Act Three: The Laws of Engaging with the World (XV)
fifteen
Footsteps in the corridor snapped Yakov out of his reverie. He turned and saw the door was open. As if waking from a dream, he immediately remembered where he was and what situation he was in. He looked around and realized that Schumeer was not in the room.
"Put your cloak on." Yakov put his helmet and gloves back on, slung his pack over his shoulder, and picked up his longsword. "Let's go."
"Why should we leave?" Yubi asked. "If someone comes, we'll explain it to them!"
"Don't think about such a foolish thing!" Yakov grabbed his thin arm, picked up the ring, and shoved it into his hand. "No one will listen to your explanation!"
Yubi barely had time to slip his bare feet into his boots, his cloak hastily tied. He glanced around the room, wanting to see Christina's body, but couldn't bear to look closely. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yakov's white cloak stained a mottled red, the outline of the cross barely visible—it was Christina's blood, he thought painfully. He clutched the hand-embroidered cloak, pierced by a knife, to his chest, unwilling to discard it.
Yakov held his sword. The two encountered three night watchmen in the corridor. They were dressed in leather armor, carrying torches and spears, and speaking in German that Yakov couldn't understand, blocking their path. "They're asking you what happened, what that sound was..." Yubi translated.
Yakov ignored him completely. He lowered his center of gravity and skillfully twirled the blood-stained longsword in his hand. He whispered to Yubi, "Don't let go of my left hand."
Yubi wanted to persuade him further, but he noticed the guards opposite him whispering to each other, and one of them turned and left. Hearing their words, he fell silent, hugged his left arm tightly, and stopped translating the sentences.
The remaining two guards immediately pointed their spears forward. Their target was Yakov—clearly, the tall man in full chainmail and wielding a sharp longsword posed a greater threat. Soon, the two Saxon guards, with remarkable coordination, thrust their spears forward simultaneously, one high and one low, one aimed at Yakov's hand, the other at his foot.
Yubi was startled. Aside from his altercation with Yakov a few days earlier, he had never been in a serious fight. For a moment, his mind went blank. Yakov shoved him violently, with the force of a punching bag, shoving him against the wall—Yubi thought with lingering fear, thank goodness he wasn't wearing his mother's ring. He gripped the leather strap on Yakov's left gauntlet tightly, his eyes snapping shut in shock, only to be pulled away by the terrifying force—Yakov quickly stepped back and then lunged forward, seemingly trying to bring his longsword close to his enemy. A whistling sound of metal clashing rang out, and Yubi opened his mouth, then couldn't help but open his eyes—a spear pierced past his eye, and Yakov was dragging him in the opposite direction to avoid the sharp metal. Yubi closed his eyes again in terror.
“Their training can’t have lasted more than six months,” Yakov said, breathing evenly. “Let’s go.”
Yubi opened his eyes again, still confused. He had already been dragged quite a distance by Yakov. Looking back, he saw two soldiers lying in the corridor, and a spear with its tip broken off.
"You're amazing, Yakov!" he exclaimed in surprise, then lowered his head dejectedly. "Am I a burden? Can I be of any help? I can fight too!"
"No, stop talking nonsense!" Yakov's voice, hidden beneath his helmet, sounded a mix of anger and excitement. "...Let's wait another two years."
The two walked all the way to the exit. Yakov held the cold vampire down around the corner. He noticed that von Brunel had sent an entire squad to guard the entrance, and torches illuminated the street there. "There are too many people," Yubi whispered. "Isn't there any other way out?"
Yakov thought, there must be. A warehouse, a stable, a lord's residence couldn't possibly have only one main entrance without any other exits. He listened quietly to the soldiers' footsteps, estimating their numbers. Yakov vaguely remembered that Lord von Brunel had said he had a hundred elite soldiers—that must have been an exaggerated number, but even asking him to take on dozens by himself would be a tall order.
He felt hope was just a step away, and anxiously turned his neck, peering under his helmet, scanning all the doors and passageways. Just then, a pack of rats, family and pack, laden with food, darted out from the floor tiles behind them, startling Yubi so much he nearly jumped off Yakov. "...Sorry, just rats," Yubi muttered.
Yakov smelled a familiar scent—like the almond tart and herring pie he'd had during the day, with cinnamon and bay leaves. Suddenly, a thought struck him. He followed the path the rats had taken. Soon, he found a gap in the wall—a rat hole leading to another room, the entrance to which was in the doorway around the corner next to them.
“This must be the kitchen,” he said, pulling Yubi to her feet. “The kitchen must have a door leading to the storeroom.”
They turned into a dark doorway and descended a short flight of steps. Yakov, sword in hand, dared not light anything, his remaining vision filled with darkness. But Yubi said, "I can see everything." He walked ahead, taking Yakov's hand and leading the way. "There's a door ahead."
Yakov had no idea where he had been. He groped his way through the dark, careful not to stumble upon any tableware or dishes that might attract his pursuit. His sense of smell penetrated layers of food, wine, soot, and spices, allowing him to perceive the world like a mole living underground. Yubi led him around an unknown obstacle and soon stopped. Yakov heard him fiddling with a latch; it wasn't locked. With a click, light reappeared through the slit in his helmet visor.
The hut, which looked like a servant's quarters, was extremely simple. A strong, healthy young woman was sleeping on a straw mat on the floor beside the stove, her back to the fire and facing them. Next to her was a tattered, open quilt, as if someone had left there in the middle of the night.
Yakov held his breath, not wanting to wake the people inside. He noticed the door beside him creaking in the wind—it was snowing outside, and the cold wind was blowing in through the loose door, making the girl wrap her old blanket tighter around herself. They crept quietly towards the door and unlatched it. The moment the door opened, tiny snowflakes swirled into Yakov's helmet, instantly creating a thin layer of frost on the inside. He squeezed through the doorway and found himself in an extremely narrow, winding alleyway, unguarded.
He reached out and took Yubi from the fire when a gust of wind swept into the room, nearly extinguishing the fire. The girl sleeping by the fire shivered and groggily opened her eyes.
“My Lord, you must be Yubi. You’re even wearing her shawl!” she mumbled indistinctly in Hungarian. “I must be dreaming, seeing her ravings…”
She soon fell into a deep sleep again.
Yubi was pulled back to his senses by Yakov's tug. He took one last look at the room and left without looking back.
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