The Lights of Prague Read online

  The sun sank low over the hill, illuminating the spires of St. Vitus behind Domek as he crossed the river. There had been a time he could walk all day and night without tiredness, but now his feet ached in step with his heartbeat. He was not yet thirty, but his body had begun to protest the years of patrolling, training, and brawling.

  Lamplighting was a new job, but there had been people fighting against the shadows since the beginning of history. Those who survived to retire were often spat out scarred and battered. Many moved on to work as priests or cemetery watchmen, watching for threats until the day they died. None left the work and found peace. What were his other options? The men sent deep into the copper mines outside the city walls lived no longer, and, more importantly to Domek, made no difference while they lived.

  Domek’s destination was a squat building on the upper edge of the city beyond where the Vltava whipped suddenly to the east, near Štvanice Island. When he walked into the flat, he felt some of the tension slide out of his body. He was greeted by the smell of goulash from the kitchen: beef, onion, garlic, tomatoes. It was warm and hearty, triggering an instinct to settle down and relax.

  “Maminka?” he called.

  “In here, Domek,” his mother responded. She put a lid over the pot she had been stirring and wiped her hands on a towel. Domek had inherited his height and bulk from his father, but his coloring from his mother. Her dark, curly hair was streaked with threads of white, obvious even when pulled back from her kind, lined face. She was thinner than he would have liked. “I’m finishing up dinner now. You’re just in time.”

  He breathed in the scent of home. “It smells great. I’ve missed your cooking.”

  “You wouldn’t have to if you visited more often,” she said.

  “I know, Maminka. I’ve been very busy,” he said, wincing.

  “So you always say.” She set the bowl in front of him and he waited until she had her own bowl to dig in eagerly. It was a mix of dumplings and a few bits of gamey meat, all thinned out with water to last longer.

  “So,” she said as they ate, “has some sweet young girl caught your eye yet?”

  “Maminka.” Domek sighed. “I promise to tell you if I begin courting someone.” What would his mother think of Lady Fischerová? No one would meet the vivacious lady and accuse her of being a ‘sweet young girl.’ Besides, despite her youthful face, she had been widowed for nearly a decade. She must have been Domek’s age, if not older. Wealth was more powerful than youth, and longer lasting.

  If his mother wanted a soft daughter-in-law to take under her wing, she would be disappointed by Ora Fischerová.

  It did not matter—Ora was both achingly vivid, and perfect and distant as the moon. There was no hope of Domek ever wedding her.

  His mother hummed. “I don’t believe that. You keep your secrets close to your chest until you’re sure about them. I had to hear about you and Evka from Anton’s mother.”

  “I was twelve,” Domek protested, ignoring the pang in his chest at the mention of Anton’s sister.

  “You know, if you were a woman, you would already have two or three children by now,” she said. “Men can afford to wait longer to get married.”

  “Not if their mothers have any say,” Domek laughed, and moved the conversation to her neighbors, who were always embroiled in some drama or other. Domek had not lived in the apartment building for nearly ten years but had been kept abreast of the gossip by his mother.

  The sun was setting outside by the time they finished eating, painting the sky in bright orange and yellow. He would need to leave for his patrol soon. As he returned from cleaning their bowls, his boot connected with the edge of his satchel, clunking against the jar within. He bent down and lifted the bag. “I found something strange yesterday,” he told her. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it could be. Maybe you can help.”

  It was easy for Domek to forget his mother’s past. She was a quiet woman, so reserved that the first time a young Domek had heard her talk about her life before his birth, he had felt deeply betrayed. It had taken many years for him to slowly unravel the hidden threads of her youth. Her childhood friends had dabbled in local traditions such as looking for the name of their future husband in the boughs of an apple tree, but had left them behind over time. His mother, unable to abandon the promise of glimpsing the future, had become adept with divination through a Tarot deck. During those years, she had flung herself into Prague’s occult world, only to eventually find herself strangled by his father’s leash. The Tarot deck, if it had survived, was nowhere to be found in her flat.

