Act XIII: The Last Supper (Part XII)
twelve
Emerging from the Tower of David, Nuk noticed that the blond nobleman had abandoned his new wife and father-in-law, staring intently at him. The young slave immediately walked in the opposite direction, all the way to the market on Temple Street. He stopped at a copper pot stall, examining the smooth, mirror-like surfaces of the pots. "How much are these pots?" he asked, switching to fluent Arabic, looking every bit like a local. "If my master wants to buy more, is there a discount?"
The stall owner, wearing a turban and sporting a full beard, thought he'd landed a big sale. He grinned broadly and talked incessantly, his eyes wide. Nuk paid no attention, only glancing at the shadow around the corner through the copper window—luckily, the person following him had brightly colored hair, uncommon here, making him quite conspicuous. Sure enough, the distinguished golden hair stopped at another stall, pretending to browse, glancing at Nuk every now and then. "I'll look at the others before deciding," Nuk said, putting down his jug and lowering his voice furtively. "God above…do you know of any places nearby where I can pray?"
"God above..." He had guessed right; the stall owner was indeed a shrewd man. "Go east, and you'll find an abandoned well. Follow the others, and you'll find an old house underground where you can hear the Quran."
“Thank you,” Nuk said, placing his right hand on his chest. “May God grant you good fortune.”
May Allah grant you good fortune.
Nuk turned and left, the nobleman following closely behind. He headed east and soon found the well. Just as the stall owner had said, a large group of dark-skinned locals were gathered in front of it, speaking Arabic and wearing oriental-style turbans. Nuk took off his shawl and covered his head, quickly tying it into the style commonly used by the [unclear - possibly a person or organization]—he had done this many times for Lord Jubius and was quite skilled at it.
Blood Slave muttered to himself, assuming the striking blond Greek wouldn't follow him to the place where the rabble were gathered. He slipped into the crowd and followed them toward the secret underground mosque.
But the Greek nobleman barged straight into the crowd. His dazzling blond hair caused those around him to scramble to make way for him. The leader, seeing an outsider had infiltrated, hesitated and stopped in the open space, unwilling to reveal the location of the gathering, and simply stood there making a racket.
"What a nuisance!" Nuk muttered awkwardly. He had no choice but to jog away from the crowd and disappear into the narrow, winding path.
The distance between the two closed rapidly. Nuk circled the shacks several times but couldn't shake him off. Blood Slave turned north and jogged along Pismers Street until St. Stephen's Gate came into view.
Nuk paused for a moment, then heard a series of clear, ringing brass bells beside him. He turned and saw a group of hooded men carrying corpses out of the city. They wore green crosses and their faces were wrapped tightly in bandages. All the townspeople avoided the sound of these bells and were filled with fear at the sight of this procession—Nuk remembered what Schumacher had taught him: the leper colony was just outside St. Stephen's Gate. These men were members of the Knights of Lazarus, all suffering from leprosy.
Without a second thought, the blood slave squeezed into their line and crossed the road. Even if he contracted leprosy, Lord Jubius could surely cure him with a wave of his hand! Nuk, standing beside the patient, smelled a putrid, festering odor that made him hold his nose to avoid vomiting. He glanced back in the direction of the pursuer. Nobles valued their lives, he thought; that man surely wouldn't have followed them here.
The blond nobleman was indeed terrified by the green crosses, standing there gritting his teeth. Nuk's heart sank, thinking that he would soon be able to complete the task Lord Yakov had given him—but to his shock, the nobleman clenched his fists and stubbornly insisted on rushing into the coffin-carrying procession.
Nuk clearly heard him swear in Greek. "I'll catch you no matter what!" the handsome face uttered vicious words, "You wretched little mudskipper..."
He didn't know if he was talking about himself or his poor sister. Nuk, who had intended to slow down, had to quicken his pace and change direction before the lepers left the city. He took a sharp turn and headed south along another road—ahead lay the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Knights Hospitaller, the place with the most pilgrims in the entire city.
The area in front of the Hospitaller's monastery was perpetually filled with beggars and homeless children. They would relentlessly pester every well-dressed adult, not giving up until they had obtained money. Nuk nervously ran a few steps, squeezing into the street to see the poorest and most dilapidated pilgrims, quickly swapping his cotton turban for a patched wool hat. The Blood Slave, in a fit of rage, tore his robe in half and grabbed a bucket of manure from the street, pouring it onto his exposed skin. The sensation was so disgusting that Nuk almost fainted—now, even the dirtiest and smelliest beggar refused to approach him.
The nobleman following him was surrounded by beggars as soon as he rounded the corner, who angrily cursed him as he walked away. Nuk defiantly made an insulting gesture and turned to flee into the inner courtyard of the Hospitaller headquarters. He nearly bumped into a familiar knight.
“…Do you need help?” Pascal didn’t recognize him and just wrinkled his nose to avoid him. “You can go to the pool in the monastery to wash yourself.”
"Wait, sir..." Nuk sensed something was wrong. "Don't go out!"
“I don’t deserve to be lectured by a stinking troublemaker.” Pascal rolled up his sleeves, picked up a large pot of thin oatmeal porridge, and said, “Go wash up, or you’ll catch a disease.”
"Why is it him who's on duty distributing porridge today?" Nuk cursed under his breath, following him towards the door and hiding behind a pillar. Upon seeing Pascal, the children who had been surrounding the Greek nobleman rushed to his side, each insisting on leaving a kiss on his cheek. "You should have some manners; you can't force people to give alms," Pascal said, setting down the pot and looking at the blond man. "Please forgive these children; they had no choice… You look just like someone I know. Where are you from?"
“I come from Constantinople. I am Diophantus, the eldest son of the Philactus family.” Diophantus proudly raised his head. “I have a sister named Eudosia.”
"I know her!" Pascal exclaimed in sudden realization. "So you're her brother!"
Where does she live?
Nuk couldn't stand it anymore and ran out of the house, ignoring the stench that covered him. "Don't listen to him!" he shouted angrily, smearing excrement on Pascal's robe. "That man is wicked! He's going to sell his sister to the old man! We mustn't tell him where Eudosia lives!"
“Please do not believe this wicked Egyptian slave. They will make up any lie to carry out their master’s orders.” Diophantus curled his lips into a sneer of utter disgust. “It was my foolish sister who wanted to elope with a servant and even coerced Lord Euboeus to let her board the ship. I have come here to take her home and teach her a lesson.”
“…How could you frame me like that!” Nuuk’s eyes widened like cowbells. “Lord Jubius trusts me!”
Pascal apparently only now recognized Nuuk's face, remembering his master's name. The knight raised his hand to stop the impending argument, rubbing his forehead as he pondered their words. Nuuk stared at the troubled face with disdain and anxiety, praying desperately in his heart. Damn it, whatever the god, please don't let this knight do anything foolish! If only he looked more reliable and mature!
“I’ll take you to Eudosia,” Pascal finally said. “She lives in the pig market.”
"You pig!" Nuk shouted angrily and disappointedly, "You damned, stupid knight!"
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