Listen To The Music That Goes Along With This Chapter.

Dimitri stared out the window of the flat dully, watching the people go back and forth, back and forth.  They all walked back and forth.  They had no where to go!  He didn't blame them much -- he didn't have anywhere to go either.

Vlad and Dimitri had moved back to St. Petersburg after a week in Vointsky, to try and earn the money to buy back the estate from the tax collectors that had taken it over as property.  It was now a year later, and they were no better off than they had been when they'd first come.  The cost of living in St. Petersburg was higher than ever before, even under the now long gone monarchy.

Vlad had found a job at the St. Petersburg Post Office sorting letters and such; a low occupation for someone of his stature, but a highly respected job none-the-less among the peasants.  It didn't earn much, though: around a $1.00 a week. Oh, that was more than the common laborers, but it still didn't put that much food on the table, let alone money to buy back and repair an almost forgotten estate.  And Vlad STILL didn't know where his parents were, and he had no way to get to Paris with Sophie.  And even MORE, he didn't remember her address!  And the Dowager Empress was very hush-hush now about her own home address in case of assasins, so there was no way to get in touch with her!

And Dimitri had nothing to do.

He liked living with Vlad, he really did.  He still hadn't told him his past, but Vlad seemed to respect this and never asked.  Dimitri didn't even know that much about Vlad's, really.  But neither cared that much, and they got along well together...except...

Except Dimitri felt like he wasn't pulling his share.  There HAD to be a way for an 11 year old to earn money.  C'mon, just think, he often told himself.  You're a smart kid.  Okay, you're not strong.  Or old.  But you have an education -- at least a better one than most of the people these days.  Vlad had stuck to his 2 hours of tutoring each afternoon, and Dimitri showed great promise.  He was a fast thinker and a quick learner, and was eager for new information.  He liked reading, and devoured the books from the St. Petersburg Public Library hungrily and had already started reading a few adult books!

But education wasn't helping anybody.  Anyway, the people who DID have an education, largely the outcasted royalty, didn't have jobs either, so who would want an 11 year old who liked to read?

Dimitri didn't know, but he was determined to find somebody TODAY.  He'd find a job today.

He grabbed his ragged knee-length coat and cap and ran out the door and down the rickity steps of the old apartment building.

He stepped into the dreary street and pulled his coat tighter.  It was cold!  It was ALWAYS cold in St. Petersburg, it seemed.  And gloomy.  And bleak.

Dimitri tucked his brown hair up under his blue newsboy cap and started to walk the street like the other people -- back and forth, back and forth, looking for anything he could do.

A man struggled with some fish crates along one side.  Here was his chance!  Do a good deed, earn some money!  He ran over and jumped into action, trying to help the man lift the box.  A fish fell out and he slipped on it, knocking into the man and sending the box sprawling.  Salmon and grouper fell out of the sky like hail.

"Stupid boy!  Atpravlyatsa!  Leave!"

Dimitri ran, trying to escape the man's wrath.  He ran around the corner of the street and leaned against a cold brick wall to catch his breath.  Well THAT hadn't worked.  He brushed off his coat, adjusted his hat, and tried to look for work again.

He wandered the streets for a half an hour, searching for ANYTHING he could do.  ANYTHING.  He was desperate at this point.  He helped a lady carry up groceries and earned two kopecks, two lousy kopecks.  He remembered when he'd been a servant in the palace...once he thought it was the worst thing in the world, being ordered around and told when to do what.  What did he think of it now?  Well, it had earned him food and clothes -- No.  No, it was worth it not to have to go back there again.  He had hated every moment of it.  And he was glad he was out of the palace, if not yet Russia.  But he would be someday...oh yes, someday he would be.  But for now, he was just glad to have some sort of freedom, some sort of adventure.  Although St. Petersburg wasn't exactly what you'd call adventuresome.

So he'd make it.

He turned down a dark alley and looked around.  All it had was broken bottles, litter, and the occasional homeless bum who was too lazy to try and make money.  Hmm, think Dimitri.  What would this be like if it was in a book?

A jungle.  He was walking down a dark jungle.  The broken liquer bottles became pirahnas, nipping at his heels.  The litter became flowers, growing tall and strong and glorious in the afternoon sun.  The dumpster was a tall tree, the bums fercious tigers, ready to pounce!  He was an explorer, in search of the treasured lost jewel of Boula-Boula.  He slinked along the brick wall, avoiding the blood-thirsty animals.  He jumped on top of an old box and looked out, pretending everything was his domain.  He wasn't just plain old Dimitri Leongard -- he was Dimitri, the Fearless One!

