Home, love, family

by Gabros

… there was once a time the Romanovs had it all. This is just the story of Anastasia and her siblings before the revolution. Prequel to Light at the end of the tunnel.

25. Falling teeth and growing children

Trigger warnings at the end notes.

St. Petersburg. July 29th, 1907.

Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev.

I open my eyes and smile with a real wish to do so for the first time in months. Today is my eighth birthday! In four years I will be a big boy, old enough to participate in raids against the Tsar's men, or at least that is what Iosif said when I begged him to let me go with them to one.

I rise from my bed, and after going over to Sonya's in order to kiss her good morning, I rush towards Uncle Ilya's room.

"Uncle Ilya!" I knock on his door. I learned my lesson during my first day back from the orphanage, and since then, I always knock before entering any room.

I knock for seconds to no avail. No one is answering.

Oh, well, I don't think Uncle Ilya has any lady friends like many of the other anarchists do anyway.

I open the door slowly and find the room empty, the bed made. Oh no. Where is Uncle Ilya? He promised!

I make my way to the living room and make a disgruntled noise when I find my uncle face up on the floor, his shirt filled with dry vomit.

There he is. Passed out drunk again. I am not going to clean up for him this time, I won't! My eyes fill with tears, something that they hadn't done in days, days! He promised, he promised me two days ago that he would not get drunk the night before my birthday, and he lied!

I go to the kitchen for another bucket of cold water, the ninth one this month, and throw it at him. Again.

Uncle Ilya jumps into an upright position and groans almost immediately before looking around at his surroundings. His wild gaze eventually settles on me, as it always does. "Fuck!" He roars at me with his eyes wide open, prolonging the length of the word. "Why?! Why the…? Your whore mother…! Argh! My fucking head!" He closes his eyes and grimaces in pain as he grabs chunks of his hair with both hands. "Shoot me! Fuck!"

"I hate you!" I yell at him. "My sister and I are going to celebrate my birthday with Iosif, Anya, Viktor, and the others! You are not invited anymore!"

"What?" He tries to stand up and probably falls down, but as I am walking away to get myself and Sonya ready, I don't see him. "You are not going anywhere with them, Dmitri! Much less without me! Not without my permission!" He cries.

"Yeah, right", I roll my eyes. Sonya and I have been at their place and gone out with them without his permission more times than I can count. He is always too drunk to notice.

Oo

Uncle Ilya is trying to keep me away from papa's friends. He doesn't want me to become a hero like them. He says that what they are doing is dangerous and that he doesn't want me "in that environment" all the time, as I am still so small. He says that papa wouldn't have wanted me to be in that environment either.

That is why after we returned from the village on foot, living a couple of days off of the charity of a few more hospitable peasants, Uncle Illya rented an apartment separate from the anarchist headquarters where Sophia and I now live with him.

But other than having hired someone to furnish and decorate the place and taken us to buy new clothes on one occasion, Uncle Ilya hasn't really taken care of us, so I find it silly that he thinks he can order me around as if he were my dad. He is always away plotting attacks and making and distributing propaganda with the other anarchists, and during the barely existent hours he is around in the apartment, he is always, always drunk. He does nothing for us.

Uncle Ilya doesn't even hire a nanny because he says that an outsider being around in the apartment for too long may come to suspect all the illegal shit he is up to, something that I wouldn't want either. There could be no worse fate than being sent back to the orphanage.

I no longer fear not having someone to take care of me and my sister as I did before though. I have learned to do everything all by myself. Cleaning, doing the laundry, making the beds, helping Sonya learn how to bathe and get dressed, cooking, and even going to the marketplace. Uncle Ilya just gives me the money, and luckily for me, the anarchist base is not too far from the apartment, just a couple of blocks away, so there is always someone to help me out when I don't feel like cooking or my uncle spends everything on his drink, which happens a lot. Viktor even says that I have gained weight. Someday I may be as tall and strong as him or even Iosif.

The neighbors who live downstairs are also very generous, though it is weird having someone living downstairs at all. I had never lived in a second-floor apartment, much less one as big and for so few people.

Sophia and I get dressed quickly in our best clothes. She will be wearing a short sleeveless white lace dress, short white socks, and white Mary Jane shoes.

Having helped my sister dress and styled her hair with a pretty white ribbon, I put on my white striped shirt, purple tie, short button boots, and wool brown vest, black trousers, and jacket. I put on papa's dark khaki cap last.

After saying goodbye to the neighbors, we walk out of the building before our Uncle Ilya, suffering greatly from one of his hangovers, can catch up to us.

Ever since I lost what would be my only chance to live with my aunts and uncles in papa and Uncle Ilya's childhood village, all because I didn't know the way, I am always aware of my surroundings and memorize the location, name, and address of every single place I visit, whether I walk or travel there on a carriage. Papa is no longer there to guide me, so I need to learn to guide myself.

What Uncle Ilya says about papa is true. My papa never said anything about wanting me to become an anarchist like him, but that was before he was so horribly murdered. He is gone now, and I need to make sure that his legacy lives on and that his wonderful dream doesn't die.

Oo

I sit on the couch next to Iosif almost as soon as I get to the house with my sister. Then I start crying for some reason.

"Hey buddy, what is wrong?" He asks me in a very worried tone, frowning as he puts an arm around me. "Are you hurt? Do you miss your dad today, little man? Happy birthday, by the way."

"Happy birthday, Dima!" Sophia exclaims happily, making me smile even in tears. She had already congratulated me early this morning. "Don't cry!" She adds with a tiny voice.

My sister is playing a form of tag nearby with Miss Fedorova, one of the few anarchist women living in the house. Miss Fedorova always says that once we win and papa's dream world becomes a reality, no one will treat men and women differently either. I really like her. I like everyone here, and everyone who visits often as well. I am no longer nervous around any of them either.

Viktor and I play chess and other board games that he has explained to me, and he taught me how to do my tie properly. Iosif and his friends always allow me to play football in the yard with them even though I am very small and not too good at it yet. They are all so much fun.

The first couple of weeks back from the orphanage, my sister's red mane was a mess. It looked like a dirty pile of straw. Then the pretty lady taught me how to wash, untangle, and braid hair, and now I make Sonya look really pretty every day. One day, Anya also gifted both me and Sonha a teddy bear each for no apparent reason. I cuddle that stuffed animal every night imagining that it is papa.

Almost everyone has gifted us toys for no apparent reason. I love the puzzles and tin soldiers most of all, whereas Sonya prefers the dolls, crayons, and coloring books.

Sasha and Volodya like reading anarchist books to me. I hate myself for finding them boring, but I enjoy the moments I spend listening to them either way, and I like to imagine that they used to read those same books to papa too. Volodya goes further. He says that he wants to help me with reading and writing like Father Boris tried to do, so we sometimes sit together at the table and practice.

All of my new friends love telling me stories about papa, even the ones who didn't really meet him but did hear wonderful things about how brave and principled he was and how much he pushed himself to be better than his circumstances.

Though evidently busy planning something in the dining room, several of papa's friends are now looking at me and my sister with concern, possibly worried to see me cry. I am a bit embarrassed about doing so all the time, but I can't help it. I miss my dad everyday, I have nightmares every night, and Uncle Ilya has changed so much that I can't stand him any longer.

"He doesn't love us anymore!" I can't help but lament, kneeling on top of the sofa to put my arms around Iosif's neck. Whenever I stay here for the night, which happens every now and then, my friend soothes me when I happen to have nightmares, which is very nice. I hadn't been properly comforted since papa and Uncle Ilya's arrest. Father Boris tried, but I pushed him away more often than not, as I didn't appreciate his constant criticism of my papa. Iosif is different. He loved papa.

"Who, buddy?" He rubs my back.

"Uncle Ilya", I snivel. "He likes his vodka more than me, and he gets really mean when he drinks it."

"Oh, darling", Miss Fedorova stops in her tracks when she hears what I just said and turns to look at Iosif. "Don't you think we must do something about this? These kids would fare better moving back with us."

"You know why Ilya doesn't want that, Mila", Iosif says. "You know why Ivan didn't want that either, and I would never go against his wishes, not after what he and the others did for me back at the camp."

Iosif has told me that story countless times. It often makes me cry.

My friend is not from St. Petersburg, but from Odessa, where almost two years ago, rabid mobs of Tsar supporters, Cossacks, policemen, and other soldiers attacked him and his people most wickedly, blaming them for the October Manifesto as they blamed and still blame them for everything. They murdered men, women, and children as they had during Bloody Sunday, stealing or vandalizing almost everything they owned. It makes me sad and scared just to imagine. The women in particular suffered a lot, though Iosif won't tell me why.

Many of the men of Iosif's family belonged to a Jewish self-defense group that during the riots managed to protect the heart of their neighborhood, where many took refuge. It is the best part of the story, the least sad, how they bravely fought back and stuck up for themselves against the Tsar's evil henchmen.

Iosif wasn't satisfied with this though. He told me that he didn't want to just survive. He wanted to change the world for the better, like my papa, so upon turning seventeen, he joined a revolutionary organization, not the same as this one though, as there are many of them, all with different beliefs. There are even several types of anarchists, the Marxists, syndicalists… though I wasn't really paying attention when Sasha explained their differences to me.

Something Iosif would try to do after he started fighting for the revolution is make all of those responsible for the atrocities against his people pay. From the age of thirteen he had cleaned people's shoes as a way to bring extra income to his parents. He continued to do so after joining the rebels, but with a catch.

Iosif began carrying small bombs inside his shine shoe box, and the day he recognized one of the policemen who had participated in the pogrom, he coaxed him away from the crowds in the street to have his boots cleaned.

While Iosif shined the evil policeman's shoes, he sneakily tied a small bomb to the man's ankle and detonated it. The policeman realized what was about to happen a little too late.

"What is that?!" He asked Iosif with a voice full of panic. "What did you put there, animal?!"

Iosif, who was already running away, stopped in his tracks and decided to give him the answer. Why not? He wanted that man to know what he was being punished for. "Remember the pogrom of Odessa?! You bloody buffoon!"

The policeman's eyes widened in terrified surprise, probably because his own bigotry had never allowed him to see the injustice of his own actions, which he had most likely forgotten about or at least never given much thought to. And then the bomb exploded, killing him instantly.

That is one of my favorite stories. It always brings a smile to my face. What happened next was not as heartwarming though, because Iosif and his father started having many differences and arguing constantly.

Iosif's father didn't approve of my friend's revolutionary activities. I have a lot of trouble understanding why, but Iosif often insists that it was simply so whilst shrugging. One day, they got into a huge fight about something, a fight greater than all the other ones before that ended with Iosif's father disowning him.

This was incredibly awful for my poor friend, who still misses his dear family a lot, even his beloved papa, but what happened next was almost as bad. The girl he loved and wanted to marry broke things off with him, and soon after that, without time to nurse his broken heart, he was caught and sentenced to fifteen years in Siberia, where he met papa, Uncle Ilya, and a couple of their friends.

Iosif would have suffered as much as papa at the camp if it weren't for papa's bravery. Papa would always take the blame for everything that the young prisoners did, and Iosif was one of those prisoners.

In the end, Iosif made friends with Uncle Ilya, Maxim, and Vladimir, also adopting their beliefs, and when they formulated a plan to escape, he tagged along and joined their St. Petersburg cell.

But now he doesn't want me moving in with them because of that, which is so unfair.

"I perfectly understand wanting to honor Ivan's wishes, Iosif", Miss Fedorova says as she picks my sister up, "but Ilya doesn't deserve the same consideration. The man has been drunk most of the time since he arrived, his work has become sloppy because of it, and now it seems that he is worse than just inadequate as a guardian as well!"

"Who wouldn't be drunk most of the time after what he has witnessed and endured?" Iosif retorts.

"You aren't", Miss Fedorova has little trouble replying. I am not seeing her, as my face has been buried in Iosif's neck most of the time since they started talking, but I suspect, based on the giggling sounds Sonya is making, that my sister is playing with the bun of Mila's hair again.

Iosif doesn't know how to respond to Mila's truthful observation. "What do you mean by 'mean', Dmitri?" He pulls away from me a little bit in order to see me.

"Huh?" I am a bit confused by the question.

"You said that your uncle becomes mean when he is drunk, what do you mean by that, buddy?"

"Oh, he just says such horrible things to me", I lament, not wanting to specify exactly what out loud, but other than cursing, he usually rants about how much he envied papa and wishes my sister and I had been the ones to die in childhood instead of his wife and children. Later on, when he becomes sober, or drunk again but in a way that makes him annoyingly over-affectionate instead of cruel, he tearfully apologizes if I happen to bring up the awful stuff he said, tries to hug and kiss us more than usual while smelling like utter shit, and cries about how much he actually does love us.

"I see", Iosif nods, "but he doesn't hit you or your little sister, right?"

