The Lights of Prague Page 4

  “I’m sure you will,” Ora said. She thrust her hand to him, leaving him no choice but to kiss it. She could feel a pulse of heat from his lips as they grazed her glove. The hair of his beard pricked the silk, dragging slightly.

  She kept her eyes on Domek through Lord Bauer’s farewell, and watched the unlikely pair until they reached the end of the hall.

  “Was that your version of flirting? Come on, man.” A human would not have heard Lord Bauer’s hissed comment as the men walked through the curtain, but Ora’s supernatural hearing had the occasional benefits.

  “You like him,” Lina said.

  Ora lost the thud of Domek’s heartbeat in the crowd and turned to her maid. “What was that look for earlier?”

  Lina sighed, walking beside Ora as they took in the next tapestry. “He’s a mechanic. He’s a good, solid Czech worker. You won’t impress a man like that by reminding him about how indolently wealthy you are.”

  “I’m clearly not the only useless noble he spends time with,” Ora pointed out.

  Lina shook her head. “His friend would be more appropriate for you, anyway.”

  “His friend is not my type. Besides, I’m not looking to get married again, Lina. Just having a bit of fun.” Ora moved on to the next tapestry, examining the ornate but anatomically atrocious tiger in one corner. She could feel Lina still watching her.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you light up like that talking to someone,” she said carefully. “I did not think I’d see you act that way after this morning.”

  “He smells nice and he’s kind,” Ora said. “Why should it be anything more than that?”

  After lunch with Cord, Domek traveled back down the hill for his afternoon meeting, taking the stairs twice as fast as he had on the way up. The spring day was clear around him, the bright blue soaring endlessly over the city’s orange rooftops.

  Compared to some of the city’s more ancient guilds—the first, the tailors’ guild, had been formed in 1318—the lamplighters were mayflies. Just twenty years ago, the Old Town had made history as the first area of the city to be lit entirely by gaslight. Domek had been just a boy, so his memories of the day slipped through his mind like fog, but his mother assured him that he’d been there for the celebration. It was strange now to think that there had been a time that even central Prague had been shrouded in darkness through the night. For Domek, the gas lamps were his job, and his assurance that there were people in the world who wanted to make things better. For centuries, Prague after dark had belonged to those who fed on fear and uncertainty. Pijavice, of course, were the deadliest of the predators, but there were other monsters as well. Even worse, there were humans using the shadows as a mask as they pickpocketed, mugged, and murdered anyone unlucky—or unintelligent—enough to be out after sundown.

  Once the seat of the Holy Roman Empire, Prague had fallen in status since its dissolution, though it remained the capital of the Kingdom of Bohemia. Emperor Franz Joseph I, based hundreds of miles away in Vienna, had bigger issues to worry about than the churnings of Prague. The war with Prussia and Italy was only two years past, and maintaining the Dual Monarchy was like attempting to direct a hundred arrogant toddlers. Prague was on its own.

  Locals mixed with German immigrants who came from the north on the Dresden road, along with the thousands of tourists who visited the art galleries and health spas in the city. Together, they crammed an impressive amount of people in the city south of the castle, clustering around the Vltava. Attempting to stop crime in a city so densely populated was like stopping water slipping from a cupped hand.

  Before the gas lamps were installed along the main streets, those who wanted to venture out into the dark could hire link boys to light their way, but they were just as likely to set you up to be robbed as they were to help you to your final destination safely. With the gas lamps came the lamplighters to patrol and protect their routes, fighting back against the shadows of Prague.

  Rather than one of the historic buildings filled with the archives of centuries of work, the lamplighters met in a converted church in Malá Strana, just down the street from the bakery of the very first lamplighter, Jakub Salzmann. It was functional and small, just like their guild.

  There were occasionally men who asked to join the lamplighters without knowing their secret responsibilities. It seemed, from the outside, to have less risk than working the docks or slaughterhouses. They would have realized their mistake if they ever made it through the guildhall’s front doors.

