Chapter 204

“I honestly don’t know if this level of excess is truly necessary,” Walter Raleigh muttered, shaking his head.

Reports on the progress of the Pacific project had arrived in Virginia, detailing how a network of coaling stations was being established across various islands, allowing vessels to resupply with water and coal throughout the vast ocean. Despite a time lag of several months—which was remarkably short for the era—Raleigh remained skeptical.

“To be absent for several years… regardless of how smoothly the Covenant functions, the people still require a spiritual pillar to lean on.”

Eleanor offered a gentle smile as she set down her teacup. “Because the Lord went personally, our expansion into the West has accelerated severalfold. Not to mention the staggering amounts of gold, silver, and luxuries flowing in from East Asia. And with Lord Oitotan gone…” She paused, her eyes twinkling.

“…”

“…”

“…With Lord Oitotan away, the meetings have become strangely peaceful,” Manteo added, finishing the sentence Eleanor had left hanging.

The members of the Council of Six nodded in silent, feigned ignorance. Amidst the awkward quiet, Raleigh let out a long sigh. It was unavoidable. This massive nation wouldn’t suddenly grind to a halt just because its leader was away. Perhaps, he mused, the country needed to be prepared for a reality where he wasn’t there at all.

Casting aside his wandering thoughts, Raleigh cleared his throat. “So, has the Nautilus arrived by now? Vicente, what is your assessment?”

“She has likely reached her destination,” Vicente replied. “Her speed is quite remarkable.”

“Then let it be. We shall cease discussing the West. It is time to focus on the movements in New Spain. The Covenant government has requested that Virginia…”

As the council in Virginia continued its deliberations, the largest ocean in the world prepared to encounter a vessel unlike any it had ever seen.

***

I watched the ship loom on the horizon and let out a long, contemplative breath.

Throughout history—save for the most ancient of times—the sea has functioned as both a barrier and a network of roads leading to the world beyond. But just as a driver cannot simply perform illegal U-turns or ignore speed limits on a highway, the ocean road had its own predetermined lanes and rigid rules: the winds and the currents.

If a driver on land runs a red light, they might face a fine; if a mariner at sea breaks the rules of the currents, they face certain death. For millennia, humanity was shackled to the paths carved into the water by the Earth’s breath and tides. Straying from those paths was a death sentence.

That was the sole reason why Europeans, despite crisscrossing the Pacific for centuries, had remained oblivious to Hawaii’s existence right in the heart of the ocean. They simply couldn’t afford to break the rules of the sea.

Whirrrrrrrrrr!

But that was about to change.

We had created a vessel that—while not yet perfect—could traverse the waters with a newfound freedom, unburdened by the dictates of the wind.

“What did you say the name was?” I asked.

“The Nautilus, sir,” a subordinate replied. “Is it not the first ship of a new era?”

The original Nautilus, the very first vessel the Continental Covenant ever owned, had been retired years ago. It felt appropriate to bestow that meaningful name upon this new pioneer. Looking at her, I couldn’t help but agree.

She lacked the sheer, overwhelming majesty of the Excelsior. Due to technical and economic constraints, her scale had been scaled back during the planning phase. She wasn’t exceptionally fast, either; a traditional clipper could still outrun her in a fair wind. But one fundamental difference set her apart from every other ship on the planet—a difference that allowed her to dominate them all.

“I am told she is equipped with the most powerful steam engines the Covenant has ever produced,” the subordinate added.

Deep within her hull, we had buried a heart that beat with the power of coal and steam. Thick plumes of white smoke billowed from her three funnels, and massive paddle wheels on either side churned the water, propelling her multi-thousand-ton frame forward.

Though she still carried sails—the pure power of steam was not yet sufficient to propel her through every condition—the significance was profound. We had conquered the doldrums. We had conquered the headwind.

Now, if the sea reached it, we could get there. Our vessels could navigate between our established outposts regardless of the season or the direction of the breeze.

“The Pacific is essentially ours now,” I remarked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Oitotan replied.

