Roderick took the cage, reached inside, and brought out the bird. It looked small and fragile in his fist. He handed the cage back to his assistant, then closed his other hand over the bird’s head. The bird began to twitch, its wings flailing.

Kelley flinched. “What are you doing?”

“A quick suffocation does the least damage to the body.”

At last the bird went still. Roderick took it into the stone chamber, placed it on a stool near the closed iron box. He returned, told his other assistants to get back down the hall and prepare to relay his commands. They left at a jog.

“I’ll need you on the crank, Kelley.”

Kelley pointed. “But the door’s still open.”

“Never mind that,” Roderick said. “Just make sure not to stand directly in front of the doorway. You won’t get any direct rays if you’re off to the side.”

Kelley remained dubious, but he manned the crank and waited for Roderick’s command. Nervous.

“Angle the sun lens!” Roderick shouted.

The command was relayed back down the line, loud voices echoing in the dungeon halls. There was a long pause, and then the hallway filled with light. A blue-white beam flashed past and into the chamber room. Kelley yelled and jumped back.

“Back on the crank, Kelley,” Roderick shouted. “Get to it.”

Kelley cranked, the lenses spinning within the chamber. Roderick pulled the lever, opening the iron box. An electrical crack deafened Kelley. He winced but kept cranking. Rainbow lights washed through the hall, blinked and shimmered. Kelley felt nauseous and dizzy. His teeth hummed with a sharp vibration. The dungeon had become a blinding, deafening hell.

Kelley screamed but kept cranking.

Roderick pulled the lever again to close the box. He shouted back up the hall. “Finished!”

The sunbeam cut off. The hall went dead silent.

Kelley fell backward, landed hard on his ass. He was drenched in his own sweat, panting.

“Stay here,” the astrologer said.

Roderick entered the chamber. He didn’t come back right away. Kelley stayed on the floor. His shoulders ached from cranking at such high speed. He wished somebody bright and young and pretty would rub his shoulders. He wished he was back in Ireland, wished he’d never met Dee or Roderick or come to this place. How might his life have been different if he’d really studied the sciences, gone to the university? Instead he’d picked up dribs and drabs of knowledge, bits of science and the occult. This is where it had landed him. A sad little con man turning a crank for lunatics.

Roderick emerged from the chamber, cradled something in his hands. He stood without moving, his head upturned toward the ceiling, eyes closed. A wan smile played over his face. He stayed like that for such a long time that Kelley thought there might be something wrong with him.

Roderick turned his head slowly, smiled at Kelley. He walked to the alchemist, paused a second, then sat down on the floor across from him.

“What happened?” Kelley asked.

“Look.” Roderick opened his hands.

The bird bounced into Kelley’s lap, its head twitching from side to side. It peeped, flapped its wings. Kelley looked closely. It was not a zombie. It was a live, normal bird. Kelley reached for it, but the bird spread its wings, then darted into the air and into the depths of the dungeon. Kelley looked after it, mouth agape.

Roderick the astrologer had done it. He’d taken death and had turned it into life. Impossibly. Against the laws of man and God. The astrologer had done it.

And Kelley was terrified.

The daily routine and attention to security within Prague Castle were obnoxiously irregular. On any given day, five guards in light armor might patrol the dungeons, or there might be twenty, depending on whether the emperor was scheduled for an inspection or if additional troops were needed to dispatch a fresh batch of zombies.

There were seven guards on duty the morning of the assault. The one constant was the guard at the main entrance of the dungeon whose job it was to lift the bar from the inside and allow entrance to anyone who spoke the proper password. This guard was Kelley’s responsibility.

The guard sat on a stool and watched Kelley approach. Kelley smiled, held up a tankard of mead. He’d stashed a dagger at the small of his back under his clothes, and he shuddered at the thought of using it. Hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Couldn’t stand the thought he might have to jam it into this young fellow’s throat. Kelley didn’t want to kill anyone.

“Looks like a dull job.” Kelley had picked up more than enough Czech for casual conversation. “How about some refreshment?” He offered the tankard. Please take it.

The guard smiled crookedly, a tooth missing up front. He was maybe eighteen years old. “Much obliged.” He drank, slurped, drained the mug, looked at Kelley with appreciation.

Kelley chatted with him another two minutes. Soon the guard began to sway on the stool. His eyes rolled up and he fell backward, chain mail clinking on the stone floor.

Kelley took some mild satisfaction from knowing that his alchemy skills had not completely atrophied. He could still whip up a sleeping draught from basic ingredients.

He lifted the bar of the door and pulled the iron ring. The heavy door swung inward.

Edgar and a dozen hard-looking men crowded into the dungeon entrance, all carrying short, thick swords and hand axes. They were prepared to hack through chain mail. The men were dressed in the coarse brown clothing of laborers, but they had the broad, powerful builds of fighting men, steely eyes seeking opponents.

“Good work, Kelley.” Edgar handed him a sword. “Let’s go.”

Kelley looked at the blade in his hand. “I don’t want this!”

“No time to be squeamish, man. The bloody deeds are at hand!”

“I opened the door. Bloody deeds are your department.”

Two more guards appeared at the end of the hall. They drew swords. “Halt!”

“Have at them!” Edgar yelled.

Edgar’s mob collided with the guards, blades flashing, axes rising and falling, biting through chain mail. Blood spurted. Screams! An empty helmet flew through the air and clattered at Kelley’s feet. The guards were dead meat by the time Kelley caught up.

“There are only three more,” Kelley told them. “And Roderick the astrologer. He’s an old man, and I don’t think he’s armed.”

“Let’s go, then,” Edgar said.

“Wait.” Kelley grabbed Edgar’s tunic. “Don’t open the box. Take it out of here. Hide it far away. I don’t even want to know where. But don’t open it.”

“You’ve told us already,” Edgar said. “Now man up, Kelley. Bring that blade and let’s finish this.”

Kelley sighed. Okay, he could trail behind. No problem, bring the sword and jog along after them. He could hang back and not fight. “Lead on, then. I’ll follow.”

“Right. Let’s go!” Edgar raised his sword. “No prisoners!”

The mob cheered, followed Edgar. Kelley tried to jog after them.

Something tugged at his ankle.

Kelley looked down. One of the hacked guards was not quite dead, and he had latched onto Kelley’s ankle.

“Knock it off.” Kelley tried to kick free. “Stop that.”

The guard spit blood, lay on his back, one eye gouged out, the other fixed on Kelley. He coughed and wheezed, more blood foaming over his lips, but the hold on Kelley’s ankle was like iron.

“You’ve done your part, okay? The fight is over.” Kelley lifted the sword. “You want me to hack that hand off?”

No reply. From another part of the dungeon the sound of clashing steel reached him.

“Damn it.” He knelt, tried to pry the fingers loose, but they were locked on.

The guard croaked, spit more blood.

“Oh, shut up.” Kelley rapped the knuckles with the flat of the sword blade. Hard. He kept hitting until the hand let go. “Finally.”