I shake my head, because it is true. He doesn't, or ever has. Living with Uncle Ilya, even when he is drunk, is way better than living in the orphanage, or with my old neighbors after papa's money stopped coming. Perhaps I should be grateful for that instead of complaining so much, but it is just that Uncle Ilya was so nice to us before...

Iosif sighs in what seems to be relief, but Mila doesn't seem satisfied.

"That is less than the bare minimum!" She almost yells at him. "Children of Dmitri's age should not be left alone for hours or be made to do all of the cooking, childcare, and housework while also dealing with the unkind words of the person who should be doing, at the very least, half of that. I know what Ivan was trying to protect his children from, Iosif, but I assure you, we can introduce them to our lifestyle carefully, step by step, and always ensure their safety first. Just imagine all we can teach them, and all their innocent looks can help us with, scouting, spying, and even…"

"Mila, just hear yourself, what you are suggesting is using these kids to do our…"

"Igor and Gregory do that already, and they are both under sixteen. We should give Ilya an ultimatum, stop drinking or we will take the children to live with us."

"He is not going to allow that", Iosif objects.

"Yeah? Well, what is he going to do about it?" She asks sarcastically. "Call the police?"

"I do want to live here, Iosif!" I exclaim, hugging him. "I want to help you fight the Tsar's soldiers, please!"

My friend pulls away again and smiles at me. "We will see about that, little man, but first things first, didn't you say that it was your birthday?"

Oo

Baltic Sea, Finnish waters. September 11, 1907.

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

Once my little sister Anastasia healed from diphtheria, my family and I continued having one of the best summers ever. Well, almost every summer is, but how can I not think that I am having the best summer ever yet again with so much fun to go around?

My siblings and I had fun swimming with papa in our striped suits for hours, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei most of all. I think my two youngest sisters form more of a trio with my brother than a pair now. They splashed each other and made up new games, pretending to be ships, fish, and sailors. They used their wet hands to sprinkle those who weren't swimming, annoying them mercilessly as they giggled uncontrollably.

In early July, the parents of our governess Sofia Ivanovna Tyutcheva, whom we affectionately call Savanna, arrived in Peterhof. Papa and mama were very kind to them, and Savanna's father made a very positive impression on papa, who told me in secret that he wanted to appoint him a member of the Council of State sometime this year.

My sisters and I were delighted to have Savanna's father tell us stories of her childhood, as now we can remind our governess of her own naughtiness every time she scolds us for something. It has been very fun to do so.

Savanna's father was captivated by Alexei in particular, calling him a truly charming child. I agree that my baby brother is incredibly sweet and amusing, but this is easier to say when you are not around him almost all of the time. He always yells when things don't go his way, and along with our youngest sister Nastya, he can be chaos personified.

One time, while pretending to be the Mongols who had ruled over what is now Russia for 240 years, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei burst into my and Tatiana's room and started hitting us with their pillows as if they were swords. It was amusing to play with them at first, but they had so much energy that Tatiana, I, and even Maria soon became exhausted. This didn't stop my rambunctious two youngest siblings though. They kept hassling us for minutes, moving on to kick and bite us. Tatiana, Maria, and I could fight back against Anastasia, but not in a million years against our frail little brother, so his attack went on until Shura and the sailor Derevenko came to the rescue.

Alexei knew nothing about the Mongols, and Anastasia knew only a few things she had heard me mention from history class, so I went on to tell her and our brother the story of the Battle of Kulikovo, when several principalities of what would become Russian territory had banded together under the leadership of Grand Prince Dmitri of Moscow against the Mongols of the Golden Horde.

The Mongols were not defeated then, but the Russians realized for the first time ever that they could someday be.

That day, Grand Prince Dmitri became another one of the many real and mythical Russian heroes admired by our little siblings and often imitated by Alexei in his and the little pair's many childish games.

At the end of July, the court moved to the Ropsha Palace, a small and primitively arranged place. My sisters and I like it though. There is a beautiful park, a green field where we played with our little brother and went for long walks, as well as a village nearby.

We became friends with several of the villagers, listened to the church choir of schoolchildren, and even played tag with them on one occasion, normal children! Something we rarely ever do or have done! We had so much fun, although Tatiana ended up very melancholic and secretly confessed to me that she wished we were allowed ordinary playmates more than once every few months or even years.

Likewise, there are no "botanists" in the garden of Ropsha. That is the funny way Tatiana and I refer to the security officials dressed in civilian clothes that plague the parks of Peterhof. They always pester us without much subtlety by following us wherever we go, a considerable distance away, but still annoyingly so, and then when we accidentally make eye contact with them, they amusingly pretend to be inspecting the grass, which is how they got their nickname. No botanists followed us around in Ropsha, which I appreciate.

After our stay at the Ropsha Palace, my family and I went on our beloved yacht Standart to the Finnish skerries, where so far we have had a great time hiking, bathing in the sea, and playing on board with the sailors.

I am now reading a book on one of the couches on deck along with mama, Tatiana, and Anya Vyrubova, who are knitting, though I often stop to talk and joke with them. Anya was invited to come along with her husband, Lieutenant Vyrubov. To be honest, I do not like that man very much. He also often keeps to himself, and not only does he sometimes even refuse to show papa and mama the proper respect, but he also looks at everyone, especially Anya, funny, as if he were angry about something. Luckily for us, right now he is nowhere to be seen.

Papa is close to the balcony chatting and laughing with some of the sailors, whereas the little pair and the three-year-old baby of the family are yelling and running around as the sailors chase after them.

They are pretending to be Ilya Muromets, Dobrynya Nikitic, Alyosha Popovich, the three bogatyrs, elite warriors of immense strength, courage and bravery, who during medieval times defended the Rus from foreign enemies and monsters. Kiki, one of the officers, has gotten the role of Zmei, the multiple-headed dragon that my little siblings have to defeat. Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei are thus chasing poor Sablin all over the deck, though he sometimes allows himself to be caught, punched, and kicked mercilessly as he growls like a dragon for the sake of my young siblings.

"Nastya, Alyosha, wait for me!" Maria exclaims, lagging behind Anastasia and Alexei as they keep chasing after Sablin, who just escaped them. I smile at the scene for a second and then keep reading.

My siblings and I are wearing our usual dark beret hats, long black stockings and short leather boots, black sailor skirts with white stripes at the hem, and striped white and dark blue shirts with long sleeves covered by black sailor coats with golden buttons.

Only the little Alexei, three years old already, wears short black trousers instead of skirts. The first few times he was dressed this way, he would look over to us with a cocky expression as he bragged about being different, better, and more special than us four. I would become very mad before every time he did that, but now I just pull my tongue out at him or shrug. It infuriates him just a little bit to know that I don't care, as he is always begging for my and my sisters' attention, positive or negative.

Earlier this year, on his third birthday, Alexei was appointed Chief of the 43rd Tver Dragoon Regiment and the 262nd Salyan Reserve Regiment, as well as being enlisted in the 13th Alexandrian Dragoon Regimental lists. A deputation from the nobility of Samara also came to bring him gifts. He was so happy with himself that day, both annoyingly and adorably so. He couldn't stop talking about how he was a true Dragoon.

Sometimes, my spoiled little brother takes my sisters, our parents, or the nannies "hostage" with his screams until they do what he wants, but how could I get angry at him for more than a few minutes? Every morning he will rush to hug me as soon as he sees me and Tatiana, telling us in his expressive baby talk about how much he loves us both. I will squeeze him back tightly then, tousling his reddish curls. I would do anything for that kid.

These past couple of years I have been stressed at times due to the state of the country. I try to brush my worries away with jokes every time I ask my parents about this, and yet they still notice my concern. They always tell me not to tell my little sisters scary stories anymore, that little girls shouldn't have to agonize over such serious topics, but how could I not at times? I know that papa would never let anything too bad happen to the country, and even less to us. He knows what he is doing, and even more, he is God's anointed, but I have seen him trying to conceal his heaviest burdens from me during our occasional conversations in his office, and my mind can't help being filled with unnerving thoughts and questions.

What could be so wrong with the country to make even my smart and capable papa so stressed? Are the revolutionaries really that dangerous? What are they doing or planning to do? Could something as horrible as Bloody Sunday happen again? Could papa allow it to, all in order to defeat the revolutionaries? No, papa wouldn't, he wouldn't. But still, maybe that is the reason why he is so stressed, because finding the solutions that would keep most people safe without another tragedy is so very hard.

And to think that my poor baby brother will someday have to deal with all of this! As Alexei grows, will papa and mama protectively tell him not to worry or concern himself with such matters as they do with me? Somehow, I doubt that, which only makes me feel more insanely protective of him, perhaps even more than papa and mama. A few years ago, when I was a silly little girl, I told papa that I wished to become Tsarina one day, that I could do it and wanted to do it. I still want to do it now, but for a completely different reason, which is to relieve my poor baby brother from such a burden, because power isn't fun, it is only scary.

Unlike before, I realize perfectly well now that this will never happen. For me to inherit the throne, all of my eligible male relatives, including papa, Alyosha, Uncle Mimi, Uncle Sandro and his and Aunt Xenia's boys, and other distant cousins such as Oleg and Igor Konstantinovich, God forbid, would have to die.

For a long time now, it has reassured me to know that despite being held back from the throne by my gender, I can still stay in Russia to make sure that my baby brother will always have someone to count on once he begins his arduous task. I have also come to learn, however, that doing so may pose a challenge, as there are not many eligible young men of Russian descent. If my future husband is to be Russian, my parents say, he must be either a Grand Duke or at the very least the legitimate child of one.

I guess this means that I will have to marry Cousin Dmitri. He is always the first option that comes to my mind, and my sisters and I have fun playing outside in the Alexander Park with him sometimes. He is quite jolly! I am not too interested in the possibility of marrying him though. It is too evident, too obvious and lacking in wonder. Not like a fairytale. Not like Prince Boris of Bulgaria. He recently sent me a very beautiful gift, a bright gemstone.

Boris is only one year older than me, so he would play with me more often than Cousin Dmitri does. I don't know Prince Boris, or his Bulgaria, and I would hate to leave my beloved Russia, but the thought of loving someone enough to do so is so much more like a fairytale than simply marrying my friendly, almost brotherly cousin.

"Do you think he will still like me in ten years?" I look up from my book to ask Tatiana. She knows who I am referring to. These past few days, I have opened up to the idea of, and often even come to look forward to, marrying Prince Boris of Bulgaria.

"I think so", she replies, "I mean, the gemstone that he gave you is very pretty. Only someone truly in love could do that. I wish someone would give one to me."

"And I wish I could write more letters to my future husband", I say, imagining my future with him in that strange and foreign country. It is sad, happy, and scary at the same time. Good thing I won't be ready for marriage in a long time. "I haven't had the time though."

"Yeah, we wouldn't have time to write to Babushka and our aunts, uncles, and cousins then."

Mama looks up from her knitting for a moment. "Who are you talking about, girlies?" She asks.

"The prince who gave me my beautiful gemstone, mom!" I exclaim with a dreamy smile as I look up at the bright blue skies, imagining him.

Mama shakes her head with a smile and focuses again on her knitting.

I don't actually spend a lot of time picturing Boris in my mind, as I don't really care much for my future husband's looks. I am more interested in his personality, and sadly, I don't know much about that of the prince.

I know Nicholas better. He is one of the gallant military young men at our service, and he happens to have papa's same beautiful name. He is so chivalrous with me and my sisters! Whenever I encounter him, my belly feels as if it were filled with butterflies, and I like him even more than I like Boris.

Nicholas is even more of an impossible dream than Boris though. I already knew that when I told my mother about him: "I know that he is beneath me, mama, but I would like to marry him."

"Oh, I don't blame you, darling", mama replied with an amused smile, not sounding at all mad. "Nicholas is a handsome young man, very pleasant to see, and I am sure you two will make very good friends. Tell me more about him, dear", she continued, smirking complicitly, "why do you like him so much?"

Friends, only good friends. I wasn't satisfied with that answer, but I was glad to know that I could always gush with mama about him without having to hide anything.

My mind is brought back to the present and also away from the book when I hear Maria scream. My eight-year-old sister has fallen close to Tatiana, Anya, mama, and me.

"Oh, it is alright!" Tatiana rushes to comfort her, and mama, Anya, and I follow.

"My teeth are falling off!" Maria cries.

"What do you mean by that, darling?" Mama doesn't kneel before her, as doing so would be painful for her, but Tatiana, Anya, and I do. Anastasia and Alexei also approach, curious as to why our sister screamed.

"Look!" My sister points at one of her lower front teeth and then starts moving it back and forth with her fingers.

"You have a loose tooth!" Tatiana exclaims with a smile of delight. Fascinated, my six-year-old younger sister Anastasia and my little three-year-old brother Alexei both move their heads frantically in an adorable attempt to catch the best glimpse of it. Naturally, neither one of them has ever had a loose tooth yet.

