Act Two: Crossroads (Part Three)

three

Everything felt like a thrilling, terrifying, and exciting dream. Now, the dream was over, and Yakov was back in his familiar, savage, impoverished, mud-splattered life, permeated with the smell of cheap malt liquor. He took Yubi and rode into the village in the early morning, where the crowing of roosters was rising and urging people to get to work.

It wasn't a large village, only about twenty or thirty households, mostly farmers, with a few carpenters, blacksmiths, and butchers. The largest building was a tavern, providing lodging and simple meals for pilgrims and travelers along the way. These outsiders were the only source of news for the villagers. Villages like this, relying on forests and farmlands, were everywhere in the area. But the vampire sitting in front of Yakov knew nothing of them.

“Their houses are made of wood!” Yubi said. “Look at all that straw! It’s weighed down with tiles so it won’t be blown away. How clever! Yakov, why do they put straw on the roof instead of wood or stones?”

“Because it’s cheap and light,” Yakov replied.

"Won't the water leak out when the snow melts?"

"It will leak."

"Then what should we do?"

“It’s better than being out there,” Yakov said, pursing his lips. He recalled some days spent in a leaky shack.

“These houses are so new!” Yubi exclaimed excitedly, looking around. He even studied the frozen horse manure by the roadside for a while. “Did people just move here?”

“No. The old house was burned down by the army,” Yakov replied.

Yubi wanted to scold him for being clueless, but he just snorted and didn't say anything. The two stopped their horses in front of the village tavern and dismounted. Yakov was about to go into the stable when he noticed a donkey with a bundle hanging on it. He stopped.

"Why don't you go in?" Yubi asked, looking at Yakov who was hesitating at the door. "I want to go in and take a look!"

“Lift up your cloak and cover your face,” Yakov said.

"Why?"

“Now is not the time for you to pry.” Yakov noticed two snow-shoveling men emerging from the tavern’s backyard, watching them warily and curiously from a distance. He grabbed Yubi’s arm and pulled him to the nearby stable, away from their dangerous gazes. “You’ll pretend to be my prisoner.”

"Why? You have to tell me!" Yubi asked again angrily.

“Because you’ll be recognized. That will cause a lot of trouble.” Yakov took a piece of rope, grabbed the two thin wrists, and quickly and skillfully tied them up. “From now on, don’t say a word.”

"But you just said nobody knows me!"

Before he could finish his argument, Yubi's hands were already tightly bound. Yakov tied the knots and then untied the horse's bit. The horse, starving, immediately stretched its head and began chewing on the fodder. There was a pile of fine oats in the feed trough, and the horse's attempt to grab them caused the donkey beside it to bray angrily. Yakov ignored this and carefully untied the two heavy boxes tied to the horse's rump—they were incredibly heavy—and meticulously checked the cloth covering them to ensure no corner was exposed.

"Wow, you're so strong!" Yubi exclaimed, standing to the side in astonishment. "How could you lift that?"

Yakov turned around and found the basket containing horse manure. It seemed the people working here weren't very diligent; the wicker basket was piled high and hadn't been emptied, only kept from stinking by the cold weather. He grabbed a handful of straw, scooped out the still-frozen manure, and smeared it on the basket, making it much less noticeable.

"Ugh, that's disgusting!" Yubi exclaimed, grimacing.

Yakov frowned and sighed. He dropped the straw to cover the box, put down the manure basket, and turned around, pacing back and forth as if searching for something. After a while, he found a thin cotton shirt in the bundle containing clothes. He crumpled the shirt into a ball, roughly stuffed it into Yubi's mouth, then grabbed his wool cloak and pulled it over his head. Finally, he straightened the fabric, trying to conceal the expensive, intricate hand-woven embroidery and gilded ornaments.

"Be quiet," Yakov advised. "Just bear with it for a while."

The mark on his chest began to ache faintly, but he could still bear it.

Yakov wanted to swagger in and then casually say to the person at the counter, "Here's a gold coin. Find me some good meat and wine, and a pretty woman. Keep the rest of the money; it's a reward."

But he couldn't. Everyone here, visible and invisible, from lords to beggars, from old women to children, was like a thief and a robber, all wanting to gang up on him and steal his spoils. He thought, "You must not only possess wealth, but also protect it; otherwise, wealth is just something others accumulate."

He trudged through the snow, carrying Yubi's bag on his back, and grabbed Yubi's collar as he entered the tavern, trying to appear calm and intimidating.

The tavern was the only stone-built building in the village, indicating that its owner was the wealthiest man in the village. In the dimly lit hall, tattered cloths hung from the narrow, small windows for warmth, and a thick stone hearth stood in the center, its ceiling blackened by years of soot. Straw mats were piled on the floor, where several disheveled travelers lay asleep, wrapped in their clothes, huddled together for warmth by the hearth, their meager belongings tucked under their legs. A pot of thick, mushy soup, brimming with vegetable and tuber broth, simmered on the hearth, emitting a foul, stale smell.

The young girl at the counter was yawning when she saw a tall knight in a blood-stained white robe leading a prisoner through the door. She immediately closed her jaw in fright.

“Give me a bag of black bread, some salted meat, and a bowl of hot soup,” Yakov said in a muffled voice under his helmet, speaking in broken Hungarian. He placed a silver coin on the counter with his iron glove. “And a jug of beer.”

"Sir, we also have honey here, from our own bees," the little girl asked timidly. "Would you like some?"

Yakov glanced at her. “Sure. Do you have a private room?” He patted Yubi on the back, trying to stop the boy’s muffled groans of complaint, then pulled out two more silver coins from under his glove.

"Yes, yes! Someone's staying there, but he's leaving today. I'll go get him right now..."

The words had barely left his mouth when the wooden stairs creaked and groaned. Yakov turned to look. First, a pair of muddy wooden-soled leather boots appeared on the stairs, followed by legs encased in tight stockings, a large pile of familiar bundles and the hem of a wool cloak. Finally, a beanie wrapped inside the cloak appeared, and a small mustache swayed as it emerged. A pair of amber eyes flashed, spotting the person standing at the counter in the hall, and without a word, they immediately slipped away and ran back upstairs.

Yakov rushed forward. Taking advantage of his size, he quickly cornered the man at the foot of the stairs, grabbed him by the clothes, and dragged him to the counter. He yanked off the beanie with two strings hanging down, and two curly braids fell out. The noise woke several travelers sleeping on the straw mats in the hall. They looked up, their heads covered in straw, to see what was happening.

“Look, a heretic,” Yakov said. He deliberately switched to Latin. “I need to thoroughly investigate your identity.”

“I am a Venetian, and even the Pope cannot restrict my freedom!” Schumeer glared, puffing out his beard, and shook off his hand, racking his brains to come up with a few words in Hungarian. “Uh, I am Venetian!” He turned to the stunned onlookers, trying to persuade them, “Crusaders? No!”

"You expect these people who have nothing to do with you to speak for you?" Yakov mocked him. "You're not going anywhere today, you slippery Jew, don't try to fool me a third time."

“What the hell! Absolutely terrible luck!” Schumer was dizzy with rage. He glanced around the hall and realized the man opposite him was right. Everyone was staring at them like spectators at a play, no one wanting to get involved in this mess, afraid of getting into any trouble. However, the other, shorter prisoner the savage crusader was holding was whimpering and struggling, kicking the hard iron boots in protest. Those boots looked familiar; they were an expensive, elaborate style with a heel…

"Who is this?" Schumacher asked in alarm.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you too.” Yakov pulled the two of them upstairs. He then called out to the young girl at the counter in fluent Hungarian, “Lead the way. And take what I need to my room while you’re at it.”