  “I can try,” she said. She straightened the napkin on her lap. “You know I wish you would work with your uncle instead. What you do is a dangerous business.”

  “Zacharias can’t afford a full-time shop assistant,” Domek pointed out. “The work I do is important.” The bloodier side of lamplighting was kept secret from the citizens of Prague, but his mother, who had in her day known the unauthorized organization that predated the lamplighter guild, had known about his work since the day Paluska had recruited him. “You did something similar once.”

  “Once,” she said. “It’s long since behind me.”

  “You know,” Domek said quietly, “Father is dead now. You could go back to it.”

  “It’s dangerous to be a Tarot reader when there is one among the dead who would have you join him,” she said with a wry smile. “Those doors should remain closed, brouček.”

  “Maminka,” he said, throat tight.

  She patted his hand. “It’s okay, my love. I could use a few more visits a month from my only child, but I’m not unhappy. It’s a quiet life I lead, but I’ve earned that after all these years. I’m settled.”

  “I’m glad,” Domek said, holding her hand. “I just wish I could do more for you.”

  “Stop worrying so much,” she said. “I’m easy to please. Make me some grandchildren. Now, show me this mystery.”

  He dug out the jar, holding it between his scarred hands. “Come out,” he instructed. “Do not harm anyone or break anything here.” The flame floated from the jar, brighter than the sunset outside.

  “My goodness,” his mother breathed, leaning forward. “Where did you find this?”

  “Don’t touch it,” he warned, pulling back. He shifted a hand to show her the silver brands on his palms, and she hissed in sympathy. “It seems to follow my orders, though it’s fickle. Do you know what it is?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen one bound before, but that is a will-o’-the-wisp.”

  The name was familiar. He recalled stories he’d heard from hunters who had visited the city from the countryside. One man had mentioned a phenomenon he’d seen in the dark forest: malignant, floating lights that attempted to lure him and his wife to their deaths in the marshlands. He examined the warm jar in his hands. The symbols on the clay were strange and alien in their intricacy. “I’ve never heard of anyone finding a wisp in a container like this before. I thought they roamed free. They’re forest spirits, aren’t they?”

  “They are,” she said. “I haven’t seen one in many years, especially not in the center of Prague. The first time I saw one, I was visiting the forests near Hýskov. Fortunately, I was traveling with another practitioner who warned me away from following the light.”

  “I thought wisps were simple things. I’ve seen this one create a small storm from nothing, and lift stones from a meter away.”

  “They are powerful creatures, despite their appearances. Not only can they control light, but they’re able to transform objects. The person following them believes they’re still on solid ground, but the grass in front of them turns out to be a pond when their foot touches it. I’ve heard of them controlling sticks or even traveler’s bags, animating them to float away. Clever, too. They can linger near a camp until they learn your name, and then call it back to you from the other side of a sinkhole.”

  “It can speak?” Domek asked, watching the floating flame. It hov
ered before them, small and humble in his mother’s kitchen. “It’s been silent since I found it.”

  “I’m not sure,” his mother admitted. “It could be a form of mimicry.”

  Feeling slightly foolish, Domek ordered, “Speak, if you’re able.”

  There was a moment of quiet before a voice spoke. “What shall I say?” It sounded as insubstantial as the crackling fire, smooth and staccato at once.

  “My God,” his mother murmured.

  “Tell me why you’re here,” Domek said, heart thudding. Now he could speak with the creature, he could learn more about its origins. He had no need for Imrich.

  “You carried me here.”

  “Answer truthfully—what brings you here?”

  “My spirit is tied to that jar, and my powers to your will. I’m bound to your whim. I assure you,” it said, voice dripping with poison, “I would not be here if not for that.”

  He remembered his mother’s story about the demon attempting to trick her deeper into the forest. Though the spirit was bonded to him, there was no guarantee of its benevolence, particularly considering how he had discovered the jar. “What were you doing with the pijavica? Were you conspiring with it?”

