Chapter Forty-Eight (Patreon)

Ever since he was born he had been known as Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolaevich. His infancy was one of gilded cribs and lapis-painted toys, his childhood education overseen by admirals and world-famous poets. He had traveled with his parents, as many children did, yet for the Grand Duke these travels had been restricted to standing stiffly before other (lesser) royalty and gazing wistfully out of the carriage windows at the real life of the cities, one he would never see.

This cage, the one he hesitated to call gilded (for his father would insist the bars were made of solid gold as if that made them any less confining) persisted into his adolescence. Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolaevich  had never been allowed into Saint Petersburg without the permission of the Emperor and his tutors, nor without a heavy guard. He had been to sea, but only on the calmest days with the most experienced crews. The Grand Duke would tie two ropes and spend the rest of the day being praised for his brilliance. He would then be informed that this brilliance ran in his family line, as if Kontantin (definitely not the Grand Duke) couldn’t tell that his grandfather and great-grandfather had been idiots by merely glancing at a history book.

Was it any wonder that he ran away? Oh, he had permission (a Grand Duke always must) but Konstantin would not lie to himself. He had not emerged victorious from his fight with the golden cage of Saint Petersburg. He had not broken the cage, for his brothers and sisters still suffered within it. He had merely escaped, fleeing and leaving them behind.

Yet Konstantin’s guilt for abandoning his siblings did not halt his enjoyment of Siberia. From the moment of their arrival in Irkutsk he knew this land was different. It was more real, the cheers bringing with them not the air of a crowd stirred by genuine conviction more than the Imperial Guard’s bayonets. In the week Konstantin stayed at the regional capital he walked through the city with nothing but a pair of guards, dressed not as officers but in civilian clothes, a freedom Konstantin was given as well. He had seen the houses and apartment buildings. He had visited the parks, where he took part in a wrestling competition. He lost fairly, a novel experience that left Konstantin grinning ear to ear. He had even sampled the Asiatic streetfood, which was utterly delicious and well-worth the indigestion it gave him later.

It was tempting to delay his move to Busan, to remain in Irkutsk or to sample the various towns and cities he passed along the way. Yet Konstantin refrained. He had come here desiring to escape the golden cage, not to expand it. He joined a simple train carrying a regiment of soldiers to Busan and, other than a brief stop at Dailan when their train engine failed, moved immediately to his coastal posting.

To his utter delight Busan had been even more different than Irkutsk. In Irkutsk few people had known who he was, but those who had still tended to care. It was a different kind of care, one that allowed–perhaps even demanded–that Konstantin know and be amongst the people, but it was still a form of special treatment. In Busan, where the majority of the population remained the Koreans, no one cared who he was. He was just another Russian. A young one, which meant the adults could ignore him when he was being silly or stupid and those his own age could play with him when they weren’t working. Konstantin would often meet with his Korean agemates at the abandoned Cheonseongjinseong fortress. There they would speak as equals. The topics ranged from philosophy and religion to common gossip. It was these friends that lead Konstantin to greatest discoveries of his adolescence, ones that would stick with him for the rest of his life: meditative painting and daemacho tea.

Of course, his time in Busan was not all play. The vast majority of it was spent at work. Admiral Lazarev proved a harsher taskmaster than any Konstantin had ever known. He gave entire packets of navigational problems each morning and expected them finished by noon. He demanded that Konstantin accompany him on his daily walks, yet refused him even the most basic rank, noting that the Grand Duke was, in fact, too young for it. Instead Konstantin was a junior aide, one that Admiral Lazarev wasted no time in pointing out added more work than he took care of.

Konstantin was determined to succeed, regardless of what the Admiral thought of him. Always skilled at mathematics, he threw himself into learning more of geometry and navigational theory, soon learning to complete the hefty packets well before lunch. He took notes at every meeting he attended, paying special attention to the technical details of the ships, details he noticed Admiral Lazarev often struggled to remember. By August, if the Admiral could not recall specific numbers, Konstantin would provide them. By October the Admiral looked to Konstantin when such details were brought up.

It was now early November. Konstantin stood beside the Admiral. The Governor of Korea, Pavel Kiselyov, was there as well, as was Archbishop Polycarp. Joining them at the train station were thousands of towns folk. It was a far smaller crowd than in Irkutsk, and most of those present were immigrants rather than the native Koreans. At least the Koreans present seemed genuine in their enthusiasm. Konstantin hoped that it would spread. The Koreans had been indifferent to the Joseon as well, and that had gone rather poorly for the former dynasty.

There was a sound, a far-off bellow that rolled down the tracks. The crowds perked up. Kiselyov dusted off his jacket. Konstantin shifted awkwardly. He had been gone for only a few months, but so much had changed. He even had a beard, a real one this time! How would his family react? Would they find him a stranger? Would they think him the answer to their prayers?

Konstantin scoffed at that. He couldn’t imagine Alexander bowing before anything. But the idea of a faint smile, warmth that reached those cold blue eyes, and an approving nod . . . Konstantin wanted that.

The train rolled to a stop. The doors opened. Servants pulled out the stairs. His brother emerged, his tall frame forced to bend slightly to make it through the train car door. He turned towards the crowds, who burst into cheers. Konstantin felt his breath catch in his throat.

Notice me, he thought. Please, God, notice me.

Alexander turned back. He greeted the Archbishop. He greeted the Governor. He greeted the Admiral. He turned, at last, to Konstantin.

“Brother,” Alexander said.

“Brother.” Konstatin cursed as his voice broke.

Alexander’s mouth twitched. “Admiral Lazarev has kept me informed of your progress. I hope that you will continue to do well.”

Konstantin turned sharply. He looked at Lazarev, who nodded slightly. “I have no doubt he will continue to succeed,” the Admiral said. “He is a bright young boy.”

Alexander’s eyes fixed on Konstantin, appraising him. “Indeed. Well done. I am proud of you, brother.”

Konstantin felt a grin split his face as his heart sang with joy.