Snow Falls on Lisbon
The weather had gone strange.
"Snow? Really?"
"The people who've lived here all their lives say they've never seen it. The whole city's in an uproar—calling it an omen that the kingdom's about to fall!"
She had been living here for years now, and one thing was certain: Lisbon was not a place where it snowed. Even in the dead of winter it was nothing more than a cool breeze off the Atlantic. Snow? Not a chance.
Great. Now the rumor mill would start churning about the devil's curses or whatever it was this time.
"More importantly, the farms around here have all failed, haven't they?"
"Yes. We've had crowds of people flooding into our construction site."
The moment she'd bought the land, they'd thrown up walls along the border and begun clearing the hills into farmland. It was an awkwardly sized plot—small by some measures, expansive by others—but civil engineering work, it turned out, devoured labor. They'd hauled in serfs by the wagonload, and now those serfs were just walking away. What was the point of dragging them off, then?
"Hmm. Make sure the people don't go hungry."
Around here, they could at least put food in people's mouths. But deep in the heart of Europe, or up north? Who knew how they were faring.
"Understood. Should we put out some recruitment notices while we're at it?"
"Sure. Not a bad idea. If farmland opens up here, we'll need people to work it, won't we?"
She could live with a lot of things, but people starving to death was the one thing she truly wished never to see again.
"Yes~"
"Why is your face going all sly again?"
"Oh, nothing? I was just thinking—where else in the world would you find a devil this kind?"
What's that supposed to mean? Show me a better method of recruiting laborers. You make them build roads, and when the construction's done, you put them to work farming.
"It's slaves, all of it. Slaves, I tell you."
"Yes, yes~ Of course it is, Your Wickedness."
"Ugh! Enough. Go round up some workers. If the farmland runs short, put them on boats to fish."
Freezers were a blessing. Fish could be frozen and eaten fresh whenever the mood struck. It was still difficult to haul them far inland, but to a certain extent, people living away from the coast could eat fish now too.
With this much food available, why on earth was anyone starving?
Trudge, trudge.
"Yaaawn…."
In the early morning, a gaunt, scraggly man shuffled through the gates of Pyeong-an Naru, yawning the whole way.
Fweee—
"Yeesh, why is it so cold this year?"
By the calendar, spring was on its way, yet a biting wind still swept through the port. Normally by now it would be warm enough to sleep out on the street. The cold was unnatural.
Murmur, murmur.
"Whew. Packed as ever today."
He was headed for the recruitment office for construction laborers at Pyeong-an Naru.
Creeeak.
"Oh! They're open!"
"Line up! Get in line!"
Everyone was already queueing before the counters. Registration had to be completed there before anyone could collect the day's work assignment.
"Alright, everyone's got their identity papers, yes?"
"Yes!"
"First-timers, help the newcomers beside you! Registration comes first!"
"Don't worry, boss!"
Anyone arriving for the first time had to complete the enrollment process. It was something like Daehan's resident registration system—established because there were always those who tried to snatch or swindle other men's wages, so everyone had to be tracked.
"Anyone here for the first time?"
"Uh… me! That's me!"
"Over here, then."
With so many people flooding in, helping one another had become a system of its own. The fewer tasks left to the staff, the faster everyone could register and get to work.
"Hm? Mr. Marco?"
"Yes?"
"I told you—you need to actually wash yourself."
"But I DID wash! Honestly! I've always looked this scraggly—it's not fair!"
Ever since childhood he'd been famous in his village for looking grubby no matter what, and he really had scrubbed himself down thoroughly last night. Of course he felt wronged.
"Ah… well, I'd like to believe you. Your clothes are clean, at least."
"See! I wash properly now!"
"Proceed to the mess hall!"
"Yes, sir!"
The counters handled registration alongside hygiene inspections. Men would be working in large groups—if an epidemic broke out, it would be a disaster. And on top of that came a breakfast so generous it bordered on luxurious. All across Europe, plague was groaning through city after city, but here in Pyeong-an Naru alone, it held no sway.
"Anyone who's eaten, head to the carts! First departure is leaving now!"
"Hey! Wait a moment! I'm coming!"
"Me too! Wait for me!"
