Estimated reading time — 13 minutes

ON SEPTEMBER 22, three harbingers of death arrived at the same time: the Autumnal Equinox, the stopping of the Astronomical Clock in Old Town, and the arrival of TB-9000 in Prague.

No one paid much attention to the first event, but the second and third brought great concern. Legend said that if the Orloj ceased to function, the city would suffer, and anyone who tried to repair it would go mad or die. As for TB-9000, reality said that it killed within half an hour.

Tuberculosis, or at least the 19th-century variety, took about three years to claim its victims. This new strain was far quicker and deadlier. Hence the high digit designation. As of 9/22, it wasn’t worldwide, but Europe had been hit hard. The Czech Republic issued lockdowns in all its major cities, so tourists had to go home. Locals like me breathed a sigh of relief, but not for long.

When the first cases were reported, I watched the news with wide eyes and bitten nails. How could we have forgotten the hard lessons of six years ago? I lived in one of the Old Town Square Apartments, complete with a flat screen satellite TV that broadcast the gory details: pale faces, crowded clinics, masks stained with blood. Dire warnings from several doctors and our illustrious mayor, Bohuslav Svoboda. His advice? Stay home, stay safe, and stay informed.

A text on my phone. My boyfriend, Jan: ‘Kateřino, můžeš věřit tomuhle hovno?’

Kateřina, can you believe this shit?

‘Ne. Je to jako COVID znovu dokola.’ No. It’s like COVID all over again.

‘Ale horší.’ But worse.

‘Jak dlouho tentokrát budeme v karanténě?’ How long will we be in quarantine this time?

‘Kurva.’ Fuck. ‘Dnes večer jdu do nového klubu.’ I’m going to the new club tonight.

‘Ten, kdo se nazývá Váhy?’ The one called The Scales?

‘Jo. Mají maškarní večírek.’ Yeah. They’re having a costume party. A masquerade ball.

Jan tells me that the theme is “Over the Rainbow.” Everyone is supposed to dress in rainbow colors, whether solid or mixed. I’d love to go, but I don’t think I should risk it with the plague in Prague. Strange how those two words, in English, are only one letter apart.

Jan switches to our mutual second language. ‘So are you in or out?’

‘Out.’

‘Come on, Kačko. It’ll be fun. I’ll be lonely without you, but the green fairy will visit me anyway.’

I groan. He knows how much I love absinthe. I haven’t had a sip in ages. Too expensive.

‘Have an extra glass for me. Be careful. Wear a mask that covers your mouth, not just your face.’

‘Yes, Mom.’ Jan posts three laughing emojis. ‘There will also be tarot readings.’

He’s got me. Ever since I was little, I’ve loved the paranormal: ghosts, witches, zombies, vampires, the timeless lure of predicting the future. ‘Váhy is an occult club, then?’

‘Seems that way. Rumor has it their hot waitstaff all practice witchcraft.’

I shut my eyes and squint so hard it hurts. ‘Don’t hook up with any of them, okay?’

‘How can I do that if I’m with you?’

‘Jan. Have you seen the local news?’

‘What, Mayor Svoboda? Blah fucking blah. He won’t tell us the truth about TB-9000.’

‘Which is?’

‘That it was manufactured in a lab, just like COVID.’

This sounds close enough to be true, but Jan has fallen down far more than one conspiracy-theory rabbit hole. ‘Honzo, I’m not going to take the bait, and I’m not going to Váhy. That’s final.’

‘I can’t go clubbing without you on my arm and later, in my arms. That’s final.’

I sigh, but he can’t hear me. ‘Příliš snadno můžete mě mít.’ You can have me far too easily.

‘Aha! I’ll pick you up at 7:30, then?’

‘Samozřejmě.’ Of course. TB-9000 or not, I add, ‘I’m dying to see you again.’

‘Me too.’