  “I was conspiring with nobody.”

  “Then what was it doing with you?”

  “I was not informed of his plans.”

  But surely there had been one. For the pijavica to be interested, there must have been some dark power still hidden. Domek sensed that he had only brushed the edge of the wisp’s potential. “And now I have you,” Domek mused.

  “You shouldn’t. You’re not the one who brought me to this city,” the wisp said. “Before now, you knew not what I was. You have no clue how to use my abilities.”

  “I can learn,” Domek said.

  The flame sparked. An ember sizzled through the air, disappearing before it hit the ground. “Free me.”

  It was an easy conclusion to this. Domek hadn’t meant to pick up the wisp’s container. If he let it go, he could continue with his week as though this strange interlude hadn’t happened.

  What would an unbound wisp do, though? If it was as powerful as his mother believed, it could use those powers to hurt those in his city if it were let loose. He had instructed the wisp to be truthful, but had no guarantee it had worked. If the spirit had been allies with the pijavice, it would surely find a way back to them. Domek had something dangerous under his power right now. He could not lose that control.

  “I can’t free you,” Domek told it.

  Another spark shot from the wisp, falling toward the kitchen table before again sizzling into air. “Free me, or you will regret it. You and your dear maminka.”

  Beside him, his mother flinched.

  Domek was suddenly very aware that he had brought a strange occult creature into his mother’s home. His confidence that his control of the creature would protect her seemed foolish in light of the threat. Domek would never forgive himself if his actions harmed his mother.

  “Go back in the jar and stay there. Now,” Domek snapped.

  There was a rush of warm air around the kitchen as the wisp poured back into the container, creating a strong wind that ruffled his hair and sent the curtains waving. Sparks of color sprayed out like drops from a living watercolor painting, casting the room in a rainbow glow. Then, everything stilled.

  Domek shook the jar, making sure the lid was tightly shut. There was no reaction from inside. Carefully, he set the jar back into his bag and closed the flap. Only then did he allow himself to take a deep, shuddering breath.

  “You should free that thing,” his mother said. Her voice was weak, warbling like a bird. “Take it somewhere far away and leave it behind.”

  “There must be a way to control it,” Domek said. Surely the pijavica would have had a way. Imrich would have found a way.

  “I don’t care. It will try its hardest to undermine and destroy you. You can’t take the risk.”

  “If I can just learn to understand it—”

  “Domek,” she said, grabbing his hand. She turned his palms to examine the scars again, the silver dulled in the fading light. “This is already hurting you. Your job is already so terrifying for me. Please don’t chase this. Don’t create new dangers out of curiosity.”

  * * *

  After Sokol and Válka left, Ora paced around the upper hall of her home.

  A cure. A reversal of the affliction that had kept her hungry, thirsty, awake, for centuries. She could go into the sunshine. She could sleep. Did Sokol know what a cruel taunt the idea was? If pijavice were searching for a way to undo their curse, who could blame them?

  But to investigate the mystery by insinuating herself among the city’s other pijavice pushed the line of what Ora was willing to do.

  Pijavice were as diverse as humans, some lingering near the cemetery mud they burst from, some building empires of wealth and influence. Tonight, Ora would search for some of the former. They were the more palatable.

  Ora had been transformed by a monster in a cold, ancient palace on a hill, and had stayed under his rule for more than a century. The idea of walking back into Lord Czernin’s grasp, even for a chance at the mortality he had stolen from her, made her stomach twist. She hoped it would not come to that.

  “I want to go to the bookstore,” Ora announced, throwing open the door to the kitchen.

  “Tonight?” Lina asked. She had eaten dinner with the rest of the staff while Ora had entertained the two soldiers, and was talking with the cook over cups of coffee.

  “Come, Lina. I’ll let you sleep in tomorrow if you’ll come with me on this one last adventure. It won’t take long—the store is sure to close soon. I’m in desperate need of a distraction.”