"What are you doing, boy?"

Dimitri yelped and fell off the box onto the cold cobblestone.  He looked up to face his attacker.

Where WAS his attacker?

He stood up slowly and reached for his hat, which had fallen when he'd tumbled down.  He brushed off the dirt and grime and stuck it back on when he felt cold fingers on the back of his neck.  He started to shout, but a large hand covered his mouth.  He was pulled roughly back against a man.  He turned his head up as far as he could and gasped.  It was DANYA, one of the cooks from the Imperial Palace!

 "Listen, kid, give me all the money you have and..."

Dimitri tried to talk but the hand was in his way. "MMMMM!  M MMMM MMMM!"

"What?"

"MMMMM!  M MMMM MM MMMMM!"

The man let his mouth go, but held on tightly to his shoulders as he turned him around.

"WHAT?"

"DANYA!"

Danya blinked.  "Excuse me?"  He peered into the darkness and made out Dimitri's face.  "Dimitri Leongard!"

Dimitri tried to use the moment he was surprised to wriggle out of his grasp but Danya held firm.  Dimitri looked up into his face meanly.  "What do you want?"

Danya smiled.  "Money, kid.  Got any?"

Dimitri fingered the two kopecks in his jacket pocket.  "Nope."

"Oh, c'mon.  A bright kid like yourself must have something...where are you staying anyway?"

"No where."

"Guardians?"

"None."

Danya raised his eyebrows and looked at him, believing every word.  Dimitri felt the same exhilarition of when he'd first talked to Vlad come back to him.  The same excitment of when he'd deceived the Red Officers in Vointsky. The thrill of the chase, of lying.  The feeling of POWER.  What a glorious thing when used at the right time.  POWER.

"So you have no money?"

"Sorry."

Danya started to let him go, then grabbed him back again.  He thrust his hand into Dimitri's coat pocket and pulled out the two kopecks.

"None, eh?"

Dimitri tried to jump and grab them back but Danya was far too tall for someone as short as himself.  He eyed the money, never taking his eye off the prize as Danya talked.

"You think you can lie to me?  You no good worthless brat!  I've told you before, stay outta my way and don't lie!"  He raised his hand to slap Dimitri.  Dimitri saw it coming and ducked out of his firm grasp.  The force of Danya's almost blow sent the man sprawling and the money dropped from his hand. Dimitri ducked down and grabbed it, then ran out of the dark alleyway.  Danya sat up and considered running after him.  Nah, too much work.  He'd find money from some other brat.  Let the little kitchen boy have his two kopecks.  It wouldn't get him far in this new Russia.

Dimitri ran until he thought his legs would seperate from his body and run themselves.  He collapsed against another wall and slid to the hard ground. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head in them.  Oh, why was this so HARD?  What had POSSESSED everyone in this town?  Some demon, some evil spirit -- and Dimitri was sure it was Red.  Whatever it was, it was the color Red.

He looked around, his eyes blurry with cold tears.  He hated this place, hated everything in it.  He wanted to escape, to leave Russia RIGHT NOW.  He didn't like this feeling of poverty, never being quite full enough, never quite warm enough.  He leaned back against the wall and rested his head on it to look up at the sky.  Smokey gray.  Not many factories had been built yet, and there was already that smokey gray shade filling up the clear blue that used to reign over the skies of St. Pete.  Dimitri tried to remember a time when he'd been clear blue inside.  He could think of none.

Except for one.

His mother.  His mother had cradled him against her and whispered soothingly to calm him.  His mother had danced with him as a child and taught him little nursery rhymes and sweet lullabys.  His mother was his blue sky.

But where was she now?  He didn't know.  He told himself he didn't care.

He knew it was a lie.  It'd been three years since he'd seen her, and she'd promised to return in one.

"Only one year, Dimitri.  One year...I'll return for you in one year."

"Don't say goodbye," he'd cried into her dress. "Please don't say goodbye to me."

"I won't say goodbye," she whispered comfortingly in his ear.  "I'll say a bientot."