Until now, the sea routes had been fraught with peril—not from enemies, but from nature itself. To cross from California to East Asia, one had to catch the North Equatorial Current to the south, which significantly increased the probability of an encounter with Spanish ships from New Spain. But once steamships began rolling off the assembly lines in earnest? Trade would become exponentially faster and safer.

The Nautilus had arrived at the perfect moment.

“Then we shall take that ship for our return to East Asia,” I told Oitotan. I immediately ordered my aides to begin packing—and I didn’t just mean our personal luggage. “Every drop of brandy we’ve accumulated here over the past five years goes with us! Move!”

Our journey was a whirlwind tour of the new Pacific order. First, we stopped in Hawaii to inspect the burgeoning pineapple plantations. Unfortunately, the first harvest wasn’t due until the following year, so the Hawaiian pineapple missed out on the glory of being the first steamship export.

Next, we touched down at Midway to ensure the coaling station was functioning correctly. After gorging the ship’s hold with high-quality California coal, we navigated through Wake Island and the Ogasawara chain before reaching the Daito Islands.

“How is the quality of the newly refined sugar?” I asked.

Oitotan tasted a sample and nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm… the flavor of this brown sugar is quite excellent.”

“Pardon? This is our highest-grade refined sugar, processed with our latest technology,” a technician explained.

“Ah.”

I felt a brief surge of bewilderment. It was the same as “white rice” being “brown rice” in this era. What modern people would consider brown sugar was being touted here as the pinnacle of purity. Regardless, we loaded the “black-and-white” sugar and continued north.

Finally, we sailed straight for Ganghwa Island. To be honest, a sliver of doubt still gnawed at me—what if our goods didn’t sell well in East Asia? I found myself biting my thumb in anxiety until the very moment we began unloading the cargo.

Oitotan’s son, Philip, noticed my distress and approached. “Is something troubling you, My Lord?”

“Do you think these will sell?”

His response put my heart at ease instantly. “Do not worry, sir. Are the Dutch not contractually obligated to purchase thirty to forty percent of our stock?”

Aha. Truly, he was Oitotan’s son.

Excellent. If we demanded that our Protestant allies at the VOC shoulder their fair share of the “risk”—or, more accurately, pay the “ally tax”—then…

“Is this truly liquor? It’s incredibly potent!” a Joseon merchant exclaimed, his eyes widening after a single taste.

“Indeed,” Philip explained. “We brew it from grapes and then isolate the spirits through distillation…”

“So it’s not made from grain! How much do you intend to sell this for?”

Wait. The look in the merchants’ eyes was… intense.

***

The seventeenth century was the heart of the Little Ice Age. It was an era defined by a relentless succession of cold waves, famines, and natural disasters across the globe. No matter how virtuous a King of Joseon might be, or how strictly he governed with the rites, nature was indifferent.

“Since I ascended the throne, disasters have been ceaseless,” King Yi Hon lamented, his voice heavy with practiced sorrow. “This year, the suffering has reached such a peak that my people are losing their very lives. Upon quiet reflection, it is clear the cause lies in my own lack of virtue. I am so filled with dread and worry that I know not what to do.”

This was even more true for a “Precious Monarch” like Yi Hon, who had achieved the rare “Grand Slam” of fratricide and deposing his own mother.

Of course, no one foolish enough to say that to the King’s face would ever be allowed past the palace gates. Yi Hon’s ministers, led by Lee Yi-cheom, prostrated themselves and wailed in response.

“Your Majesty! Your governance is in perfect harmony with the Way of the Sages! How could these disasters be due to a lack of self-cultivation on your part? Rather, it is because we, your subjects and your people, have failed to cultivate ourselves! Please, punish us instead!”

“No! How can you say such things? I have been blessed with wise ministers, and the state has lacked for nothing. To hear such words today makes me regret my own outburst! Let us speak no more of it!”

Having finished this elaborate performance of mutual glorification—much like a choreographed wrestling match—Yi Hon and his ministers finally got down to business.

“Since these calamities are a response from Heaven,” the King declared, “from this day forward, I shall reduce the number of side dishes served at my table and vacate the main palace to focus on self-reflection. Furthermore, in this time of famine, how can I allow the people’s precious grain to be wasted on brewing alcohol? I hereby issue a Prohibition. Let the Royal Secretary draft the edict for all government offices to enforce.”

