Calendar nodded, bobbing on his seat cushion.

August took one last sip of his coffee, set the cup down on a passing tray, and left Mr. Calendar to his fantasy adventure.

Nightfall.

August loved Prague. The city surrounded him like a symphony, rich and regal and steeped in history. He wished only pleasure had brought him there—a trip to take in the sights and sounds, the cafés and the museums, and maybe a bookshop or two. But the edifice of St. Vitus Cathedral reminded him of his grim task.

He walked through the thin crowd of people milling in the courtyard of the Prague Castle complex. A couple strolled by, whispering sweetly in each other’s ears. A little girl in a white dress held her father’s hand, holding a red balloon by a string in the other. An elderly couple pointed at various features of the cathedral, discussing the architectural history at great length. It was an ordinary night, but a pleasant one. Nothing out of sorts. Why did August feel so ill at ease? Maybe because you’re grave-robbing, he told himself.

Yes. That might be it.

He stole across the complex to the cathedral’s southern entrance, the Golden Gate. Above the gate’s three soaring archways, and behind the newly erected construction scaffolding, he spotted the famous fourteenth-century mosaic known as the Last Judgment. “How fitting,” August said, approaching the iron gate beneath the westernmost arch.

He took a key out of his pocket. It was a bulky, crude key that would have appeared natural hanging from a dungeon-keeper’s ring. He placed the key in the lock and turned. The tumblers groaned and the lock fell open. August pushed the heavy gate forward, wincing as it squealed in rusty protest. A few people glanced at him, then returned to their business. No big deal. Just someone working overtime. August adjusted the hat of his construction uniform, picked up his tool bag, and walked inside.

The first thing that captured his attention as he entered the cathedral was the aroma, faintly musty and inherently ancient, the accumulated smells of the medieval stone and wood that comprised the massive building. August crept through the corridors, keeping tightly to the path that Calendar had arranged for him on the map. Someday I’ll come back in the daylight, he promised himself. He had never seen all the cathedral had to offer, including the tombs of several Bohemian kings, an ornate chapel dedicated to Saint Wenceslas, and, most notably, a celebrated relic: the arm of Saint Vitus. But there was one rare sight he wasn’t going to miss tonight.

August stopped in the shadow of a corridor. Had he heard someone? He remained silent for a moment, listening, but nothing bent his ear. Just the chatter of church mice, he mused. Still, it would do him good to stay alert.