That first night, Francisco decided to sleep aboard the ship. The inns near the port were crowded almost every night; even with so many of them, it was nearly impossible to find a vacant room. They managed to reserve a few for the following days—just for a month—since Francisco had to remain in London until his meeting with the Prime Minister. Still, who knew how long that might take?

Ramiro came aboard later, smiling as he made his way to his cabin. Francisco, curious, asked,"Why are you so cheerful all of a sudden? I doubt your cabin brings you that much joy."

Ramiro's expression darkened for a moment, remembering the long weeks he'd spent sleeping in the captain's office. Then he shook his head."No, not that," he said. "You know this place is the heart of trade between England and her colonies. Can you imagine the variety of goods I can get here? I'd be a fool not to take advantage of it—and look at this."

He proudly pulled out a folded document and waved it before Francisco's eyes.

Francisco reached for it, but Ramiro quickly drew it back, stuffing it into his coat."Don't touch," he said, grinning. "This permit is a little gift from Miss Elizabeth—a reward for bringing her here. It's signed by the King of Spain himself. With this, I can buy whatever I want in London and sell it in Spain without a single problem with the authorities."

Francisco stared at him, astonished. "You're going to make a fortune. I hope you buy a better ship this time."

Ramiro's grin widened. "With the money I'll make, I could buy an entire armada."

Francisco rolled his eyes. "Even if you sold yourself, you couldn't afford that—but an East Indiaman might be possible."

Ramiro's eyes lit up. "Right! One of those giants—fourteen hundred tons of solid oak. That would be enough." Then his excitement faltered, and he frowned. "But I doubt I could actually buy a ship like that. If I'm not mistaken, the British wouldn't easily sell their most advanced ship to a Spaniard like me," Ramiro said, sighing with frustration.

Francisco stopped him. "Did you forget why we brought Elizabeth to London?"

Ramiro frowned, puzzled. "Because of the war with France—we're allies." Then, suddenly realizing, he smacked his forehead. "That's right! During the alliance, it might actually be possible. How could I forget that?"

Francisco nodded. "Still, I'd recommend buying one already built. Don't order a new construction—who knows how long the alliance will last? If you pay in advance and they later ban the sale, you'd have no one to blame but yourself."

Ramiro nodded seriously. Britain's reputation for cold pragmatism was well-known. "Thanks. While we're here, I'll look into it. I plan to speak with the Spanish ambassador tomorrow for assistance—I'm sure he'll support the purchase. I might also need a translator. Want to come with me? I suppose you'd like to explore, but without one, you may find it difficult."

Francisco nodded. "Sure. Let's go in the morning."

Ramiro patted his shoulder before heading to his cabin, his earlier excitement replaced by focus. Francisco shook his head slightly and went inside, where Catalina was already lying down. When she saw him, she pouted.

"This smell is awful—I can't sleep. Why does it stink so much here?"

Francisco sighed. "It's the Thames. The workshops along the river dump their waste into it. That's what causes the smell."

Catalina frowned, wrinkling her nose. "It's really unpleasant. How can people live like this?"

Francisco chuckled softly. "You think that way because in New Granada we don't have many workshops yet—most of our land is still green. But who knows? If we grow like this someday, maybe the Magdalena River will smell just as bad."

Catalina's eyes flickered with concern. "No… that sounds terrible. Do we really need that to develop?"

Francisco thought for a moment before answering. "Maybe. The problem isn't just finding alternatives—it's the cost. Most people would rather keep their profits than spend them cleaning a river."

Catalina looked at him with pitiful eyes. "I know you want to develop New Granada," she said softly, "but… if you can, please try not to make it so smelly."

Francisco chuckled. "I'll do everything I can to find a better way." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Now, try to sleep. Tomorrow I'm going to the Spanish embassy, and you'll go with the servants to the inn to prepare the rooms we'll be staying in—so you'll need your energy."

Catalina frowned slightly but nodded. "All right."

They both closed their eyes, and before long, drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning, after a restless night, Francisco woke with dark circles under his eyes. At the same time, he realized his nose was beginning to lose its sense of smell. Glancing at Catalina, who looked just as weary, he chuckled.

"You look like an owl."

Catalina pouted, then glanced at his face and burst out laughing. "You look like one too!"

Francisco shook his head, still smiling, and began to get ready. But when he saw the water brought to him, his stomach turned."Are you joking? Where did this water come from? Anyone would think you're trying to make me drink from the Thames!"

The crewman who'd brought it shrugged. "It is Thames water, sir. The officers say it's the only drinkable source around here."

Francisco stared at him in disbelief. The very thought made his skin crawl. "Suddenly I feel clean enough," he muttered. "Maybe I'll skip bathing for the rest of our stay."

The crew burst out laughing, nodding in agreement. Back in New Granada, where fresh rivers and springs were abundant, they were all used to washing and cooking with clean water. None of them had any desire to touch this murky stuff.

"So what are we supposed to drink while we're here?" Francisco asked.

Ramiro came down the stairs, adjusting his coat. "Ale, apparently. Some nobles have water brought in from the countryside, but it's quite expensive."

Francisco frowned. "But ale's made with river water, isn't it? Doesn't that make it just as bad?"

Ramiro shrugged. "I don't know the reason, but they say ale's safer than plain water."

Francisco rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe the brewing process kills whatever filth is in it… That's actually worth looking into."

Ramiro grinned. "So, are you going to drink ale with us, then?"

Francisco shook his head firmly. "I think I'd rather pay extra for clean water from outside the city. I don't exactly trust ale."

Ramiro scoffed. "Pauper! When your father and I traveled, there were times we even had to drink our own urine!"

Francisco raised a hand sharply. "Stop. I don't want to hear it. I'm a pauper—fine—but a clean pauper. Now let me change and go speak with the ambassador. I'm sure he's also curious about what I'll discuss with the Prime Minister."

Ramiro chuckled and nodded, and the two began preparing for the day.

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