It was the longest week of Dmitry's life. He spent it pacing endlessly, always glancing over his shoulder. He was so paranoid that someone would arrest him suddenly that he had to remind himself multiple times to behave normally. He tried to limit the amount of times he walked past the Ipatiev House each day, so the guards wouldn't become suspicious of him. And he didn't dare pass any notes to the family through the fence until he could be certain his plan would work.

To his relief, Irina didn't change her mind. It was with only a little hesitation that he handed her every kopek he had on the 15th of July. He thanked her profusely once again, but stopped when she went rather gray.

"It's only for one night," he said again. "I swear."

"I know," she said grimly.

He left shortly after that, more anxious than he had been all week. After returning to his barn, he managed to scribble a quick note to the family, telling them that Irina would be switching places with Anastasia. He wrote as many details as he dared, then folded it up tight and stuck it deep in his pocket.

He still had a few hours before the Romanovs would be allowed out into the yard again, so he decided to do a quick inventory. He only had a few days' worth of food left, but with any luck that wouldn't be a huge issue. He desperately needed to wash his clothes but figured that could wait as well. He didn't want to get too caught up in a task and miss his chance to get the note to the Romanovs.

He settled for skimming through a photo album. He'd found it in his suitcase not long after he'd settled into the barn. It was full of photographs from years ago; he himself appeared in a few of them, and he couldn't have been older than 14 in them.

Idly he wondered what the future would hold for them. They'd have to go south or west to escape, and quickly or else face an even worse fate. There were rumors that the White Army was approaching from the west. South would bring them out of the country altogether, and Dmitry wasn't sure which was the best option.

He left the barn to go see Sir Thomas and ask if he had any ideas. He also figured he should ask about Armistead, but was told that he hadn't arrived yet.

"Don't worry about it too much," Sir Thomas said when he saw Dmitry getting anxious. "I'm sure he'll get here soon. He's never let me down before.

"I hope so," Dmitry muttered. "This whole plan depends on him. There's no point in storming the house unless we have a way to get the family out of the country."

He felt bad about not telling Sir Thomas about his plan to have Irina switch places with Anastasia. He rationalized it as compartmentalizing information again, but deep down he knew he didn't want Sir Thomas to try to talk him out of it. He knew it was despicable of him, and he didn't care. He knew there was every chance his plan wouldn't work. If there was a chance that Anastasia could be free, even for just a few hours, it was worth it to him.

He walked past the knothole in the fence a few times that afternoon, trying to build up his courage. Eventually he managed to make himself walk up to the fence and peek through the hole. Only Tatiana and Maria were outside, and he made sure one of them had spotted him before poking the note through the hole and walking away. The next time he passed the knothole, the paper was gone. There was no turning back now.


The 16th of July dawned hot and sunny. After tossing and turning all night, Dmitry rose earlier than usual and walked to the center of town. He felt very jumpy and jittery, and kept his distance from the Ipatiev House so he didn't raise the guards' suspicions. Instead he strolled around town, peeking into bakery windows and fantasizing about the food he would buy if he hadn't given all of his money to Irina.

He wondered what the family was doing right now. They were probably awake, and they were probably nervous as well. He knew he was asking them to take a huge risk, Anastasia most of all, and he hoped she at least had the good sense to act as though nothing was amiss. It was something that occurred to him only after passing the note through the fence; Anastasia was the best actress of the children, and probably the only one who could pull it off.

He imagined they would all be spending as much time as they could with Anastasia right now, just in case- Dmitry didn't finish that thought. His plan would work. Irina wouldn't be discovered, and the Romanovs would be rescued within the week. It had to work. He didn't know what he would do if it didn't.

At around 8 am, he watched the cleaning ladies walk through the gates into the Ipatiev House, Irina among them. She and another woman, who he could only guess was her friend Ksenia, walked arm in arm a small distance away from the rest of the group. They were all admitted past the gate and disappeared.

Dmitry continued wandering around town, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep himself from wandering near the fence at 11 am and quickly peeking through the knothole. Tatiana and Nicholas were the only ones outside, walking arm in arm rather stiffly around the perimeter of the yard. Dmitry's stomach twisted, and he walked away quickly. He didn't want to think about the stress the family would be going through right now.

The last hour before the cleaning ladies emerged seemed to drag on forever. Not wanting to draw any attention to him, he stood on a street corner a few roads further down than he usually did and tried to pretend that he was just waiting to meet up with a friend. Technically, he wasn't lying to himself, he reasoned.

Finally, at just past noon, the gate opened, and the group of cleaning ladies marched out. He watched them carefully, half expecting the guards to yell "Hey you!" and grab Anastasia. He was terrified one of them would recognize her, even wearing the simple dress and bonnet of a peasant. What would he do if she was recognized? Should he run up and try to help her? Or would it simply get her into even more trouble.

Dmitry strained his eyes, trying to pick Anastasia out among the group but couldn't figure which one was her. He supposed it was a good thing that she was so indistinguishable from the rest, but his heart began to pound anyway. Was she even there? Were she and Irina able to make the switch? It was only when he saw one of the figures loop her arm in another's that he recognized her.

Irina's friend, Ksenia, led Anastasia to a shop a couple of streets away from where Dmitry stood, and they began pointing through the window and chatting. Even from that far away, Dmitry could tell Ksenia was doing most of the talking. He strode toward them quickly, trying to make sure they saw him approaching so they weren't startled.

"Good luck," Ksenia whispered to them as she handed Anastasia off to him. "I'll meet you here in the morning." Dmitry nodded his thanks, then threaded his fingers through Anastasia's and led her away from the Ipatiev House.

Suddenly the magnitude of what he had done hit him. Anastasia was free! For the first time in years, she was not a political prisoner of the Bolsheviks. He glanced down at her with a wide grin, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead she was staring at the ground as they walked, her face rather white and a plainly terrified expression on it. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, but she only looked up him briefly before training her eyes back on the ground.

He gave a subtle glance over his shoulder and was relieved to find that none of the guards had followed them. He quickened his pace, and Anastasia silently followed. It worried him, how quiet she was being. It wasn't like her at all. But he had to get her to the barn and out of public. They could talk freely there.


Okay, a little longer this time. I chose to stop it there because I planned for Dmitry and Anastasia to have a pretty lengthy conversation, and I didn't want this chapter ending up, like, 12 pages long.