  Ora prodded Lina into the carriage while the girl yawned pointedly. “If I had known this would be the result of forcing you from bed this morning, I might have let you waste away.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ora said, climbing in behind her. Having a mortal maid could be so dull.

  The Emporium was the city’s largest, and only secular, bookstore. It was located only a block from the Old Town Square, surrounded by pastry shops and pubs meant to draw in the city’s visitors. Comprised of a main showroom, which featured new novels and texts from around the Empire, and an open back room for weekly salons, the Emporium was one of Ora’s favorite buildings in Prague.

  She paused to look at a collection of poetry set at the edge of a table. The poet wasn’t one she recognized, but she flipped through it anyway.

  Mister Novy, bookseller and proprietor of the Emporium, was near the back wall, speaking with a customer over a heavy text. “…should have the tale in question. Will-o’-the-wisps are a bit of folklore seen across Europe, you know. It’s a beautifully written work. You can read German?”

  “Ah, no. Only Czech.” With that delectable low rumble, Ora recognized Domek Myska’s honey and metal scent woven beneath the ink and paper all around. It had, again, the bitter scent of shame.

  Mister Novy hummed. “You know there aren’t as many interesting texts in Czech. You won’t find a good book of fairy tales you can understand. If you’re going to frequent this store, you should learn to read German.”

  Ora could remember a time before the lower classes had gained literacy. The education programs of recent decades had the charming effect of encouraging the mass printing of the newest novels in both Czech and German, and filled the bookstore with the most interesting people. The Czech revival was still nascent, only just emerging from the peasant class into the national conversation. She strode across the room, her bustle nearly knocking over a stack of new books. She leaned into the conversation. “Why, hello,” she said.

  Both men jumped, and she smiled wider.

  “Back again so soon, Lady Fischerová?” Novy said, shuffling to accommodate her and turning his shoulder to Domek in the process. “Thank you for coming to last week’s literary reception, by the way. Everyone always appreciates your fantastic ins
ight.”

  “Thank you for hosting us. Now, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she said. “Is it possible, Mister Novy, that you’re forgetting the work of Professor Andel? If this man is looking for a book of fairy tales in Czech, surely Andel’s book is the perfect fit.”

  “You’re a literary maven, Lady Fischerová,” he said, leaning closer. “Surely you know that the Czech translations degrade the original text. It’s a coarse language.”

  “I’m sure that’s what the Russian author said about the German translation in the first place,” Ora said, smile not faltering. “Do you not carry Professor Andel’s translations? I know that Charles University supports your store. I’m surprised that you would not carry their professors’ recent works.”

  Novy swallowed. “We have one copy.”

  “Oh, lovely. Could you find it? It seems this man is looking to purchase it. I’m sure, after all, that you are not deliberately attempting to alienate any of your customers. My friends don’t want to host readings where they may not be welcome.”

  “Of course, Lady Fischerová,” Novy said. “You are always—”

  “So, go fetch the book for Mister Myska.” Ora raised her eyebrows until Novy bowed and scurried to a nearby stack to collect the text in question. It was a slender tome, bound in a dark leather and stamped with gold. Novy apologized profusely to Ora, not giving Domek a glance after dropping the book into his hands. Ora impatiently shooed him on his way.

  Once Novy was gone, Domek cleared his throat. “Thank you, Lady Fischerová.”

  “Please don’t think of it. Did you come here hoping to see me? You know this is my favorite shop. I didn’t mean to break your heart so very badly in skipping lunch.”

  “No, no,” Domek said.

  She pouted. His eyes fell to her lips. “You didn’t come here for me?”

  “I… That is, I was here to find a book. It is always a pleasure to run into you.”

  Ora stepped forward to inspect the book in his hands. It was only partially an excuse to get closer to him. “I hope you enjoy my recommendation. I didn’t know you liked fairy tales. Did you know that the first records of those stories are from the twelfth century?”