"See you soon," he said, turning his tear-stained face towards her.  She smiled, her auburn hair catching the sunlight of that day in just the right angle, framing her face like a beautiful angel.  He'd sworn to himself that he'd never, ever forget that sight; and he never had.  Nor would he ever.

A bientot...See You Soon in French.  Vlad's tutorial lessons came back to him.  He was going to start learning French.  Vlad had sworn that "Only the aristocracy knew French" and that Dimitri "would be a rare exception."

A rare exception, huh?  Well if he was so rare, how come his mother, an ordinary peasant, knew it?

Unless...unless his mother WASN'T a peasant.  Unless SHE was aristocracy!  Just like Vlad!  Could it be?  Was it possible?  That his lovely mother, with her bright red hair and blue eyes, was ROYALTY?

Nonsense.  His last name was Leongard.  Le-on-gard.  Pronouced Lay-O-Nard.  An ordinary Russian Peasant's last name.  Nothing fancy like Vlad's.  He sighed.  He was little Dimitri Leongard, an ordinary peasant.

He wished that his mother really was royalty.  But, if she had been, then why would she have left him under Viktor's care back at the royal palace?  She'd have just GIVEN him to the Romanovs, saying, "This is a noble.  Take care of him."  Or something.

Viktor had been a friend of his father's supposedly, and had agreed to take care of Dimitri while his mother went somewhere.  Where, he didn't know.  But she had left, and he was stuck at the palace.  He remembered watching her leave in a car while he'd been shuffled inside.  The last words he had heard Viktor say to his mother, oh he remembered them so clearly.

"Goodbye, Lara."
~*~
Vlad looked at the calander on the wall: March 15, 1917.  Over a year since the revolution, and STILL he didn't have enough money to do any of the things he wished too.  Not enough to buy back Vointsky, not enough to go to Paris, not even enough to keep himself and Dimitri clothed and fed.

Dimitri had been going out everyday now for a few months, looking for any type of work.  At first Vlad had been against this.  Who KNEW what greedy people lurked just outside the safe walls of their small one room apartment?  No, absolutely not.  Dimitri would not be allowed outside when he wasn't home.

But Dimitri was a strong child, one who didn't care about rules or theories.  He had insisted he'd be safe, and anyway, he'd still be getting in his tutoring lessons!  All this meant was that they were that much closer to getting back to Vointsky.

Vlad had finally relented.  What trouble could the boy get himself into? None, of course.  Dimitri was a cautious child, and faster on his feet than most adults.  He had been learning French for only three months so far, and already he was saying short sentences.

"Look what I brought home!" Vlad said one afternoon after his job.  "A new hat for you.  I found it in a dumpster.  I think it was dropped, because it looks like new!  Look at this, Dimitri!"  He held up the blackish hat and motioned for the boy to try it on.  "What do you think of it?"

Dimitri wrinkled his nose.  "Je detesta."

"Detesté, not detesta.  And no, you do not hate it."

"I do too," he said calmly, his brown eyes holding that same look of unintrest as they did whenever he was ready for a fight.  He could start off so calmly, then jump into a fiery argument so easily.  Just another charm that the boy owned, Vlad thought.

Vlad shrugged and set the hat down.  "Alright, then, I'll wear it."

"You do that."  Dimitri grinned at him and started to walk across the room to the small kitchen nook.  "Want a glass of vodka?"  Vlad sank tiredly into a worn-out chair.

"Not tonight."

"Water?"

"Sounds good."

"When can I try vodka?" Dimitri asked as he fixed the glass.  Vlad laughed heartily.

"When you're older!  MUCH older!"

Dimitri rolled his eyes and brought the glass to him.  "Lemmie get another."  He walked back again.

Vlad noticed his posture for the first time -- straight as a rail.  Head held high.  Arms the perfect distance from the sides of his body.  A certain...grace.  Sure, Dimitri was a bit of a klutz, but he still held that same tall and proud look that Vlad had seen in members of the aristocracy.  What a rare exception to a normal peasant this boy was.

The next morning, Vlad got up early as usual and went to work.  Dimitri got up with him and waited till he left to leave himself.  He locked the apartment door, hid the key beside a wilty fern in the hallway, and went outside.

Where to now?  Well, he'd already tried to look for work in the southern district of St. Petersburg.  He'd try the North today.

