The Riddle of Prague by LAURA DEBRUCE (the snowy day read aloud txt) 📖

Chapter Nine

Mr. Poduška motions to the White Tower, which soars high above the castle ramparts. “This is where Bohemia’s kings kept their enemies.”

With ceremony he pulls a key from his pocket and turns it in the padlock. The door swings open, and our group crowds into the small room at the tower’s base. Mr. Poduška points to a large grate in the exact center of the ceiling.

“In ancient times that small opening was the only way to come in or go out of this dreadful place.” He speaks in a low, theatrical voice. “If the guards were in a kindly mood, they would lower a rope for the prisoners to climb up or down, but most of the time they would simply push the unfortunate wretches into this chamber of doom.”

“That’s one long fall,” Alex says and then whistles.

Mr. Poduška nods and continues his narrative. “As you can see, there was no way to escape. Edward Kelley, the famous alchemist, was a prisoner here, and even he could not magic his way out.”

“Did he die here?” Ruth-Anne peers around as if she expects to see skeletal remains.

“Kelley died in an even more fearsome place than this,” Mr. Poduška says. But perhaps not wanting to diminish the fearsomeness of Křivoklát he adds gravely, “Many others took their last breaths where we stand.”

Two rays of sunlight cut into the dark through the windows in the tower’s spire. Thalia waggles her fingers through them.

“Would the sun’s light and the moon’s beams bring comfort or torment to a prisoner here?” Mr. Poduška asks.

“Comfort,” Thalia says, smiling and twirling in the sunbeam. The rest of us watch her, mesmerized as the sun’s rays bounce off her glasses and make patterns on the walls. Mr. Poduška breaks the spell by pushing open the door to the white, bright courtyard. Thalia dances out and starts spinning around again. Alex catches me watching her.

“She’s a sweetheart,” I say.

“No one sweeter,” he agrees. “She’s the only reason I agreed to visit him.”

“Him as in your father?”

“Yeah.” Alex nods.

“So you don’t live here.”

“We live with our mom in Washington, DC. They’re divorced.” He sighs. “Thalia wanted to come for the summer, so—”

“Alex!” Mr. Williams walks past us. “Keep an eye on your sister.” Alex ignores his father—this seems to be a habit—but he walks over to the little girl and takes her hand. He bends down and whispers in her ear. Thalia looks up and waves at me to join them. For some reason this makes me very happy.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for…the torture chamber.” Mr. Poduška points across the courtyard, then looks at Thalia. “I wonder if the young lady should go with her father.”

“He’s going to the bathroom,” Thalia says. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen lots of scary things.”

“I’ll look after her,” Alex says.

“Me too,” I add, and Thalia reaches for my hand so she’s a small bridge connecting me to Alex. Her hand is soft and fragile.

We follow Mr. Poduška into a large, musty room where ominous-looking, wrought-iron devices loom in the corners. He mournfully describes the whipping post and then points to an upright, sarcophagus-like coffin opened wide to show sharpened spikes protruding from the doors. They’d quickly mutilate any body inside. Two more of these contraptions, closed up tightly, stand against the back wall.

“The iron maiden,” Mr. Poduška says. “The others are hollow, but people could be trapped inside and slowly starved to death.” The thought makes my mouth go dry. I look down at little Thalia, who is staring intently at the coffins. Alex taps her on the shoulder.

“I want my mummy,” he says, hugging his shoulders with his hands and making a funny face. The girl laughs, and so do I.

Mr. Poduška pauses before a stool with a steep pyramid in place of the seat, topped by an excessively sharp spike. “Here is the Judas Cradle.…” He can’t bring himself to describe its function. “Please to just imagine what would happen when prisoners were forced to sit upon this.”

“Ouch.” Alex cringes melodramatically for Thalia’s benefit, trying to soften the horror of the thing. The Over-the-Hill-Gang enthusiastically poses for photographs in various positions of torture. For a second the flash of a camera illuminates a corner of the room, and I think I see someone crouching there. Mr. Poduška must see it too, because he walks over to where the iron maidens stand. I shudder to think that someone could be hiding in one of them.

Publication Date: 01-14-2014

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