  A splinter of hawthorn wood and an ornate silver dagger sat on a table near the entrance, where there once would have been a holy water font. A lamplighter named Svobada stood beside it, greeting everyone who entered. Domek rolled up his sleeves—fortunately, they were not required to wear their uniforms with their cufflinks to daytime meetings—and presented his forearms to the lamplighter. “Afternoon, Svobada,” Domek said, keeping his branded palms facing the floor. “Did you see anything else last night?” Svobada was Domek’s replacement for the second shift alongside the Vltava.

  “It was all quiet. You must have taken care of the worst of it,” Svobada said. He lifted the weapons and pressed the edge of the wood and the flat of the dagger against Domek’s skin. He held them in place for a long moment, and then lifted them away. As always, the skin of Domek’s arms was unmarred by the contact.

  Svobada nodded him forward, and Domek went deeper into the guildhall. The interior of the church had been filled with long tables and lines of benches replacing the customary pews. As usual, someone had tapped a barrel of pilsner for the meeting, and mugs lined the scarred wooden surfaces.

  The dais was empty, and there was no sight of their leader, Kuba Paluska. Domek had hoped to find him alone before the meeting to tell him about the mysterious jar of floating fire. Without Cord or the beautiful Ora to distract him, Domek knew he had to decide how to handle the strange entity. Paluska would likely know just what it was, along with the best way to destroy it.

  But Paluska had never mentioned anything of the sort before. Domek had not known it was possible to capture an element, nor for one to wield control over the wind. It seemed fantastical even when compared to the wonders and horrors Domek had seen. And if he did not know what it was, there was only one person Paluska would trust to figure it out: Imrich.

  After Imrich’s insults that morning, the thought of handing over the unique find was galling. Domek didn’t need the alchemist’s help to test the fire. He was as smart as Imrich, no matter what the old man thought. If Domek could learn the fire’s secrets on his own, both Imrich and Paluska would have to acknowledge his intelligence. After years of Imrich’s snide remarks, Domek would have the chance to earn recognition for his mind.

  Domek took a seat on a bench in the corner of the room with two men he was friendly with. One of them, a Jewish man named Abrahams, patted Domek roughly on the shoulder in greeting. The movement jostled his bruised ribs, making him wince.

  “What happened to you?” Abrahams asked, peering at him. Though Jews had gained their citizenship twenty years earlier, Josefov, the old Jewish ghetto, was still one of the most difficult lamplighter routes, with its decrepit buildings and winding streets.

  “Fought a pijavica on Charles Bridge last night,” Domek told him. “It had its teeth in a woman on my route.”

  “On Charles Bridge?” asked the other, a burly German named Webber. He must have arrived early, since he was down to the dregs of his pilsner. “Lord, Myska, you’ve got the worst luck. The last few nests I’ve found have been empty before I even get to them. Your area was supposed to be cleaned up ages ago. That’s one of the easier routes, unless you run into a vodník from the river, but they don’t usually wash in.”

  “Apparently someone missed that message,” Domek said. “There are still dark corners in the city.” He hesitated, and then admitted, “I think I saw something else while I was out there. A strange woman. I thought she was floating. She disappeared before I
could get a closer look.”

  “A ghost?” Webber asked, leaning into the table. “Was she horrible? I saw one once that scared the shit out of me. Transparent like light, but cold as ice. Skeletal face and long black hair like weeds.”

  “Sure it wasn’t just your mother?” Abrahams asked.

  Webber shoved him. “Piss off, Abrahams.”

  Domek shook his head. “She was more solid than a ghost. And she was wearing white.”

  “You think it was the White Lady? Next you’ll tell me you saw the golem,” Abrahams said. Even for the lamplighters, the white-clad spirit that wailed through the castle’s halls was more myth than reality, like the legendary Jewish golem.

  “I’ve heard that she’s real. Rumor says she does come out sometimes,” Webber said. “Soldiers said they saw her when the Swedes were storming the castle a few years ago. She shows up to warn people about death.”

