Blood Codex

Chapter 21

The tour of Dalibor Tower left less than an hour after Crowley and Rose had emerged from the Prague Castle archives. They’d had time for a coffee and a chat in a small café near Golden Lane to discuss where they might turn next.

“Not much help, really, that Damek,” Crowley had said.

Rose shrugged. “But those paintings in storage were more interesting, having heard the story of the golem. Let me see that picture again.”

Crowley tapped it up on his phone and Rose nodded.

“That image is definitely the devil in the Codex Gigas,” Rose agreed. “And the ape-like outline could be intended to represent a golem.”

“I’d say so.”

“But you do realize golems aren't real, yes?”

Crowley slipped the phone away again with a smile. “Legends and stories often have factual origins, though, so we can’t discount anything.”

Rose gave him a mock-withering look. “I am a historian, remember?”

They had quickly finished their drinks and joined a group of twelve or fifteen others for the Dalibor Tower tour. From the outside, it was a pale stone, rounded artillery tower, with a squat, pointed red tile conical roof. Small, square windows marched in a spiral up the sides, following the stairways inside. The interior was the same pale stonework, with heavy, dark wooden beams overhead.

The tour guide was an animated young woman with short, platinum blonde hair and bright red lips. She spoke with barely any accent, if anything sounding more American than European. “Daliborka, better known internationally as Dalibor Tower, is a cannon tower built into the slope above the Deer Moat of Prague Castle. It was constructed by Benedikt Ried in 1496. Originally it was higher, but only five stories have survived until today. Of course, it is most famous as a prison, named after Dalibor of Kozojedy, the first prisoner in 1498. He was imprisoned for his part in a nearby serfs’ uprising, and for harboring rebels on his land. Legend says he learned to play violin to earn his living in the tower. Daliborka was used as a prison until 1781.”

They were led down into the cool basement, the guide’s words trailing back to them. “Of course, everyone is most interested in the dungeons. There are four cells around this room, the walls over two and a half meters thick.’

The floor of the dungeon was a circular pattern of orange brick, rough stone walls rising to a high vault above. The center of the floor drew everyone’s eye, dominated by a raised stone circular opening like a well, with a metal grid over the top to prevent an accidental fall. And, presumably, to keep prisoners in assuming they ever managed to get that high after being lowered several meters into a dark hole in the ground. Above the opening hung a disturbing array of metalwork, chains and manacles.

“This is the famous oubliette,” the guide said with a wide smile. “The round hole you see is the only access to a large circular space beneath. Around the edges of the space are several smaller cells, where up to four prisoners would be imprisoned at a time and… left. After all, the name oubliette comes from the French word ‘to forget’, and that’s exactly what happened. Who knows what might have become of those people once they were thrown inside.” She leaned forward, eyes wide. “Or what they might have done to each other!”

The tour group made dutiful noises of amusement and disgust and Crowley zoned out the guide’s talk as he stared around. The whole room gave him the chills, not only because it was actually cold inside. The idea of the suffering endured here, especially down in the darkness of the oubliette below, made his insides churn. He had suffered some dark and seemingly inescapable internment himself in the Middle East and any kind of prison brought back painful recollections. Especially ones as medieval and horrendous as this one. He shook off the thoughts and shuffled closer to the oubliette.

The tour began to move on from the dungeon and Crowley snagged Rose’s sleeve. “You go on. I’ll meet you at the far end of the Golden Lane in an hour.”

Rose shook her head, and glanced nervously at the group moving away. “No way, I’m not leaving you.”

“It’ll rouse too much suspicion if we both disappear. This way, if someone notices I’m gone, you can say I wasn’t feeling well and went back the way we came. You can carry on with the tour and cover for me if necessary, so no one comes back looking.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Rose looked from Crowley to the tour group and back again. “Okay, but be careful. And good luck!”

She hurried to catch up with the group and Crowley slipped to one side for a moment, ensuring no one could see him loitering if they glanced back. Once he was sure they were all gone and he was alone, he snuck back to the oubliette. If the place had given him the creeps before, it was magnified ten-fold now that he was alone.

He checked the large bolts holding the metal grid over the top of the oubliette and tested them with a finger. They seemed pretty solid. Frowning, he took out a pocket tool, opened it up, and started working at the fastenings. It took a while, and made some noise, but slowly he managed to loosen the two main bolts holding the grill in place on either side. With a smile, glancing nervously around, sure someone would appear to discover him any moment, he carefully lifted it aside.

On the way from the café back to the tour, they had passed an unoccupied work site. The tradesmen had presumably been on a coffee break of their own. Crowley had surreptitiously snagged a strong-looking nylon rope from a pile of tools and stuffed it into his jacket. He was glad of the find now as he unfurled the rope and tied it off to a sturdy metal stanchion nearby.

Crowley took a deep breath, scanned quickly around once more, then slid down the rope into the dark hole.