Act X: The True Knight (Part 1)
one
The Dardanelles Strait is where the Aegean Sea meets the Sea of Marmara. Each time Yakov reached this point, he knew he was only two days' journey from Constantinople. On his last day, he looked northwards.
At midnight, the once gentle and tranquil sea seemed to be stained with ink, merging with the inky sky, becoming mysterious and unpredictable. Yakov lit two candles in the cabin to illuminate the surrounding darkness. He cradled the two flames in his palms, placing them into two lampboxes, one large and one small. Then, he picked up the larger one and climbed the ladder to the deck—it was his turn to keep watch tonight; the crew was asleep, and there was no one around. His boots pounded heavily on the loose, damp planks, his footsteps echoing with the sound of the waves.
A very fine drizzle was falling at sea. Yakov hung the lamp on the bow of the boat. He used the rainwater to wipe the lampshade so that the light could travel further across the gloomy sea.
He then returned to the cabin. By the dim light of the small fire, he took out a book that Yubi had given him before his departure from the trunk. Yakov opened it—the book was in Greek. However, he had read it many times and it no longer felt unfamiliar.
"When Rome was still a republic, there were many slave plantations in Sicily. The slave owners treated the slaves harshly, regarding them as inhuman objects, forcing them to toil and exhaust themselves in the plantations, and whipping and humiliating them. When they were old and weak, they were discarded after being used."
Yakov frowned every time he saw this. He continued reading.
“There was a slave named Yunus, who was also a prophet. He told the slaves about the will of God and incited them to rebel. The slaves suddenly realized the truth, picked up their farm tools and sickles, and united under Yunus's command. They captured all the slave owners and nobles on the island, and their hatred and desire led them to either slaughter or enslave their former masters, turning them into new slaves.”
"The people who had fought for their freedom quickly amassed 200,000. They established their own state, their own parliament and courts—but when the slaves became free soldiers, the fields and workshops were left without laborers. War raged across the island, and wherever it went, swords replaced plows, and hunger and disorder spread across the land. The new masters of Sicily not only had to fight for freedom, but also had to protect it. Clearly, they were not adept at this—the slaves quickly became new slave owners, becoming the very people they had once hated and scorned, forgetting the meaning of freedom."
"The Roman army crossed the sea—after several unfortunate defeats, the powerful Republic had finally regained its glory. Experienced generals and superior equipment, rigorous training and loyal soldiers were no match for the emerging rebels. Yunus was eventually captured and tortured to death in prison. He and his followers either stubbornly resisted in the defense of the city until they were exhausted, or they were captured and bled to death in the arena, becoming mere playthings."
"After that, many uprisings arose, but none succeeded. Only when the light of Christ shone throughout the world did believers gain freedom."
Like a fire extinguished in Yakov's chest, a heavy cloud of emotion gnawed at his throat, urging him to think for the umpteenth time. Suddenly, the flame reflecting the words in the book trembled, turning into a cold, vivid scarlet red.
Yakov slowly put down his book, rose from his chair, climbed back up the ladder, and lifted the loose, moldy trapdoor above him. He went up to the deck and noticed that the rain was gradually getting heavier. His gaze followed the grain of the planks of the planks to the lamps at the bow—the flickering flames were also becoming as if they had lost their warmth, swaying eerily.
Like a boulder launched from a catapult, something carrying black mist shot out from the clouds, heading straight for him. Yakov opened his arms to meet the lightning.
The vampire struck him with a light yet heavy thud, like a cold hailstone embedded in Yakov's heart. His boots slipped on the deck, and he fell to the ground. Gold and silver jewelry jingled softly in his arms.
“Yakov!” Yubi hugged his neck, her clothes soaking wet. “You’re back!”
“I’m back.” Yakov propped himself up and got up. “You didn’t have to come on a rainy day.”
“I had to come.” Yubi’s wings vanished in the smoke, and his innocent smile disappeared from his face. “I have something important to tell you.”
