Act Two: Crossroads (Part Six)
six
The young vampire strutted back and forth in the small attic room, as if he were still strolling through the sturdy corridors of the castle. He looked at the dilapidated fireplace that Yakov had lit, studied the black smoke drifting out the window for a while, and coughed, choked by the smoke. "This won't warm the room at all; the heat just drifts away with the smoke!" He turned back, kicking his shoes as he walked, looking at how the loose floorboards clung to the walls, kicking up dust.
"Quiet down!" Yakov rushed over, grabbed him by the collar, and put him on the straw bed. "Stay here and don't run around!"
“Okay,” Yubi said, blinking.
Yakov thought he could finally get back to talking about serious matters with Schumeer, like how to use the money, how to get to Constantinople, and how to deal with the vampires. He walked back, and just as he sat down, Yubi's voice rang out again.
“Yakov, look, so this is the roof!” Yubi stepped onto the bed, looking like he had just removed a tile from the sloping wall, a piece of tile clutched in his hand. A ray of sunlight illuminated the dust in the hut, casting a glow on his face. “You can see outside from here! I can see people coming out of their house!”
"Then you can see for yourself. Stop bothering me!" Yakov replied impatiently, then turned back.
“If you want to buy provisions and wagons, you’ll have to go to the market.” Schumeer quickly pulled some papyrus and a charcoal pencil from his bundle—his only remaining drawing tools. “Can you tell me exactly how much money you got from there?”
“I’d be crazy to tell a Jew how much money I have,” Yakov said, his face wary and unyielding. “Just tell me when and where the nearest market is. Don’t ask any more questions.”
“Then give me back my map.” Schumeer sighed and put the pen and paper aside. “You wouldn’t have lost it, would you?”
Yakov glanced at him, then slowly rose and rummaged through his bag to retrieve the long wooden box. Schumer reached out to take it, but his hand fell to the ground. "I didn't say I wanted it back now," Yakov said, holding up the box. "Take your hand back. I'll give it to you when I give you permission to leave."
The aggrieved Jew withdrew his hand like a deflated naan bread. Yakov opened the box, took out the rolled-up cotton map, and unfolded it. He was illiterate, only able to navigate by recognizing the pictures. "There are very few markets here, unlike those in the Frankish region, and certainly not like the large markets of Venice and Constantinople." Schumer picked up a stiff stalk of grass from the floor and pointed to a small house drawn on the map. "We are now in this village called Sibiu. To the north is Lady Camilla's castle. Well, you should know these things, otherwise you wouldn't have gotten here."
"Enough with the nonsense. Where's the market?"
Schumer glared at him. “Don’t be in such a hurry!” He drew a path westward along the mountain with the small grass stick. “See? It’s all mountains here. If you ride this road with Yubi, you can get to Zemun in two weeks at the fastest. There’s a Byzantine city there, and there’s a border crossing across the Danube. It’s very lively. But first, you have to take me with you. My muse can’t run that fast.”
"Muse?"
“You saw that female donkey in the stable? It’ll take her at least half a month to get to Zemun, even without rest,” Schumacher said, pursing his lips in dissatisfaction. “That’s not the biggest problem with this route. Although there aren’t as many people going on the Eastern Expedition now, all the nobles who want to travel through Hungary and go to the East by land to gain prestige are taking this route. There’s a high chance your identity will be exposed. If you really do encounter a Templar Knight, can you recite all their commandments?”
Yakov frowned. "What about the other way?"
“The other route has its own problems.” Schumer moved his straw stick back to the small village where it had started and drew a line towards the mountains to the east. “You go east to Brasov. There’s a market there. We can get there in ten days if we keep going. After that, we can go south over the mountains and enter through Wallachian territory. There are almost no Crusaders on this route.”
"What's the trouble?"
“My friend, trouble is more terrifying than religious madmen.” Schumer’s lips twitched. “There are Tatars there. I’ve heard they’ve become more active lately, raiding towns from time to time. You Slavs are probably quite familiar with them.”
Yakov felt his eyelid twitch. A wave of terrible memories suddenly washed over him, like a tangled mess.
“The Tatars.” He moved his chapped lips. “I am very familiar with them.”
