Act VII All Roads (Part 7)
seven
“Schumel hasn’t written to us yet,” Yubi said, lying in the bathtub with her legs floating in the warm water. “Where has he been staying these past few days? I’m really worried…”
“Perhaps he lives in a shabby place and doesn’t want us to know.” Yakov was helping him sort through spices and dried flowers. He had just driven away several ladies-in-waiting sent by Seleman—Yubi was so old now, Yakov didn’t want him to become a second Batur or a little Batur. “He knows we’re staying in Ambikia’s courtyard and is afraid we’ll laugh at him.”
“He’s a brilliant artist with a sharp mind, how could he live in such a shabby place?” Yubi, trailing a long trail of water, swam up to Yakov. “Even if he really does live in a shabby place, we can’t laugh at him!”
“We won’t laugh at him; he’ll laugh at himself.” Yakov gripped the pestle rather clumsily, trying to grind the pungent granules as gently as possible. Soon he lost patience and couldn’t help but pound it hard, smashing the bottom of the earthenware pot into pieces with a crack, causing the weighed spices to leak out through the gaps.
"You're really bad at this!" Yubi exclaimed angrily as she climbed out of the water, soaking wet. "You've ruined another one!"
“If you’re so good at it, why can’t you make these delicate things yourself?” Yakov angrily threw down the clumsy pestle, turned to gather the broken tiles, and haphazardly tossed the partially crushed spices into the warm pool water. “That’s not how you use it!” Yubi complained even more aggrievedly. “Spices should be crushed and dissolved in almond oil, and flower petals shouldn’t be crushed; they should be put directly into the pool water. I told you that, but you mixed them all together!”
“How am I supposed to tell what all these identical grass seeds are?” Yakov recklessly stepped into the pool, splashing water everywhere. His large, muscular body caused a large gush of hot spring water to overflow from the edge of the pool, momentarily flooding the bathroom floor as if a flood had struck. “Isn’t this nice? The water even has the scent you wanted now.” Yakov lay comfortably on the edge of the pool, his long blond hair draped over his shoulders.
Yubi kicked him hard in the back, but Yakov remained motionless, lifeless as a mountain. Yubi sighed and lamented, and had no choice but to sit back in the pool, giving the rude blood slave a sour look.
"From now on, I'll grind all the spices myself!" he angrily shook the water droplets off his head. "I won't need you anymore!"
The letter they had been waiting for never arrived, and the matter gradually faded from their minds, mentioned less and less often. A week later, a guest finally came to visit—"Your dress is finished!" Helen arrived with a young assistant, carrying a large trunk in the reception room of the wing. "Try it on quickly!"
The red silk with gold thread truly complemented Yubi's eyes; even Yakov, who disdained aesthetics, had to admit it. He stood by the mirror, feigning boredom, stealing glances at Yubi looking at herself, inwardly despising the ostentatious and vain, useless and cumbersome things—good for nothing but appearance. Yubi put on her new crown and sandals, then went back and forth changing her jewelry, rummaging through the jewelry box the ladies had neatly arranged. "It seems a bit too big!" Even his critical complaint was tinged with excitement. "Is this the latest fashion?"
“I thought you’d grow taller.” Helen gazed at her creation, a proud and joyful smile on her face. “Boys grow so fast at this age, they become men in the blink of an eye. I made it a little bigger so you wouldn’t have to come to me for alterations every few days.”
“You’ve thought of everything so thoroughly,” Seymour nodded approvingly from the side.
Yakov watched as Yubi repeatedly pulled back and forth the hem of his jewel-encrusted dress, examining himself like a large butterfly with dew-soaked wings, too heavy to fly. He suddenly wondered how Helen knew Yubi could still grow taller. Boys who still grow taller at 18 were quite rare. But seeing that Seilman ignored it, he didn't bother to investigate further. The eunuch must have his reasons for indulging Helen, Yakov thought; wasn't Schumeer one of those people who knew the truth?
“If only there were an artist here…” Yubi took off her crown and stared at the pearl trim on it. “I really wish Schumeer could take a look too.”
"You still haven't heard from him?" Helen exclaimed in surprise. "The various concessions have been quite unsettled lately; he might have already left Constantinople."
"Something's not going well?" Yubi exchanged worried glances with Yakov. "By the way, about what you asked me to inquire about Ambichai..."
“Let’s discuss this in detail,” Helen said, seemingly prepared. Smiling, she produced a double-layered box adorned with delicate patterns from somewhere. “I brought you a gift; how about we try it together?”
Yubi watched curiously as Helen's employee opened the box, his eyes fixed on the unusual gift. "This is a new drink, very popular among the Saracens," Helen said, leaning back casually in her chair. "I thought you'd love something new, so I brought it for you to try."