He walked half the morning until he reached the north section of St. Pete.  There wasn't much difference from the South.  He remembered when the North had been for only the creme de la creme, the cream of the crop.  Now it was just a home for mixed rabble, like the South District.

He looked around, took in his surroundings, surveyed any possible job oppertunities.  None.  He sighed.  He was tired of no work.  No work meant no money, and money was everything if Vlad and he were to survive and have their dreams come true.

"Please, sir, please!"

"Our sister!  Our sister!"

Dimitri turned around and saw two young boys crying their eyes out to a man.  He walked closer and realized he recognized the boys!  They used to work in the palace too, only they worked in the gardens.  Their names were Gregor Kondrati and Ivan Jeremija.  They weren't related.  So why were they calling out things about a ficticious 'sister' now?

"Please sir, our sister is going hungry and she is sick, so sick!"

"Our Mama is dead, and all Papa does is drink!"

The man was obviously not rich.  He was dressed in the same rags as everybody else on the street.

"I have no money to give!"

Gregor burst into tears.  "Look what my father did to me!"  He held out his arm and showed a large grayish bruise.  Dimitri grimaced.  Ugh, that was a shiner.

The man felt guilt.  And guilt is a powerful feeling, especially when weighted on the right person.  He pulled out a few kopecks and threw it at them, then hurriedly left.

Dimitri gaped.  These two boys had just LIED their way into money!  Gregor and Ivan started to walk off, splitting their money equally.  Dimitri ran after them.

"Gregor!  Ivan!"  They turned and grinned as Dimitri ran up to them.  "What was that about?"

Ivan smiled.  "So you saw us dupe the old guy, huh?  Pretty good, eh?  It was as easy as PIE!"

"How'd you do it?"

Gregor laughed.  "Simple!  We made up some stuff about a sick sister and a drunk father."

"But what about that bruise?"

"I fell down yesterday!"

Ivan and Gregor laughed and did a high-five.  After a few more moments of talking they left, on their way to get another two kopecks or so.

Dimitri watched them go.  He could do this.  He COULD do this!  All it would take was a little duping, a little lying...easy stuff.  Child's play for him at only 11.

Now, what would his story be?  He'd use theirs for now, with a few little changes so the locals didn't get suspicious.  His little BROTHER was sick and starving.  His parents were dead, and he was living with his abusive uncle. Vlad DID have the same name as his dead uncle, after all.  He grinned trying to imagine Vlad being abusive.  Vlad wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone try to throw a punch.  He laughed to himself.  All he needed now was the bruise.

Dimitri had never been one for getting hurt, and he certainly didn't want to get a REAL bruise.  He scanned the street for anything he could use to get a grayish color...newspaper!  He grabbed one and rolled up his coat sleeve, then rubbed it on his arm.  Soon a darkish spot covered his lower arm.  Perfect. He let his lips go unlicked for a few moments so they'd be just the right amount of dry and slightly chapped.  Now, what else did he need?  He took off his hat and mussed up his hair, then took off his coat as well.  Sheesh, it was cold!  Oh well, this was for money.

He waited a few minutes as he people watched and staked out his first 'victim'.  There.  An older lady carrying a few parcels.  She was walking right his way.  Closer...closer...closer...now!

He wailed and slide down the brick wall.  The lady gasped and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Boy!  Boy!  Are you alright?"

Dimitri looked up at her through weak eyes.  "Hello..."

"Boy!  Boy!  Wake up!"

"My brother...please help him, ma'am..."

"Brother?  What brother?"

"My brother...he's sick.  Horribly sick. And all Uncle..."  Uncle what? He hadn't planned an uncle's name!  His heart thudded as he realized his error. Uncle, Uncle, Uncle, what was his "Uncle's" name?

"Uncle who, boy?"

"Uncle...Danya threatened to hit me again if I didn't bring home some money for the races..."

"Beat you?  Are you being abused?"

Dimitri weakly held up his arm and the woman rolled back his shirt sleeve.  The newspaper 'bruise' shown in the light and she gasped.

"Oh, you poor boy, you!  What a horrible, horrible life...and I thought I was bad off.  Here, I was saving this money for my daughter's birthday coming up, but I know she'd rather it go to a good cause."  She placed a coin in his hand, touched his face, then left.  Dimitri waited until she'd turned the corner to jump up.

"YES!"