"That is nothing to worry about, Mashka", I say, "Tatiana and I have missing teeth too, see?" We both smile at our little sister Maria with our mouths wide open in order to show her.

Tatiana and I are almost done losing our baby teeth, and the new ones are growing white, straight, and orderly, probably because we are constantly visited by dentists. I only have a couple of baby molars left.

"That is right, darling", mama adds, slightly pinching Maria's cheek, "you have nothing to fear. It is like I told you before, it is normal, and you will get a new tooth, prettier than the one before."

Mama told me and my sisters that our teeth would fall with anticipation, before any of them did, in order to prevent us from growing scared. A few days ago, mama revealed something similar to me for the same reason.

"Since you are almost twelve years old", she said, "I think it is time for you to know. She will probably take a couple of years to come, hopefully more, but I don't want you to be frightened when she does if it happens earlier than usual."

"Who, mama?" I asked.

"My sisters and I used to call her 'Madame Becker' after one of the staff ladies back in Darmstadt", she smiled at the memory. "She was mean and cruel to us children, always in a bad mood, just like the Madame Becker who will someday visit you for about a week every month."

Mama proceeded to tell me that someday, when I started the process of becoming a woman, blood would flow from my body every month, and my belly would hurt. She then advised me not to tell any of my sisters, as she thought that they were still too young for such a discussion.

I was just slightly frightened by the revelation, and only at first, but I knew that if I told Tatiana about it in an ominous enough way, I could have fun turning it into one of the many scary stories I often used, and still use, to spook her.

My plan didn't work though, because initially, Tatiana didn't believe me, and later on, she became curious rather than frightened and started asking me many questions I didn't know the answers to. To make matters worse, Maria had been secretly listening to our conversation, and unlike Tatiana, she did get scared, so she told mama all about what she had heard me say.

I love my little sister Maria, but she can be so annoying at times. She has begun randomly bursting into my and Tatiana's room and interrupting our more elaborate and grown-up pretend games and conversations when she should be playing the sillier games with simpler and more childish storylines along with Anastasia and Alexei, as she usually is. Our fat little bow-wow only wants to read and then talk about fairy tales or pretend to be one of the many princesses in the stories, now a mother to several little princes and princesses, whereas Tatiana and I prefer to play and talk about more real things. Maria doesn't like it when anything bad happens in our play-pretend games, but Tatiana and I enjoy defeating the evil witches and dangerous beasts! Maria loves repeating the exact same stories, whereas Tatiana and I like switching things up a bit.

Mama ended up scolding me for doing exactly the opposite of what she had asked me to do and scaring Maria as a consequence of that. I don't think it was fair of her to make such a huge fuss though. Maria learning about Madame Becker was an accident, and Tatiana is less than two years younger than me anyway.

"But it hurts, mama!" Maria pouts. She is still upset about her tooth, and the knowledge that it will grow back doesn't seem to reassure her.

Kiki approaches, bends over close to my sister, and suggests trying to take the tooth off quickly so that the pain stops. Anastasia doesn't bother to say anything. She suddenly grabs Maria's tooth and starts pulling it forward with tremendous force, causing Maria to shriek in even greater pain. The little Alexei watches the scene nearby with great interest.

"No! Anastasia! Stop!" Mama restrains my youngest sister's hands. "You are going to hurt your sister!" She exclaims with a stern voice, rare for her to use when scolding any of my two youngest siblings. "Everything at its own pace", she continues admonishing Anastasia, picking up Maria in order to soothe her and sounding slightly gentler, "you cannot force a tooth to fall any more than you can force a child to grow."

As mama takes Maria away, whispering comforting words into her ear, I smile at the memory of the times Tatiana and I pulled each other's loose teeth back and forth and competed to see who could lose theirs first. Certainly not what mama would have wanted.

Oo

While passing by the Ganko Archipelago, mama, Anya, my sisters, and I are having tea in the Standart's big dining room as a brass band plays when we suddenly feel a terrible push, an unexpected jolt shaking the vessel. It feels as if the yacht had jumped up in the air and then fallen down on the water again.

Mama, Anya, my sisters, and I cry out in horror as the yacht begins to heel over and the dishes on the stands around us and vases with flowers plummet to the floor and break into tiny pieces. My sisters and I rise from our seats and huddle together, trembling and weeping in fear.

Anya whimpers, the servants and musicians run around and scream, and mama rushes towards us and opens her arms wide to embrace us.

"Alexei!" She cries with horror, grabbing one of the maids by her black and white uniform dress. "Tell the sailors to look for him and bring him to the boats, please!"

My baby brother! I last saw him playing on deck with the ship's cat and her kittens. He is only ever consistently sweet and gentle with animals. I hope they find him soon! And there is water on the floor already, oh no! My heart is racing faster every minute, this is like a horrible nightmare!

"Are we going to die, mama?" Tatiana clings to our mother in terror as Maria and Anastasia keep screaming. Tears roll down my cheeks. It can't be true. It can't. I am not even twelve yet. I want to grow up and get married and do good things for the people, even if those people happen to be Romanian and not Russian. Please God!

My prayers seem to have been heard. With our friend Nicholas Sablin by his side, papa walks into the room in his dark blue sailor uniform, looking incredibly calm. I am actually in awe of how calm he seems to be. "We have struck a reef", he simply says. "Do not panic."

"Papa!" I sob, quickly rushing towards him. I give him a big hug, immediately feeling safer by doing so and feeling his strong arms hug me back tenderly.

"The children need to be taken to safety", Kiki says. "Follow me, the boats must be made ready."

"Let's go, girlies, quickly", mama pushes my three younger sisters forward towards the deck, following Nicholas Sablin's instructions. Anya and the other ladies, musicians, and staff members who were accompanying us during tea time or merely nearby follow them closely behind, and so do papa and I.

There is even more water on deck, and the level is rising quicker too. Sirens screech and sailors run about in obedience to commands from their officers. I cling to papa harder.

"Don't be afraid, little one", he tells me.

Without losing her composure, mama quickly gets my sisters to the boats and helps Kiki arrange for them and the maids to be lowered first.

"Go with your sisters, darling", papa pulls away, but I refuse to let go. "I have to save some important state papers and remain on board to the last in order to help the sailors."

"I want to stay with you!" I cry.

"Do not worry my dear, I will be fine, go with your sisters."

I reluctantly do as papa wants and climb onto the boat with my sisters and a couple of maids. As the boats are lowered, I hear mama ask Anya Vyrubova for help tearing the sheets off the beds in order to toss all valuables into them, but before they begin with this process, mama suddenly calls for Alyosha again with a voice full of anguish. Then I see it. The sailors are restless running from one place to another. They still haven't found my baby brother.

"Oh, no!" Tatiana sees it too.

"Where is Alyosha?" Maria weeps, and Anastasia, also in tears, starts calling for him, her brow full of worry: "Alyosha, Alyosha, come here!"

The boats have been lowered almost halfway through, but I can still see that our beloved Standart is sinking fast. It is so unbelievably awful.

Papa is running up and down the yacht, shouting orders for the whole crew to search for my brother. Mama too sounds beside herself with fear and horror.

The dreadful thought comes to me that my baby brother could be trapped somewhere under the deck, scared and about to drown. I let out a sob at the idea and then more at the devastating image that forms in my mind. He is so tiny. He is a poor baby who cries about tiny, insignificant things, so how much more upset must he be now? This is just like the time baby Dmitri drowned in the Sora River after the royal boat was hit by a wave. He was the eldest son of Ivan the Terrible, who actually would go on to have several more ill-fated boys, one of them named after the little Dmitri lost in the water. Then would come more Dmitris, the false Dmitris.

Through all the noise and rushing about, papa tries to remain calm, standing on deck and giving the necessary orders, but I can't avoid panicking. It is just so awful. I am going to miss Alexei so much, even his bad behavior. I am going to miss seeing him play and scream with the little pair and using my wits to make up games for them with Tatiana. And all of this after mama and papa prayed so much for him to Saint Seraphim! I just can't take it!

My sisters and I are looking down at the sea as motor boats head towards our sinking Standart from every direction when suddenly we hear the soothing voice of Andrei Derevenko, Alexei's robust "diadka"or sailor nanny.

"I have got him!" He exclaims, and I let out a loud sob of relief.

Tatiana crosses herself. "Our precious Alyosha is fine!" She comforts Maria and Anastasia, wiping their tears and kissing their foreheads gently. I do the same, also pulling them into a warm embrace as everyone onboard keeps climbing onto the boats, which continue to descend.

Mama is the last woman to leave the yacht, and papa the last man. It makes me admire my parents more than ever, as I know that they would never abandon their duty to our beloved Russia. They will always be the last on the boat.

Oo

Once everything is over and the danger is gone, I feel a bit silly for having been so scared. Princess Obolensky, one of mama's ladies, left the Standart a couple of minutes after my sisters and I did. She says that when she came up to papa, she noticed that he was holding his watch in his hand and bending down to look at the water-line.

"What are you doing?" The princess asked him.

"I must remain on board to the last", papa replied bravely, "and I am counting how many inches a minute the yacht is sinking in order to know how long we will stay afloat. I have calculated that there are still some twenty minutes."

Thanks to our loving God, as well as the watertight compartments and the measures taken by the commander, our beloved Standart did not fully sink, and the Ellekeinen, a passing Finnish boat, took me, my family, and our party on board, from where we were then moved to the cruiser Asia, happy that no one had suffered from anything but great discomfort and agitation.

My sisters and I are now in one of Asia's cabins with mama and her ladies, counting the belongings they managed to save by wrapping them in sheets. My baby brother has been put to bed. He was very calm the last time I saw him, as Deverenko had discovered him safe and sound, taken him in his arms, and rushed to the ship's bow relatively quickly.

"Mama, when can we go back to the Standart?" Maria asks.

"Some time will be needed to repair the hole, darling", mama replies. That truly sucks, but I am glad we will get to sail onboard our precious and happy yacht again.

Now that I think about it. What happened today wasn't so bad. "It was kind of exciting, wasn't it?" I ask my sisters and mother.

"In what way, darlings?" Mama frowns, looking quite skeptical.

"It is true!" Tatiana exclaims. "A real shipwreck!"

"Like in The Little Mermaid!" Maria follows.

"And in our games, Tanechka!" I excitedly recall. "Remember? Let's play shipwreck tonight before bed! You will be a princess, and I will be the mermaid saving you!"

"People could have gotten hurt, girlies!" Mama opens her eyes in dismay.

"I like it better in this ship", Anastasia comments.

"This crammed and grubby little place?" Mama asks in disbelief.

"Yes, mama! It is exciting to sleep close to all our friends!" Tanechka exclaims, and mama smiles at her whilst shaking her head. "Anya and all the others!"

"I find it beautiful, my girlies", she says, "that you find joy in simplicity. It is better that way, and who knows?" Mama shrugs. "Perhaps one day it will help you through rough days."

Oo

St. Petersburg. Mid-September.

Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev.

The whole living room starts clapping the moment I finish singing and playing a simple, slow song on the balalaika that Viktor gave me for my birthday. He has been teaching me how to play this instrument as well, as he used to do the same rather often back in his village. It is very, very fun. Hard at first to hit the right chords in time, but as easy as breathing now.

The clapping is loud and enthusiastic. I smile at my friends, my new family, happy to belong somewhere, happy to have a home. I still want my papa though. I still miss him, everyday. At times, I get secretly annoyed when anyone but my little sister tries to hug me, even with Iosif, even when I wake up screaming after a nightmare, because they are not him. They are kind, they are nice, and they love me, but they are not papa. It is so ungrateful of me, but I can't help feeling that way once in a while.

The world seems unreal without him sometimes, like a dream. I keep thinking that I will wake up and the news of his death will have been nothing but a nightmare. I miss papa so much that I have taken to counting the days till we are in the same place, which would be like 80 years, meaning 29,200 days. So long…

Heaven may not exist, but dead people have to be somewhere, don't they? There is something that they must all feel, even if it is just what everyone alive feels when they are sleeping. I am curious to know what papa is feeling.

I told Iosif about this one day, but he became very worried, so I have decided to keep these sorts of thoughts to myself from now on.

"This boy will be a great artist one day!" Sasha exclaims with a laugh, and turning to Viktor, he adds: "You did a great job teaching him, son."

"And imagine when he grows older", adds Mila with a smile. "The ladies will be all over him."

I giggle at that.

"Do you want me to teach you a song from Odessa?" Iosif then asks. "I can tell you the lyrics and Viktor can show you how to play it."

"Yes, please!" I nod.

