Chapter 266: The Russian Empire Enters The Game
And so, what had transpired upon that foothill passed as though it had never been.
Francisco and Catalina had, of course, heard the distant gunshots. Catalina, however, trusted Francisco—and Francisco, in turn, trusted his servants. Between that quiet confidence and the deliberate calm of the moment, they chose not to dwell upon it.
When the servant returned and reported what had occurred, Francisco could not suppress a low chuckle.
"So," he said, with a faint shake of his head, "the Spanish and the British have fought one another to the death for the right to abduct me... and we have not lost a single man." He exhaled lightly. "That is fortunate. Though I doubt such fortune will favor us again. Hanover belongs to the British—they may bring more men whenever they please. The Spanish, on the other hand, have likely exhausted what forces they have sent this past year."
He fell silent a moment, considering it more seriously. It had been a matter of circumstance—nothing more. Spain was too distant to reinforce its agents with ease, and now that blood had been shed, the British would be far more watchful of any such movement. What had occurred was not strategy alone. It was luck.
"Let us return," Francisco said at last, turning to his servants. "See that the mercenaries are paid as promised."
With that, he made his way back toward Catalina. She stood at the edge of the hill, her attention still fixed upon the valley below, as though the quiet beauty before her might steady her thoughts.
When she felt Francisco’s arms settle gently around her waist, she turned her head slightly. "Is everything... resolved below?" she asked.
Francisco nodded, recounting what he had heard, his tone carrying a trace of amusement. Yet, as he spoke, Catalina’s expression did not mirror his. Instead, a shadow of concern crossed her features.
"That is not good," she said quietly. "It means that now two powerful empires seek to take you to their capitals. We may evade them once—perhaps twice—but with each failure, they will learn. They will adapt." She paused, her gaze lowering slightly. "And they will not cease. Those men act in the name of their nations. If they continue to fail, there may come a time when they abandon all restraint. They could force the matter—pressuring Göttingen... or even Hanover itself."
Her voice remained steady, though the weight of her reasoning was clear.
"They protect you now because Spain and Britain still maintain a certain decorum. But if desperation takes hold..." She hesitated, then continued more softly, "Even if the council of Göttingen wished to defend you, the people may not. They are subjects of the British Crown. They will not sacrifice their safety for a foreigner—one who, in time, intends to return to New Granada."
Francisco’s faint smile lingered for a moment, then gradually faded. He frowned, not in disagreement, but in recognition.
She was right.
The sympathy he enjoyed among the people was not truly his own. It belonged to the ideas he represented—the desire for learning, for autonomy, for something beyond the old order. If those ideas ceased to serve them, so too would their support.
"At least for now," he said after a pause, "France remains their more immediate concern. That alone may delay any direct action." He drew a slow breath. "But you are correct. Europe is a powder keg, ready to ignite at any moment."
He glanced toward the horizon, thoughtful now. "We should prepare routes of escape—should matters turn against us."
Catalina nodded, her concern deepening rather than easing. What troubled her most was not merely Spain or Britain—but the widening circle of attention. Other nations had begun to take notice, and among them was one in particular whose interest carried a colder, more calculated ambition. A power still expanding, still seeking minds that might serve its future.
Far from them—thousands of miles away—in a chamber scented with beeswax and fine tobacco, a woman in a high-collared gown of midnight silk turned the pages of a carefully assembled dossier.
She was a correspondent of high rank, serving the interests of her Empress—a woman tasked with identifying and securing the brightest minds of Europe for the Tsar’s domain.
Upon the desk lay a stolen copy of Francisco’s latest report—On an Alternative for the Steam Engine—accompanied by a careful sketch of his likeness. Though the British had made considerable efforts to contain the matter, pressing Hanover to suppress its circulation, such attempts had proven insufficient.
Too many students of differing nationalities had been present within the working group. Knowledge, once shared among such minds, did not remain confined for long. It spread—quietly, persistently—beyond borders.
This alone explained much of Britain’s urgency. Francisco had not merely contributed to the field; he had diverted profit—profit that might otherwise have belonged to British industry.
"He is younger than I expected," the woman murmured in French, her finger tracing the line of Francisco’s jaw upon the drawing.
Behind her stood a tall officer clad in the dark green of the Imperial Guard, rigid in posture.