He had done it!  And it was SO EASY!  SOOOOO EASY!  He had been SURE no one was so stupid as to fall for such an obviously fake story, but she had!  He opened his palm and looked down at the coin.  He had expected one kopeck...NOT ONE RUBLE!  A WHOLE RUBLE!  He gasped and jumped again.  A RUBLE!

Staring down at the ruble, his elation left.  The woman had been saving this for her daughter, not for a sly little boy who told a lie.  He looked off in the direction she went guiltily.  Lying maybe wasn't so fun.

Get it together Dimitri, he thought sharply.  You're here for money, not a concious.  If she wants to throw her money, let her.

He gathered his hat and coat from their hiding place and ran all the way back to the South District.  He raced up the apartment stairs, found the key, and opened the door.  As he expected, Vlad was sitting by the window, looking worriedly outside for him.

"Dimitri!"

"Hey, Vlad!"

"DIMITRI!  Where were you?"

"I was..."

"WHY WERE YOU LATE?  I was worried sick about you!  What was I supposed to think, besides that perhaps you'd been CAUGHT AND KILLED!  That's it, no more going out..."

"But I have to!"

"What?"

"I HAVE TO!  Look!"  He thrust the ruble into Vlad's hand.  Vlad stared down at it in shock.

"A ruble...a whole ruble!  Where did you get this, Dimitri?"

Dimitri grinned.  "From work."

Vlad looked at him suspicously.  "Work?  Have you been stealing? Dimitri, do NOT steal, do you understand me?"

"I didn't steal!  Just listen to what I did do..."

Dimitri told Vlad everything: Gregor and Ivan's plan, the newspaper bruise, making up the story, the old woman and her daughter's birthday money.

"And then she just GAVE it to me!  GAVE IT!  Like it was dog sh-"  Vlad raised his eyebrows and Dimitri corrected his langauge.  "Dog poop."

Vlad sighed and sat down.  "We can't keep this money, Dimitri."

"Why NOT?"

"Because it's not ours," Vlad said.  "You didn't earn it fairly."

"Fairly, schmarly!" Dimitri cried.  "It's money, Vlad, money!  Look at it!  Smooth, round, money!"

"Dimitri, no..."

"Vlad, yes!" he said.  "Please!"

"It was a lie!"

"It was not," Dimitri said with a pout.  "It's a lie unless it's none of their business."

"And this wasn't her business?"

"No, my home life is none of her business.  But her money IS mine!  And look, I earned it on my own!  Can you believe it?  And it was SO easy, Vlad, SO easy..."

"No, Dimitri.  I will not allow you to keep doing this."

"Vlad, PLEASE," he begged.  "Just a few more days of this.  Then I'll go back to worthless labor. But let me just do this until we get enough money to go back to Vointsky."

"Dimitri, No..."

"PLEASE??  I promise you I won't get in trouble!"

Vlad looked at him seriously.  "Dimitri, it's too risky.  What if you're caught by the Reds?"

"I won't be caught!  And anyway, it's not even a felony.  It's just a little white lie.  That's all!  PLEASE, Vlad, let me do this for us!  For our dreams!"

Vlad ran a hand through his thinning hair.  "No, absolutely not."

Dimitri crossed his arms.  "I'm going with or without your permission.  But I'd rather have it so I don't have to sneak."

Vlad looked at him in shock.  He was so defiant, so ordering, so...familiar.  Who else had he known with this fiery will, this stubborn way of doing what he or she pleased at all times?  He relented.

"Fine.  You can do it."

"YES!"

"But ONLY for a little while, understand?  I don't want this con-man business to stretch out ten years or something."

The little boy smile and hugged Vlad.  "It won't, I promise!"  Vlad laughed and hugged him back tightly.

That night after dinner, Vlad and Dimitri lounged around, thinking about how to get that money faster to return to Vointsky.

"It was glorious in it's day, Dimitri.  It really was."

"I know," he said.  "A place fit for royalty."

Vlad laughed and rolled his eyes.  "You could say that.  But I still don't know where Mama and Papa are.  They just disappeared off the face of the Earth, into no where."

"Maybe they're with my mother."

Vlad turned to look at him.  "Hmm?  Mother?"

Dimitri nodded, not really believing that he had told Vlad that, but not having any qualms about it either.  He trusted Vlad now -- to an extent.  Vlad sat up straight in his chair, eager to advance this tidbit of knowledge.

