Anastasia Romanov: The Last Grand Duchess #10 Read Online Free PDF

it’s after midnight and therefore, completely dark.”
    â€œHow is it doing that?” Felix asked.
    â€œOnly Phinneas Pickworth himself could explain that, I’m afraid,” Great-Uncle Thorne said. “He brought this home from Florence, Italy, on one of his expeditions. I can’t believe the old thing is as good as new.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, Maisie caught sight of Imperial Russia stretching across the wall nearest her.
    â€œWell,” she said, turning toward it, “I suppose it’s time for you to tell us about this.”
    Great-Uncle Thorne squinted at what she was studying.
    â€œAh,” he said, “yes, indeed. Imperial Russia. The Tsar Nicholas and Tsarina Alexandra. It’s best you two are prepared before we open that egg and find out what exactly you have to do.”

    Maisie’s head was spinning with Russian history, hard-to-pronounce and harder-to-remember names, and all the other details and facts that Great-Uncle Thorne was giving them. The room had grown dark, and Great-Uncle Thorne had turned on lamps that gave a golden glow to everything. She wondered where her mother was. Her stomach growled with hunger. Would Great-Uncle Thorne ever stop talking?
    â€œYou could end up here,” Great-Uncle Thorne was saying. “Every March the royal family left the cold and snow of St. Petersburg for the warmth of Crimea, on the northern coast of the Black Sea.”
    Felix’s eyes shone with excitement as he watched Great-Uncle Thorne’s long wooden pointer land in Crimea on the mural.
    â€œOf course,” Great-Uncle Thorne mused, the pointer hovering in the air, “you could land on the Imperial train, en route to Crimea. Approximately a two- or three-day trip. Or you could land here in the villa on the Baltic . . .”
    The pointer landed again with a sharp rap, causing Maisie to jump.
    â€œVilla,” she said when Great-Uncle Thorne frowned at her with disapproval. “Baltic.”
    He turned back to Imperial Russia.
    â€œI’m hungry,” Maisie moaned.
    â€œThe
Standart
,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, more to himself than to Maisie and Felix. “They could land on the
Standart
.”
    Maisie followed the pointer as it moved up to Finland and traced a curving path along the fjords there.
    â€œIs the
Standart
a boat?” Felix asked.
    Isn’t he hungry?
Maisie wondered as her stomach growled again.
    â€œHa!” Great-Uncle Thorne said, facing them again with his cheeks flushed red. “Hardly! The
Standart
is the Imperial yacht, and every June the royal family cruised the Finnish coast on it.”
    â€œRoyal yacht. Royal train—”
    â€œ
Imperial
train,” Great-Uncle Thorne corrected.
    â€œSame thing,” Maisie said miserably. “We get it. They moved around all year on their royal stuff, from villa to castle.”
    â€œIt might save your life to know these things,” Great-Uncle Thorne said sternly.
    He held Maisie’s gaze until she rolled her eyes and looked away.
    Great-Uncle Thorne still stared at her for a long moment before he began pointing at other places on the mural.
    â€œAugust would find you in the lodge in the Polish forest. September, back to Crimea. Winter . . .”
    He stopped speaking and pointing.
    Silence filled the room.
    â€œAre we done?” Maisie finally asked hopefully.
    â€œWinter,” Great-Uncle Thorne said again.
    He slowly turned to face them.
    â€œWinter in St. Petersburg,” Great-Uncle Thorne said. “From November till March, the city remains extremely chilly, with temperatures no higher than minus ten Celsius. With no more than twenty hours of sunshine per month.”
    Maisie converted Celsius to Fahrenheit in her head. Fourteen degrees. That was cold. She shivered.
    â€œIn other words, I can’t send you without the proper clothing. Even if you land in beautiful Crimea or on the
Standart
,