"A smooth-talking, obsequious merchant," Yakov thought. "She caters to his tastes, giving him small gifts, and Yubi finds it hard to refuse anything." He saw the servant carrying a shallow, wide iron pan lined with fine sand, placing it on the stove to roast in preparation for cooking. Yubi leaned close to him, holding a small box of brown beans and sniffing them carefully. "It smells wonderful!" he exclaimed, as if appraising spices. "Sweet and warm. It must have been sun-dried. What's it called?"
"You really know your stuff!" Helen said with a smile. "These are roasted coffee beans."
"How do you drink this?" Yubi asked impatiently. "Do you boil it in water like tea?"
“The process is quite complicated,” Helen said, resting her elbows on the table and supporting her chin. “Take your time and look around.”
The young employee took a small, mechanical jug from the box, with a rotating handle on top. He took the beans from Yuby's hand—Yuby suddenly noticed large, fresh blisters on the young employee's arm. "How did he get these injuries?" he asked Helen in surprise. "Did he get burned?"
"I'll tell you about this later." Helen's lower half of her face was smiling, but her upper half became serious.
Some of the manor's servants also gathered around to see this novelty. They whispered amongst themselves, noting down each step of the coffee-making process. Helen's employee became a little shy, his mouth tightly shut, but his hands never stopped. He opened the lid of the mechanical pot, tossed in the coffee beans, closed it, and vigorously turned the handle, making the grinding mortar inside clatter. "So this is for grinding coffee!" Yubi nudged Yakov with his elbow. "I should have gotten you one too, so you wouldn't waste my spices all the time."
“Didn’t you say you’d do it yourself?” Yakov closed his eyes in displeasure. “Don’t go back on your word.”
The beans were ground into an extremely fine powder, and a wisp of brown smoke billowed out as the pot was opened. The employee then took two small, handle-handled conical jars from the second tier of an elegant square box, carefully burying them in the heated sand. He scooped the ground powder into the jars with a spoon, then poured in water. Instantly, the liquid churned and boiled, sizzling and releasing a rich aroma. "Boiling in sand!" Yubi exclaimed, not even blinking. "How novel!"
“The Saracens’ cooking method,” Helen said. “Perhaps they don’t even need a stove; they just bury the jar in the desert!”
"That must be such a hot place!" Yubi exclaimed.
The dense, brown foam in the pot churned and bubbled repeatedly. Just as it was about to overflow, the employee swiftly grabbed the handle, lifted the pot out of the pot, and poured the boiling liquid into an exquisite teacup. This process was repeated until a thick, fragrant cup of coffee was finally ready. He bowed, carried the cup hurriedly to the table, and respectfully presented it to Yubi.
“It can be drunk with brown sugar and lemon.” Helen leaned closer expectantly. “You should try the original flavor first.”
A pleasant aroma wafted around Yubi's face. Under everyone's watchful eyes, he took a small sip, only to be immediately forced to scrunch up by the sour and bitter taste. "Oh, this is incredibly bitter, and incredibly hot!" he exclaimed, sticking out his tongue. "It's completely different from how it smells!"
His reaction made everyone around him laugh, prompting him to shyly put down his cup. "Quick, add more brown sugar!" Helen cheerfully grabbed a teaspoon, scooped up a generous amount of brown sugar powder, and tossed it into his cup, then squeezed in two drops of fresh lemon juice. "Try it again. This stuff gets more bitter when it's cold, drink it while it's hot!"
Yubi hesitated for a moment, but still picked up the teacup again and tried it. The awful bitterness was finally suppressed by the unreasonable sweetener, allowing the rich aroma she had smelled earlier to emerge in the layers of flavor. Paired with a hint of lemon tartness, it even had a refreshing feel. Yubi felt the invigorating aroma clear away the stuffiness in her nasal passages and throat, making her feel refreshed and clear-headed.
“That’s much better!” he said, his eyes shining. “Now I understand why the Saracens like this!”
“I’m so glad you like it! Most people aren’t used to it when they first try it.” Helen shifted into a more relaxed posture, her face beaming with joy. “Marco, look, even the adults in the Kanakakis family enjoy your cooking. Quickly thank them.”
"How could I possibly be considered an adult of the Kanakakis family?" Yubi thought with shame. The employee named Marco suddenly became almost jumping for joy. He didn't speak Latin, only Italian, and kept thanking Yubi—but Yubi stood up awkwardly. "He made me coffee, why should he thank me? I should be thanking him!" He noticed Yakov watching the scene coldly behind him and wanted to disappear into the ground. "Thank you, Marco!" Yubi tried to grasp the hands covered in burns and blisters, but was avoided.
“He’s dirty, you don’t need to do this.” Helen gave him a wink, and Marco immediately shrank back behind her.
“Now you should tell me what happened to his injury.” Yubi sat back down, discouraged but still relieved. “…What happened in the concession again?”
