Chapter 18
T here was a famous street in Prague, less than twenty inches wide. Vinárna ?ertovka. It was more like a staircase, really, barely wide enough for one person to walk down, so narrow that it had its own traffic light to ensure that two pedestrians, headed in opposite directions, would not get stuck in the middle.
Jameson got there first. He waited for me by the traffic light, in the midst of the oldest neighborhood in Prague. The moment I arrived, he pushed the button to indicate to pedestrians on the other side that he was getting ready to walk through.
I doubted he’d find my next—and final—clue on his first pass. I followed behind him, and even though I was well-accustomed to secret passages and hidden rooms, this lone staircase passageway felt too narrow even for my liking.
The moment Jameson approached the far side of the passageway, he stopped—not just stopped but jerked to a halt, like his entire body had just been turned to stone.
“Jameso—” I didn’t even get his full name out before he threw himself forward. Running.
I jogged through what was left of Vinárna ?ertovka. But when I came out the other side—not more than two seconds after he did—Jameson was nowhere to be seen.
He was gone.
I waited for him to reappear.
I waited.
I waited.
But he never came back.