Chapter Fifty-Four (Patreon)

Alexandra Andreevna Tolstaya had laid out a firm schedule for her students. It was not an intensive one–despite their great ranks and highborn futures they remained barely more than toddlers–but it was unbending. In the mornings Alexandra Andreevna would teach Alexandra Alexandrovna the basics of letters and words. The lessons were short, lasting only an hour a day before breakfast. After breakfast she would teach the same lessons to Alexandra Maximilianovna.

Ten o’clock until lunch was scheduled as playtime. The entirety of the Imperial family (barring the nursery, where young Nicholas Maximilianovich and Vladimir Alexandrovich remained) would play simple games of tag and catch with some of the other noble children or race each other across the fields. Alexandra Andreevna was dreading the day when Pyotr Alexandrovich joined her lessons. The Tsarevich’s heir was exceedingly tall and healthy for his age, and filled with a boundless energy that quieted only in Church (and even then only briefly before his squirming began). He was not a dull child, already able to count to a hundred at the age of three, but had only learned to do so in his attempts to measure the time before he could learn to ride his beloved colt, Cabbage. Fortunately, she had a year before young Pyotr joined her lessons.

Less fortunate were the afternoon lessons. Specializing in dance, etiquette, and posture, it was deemed appropriate for Alexandra Alexandrovna and Alexandra Maximilianovna to learn these lessons together in the hopes of a competitive spirit. A competitive spirit had indeed emerged, but the two girls competed over who could perform the largest disruptions rather than perfect the lessons. While Alexandra Andreevna despised the idea of admitting to failure, she was sorely tempted to insist that the two Grand Duchesses be separated for their afternoon lessons as well, lest they emerge into adulthood as well-read hooligans.

Perhaps she could have them play after lunch as well? Or some form of physical education instead. Something that would leave them too tired for their normal distractions, but not so exhausted they would be unable to practice their posture and etiquette. Alexandra Andreevna resolved to speak with Anna Salmberg, who had helped designed the girl’s education system for Siberia, including the physical section.

*

Captain Vasily Zavoyko grinned as the warm breeze swept over the rowboat. Just a few yards away he could spot the negotiators, Pavel and Ivan, sweating profusely through their inch-thick woolen clothing. The further north or south one went, the greater the power of the seasons. Vasily had learned that lesson well on his circumnavigations, but it seemed even a few years with the Russian-American Company had yet to grant the men such sense.

Vasily felt a pinch on his neck. His calloused hand came down sharply, splattering the insect across his skin and dark blue uniform. Perhaps there was another reason for the negotiators’ obstinacy in their dress, though Vasily would still prefer to deal with the occasional bite than heat stroke.

At last they arrived at shrubbery-clad shores of the lagoon. Vasily leapt from the rowboat, letting his boots splash into the shallow waters before wading over the pebble-lined beach. “Pavel, Ivan,” he greeted. “What can you tell me?”

“The chief is interested in trading,” Ivan said. “Guns and steel tools especially.”

“And the other proposals?”

“He claims his group is too small to make a decision on their own,” Pavel answered. “Even a single regiment would required cooperation of every Iñupiat band in the area.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Ivan added. “The Indians here aren’t like the ones you hear about. Most of them are happy fishing and gathering berries. They aren’t like the Mongols, or the Indians on the plains down south. They don’t know how to use horses, or fight wars, and we shouldn’t teach them. Better to have the ones that fight not know what they’re doing.”

Vasily glanced to Pavel. Pavel nodded.

When the rowboat brought the negotiators to shore at the next village, Pavel was joined by a new assistant.

*

Admiral Mikhail Lazarev leaned against the parapet. The rough stone grounded him, grinding against his cloth-covered arms even as the winds caressed his clean-shaven face. From here he could see the whole of his fleet, from the factories swarming with anti-sized workers to the toy ships at sea, some so far that they were visible only by virtue of their columns of smoke, or through the lenses of the latest optical equipment.

