After the meeting ended, John Tyler remained seated for a long moment, staring at the door through which Killian had just departed.
Originally, the discussion had been meant to focus primarily on border disputes.
But after hearing Killian's remarks, that subject suddenly seemed trivial.
The situation was far more serious than he had anticipated.
"Secretary," Tyler said at last, "how do you interpret Minister Gore's remarks?"
The man beside him hesitated before answering.
"…An uncomfortable truth. That would be the most accurate description."
An uncomfortable truth.
Yes—exactly that.
In fact, there was a reason the voices coming from the Southern states had grown louder in recent years.
Animals—and people—barked the loudest when they felt threatened.
If Southern leaders truly believed abolitionist rhetoric had no real impact, they would have ignored it entirely.
Just a few decades earlier, many Northern states had abolished slavery without provoking much reaction.
The United States prided itself on respecting the autonomy of each state.
From the Southern perspective, what the North did within its own borders was largely irrelevant.
But the nineteenth century had changed everything.
Abolitionist sentiment had grown steadily stronger.
Then the British Empire had formally outlawed slavery throughout its territories.
Northern intellectuals grew emboldened.
They argued that abolition was the inevitable course of world history—and that the United States would eventually have no choice but to follow.
The South, naturally, reacted with furious resistance.
Worse still, European crackdowns on the Atlantic slave trade had sharply reduced the supply of enslaved labor.
Slave prices were rising rapidly.
If this trend continued, the South's economic growth would inevitably lag behind the industrializing North.
Just as Killian had implied.
And if Britain understood this…
Surely the North did as well.
Which raised an unsettling possibility.
What if the North eventually grew strong enough to impose abolition upon the entire Union?
Perhaps the South sensed this danger instinctively—that was why its reactions had grown increasingly extreme.
Unfortunately, Tyler himself sympathized far more with Southern interests.
He had no desire whatsoever to see slavery abolished.
"Secretary," Tyler asked quietly, "if this trend continues… do you think the North might truly attempt to force abolition on the Union? Even at the expense of state autonomy?"
The man considered for a moment.
"…I cannot say for certain. But if they attempted something that drastic, the Southern reaction would be enormous. I doubt it would be easy."
He left the rest unsaid.
If slavery were forcibly abolished, many states might simply withdraw from the Union altogether.
Take South Carolina, for instance.
The state's entire identity was built upon plantation slavery.
The great estates had been established by slaveholding elites, and from that foundation South Carolina's history had grown.
"Still," the secretary continued, "the fact that Minister Gore said such things suggests he no longer wishes to associate with the abolitionists in our country."
"That seems likely," Tyler replied.
"Your warning during the train journey—that Northern politicians might attempt to use him—appears to have had an effect."
"But the minister is correct about one thing," the secretary added cautiously. "Britain truly is intensifying its patrols against illegal slave ships along the African coast. If this issue continues to escalate, Northern voices will grow louder."
Tyler sighed.
"A troublesome situation indeed. But crises often create opportunities. If we handle this wisely, our administration might one day be remembered as the government that prevented the United States from splitting apart."
If this had been before the invention of the cotton gin, things might have been different.
But the Eli Whitney had changed everything.
Cotton plantations now generated astronomical profits.
Under such circumstances, abolishing slavery was unthinkable.
Even if the Atlantic slave trade collapsed, the United States could simply "breed" slaves domestically.
His home state of Virginia was already making enormous profits from that practice.
True, supply still lagged behind demand.
Slave prices continued to climb.
But that only proved how lucrative the system had become.
And if slaves were suddenly freed?
The wealth of plantation owners—embodied in their human property—would vanish overnight.
Who would compensate them for such losses?
The federal government?
Absurd.
Even those who shouted loudest for abolition still used cotton produced by Southern slaves.
Britain and Europe were no different.
Their moral outrage, many Southerners believed, was nothing more than hypocritical self-satisfaction.
After all, they happily consumed goods produced by slave labor.
"Your Excellency," the secretary asked carefully, "how do you intend to address this matter?"
"I'll speak with Southern representatives first," Tyler replied.
He paused, a faint smile creeping across his face.
"If things go well… no. Let's leave it at that."
When Killian had first raised the issue, Tyler had felt a flash of alarm.
But now he saw a different possibility.
Perhaps this crisis could become an opportunity.
His presidency had been crippled ever since his own party abandoned him.
But what if he could unite Southern politicians behind him?
If Southern senators and representatives rallied around the president, party lines would no longer matter.
His authority could be restored.
Perhaps even strong enough to win re-election.
Killian's visit might actually work in my favor, Tyler thought.
I assumed he would be a nuisance—but perhaps he's a blessing instead.
Even if their ideologies were incompatible, Killian remained a foreign official of the British Empire.
As long as Britain and Canada behaved themselves, the United States could focus entirely on its own problems—slavery and Mexico.
"Oh—speaking of which," Tyler suddenly said, "I forgot to ask him something earlier. The report sounded rather absurd, but it might be worth verifying."
The secretary nodded.
"It's already been confirmed. But since it concerns a personal matter, it would have been awkward for you to ask directly. Minister Gore will soon meet several members of Congress. Someone will inevitably bring it up."
"If it turns out to be true," Tyler said, "then we have one more reason to cultivate a close relationship with him. Inform me once we know the answer."
At present, trade across the Pacific was limited to small private ventures.
But someday the United States would inevitably establish full commercial relations with Asia.
And if the rumors Tyler had heard recently were true…
Maintaining good relations with Killian would become even more valuable.