The ministers offered a few rehearsed “Points of Rebuttal 1, 2, and 3,” to which Yi Hon countered with “Pre-arranged Responses 1, 2, and 3.” Thus, the Prohibition was solidified.

This was the perfect net to catch those whom Yi Hon had found “politically unsettling” but lacked a clear link to the previous rebellion. Naturally, those “corrupt individuals” were sentenced without mercy to exile in Hawaii. It was a magnificent boon for the global pineapple industry.

Just as the King was considering lifting the ban to enjoy a drink himself, a report reached his ears.

“Your Majesty, the Covenant people have returned to Ganghwa. They are selling a potent spirit and sugar…”

“Potent spirit, you say?”

The news was a stroke of serendipity for Yi Hon.

***

The merchants loitering around Ganghwa had already heard through their various connections that the Prohibition was about to be lifted. The arrival of the Continental Covenant’s brandy at that exact moment sent them into a frenzy.

“They’ve brought liquor? And it’s that strong?”

“Indeed. The price is steep, but I’m told a single cup provides the same intoxication as five or six bowls of rice wine…”

Yi Hon’s eyes sparkled with a similar madness. That’s the one.

“Your Majesty,” Lee Yi-cheom said, providing the perfectly timed support fire his sovereign required, “I have heard from the merchants of Ganghwa that this ‘Baek-ran-ji’ (Brandy) is brewed from grapes grown specifically for spirits, from which the essence is then extracted. It does not take a single grain of the people’s food.”

“Hoh… is that so?” Yi Hon mused. “I did not ban alcohol because I wished to deprive the people of joy, but because I feared foolish men would consume a hundred days’ worth of grain in a single night of revelry. But if they bring a spirit brewed from fruit, is it not a wondrous thing that adds to the scholar’s refined tastes and enhances the people’s happiness?”

“Your Majesty is indeed wise,” the ministers chimed in. “Even in this drought, there are those who brew illicitly for profit. By introducing this Brandy and preventing them from seeking private gain, we can ensure that no precious grain is wasted.”

As the King and his favorite minister traded lines, the others—who were perhaps a bit slower but clever enough to have survived the purges—begun to hop onto the bandwagon.

“However,” Park Seung-jong interjected, “such potent spirits can harm the body and cause men to forget their morality. It is not something that should be allowed to circulate freely among the commoners.”

“I have heard from the Duke of Chesapeake regarding the laws of the West,” Park continued. “They say that when harmful items enter their countries, they levy a tax upon them to ensure the foolish do not partake too freely. Perhaps we should follow that precedent?”

Yi Hon beamed at Park’s suggestion. “It seems there are things to be learned even from the customs of barbarians in distant lands!”

And so, the people of Joseon learned their very first lesson about “Tariffs.”

***

“Haaaaaa…” I sighed.

“What is the matter, sir?” Philip asked. “The brandy is selling excellently. Why the long face?”

“That’s exactly why I’m worried,” I replied. “It’s selling so well, yet we have to hand over thirty to forty percent of the profit to the Dutch…”

“Pardon?” Philip looked at me, confused. “Why on earth would we give it to them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why give it to the Dutch,” Philip asked, “when we can simply offer it to the King of Joseon?”

“Ah.”

While the Joseon people were learning about “Tariffs,” the Covenant people were learning about “Tribute.”

The cultural exchange between East and West blossomed on Ganghwa Island, far surpassing the paltry trade of silk and bullion occurring in Nagasaki.

“It’s strange…” a Dutch merchant muttered, scratching his head. “The Continental Covenant brings in mountains of silk, yet they seem to sell almost nothing to Joseon.”

“I know,” another replied, squinting at the ledgers. “I have this nagging feeling that we’re losing money somehow. But on paper, everything looks perfectly fine.”

Only the Dutch remained bewildered, ignorant of the delicate and elegant complexities of the East Asian tribute-trade system. But then again, they weren’t men of civilization—they were pirates. It was only to be expected.