The Old Town councillors were rightfully proud of their astronomical clock. Then rumours began to spread that Hanuš was receiving offers from elsewhere and that the master sat up late into the night in his room, calculating and drawing. What else could it be but an even better and more perfect astronomical clock designed for some foreign city? What would happen to the glory of the Old Town clock then? So the Old Town councillors began to rack their brains over how to ensure that Master Hanuš would never make another astronomical clock. They debated the issue for a considerable time, but money, a commitment or an oath did not seem secure enough. Finally, one of the councillors, a cruel man with a hard heart, came up with an idea that astonished them all. His plan was terrifying, but gradually, one by one, the councillors recognised that this was the only way to ensure that Prague’s Astronomical Clock would remain unique forever. Late one evening, Master Hanuš sat over his plans and sketches. The assistant and the housekeeper had long since left, and the master was alone in the house. It started raining outside, but it was cosy in the parlour. The flickering light of the candles cast strange patterns on the walls, a fire burned in the fireplace, and beech logs crackled occasionally in the silence. Hanuš bent over the parchments with columns of tiny numbers, occasionally raising his grey head, thinking for a moment, and then adding another note or crossing out the previous ones with a frown. He was just thinking about how to improve the Old Town Astronomical Clock, what new and unique features to add. Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the front door and a voice called out: “Open up, we’re in a hurry!” The master hurried over and pulled the heavy door away. In the rectangle of darkness, he saw the massive figures of three hooded men. They threw themselves at him and dragged him into the room. There they gagged him and two held him down while the third heated his dagger red-hot in the flames of the fireplace. Master Hanuš had just enough time to figure out what they were planning to do, just enough time to let out a muffled cry, and then he fainted from terror. He awoke in unspeakable pain. He realised that he was lying in his bed, he heard the voice of his assistant and the lamentations of the housekeeper, but all he saw was darkness. He was blinded. Master Hanuš was ill for a long time, delirious with fever, then falling into a deep sleep for days on end. His eyesight did not return. When he felt a little better, he would sit in the living room and try to figure out who could have done such a terrible thing and why. Once, when the assistant returned from the town hall, where he had been cleaning and maintaining the astronomical clock, he recounted what he had overheard from a conversation between two councillors: they were praising themselves for having done the right thing, saying that it was now more than certain that Master Hanuš would not build another astronomical clock. The master thus realised who was responsible for his blindness. He no longer felt pain, only profound bitterness and regret at the retribution he had received for his unique work. Bitterness was followed by anger and a desire for revenge, from which a plan for retribution sprouted. He confided to his assistant that he would like to go to the town hall to at least feel his beloved machine under his fingers, to delight in touching its parts, its clatter and ticking. The assistant complied. When they stood in front of the machine, the master gently touched its parts with his fingers, listened to the familiar sounds of its operation, and stroked the metal and wood with his palms. His face lit up, and tears welled up in his dull eyes. In his mind, he saw a complex mechanism in front of him, with each component fitting together with the next, and he could even make out the smallest details. Suddenly, he reached into the machine with expert hands, pulled a lever with all his strength, it snapped, and the machine began to creak and rattle until its sounds dissolved into an ominous silence. In that silence, the master’s heart burst and he fell to the ground. The astronomical clock was completely broken. It is said that it remained this way for many years until someone was found who could repair it. And the horrifying silence of the clock throughout this time reminded the councillors of their terrible deed. Based on the book 77 pražských legend by Alena Ježková (77 Prague Legends).