Chapter Thirty-One (Patreon)

Arsenyev’s face was grim. Alexander’s former tutor and current Director of Railways was not a man prone to excessive cheer, but rarely did he have a frown etched into his face. There were other councilors with issues–Agvan had a glare to him that Alexander misliked and Haass’ hair was twice as grey as it had been a year ago–but his seeing his former tutor so disturbed was what gave Alexander pause.

“Arsenyev,” Alexander said. “What do you have to report?”

“The work-gangs have crossed the Kangnan and Hamgyong mountains. The Mukden-Busan connection is expected to be finished by winter’s end. The Busan-Vladivostok connection will be finished by the end of the month.”

“That is good news,” Lazarev said. “The sooner lumber and steel come to Busan, the sooner we can create a fleet worthy of the name.”

“We also risk running short of activities for the work-gangs to perform,” Arsenyev cautioned. “Your Imperial Highness’ soldiers and administrators have been very successful at securing the yangban class. Perhaps too successful.”

“What are you implying?” Muravyov asked dangerously. Alexander shot him a glare, and Muravyov pulled back. Good, the man knew who held power. Still . . .

“Arsenyev?”

“We have too many laborers,” the man said plainly. “The yangban were nearly a tenth of Joseon’s population.”

“What do you propose?” Hass, Alexander’s other tutor, asked.

“We cannot release them freely,” Arsenyev admitted. “Not after what has been done. They have lost their status, property, and have been fiercely worked. I would propose exiling them into Qing.”

“The Qing do not want them any more than we do,” Agvan scoffed. “They already have too many sedentary scholars.”

“We could sell them as laborers to the British,” von Stieglitz suggested. “They have a constant hunger for coolies.”

“No,” Alexander said firmly. Giving the British so many laborers–as many as they wanted, practically speaking–could turn Australia from a backwater colony to a prosperous colony deserving of its own navy. The last thing Alexander wished for was a permanent and significant British presence in the Pacific. “There is much work to be done here.”

“We can only make so much steel for the railways,” Anosov warned. “Even if we halted all other production, we could only build twenty or thirty thousand vyersta of railways a year.”

“Canals,” von Stieglitz realized.

Alexander nodded. “I have read a proposal by one Charles Ellet.”

“Ellet?” Arsenyev frowned. “He is one of my engineers. A skilled man, if a bit overeager.”

“Ambitious as well,” Alexander said. “His proposal would canalize and connect every major river in Siberia, using Lake Baikal as a central point.”

“The Angara and Selenga already begin at Baikal,” Arsenyev muttered. “If he can connect the Lena and the Amur to Baikal, one could travel from one end of Eastern Siberia to the other.”

“He also wishes to connect the Yensei to the Ob, the Ob to the Volga, and the Yalu to the Amur,” Alexander said.

“That would be the largest waterway in the world! You could go from Moscow to Dalian without ever leaving your barge!”

Alexander leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a faint grin. “I did tell you he was ambitious. He has other proposals as well. A connection from the White Sea to the Baltic. A set of canals connecting the Caspian to the Aral and Black Seas. A railway bridge across the Strait of Tartary and another from Sakhalin to Hokkaido.”

“Is the man ambitious or insane?” von Stieglitz asked. “The funding needed for these proposals would dwarf the budget for the Imperial Army.”

“Unless,” Agvan said suddenly, “we had a large supply of labor. Labor we do not need to feed and do not care if they die.”

Alexander nodded. The Buryat understood, that was why the man worried. He was foolish to do so. Agvan had nothing to fear from Alexander–so long as he remained loyal.

“It would need a department of its own,” Arsenyev said. “I do not have the time to properly manage a rapid expansion in railways and a similar one in canals. That said, I do not suggest that Ellet is made the head of the department. Though older than Your Imperial Highness, he lacks your royal maturity. He has yet to learn the lessons of experience, and I fear would waste a great deal of effort and treasure in pursuing his more outlandish designs.”

Alexander considered it. Thirty was young to be put in charge of such an important task, but Ellet was certain to be committed to the project. “Who would you recommend?”

“Another of my engineers, William Bald. He has extensive experience with both surveying and canalization, and has led large projects before.”

Experience was useful, especially in surveying. If Siberia had taught him nothing else, it was that a few hundredths of a degree off on a map could mean the difference between clay and gold.

“Inform Mr. Bald of his new job,” Alexander decided. “I will speak with him tomorrow.”

“Your Imperial Highness,” Arsenyev agreed, bowing his head.

“Are there other concerns?”

“There is the issue of the new Mir,” Agvan said. “With the fertility of Manchuria and Altai becoming known, there have been arguments over who will settle those lands, and who will receive less fertile lands.”

Alexander narrowed his eyes. Many Mir had been settled in all lands last year, with not so much as a whisper of malcontent. Was this truly new, or had Agvan hidden the troubles from him.

“Can we not settle the fertile lands now, and the lesser lands later?” Anosov asked. “Fewer people will be needed to farm each acre as we produce more machinery.”

“Who would willingly give up their place in a Manchurian Mir for one in Kamchatka?” von Stieglitz asked. “It is akin to asking someone to move from Saint Petersburg to New Archangel without compensation.”

Agvan said nothing, his eyes focused on Alexander. Alexander felt his ire roar into rage as he realized what was going on. Agvan had betrayed him. The Buryat desired preferential treatment for himself and his people. Alexander had denied him that, and so he sabotaged the entire project. He wished for Alexander’s reforms to collapse into a pile of ethnic hatred that would see a new governor emerge, one willing to listen to the man who prophesied Alexander’s downfall.

Agvan would die, Alexander decided. He would need to do it quietly. A public trial would risk too much of Alexander’s image, especially among the Buryats, who made up a large proportion of his cavalry forces. He would need to find better spies first. Men capable of finding secret agendas and factions before they could harm him. Men capable of ensuring silence.

For now, he needed to settle the matter.

“The new Mir will be built on less fertile lands,” Alexander decided. “Those who decide to leave them for the next set of Mir will gain more fertile soil. Those who remain will not suffer the hardship of new construction.”

“As you command, your Imperial Highness.”

Soon, Alexander promised himself. Truly, where was Beria when he needed the devil?