  Abrahams laughed. “If that were true, she’d be out in this city every night.”

  “Maybe she can only be seen by the person who is going to die,” Webber suggested.

  “Thanks,” Domek said dryly.

  “Not that you’re—”

  Abrahams was interrupted by another man sliding onto the bench beside them. Domek’s roommate, Anton Beran, was as lithe as Domek was broad, with a dark narrow mustache sitting like a nosebleed on his lip. A thin cigarette hung from his mouth, the smoke curling toward the ceiling. “Isn’t there any beer that doesn’t taste like piss in this town?” he asked in greeting.

  “Not that they’ll give us.” Abrahams sighed, staring down into his own drink. “They save the real stuff for the rich assholes.”

  “Domek was just telling us that he had to take out a pijavica on Charles Bridge last night. He probably nearly had a heart attack just from the surprise. He’s supposed to have the easiest route,” Webber said.

  “You all right?” Anton asked. They had been friends since they were children growing up as neighbors in the north of the city. Domek had spent long afternoons avoiding his flat by exploring along the river with Anton and his friend’s younger sister, Evka. Evka Beran had been Domek’s first kiss, much to Anton’s despair. There was a soft, warm glow to Domek’s memories of the younger Beran. They had remained friends after their youthful dalliance had waned. Nine years ago, before her wedding to a local blacksmith, she had asked Domek and Anton to spend one last day with her along the river, further north where the bustle of the city gave way to quiet forest.

  They had been laughing and splashing in the river when Evka had been dragged beneath the water.

  The strange creature lurking beneath the surface had been like nothing Domek had ever seen, some vicious monster from a dark fairy tale. The vodník’s face was painted in cartoons around the city, sitting on logs and jovially playing the fiddle, but the reality was a horrific grimace distorted by the churning water. It had pulled her down toward the muddy riverbed. Domek had splashed toward her, cutting his foot on something sharp in the mud, and together with Anton had managed to pull Evka away from the water sprite, but it had been too late.

  She had been limp in Domek’s arms as they had fought their way back to the riverbank.

  Later, Domek had learned that a vodník’s lair was littered not just with bones, but with clay jars which captured the souls of its victims. Without Domek and Anton there, Evka would not only have been consumed by the vodník, but her soul would have been stolen from heaven to rest instead among the demon’s perverse collection.

  Anton had never forgotten why they had started working as lamplighters and tracked Domek’s injuries with more attention than he would ever admit to.

  “I’m fine,” Domek assured him. “It barely touched me. I found it taking a bite out of a woman. She was lucky someone came along.”

  “I bet she was very grateful,” Anton said with a wink, and the other two men laughed. He patted Domek on the back as though confirming he was still solid beneath his hand.

  Domek rolled his eyes, but didn’t shrug off the gesture. “She was very unconscious.”

  “You won’t ever get a wife if you don’t start trying,” Anton groaned. “You get the perfect situations handed to you on a platter and then you escort them politely home. You’re hopeless.”

  “I ran into Lady Fischerová again today,” Domek blurted.

  Anton raised his mug. “Another perfect situation, from what I’ve seen.”

  “A lady,” Abrahams repeated, raising his eyebrows.

  “It’s nothing. Don’t be crass. She’s a widow.”

  “She’s rich and unmarried,” Anton said. “That’s all the more reason to take your chances with her.”

  “I don’t know why I even told you guys,” Domek said, crossing his arms.

  “Because you get butterflies in your gut every time you think about her?” Anton teased. “Come on, Myska, I’ve known you since before your jewels dropped. You’ve been interested in Ora Fischerová for a year at least.”

  Domek rapped his knuckles on the scarred wooden table. “She’s far out of my class.”

  Anton shook his head. “Well, when it happens, don’t be too shy to tell me just because you know I’ll brag about being right! I’ll want to hear everything.”

  “I’ll tell you as soon as Prague rules the Empire again,” Domek muttered.

  “You were right, Anton,” Webber said. “He’s never going to get a wife.”