I barely spend time with my uncle anymore. I come here with my sister to eat and spend the night as often as possible. Right now she is upstairs playing with the many toys our new friends have given us these past few weeks. Sometimes I spend entire nights playing with her, Iosif, and Igor and Gregory, the two boys we share a room with. Igor is fourteen, and Gregory is sixteen. We play mostly board and card games, as well as hide and seek, which is a simpler pastime that the little Sophia can understand better without getting confused and then frustrated. It is so much better to play that game in the dark! We always laugh so much whenever the seeker's footsteps approach, though instead of cracking up even more, I sometimes freak out and cry in fear like a baby when the lights of the room I am hiding are suddenly turned on. How silly of me, but it is what it is.

My sister and I don't live here in the house though, because sadly, every once in a while Uncle Ilya remembers that he is supposed to be taking care of us. He gets so mean whenever that happens. One time, he even dragged us away by the arms back to the apartment, leaving us sore and bruised only to abandon us during that same evening to drink. I have heard papa's friends mention that he barely spends time with them or contributes to the cause anymore, which is so disappointing to know. The thought that Uncle Ilya was at least working hard to help fulfill papa's dream used to soothe me weeks ago, but that seems not to be the case anymore, so what would papa think about his brother now?

Uncle Ilya is always drinking or crying, or drinking and crying, or saying mean things. Sometimes he drinks so much that he loses his mind and starts talking nonsense to himself, a truly strange thing that he can do for hours. If I weren't so angry at him all of the time, I would probably pity him.

On one occasion, coming back from the pub, Uncle Ilya frightened me and my sister most horribly. He began acting as if Aunt Maria and papa were there in the room with him and even talked to them in fearful whispers. For a moment, I truly wondered if papa's ghost was truly close to my uncle, talking to him, and if so, how papa felt about it, being a ghost and all. I wanted to see and hear papa too, to be a ghost with him, and have fun spooking people together. Iosif later told me that Uncle Ilya had likely just had hallucinations due to the alcohol though.

After Iosif and Viktor finish teaching me the Odessa song, a more upbeat tune, Sasha suggests continuing to charge at my loose tooth as everyone was doing yesterday.

My eighth birthday a month and a half ago would have been the best if papa had been with me. Iosif took me and Sophia to a cinema by the Nevsky Prospect, where we saw a very short but interesting film that showed many different cities in the world. Viktor and the pretty lady Anya were there too. I love seeing her beautiful face. My little sister was so excited to see the moving pictures! She couldn't stop pointing and saying: "Look, Dima, look!" It was so sweet!

The moving pictures were pretty impressive to me too. They looked like a magic mirror, a portal to the outside world! I wanted to walk through it and explore it all!

Anya revealed to me that she and her family had visited several of those cities, and she told me many interesting things about them. She is a medical student, and she does not live in the house with the other anarchists because although she sympathizes with their cause, she is not really one of them herself, and also because her wealthy family would disapprove of her love for Viktor. She explained this to me as we all walked back home, where a birthday cake from a very famous and fancy bakery awaited us.

The bread was made of dark chocolate, and so was the delicious filling inside, but the frosting outside was pink, yellow, and white and made of vanilla. The wooden box of many colors where the cake was being kept was also very pretty, painted like the facade of an elegant building, cornices and all.

Sophia's mouth and cheeks ended up amusingly messy from the chocolate and frosting, and when I first took a bite of that fantastically delicious cake, I discovered that I had a loose tooth! The first one ever!

Since then, everyone has gotten a chance to try pulling my tooth out. Amidst many chuckles and giggles, Iosif and the other men formulated a plan and used a string to tie my loose tooth to the handle of the front door, which they then closed. At first we thought that the plan had worked, but then when everyone came to take a closer look, we realized that the string had snapped and that my tooth had remained in place.

Mila also baked hard bread for me once, but this didn't work either.

It has been painful, but not even nearly as much as what they did to me back in the orphanage. Having my tooth pulled has also been so fun that I always do my best to hide the discomfort. I wouldn't want the fun to stop!

I don't want to be whiny either. I cry too much already as it is and I want them to see that I am brave and strong, and that I will fight for what papa stood up for with all of my being once I am a big boy. That is why I try to hide my pain whenever my new friends show concern, Mila most of all. I want them to be proud of me… now that papa can't.

My friends fail to get rid of my tooth today too, so after laughing for minutes, we sit down on the couches and chairs of the living room, where Iosif starts reading a newspaper to us.

They are still making articles about the shipwreck that almost killed the Romanovs days ago.

"That again?!" I exclaim. "It is getting boring!"

Viktor laughs out loud as he claps three times. "That is right!" He points at me with a grin. "That is what I am talking about!"

Several others present laugh too, and none more than Sasha. "It would be getting boring even if the fuckers had all died", he looks around at the people in the room, smiling, nodding, and seemingly proud of himself for his brutally honest remark, "this is beyond that. The Romanovs and the oh-so-fascinating news about them!" He exclaims with evident irony as he lifts the newspaper up in the air. "The papers are endeavoring to make the public care about the least of their tiny rich people's problems while the deaths of the poor happen daily and remain unannounced!" He drops the papers on the coffee table using more force than necessary. "Nobody cares about them! The Tsar and his minions don't want us noticing them !" Sasha finishes, putting emphasis on the last word while staring at me.

"Papa's death did not appear in the newspapers", I point out with a deep scowl of indignation, nodding in agreement. Sasha and Volodya have taught me a lot about what the rich think of the poor, that we deserve our suffering, that we don't have a right to fight back. I hate that so much!

"Of course it didn't, child!" Sasha approaches, still pointing at me with his finger. "You are a smart cookie, so you notice", he gives my shoulder a little squeeze. "Your father was a commoner, a poor one at that, who broke the law as well. High society doesn't care about him, few do", he shakes his head spitefully, "but you don't need to care about that here with us, Dmitri. Here we know how much worth your father truly had, how much worth you and your sister have, you understand that, right?"

I smile at that, feeling myself tear up at the memory of papa. I will fulfill your dream, dad, I promise.

"Here we know that the only lives that don't matter are those of the pampered imperial brats, am I right?" Viktor jokes, and two or three people chuckle.

"I vote that they should have drowned", Volodya adds with a smile.

"One less problem for us", Mila grins, "but we would still have a long line of dynasts left to get rid of, Sasha, so I am afraid that is not saying much."

More chuckles.

Their words take me by surprise, and so does their incessant laughter. Because, to be honest it is not even that funny, and they are… they are just being so… being so… so… mean . My little sister is just a tiny bit older than the baby heir, and I am Grand Duchess Maria's age. Why are they saying those ugly things? Papa would never . They almost sound like God in those Bible stories when He is in a bad mood and wants to kill everyone because some people are bad.

I don't want to make a huge fuss about it though. These people are my best friends, they were papa's friends, and I don't want to fight, because they are right. No one cared for papa like they do. No one else cares for me and Sonya. Everyone back in the orphanage said horrible things about us, it hurts my heart to remember, they hurt us, they… but not these people. I want them to like me. I want Sasha and Volodya to think that I understand all of those things they read to me about.

I remain quiet and swallow my feelings, hoping that they didn't notice me frown for a moment.

Oo

I spend the night cuddling with my sister, dreaming of papa as a ghost, which is not really a nightmare. I talk to him, and he gives me a long, warm hug!

Uncle Ilya comes for us very early in the morning after breakfast, surprisingly sober and remorseful. He talks to Viktor and bribes us with promises of new toys in order to have us spend some time with him today. Sophia accepts, as she wants a doll with black hair, the only color missing. The bid doesn't work with me though. Uncle Ilya is only getting worse and I am tired of him.

It is only when he has left that I realize that the headquarters are pretty much empty today, and that only Viktor is here in the house. He is the one who made me and my sister breakfast, the one who told us to wash and dress.

"Where is everyone, Viktor?" I ask, handing him over a plate. He is washing the dishes we just used for breakfast, and I am drying them, standing on a wooden stool next to him.

"Don't you remember, little man?" He raises an eyebrow in a way that makes him look accusing. I shake my head quickly, looking down in slight shame. "They are applying the finishing touches to the plan we have been working on this entire week."

"The bank robbery!" My eyes grow wide.

"That is right", Viktor smiles and nods, handing over the last plate for me to dry.

"Today?!" I hop off the stool as soon as I finish and then follow Viktor around the kitchen.

I can't believe that I didn't remember. What are my friends going to say about me now? I have helped them distribute pamphlets among the factory workers along with Igor and Gregory, who have also introduced me to scouting, which is when you look around a place and tell everyone what you have seen, when, and who. We have a lot of fun doing so together sometimes, and I have gotten to know the city better that way. There are many places throughout St. Petersburg that I can go to now alone without getting lost.

Iosif is even teaching me how to make bombs, which is a very interesting process. Before meeting papa's friends, I never knew that bombs are like bags carrying explosive charges, meaning that sort of dark dust which is always piled up on the table. The bag then has to be fused to detonate, and this can happen in many different ways depending on how the bomb is designed.

But how can anything I have been doing to help papa's cause matter now when I forgot that today was the day? Will they allow me to keep helping? Or will they say that I am too immature for such matters?

"It is indeed today, little man", Viktor opens the fridge and, to my great delight and surprise, takes out a cake box from the same bakery that made my recent birthday one of the best ever. My worries are soon forgotten.

I sit next to him on the couch and immediately try to open the box, only to be brutally stopped with a fast slap to the hand. I open my eyes wide in fear as I stroke my hand with the other one in order to soothe the pain. What is this? Is he mad that I forgot after all? Is the cake not for us to share? Oh, I don't want a grown-up being mad at me again! Uncle Ilya just grumbles when he is, but what if Viktor hits me again?

"Sorry, Dima, that was harder than I intended", Viktor apologizes, smiling, so I feel safe to sigh in relief before smiling back. "This particular cake is not for us", he explains, "but don't worry, I have several more hidden in the kitchen for all of us to share."

"Several?" I beam. "Really? And who is this cake for?"

"Really, really", Viktor squeezes my shoulder lightly and then points his index finger at me, "but first I have a very, very important task for you", he pokes my chest, but I am so interested in what he is saying that I hardly feel any pain.

"A task?" I tilt my head in surprise. Oh, I am so nervous! I need to do good!

"A secret task", he nods, staring at me intensely with his finger still pointed at me, "crucial in fact, though the others aren't aware of it, the most important job of them all. You ought to perform this task exactly as I will instruct you to, otherwise our plan to rob the bank could fail. Do you understand?"

I nod quickly, and many, many times, my eyes open wide. I then remain quiet, speechless as I do my best to take in every word.

Viktor says that there is a message inside the box meant for the chief of the police department closest to the bank. A message so insulting for any policeman's eyes to read that it will surely serve as a distraction for the whole precinct, drawing some attention away from the robbery that shall be taking place mere blocks from there.

"What is it?" I ask, trying to open the box again. "What is the message?" I can not imagine what words could possibly make the police distracted enough to ignore a robbery.

Viktor restraints my arms firmly. "I will tell you what the message is once the task is completed."

Oh, but that will take so long!

"For now, do as I say, and do not open the box", he continues. "The entire plan will be foiled if you do, all of our hard work for your father's cause, gone, just like that, and you wouldn't want that, would you?" I shake my head fiercely, and after that, he goes on. "Good, because yours is the most important job of all."

"It is?!" I try not to sound too scared.

Viktor simply nods. "You are going to have to be very, very brave."

"Why?" I can not help but panic.

Igor and Gregory suddenly burst through the door, sweating more than they do whenever they play football. They are probably back from scouting the bank.

"Everything is ready", Igor pants.

"We have hidden the weapons and told the others to take positions", Gregory follows. "They are only waiting for your signal and for the…"

"Thank you, Gregory", Viktor interrupts him rather abruptly. "And you too, Igor, you two can go back to Mila's house now, I still need to explain to Dmitri what he has to do in detail."

"Iosif is asking if we can go ahead and start now, since everything is already prepared", Igor adds.

"Tell him not to move a finger", Viktor replies firmly. "Everything should start at the exact same hour we planned, if not a few minutes later. He will soon see why. We have an ace up our sleeve to weaken and distract the police."

Oo

Viktor was telling the truth when he said that I would need to be very brave. He left me alone a couple of blocks away from the police station, and now I can't see him anymore. Where did he hide? He must be taking care of me from somewhere, right? At least I hope so.

The policemen coming in and out of the building scare me. They look like the men who beat up papa. They dress like them and walk around like them. With their white uniform shirts, their caps, and their shiny black boots and loose pants. The horrible memory invades my mind for minutes, and I can barely shake it off without my eyes watering.

The precinct is a three-story construction of yellow walls and white columns and window frames. The thought of going inside scares me. What if one of the policemen opens the box and reads what is inside before I can escape? I don't want them to hurt me.

For moments I feel tempted to stay seated on this bench, to open the painted paperboard box, try to read the secret message, and eat the cake… that delicious cake. I grab the top of the container with the intention of opening it at some point… well, twice or thrice, or four times, but the memory of Viktor's warnings always stops me. I cannot ruin everything and let my friends down, I cannot. This, whatever it could be, is important, and it depends on me. And besides, Viktor must be watching me somewhere close by. He wouldn't just leave me! And it would be so embarrassing to fail in front of him!

