Free Lost and Found in Prague by Kelly Jones Page A

movie-star handsome, with thick, dark hair and five o’clock shadow, and could have been cast as a cinema detective who always got his man as well as the girl. In reality he was lazy, often taking credit for the efforts of others. He hadn’t celebrated when Dal was named chief.
    “You want us off Zajic?” Reznik asked. “Work the Kula case?”
    “Not officially,” Dal replied as he scanned the table of officers. He didn’t want the press getting hold of this and he was sure his officers understood. Old Branislov Cerný once told Dal that before the republic, nothing got out to the press. The government
was
the press. A cop could do his job. “Nowadays it’s the damn reporters who seem to think they’re going to solve all the crimes,” Cerný had said. Dal knew of several instances, one in particular, when they had set up a sting—then in came the reporters and blew the whole damn thing.
    He had little use for snoopy reporters.

• 9 •
    Just like the city of Prague, the Church of Our Lady Victorious, Kostel Panny Marie Vítezné, had experienced many incarnations. Originally built between 1611 and 1613 and dedicated to the Holy Trinity as a Lutheran church, the Catholic emperor gifted it to the Carmelites after the defeat of the Protestants in the Battle of White Mountain in 1620. It was rededicated to Our Lady of Victory. The Carmelites were forced to flee in 1784 when their monastery was closed by Emperor Joseph II. The administration of the church was turned over to the Maltese Order. More than two hundred years later, in 1993, the Carmelites were allowed to return and reclaim the church.
    A broad stone staircase led up to the structure of pale ocher stone, a Baroque facade topped with onion domes and spires. With its architectural swirls and curves, recessed carvings and medallions, it had the look of a multilayered, decorated cake, though compared to many European churches it was relatively small. Perhaps it would have gone unnoticed, without visitors other than a handful of devout members of the Czech congregation, had it not been the home of one of the most famous religious icons of the world. The Holy Infant of Prague.
    The statue had come to Prague as a gift from a Spanish princess. In Córdoba on the eve of her marriage to Lord Vratislav of Pernštejn in 1556, Princess Maria was presented the little statue by her mother, Dona Isabella Manrique de Lara y Mendoza. The princess would soon travel with her new husband to his home in Bohemia, and her mother wished to send her off with a personal protector in the form of the Infant King.
    Later, Maria passed the statue on to her own daughter, the beautiful princess Polyxena, when she married a Czech nobleman. After two marriages, twice widowed, in 1628 Polyxena presented the Little King to the Barefoot Carmelite community in Prague. In 1631 Prague was invaded by the Saxons. The conquerors, according to the traditional story, discarded the Infant. Several years later a young priest, recently returned to the city, found the statue, hands missing, in a pile of rubbish. One day while in prayer, Father Cyril heard the Infant speak. “Have pity on me and I will have pity on you,” the Infant said. “Give me my hands and I will give you peace. The more you honor me, the more I will bless you.”
    Father Cyril prayed for funds to repair the statue. Miraculously, benefactors appeared. The statue was restored and many blessings were bestowed upon the monastery and the people of Prague. These blessings, as well as miracles, were said to continue to this day.
    As Dana climbed the steps, she was well aware of these facts, this history. The myths. She had read the books and pamphlets Caroline had sent her before the trip, the guidebooks purchased in anticipation of her visit. She had come to regard churches in general as historical, architectural monuments rather than houses of prayer. She had forgotten how to pray. She had given up on prayer.
    She entered. Gilt on the