  Fortunately for Domek, the meeting began before his friends could continue ribbing him. Paluska had finally stepped onto the dais and cleared his throat. The leader of the lamplighters was in his mid-fifties, slightly older than the rest of the room, but could likely have won any fight thrown at him. He was lean and hard, leathered by the sun, and deadly as an adder.

  “Settle down,” Paluska called, voice clear despite the noise of the room. His accent, smooth in some places and rough in others, was a testament to his journey across the continent in his youth. After spending decades volunteering to fight in wars around Europe, from the War of Schleswig to one of the Italian Wars for Independence, he had ended back up in Prague and taken charge of the lamplighters’ organization when Jakub Salzmann retired. Under his guidance for the last several years, the group’s initiative to bring light—and safety—to the streets of the city had grown more and more successful. “I’ll make this quick. We didn’t lose a single citizen to the evil this week.” He waited for the cheers to die down. “That doesn’t mean that we can take time off. Evil never sleeps, and neither can we. We must remain vigilant. One instant, one drink too many, one slip of the foot, you may not be here to cheer next week.”

  “I’ve heard this speech before,” muttered Webber, too quiet for anyone beyond the table to hear.

  Anton hushed him, kicking him beneath the table.

  After Evka’s funeral, Anton and Domek had gone to a nearby pub. Anton, tongue loose from the absinthe, had ranted to the room about the monster in the river, and had then picked a fight with a group of sailors. Domek had jumped into the brawl, and by the time it had ended, Anton had a loose tooth and Domek had two black eyes.

  It was in that sorry state Kuba Paluska had found them slumped against the wall outside the pub. Despite the pain, despite the grief, despite the haze of drunkenness, Domek and Anton had listened with rapt attention to the older man’s story of an organization that protected the city from monsters like the one who had killed Evka.

  Paluska continued for another few minutes about the training schedule that week and updated the group on upcoming events that would impact patrol routes. With the gas lamps came an increased level of security at night, but also more people venturing onto the streets. For the general populace of Prague, ‘safer’ meant ‘safe enough.’ The factories along the city walls were open later, ladies left balls without a full escort, and river sailors wandered the streets too drunk to walk in a straight line. For the lamplighters, the city’s giddy, bold trust in the night meant more work.

  “The ministry
has passed along a new task for us,” Paluska said. There was a wave of booing from the gathered group, and he let it pass before he continued. “They want to discover the mechanics of the pijavice. They asked if we could take some prisoners for them to study. They want us to restrain them and take them in to their scientists.”

  There was a tense silence in the room. Simply killing a pijavica was difficult enough; in the last three months alone they’d lost two lamplighters. Trying to restrain one would be suicide.

  Then Paluska laughed. “I told them to go jump in a river.”

  The lamplighters cheered.

  “They can go talk to Vienna if they have a problem with it. Prague is an ashes-only city,” Paluska said.

  Domek leaned back in his chair. Paluska was right, as he always was. Let the ministry fret about why the monsters did what they did. Prague had enough to worry about without stepping deeper into the shadows. The lamplighters were funded by the government and overseen by a local ministry of bloated bureaucrats and retired soldiers so dedicated to secrecy they left the lamplighters fighting on the streets with half the information they needed. While Paluska and Domek’s team were working overtime to save Prague, the ministry spent its time playing politics with the Imperial Council in Vienna for money the lamplighters never saw.

  After the meeting, Domek lingered by his bench as everyone else stood and filed out, watching Paluska having an intense conversation with a lamplighter who worked in the Old Town Square. He was a general with his soldiers. No matter how the ministry devalued their work, Paluska was running a war on the streets of Prague.

  Domek rested a hand on his satchel. If he were going to tell Paluska about the strange jar, he should do it now.

  “Are you coming, Domek?” Anton asked, waiting beside the bench.

  Domek hesitated. The fire had only made a small whirlwind. Was Domek truly prepared to lose a chance to prove himself to Imrich and Paluska? It was an opportunity he had been waiting years to find.