“That’s right. So it’s up to you, my friend,” Schumacher said. “Which path do you want to take? Do you want to travel quickly or slowly?” His expression suddenly became playful, and his voice softened. The straw returned to its starting point. “Or perhaps you don’t actually intend to go to Constantinople at all? You could take this wealth north, back to Rus’, buy a small fiefdom, and become a noble.” The straw, as if scratching an itch, lightly traced a line northward on the cotton map. “Like I said, selling slaves is a very lucrative business, and the Slavs are not only good slaves but also good slave traders…”
“Shut your mouth.” Yakov snatched the straw from his hand and snapped it in half. “Say it again, and I’ll cut your tongue out.”
"So you really want to escort Yubi to Constantinople. Aren't you afraid of vampires at all?" Schumacher stroked his beard, his eyes full of meaning. "This really surprises me. Do you know his sister who lives there?"
Do you know him?
“A painter’s understanding of a model is limited to what’s known.” Schumeer carefully put away the brittle paper and pens. “Eighteen years ago, when I was painting that portrait, I briefly met her a few times. At that time, she hadn’t yet married into Byzantium. I can only say, don’t think you can fool her like you fooled Yubi. She was an exceptionally clever and sharp woman, always surrounded by servants; according to Yubi, they were blood slaves.”
Yakov began to recall the red-haired girl in the portrait. Her upturned eyes were as sharp as Schumeer had described. His gaze shifted to the straw bed. Yubi was already lying there, fast asleep, her cloak still wrapped around her, the tile clutched in her hand.
Yakov opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“We’re both pitiful people, so let me speak from the heart with you,” Schumeer said, moving closer to Yakov. He wiped his face and lowered his voice further. “People like us, struggling to survive in the cracks, often end up crushed when we get caught up in the squabbles of the big shots, let alone these ghosts and gods. They see you and me as nothing more than ants! I don’t think I need to tell you this, Yakov. Think about it.” He sighed.
“I’ll ask you one more time, don’t try to fool me,” Yakov asked, turning his head. “I don’t believe you don’t know about vampires.”
“Don’t say that, Yakov. Who isn’t just trying to survive? I came to these mountains for gold coins, and there are vampire stories everywhere, but what can I do? Whose reward isn’t a reward?”
"You're giving me all this advice now, aren't you just after gold coins? I know what you're thinking."
Schumer swallowed hard and remained silent for a moment. But the Slavic woman, with her brow furrowed, did not continue to provoke him.
“I’m doing this for your own good,” Schumacher continued. “When you take this terrible news, your young child, and your wealth to Byzantium, to Constantinople, and meet his sister, what do you expect? Do you expect that powerful noblewoman to thank you and give you a ransom, or will she kick you aside and even pin it on you? ‘Lady Camilla’s head just fell off by itself!’ Do you expect that unreasonable vampire, that high and mighty noblewoman, to believe you and understand this suicidal act of abandoning her child?”
“But I have no choice.” Yakov pressed his left breast. “I am his slave now. I have to find a way to resolve this and get rid of this troublesome mark.”
“No, wait, you’re so stubborn!” Schumer nudged him with his elbow. “Who said having this mark makes you his slave? Lady Camilla is dead!” The Jew winked at the sleeping Yubi. “Look at him, he’s only 18, looks like he’s not even 16. He’s been locked up in the castle by his mother his whole life, he knows nothing! Think about it, is it easier to deal with such a naive teenager, or his sister who’s lived for who knows how many years? Is it easier to persuade him to delay him and live a carefree life with this money, or to drag these things to Constantinople to report back, is that slavery? Does it matter whether this mark is there or not?”
Yakov wanted to savor those words. How could he not have thought about it? What truly constitutes freedom? Suddenly, a bitter pain erupted from his heart, as if a thousand needles were embedded within it, coursing through his veins and piercing his very flesh. Unable to catch his breath, Yakov curled up on the ground in agony, a low growl escaping his throat.
"My God, it's not my fault!" Schumer tried to jump up, but Yakov held his clothes tightly. He froze, watching the man, whose face was contorted in pain, grit his teeth and forcefully suppress his voice, picking at his fingers as he crawled off the ground and sat up again.
“Don’t wake the vampire.” Yakov’s lips were bloodless, and large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. “I just want to try to be in control.”
Schumeer pursed his lips, looking at the pitiful blood slave with pity and a myriad of thoughts. He then looked at Yubi, who was fast asleep. The room was poorly lit. In the shadows, the dark-haired head was buried in a wool cloak, moving slowly with its breath under the roof with a tile removed, exhaling puffs of white vapor.
The vampire looked like an ordinary teenager.
“I know this is a difficult choice for you,” Schumacher said. “Think it over carefully.”
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