Another rather short chapter again, I know. I apologize for that. But I hope you enjoy it anyway.


Dmitry walked as confidently as he could up the path to a small, run-down house. Beside him was the man Sir Thomas had spoken of. He had only introduced himself as Henderson; Dmitry assumed it was so he could keep some degree of anonymity. He himself had only given the man his first name, thankful that his name was fairly common.

The house before them was quaint, but it was clear that it had been some years since any substantial repairs had been made to it. The was a lone young woman outside, tending to the garden. Henderson led the way up the path and cleared his throat. The woman straightened up and regarded them warily.

"How can I help you?" she asked demurely.

"Irina," Henderson said, nodding at her. "This is Dmitry. He's the one I told you about."

"Hello," he greeted, never taking his eyes from her. She was rather short, and her hair a brownish blonde. The beginnings of a crazy plan began to form in Dmitry's mind, and he struggled to stamp it down. It did not give up easily, and his mind continued to try to run through a multitude of scenarios. As he continued to stare at her, she crossed her arms and stared back.

"Not to be rude, but did you come just to stare?" she asked.

"No," he said quickly. "I had a question for you. Regarding the Romanovs."

Irina's eyes darted over his shoulder, and Dmitry barely stopped himself from looking as well. She beckoned them inside the house, saying something about leaving the water on for tea. He and Henderson followed her inside, then sat at the table that she gestured at.

"I thought it might be safer to discuss this in here," she explained. "You never know who might be listening."

"I understand," Dmitry said.

"Do you have an update on the family?" Henderson asked, leaning his elbows on the table. Irina sadly shook her head, then stood. She laid out a few mugs in front of them, then poured tea in all three of them. Dmitry took a sip of his, then laid it back down on the table. It was rather watered down, and besides, it was too hot outside to be drinking hot tea.

"Nothing of significance," she said. "They are the same as always. Perhaps a bit quieter than before."

"You talk to them?" Dmitry asked suddenly, gripping his mug tighter in anticipation. Irina eyed him, then shrugged.

"Only a little. Sometimes the Tsar or his daughters thank us when they can. The servants too."

"And Alexei?"

"The boy?" she asked. "I only ever see him with his mother. They keep to themselves, those two. Isolate themselves a lot. I feel sorry for them. All of them."

Dmitry sat back in his chair as he tried to digest this information. He knew from the few notes the sister had managed to pass through the fence that Alexei was still mostly confined to his wheelchair, but from what Irina said it sounded more like Alexandra was keeping him close. He supposed he couldn't blame her. He could tell from their notes that they all, even Anastasia, were becoming rather hopeless.

"You said you have a question for me?" Irina asked. "You know the layout of the house, yes?" She nodded slowly.

"I was hired along with a few other girls to help clean," she said, "but I suspect you already knew that. What significance does the layout of the house have?"

"It may be important later," Dmitry said, unwilling to give away too much. "Knowledge of the house is valuable. No one is allowed inside, but you and the other cleaners, and some nuns."

"The nuns aren't ever allowed past the kitchen door," Irina said. "They won't be any help to you."

Dmitry nodded "Sir Thomas trusts you can help us. Is he correct?"

"Well that depends on what you're asking me to do," she replied shortly. "I can only offer so much."

"All I ask is that you help us communicate with the family," Dmitry said, holding up his hands. "We need someone on the inside of the house to help us."

Irina regarded him suspiciously. "How do I know this isn't a trap?" she demanded. "How do I know you're not a Bolshevik, trying to trick me?"

"I can vouch for him," Henderson said. "He has no sympathy for the Bolsheviks, like you."

"I only need to know if it's possible," Dmitry said. "Can you get messages to the family? Are there opportunities to?"

"Only a few," Irina said, shaking her head. "The guards watch them all very closely. But the daughters sometimes try to help us wash the floors of the bedrooms. Sometimes we're able to whisper to them. They're all quite kind."

Once again, the crazy plan fought its way back to the forefront of Dmitry's mind. Even as he heard Irina finally agree to help them and himself thanking her, all he could think of was how to make the plan work.

After leaving Irina's house, he walked straight to the consulate and asked for Sir Thomas again. The woman at the front waved him through to Sir Thomas's office as usual.

"Ah, my young friend," Sir Thomas greeted him. "Have you been able to meet with Irina yet?"

"Your merchant friends, the ones who know the routes out of Russia. Are there any based in Yekaterinburg?"

"You have a plan?"

"Maybe," Dmitry said. "And yes, I have met Irina. I actually came here straight from her house."

"Good, good," Sir Thomas said. "Now, as for your question, I'm not sure of the answer myself. But I know of a man who might know. Between you and me, he was actually involved in one of the rescue plots in Tobolsk. Have a seat, I'll give him a call."

Dmitry complied as Sir Thomas dialed a number and asked for someone named Armistead. He felt very jittery as they waited, and when Sir Thomas began speaking to the person on the other line, he began tapping his fingers incessantly against the arms of the chair. He only stopped when Sir Thomas gave him a sharp look, and instead took to bouncing his leg.

"Is it possible for you to pick up the cargo before then?" Sir Thomas asked. "It is essential that it be delivered as soon as possible." Dmitry grimaced at the idea of people, especially the Romanovs, being referred to as "cargo", but he understood the need to remain inconspicuous.

"Oh, very well," Sir Thomas said. "Yes, make the arrangements. I will make sure everything is set on this end." He hung up the receiver, then turned to Dmitry.

"My contact said he can get here by July 17th," he said. "Can you have everything ready by then?"

Dmitry's heart sank. July 17th was three weeks away. Part of him was grateful to have so much time to make sure everything got done to make his plan work, but so much could change in three weeks. He could only hope that the Bolsheviks didn't decide to move the Romanovs again.

"I can," he answered.