The two men, carrying lanterns, descended the ladder and hid in the cramped cabin. Raindrops pounded heavily on the deck, sounding like a thousand drums clattering overhead.
“Do you remember Nix from Smyrna?” Yubi took the cotton towel Yakov handed him and started rambling as he dried his hair. “That old geezer who lived next to the Nymph Temple and stole our business.”
"Don't speak ill of others," Yakov replied casually. "What happened to him this time?"
“Nuk told me today that he’s going to block the port and check your ship, accusing you of smuggling spices!” Yubi threw the wet cloth back at him. “Starting tomorrow morning, his men will be stationed at the port of Golden Horn, searching for every ship flying the Knights Templar flag, until they find you and seize our cargo from your ship! He also said that it would only be legal if the Grand Master imprisoned you in the monastery dungeon for the rest of your life!”
Yakov's attention was not on these sensational claims. The Blood Slave only scrutinized his master's attire: an exquisite double-layered robe with an opening at the back, presumably custom-made by Helen to prevent the sharp wings from tearing the expensive silk; he also examined Yubi's rain-soaked hair, measuring its length: the black hair had grown longer than five years ago, past her shoulders and down her back, almost reaching her waist. It was clear that Yubi still occasionally wore that ring—only in five years had she aged a few months more than an average person.
"How come you're not angry at all? Aren't you worried at all?" Yubi crossed her arms and glared at him reproachfully. "Isn't this a huge problem? Are you even listening to me?"
"What's so troublesome about this?"
“That’s the business and career we’ve worked so hard to build!” Yubi’s red eyes widened. “If you’re imprisoned, the spice trade route will be cut off, and the costs will increase several times over! I don’t want to ask my sister to send someone else to the Knights!”
His tone sounded somewhat like Schumeer's, and Yakov couldn't help but chuckle. "Is this all the trouble that made you come to see me in the rain?" The Blood Slave sat down in the chair that swayed with the ship's movement. "I won't be imprisoned."
What do you want to do?
“I could say it was loot from pirates, or that it was entrusted to some nobleman or king in the East. At the very least, I could say I intercepted a Saracen merchant ship near Suez and robbed it from the infidels,” Yakov said calmly. “Even if the man doesn’t believe me at all, he’ll eventually have to report it to Sancho. What then? The Knights usually turn a blind eye to these things. If he insists on going to Jerusalem to tell the Grand Master, or to Rome to tell the Pope, whose reputation and income will be damaged? This old Greek man is just asking for trouble, inviting humiliation upon himself.”
Yubi listened to him and pulled up a chair to sit down, looking rather dejected. “According to you, this really isn’t a big deal…” the young nobleman crossed his arms and pondered. “Then why is Schumacher in such a hurry to have me come and talk to you about this? He knows you have a solution.”
"Did Schumeer ask you to tell me this?" Yakov asked. "He's not the kind of person who just talks about problems without offering advice."
“Well, he did say more than that…” Yubi looked up. “He said that as soon as you dock tomorrow, you should sell all the spices on the spot at the Golden Horn pier.”
Upon hearing this, confusion finally settled on Yakov. "Has this Jew gone mad? He's sold all the spices; how are you going to make perfumes and essential oils?" Blood Slave frowned. "There are so many spices, and they're not cheap ones like cloves and mint. How can you expect someone to suddenly appear out of nowhere and buy up all the pepper, cinnamon, frankincense, and myrrh on the ship in one go?"
“He told you not to worry about these things, he has a plan.” Yubi smiled. Yakov couldn’t take his eyes off his two dimples. “Shumer said it’s a way to nip it in the bud.”
Cut the weeds out completely? Yakov thought that if he really wanted to cut the weeds out completely, he should take his sword to the temple of the nymphs and kill the old man from Nasmana and all his family members to settle the conflict—but he was too lazy to try to figure out what the Jews were thinking. Those words that couldn't be distinguished between wisdom and cunning always made his mind a complete mess.
