The Jesuit Conjures the Devil

George had two errands to run now that Magdalena was gone. He needed to meet Fen’ka and Jarnvithja, who were to deliver the great sword of Bruncvik to him. And he had another task to attend to on his way to get the sword.

Before sending Magdalena with the magical staff of Rabbi Loew to meet Elizabeth in the Old Town Square, where they were to sabotage the Astronomical Clock, he had spoken to the hotel desk clerk about arranging an appointment with a local prostitute.

“I would like to meet at her apartment, not here at the hotel,” George had confided to the clerk, winking as he adjusted his clerical collar. “It might not look good, you understand, if she were seen coming to my room.”

“Of course, Father.” The clerk answered the Jesuit from New York in a bored voice, as if accustomed to requests like this. “What time should I make the appointment for?”

“I would also appreciate meeting someone who is—how to say?—not adverse to light bondage,” George explained. “She should have her own rope and be ready for a session that involves…” George fumbled for the right word. “I understand that this can cost extra. The cost is of no concern.”

“I understand. Of course.” The clerk also seemed to have heard this request many times before. “I will need to make some phone calls. What time did you say you wanted to make the appointment?”

George gave the clerk the approximate time he’d like to meet the woman later that evening, and a short while later, a bellhop had delivered an envelope to his room. Inside was a note that simply indicated a woman’s name, her address, and the price in Czech currency.

Now, George waited to be sure Magdalena was well on her way from the hotel and slipped a few supplies into his pocket. Then he stepped out of the hotel, found a taxi, and gave the address to the driver. The driver nodded and quickly deposited George at the door of the apartment house a few blocks away. George walked through the lobby and up a flight of stairs to a door on the next floor. He knocked. The door swung open.

“Good evening.” The woman at the door was young and lovely, a beautiful sheer robe revealing her provocative curves as a silk sash hugged her hips.

“Good evening,” George answered. He stepped inside and closed the door. “It is a pleasure to meet you…”

“Agafia.” She smiled and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. He slipped a hand inside her robe and pressed his palm against her breast. She winked and placed his other hand against her hip.

“You received my instructions?” George whispered into her ear, feeling himself respond to her attractions.

“I did,” she purred. “Come right this way.” She turned and kept one hand entwined with his as she led him down a short hallway to a door on the left. They entered a room filled with sumptuous Victorian-era style furniture, a Tiffany lamp casting a warm glow across the scene. A few candles twinkled around the edges of the room. A dining room chair stood alone on a plush Turkish carpet in the midst of the richly detailed parquet floor. Coils of silken white rope sat on a nearby table, its surface polished to a glossy sheen.

You will excuse me, my dear,” he explained as he stepped away from her, “but I am a man of strict habits and there are certain—shall we say, small fetishes?—which are necessary.”

“Such as?” Agafia asked.

“I must make a slight rearrangement of the furniture,” he told her. “May I?”

Agafia nodded, seemingly intrigued by his request.

George turned the chair slightly so that a person sitting in it would face north. He also brought a candlestick from a shelf and set it on the edge of the rug. Then he pulled a small object from his pocket and bent over, his back to Agafia, and traced a circle on the floor around the chair and rug. He slipped the object back into his pocket and turned to face Agafia, who seemed slightly bemused.