Chapter Thirty-Seven (Patreon)

Seoul had once been the beating heart of Korea. It was the capital of Joseon, home to two hundred thousand people. The royal family dwelt in the Five Grand Palaces, surrounded by bureaucrats, courtiers, and military officials who numbered in the thousands, each possessing their own servants.

That was no longer the case. Seoul was not the center of Russia, it was a far-flung outpost. It did not have the central location of Mukden. It did not have the port facilities of Busan, with its own estuary freezing each winter. It lacked the rich mines of the north and the fertile fields of the south. Seoul’s greatest assets were its central location and inertia. The latter ended with the fall of the Joseon. The ever-expanding network of railways slowly chipped away at the first.

The Seoul that Alexander arrived in was far from its glory days. The Five Grand Palaces had been sacked by Russian troops after the Siege of Seoul and unlike the Palace of Mukden there was little interest in repairing them. Busan was the home of the Pacific Fleet and the new administration, Kanggye and Rason were the heart of the mining industry, and Sejong, Daegu, and Pyongyang served as focal points for agriculture. Only a handful of industries in Seoul remained, most prominently railway. Where once goods from across Korea came to feed the appetites of Seoul, now the city was a mere stop along the way.

Nonetheless Alexander elected to stop in the city. He and his guards took up residence in Changdeokgung Palace. They stayed the night, sleeping on soft beds in rooms stripped of their gold, silver, and artistic ornamentation. Come dawn they departed and made for Busan, still three days away.

*

Alexander arrived in Busan on the 20th of July, twenty-seven days since leaving his residence in Irkutsk. He was met at the train station by the Governor of Korea, Pavel Kiselyov. The former Minister of State Property was a tall man with broad shoulders. He wore a rather odd assortment of clothing; a western-style suit (dark trousers, jacket, and vest with a white shirt) underneath a long robe of yellow silk. Beside him was the Archbishop of Busan, Polycarp, who wore the traditional and extravagant clothing that befit his office. His stole was white silk with gold crosses, his mitre made of a rich gold-crimson brocade, his sleeve-cuffs and thick belt likewise brocade, only gold and blue. Around his neck hung a gold cross, the center bearing an enameled depiction of Jesus and the outer edges ringed with sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Kiselyov bowed. “Welcome to Busan.”

“I am glad to be here,” Alexander replied. “Speak to me. How fares Russia’s newest province?”

“It is well,” Kiselyov said, casting a glance towards the Archbishop. “The mines and railways are expanding as desired, and there is no shortage of volunteers for the new Mir.”

“The Church is in agreement,” the Archbishop said. “Many converts have been made among the people, though many more cling to old ways and beliefs. There is hope for them yet, though I remain cautious–the Pope already has agents here.”

Alexander sharpened at that. “Bishops?”

“No,” Kiselyov quickly reassured. “There are only a few Catholics, nothing to worry over.”

“The presence of papists is of grave concern,” the Archbishop countered. “Many in this land are unfamiliar with the differences between the true Church and that of Rome. Their message of foreign supremacy cannot be allowed to spread.”

“Nor can it be harshly countered,” Kiselyov replied. “As you say, many are unfamiliar with the differences. Our rule is new here, and supported only because it is kinder than the previous dynasty. What we cannot do is appear overly harsh, cruel, and demanding.”

“I am not asking for a persecution. I am asking you, as I have been for the past year, to finance our work.”

“I have already financed twoscore missionaries and the building of your cathedral. Surely the Church can pay for some small buildings in the countryside.”

“The Church–”

“Enough.” Alexander’s voice silenced the two men. He turned to Kiselyov. “Tell me. Is there a lack of funds in Korea?”