“This child is a distant relative of mine. He was looking for a way out, so he came across the ocean to work as a helper in my shop.” Helen sighed deeply. “I don’t plan to get married or have children. If he were smart and quick-witted, perhaps the family business would be inherited by him after I die, and then it would depend on his own fate. But he’s really stubborn.”
“There was another attack in the Genoa concession a couple of days ago. This time, someone set fire to half a street of shops.” Yubi noticed that Helen seemed to have pinched Marco’s ear hard, but the little follower neither cried out in pain nor flinched; he just covered the spot where he had been pinched. “A Venetian happened to be passing by. Seeing that the man wasn’t putting out the fire, he immediately accused him of doing it and even joined a group of people in a fight, alerting the Imperial Guards. In the end, it escalated to this point, with no one to reason with, and he ended up with even more injuries.”
A strange mix of doubt and apprehension washed over Yubi along with the aroma of coffee. He looked down at the Saracen coffee that was slowly cooling. "I'm so sorry, Helen..." he murmured, a pang of guilt rising within him, though he didn't understand why. "I asked my sister about it, and she just told me not to worry and to focus on watching over my shop. I thought I might get some useful information later, so I put it off and didn't tell you..."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Helen turning her eyes in serious thought, the last trace of a smile gone from her lips. "That answer is enough, you don't need to apologize!" She slowly stood up and patted Yubi's shoulder to comfort him.
“But I can’t know as much as my sister, or know as many people as she does, and I can’t fight like Yakov and Seyleman…” Yubi’s body curled up slightly. “I’m just a parasite here, a useless decoration… I can’t even get a decent answer.”
“You’re still young,” Helen said, gently embracing him. “You have a noble position and a promising future. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
Yubi wasn't sure if the words were sincere or true, and he vaguely sensed a hint of flattery in them. This disappointed him, making him think that Helen was no longer someone he could confide in. But he still accepted the kindness and looked up. "Thank you, Helen," he said, leaving Helen's soft embrace.
As evening fell, they reached the door and bid each other farewell. The sky over Constantinople was once again dyed a vibrant pink, all the clouds edged with gold and red, like luxurious gold thread on a silk gown. "If Schumacher really leaves, he'll always write us a letter," Yubi said, looking up at the vast expanse of lingering clouds. They were splendid and magnificent, blown about by the sea breeze. "If he's in any trouble, why doesn't he seek help like Helen did?"
“Perhaps we can’t help him,” Yakov said. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to become like Helen.”
Yubi sighed with worry. He turned around and slowly walked back to the courtyard.
They bathed and ate as they had in the past few days, finally lying down on their beds, intending to close their eyes and sleep in the night. The room quieted down, but the entire mansion possessed a different kind of vitality in the night—"the master of the night" was the true master, Yakov thought. Tonight, his old insomnia flared up again, forcing him to get up and go to Yubi's side. Sure enough, he found the night watchwoman fast asleep at the foot of the bed. The constant, hurried footsteps echoed in the cold corridor outside, making him uneasy and filled with anxiety. Half-asleep, he pondered Yubi's words from the daytime. What would Yubi become? And what should he become? What would become of the two of them? Where would their promising future lead?
The footsteps grew closer and clearer, startling the ladies-in-waiting and servants. Yubi was startled awake by the sound of the door being pushed open and the curtain being drawn back; he opened his eyes to see Yakov's face, which shared his terror.
"What's wrong?" He saw his imposing elder sister, accompanied by Seymour, followed by a large group of servants, burst into his room. He nervously clutched Yakov's sleeve. "I...I was just about to go to sleep..."
“I heard Helen’s new dress for you has been finished and sent over.” Anbicia was also wearing a luxurious dress, shimmering in the moonlight and sparkling with jewels. Her voice was both cold and passionate. “Put it on and let me see it. We’re going out to meet some people.”
"But it's already dark!" Yubi awkwardly got out of bed and went barefoot to the floor. "It's so late, where are we going to see anyone?"
“You’ll see when you get there, don’t be so timid.” Anbicia raised her hand, beckoning Seyleman to come closer to her with utter obedience. “Find him a decent set of armor.” Her two extremely bright red lips opened and closed, “Tell him to get ready neatly.”
"Him? Who?" Yakov saw Seleman nod quietly, then turned and walked towards him. The Slavic man stood up like a startled bear, arms outstretched, blocking his way. "Rootless wretch!" he cursed. "What do you want?"
Anbichia burst into laughter at this remark, then turned and led everyone away. Her eerie and enigmatic laughter faded into the corridor, finally bringing back the goosebumps that had been standing on end in Yakov's skin. "Don't misunderstand," Seleman said with an awkward yet polite smile. "Anbichia invites you and Yubi to the banquet. Come with me to change into your chainmail, and we'll set off."
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