"You know where your mother is?"

"No."

"Then why'd you say...?"

"I was just talking," Dimitri said sharply.  He pulled his legs up with him in the chair and rested his head on his knees.  Vlad saw him retreating back into his inner shell.  He couldn't let this happen.  He wanted to find out about his family!

"What was her name?"

"Hmm?"

"What was your mother's name?"

"Lara."

Vlad let this crawl slowly into his head.  Lara.  He remembered his own Lara.  He wondered what Dimitri's was like.

"I always liked that name, Dimitri."

Dimitri moodily looked away, then brightened.  "I have a picture of her. Would you like to see?"

"Yes," Vlad said, a bit shocked.  "Where'd you get a picture, and how'd you hide it so well from me?"

Dimitri reached under his cot.  "It was in my pocket when you took me from the palace.  It's my lucky charm.  My father drew it, I think.  Mama gave it to me before she...well, here it is."  He found it buried beneath the covers of an old book and took it out to show Vlad.  Vlad took it slowly and looked over it.

Red hair.  Blue eyes.  A soft face.  A tiny mouth, with an upturned smile.  His heart stopped.  This wasn't Dimitri's mother -- this was his SISTER Lara.  This was HIS Lara, not Dimitri's.

"There's a mistake.  This can't be your mother."

"It is too!" Dimitri said.  "Wouldn't I remember my own mother?  It's her!  I know, I don't look like her, but Mama used to say I took after Papa."

Vlad looked up at him and saw it suddenly.  The same big brown eyes that held that same look of cool unintrest.  The same thick brown hair.  The same dark handsome face.  His mannerisms, his easy lying style.  Just like Mikhail.  The way he walked was just like Lara's.  His ease of learning French and other tutoring subjects, like her.  How could he have not seen this before? It was so simple! This was Mikhail's child.

And Lara's.

Which meant...Dimitri was his nephew.

Vlad looked up at the boy and gulped.  Dimitri was smiling broadly, an eager look on his young face.  "Wasn't she pretty?"

"Yes, yes, very," Vlad said, handing him back the drawing quickly.  Dimitri took it and returned it to it's hiding spot.  Vlad watched him walk and understood now why it had looked so familiar the night before.  He held the same almost arrogant swag of Mikhail's, but the aristocratic grace of Lara.  Vlad held his head in his hands, his mind pounding.  How was this possible?

But wait.  Dimitri had said his father's name was Mikhail Leongard, not Mikhail Moisse.  So they HAD to be different people.  And what's more, he said that his OWN Uncle Vladimir was dead, right?

"Dimitri?"

"Hmm?" he asked, sitting back down across from him.

"Did you ever meet your Uncle Vladimir?"

"What?"

"You mentioned an Uncle Vladimir once -- did you ever meet him?  Or your other uncle?  What was his name?"

"No...Mama said he was dead.  They both were.  My other uncle's name was...I'm not really sure.  She talked about Uncle Vladimir a lot, though, and said that he was once in the White Army.  Hey, maybe you met him sometime before he died while you were in the service!"

Vlad's chest ached.  "Maybe I did."

"Yeah..."  Dimitri's brown eyes drifted lazily out the window and looked down at the icy streets of St. Petersburg.  Vlad bit his lower lip in thought as he looked at him.  This boy just might be his nephew.  His very own nephew!  He smiled as he thought about the young boy that he had grown to love as his own son actually being RELATED to him!

But what about Lara?  Where was she?  How had Dimitri ended up in the palace that night?  He mentioned Mikhail being dead -- how did Mikhail die?  So much had happened without himself when he'd been gone to the White Army.  Too much to think about right now.  He felt out of the loop, out of the inner circle.  He also felt a headache coming on.

"What's wrong, Vlad?  You're pale."

Vlad looked at Dimitri quickly.  "I...I'm fine.  Please excuse me, my stomach just feels a little quesy."

Dimitri nodded and went back to looking out the window.  Vlad crawled into his small bed across the room and closed his eyes.  Hopefully sleep would come...

Of course none did.  Deep inside he knew it wouldn't.  He opened his eyes and looked at Dimitri's small figure in the chair.  So this boy was his nephew.  MIGHT BE, he added in his mind.  This young, street-smart, wise-cracking, smart-alecky child MIGHT BE his own nephew.  He never thought he'd have one, or if he did he'd ever met him.  But here he was, in his care.  But HOW did he get in his care?  Why was he at the palace?  Lara would NEVER abondon her child unless she had too.  He needed to find out why.