I grab the box, stand up, and sigh.

Be brave, be brave like papa.

I approach the precinct slowly, hesitantly, the policemen and even the regular people passing by making my heart stop and my eyes fill with tears every few seconds. It is as if they knew…

Ugh, just enter the building and tell someone that you have a package for the chief, Dmitri, it is not that hard! Like Viktor told you!

"You are a small child, as well as an adorable fellow", he said with a mischievous smirk before dropping me off, "they are never going to suspect you of being up to something."

Oh, I hope he is right! He has to be! My friend wouldn't make me do something dangerous, right? Because I don't want to go to Siberia like papa!

Viktor did tell me to keep the nature of my task a secret from the others though, at least until it is completed… but why…? Oh . What if this is dangerous? What if…?

Stop! Keep it together!

As I begin climbing up the stairs leading to the main entrance of the building, I manage to catch a good glimpse of its inside. There are several offices at the back, inside of which a few officers behind desks read and write wordy-looking documents with the help of glasses, pens, and typewriters. I can see them through the big glass windows that separate the offices from the reception area, where a lady talks to the newcomers behind a counter. She is older than Aunt Maria was when she died, but young enough not to have white hair yet.

There is a long line to speak to this lady. Lots of different people have come to do so. A humble old lady, a well-dressed gentleman with a top hat, and a woman and her baby.

A bald man wearing a white apron is talking to the woman behind the counter now. He is grumbling about a couple of young thieves who always steal from his bakery.

"When are you going to finish talking?!" The old lady complains. "You need to find my bag! That naughty boy took it and ran off!"

"What is your business here?" The question makes me jump. I hadn't realized that I had already walked through the gate.

"Ummm…" I look up to see who asked me the question and almost sigh in relief upon realizing that he is barely older than me, around the age my brother Andrei was when he died.

"Is that for Mr. Zhabin?" He points at the box.

"Who?" I ask, but the boy doesn't reply. He just grabs the package's tag and reads it.

"Yeah, Mr. Zhabin it is… huh", he frowns. "I didn't know he was expecting a parcel today."

Mr. Zhabin…? Oh! He must be the chief! My friend Viktor is so smart! He thought of everything! I hadn't actually read the tag. The label didn't really have that many words, so it wouldn't have been exceedingly hard. My reading abilities have improved since I left the orphanage after all. It is still such a chore though… so I don't actively go around reading unless I have no other choice.

"Yes!" I exclaim. "The cake is for him! Where do I leave it?"

"Come with me", the boy grabs the box, and I allow him to do so. I am so relieved! I didn't know this would turn out to be so easy! "Us servants and those delivering packages are usually only allowed to enter through the backdoor", he moves forward, and I follow him as we pass through the reception, "so remember that next time."

"Are you a servant here?" I ask him.

"Well, not exactly here. Most of the time, you will find me somewhere else, traveling through the city, running errands, delivering packages, letters, and short messages for Mr. Zhabin and the other officers."

"That sounds fun!" I exclaim. "Do you know all of St. Petersburg?"

"A huge portion of it", he nods, seemingly proud of himself. "Perks of being a delivery boy."

"Is the pay any good?"

"Not really", he shrugs, "but I hope someday I can save enough to buy a cart and sell some trinkets."

"Oh, I wanted to be an iceman before, but I would love to be a delivery boy like you!" I gush impulsively, and I almost feel embarrassed immediately after, but the boy just smiles, replacing all of my fears with hope and excitement for the future. "I am not actually a servant myself, at least not yet. Could you get me a job around here? Not with the police though…" I couldn't ever work for the Tsar's henchmen. Papa wouldn't like that.

"I can try", the boy laughs. "What is your name, by the way?"

"Dmitri, and yours?"

"Andrei", he replies… like my brother! I suddenly miss him so much! The Andrei walking in front of me is nice like my brother also was, nothing like those cruel bullies from the orphanage.

We arrive at the counter, and the woman behind it greets us with a smile.

"Aww", she gushes, looking down at me, "who is your new little friend, Andrei?"

"Has Mr. Zhabin arrived yet, Sonya?" Andrei asks, ignoring or at least forgetting to answer her question, and I realize that the woman has the same name as my little sister too!

"Not yet, Andryusha", Sonya replies, "why?"

"Dmitri over here has a package for him", he looks in my direction.

"Andrei, dear, you know the rules", she shakes her head. "No parcels unless Mr. Zhabin has explicitly stated that he is expecting one."

"Oh, well, I just assumed that since the tag has his name…"

"No", she shakes her head and gives Andrei the box back. "You will have to tell your little friend to come back later." Sonya gives me a sad smile.

"No!" I blurt out without thinking. What am I going to do now? The plan will be ruined if I don't act! "Please no, miss Sonya", I beg her, putting my hands together in pleading. "My uncle ordered this cake just for Mr. Zhabin as a gift of gratitude", I lie, coming up with more details as I speak. "The precinct captain caught the thief who had robbed his house, you see, and my uncle was so exited to express his gratitude!" Sonya looks at me for a moment with what I hope is pity, and I pout in the hopes of making that feeling inside her grow stronger.

"Alright", she sighs, staring down at Andrei sternly before taking the box back from him. "But only because your little friend seems harmless, my dear, you know the rules are there as safety measures."

Andrei turns to look at me. "You can go if you want, we will deliver your uncle's gift to Mr. Zhabin."

"Oh", I open my eyes in surprise. It worked. "Alright…"

I turn towards the door, but before actually moving for it, I realize that I will not be able to see the policeman's reaction to the note if I leave. I know that Viktor said I should leave as soon as the box is delivered, but I cannot contain my curiosity. What will the policeman's reaction be when he reads that note?

Once again, using the tiniest voice along with the sweetest tone and the adorableness of my big brown eyes, I convince Sonya to let me stay just to make sure Mr. Zhabin receives his cake.

"Uncle Iosif wanted me to describe his reaction to the gift", I say.

"Alright", she sighs, and turning to Andrei, adds: "But watch over him, dear."

Andrei and I spend some time at the back of the waiting room, chatting and listening as the people arriving report the crimes they have witnessed to Sonya, who writes everything down and promises to pass the information on to the officers.

"Let's take a bite", my new friend suddenly whispers in my ear as we sit side by side. "Just a small bite, come on, and you run off as soon as Mr. Zhabin notices that there is something wrong with the cake." He lets out a series of giggles.

I am about to say yes when I remember what Viktor told me, that something bad will happen if the box is opened… but what? I want to listen to him, but nothing makes sense.

"Mm… I am not so sure about that, Andrei", I decide to say, "if we open that box and start eating even a little, there will be no cake left in an hour."

"Come on", he stands up and smirks, "don't be a chicken."

I follow him as he heads for the cake box, and a strange fear starts creeping in. Something bad is going to happen, I was warned… but what? What that something Viktor said just to scare me? A note, it is just a note, and the cake must be so delicious.

"What do we have here?" Andrei inspects the package, taking advantage of the fact that Sonya is distracted, as she is listening to the complaint of the woman with the baby. "Oh! This is my favorite bakery!"

"Andrei, I really think we shouldn't touch that", I warn him instead of revealing the fact that I share his fondness for those cakes, as I might have done at any other time.

"Come on, just a few fingers of fondant", he toys with the lid of the box, slightly moving it up and down without actually opening it.

"It is not for us", I insist, but my insistence falls on deaf ears. He is still toying with the lid and what binds it to the top of the box, which he is clearly still trying to open. It is only a matter of time. Something bad is going to happen, but if I cry out, I will only draw attention to myself, attention from the same type of men who beat my papa so horribly.

I start stepping away slowly. What is going to happen now? I know it is bad, but what ? I feel as if I already knew, but my mind kept blocking the answer.

A policeman tries to stop me as I walk through the front gate again. He is saying something about going through the back, but I am more scared of Viktor's warning than I am of him now.

He and his fellow cops may beat me, but that box...

I start walking down the stairs quicker, more like running down the stairs.

"Hey!" A policeman yells. "Why are you running?" I look back without slowing down. He and two more cops are chasing after me, but they are only the second reason why my heart is beating wildly.

That black powder put inside of those things… the hours listening to papa's friends talk about the way they work. They are harmless until someone or something causes them to detonate, and if Andrei manages to open this one…

"Stop!" Another policeman shouts. "I said…!"

Oo

I had already deduced that there would be a blast, that a deafening sound would hurt my ears, that I would fall, but all of that happened so fast that I was still surprised to be right. One moment I was running as fast as I could, escaping the building and my father's tormentors dwelling inside or chasing after me, and the next instant I was being pushed to the ground by a powerful wind… no, a powerful shockwave. That is the word papa's friends use when talking about the effects of the bombs they make.

My palms and knees burn, they burn like fire. My eyes fill with tears just cause they hurt so badly. I must have landed on them.

I straighten up slowly and start inspecting myself in search of injuries, worried about what I may find. What if they are serious? What if I am dying?!

I try not to bend my sore legs too much, but I fail to keep the pain from growing stronger. I find blood on my hands and knees from deep gashes and shattered skin, the sight of which makes me burst into tears of fear and pain.

I want my papa. Papa would kiss my wounds better, and Aunt Maria would mend my ripped pants, and all would be fine, and my brother Andrei... Andrei!

I look back at the building, a burning building now… no! I stand up and approach, ignoring the pain. There are no windows left. Their glass has all been blown away and now lies shattered on the ground. I touch my face and realize that one of the flying shards has grazed the side of my left eyebrow, drawing blood.

"Andrei, Andrei!" I cry, but screams and cries of agony coming from the inside of the police station are all I get in reply.

I squint my eyes to look inside, something hard to do with all of the smoke coming out. The little I do manage to get a glimpse of is so ghastly and sickening that I immediately turn my head around in a fit of sobs.

Arms lying on the red floor. Arms and legs. But whose? It is just arms and legs. And a head, too small to be Andrei's. Just bloody arms and legs lying so terribly still around the broken furniture. And other things that should be inside, not lying outside. And red. Bloody like the snow during Bloody Sunday, like Bloody Sunday, Bloody Sunday, like the corpses and the faces and the entrails… even the screams sound the same. Some of them are mine too. I can't stop screaming. It is too horrible, too horrible. I want to get away from this place. I want papa.

The policemen who were chasing after me a moment ago are closer to the building than I am, staggering around in shock and covering their mouths and noses with their forearms. One of them is even bold enough to enter the precinct, a strong, brown haired fellow with a twirled mustache and no beard. Has he lost his mind?!

I stand there, unable to move a single part of my body, speechless, but often letting out whimpers of pain and dread. Something like this can't be happening again. This has to be another nightmare. More and more tears roll down from my eyes.

When the fearless policeman comes out, he does so carrying an unconscious man and an injured woman on his back, and dragging a legless woman by the arm, her only arm. She is completely covered in blood.

At first I don't understand why she is not screaming, but then I notice that her light blue eyes are turning black, black like the eyes belonging to the corpses lying before the Tsar's palace that dreadful day.

"You are out of your mind, Alexander!" One of the policemen who stayed outside exclaims.

"You could have died!" Another one follows.

"Call the firefighters, Boris!" Alexander ignores the two other cops and starts working on saving the lives of the three people he pulled out of the building. "Doctors too!" One of the men, I am guessing Boris, runs away to do as he was told and ask for help.

"Is there anyone else in there?" The remaining policeman asks.

"No one who will make it", Alexander replies somberly, closing the eyes of the dead, legless woman. "Or that I can save, there are blocked offices, and the stairs are also blocked, we need help."

Andrei was right there at the reception, which can only mean one thing. He is dead. He is dead. He and everyone else I saw inside. I start having trouble breathing as I watch Alexander and the other cop do their best to save the remaining two injured people.

Part of me wants to help them, but I still fail to move, and as I stand there, crying and watching as more and more people gather around us carrying buckets of water, something manages to pull me back to reality.

"Such horror!" A woman cries. A few others rush to aid the wounded.

"Those criminals again!" A man exclaims. "They have their bloody parliment, when is this going to end?!"

"Does anyone have any information as to who might be responsible?" I hear a new policeman ask a neighbor. He must be from another precinct, because I hadn't seen him before. "Did you see anything strange before the explosion occurred?"

He is talking about me . I am responsible. I put the bomb there. I killed all of those people!

My legs seem to wake up, and I take off running. I run as fast as I can.

"You!" I look back only for a brief second to see the new cop point at me.

"He left the station just before the blast!" Alexander exclaims. "Detain him! Don't let him escape!"

I quickly pick up my father's English cap, which had flown away during the explosion, and start running faster, dodging the people on the sidewalks and the horse drawn ambulances heading towards the damaged building.

