After climbing to the second floor, Francisco found four people waiting: two older men, around fifty or sixty, a young mestiza woman—rare for such a gathering—and a well-dressed, intellectual-looking gentleman.
"A pleasure to meet you," Francisco said, shaking hands with each of them, including the young woman. "I'm Francisco Gómez, of the Gómez family."
The bookish man stepped forward, extending his hand with a formal salute."Pleasure to meet you. My name is Antonio Nariño."
Francisco almost staggered. He recognized the name from history books—this man was a major federalist figure, the first president of Cundinamarca during independence. Francisco had always wondered when he might meet one of those próceres from the textbooks—names like Simón Bolívar or Antonio Nariño. He hadn't expected to encounter one in a café.
"I have a question," Francisco said, suddenly curious. "Do you like the army?" He remembered Nariño was once a commander.
The room fell silent. Everyone looked at Antonio with interest. Nariño chuckled softly."No, not really. I prefer politics. I own a printing press and help spread banned books to the people."
"Really?" Francisco asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Antonio faltered. He was a wealthy criollo, raised in privilege. Why would someone like him choose the harsh life of a soldier with meager pay?
A cough broke the moment. Another man stepped forward."A pleasure to meet you. I'm also Francisco—Francisco Ignacio Ugarte, of the Ugarte family."
"You're from the Ugarte family?" Francisco asked, surprised. "Even the regidores of Santa Fe de Bogotá come from them."
"If that impresses you, you'll be even more surprised by this gentleman." Ignacio gestured toward one of the older men. "This is Antonio Ricaurte Lozano, of the prestigious Ricaurte family—one of the oldest lineages in New Granada."
"A pleasure to meet you," Ricaurte said with dignity.
Francisco bowed slightly. "An honor. And who might this lady be?" He nodded toward the young mestiza. He was accustomed to Catalina's company, but it was still unusual to see a woman of mixed heritage among such elite circles.
"She is Isabella, a member of our organization," Ignacio replied quickly, trying to change the subject.
Francisco studied her carefully. She wasn't a servant—her closeness to Ignacio was more familial, almost like a daughter. Still, he knew better than to gossip.
Ignacio continued, "We wanted to learn more about you two youngsters who wish to join our organization. But I must say—you're very young. Did you really create a new material?"
"To be exact, I rediscovered it," Francisco replied, already tired of repeating himself. "The material and its instructions already existed. I just perfected the process, making it cheaper and more durable."
"That is impressive," Ricaurte said. "I have some construction projects that could use your material. Where could I purchase it, so my master builders can test it?"
"My family has a factory in Antioquía. If you send someone there, I'd be happy to sell to you—at a discount." Francisco smiled slightly.
"Good. I'll send an expert within a few months." Ricaurte leaned back, then studied him. "We wanted to meet you, to measure your ideas. You seem energetic—perhaps too restless. Word has reached us that you're often seen with that mestizo boy. That damages your prospects of returning to Bogotá, you know."
"I know," Francisco admitted with a cunning smile. "But honestly, I don't care. I'd rather turn Antioquía into a powerful territory than try to build in Cundinamarca."
"That won't be easy," Ignacio warned. "Many families there are liberals, disliked by the viceroy, but others are tangled in intrigues, dreaming of returning to Bogotá to continue their petty fights."
"Maybe," Francisco said coldly, "but if I can help them grow rich, most will follow me. And those who don't—well, I'll choose when the time comes." His smile was unsettling, far too sharp for a sixteen-year-old.
"I hear you plan to leave New Granada for some years," Ricaurte asked. "Why?"
"I want to be a natural philosopher," Francisco explained. "But most Spanish universities don't support that philosophy. I'll need to study abroad."
"Is that philosophy useful?" Ricaurte pressed. As a merchant, he understood the value of practical knowledge.
"Well, Roman cement was rediscovered thanks to natural philosophy," Francisco replied. "With more knowledge and inventions, we could feed millions—even hundreds of millions. Imagine faster construction, better agriculture, cleaner water, improved transport, efficient training for soldiers and specialists. My cement alone reduces construction time by seventy percent. Think what could happen if we applied the same principles everywhere."
Ignacio licked his lips. "How much money would that be…"
Ricaurte's voice dropped. "Independence."
The word froze the room.
"What?" Ignacio asked.
"All this leads there," Ricaurte said firmly. "Faster food means lower prices. Lower prices mean larger families. Water and transport strengthen the land. Soldiers can be trained quicker, moved faster. If what he says is true, independence is inevitable."
Ignacio sat back, stunned. "You really think cement could bring independence?"
"If construction is seventy percent faster, commerce will explode. Not only criollos, but mestizos and even indigenous people will chase new opportunities. Yet New Granada has fewer than two million people, most of them slaves. Who will supply the labor?"
Francisco was stunned. Everything he touched seemed to spiral into a conspiracy against Spain. But Ricaurte was right. He thought a moment, then said quietly: "Immigrants."
Ricaurte gave him a long look, realizing this might not have been Francisco's original plan. He smiled. "That's right."
Nariño, confused, asked, "What does immigration have to do with independence?"
"If more people of different cultures come," Francisco explained, "they'll bring new ideas and discontent with Spanish rule. Eventually the population will grow too large for Spain to control. Add the spirit of freedom born from the French Revolution, and the perfect storm for independence is ready."
Nariño was shaken. Could immigration alone set off revolution?
Francisco pressed further. "Not only that—slavery will collapse. Merchants won't wait forever for immigrants. They'll turn to the largest group already here—slaves and servants. To win their loyalty, they'll fight for emancipation, offering wages instead."
Both Ignacio and Ricaurte looked at Francisco in shock. Roman cement wasn't just building material; it was a spark that could transform society.
Francisco, flustered, protested, "You can't blame me! I only wanted to build my still faster."
"We're not blaming you," Ugarte muttered, "but how could you create something that changes the entire country without even realizing it?"
Ricaurte nodded grimly. "We must prepare our families. If this spreads, loyalty will matter more than ever."
Ugarte was calmer. "It will take time. There's only one factory, and it's far away in Antioquía. Until the other cities catch on, we're safe."
But Francisco bit his lip. "That's not exactly true. I came to Bogotá to show Roman cement to the viceroy's representative. He's planning to upgrade the aqueduct, and if it works, the new one will be built with my material next year. I'd probably even be forced to set up another factory here in Bogotá."
Ignacio and Ricaurte froze. Only Nariño seemed calm—his business was printing, which already required skilled labor.
"Boy, are you trying to kill us?" Ignacio hissed. "We have barely a year to free our slaves and raise wages before merchants start stealing our workers." He stormed toward the stairs. "We'll speak later, Antonio, Isabella—and you, Francisco. Don't think this is over."
Ricaurte lingered a moment, studying Francisco carefully. I'll need to send family to Hanover to study this 'natural philosophy,' he thought. I won't be caught unprepared again. He nodded once. "See you later, children."
Only Francisco, Antonio, and Isabella remained.
"Well," Francisco said, "my partner's waiting. Do you want to meet her?"
"Sure," Antonio and Isabella replied at the same time.