Act Two: Crossroads (Part Four)

Four

Schumeer feigned tears and sobs all the way, displaying his masterful acting skills to the fullest. But Yakov knew that the Jew's brow was beaded with cold sweat far more than his tears. Those chanting prayers, in a language he couldn't understand, were dragged down the dilapidated stairs to the door, mingling with Yubi's angry struggles and irritating him. The Hungarian girl cautiously opened the door, placed the food and utensils on the tray, and immediately fled.

Unsurprisingly, the small room was actually a sturdier attic. The walls were slanted, and the wooden stakes driving the floorboards creaked. However, there was a carpet on it, a wooden bed against the wall, and a simple stove in front of the small window to keep it from getting too cold. Yakov tossed the two "prisoners" he was carrying inside.

"Quiet." He closed the door tightly behind him, then felt for the latch and bolted it. Then he approached Schumacher, grabbed his shirt by the chest, and ripped it open forcefully.

The Jewish man's bare chest was completely devoid of hair except for a few scattered strands.

"What are you doing!" Schumer trembled violently, but there wasn't a single tear on his face. As soon as Yakov released him, he lay motionless on the ground. "Will I even get out of here alive? I saved your life!"

Yakov didn't answer; he was struggling to breathe. He knew what was happening, so he grabbed Yubi, pulled back his cloak, and removed the rag that had been stuffed into his mouth. Yubi's hair was disheveled, and he bent over, gagging for a while before recovering. "You're not allowed to do this to me again, not even once!" he said, looking furious, staring intently at Yakov. "I've never seen anyone like you! How dare you!"

Schumer, standing to the side, was stunned. He scrambled to his feet, his jaw nearly dropping to his chest. "Yuby, it really was you!" he exclaimed. "You kidnapped Yuby? You kidnapped Mrs. Camilla's child?"

“No, I am his slave,” Yakov replied. He lowered his head and untied the ropes from Yubi’s wrists. As soon as Yubi broke free, his fingers pointed directly at his helmet.

“Look at your attitude! Are you even listening to me? I’ll teach you a lesson later.” Yubi put down his finger and immediately turned his face away. “Schumel, I’m so sorry.” He quickly fixed his hair and apologized to Schmel with remorse. “I’ll definitely tell him not to do it again.”

Yakov almost laughed at that. He rolled his eyes under his helmet, making sure no one could see.

“What’s going on?” Schumeer raised his hand, grabbing his woolly curly hair. “I need an explanation!”

They sat on the ground and talked about what happened the night before.

“I know you never joke with me, Yubi.” Schumeer laughed at first, then awkwardly wiped the sweat from his brow. “God, it seems I’m not ready to uncover the truth of the world!”

“That’s how it is. I’m sorry I kept it from you… about the vampires.” Yubi shrugged. “Mother’s head is in that bundle. Do you want to see it?” He was about to sit on the bed when he realized it was a straw mat with a thin wool sheet as a cover, not the soft, silk-covered, goose-down mattress he’d had at home. The pampered nobleman curled his lip, deciding not to take off his boots and sit cross-legged on it.

“No, thank you…” Schumer leaned weakly against the corner of the wall, too shocked to get up. “I, I’m very sorry about this, Yubi… after all, she was your mother.”

“It’s nothing.” Yubi lowered her head and stared at the tips of her shoes. “You see, without her, I can come out. I’ve been wanting to see the outside world for a while.”

Yakov glanced at him silently from under his helmet, without saying a word.

A strange, incongruous heaviness appeared on Schumeer's face. "So what do you do now? Where are you going?"

“Constantinople! To find my sister Ambicea!” Yubi looked up, her eyes sparkling with excitement again. “Will you come with us, Schumeer?”

“Well… I would love to, but it’s too far!” Schumeer made an awkward expression that was half crying and half laughing. “Besides, a Templar Knight would never want to travel with a Jew.”

"What is a Templar Knight?" Yubi interrupted him with great interest. "Is Yakov a Templar Knight?"

“I almost forgot, we have a reclusive young master sitting among us.” Schumer pointed to Yakov. “See his burqa? A white robe with a red cross. Knights wearing burqas like that are Knights Templar. The most terrifying of the bunch of crusader madmen who bully heretics.”

Templar Knights. Yakov thought, so the cloak he'd stolen was Templar attire. He glanced furtively at Yubi. So many obscure words were making the naive vampire frown in confusion. Yakov thought, pagans, crusades, did he even understand? This kid probably couldn't even grasp what religion was—though Schumer knew a lot. This Jew seemed far more knowledgeable than him.

“You know about vampires, you work for them.” Yakov picked up a piece of salted meat and scraped it with a knife. The meat was as hard as a rock, and the scraps that fell into the hot soup didn’t spread out.

“He doesn’t know, Yakov,” Yubi interjected. “He knows nothing about these things! That’s what I like about Schumeer. I need to keep the fact that I drink blood from him, so he just treats me like an ordinary nobleman and tells me about the outside world! A painting takes a long time to complete, and being a model is a tedious job. Thanks to him, I can keep myself entertained!”

“He says he doesn’t know, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t know,” Yakov said coldly. “He painted portraits of your family 18 years ago.”

"You're so annoying, always assuming the worst of others!" Yubi's expression darkened. "Yakov, why don't you take off your helmet? How are you going to eat if you don't take it off?"

The question caused Yakov's body to stiffen abruptly, as if struck by an arrow. But quickly, he naturally put down what he was holding and slowly placed his calloused hands on his helmet.

“I’m starving, I don’t have time to answer your questions,” Yakov said. “Ask Schumeer.”

“How could Schumer possibly understand your strange thoughts?” Yubi frowned.

Yakov pulled his helmet up and placed it on the ground beside him. His blond, gray-eyed, broad-nosed, weathered face was revealed. His hands were filthy, with melted snow mixed with mud running down them. He wiped them casually on his robe, then grabbed a piece of black bread, broke it into pieces, dipped it in hot soup, lifted the wooden bowl, and gulped it down, eating hastily and indiscriminately.

Schumeer, who had been huddled in the corner, quickly got up. He walked over, then squatted down again, scrutinizing Yakov's face closely. "You're a fake! Thank goodness! Ha!" Schumeer suddenly laughed, "You're a Slav!"

Slavs. When the word is pronounced in Latin, it takes on a new, derogatory meaning—and Yubi, whose mother tongue was Latin, certainly knew that derogatory connotation. Suddenly, he gained a different understanding of all of Yakov's unusually cold and obnoxious behavior.

"You're a Slav," the young vampire exclaimed with sudden realization, "You're a slave!"