You had to work the day, get your completion stamp at the worksite, and only then could you collect your wages at the counter. And the early arrivals got first pick of the jobs, so everyone hurried.
Hee-hee-hee-haw!
Crrrumble-crumble.
The carts laid on the rails began to roll slowly forward, punctuated by the snorting of horses. Sunlight glinted off the workers' faces, and hope shone there so brightly that it looked as though they were going off to work for the sheer joy of it. It was a good sight.
Shovel, shovel, crash.
"Ugh, my back's about to snap in two."
"Aw, come on, that much gets to you? Take a break, then."
"Nah. It's easier when we work together."
The men were mixing gray powder and sand into piles of crushed stone, sprinkling water over it all and folding the mass together.
Concrete—the gray, magical building material.
Moisture problems still meant it couldn't be stored away somewhere for later use, but it was manufactured on the Eastern Continent and shipped over for immediate use, so it posed no real difficulty.
"Hah. Now this is something."
"To think it hardens harder than stone—unbelievable."
"First time in my life I've seen anything like it."
"Seen it? Nobody's seen it. Ha!"
Everything the workers witnessed of Daehan's marvels left them dumbstruck. The carts gliding along the rails, the tools—especially the tools—and above all, the delicious food they were eating for the first time in their lives.
"Is this magic too?"
"What, planning to whine about devils like they do out there?"
"No! Don't say such dangerous things! The angel uses magic too, you fool, of course she does!"
Living so comfortably here, it wasn't hard to guess why the rumors of the devil flourished beyond the walls. Even men who'd never cracked a book could see at a glance that the nobles and clergy lied to keep the people from leaving.
"Haah… but this construction will end someday. What do we do for a living then?"
"I heard they're handing out farmland, they say."
"What?! Back to being serfs, you mean?"
He had lived as a serf, nearly starved to death, and escaped at the very edge of the grave—and now they wanted him to be a serf again? The word alone sent him into convulsions.
"Word is the taxes are astonishingly light."
"How light?"
"You only pay half, they say."
"And then there'll be more taxes stacked on top, and you'll keep nothing, won't you?"
It was never just one tax, was it? Land tax, water tax—they'd find every excuse under the sun to take their cut.
"No, apparently all of that's included. And they hand out this fertilizer that makes crops grow like mad? Dig all the irrigation channels for you, too."
"Huh? Then isn't that practically free?"
No such lord existed in this world. In Europe, they invented law upon law to strip you bare—the right of the first night, corvée labor, the poll tax, the land tax, the seed tax, the church tax, and on and on. Raise a hundred from the earth, and eighty of it went to someone else. And that was if you were lucky. Borrow food, borrow seed, and ending the season owing more than a hundred was the norm.
"Well. Either way, they say if you try it and still can't make a living, they'll send you home."
"Haah… working here, it doesn't feel like a lie. I'm signing up, that's decided."
"Yeah. I've been waiting to say the same."
"Think this place is worth living in?"
"If a man can't live here, he can't live anywhere."
It was always the same story. Beyond the borders they spoke of it with dread—the nation tended by the devil—yet anyone who actually came found a strange country overflowing with nothing but hope.
If life in the mere concession territories was cared for like this, then most people, were they ever to glimpse the homeland itself, would probably faint dead away.
In one wing of the Holy See, the envoys of the European Union gathered for their banquet. The air hung thick with tobacco smoke, and bottles of liquor purchased from Daehan stood abandoned on every table. Once again the delegates had assembled to trade gossip and grievances.
"A catastrophe, gentlemen! The serfs are fleeing to Pyeong-an Naru by the hundreds!"
"What could they possibly eat there? Everything must be ruinously priced—there'd be nothing to buy."
To most of the nobility, Pyeong-an Naru was simply a place to purchase Daehan's trade goods. One fortress, a building or two, a harbor—nothing more. Their assumption was forgivable.
"You haven't heard? A while back the Spanish sold land there, and now it's grown into a territory."
"A territory?"
"Ah. No title attached, so I suppose it isn't a territory, strictly speaking?"
"You had me confused for a moment there."
It was genuinely difficult to know what to call it. Daehan had taken possession of land in Europe, yet its object of loyalty was no European king—so calling it a fief didn't quite fit.