It was the last time he would get to see this view for several months. With the end of 1845 came the end of the Five-Year Plan and the start of a long process of review, revisement, and recreation. Mikhail was not particularly worried. Despite the extraordinary pressure put upon it, the Navy had surpassed its own goals. Not only did it meet the number of ships required, it did so with an all-steel construction and breech loading shell artillery capable of the full range of movement. Their more radical areas of research were slower in yielding results (it appeared underwater rockets would be the new submersibles, though less expensive) but at least those were not included in the requirements made for his department. Poor Arsenyev had been expected to come up with an electrical streetcar by now. For his sake Mikhail hoped the man’s researchers had at least created a basic design, or even his role as the Tsarevich’s former tutor wouldn’t save him. Gretsch was likewise in trouble if he hadn’t made serious advances with the University of Irkutsk.

Still, Mihkail thought as the gunboats began their next series of maneuvers, better them than me.

*

Prince Vladimir Fyodorovich Odoyevsky was a only prince by dint of his father’s steadfast sense of self, desire, and righteousness. His mother, Ekaterina Alekseevna Filippova, was not a serf as so commonly whispered but was the daughter of an ensign, a lowly match for a man of such noble blood as his father. The entirety of the House of Odoyevsky, famed for their ancient blood traced to Prince Rurik and their more recent ancestors in the Governing Senate, opposed the match, yet Fyodor Odoyevsky had insisted. He had wed Ekaterina and thus made Vladimir a Prince, despite the endless protestations of his family. Fate had chosen to turn insult into injury, for now the Odoyevsky name lived on only in Vladimir, all the males before and after him in the line of precedence having died off. None could now deny his pedigree, seniormost of the Rurikids, eldest of the House of Odoyevsky. Despite his lack of wealth (caused by the bitter denial of family inheritance) Vladimir could not be snubbed, nor denied. His skills with quill and ink only made him more valuable. He could not afford to be killed, even by a man so mighty as the Tsarevich.

“–fifteen Chairs unfilled. It is utterly unacceptable. You made a guarantee–”

“Your Imperial Highness.”

The Tsarevich turned. His eyes shone, daggers ice sharp as any bit of steel and twice as ready to plunge into Vladimir’s heart. Yet he hardened himself to such a death and continued. “It is true that Director Gretsch has failed in this endeavor. Yet he has greatly succeeded in many others. The literacy rate in adults has doubled. The number of children in school is now eighty-six percent below the age of eleven, and fifty-two percent below the age of sixteen. Perhaps it is not incompetence, but rather the sheer multitude of tasks the Director has been saddled with that has caused this lapse with regards to the University.”

The ice in the eyes did not melt, but it did soften. Vladimir took that as victory. “Your Imperial Highness. As Director Gretsch has failed to adequately take care of the University of Irkutsk, I would recommend the task of Higher Education be given to another, while Director Gretsch remain in charge of Primary and Secondary Education, a more basic task to which he has proven most suitable.” Vladimir briefly looked towards Gretsch, his eyes trying to convey an apology. He did not truly think either job lesser than the other, but by phrasing Gretsch’s assignment as the lesser of the two fields it would seem as punishment, something the Tsarevich clearly desired, while leaving Gretsch in charge of the matter to which he was more attached.

“Well Gretsch?” the Tsarevich asked, turning to the embattled Director with an Evil Eye. “What do you say to such a proposal? Will you teach children and teens for the rest of your life?”

The Director, pale as the first fall snow, nodded swiftly. “Yes, your Imperial Highness.”

“Then the matter is settled,” the Tsarevich said. “Let us turn to the Department of Agriculture. Hehn, what has occurred with the sugar-beet experiments?”

As Hehn began his statistic-lined report on the possibility of replacing cane sugar with that derived from Siberian beets, Vladimir allowed himself a sigh of relief. Gretsch was a good man, and a skilled one as well. With any luck, he would not make such an over commitment again.