I put my phone down and see what I have in my closet. What would fit the party theme of “Over the Rainbow?” Any outfit, really, except for one of several little black dresses. Ones with necklines that plunge and skirts that barely cover my ‘prdel.’ Maybe Váhy has a more formal dress code. I reach far, far back and pull out the first thing my hand grabs. It’s a gorgeous violet ensemble with a lace bodice and a flowing skirt that twirls around when I try it on. It even has a matching scarf and platform shoes. When did I buy these things? I don’t remember. I don’t recall buying lots of stuff. Such is the wonder of Amazon.de, even here in Czechia.

I log onto my laptop, check and reply to my friends on social media, then access my work site. I’m a customer service representative for an online fashion boutique. I love the clothes we sell. I hate the bitches (they’re almost always women) who call in and complain about them. Wrong size, wrong color, things falling apart in the laundry, etc. It all amounts to “I want a refund,” which they’re not going to get. The most I can offer them is a credit on their next purchase, which they grudgingly take. Being cussed out over the phone or texts is no fun at all.

After a few hours of handling people’s whining and empty threats of suing our company, I get on social media again. My best girlfriend, Tereza, is worried about TB-9000. She’s staying home from a family dinner gathering. A smart precaution, but she and her relatives don’t really get along, so that’s a win-win situation. When I brag about going to Váhy, she posts: ‘Fakt, jo?’

I post back in English: ‘Facts. They’re hosting a masquerade. You have to wear a mask.’

Tereza adds, ‘But what about social distancing?’

‘Relax. There have only been a few cases of TB-9000 in the city. Jan and I will both be fine.’

‘I’ll say some Hail Marys for you anyway.’

That’s the one thing that annoys me about Tereza: her devotion to Catholicism. She’s trying to get me to join the Church, but I’m way more into tarot cards, crystals, and astrology. Like I said before, that’s what has me so interested in Váhy. I want to get my fortune read if I have the chance.

7:30 can’t come quickly enough. I’ve spent two hours showering, getting dressed, and doing my hair and skin care routine. I find a glittery gold mask that covers the upper half of my face, all the way down to the tip of my nose. It doesn’t cover my mouth, though. Oh well. I put on lip gloss.

At the last minute, I think of the perfect accessory: a 14K gold necklace with a zodiac charm. A tiny balance scale with two pans, and the pendant sinks into my cleavage. Perfect. I’ll let Jan play with it if he plays nice and doesn’t try to get me to leave the club early so we can go home and get naked. He rushes things. Sometimes I like that about him, but not tonight. Tonight’s special.

A knock at my apartment door. I peek through the peephole and see that it’s Jan.

“Ahoj, Honzo.” I open it and flash a playful grin at him.

“Kateřino.” He says my name in the vocative case, with a trilled “rrrzh” in the middle. That’s how it’s supposed to be said, but my one and only pronounces the ř so sensually. “Čau, you little flirt.”

I show him my necklace. “Naturally. I’m a Libra.”

“Beautiful. All of you.”

I notice his red blazer and rose boutonniere. “Whoa. You too. Where’d you get the jacket?”

“I don’t remember, but I’ve had it for a while. Maybe since university, which wasn’t so long ago.” He holds out his arm, and I take it. We head out into Prague’s nightlife. In my humble opinion, the city reveals its true self after dark. Sure, tourists crowd Prague Castle and the Charles Bridge during the day, but they don’t know about all the restaurants, shops, and clubs that are at their best once the sun’s down. Váhy seems to be one of these. It’s two stories, with a neon scale emblem that smoothly changes color and an upstairs balcony. So far so good.

Inside, the place is jam-packed. Jan leads me through the crush of bodies as if he’s been here a hundred times before, and soon we’re at the bar. Jan orders a beer. I order a taste of “the green fairy” with tonic water. The bitter absinthe singes the inside of my mouth and throat, stinging, while the tonic water adds some smooth carbonation and notes of sweetness. Absolutely perfect.

Jan kisses the top of my head. My scalp tingles. Good enough for now.