"Our agents within the Electorate report that the British are greatly displeased," he said. "They intend to compel him to London—to place him in service to Boulton & Watt until he has ’repaid’ the losses he has caused." He allowed himself the faintest pause. "Given their mastery of finance, it is unlikely such a debt would ever diminish, regardless of his labor."
He shifted slightly before continuing.
"The Spanish, meanwhile, pursue a different course. They seek to return him to his family’s domain and restrict his work to matters they deem appropriate. They have no desire for what they consider... improper knowledge to spread within their empire. Yet they are not blind. They understand there are certain advancements they must control—and intend to use him for precisely those ends."
The woman smiled, though there was nothing warm in the expression—only a sharp, calculating satisfaction.
"The Spaniards," she said softly, "have grown complacent with their American gold. To treat a man of such potential as a prisoner... it is a waste."
She turned slightly, the candlelight catching the fine silk of her gown.
"The Empress, however, is of a different mind. She does not seek a captive—she seeks a founder. A man free to pursue his inquiries, to strengthen the state through knowledge. And his wife..." Her smile deepened faintly. "A woman capable of advancing a cure for smallpox. Such a figure would lend great weight to the Empress’s authority—particularly as a sovereign upon the throne."
She fell silent for a moment, considering, before closing the dossier. The double-headed imperial eagle, embossed in gold upon its cover, glinted in the candlelight.
"Let the Spanish and the British exhaust themselves in German mud," she said at last, her voice cool as breaking ice. "They contend for his body. We shall offer him what he truly desires—a laboratory without constraint, and the means to shape the future."
She paused, then added with quiet finality, "Prepare the specialized transport. We are not here to seize a scientist. We are here to invite an architect."
A brief silence followed.
"And if he refuses..." she continued, almost idly, "the air of Siberia has been known to make men more... accommodating."
The officer hesitated, then inclined his head slightly.
"He is, by all accounts, a cautious man," he said. "If our agents approach him directly now, he will place us alongside the Spanish assassins and British financiers. He will not distinguish between us."
He paused, choosing his words with care.
"But if we approach through the woman—through Catalina—his guard may lower. He treats her as an equal... perhaps the only one he does."
The woman turned from him and faced the large map of Europe mounted upon the wall. Her gaze passed over the familiar centers of power—Madrid, London—without pause.
"And what, precisely, do you propose, Colonel?" the woman asked, her tone measured. "We cannot simply dispatch a diplomat to interrupt a picnic."
The officer inclined his head slightly before answering.
"We send Princess Ekaterina Vorontsova," he said. "She is young, well-educated, and presently touring the German courts under the pretext of improving her health and studying music. She embodies the ideals of the Russian Enlightenment."
He stepped closer to the table, his voice lowering just enough to suggest careful calculation.
"From our reports, Catalina’s investigations have begun to attract considerable attention across Europe. Under the guise of studying how a laboratory led by a woman has been established, the Princess may gain entry without suspicion. From there, she may cultivate a relationship with Catalina herself."
He paused briefly.
"If Catalina can be won over, we may not need to persuade Francisco directly. It is possible his own wife would incline him toward our cause. And even if they should choose different paths..." His expression remained composed. "Catalina alone would justify the effort."
The woman remained still, absorbing his words.
"To secure the husband through the wife..." she murmured softly. "Or perhaps to secure the wife and render the husband unnecessary."
For a moment, her voice faded into near silence.
"It is a strategy worthy of the Empress," she continued. "If Catalina has indeed established a laboratory of such caliber in the heart of Germany, then her value is no longer confined to that of a mere spouse. She is, in herself, an asset of consequence."
She turned away from the map, the silk of her gown whispering faintly against the marble floor as she moved.
"In principle, I approve of this approach, Colonel. Princess Vorontsova is well suited to the task—sharp, composed, and refined to perfection. She will not carry the scent of powder or coin, as the others do. She will arrive bearing the quiet authority of culture—of lilies and of books."
She paused, lifting a heavy quill from the desk, its feather catching the light.
"Yet such a decision cannot rest with me alone," she added, her tone steady once more. "To involve a member of the nobility, and to alter our posture toward both Spanish and British interests... this must be placed before the Empress."
Her gaze lowered briefly to the closed dossier.
"Her Majesty has long held a particular regard for women who challenge the so-called natural order of the sciences," she said. "She may, perhaps, see something of her own younger self in this Catalina."