I look back again. Two policemen are following me. They are going to kill me! Papa didn't do anything bad and yet they hurt him! They hurt him until he was bleeding and in pain! What are they going to do to me?! How much worse?! Will it hurt as much as what Father Andrei did? More badly? Because I killed people. I am an actual murderer, cursed to live as an outlaw forever, chased by these cops wherever I go, never to see my baby sister again, and who will take care of her? I will never be something greater than I am now like papa wanted me to.

The thought makes me sob even harder. I need to find my friends. They are already outlaws. They won't mind, unless...

Oh, I must have done something terribly wrong! I must have failed to follow Viktor's instructions properly or something, all when he put so much trust in me! Enough to hide my mission from the others! What are they going to do when they find out what happened?

I shake those thoughts away. I must find them. If they can't forgive me, no one will.

I run towards the bank that they must be in the process of robbing right now. That is where they should be.

I know I should not bring attention to what they are doing, that causing a distraction among the local police force was part of my mission, but I am too scared to be alone without them anywhere, and the bank is the only place I know many of them will be today.

Who knows? Maybe I can lose these cops too. Last time I looked back, Alexander already had trouble breathing.

I devise a plan and go through an open street marketplace, moving my small and agile body in zig zag and forcing the much bigger and clumsy men behind to constantly switch directions in order to dodge the fruit, bread, and vegetable stands.

It slows them down, a lot, enough for me to lose sight of them.

Oo

When I arrive at the bank, the first thing I hear is yelling and screaming, and the second thing is a gunshot. I cover my ears. Not again.

"I said, be quiet, damnit!" Someone yells. "Be quiet and no one else has to get hurt!" The screaming ceases, replaced by pitiful whimpers.

I recognize that voice, but I had never heard it being used in such a way, as if it had been stolen by a witch and given to someone else.

The bank has a big, wide window, and as I approach, what I see through the glass makes me doubt my own sight for an instant.

Iosif's right arm is wrapped tightly around a young woman's waist, and he is using his other hand to press a revolver against the side of her head.

The dozen or so people standing before them look awfully scared. Rich and relatively modest alike, they all have their hands up in the air, as if they were surrendering, or about to be arrested. There are children among them, crying in the arms of their mothers. A little girl, no older than Sophia, is weeping in the arms of her father though, crying for her mother.

"It is alright", the man tells his daughter, "mommy is fine, she is just playing a little game with the gentleman over there."

The only policemen in sight are those lying dead on the ground, and behind Iosif, I catch sight of several of my other friends hurriedly moving back and forth across the bank, taking the money from the vault in big brown sacks.

"Hurry up!" Iosif yells at them. Again that foreign, horrifying voice, but not as horrifying as what I hear next.

"Tell us how to open the other vault or we will have to open the head of someone in the audience instead", Viktor snarls as he pushes a skinny man forward by poking him on the back with a gun.

The half-bald man wears glasses, and he is dressed in black suit with white shirt under. He is blubbering and shaking like a leaf. He is frail.

My stomach twists in fear at the thought of walking in to help with the robbery. Papa's friends are being so very mean, and what if they start being mean to me too if I interrupt what they are doing? What if they start talking to me the way that the wardens did before beating us? What if they do beat me?

I start sobbing louder than ever. It is so silly for me to have these stupid fears. They are on my team, my new family, they were papa's team... but papa... papa is not like that... I can't see papa...

Iosif suddenly looks in my direction, and with his arm still firmly wrapped around the hostage woman, his eyes open wide in recognition. My heart stops, and I immediately step back, panting and sniveling. He wouldn't hurt me, would he?

Concern contorts my friend's face instead of anger, but instead of sighing in relief, I frown at him before running away, feeling betrayed without knowing specifically why.

Oo

Stupid, silly boy, I tell myself as I wander through the streets, wiping away my tears and feeling slightly calmer after having had a lot of time to think and clear my head.

They are going to let everyone go as soon as they have the money, and then they will use that much needed money to feed the poor and keep fighting against the Tsar.

Perhaps this is why they don't let little boys help too much, we are all crybabies who get scared easily. Maybe that is why Uncle Ilya and papa didn't want me around all the action.

And yet... what Viktor asked me to do… I shiver in horror at the thought, but it did its job. There was not a single cop anywhere close to the bank, it served as a distraction, but all of those people... Andrei. I must have done something wrong.

Maybe I should have made sure that the box was opened with only cops around... but how? It seems impossible. Maybe fidgeting with the lid did something to the bomb, made the explosion stronger than it would otherwise have been.

Something, something must have happened.

Oh, Father Boris would hate me if he knew! Would he believe me if I told him that I didn't know that there was a bomb inside the cake?

I do not fully like the priest, but I appreciate the fact that he doesn't hate me, I always have. I am a murderer now though, so he is bound to hate me like Father Andrei does, and the idea makes me sad.

An even more depressing thought occurs to me. Maybe papa would have hated me too. He always cursed murderers.

"There you are, you little demon!" I hear a voice behind me exclaim, and before I can speed up or do anything about it, a pair of strong arms are picking me up and covering my mouth. "We have been looking for you for over half an hour!"

Oo

I had slowed the two policemen down, but they had never stopped following my tracks. The two of them took me to a coffee shop and asked for a table for three before ordering coffee for themselves and tea for me.

I still don't know what we are doing here. I am still waiting for the first blow. I fear both of them so badly that I can't help but shake uncontrollably at the sight of them, so I keep my head low as I sit before the two at the round table. I already knew Alexander's name. He is the one who entered the burning building and saved the survivors. The other one is a bigger, taller fellow with a light blond beard whose name I learn when Alexander calls him "Fyodor." He is the one who picked me up and carried me here.

As soon as the coffee and tea arrives, Alexander takes a sip from his cup almost elegantly and then leans forward. "So, boy, first things first, what is your name?"

"Why did you do it?!" Fyodor barks, causing me to burst into tears. "Who made you?!"

I just sob, completely unable to reply.

"Look what you did, Fyodor!" Alexander exclaims, pointing his hand at me but staring at the other cop accusingly. "Look what you have done!" He focuses on me again, but the tears in my eyes barely allow me to see him. "Child, I want you, no, I need you to understand that you are not in trouble."

I look up, frightened and confused. Is this a trick to make me say that I did it? What will he do to me when I say it?!

"But people have been killed", Alexander continues, "you brought a bomb to that building, which upon detonation killed dozens of people, little children like you among them. You know killing is wrong, right?"

I can only sob harder in response at the mere reminder. The awful things I saw. Today, and Bloody Sunday, and Andrei... poor Andrei, and the lady with the baby, and Sonya. I am such a monster... I can't breathe.

"It is, not, fair!" I lament loudly amidst pants for air, continuing to sob right after. I try to wipe my tears pathetically, but more and more come. It truly isn't fair.

Alexander, Fyodor, and other policemen kill people all the time without getting beaten and taken to jail like my papa, and, and... something must have gone wrong... Viktor wouldn't... but he and the others are so mean and...

"What is not fair?!" Fyodor demands with a loud, mean voice, making me flinch.

"Don't listen to him, boy", Alexander says, "focus on me, what isn't fair?"

"I didn't mean to..." I sniffle.

"Oh, dear, of course you didn't", the policeman's gentle tone upsets and confuses me. He is wearing the same uniform as those two men who hurt papa. I hate him so much! And yet I can't stop talking, I feel like I might burst otherwise, I need to say it out loud!

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone!" I cry, still rubbing my eyes. I didn't mean to, I truly didn't. "And he must have meant to kill only cops, not people!"

"Who?!" Fyodor growls, rising from his chair and slamming his fist against the table. "Who gave you the bomb, you little shit?!" He screams. "Who?! Where are they?! I demand names and addresses!"

Drink spills from my cup from how hard he slams his fist against the table again, and I can't help but scream in terror.

"Fyodor, enough!" Alexander scolds him. "Let us all cool down and drink."

The two of them keep drinking their coffee in silence, and scared of what they might do otherwise, I drink from my cup of tea without much pleasure, my stomach turning with every sip.

When Alexander finishes his coffee, he lays his forearms on the table and leans closer. "Now, boy, your name please, your full name."

"Dmitri", I reply, not wanting Fyodor to scream at me again, or worse. "Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev."

"Alright, Dmitri, I must again emphasize that you are not in trouble with the law."

"At least not in serious trouble", Fyodor adds, for once not sounding as if he might love to punch me any second now.

"Once we are done here, we will simply need to call your parents and have a serious conversation with them", Alexander explains.

My lip starts trembling and my eyes fill with tears at that, so I lower my chin and shake my head, letting out a quiet sob. Saying that they are both dead out loud would be too painful, too recent, especially with papa.

Alexander seems to get the message. "No? A close family member then, perhaps?"

"Uncle Ilya is always drunk", I spit out resentfully before realizing what I have done, which is give out a name to this man who means harm, "I doubt he would understand your talk."

"Well", Fyodor seems almost glad, "in that case, I guess we will need to find a proper institution for a naughty little boy such as yourself", he points at me with a smirk, "a home for troubled youth."

I feel shivers run down my spine. I feel the cane hit my skin, pierce it. I almost cry out an "Ouch!" out loud, but all I do is shake my head frantically and open my teary eyes wide.

I cannot go there. If they treat normal children little better than they treated me at that horrid orphanage, how much worse will one for murderous children be?

"It won't be nearly as bad as regular prison or exile would be", Alexander explains, probably trying to sound soothing, which he is not. "You are going to meet many children your own age with similar experiences. You will receive an education to support yourself and be able to leave once you are old enough."

That sounds an awful lot like an orphanage.

"No", I whisper. No, that sounds exactly like an orphanage, and I would rather die than go back there.

"It is one option, Dmitri", Alexander insists, looking at me with sad eyes. "We might yet find distant relatives to take care of you, or else I am sure we can figure something out, what works best for you. As I said, you are probably not in serious trouble with the law, few courts would find you guilty…"

"But we do need answers", Fyodor objects.

"We need answers", Alexander nods in agreement as he looks at the other man. "But before that, Dmitri", he turns to me again, "I need you to understand that we are not your enemies, we do not blame you for what happened. You were manipulated and used by much more cunning and experienced adults, adults with ill intentions, who should have known better. None of that was your fault. You did not kill those people."

I did not?

I let out a loud sob and then some more despite my best attempts not to. I hate myself for finding so much comfort in those words, but it is too much relief, so much.

"Someone did kill them though", Alexander continues, "someone murdered those people and used your youth and your innocence to do their dirty work."

No, no, no… they wouldn't, they wouldn't. They are my friends, papa's friends. They love me. Without them I won't have a home. The hostages will be set free once they have the money, and it was only Viktor, our secret, and what happened must have been an accident, my fault…

My eyes move wildly from Alexander to Viktor and back. I keep weeping. I start having trouble breathing again.

I can't get my friends in trouble! I can't say anything more to these men with those awful uniforms, the same ones that those monsters who beat papa were wearing.

"If we don't get them, dozens of more innocent people could suffer the same fate they did today", Fyodor finishes.

My stomach turns. Those lone severed arms... no, no, no, Viktor wouldn't purposefully do that. He wouldn't.

"He told me that it was just a message..." I whimper with a tiny voice. "I didn't know there was a bomb in there until… until…"

"He manipulated you", Alexander seems to read my thoughts.

"No…" I shake my head, still weeping, but part of me suspects that it is so. Why then keep my mission a secret from the others? But again, what I saw the others do… Iosif's voice, it sounded so different today. I feel sick.

"Tell us what his name is, Dmitri", Alexander presses on. "Help us find who is responsible and stop him from hurting anyone else."

"You hurt people!" I cry, frowning at the two policemen and their ugly uniforms.

"Listen up, you brat!" Fyodor slams his palm against the table before pointing a finger at me. "If you don't tell us who planned the attack, the blood of their next victims will be on your pretty little hands, whatever your wretched friends decide to do to the next unfortunate bystander will be your fault and yours alone!"

What he just said is so awful, so horrendous, and I am so scared of it being true that I can do nothing but scream as more tears roll down from my eyes. The gory image of those severed limbs invades my mind. Could papa's friends really cause more of that? But why?! Papa wouldn't let that happen.

Then another image comes. Papa's face bathed in his own blood. I can't be a snitch for these awful men! I have heard the rumors… they will hang my friends with Stolypin's necktie! I truly don't know what to do!

Alexander and Fyodor keep talking and arguing, but I can't hear them anymore as I continue to sob loudly. My stomach is like a volcano about to erupt, until it finally does.

I throw up on the ground beside the table, and Alexander pats me on the back until I am done. "What Fyodor over here is warning you about is true", he says, "he could have made you aware of the consequences of staying silent in a much… gentler and more careful manner, in order to soften the blow, but sometimes the truth is harsh. If you don't tell us about the people who made you do this, Dmitri, then I am afraid that there will be many more victims, and I am not just speaking of the dead, but of innocent boys like you tricked into doing horrible things."