We make our way to the dance floor. EDM rings so loud through the speakers that I can feel the bass thump through the floor and my chunky platform shoes. It throws me a bit off balance, but guess who’s there to catch me? We bump and grind, inhaling each other’s cologne, perfume, and sweat. My hair gets wet, as does the rest of my body, and our deodorant wears off way too fast. When the noise and contact are finally too much, I tell Jan I’d like to see about fortune-telling.

“Let’s check the second floor.”

“Sure. I need to use the restroom first. Just let me – ”

Some asshole body-slams us, and I almost fall. Jan pulls me upright, calling him “kretén” and all sorts of other names. I’m afraid he’s going to start a fight, but he keeps his fists lowered. The stairs are all the way back against the far wall, so we have to do our snaking dance through the crowd to get to the restrooms. Something catches my eye on the way there, though: a fountain with a gold balance scale. A sign in Czech reads: “Weigh your greatest possession against your greatest wish. Give and get.”

I finger my necklace. It’s real gold. Why would I give it up? Still, it’s the only thing I can think of that would satisfy the requirement of being my greatest possession. I can’t take off my dress in the middle of the club. My shoes are too bulky and are giving my feet blisters. My earrings are faux diamond studs. Carefully, I remove my necklace and place it into the left balance pan.

The right one is empty.

I close my eyes. “I wish…” I think of Mayor Svoboda’s warning. “That Jan and I will be safe tonight.”

“There you are,” says my handsome boyfriend. “I need to piss too. Hey, what’s that?”

“A decorative fountain with a mysterious sign.” I gesture to the scale pan full of possessions.

Jan reads the sign. “Give and get? I don’t think I have anything to give except this.” He plucks the rose boutonniere off his jacket and surrenders it. “I wish that a certain Kateřina would be mine.”

I scoot closer. “I’m already yours. Wait for me.” We each duck into the appropriate restroom, where I take some time to post selfies. What’s the point of being at a party without pics?

When we come out, we head for the stairs, which are quite steep for being only one flight. They make me hate my shoes even more. Thankfully, the second floor is a lot quieter than the first. Tables have been set up with votive candles, and I can see tarot card spreads. Yes. This is what I’ve wanted ever since I walked through Váhy’s door. I find an empty table and sit down.

“I’ll be on the balcony. I need a smoke,” Jan says. I nod.

A waitress in a multicolored jester’s outfit comes and takes my drink order. I ask for a second glass of absinthe without the tonic water. She also asks if I’d like my fortune told. I happily agree.

“I’m Klára. I started reading tarot a month ago. How about a Past, Present, Future spread?”

“All right.” A bit disappointing, but the longer ones can be complicated. She brings my drink, then sits down across from me. She clears the previous formation, shuffles the cards, then lays three in front of me, facedown. I turn the first card over, representing the past. The Fool reversed.

“You’ve made reckless decisions in the past,” the waitress explains, “or have been naïve. Do you fear the unknown or a necessary new beginning? It’s time to take a leap of faith.” She smiles.

I shrug, trying not to sound nervous. “I guess that’s why I’m here.” I flip the second card. Justice.

“Karmic balance,” Klára explains. “Also, a reminder that actions have consequences. Remember to take responsibility for the choices you make. The card is upright, so it has a positive meaning.”

“Good.” I wipe my sweaty palms on the skirt of my dress. I take another absinthe sip. “Next?”

When I reveal the third card, I feel cold sweat drip in my armpits. “Death.”

“Not physical death. Transition. A transformation. The ending of a cycle.”

I think hard. What cycle could she be referring to? What kind of transformation do I need to make?

“Don’t read too much into this. The spread is just for entertainment.”

“Jo, jo.” Still, something isn’t right. I feel dizzy and buzzed at the same time.

“Want to have some real fun?” Klára grins, and her smile stretches all the way across her face. Her lips are thin and far too red, like a clown’s. Her teeth are square, chipped, and rotten. “Want to go over the rainbow with me?” She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out some pills.