"Dimitri?"

Dimitri looked over as Vlad sat up straight in his bed.  "Yes?"

"Come here."  Dimitri walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.  Vlad sighed and gathered his thoughts in his mind.  "Dimitri, I have something to talk to you about.  Something VERY important."

 If this is the birds and the bees talk, Vlad, I already know about it all..."

"No, no...you do?  You're only 11!"  Dimitri grinned, and Vlad decided to go on.  Obviously Dimitri had spent a bit too much time around the dirty mouthed Alina.

"Yes, Vlad?"

"Dimitri...I...Your mother.  Her name was Lara Leongard, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you know her maiden name?"

Dimitri bit his lower lip in thought.  "I...I don't know it."

"And she left you at what age?"

"Eight.  I was eight."

"And where did she leave you?"

Dimitri started to answer when his guard went up again.  What was Vlad trying to do?  "Why do you care?"

"Dimitri, don't get defensive on me!  I need to know, please."

"Why?"

"Dimitri."

Dimitri sighed.  "At the palace.  She left me at the palace under the care of this guy named Viktor, a friend of my father's.  She promised to return in a year.  As you can probably guess, she never did."

Vlad's eyes widened.  "She never returned?"

"Would I have been there that night in the palace if she had?"

Vlad leaned back against his pillow, refusing himself to think about just WHY she hadn't returned.  "Why did she leave in the first place?"

"I don't know!  Stop asking so many questions!"  Dimitri was getting fidgety.  He stood up.  "I'm going to sleep!"

Vlad started to protest, then shut his mouth.  He couldn't let his NEPHEW -- his MAYBE nephew -- get scared and leave.  He'd get some more information out of him later.  For now, he'd let both him and himself sleep.

"Goodnight, Dimitri."

Dimitri didn't answer, just crawled into his cot across the room.  He turned off the light and snuggled down under the covers.  Vlad laid down until he heard gentle breaths across the room.  What now?  He sat back up and slid his feet to the ground quietly, then stood up.  Walking on tiptoe the best he could, he bent down under Dimitri's cot and pulled out the book.  He opened it up and took out the picture.

This was Lara.  He'd know her anywhere.  Her fine features were delicately sketched on this paper.  He closed his eyes...it'd been 16 years since he'd seen her.  Would he ever see her again?

He turned over the drawing and squinted.  There was a small slit -- it was a false back!  Someone had glued two papers together to make a small pocket! He gently peeled back some of the second back and was pleased with the results: A small note.  He pulled it out and looked at it.  There was writing.  He read it the best he could by moonlight.

"August 11, 1909

My dearest Lara,

I'm alone here, but I think of you.  I sketched this by memory -- I don't think it does your beauty justice, but nothing does.  Please be well.  I'll send you the money, I swear on my life.  Give my love to Mitri.

Mikhail"

Alone here?  Where had Mikhail been that he was alone and without Lara? Who was Mitri?  Well, that wasn't too hard.  That was obviously Dimitri's nickname.  According to the date, he'd been 3 when this letter was written.  What about Dimitri's last name, Leongard?  Why did they change their last name? Did Dimitri know that his last name was once Moisse?  What was this money?  Vlad closed his eyes in fury.  That RAT Mikhail!  He HAD skipped out on Lara and Dimitri, just like Vlad had prophisized years ago! He KNEW she shouldn't have married him. -- so she'd been alone, in debt, and with a child before 10 years of their marriage was even up!

"Mmm..."

Vlad looked up quickly from his seat on the floor and saw Dimitri move in his sleep.  He smiled softly.  What a boy.  The son he always wanted.  The nephew he never knew he had.  Should he tell him about their relation?  No, he'd wait until he was sure, postively sure, then he'd tell him.  He sweeped a strand of Dimitri's hair out of his face loveingly and fixed the picture, quietly taking the note out, then stuck it back under Dimitri's cot again.  He had obviously never found the hidden note.  And for now, he wouldn't.

This was a mysterious puzzle that Vlad knew he had to find the answer too.  How?  He wasn't sure.  But he would.

And when he did, he'd find out just what had happened to his family -- and how to fix it again.
 

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