"In any case, the serfs are sneaking off there, I'm told."
"Hm…."
Europe's condition was beyond wretched. The cold was killing men, famine was killing men, and now plague rode on top of it all. What else could explain why these envoys lingered here at the Holy See with no thought of returning to their own estates?
"Should we send soldiers to drag them back?"
"You cannot possibly mean that."
"Ah…. If it were mistaken for an invasion, it would be a disaster indeed."
They had neither the intent nor the strength for it—but one misunderstanding, and the annihilation of Europe might truly follow.
"Somehow we must hold on to our serfs…."
"Our nation has decided to lower the taxes."
"I beg your pardon?"
"They're running because they cannot survive, are they not? Make life a little bearable and they'll settle back down."
For once, some of the French delegates and a few lords of the Holy Roman Empire were talking sense. It was a thought scarcely ever born inside an aristocrat's skull, and the sight of it was frankly astonishing.
"Heh…. Will that not cut into our revenue?"
"Cut or not, what choice have we? That is why we are building ships—to expand our overseas colonies."
"Ah…."
So the shortfall was to be made up by conquest across the seas.
"Hiccup…. Haah… all nonsense, every word of it."
At the mention of building ships and seizing colonies, a man deep in his cups slurred his tongue into knots.
"Hm? What was that?"
"Kah-hah! There's nowhere left to sail, don't you see!"
"Explain yourself, sir."
The drunken man was the delegate from the Netherlands. Something had gone badly wrong for him of late; he was perpetually drunk and perpetually lamenting his fate.
"No European ship can pass the Cape of Good Hope."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"The dark-skinned fellows sink every ship that tries to round it!"
Three separate expeditions sent out from the Netherlands had all vanished without a trace in those waters. Then, at long last, a handful of sailors had struggled home, and their account was this: a nation called Ethiopia had sealed off both the sea and the land.
"Whew… it's true…."
The Spanish delegate beside him sighed heavily and joined in.
"We lost Zanzibar some time ago ourselves."
"Hm? Wasn't that one of your largest colonies?"
"Whew… when word stopped coming, we sent someone to look. Nothing left of it but rubble."
"Heh…."
A colony's life began at its harbor and ended at its harbor. Without a port to dock at and load cargo, the colony was dead in the water—literally.
"Where did the dark-skinned devils get ships in the first place?!"
"Judging by their shape, they look to be old-style warships handed over by Daehan—retired models."
"Retired models?"
"You mean we're losing to secondhand goods?"
He was speaking of the Horned Whales that Daehan was phasing out of service. For Daehan, "retired." But they were still tougher and finer than any vessel Europe could float.
"So we have nowhere to go at all?"
"Eastern Africa is evidently off the table, for a start…."
"Hmm…."
The delegates sank into deep gloom. If things went on like this, they really might all wither away and die.
"We must reduce the taxes first—keep the people alive and stop the outflow of serfs. That's the resolution we'll carry back."
"Haah… what words am I even supposed to say at home…."
"You and me both."
Through no particular intention of its own, Daehan had done Europe a small kindness. Thanks to this, the peasants might breathe a little easier for a while.
"We ought to build large ships, I say."
After long deliberation, the delegates produced one more idea.
"More ships? Warships are far too expensive."
"No—cargo ships, for transport. We must bring food back from Africa, must we not?"
"Too dangerous…."
There were reasons why the colonies made sugar and hunted gold instead. Food, for all its value, took up enormous space relative to its price. The bigger the cargo hold, the slower the ship—and a slow, fat hauler was a pirate's dream. Worse still, pirates wouldn't even bother stealing food. They'd simply sink the ship for sport. So the risk ballooned, escort warships had to be attached, and before long the ship's belly cost more than the ship itself.
"But unless we keep the starving alive, we'll have no one left to farm at all!"
"Haaah…."
"Then let us simply ask Daehan."
"Whew…."
"We're beggars now. There's no shame left to lose!"
The answer had been sitting right beside them all along, and it was laughably easy.
With Daehan's transport capacity, hauling in the food Europe now lacked would be no great feat.
What Europe needed was time—time to survive this freak weather.