I shudder. “Pervitin.” Also known as methamphetamine. “Ne, děkuji, Kláro.”

“Are you scared?” I shake my head. “Too expensive for you? The first one’s free.”

“The first one’s always free.” Plus, I don’t want to end up with rotten yellow teeth.

“This is supposed to be a party. Be the Fool for once. Just try one. You’ll see.”

I reluctantly hold out my hand. Klára gives me one of the pills, which we call Pervitin even though the original drug died out in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Hitler’s army even used it back in the ‘40s. I should steer clear, but something about Klára’s maniacal gaze sets me on edge. Maybe I do need drugs to enjoy this club fully. I pop the pill in my mouth and swallow it with the last of the absinthe.

“That’s my girl. Want another glass?” I turn it down. Being drunk and high at the same time is awesome, but I shouldn’t overdo it. I should go find Jan so we can dance some more, or have sex.

“Čau.” I weave my way among the tables to the balcony doors. Klára’s still staring at me.

I pretend she’s not there and go onto the balcony. Jan leans on the railing, a lit cigarette between his lips. My guess is he’s had more than one, though my tarot reading was quick.

“There you are, Honzo. It’s cold out here.” There’s also dense fog, and it engulfs the streetlights.

“Then come cuddle with me.” I do, standing in front of him, his arms enfolding me from back to front. “That’s weird. The Orloj should have chimed 11:00 by now.” I shrug. Maybe we both missed it due to all the noise. “I’m bored. Tell me a story, Kačko. A scary one.”

“The scariest story I know is about another Jan: Jan Mydlář, the Butcher of Bohemia.”

“Oh! My favorite – er, go on.”

I grin. “No one knows how or why Jan Mydlář became an executioner, but legend has it that he did it for love. He originally planned to be a doctor, but when his first cousin Dorota was falsely accused of murder, he sought access to the prison where she was being held. Unfortunately, his plan failed, and Dorota was walled up alive in a dungeon. Grief-stricken yet honor-bound, Mydlář became a master headsman in Prague. While performing his duties, he wore a long red hood.”

“Is that how he got to be known as the Butcher?” asks my Jan, knowing the answer full well.

“Not until the Bohemian Revolt of 1618-1621. Twenty-seven Czech noblemen, fighting against the Catholic emperor Ferdinand II and the Habsburg empire, faced the sword and the noose of Mydlář. He beheaded fifteen of them, having to use four swords in the process, and hanged the rest. To complicate matters even further, he himself was a Protestant, and he had to execute his best friend, Jan Jessenius. First, by cutting out his tongue, then chopping off his head.”

“Why the tongue removal?”

Despite the warmth of my man holding me, I’m getting chills, but the story must go on. “Jessenius was an educated burgher, and according to the emperor, he committed an ‘oral transgression,’ whatever that means.” Jan chuckles. “Oh, shut up. I didn’t mean it that way. After the execution, Mydlář took the body to Mountain Gate, near Hybernska Street, and quartered it. Jessenius’ head and tongue were exhibited on the Charles Bridge. So were the heads of many others. In the Old Town Square, there are pavement stones that represent twenty-eight white crosses, one for each of the slain nobles and the last for Martin Fruwein of Podolí, who probably committed suicide before his execution. So his corpse was beheaded instead of his living body.”

“Hrozný. Horrible. And Mydlář was rewarded for this?”

“Sure. He was a social outcast, but at the same time, he was kind of like a rock star. He was well-paid for his services, but the only way he could enter and leave Prague was through a gate near a garbage dump. No one wanted to be associated with him, but even today his legend lives on.”

“Hmm. If he were alive, do you think he’d have an Instagram feed? Snapchat? TikTok?”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t get likes from anyone except horror fans, waiting for him to upload pics and videos of his latest victims.” I shift within Jan’s grasp. “If you don’t behave, he’ll get you.”

“Ha!”