“Yes, your Imperial Highness. While many are willing to relocate to the new Mir, they must wait until the buildings, supplies, and machinery is made ready. In the meantime they remain in Korea, many of them without immediate work. This is a land of mountains and valleys, not one of wide plains. There is only so much farming that can be done. The mines, shipyards, and industries are growing, but they do so in accordance with the Five-Year Plan. A plan that, in recognition of the fact that many Koreans will soon move to the rest of Siberia, does not employ the entirety of the current population. As a result we must feed, house, and find tasks for these people–all of which costs money.” Kiselyov’s face was grim.

“How much more is needed?”

“The Church requires a half-million rubles per year for its expansion here,” the Archbishop answered.

“One million rubles a year would give us space to breathe,” Kiselyov added.

“You will get it,” Alexander promised. The only question was how. A million and a half rubles was no small amount. Between the expansions at Mukden, the growing military (especially the navy) and the continued industrialization and agricultural mechanization there was only so much money to go around, even with the literal gold mines. Perhaps it was time to focus on exporting porcelain and tea to the rest of Russia, rather than using it to expand the quality of living locally.

*

With two of Busan’s leading men met and reassured, Alexander turned to the third. The entire reason for his visit would soon be accomplished.

Alexander found Admiral Lazarev at the parapet of a newly built fortress. A naval gun–its caliber no less than twelve dyuym* wide–sat behind them. The admiral himself was looking out at the sea, a pair of binoculars pressed against his eyes. He was dressed in full uniform, his navy blue jacket augmented by gold epaulettes. His thinning gray hair was made wild by the wind.

“Here.” Lazarev turned, pushing the binoculars into Alexander’s chest. Deciding to humor the admiral, Alexander brought them to his eyes. The ocean was a little rough, green waves crashing against the sandy beaches. The sky was a gray shadow hanging over the world. Alexander turned his focus out to see and began to search. It did not take him long. There, amidst the swells and waves, was the Tientsin. Its hull was not splintering wood, nor was it dark, brittle, iron. It was made of silver-gleaming steel, large plates riveted into place. The Tientsin moved without the aid of masts or sails, its great propellors churning the water behind it as clouds of black smoke rose from the chimneys. The bow shattered the waves that pushed against it. The gun at the fore moved, turning to port. It fired. Too far away to hear it Alexander could still see the puff of smoke and the arc of the shell. It landed amidst the waves, more than a mile from the ship.

“He’s a wonder,” Lazarev said. “Only eight guns and some rockets, but I’d put him against the best British ships any day. Cruising speed of eight knots, battle speed of ten. We’re still testing just how fast the boilers can go, but the engineers think they can make twelve knots before running the risk of an explosion.”

“How thick is the armor?”

“A hundred fifty milimeters–the engineers insist on metric. Strong enough our own naval guns would struggle to break her. He’d be faster with less armor, but this is the first ship. We wanted something that could last, and the engineers wanted to test out thicker armor.”

Alexander watched as another wave broke upon the bow. “We’ll need to keep him quiet.”

“Don’t want the Brits getting wind of our newest toy?”

Alexander put down the binoculars. “They briefly observed breech-loading rifles during our war with China,” he said. “Those rifles took more than a year to develop, and the British now have breech-loaders as their standard-issue.”

Lazarev nodded. “I can’t keep them from hearing about it,” the admiral said. “Too many people know it exists. But I can make them think it’s a failure, or only capable of staying close to shore. It won’t work forever, but we can keep them from seriously considering it for a while.”

“Do what you can.” Hopefully the British wouldn’t realize the importance of armored ships until after Crimea. While Alexander was certain his new ships would be able to beat any British ironclads, he was less than certain when it came to the Baltic and Black Sea fleets. “The ceremony is tomorrow?”

“It is.”

Alexander nodded. “You and your senior officers will dine with me tonight,” he said.

Lazarev stared for a moment. “I am honored,” he began cautiously. “Will others be present?”

“Only my guards and the staff.”

Lazarev’s face relaxed. It seemed even the Admiral had tired of the Governor and the Archbishop’s bickering.

*Russian unit of measurement at the time. One dyuym is roughly equivalent to one inch