany. Its drawers bore the crest of the Spanish Bourbons—each one marked over with red wax, the seal of Hanoverian intelligence.

“The Spanish Crown believes that by controlling the ports, it controls the people,” the professor continued, sliding open one of the drawers. “But numbers… numbers betray more than loyalty ever could.”

He glanced at Francisco.

“If you wish for accuracy, do not rely solely upon censuses. Measure consumption. Salt, tobacco, aguardiente—these reveal more truth than any report sent to Madrid. Still, you may consult the census… if only to understand its limits.”

Francisco nodded and began his search.

He first examined the records of salt distribution in New Granada. The figures were clearly written—and immediately troubling.

The quantities recorded were sufficient to sustain a population of nearly one million eight hundred thousand.

Francisco frowned.

“Are they blind?” he muttered. “The salt monopoly belongs to the Crown. How can they accept a population of eight hundred thousand… while selling for more than twice that number?”

He moved quickly to the tobacco ledgers.

The pattern repeated itself.

Consumption exceeded the census—by a margin too great to dismiss as error. This was no miscalculation. It was a flaw in the system itself.

At last, he turned to the census.

From a lower shelf, he retrieved a large, dust-covered ledger—the General Census of 1778, bearing the ornate seal of the Council of the Indies. He laid it open across the table and began comparing it with the other records.

The discrepancy was not merely noticeable.

It was offensive.

In reality, even official estimates placed the population of the Viceroyalty of New Granada at over a million inhabitants, far exceeding the figures Francisco had encountered .

The professor, who had accompanied him, watched in silence, his curiosity evident.

Without turning, Francisco spoke.

“Look at this,” he said, his finger pressing against the parchment. “The census is confined almost entirely to the Altiplano Cundiboyacense and the regions surrounding Santa Fe, Cartagena, and Popayán.”

He paused, his tone sharpening.

“They counted the ’civilized’ population—those within reach of administration—and then they stopped. They ignore vast territories, entire indigenous populations… even regions like Venezuela and Quito.”

He exhaled slowly.

“This is no oversight. It is negligence… or something worse. Was it for taxation? To conceal revenues? Or perhaps to avoid responsibility altogether?”

The professor stepped closer, the candlelight casting long shadows across the shelves.

“Greed is the simplest explanation,” he said quietly. “But within the Spanish Empire, matters are rarely so simple.”

He ran a finger along the gilded seal.

“To count a population is to assume responsibility for it. If a viceroy declares two million souls, he must provide judges, priests, and soldiers for them. He must build roads where there are none, defend borders he cannot even map.”

He glanced toward Francisco.

“In many cases, it is more convenient… not to see.”

Francisco nodded slowly.

“Indeed,” he said. “The indigenous would contribute little in taxes, at least in the short term. It is easier to exclude them.”

He paused, then his expression shifted—this time not in frustration, but in realization.

“But this… changes things.”

He looked again at the ledgers.

“If the true population is greater—if the market is larger—then steel production may be expanded beyond what I had assumed. Efficiency becomes not only desirable… but necessary.”

He closed the ledger with quiet determination.

“It seems,” he added, almost to himself, “that this problem may be approached sooner than expected.”

The professor regarded Francisco with a faint, almost knowing smile.

“I would not wish to diminish your ambitions,” he said, “but from what we understand of the indigenous, their need for steel is… limited. Primarily to weapons.”

He paused briefly, letting the implication settle.

“And unless you are prepared to sustain a constant state of war with them, I doubt you would be inclined to supply such quantities. In that case, your market is confined to the so-called ’civilized’ population—the Hispanics. They alone will seek steel in the form of tools, instruments, and industry.”

Francisco frowned, though he nodded in agreement.

It was a limitation—but not without its advantages.

If his estimation proved correct, then New Granada held not eight hundred thousand, but closer to two million Hispanics. That alone expanded the potential market considerably. It also suggested a greater capacity to absorb immigrants—an opportunity he had not fully accounted for.

Of course, how many would remain after the ongoing conflict… was another matter entirely.

“Of course, I understand,” Francisco replied.

He then explained his thoughts regarding immigration—how increasing the population might sustain production and expand the internal market.

The professor listened attentively before nodding.

“It is a sound approach,” he said. “But it must be handled with care. Consider the United States. Already, in certain regions, the German population has grown so numerous that it has begun to create internal tensions.”

He folded his hands behind his back.

“You propose to attract immigrants from multiple nations. In principle, this is advantageous. Yet if you fail to balance their numbers, you may create divisions within your own society—separate groups, each loyal to its origin rather than to the whole.”

He glanced at Francisco with measured seriousness.

“My advice would be this: do not allow too many of one nationality to settle in the same place.”

Francisco gave a small shrug.

“I understand. In time, that may become a concern. But for now, my father’s control over New Granada remains limited. There are only so many regions where such settlements can even be established.”

The professor inclined his head slightly, accepting the answer—though the matter, clearly, was far from settled.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep