CHAPTER EIGHT
Church bells were ringing as we made our way back to the Škoda. I was expecting the sound to be drowned out by the noise of the excavating equipment the nearer we got to the digging operation, but there was dead silence when we reached the square. Not a soul was moving. The steam shovel operators had emerged from their machines and the diggers had all climbed out of their holes to stand in silence beside their shovels and pickaxes, heads bowed.
“What’s going on?” said Gray. “Don’t tell me they found the underground prison.”
József looked at his watch. “They’re observing a moment of silence for the martyrs.”
It was like Armistice Day. The English marked the end of World War I with a two-minute silence on November 11. The first year that Gray and I were in London, I’d found
