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

it’s entirely possible you’ll stay through several seasons—”
    â€œBut we’ll leave before July 1917,” Felix added quickly.
    â€œOf course,” Great-Uncle Thorne said. “Of course.”
    And unconvincingly, Felix thought.
    Great-Uncle Thorne cleared his throat.
    â€œThe point is, you need to have the proper clothing, or you could freeze to death,” Great-Uncle Thorne said.
    â€œThis doesn’t make sense,” Maisie said, narrowing her eyes at her uncle. “You’ve never ever told us where to go, or helped us get there, or anything.”
    â€œHe’s only looking out for us,” Felix told her. “I think it’s nice.”
    â€œBut every other time, we landed in whatever we had on and made do—” Maisie began to protest.
    â€œThis time,” Great-Uncle Thorne boomed, banging his fist down hard on one of the desks, “you can’t just
make do
. This time, you must be prepared. For anything.”
    â€œWhy?” Maisie asked.
    â€œBecause this time is different,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, sinking onto the chair that was attached to the wooden desk. “This time you will be taking the lost Fabergé egg with you. This time something is going to happen. Something wonderful.”
    Great-Uncle Thorne’s eyes took on the yellow light of the lamps.
    He sighed. “I wish I knew what it was. But I don’t. I only know that the lost egg has been found. That Amy Pickworth has spoken to us across time and space. That
something
special, something unforgettable, is going to occur in Imperial Russia.”
    Great-Uncle Thorne sighed again.
    â€œIt’s too complicated for me to explain,” he said, shaking his head. “Why, sometimes I’m not sure I completely understand it myself. But Phinneas called our ability to time travel and for events to happen simultaneously in different times and places the Pickworth Paradoxia Perpetuity.”
    â€œThe Pickworth Paradoxia Perpetuity,” Felix said in a hushed voice.
    â€œYes,” Great-Uncle Thorne said solemnly. “It’s so complex, so amazing, so . . . mind-boggling, that even I can barely understand it myself.”
    Maisie and Felix’s mother’s voice cut through the heavy silence that descended after Great-Uncle Thorne’s words.
    â€œAnother secret room?” she said, coming inside.
    Right behind her came Bruce Fishbaum, looking more nautical than ever in his Nantucket-red pants and navy blue belt with little white whales, and a white shirt with some yacht club logo on it.
    â€œThis house is huge!” Bruce Fishbaum exclaimed. His face was pink, his hairline receding even more.
    â€œIndeed,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, his voice dripping with displeasure.
    â€œSo this room is . . . ?” their mother asked, glancing around.
    â€œThe Map Room,” Felix answered, since no one else was going to. “Great-Uncle Thorne and Great-Aunt Maisie used to learn history and geography here.”
    â€œReally?” his mother cooed. “That’s amazing. Isn’t that amazing?” she asked Bruce Fishbaum.
    He laughed his guffawing laugh. “Amazing!”
    â€œWe were just talking about Peter Carl Fabergé,” Great-Uncle Thorne said.
    â€œWe were?” Maisie asked.
    But Great-Uncle Thorne ignored her. “You’ve heard of him?”
    â€œSure,” Bruce Fishbaum said. “He made the fancy eggs.”
    â€œYes,” Great-Uncle Thorne said, “he did. Fabergé was the official court jeweler to the Tsar of Russia.”
    â€œYou don’t say,” Bruce Fishbaum said in a way that made it hard for Maisie to know if he was really interested or not.
    â€œAt the turn of the last century, he employed over five hundred people in his St. Petersburg workshop. Of course, he designed more than the eggs. Little cases and jewelry and his miniatures of flowers and