For the first time in a long while, a path toward restoring the dignity of the presidency seemed to appear before him.
Strictly speaking, life in the nineteenth century was far more inconvenient than the twenty-first.
Even as a British aristocrat and one of the wealthiest men in the empire, Killian could not overcome a two-hundred-year technological gap.
Yet status and power brought their own unique pleasures.
No matter how hard he had tried in his previous life, he could never have walked into the White House and conversed with the President of the United States.
And now, as he stepped into the United States Capitol amid enthusiastic applause, he felt that same strange sense of wonder again.
If someone asked which parliamentary buildings were most famous in the world, what would people answer?
Most would likely name Palace of Westminster and the United States Capitol.
And now he had spoken in both.
Well, Killian thought with quiet amusement, that's quite something.
"Welcome!" a voice boomed.
"I am Henry Clay, senator from Kentucky."
One of the most influential figures in the Whig Party—a man whom Tyler himself had once tried to recruit into his cabinet—stepped forward to greet him.
Looking around the chamber, Killian noticed an impressive turnout.
Members of both the Senate and the House had gathered.
"I didn't expect so many of you to attend," Killian said with a modest smile. "I must confess I'm suddenly a bit nervous. It's an honor."
Clay laughed.
"This is a friendly gathering. Please speak freely."
Despite the joke, Killian felt no tension whatsoever.
Position shaped the man.
By now, standing before assemblies like this had become almost natural.
"Distinguished members of the United States Congress," he began.
"My name is Killian Gore—member of the House of Lords and Foreign Minister of the British Empire. I sincerely hope that the friendship between our two nations will continue to flourish."
After a brief introduction, he spent some time offering polite diplomatic compliments.
He spoke of how closely the two nations could cooperate.
Of the benefits such cooperation might bring.
"...To achieve this, we will need the cooperation of the United States Congress. The development of the Great Lakes and mutual navigation rights upon those waters are prime examples. British Canada and the United States are not rivals. Through cooperation, both nations can grow stronger and project influence across this new continent—and beyond."
He continued in this tone for some time, praising America's potential and describing the continent as a land blessed by divine providence.
Naturally, he avoided any mention of slavery or slave-ship patrols.
President Tyler had asked him to.
And for the moment, the president was too useful to offend.
But even if Killian remained silent, someone else would inevitably raise the issue.
When the applause faded, an elderly gentleman slowly rose from his seat.
Killian recognized him instantly.
Of course.
There was no way that man would miss such an opportunity.
"Minister Gore," the old statesman began, "your speech on friendship between our nations was deeply inspiring. However, is there not another issue we must address? For example—the suppression of slave ships."
It was John Quincy Adams.
Before Killian could answer, Southern representatives leapt to their feet in outrage.
"Congressman Adams! We are hosting an honored guest from Britain. Perhaps it would be wise to avoid inflammatory remarks!"
"Exactly! Must we drag our internal disputes into this gathering?"
Adams shot back immediately.
"I'm not starting a quarrel. I'm proposing we address a real problem. Britain is already suppressing slave ships in the Atlantic. The United States has been asked for months to clarify its position."
"The minister did not mention it," a Southerner retorted. "Which means it is not urgent. Why create unnecessary tension at a moment meant for friendship?"
The chamber erupted into shouting.
Killian leaned back slightly in his seat, watching with growing amusement.
They're really going at it.
Parliamentary shouting matches were common everywhere.
But the hostility here felt different.
If firearms had been allowed inside the chamber, someone might already have pulled a trigger.
Adams continued relentlessly.
"The problem is obvious. Britain abolished slavery, so some of you assume the minister will automatically support the North."
"That's a gross distortion!" a Southerner shouted.
"Or perhaps it simply makes you uncomfortable," Adams replied coolly. "Surely even you recognize that slavery is morally questionable. Why else would Senator Clay support gradual emancipation?"
All eyes turned to Clay.
The Kentuckian cleared his throat awkwardly.
"As I have said many times," he muttered, "I do not support immediate abolition. Only gradual reform."
A Southern representative snapped back instantly.
"Senator Clay, you yourself own more than a hundred slaves!"
"Exactly! If you want abolition, free your own slaves first!"
"I said gradual reform!" Clay protested. "If everyone keeps taking extreme positions, we'll only end up fighting one another. Please—let's calm down. Must we embarrass ourselves in front of our guest?"
Killian watched the chaos with barely concealed delight.
Honestly, this is fascinating.
From this single exchange, he could already identify which congressmen hated each other the most…
…and which ones were trying desperately to remain neutral.
Several names were already forming in his mind.
Adams might not have intended it, but his intervention had been extremely useful.
A Southern congressman tried to reassert control.
"Our Southern states were founded by great plantation families. Their wealth—and their heritage—are built upon slavery. You cannot simply demand we abandon that."
Adams replied calmly.
"Heritage is not the issue. Bloodline means little. Consider Minister Gore himself. Despite his noble ancestry, he personally opposes slavery."
Killian blinked.
Wait.
Noble ancestry?
One Southern representative nodded vigorously.
"That's correct! I've heard that many Eastern kingdoms still practice slavery. And Minister Gore is said to carry the blood of Eastern royalty. Yet even he opposes slavery! That proves bloodline has nothing to do with ideology."
Killian's brain froze.
…Royal blood?
Whose blood?
For a moment, his mind simply refused to process what he had heard.
Why the hell has the Tokugawa shogunate's nonsense propaganda made it all the way to Washington, D.C.?