“It’s true. Why would a master executioner, dedicated as he is, stop practicing his craft at death? Why would he stop dispensing brutal justice in his red hood? Men such as he are stronger than the grave and can outlast it. If you’re not careful, you might end up facing one of his swords.”

Jan squeezes me. “Můj krásný malý lhář.” My pretty little liar. “Let’s go back inside. I’m freezing.”

I’m starting to sweat again. It’s probably the Pervitin kicking in, or else I’m a perv. I’m thinking that we should go back down to the first floor and find a promising wall to – lean against. No one will notice us in the huge throng. When I mention this to Jan, he practically runs down the steep stairs. We do exactly what we’ve come to do, the rainbow lights shifting colors all around us, the stench and swell of bodies camouflaging ours.

My temperature is rising through more than the act. I’m starting to think that the pill Klára gave me contains more than meth, or else it’s badly cut. I feel like I’m being roasted alive, slowly, over a fire I can’t see. All the same, I’m so happy and so high. Over the rainbow indeed. I can not only see colors but smell them: red for blood, orange for sweat, yellow for piss, green for puke. Perfume and cologne for blue and purple. It’s an orgy of odor as well as other sensations, and I’m getting overwhelmed again. Is Jan? He looks manic.

“Having a good time?” he asks me, his smile too wide for his face, like Klára’s.

Bitter absinthe bile rises in my throat. I swallow it back down and nod.

“Good. Want to dance some more?”

“I don’t know. I’m dizzy, and so hot.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Ty vole.” Dude. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m burning up. Maybe I’m getting a fever.”

The lights are too bright. The fog machine pumping vapor throughout the dancefloor isn’t doing its job. My eyes are watering. I think I see something red, a crimson phantom approaching us.

“Want to go home?”

“I’d…like that…” I double over, but I don’t vomit. I cough up blood instead. It splatters all over my stupid shoes and the floor. It’s all I can do to cover my mouth in preparation for the next fit.

“Kačko. Kačko!” Jan pulls a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and hands it to me fast.

“Stand back. I have the plague!” I slap the handkerchief firmly over my lips. It fills with dark red liquid, sticky to the touch, soaking through the linen faster than water. My chest heaves, over and over, and my ribs feel in danger of splitting. I can’t hear or see anything else over my own agony.

I made a bargain with the Balance for us to be safe tonight.

But at midnight, which I sense it is even though the Old Town Clock is silent? All bets are off.

Jan lays his hand on my back and pounds, which makes me hack up more fluid. My lungs must be shot. If what they say about TB-9000 is right, I have thirty minutes to live. Maybe less.

“Kateřino, I’m calling 112 right now. Hold on. Stay with me.” He whips out his phone. And coughs.

Blood sprays from his mouth onto his phone screen as he dials the Czech emergency number. In trying to tell dispatch where we are, all he can choke out is “Váhy,” which also means Libra. He repeats it like a madman, and in this moment, I know there’s no hope for either of us. Unless…

“The fountain. I have to – go there – ” Without waiting for Jan, I dash toward the far wall again, trying not to drip blood on people but doing so nonetheless. Besides, they’re coughing too.

We have it. We all have it. TB-9000 is here, and it’s come to get us.

I get to the scales and offer up my real most-prized possession. It dribbles from my mouth into the left pan, covering my gold necklace and all the other treasured objects, turning them all a wet scarlet. When I finish hacking, I’m so weak that I kneel before the fountain.

I turn my head.

The phantom has snuck up behind me: a man in a long red hood, carrying one sword in his hands and three more sheathed on his belt. Seeing my posture, he raises his blade to strike.

Through phlegm and wormwood-tinged vomit, I cry: “Ušetři mě, Mydláři!” Spare me, Jan Mydlář!

He pauses, then lowers his sword. I sink down, my head the last thing that hits the balance pan.

Čau, Honzo. Goodbye, Jan. May we both be weighed on the cosmic Scales and not found wanting.

Credit: Tenet