“Since he says so, I agree to do it that way.” Yakov finally nodded. “But you must tell him that if his ‘arrangement’ goes wrong, I will handle it myself.”
“Then I’ll tell him that when I get back.” Hearing this, Yubi finally relaxed his posture considerably. “Sigh, this is really difficult. Just doing business, yet you have to go against everyone at every turn, it’s just like fighting a war!”
“That’s just how it is.” Yakov sighed deeply. “If you were that old geezer, having run a perfume business for decades only to have it snatched away by people like us, what else could you do but resort to these wicked tactics?”
"You won't even let me talk bad about people, but you call him that too!" Yubi grinned and leaned closer to his face. "No matter how many tricks bad guys use, they can't defeat us!"
A strange, bittersweet feeling welled up in Yakov's chest. He fell silent, lost in thought. Who, really, was the bad guy?
The vampire was in high spirits, shuffling his shoes as he paced around his cramped, dark cabin. "When winter comes, you can stay with me in Constantinople for another three months," Yubi said, glancing at his tattered lantern from his simple bed. "Every year I look forward to winter, to the storms at sea, so you can come back sooner and stay safely by my side... but after only three months, you're off again by ship. Now, my least favorite season is spring; I wish the ships in the harbor would never set sail again."
"Is that all you want from me to come back?"
“Of course! I can’t imagine what kind of life you’re living out there! Either swallowing seawater at sea or chewing sand in the desert.” Yubi turned her face away. “Don’t you want to come back? Don’t you want to rest more in Constantinople? Don’t you miss me?”
Why isn't this kid ever ashamed of these words? The tattoo on Yakov's chest felt warm, yet unbearably itchy, as if soaked in hot water. He gave a cryptic smile. "Of course I want to," he said.
“Look at this book, it’s the one I gave you when you left.” Yubi snorted, picked up the book from his desk, and flipped through a few pages. “There’s a hero in it named Spartacus. I thought you were similar to him, that’s why I gave you this book. Have you read it?”
“I read it.” Yakov looked at him from afar. “Spartacus was a hero. But he failed.”
“His failure only makes his story more tragic,” Yubi couldn’t help but sigh.
"I'm not like him," Yakov wanted to say—but he didn't.
“Okay, I have to go now. I have to get back before dawn.” Yubi winked at him playfully. “Don’t forget what Schumer asked me to do.”
“I won’t forget.” Yakov took the lantern and blew out the candle inside.
The cabin was plunged into a quiet yet noisy darkness, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Yakov felt a cold hand reach out to his chest, feeling his pounding heartbeat; then it moved to his neck, searching for his warm pulse; finally it touched his lips, caressing his moist breath. Outside the deck, the waves and the wind and rain surged together, and Yubi's voice was hidden within them, very faint.
"See you tomorrow, Asa." Yubi's voice was filled with a strange excitement. "I'm so glad you're back."
"See you tomorrow," Yakov replied. "...What did you call me?"
"I also had a teacher who taught me Slavic." The vampire's laughter faded into the distance.
He vanished like a ghost, without making a sound.
Yakov wondered, was Yubi really gone? Had he left him? Was he still hiding in this cabin, waiting for him to drift off to sleep, then coldly burrow into his embrace, gnaw at his neck, and suck his blood? Yakov didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing, nor did he know if he feared or hoped for it. Yet these pointless thoughts tormented him, making it impossible for him to close his eyes.
The blood slave lay down on the damp bed, then got up again after a while. He took two flints out of his pocket and groped for the small candle on the lamp. He lit the wick.
A warm flame rose slowly in his palm, showing no sign of flickering. The edges of the flame made his palms slightly sweaty.
Yakov immediately blew it out. He lay back down on his bed and, to the familiar sound of the waves, soon fell into a deep sleep.
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