Chapter Forty-Four (Patreon)

Alexander breathed in the air of Irkutsk. It was heavy. Even with the new filters the smog of the furnaces and growing number of steam-powered factories was nothing to scoff at. There were the issues of sewage, even the expansive system he’d ordered installed struggling to meet the needs of the ever-expanding city.

But it was far, far away from Saint Petersburg and the royal balls. Even further away from his accursed uncle by marriage.

Alexander was on the verge of smiling when an unwelcome voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Are you going to stand there all day?”

Alexander turned on his brother with a glare. Konstantin proved regretfully immune to his ire. Regrettably, the brat was right: there was no point in dawdling.

Irkutsk greeted Alexander warmly as ever. Tens of thousands waited along the streets of Siberia’s capital to welcome their Governor. They waved banners–yellow-gold and black being the most common–and carried large portraits of Alexander’s mustachioed face printed out on cardstock. There was even one banner–an enormous work of canvas supported by a score of men holding poles–that bore the rarely-seen Coat of Arms of the Russian Empire, a great two-headed eagle in black, clutching thunderbolts in one claw and laurels in the other, against a yellow background. There was even a shield at the eagle’s chest that bore the coat-of-arms of the House of Holstein-Gottorp-Romanov, complete with its griffon, swan, horse, three lions, and two crowns. Staring at the the device Alexander did not know whether to be proud or embarrassed. He certainly knew he’d be simplifying the seal once he became Emperor. He was definitely getting rid of the Holstein-Gottorp section of their name–they were Russians, not Germans! They would be the House of Romanov, and he would be Autocrat and Tsar.

As they reached the courtyard of the Governor’s House Alexander frowned. His advisors were present, as they should be–most of them.

“Where is Arsenyev?” Alexander demanded as he embraced Muravyov.

“He is ill.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. His tutor, one of his most trusted advisors, taking ill while he was gone? That was most unlikely.

“And Agvan?” Alexander asked as he gestured to the crowd, sending them into another round of cheers.

“Directing the latest round of settlements.” Muravyov looked at Alexander. “You suspect something?”

“Did Agvan not mention something to you?”

Murvayov shook his head. “Only his usual complaints about the Asiatics.”

“Nothing else?”

“Some concerns about the different types of Buddhism,” Muravyov said. “I confess I paid little attention.”

“Nothing about new rail routes? Nothing about the general direction of matters, of wishing for a higher post?”

Muravyov paused. “There was a meeting recently,” he said hesitantly, his voice so low Alexander strained to hear him. “About getting the yangban to build a railway to the Laptev Sea. One of the recent hires, a Yakut from some northern tribe, suggested building seasonal shelters and train stations across the far north so the herders and fishermen can take shelter in winter and more easily trade.”

“And Agvan opposed this?”

“You know how he gets. He hates herding and felt Arsenyev was interfering in his department.”

Alexander nodded. He had seen men kill for far less.

“You don’t really think–”

“He did,” Alexander said, “or he didn’t. Either way he acts against the Common Purpose. That cannot be allowed.”

“Can’t you just fire him?”

Alexander looked at Muravyov. “And allow him to oppose us without our knowledge? Allow him to take what he knows of how we function, of how we think?”

To his credit Muravyov looked appropriately chastised. “How do you wish to do this?”

“We will need to be subtle,” Alexander admitted. “No guns. A quiet death, a public funeral. Do you have men who can see this done?”

“No.”

Alexander was more relieved than disappointed. “I will make the arrangements.”

*

“Military preparations continue to move apace,” Murvayov announced. “Our reorganization has finished, allowing for a more modern usage of combined arms. Each division is to be led by a Major-General, who commands five regiments of infantry, four regiments of cavalry, and two regiments of artillery. As of the last mustering we have three full divisions and are well on our way to completing the fourth, leaving us on-track to reach the goal of three hundred thousand regular soldiers by 1850.” Murvayov moved his papers around. “I have word from Admiral Lazarev as well. The Admiral reports that training is going well but he requires additional workmen to meet the year’s productivity goals.”

“How far behind is he?” von Stieglitz asked.

“Two gunboats and one cruiser.”

“That’s half the year’s total,” Hess noted.

“How many workmen does he need?” Alexander asked.

“Six thousand, your Imperial Highness.”

Alexander looked to Arsenev, who shook his head. “There are not so many skilled shipwrights in the whole of Siberia, let alone ones who know how to work with steel hulls.”

“Could they not use steel workers instead?” Haass, the Director of Health, asked. “I do not doubt that they will lack the specialized knowledge needed for many tasks, but surely there are just as many jobs that merely require proper riveting and hammering, not knowledge of buoyancy.”

“I will write to Lazarev,” Alexander decided. “There is no sense sending him several thousand workers, only to learn they will not suffice. It is not as if Irkutsk lacks for steel and necessary work.”

“Indeed it does not,” Arsenev said with no small amount of pride. “With the advances of the reverberatory furnaces we have already exceeded the steel quotas set by the Five-Year Plan. We are currently on track to turn twenty percent of our iron into steel by 1845, and fifty percent by 1850 assuming the same growth trajectory of the iron furnaces.”

Alexander nodded. That was good news indeed. Steel would soon go from an industrial luxury to the baseline product, enabling a great deal of new accomplishments. Still, it was what the steel became that mattered, not the steel itself. “And the machinery?”

“The products work far better with steel parts than iron,” Arsenev reported. “The new casting and machining methods have enabled increased production. We are now on schedule to fully mechanize the farmland set forth in the Five-Year Plan.”

“Do we have sufficient horses for that?”

Every eye turned towards the council’s most recent addition. With Agvan ‘sick’ he had been replaced by his secretary, Carl Hehn. The young man, hair barely growing on his cheeks, flushed and stammered and he shifted through his papers.

“I-uh-well,” Hehn stuttered. “Y-n-yes?”

Hess rolled his eyes. Arsenyev, himself recently recovered from illness, took a kinder tone. “How many horses do we need?”

Hehn answered.

“And how many do we have?”

“Er,” Hehn paused, then answered. It was considerably higher.

“And do we, the state, control all of them?”

“Er, no.”

“Do we, the state, control enough of them?”

Hehn paused. He checked his papers. “Yes.”