Go away, I want to reply, don't touch me, but my body is too sore for any word to come out. I can only flinch.

"Please, child", he insists with an incredibly gentle voice, letting go of my back, "let us avert another tragedy. I know that those responsible for the explosion are probably like a family to you. Do you think this is the first time in my career that I have come across a similar case? The revolutionaries love using youths to plant bombs precisely because they know that they are less likely to attract suspicion or be severely punished if caught. I had never known of them using someone as young as you, but at this point, it doesn't surprise me anymore. We are dealing with extremely debauched people."

No, no, no, no! Papa's friends are good ! They are my team! They are my family! They love me!

I stand up in one quick movement and take off running before those evil uniformed men can say any more lies. Papa's friends fight for papa's dream, they are good. I have to find them. They will explain what happened.

Oo

I arrive back at my friends' house panting and sweating. I had to run fast, fast enough to lose those cops again, though I am sure that was unnecessary. The last thing I heard from Alexander was him telling Fyodor to let me go.

Iosif is the one who answers the door when I knock, and the recent memories I have of him threatening that poor lady seem to take a seat at the back of my mind as I allow him to pick me up and give me a fierce hug.

"There was… a bomb!" I sob, unable to speak and breathe properly. "Viktor, he gave me a, a cake, and told me that… that there was a message inside, you know, for the, for the cops, but it was a bomb!"

"Shhh..." Iosif soothes me, rubbing my back as he takes me inside the house, where I am met by the worried gazes of the rest of my friends, papa's friends. "I couldn't understand you, buddy, calm down." He closes the door and then sits on the sofa with me on his lap between Mila and Maxim.

Everyone is here. Vladimir, or "Volodya", as he is called, and Sasha, who read to me, and Gregory and Igor, the boys Iosif and I play football with. And the others. Only Uncle Ilya and Sophia are missing. They must be back at the apartment. Pretty lady isn't here either. Viktor probably didn't want her around on such an important and dangerous day.

Everyone is so concerned about me, so gentle, so unlike what I saw them do today. The women are fussing over me and tousling my hair, telling me how worried they have been for me. The men are asking me what happened and where I have been.

Feeling safe again, I eventually manage to stop sobbing. I also manage to pick out from their endless questions and conversations that once the bank robbery was completed, everyone went back here to regroup and reorganize, only to find me missing. They had thought that I would still be here when they returned.

They asked my uncle, but he didn't know anything about my whereabouts. Viktor claimed to have left me here in the morning. Search parties were sent out, small search parties made up of people who hadn't played an active part in the robbery, so as not to draw attention from the police, but they all came back empty handed.

It seems that Viktor hasn't told them anything about our secret. I truly don't know why, but everything will be fine now, there must be an explanation. I wipe my tears and try to be calm for a moment.

I need to tell the story of what happened again, making everyone understand this time, and I am ready to do so when I spot Viktor among my other friends, leaning against a wall and smirking, as if proud of himself for something. He has to be clueless.

"Viktor!" I hop off Iosif's lap and rush to meet my other friend. "Viktor, there was a bomb! There were a lot of people around when it exploded, Viktor", I grab his white shirt, trying to get all of his attention. "You should have told me!"

"That is what I call a baptism of fire!" He looks down at me and laughs, seemingly proud, proud of me now. "You are a true little anarchist now, aren't you?" He ruffles my hair. Doesn't he understand what I just said? I let go of his shirt, agitated and confused.

"Is this the so-called hired assassin you paid to cause a distraction, Viktor?" Iosif's voice suddenly sounds again like that of the angry man holding a woman hostage I saw earlier today.

"Viktor, how could you?" Mila whispers. She sounds on the verge of tears.

"It was your idea to begin with", Viktor argues, his voice too changing, becoming meaner, like it was while he was robbing the bank. "'Oh, comrades'", he imitates her high pitched voice, "'think of how helpful having the little Dmitri around will be, we can have him scout, run errands, and eventually plant bombs.'"

"Not like this!" She cries. "Not without safety precautions! And most definitely not without our knowledge!"

"He is just a boy!" Another woman exclaims.

"This is completely unacceptable", Maxim shakes his head in firm disapproval as he stands up. "Ivan would have been irate!"

I stand still and flabbergasted, looking from one side of the room to the other as more of my father's friends stand up and start arguing with Viktor, throwing insults, pointed fingers, and accusations at each other.

So it was true! It was true all along! He wanted me to do something bad! He tricked me!

"I made him do nothing more dangerous or different than what we do on a monthly basis", Viktor argues. "The boy has to start somewhere, and guess what? He has already done more for the cause than all of you combined." He points his finger at everyone in the room. "All of you. Half the police precincts of the city were busy dealing with the aftermath of the explosion, and we were able to complete the robbery without a single delay or issue. The work was done!" He claps. "His mission was accomplished!" He claps again, and then he claps in between every word he says next. "Everything went exactly right!"

He has to be lying. He has to.

"He is eight!" Iosif screams at him. "What the actual fuck is your problem?!"

My red eyes fill with tears once more, and I instinctively rush towards Iosif for support, sneak under his arm, and put my arms around his waist. "There was a baby there, Iosif", I lament, weeping, "and I had made a new friend", the last words come out in a whimper.

"I know", he puts an arm around me, "you shouldn't have seen that, Dima, not yet."

I don't understand.

"Ah!" Viktor exclaims, smiling down at me. "Don't worry about them, child! They are just collateral damage. It could have been better, but nothing that takes away from the success of your mission. Even Iosif has had his excesses."

His words shock and confuse me so much that I am left speechless.

Iosif doesn't seem to have listened though. "Look!" He kneels close to me, and still looking at Viktor, points a finger at my bloody knees. "Look what you did! He got hurt, you fool! And it could have been worse!" He stands up. "What if he had died during the explosion? How would you feel right now?!"

I try to complain about the deaths I witnessed today again, and then several times more, but Iosif and the others keep ignoring me in favor of arguing with Viktor about the danger he put me in.

"He could have failed to leave in time!" They exclaim. Viktor then argues that I am way too smart.

"He could have been maimed!" Others cry. "He could have died!"

I could. He sent me to leave the bomb there anyway. He never cared for me!

It is the fate of those people I killed that troubles me the most though, but as much as I yell, plead, and beg everyone to punish Viktor, to kick him out of the cell for being a murderer and a liar and a cheat, no one seems to care. They are all up from their seats, too busy screaming about the way he hid his plans and pointing fingers at each other for not figuring it out.

"Oh, Dima, you innocent angel", Viktor is the first one to actually address what I have been saying for minutes, doing so in a rude and sarcastic manner. "Do you really think your precious favorite friend Iosif over there hasn't blood on his hands?" He raises his arm to point at my friend. "Do you think it wakes him up at night?"

"Don't, Viktor", Iosif mutters as he puts an arm around me protectively.

"He once set up a bomb inside his local synagogue because a gathering of merchants and factory owners from all around his neighborhood was meeting there to form a union", Viktor tells me with a smile.

"You are the worst", Iosif glares at him.

"This is totally uncalled for", someone else says.

"About five dead and many more wounded", Viktor continues, completely unbothered. "Among them a boy Igor's age, the son of one of the union's members."

I turn to look up at Iosif for a brief second, my eyes opening wide in horror. He doesn't look back at me. Then Viktor continues:

"Oh, it is quite alright, little one, I advice you again not to worry about collateral damage too much, it is an inevitable part of what we do", he moves forward to squeeze my cheek, but I flinch away and step back, which makes him chuckle. "What? Did you really think that Iosif's father had disowned him over a couple of well-deserved attacks directly targeting the local policemen oppressing his people and a few pamphlets filled with pretty words?"

I cannot find the words to describe what I feel. I can only burst into tears again and cry as everyone in the house keeps arguing and Iosif tries his best to comfort me, not that it helps anymore. It is too much horror and confusion.

"Look, Viktor!" Mila exclaims most reproachfully. "You have upset the boy!"

"Viktor is right", Sasha suddenly says, his voice chillingly calm. "The boy's mission proved useful to our aims."

"Ivan would never have allowed that", Iosif objects firmly, "he…"

"We owe Ivan much, but he was far too scrupulous, more than any of us", Vladimir interrupts him, and looking around at everyone in the living room, adds: "You all know that, but the boy is young, he has time to learn that what we do requires sacrifice."

"No!" I cry, not knowing what else to do, or what to think. This can't be happening.

I plead again. I ask Iosif to throw Vladimir and Alexander out too. In tears, I beg him to tell me that none of what Viktor said about him is true. "He is lying about you, Iosif, is he not?! You wouldn't kill that many people who are not cops, especially not boys!"

Iosif kneels to look at me face to face, his eyes full of what for a moment seems like guilt, the same look he gave me when I caught him threatening that poor woman. "Sacrifices have to be made for the sake of the future that we want, Dima, innocent people can get hurt in the process", he tries to lay his hands on my shoulders, and I try to squirm away. "No, listen! Listen!" His grip tightens, making me grow angry. "Even your father knew that, and though he hated the shedding of innocent blood more than anything and always worked hard to avoid it, he knew that he had to accept it sometimes, because he had to give you and your sister a better life, he did it all for you, because he loved you. I am so sorry buddy, you should have never been forced to witness that…"

"No, no!" I try to squirm my shoulders away from his hands, shaking my head fiercely, wildly. "Maybe you do hurt nice people, 'sometimes'", I pour all of my knowledge of what sarcasm entails into that last word, "but not my papa."

Iosif finally lets me go, his eyes wide with shock as they very well should be. What is this nonsense that he is saying?

My papa wouldn't have killed the nice lady at the reception, my papa wouldn't have killed Andrei. Not sometimes, not ever.

"He is right, little one", Viktor says.

"He is not!" I glare at that liar. Papa wouldn't, he wouldn't. "What happened to those people at the bank?" I look at Iosif again. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing, buddy", my friend replies softly yet insistently, brushing my black hair away from my face. "We got the money and then let them go."

"Don't be dramatic, little boy", Viktor mocks me, something he had never done before, and then he starts speaking of numbers, confusing me about them for the very first time ever. He talks about how the Tsar's soldiers have killed more people, and how poverty kills so many every day.

I can't understand him. All I can do is remember the arms and legs I saw today, and Bloody Sunday.

"What happened today", Viktor continues, "and may yet happen in the future as we continue our struggle, is nothing compared to the almost 300 years of suffering that the people have endured under the Romanovs. Nothing."

"What?" I whisper in a tiny voice, stepping further away from Iosif and Viktor, panicking, trying to keep my distance from them, from everybody. "Is what the police said true? You will just keep killing people?" The police saying mean things about papa's friends and being right. It is one of the most horrible things I can imagine.

"Police?!" Viktor's eyes grow wide in fear, and I realize my mistake before he lunges towards me and grabs me by the shirt. "You spoke to the police?!"

A furious Iosif restrains him, keeping him from picking me up, but I still cry out and tremble with fear.

"I had no choice!" I argue. "They caught me!"

I am instantly showered with questions. The men, women, and even boys around me all seem suddenly possessed by fear and outrage, an outrage they hadn't expressed for anything else.

"When?"

"How many?"

"What did they ask you?"

"What did you tell them?"

They rise from their seats and approach, surrounding me, and I almost stop breathing.

"Let him speak!" Iosif keeps them far enough for me to have my own space, but he also proceeds to ask his own question. "What happened, Dmitri? This is very serious."

I speak really, really fast, telling them everything that happened today. How the police caught me and how I ran away from them, all the way here. I am too frightened to do otherwise.

"You led them here?!" Viktor growls.

"I didn't!" I cry. Oh, no! I didn't, did I? I was running fast! I didn't think that they could follow me here!

"Oh, you are so done, you little snitch!"

The next thing I see is my loose tooth flying across the living room. The loose tooth that had survived all previous attempts to remove it, the loose tooth that had survived the explosion. It is so tiny that I can't even see where it lands. I won't be able to put it under my pillow tonight.

Then I feel the pain in my lower lip, exactly where Viktor punched me. My eyes fill with tears and I cover my face in fear, also trying to soothe the ache and wipe the blood pouring from my lower lip, which is bringing back many scary and unwelcome memories. I cannot see Viktor's reaction to my distress though, because Iosif is immediately punching him back.

As the others try pulling the two of them apart, I sink deeper and deeper into the back of the room and then hide under the table, terrified. A brawl soon breaks out when someone uses more force than necessary to subdue Viktor. The men start taking sides as the women urge them to stop. I grow even more frightened.

The suspicions I first had while I witnessed the bank robbery were right all along. These people are so angry. They are angry and mean. That is why they say and do cruel things. Their angry faces and fists can easily turn against me if I do something that displeases them… just like Father Andrei!

