“Then listen.” Candát took one of the sheets and squinted at it through weak eyes. “A letter by Our Lady from Heaven. Which I wrote yesterday: “‘Faithless folk, base and perverse generation,’” he began, his voice transforming into preacherly exaltation as he read, “‘God’s wrath and calamities will fall on you, your labours and your flocks. Since you do not profess the true faith but listen instead to the Roman Antichrist, I shall turn my face from you. My Son shall judge you for the evil you have committed in His holy Church and destroy you as He destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. And there will be a weeping and gnashing of teeth, amen.’

“Letters from Heaven, get it?” explained Candát, seeing that Reynevan didn’t get it at all. “Letters from Jesus, letters from Mary and Peter. We write them as propaganda. Agitators and emissaries learn them by heart and go to enemy countries to propagate them to the locals. In order—as our director says—to confuse the local folk so they don’t know who’s a friend, who’s an enemy or what’s what. That’s what letters from Heaven are, get it? Like this letter by Jesus, listen. Note how beautifully written it is—”

“Slavík, old chap, I’m in a bit of a hurry—”

“Listen, listen! ‘Sinners and scoundrels, your end is nigh. I am patient, but if you do not abandon Rome, the Beast of Babylon, I, my Father and all my angels will curse you—’”

“Brother Bielawa?” A voice from behind Reynevan saved him. “Brother Neplach urgently requests your presence. If you would follow me.”

One of the freshly erected buildings was imposing and resembled a manor house. It had several rooms on the ground floor and several austerely equipped chambers on the first floor. One of the chambers contained a large and not at all austere bed in which Flutek was lying, covered with an eiderdown and groaning.

“Where’ve you been?” he howled wildly at the sight of Reynevan. “I sent men to Prague and Kolín in search of you! And you… Ooh… Ooooh… Aaaaagh!”

“What’s the matter? Oh, don’t say anything. I know.”

“You do, do you? Impossible! What’s wrong with me, then? What am I suffering from?”

“Kidney stones, generally speaking. But at this moment you have colic. Sit up. Lift your shirt and turn away. Does it hurt? Here?”

“Ooouuuch! Fuck me!”

“There’s no doubt it’s renal colic,” Reynevan announced, “which you are well aware of as it’s certainly not the first time and the symptoms are typical: acute pains shooting downwards, nausea, pressure on the bladder—”

“Stop talking and start treating me, you damned quack.”

“You’ve unexpectedly found yourself in quite good company.” Reynevan smiled. “Jan Huss suffered from severe stones and very acute attacks of renal colic while in prison in Constance.”