"So, as you may understand, I belong to a group of liberals. I don’t know exactly who the leaders are or how much power they wield, but I know they have people even in the central government — I think they even have some in Spain itself. Our objective is to free the country from Spanish control," Oscar told Francisco, explaining the organization. "There are supposed to be at least twelve leaders — four for each viceroyalty. They occupy important positions in each one. They have two intermediaries who, in turn, each have sixteen under them, and those sixteen manage a lot of people. From what I hear, the priests say that at least one of the twelve leaders is a traitor who works for the Church. And, they want to create a theocracy in South America with the bishop as a sort of new pope. Their plan is to inspire liberals to fight the Crown and weaken both, then use their troops to defeat both and create a new country. When I learned that, I knew I had to pass the information. So I wrote everything encoded in the organization’s code and tried to take it to our contact point, hoping it would reach the leadership. But someone was following me. I couldn’t risk going to the contact in the open, so when I saw you with your father — and knowing your family works for the Crown — I slipped the letter into your pocket. If I didn’t make it, your father could pass it on to the authorities."
"I understand that, but how do you expect us to get anything to the Crown with only a piece of paper that says ’conspiracy of the Church’ and a bunch of unintelligible codes?" Francisco asked, puzzled.
"This code actually borrows from the Spanish army’s system," Oscar replied. "We use three code systems: one that mimics the Spanish army’s code, one the Church uses (the Vatican-style code used by bishops), and our liberal code. We do it for two reasons. First, if we used only the liberal code, sooner or later the Spanish or the Church would learn it and uncover everything, so using different codes confuses them. Second, for organization: when an intermediary receives a letter he can tell at a glance which domain it concerns. If it affects the Spanish army but the letter uses the army code, the recipient knows it’s army-related; if it affects the Church and uses the Church code, it’s about them; and if it’s coded in our liberal cipher, it’s directly about us. Third, if a letter falls into enemy hands and looks like it comes from the army or the Church, it distracts suspicion from the liberals. This particular letter doesn’t mention the liberal party — it only claims the Church has a cell preparing troops to rise up; specifically, the Bishop of New Granada allegedly has two intermediaries who each oversee sixteen trainees. If the letter falls into the hands of a Crown loyalist, he’ll understand it points to a Church conspiracy. If a Church sympathizer finds it, they’ll be put on alert. Either way, it sows confusion and buys us time."
"Interesting. That’s clever. But why tell me all this? You know I could have handed you to the guards the instant I found you — a living liberal is worth more than a scrap of paper," Francisco said.
"There are two reasons," Oscar said. "First, if you had wanted to turn me in you would have done so at the earliest moment. A liberal operative is more valuable than some information. Second, most of what I told you the Crown already suspects, and the Church knows of some of it too. The only truly new piece is about that traitor — and even that wouldn’t change the organization’s overall situation much." Oscar shrugged.
"You’re cunning, aren’t you? Second son of a merchant banished to Antioquia," Francisco teased, gripping the innkeeper.
"Hah — you don’t survive as a spy without cunning," Oscar laughed, giving Francisco a look that said you’re still a child.
"Forget it. So what are you going to do now? After the disappearance of those three men and your leaving the inn, you’re the most suspicious figure around. They may discover the bodies. For your own good — and mine — it would be better if you were dead," Francisco said, seriousness in his face.
"Don’t worry. I know I can’t go back. In truth, dying works better for my cover; it’s easier to gather information if people think I’m gone. If it weren’t for the organization’s orders, I wouldn’t stay in a place like Antioquia," Oscar answered.
"Good. Because if not, I would be forced to kill you. My family matters more to me than the Crown or the Church, and you know too much — I’m taking a great risk by saving you."
"Then why did you save me?" Oscar asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Honestly, I’m not completely sure. Maybe I hoped that if my family ever needed help, you’d be someone who could lend a hand, like I did for you," Francisco shrugged.
"If that time comes, I swear I’ll do everything in my power to help," Oscar said, eyes suddenly solemn.
"Thanks. Rest now — Grandma María already told you not to move. I’m going to talk to the servants and order them to keep quiet; we can’t have the whole of Antioquia knowing we have a wounded man just after the Gómez de Castro lost three men." Francisco stood, and as he left the room he heard Oscar mumble, "Thanks, boy."
Outside, Francisco ordered the servants to be silent and went to find his father, leaving aside whether the spy’s claims were true or not — better his father knew, so he could react if necessary.
"So someone in the plaza slipped a letter into your pocket, you sent servants to find him, and that led to uncovering a Church conspiracy and saving a spy?" Carlos asked, incredulous.
"It’s true, Father. Here — this letter was written using the Spanish army’s code." Francisco handed the folded paper to his father. Carlos read slowly, from beginning to end. Surprise crossed his face.
"So it’s true. The Church is more ambitious and more corrupt than I thought. I was afraid of the organization, but I hoped some of them were good. After reading this, it seems the Church is rotten at the core; only a few might be innocent. Why does it feel like we’ve stumbled into a great conspiracy?" Carlos rubbed his face. Then Carlos looked at his son and, solemnly, said, "Thanks for trusting me, son. I won’t do anything to your contact, but make sure he doesn’t leave this house. I’ll also gag the seven servants — and Grandma María will be told to keep quiet."
"Now go to sleep. Today was an unusual day; you should rest. We’ll talk tomorrow about your plans for the future."
"Sure. Excuse me," Francisco muttered, and slipped away as if his life depended on it.