As if summoned by our mention of them, the police suddenly interrupt the fight by knocking on our front door loudly.

"St. Petersburg police!" A man shouts outside. "Open up!" Knock. Knock. Bang. Bang.

My eyes open wide in horror, and I crawl to hide under a sofa instead. The thought occurs to me that they may massacre us all like they did during Bloody Sunday, or worse, capture and torture us before hanging us!

The anarchists start rushing from one side of the house to another amidst worried murmurs, picking up their belongings wherever they can find them.

"Through the backdoor!" Shouts Maxim. I hear someone else say that the house will have to be abandoned, the headquarters moved, perhaps away from the city. Mila starts weeping. The boys run. Plans are made in a rush. All I see are feet moving hurriedly as I stay completely still in my hiding place under the sofa, weeping and wishing that my father was here to defend me from these two horrible gangs of bad men who lie and cheat and like to be mean to other people and even beat and kill them.

But papa is truly gone now, and he is never coming back. Even his beautiful dream of a world where everyone gets treated fairly seems to have died with him. Only he believed as he did.

The thought makes me let out a sob. What is the point of living now? Because it is true. These people are not like my papa. They are bad. They really, really don't believe in the same things. They must have tricked my poor papa the way they tricked me. And now papa is dead because of them too.

"Let's go, Dima!" I hear Iosif say, causing me to gasp from the fright. I look around and find him lying down on the floor, one of his arms trying to reach under the sofa for me.

"Don't call me that", I instinctively frown. 'Dima' is the way papa called me, and Iosif is not my dad. I don't want anyone to ever call me that again if not my sister.

"We have to go, Dima", he insists, ignoring my request, "they will burst through the door anytime now."

"I won't go with you!" I exclaim. "Everyone is angry at me now!"

"No, buddy, they are just scared", he tries to touch my foot, but I manage to avoid him by curling into a ball, "and Viktor was a bit angry, but he will get over it, I won't let him touch you again, I promise."

He is now defending him!

"I don't care", I shake my head, "I still don't want to go with you. You are all bad." I am about to lose the only place I have been able to call home in months, but the alternative is much, much worse. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore, and I don't want to leave my Petersburg, the place where I have the happiest memories of papa.

"Don't say that, buddy", Iosif speaks lowly, with sadness, "you are just too young to understand…"

"I am not!" I cry, turning away from him in order to hide my tears. "And you are just as bad as the Tsar!"

I keep weeping silently as the cops continue to knock on the door, and Iosif too stays silent for so long that I grow curious enough to look back at him. His face is full of pain, so for an instant I feel sorry about what I said.

"You don't mean that", he eventually replies, more as a question than a statement.

Oh, but I do! I really do! The Tsar and his soldiers imprisoned, tortured, and butchered half my family, but it was these stupid people with their stupid books and words I can barely comprehend that took papa away from me. They made him leave me and Sophia behind.

Papa's dream world will always be dear to my heart, but it is a lie. Nothing and no one is fair or could ever be. These so-called friends aren't either, and they tricked my poor papa into thinking they were! Into thinking that there was a way…

I let out a whimper and then start sobbing harder into my hands.

He left me. They made him leave me. And then he gave everything for them and left nothing for me. It isn't fair.

Things were fine before. There was poor Andrei who died because those evil factory people didn't care, and the mean soldiers will never care, but had papa stayed, we could have survived this awful world where no one cares together.

He did leave though, and now our family is broken, Uncle Ilya is a drunk, and Sonya and I will still have to face people who don't care, but all on our own.

The thought makes me so angry that I decide to tell Iosif the most hurtful thing I can conjure up: "Your father was right to disown you! He was probably nicer than you!"

But I sadly don't see my trecherous friend's reaction, because the policemen start knocking on the door harder than ever before, causing me to keep my head hidden in my hands out of fear.

"Come here, Dima", Iosif manages to grab my foot with one hand, ignoring my cruel words, as well as my request, again.

"Don't call me that!" I cry, kicking him. "And let me go!" My voice comes out so desperate and high pitched that I feel embarrassed for a moment, but I keep struggling against his grasp.

The policemen keep knocking, and Iosif's hold on me loosens for a moment, allowing me to free my foot and crawl further away from him. I grow alarmed, and he probably does too, when we hear some of the voices belonging to the cops coming this time from the opposite side of the house, voices accompanied by yelling, screaming, cursing, and heavy thuds, as well as the familiar and terrifying sound of batons being slammed against backs.

Iosif and I both know what this commotion means. They are surrounding the house and arresting people at the back entrance too.

"Go, now, idiot!" I find myself exclaiming with legitimate concern. Despite everything that has happened, Iosif is still the closest thing to a big brother or even a father that I have had since Andrei and papa died. I know that he might yet hurt more people along with Viktor and the other anarchists, but I don't want anything bad to happen to him, and the thought of him being hanged or tortured by the Tsar's evil henchmen like papa was… that makes my stomach turn. "Use a window or something, you are still on time!"

"I am not going to leave you here, buddy, it is dangerous", he tells me.

I roll my eyes, something that he cannot see, as I am not facing him. "They are not going to arrest me, I am too little, now go!" I am not even sure if that is true, but I need him to listen.

I hear the front door burst open, and almost at the same time, Iosif stands up and takes off running.

I don't get to see in what direction he is heading. All I know is that I have to help him get away, and that I can do that by causing a distraction, so I run straight towards the two policemen entering the living room, kick one of them right in the shin, and dodge the other one as he tries to turn around in order to catch me.

I then rush out of the house through the front door, never to return.

Oo

Having bigger fish to catch, none of the cops seem to follow me this time, though I clearly still need to learn how to accurately deduce such things.

I don't care that much if they are indeed following me right now though, because they might have caught one of the anarchists already. The location of Uncle Ilya's appartment will surely be revealed if someone is made to talk, and thus the cops will come for what is left of my family sooner or later regardless of whether they are following me right now. That is why I need to pick my sister and Uncle Ilya up in order to go into hiding with them, at least for a while.

I climb up the stairs of the appartment faster than ever, and having forgotten the keys, I knock on the door as soon as I am standing before it. No one answers, but I only panic after a few seconds of frantic knocking followed by absolute silence.

Oh no. This is bad. This is very bad. Uncle Ulya could have taken Sophia to a bar, passed out on the floor, and left her scared and alone amidst dozens of drunk men! She might have been trampled! She could be lost in the streets of Petersburg right now, crying and asking for help! All because of me! I should have gone with her to buy that stupid doll with Uncle Ilya! Then none of this would have happened! I am such a bad big brother!

"Uncle Ilya, you stupid buffoon!" I yell as I keep knocking, tears clouding my sight. "Open the door!"

But it is Sonya's high pitched voice coming from the inside of the appartment that makes me wipe my tears and sigh in relief.

"Uncle Ilya can't open the door", my three year old sister says, "he is sleeping."

"Open the door for me then, Sonya", I tell her, "please."

"I don't want to, I am playing", she immediately replies.

I stomp my foot on the ground and make an angry sound with my throat. She is being so annoying!

"Open up, Sonya!" I yell, banging my fists against the door.

All she does for a while is giggle, even after I tell her that we are in a hurry.

"The Tsar's bad men are coming for us", I try scaring her, though unfortunately not by lying. "We need to go."

There is silence for around one minute.

"I can't reach the round golden thing-y", she whines.

"The knob?" I ask. "Just use the small wooden bench that is in the kitchen."

It takes what feels like hours for Sophia to do as I said. I suspect that she kept playing on the floor for a while before moving a finger to help me enter.

The door finally opens, and the first thing I see when I enter the living room is Uncle Ilya lying face up surrounded by empty bottles of Vodka, his face and mouth covered in vomit, and his pants wet from what I can guess is probably piss, what he smells like.

I frown, deeply embarrassed and angry. And now I will have to clean it all up before we go!

I then see my sister carrying a new doll, a doll with black hair that I hadn't seen before, and my feeling for Uncle Ilya soften slightly. At least he kept his promise and waited until Sophia was safe and sound home before he started drinking today.

"Come on, Sonya", I put my hand on my sister's back. "Leave your new doll on that sofa, we need to wake our uncle."

"Your loose tooth is gone, Dima!" She points at my mouth, her smile filled with awe and wonder. "And you are bleeding", her smile turns into a frown when she looks at my eyebrow and then at my knees. "What happened?"

"My tooth is gone, yes, and I am fine, I just fell", I smile back, trying not to remember what finally caused the tooth in question to fall. "But we need to hurry."

Sophia complains again, but reminding her of the Tsar's bad men is enough to get her to finally leave her doll and help me fill another wooden bucket with water, which I carry all the way to the living room. Again.

We cannot carry on like this. I don't know how, but I need to make sure that Uncle Ilya doesn't drink again. I need to find him a job too, once the police no longer seem to be searching for us, that is, otherwise how are we going to survive? How is he going to take care of us now that no one else can?

I swing the bucket back with both hands as many times before and then splash my uncle with the cold water inside.

His lack of reaction immediately puzzles me. This is wrong. This is very, very wrong. Uncle Ilya always sits up and starts cursing. Always.

"Why didn't he wake up, Dima?" Sophia asks, as if reading my thoughts.

"I…" I stutter. "I don't…"

"Should we get more water?"

I don't reply, I just kneel down beside Uncle Ilya and start slapping his vomit-covered cheeks. "Wake up, uncle!" I slap him again, and again. "Wake up! We have to go!"

"Wake up, uncle!" Sophia imitates me, kneeling opposite from me and shaking his shoulder.

He is not reacting at all. His body isn't even moving up and down as a sign of breathing. My eyes open wide in realization. I stop slapping him, sit down, and remain still with shock.

"Come on, uncle!" Sonya keeps shaking him. "We have to go! The bad men are coming for us to take us to Siberia!"

All of my bad memories of Uncle Ilya suddenly seem to matter little. The drunken rants against me and my sister, his lack of care for us, the times I had to clean his mess. Everything. All I can think about are the good times before Aunt Maria died, when they cared for me and my siblings almost as much as papa. The happy, cheerful moments, the jokes. The Tsar destroyed that. My eyes fill with tears, and I let out a sob.

"What is wrong, Dima?" Sonya stops shaking our uncle's corpse. It is a corpe… oh I am going to be sick…

Several more tears escape my eyes, and I pant for a few seconds as I wipe them. I can't cry anymore. I have to be strong for my sister. We have no one now. We are completely and utterly alone. I can take care of myself, and her, I think, but who will I go to if we have a problem? Even at the orphanage I was lucky enough to have Father Boris. Will I find another nice adult out there? But what if they learn about what I did? I don't know if I am going to be capable of solving everything on my own like a grown up.

"Let's go, Sonya", my voice shakes as I try not to burst into sobs. "Uncle Ilya has gone to heaven with papa, mama, Aunt Maria, Andrei, and the others." It is a lie, of course, but Sophia is too young for anything else.

"Heaven?" She cocks her head and frowns. "But he is still here!"

After a brief and badly thought out explanation of what souls are, my sister and I use the bathroom, wash, dress, and groom ourselves for the last time. I have no clue how or where we will be able to do any of that once homeless. I then throw away today's ripped clothes, too ruined and suspicious to wear anymore.

We pack about half of our clothes and other belongings in a big red bindle, though I am not able to make all of Sophia's toys fit. She ends up having a rather ugly outburst over this, one that I find very hard to deal with, though I am not totally sure about the real cause. He was her uncle too after all.

I lie to her again, telling her that I will buy more dolls for her once we are again settled. I tell her about heaven, and how happy papa and Uncle Ilya must be right now.

This does little to help. She is scared and confused, wondering why we are not going to live with papa's so-called friends, like Mila and the pretty lady. When I reveal to her that they are bad people who tricked papa into abandoning us, she just gets more upset. She doesn't want to leave Uncle Ilya either and has trouble understanding that he won't wake up again.

Being in charge like a grown up is hard.

I haven't yet managed to soothe her when I grab her by the hand and we take to the streets.

Trigger warnings: Explosion, some gore as a result of that explosion, nothing too explicit as I am not even a good describer of such things. Child deaths implied. Murders, violence, and threats of violence, a little bit of the latter happens to a child but nothing nearly as bad as in previous chapters.

For Americans: The "football" Dmitri refers to is soccer.

The "bomb in the policeman's shoe" story was inspired by Once Upon a Time in Odessa, a Russian historically inspired series, and therefore by an episode in Mishka Yaponchik's life (He was a legendary gangster).

I am making Olga more politically aware at the age of eleven than she probably would have been back then, this only for the sake of the story. The author of Lost Crown, Sarah Miller, even thinks that her cleverness and political awareness as a young woman of 22 might have been exaggerated by authors over the years. I don't totally agree with that since several anecdotes from people who knew her state otherwise, I think she did become more aware as she grew older, but here I am just accelerating that process and portraying her as very curious and aware from the start, more than in real life.