Chapter 29: Isabella, and elections

1791 April

My name is Isabella, daughter of Carlos Gómez—a businessman who works for the Crown and the royal family. I have a large family: my father, my grandmother María, my older brother, and my sister Catalina. We used to live in Bogotá, but I was not happy there. I was expected to be quiet and reserved all the time, and it was boring. Most girls only talked about boys, or what they wanted to buy, or where their parents were taking them. All nonsense.

Fortunately, Father allowed me to play with the servants’ children when we were at home. The servants are good people. They care for us, and honestly, I don’t know how we would live without them. My brother, though, used to be quite boring back in Bogotá—he always obeyed Father and did exactly as he was told. Only with Catalina did he become a little more lively, since he liked playing with her. Still, he preferred books above all.

But then Father was expelled from Bogotá by the viceroy. I was furious. Why should some foolish viceroy have the right to kick my father out? I swore that one day I would become a pirate and steal all his gold. And what upset me even more was that after we left Bogotá, my brother fell into a coma. I was terrified. Even if he was boring, he loved me, read to me, and spent more time with me than Father ever did.

One day, though, he woke up. But he was… different. No longer the dull boy who followed Father’s orders. He started inventing things. Most were useless, but some were funny toys, and others were strange yet fascinating. He called it science or something like that.

I also have a secret. I always admired generals and heroes—I want to be a soldier. But from what I hear, women soldiers are rare, and few respect them. That makes me angry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. At least Father teaches me swordsmanship. I can even spar with my brother. Still, Father insisted I was old enough to start learning other subjects. I didn’t like it, but he was firm: if I refused, I would lose my right to train with the sword. Luckily, my brother teaches me along with the other children, so sometimes I can slip away—if I use my puppy eyes.

But today something strange happened. A group of men came to speak with my brother.

“Mr. Gómez, can you support the mayor in the elections this March?” asked an attendant.

Francisco nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, we’re at the beginning of the year—it makes sense the elections are starting again. I can support him, but I’ll need his support in return. For example, I want him to agree to accept immigrants.”

“Immigrants? If they’re from Europe, I don’t see a problem,” the attendant replied.

“Not only from Europe,” Francisco answered truthfully. “I want to receive some Easterners.”

“Easterners?” The attendant raised his brows. “I’m not sure. I’d have to ask the mayor. But would they even come? I’ve heard they call their empire the Celestial Dynasty and that they’re so rich there’s gold in the streets. If I lived there, I’d never leave.”

“That’s a misunderstanding,” Francisco corrected him. “Spain was once called the richest country in the world, but most common people weren’t rich at all. Many were poorer than the indigenous here in the New World. I want to attract farmers—they could strengthen our economy. We have vast lands, and from what I know, the Qing Empire, though one of the largest in the world, also has one of the largest populations. If we can attract some farmers, give them land, and let them work it, Antioquía could prosper.”

“Then why not just buy them as slaves?” the attendant asked bluntly.

Francisco frowned. “You do realize the Qing are a superpower, yes? If we enslave their people, do you want them sending troops to South America for revenge? It’s safer—and wiser—to treat them at least as well as we treat Europeans.”

“Would they really do that?” the attendant asked, clearly confused. “I heard the Dutch and others attacked Chinese communities, and the Qing did nothing.”

“Maybe. But I won’t risk it. One day I want to trade directly with Qing. Even if it’s only resources, it’s worth maintaining good relations.”

“That will be difficult. Most people here in Antioquía are Catholics. The Qing don’t believe in God, so people won’t welcome them,” the attendant warned.

“I understand. That’s why I need the mayor’s support. If he publicly prohibits people from harming the Qing settlers, most problems will disappear. Worst case, we can grant them land near our estates, where we can protect them.”

The attendant narrowed his eyes. “Strange. Why are you so intent on protecting them?”

Francisco leaned forward. “Do you know why the Qing were attacked in the South Asian colonies?”

“Why?”

“Fear. The Chinese are skilled merchants. They made money, gained influence, and governors began to fear them. In those colonies, most of the population was indigenous or Chinese—if they grew strong enough, they could have pushed out the Europeans. But New Granada is different. Most people here are Spaniards or mestizos. The Qing could never gain such dominance. What they could do is bring their expertise in farming and trade. If we grant them some status, they might help Antioquía develop at remarkable speed.”

“Hmm… maybe the mayor would agree, but surely he’ll put limits on how many people can come. Even if New Granada is full of Spaniards and mestizos, Antioquía doesn’t have that many. If too many Qing arrive, they could outnumber us. That’s dangerous,” said the attendant.

“No problem. I also want to bring Irish settlers. From what I hear, British rule over them is brutal, so many want to escape. Germans and French, too. My goal is to grow Antioquía’s population quickly. At present, I rely on slaves for my industries—but that’s actually a burden. I’d rather hire free workers. The truth is, Antioquía doesn’t have enough labor, and I worry about the future.”

The attendant sighed. “I’ll speak with the mayor. The French and Irish won’t be a problem—they’re Catholics. But Germans? That’s as difficult as the Qing. They’re Protestants, and the Church won’t like that.”

“I understand,” Francisco said. “That’s why I’ll begin with the Irish, French, and Qing. Later, I’ll go to Hanover in the Holy Roman Empire for study. There, I can attract some Germans myself.”

“All right. But you know the mayor will expect… donations, to smooth things over.” The attendant gave him a knowing look.

“Fine,” Francisco agreed. “By election time, the factory should be finished. I can sell cement to builders and even cities, and with that money, I’ll donate for roads.” He sighed, weary of always paying.

“Already? Didn’t you just start five months ago?” the attendant asked in disbelief.

“Actually, only about two months if you count from February,” Francisco corrected.

“That new material you made—is it really that useful?”

“I didn’t invent it. The Romans did. I only copied and improved it. But yes—it’s that useful.”

“Incredible. With it, we’ll build faster than ever. And if more people come, they’ll need more houses. Which means more cement. You’re clever, Francisco.”

Francisco only smiled, saying nothing more.

“All right. I’ll speak with the mayor. Knowing him, he may actually agree to your terms.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep