The Last Supper (Part 2) - Act XIII
two
Yubi lay in bed, watching the curtains fluttering beside the bedposts. He watched the moon cast its dancing, transparent shadow from west to east, and thought of the days he had spent in Transylvania and Constantinople. The further south he went, the less distinct the seasons became, and the length of day and night became more uniform: he no longer longed for the long nights of winter, nor hated the long days of summer.
Yakov's arms were wrapped tightly around him, a thick, large hand resting on his ribs. The warm blood of the Blood Slave churned within his stomach, flowing between the skin and flesh outside. Yubi heard his breath against the back of his neck, steady and deep. It was as if he were enveloped by Yakov.
The young city lord felt a blissful, unproductive happiness, wishing this aimless peace could continue indefinitely. He couldn't be bothered with the conflicts between the Christians and the [illegible] in the city, the estrangement and suspicion among the other blood slaves, or even the affairs of his sister, brother, or mother. He couldn't help but indulge in a whimsical thought: if only Yakov and he could survive, and everyone else in the world ceased to exist, that would be wonderful. Then he wouldn't have to awkwardly pity or oppress others.
If only Yakov thought the same way, Yubi thought of his blood. Lately, its taste had taken on a complex and indescribable change; Yubi couldn't describe or understand what it was.
Before dawn, Yakov woke up again in the hazy light of day. The first thing he did every morning was exactly the same—Yubi noticed that calloused, hairy hand sliding down his forearm, reaching his fingers—Yakov was looking for the ring, Yubi thought. He didn't know if the blood slave was doing it while asleep or awake.
"You're awake?" He tried to turn over, but Yakov held him down.
"Hmm," the Blood Slave mumbled, burying his face in his cold neck. "I want to ask you something."
"Ask me what?"
Yakov clearly hesitated for a long time before speaking. "...What does it feel like to turn people into blood slaves?" he asked.
A single question abruptly pulled Yubi from his sweet reverie. The vampire snorted in dissatisfaction, pushing away the prickly, bearded face. "It's hard to describe," he replied reluctantly but earnestly. "If you ask me, it's most like the feeling of a beggar holding out his bowl to me, and me throwing coins in. Beggars ask for money, but what they ask for is mostly different. Some want health, some want longevity; some want faith, some want something to hold onto; some want truth, some want dreams. And the Imprint always seems to fulfill their diverse desires."
He thought Yakov was going to ask something else. But the Blood Slave just remained silent, fidgeting with his fingers for a long time.
"Nothing else?" Yubi couldn't help but turn back and stare into those blue, icy eyes. "I'm curious, what do you want, and how will your mother's mark satisfy you?"
“Don’t ask that.” Yakov pressed down on his fidgeting head. “...If I gave you a bowl, you could fill it with markings? If you gave alms to every beggar you saw, your purse would be empty in no time.”
"Turn everyone into blood slaves?" Yubi brushed his hand away and climbed off the bed. "Just like my sister wrote in her letter, my brother, did that?"
Can you do it?
"...But why would I do that?"
"That way you can get everyone to listen to you and shape the world into the way you want it to be."
“But you were the one who told me not to do that.” Yubi frowned in confusion. “You said that wouldn’t work.”
“What if I weren’t here?” Yakov stared intently at him. “If I weren’t here, if you had never met me, would you have done this?”
Yubi felt something struggling to escape from his heart. He stared into Yakov's clear eyes, which seemed like a clear, sunny sky, burning him with pain. He felt a chill run down his spine and was terrified.
"...Why are you asking me this kind of question?" Yubi's voice softened. "You're just like Mother used to say."
Yakov fell silent again. He pursed his lips solemnly, slowly tearing at the dry, cracked skin; yet, as if nothing had happened, he casually pulled the cold vampire back into his arms, expertly stroking his back. Yubi felt the warm blood surrounding him envelop him again, as if something that had escaped from his heart was being pulled back by a chain. He looked up at Yakov's chin, then stared at the mark on his chest. A question lingered on his lips—he had pondered it for too long, and finally decided to speak it.
“Ever since you and Daoud came back from Karak Castle, I’ve felt something’s off about you,” Yubi asked. “Are you hiding something from me?”
"No," Yakov replied calmly and predictably. "Why would you think that?"
What were you doing in Karak?
“The lord of Transjordan has summoned us.” Yakov’s golden eyelashes fluttered slightly beyond his blue irises. “He has a plan.”
"What plan?"
“It’s a secret plan, I don’t know anything about it either,” Yakov said. “But there are craftsmen building ships in Karak.”
“Building a ship? But I’ve heard that you can’t sail in the Dead Sea!” Yubi rolled over, then suddenly turned her eyes and stopped talking. “…I don’t think you’re hiding this from me. Are you just making this up to fool me?”
Yakov chuckled softly above his head. "Why would I hide it from you?" His fingers massaged his master's back. "You're too busy with your own affairs, so you have nowhere to put your mind to, and you have to make wild guesses about me? It seems you really have too much free time."
Yubi bit his lip and let out a comfortable hum. His gaze shifted to behind Yakov, where the colors of dawn were gradually appearing through the dense, slanted windowpanes—the sun was dangerously rising from the desert, the cool night was over. The vampire had to pull his arms back into the shadows to avoid the burning pain.
"Are you coming with me to see the new house today?" Yubi asked. "What are you doing today?"
"I'm not going."
"But today is the day the bishop consecrates it, so everyone is going."
“Just some decent work.” Yakov got up from beside him and went to the window. “I still have to lead patrols.”
"This place is so small, why would we need to patrol it every day?"
The vampire untied the curtains, and the room was safely darkened. Yubi saw him fumble for the low table and light a candle. A moment later, something was thrown at the vampire's face—Yubi frowned, picked it up, and examined it; it was a shirt.
"...If you don't go, won't you be jealous?" He gripped the cotton cloth tightly, recklessly unleashing his trump card, "Aren't you afraid I'll really marry that girl from the Ibelin family?"
His knight, upon hearing this, couldn't help but burst into unrestrained laughter—a laughter that Yubi felt subtly insulted and belittled. He glared angrily at Yakov's unwavering pace, watching the knight don his hard, cold chainmail and fasten his gruesome, filthy red cross cloak. Yakov fastened his longsword back to his waist, the exquisite ruby in the center of the hilt gleaming faintly in the shadows, like an eye staring into the eyes of a vampire.
“You won’t.” The blood slave stood in front of the door, not even bothering to turn his head. “I know perfectly well.”
Yubi stared in shock, his mouth agape. His tongue twisted in his mouth, unsure whether to berate his knight for his rudeness and arrogance, or to acknowledge his lover's honesty and wisdom. Before he could figure it out, Yakov had already pushed open the door and was walking away in the direction he had left. More silent blood slaves filed out of that door, instantly filling the room with the dull and complicated reality.
“I don’t need to keep reminding you anymore,” he heard Yakov say at the end. “Just be careful when you go out during the day, watch out for the sun.”
As Yakov had advised, it was a bright, sunny day. Not only did the sun-fearing vampires shun the sun, but people themselves flocked to the shadows. Yubi watched as Bishop Domenico ascended the sweltering steps, his half-shaved scalp glistening with sweat. As he chanted prayers, he sprinkled holy water with a palm branch onto the inscribed lintel—the droplets vanished without a trace on the stone, turning into mist with a hiss. Yubi thought that in this kind of weather, the incense in the censer probably wouldn't even need a fire to burn.
“Why hasn’t he finished reading yet…” Margot, the girl from the Ibelin family, complained while fanning herself, “If he doesn’t finish soon, we’ll all be roasted alive here.”
“It should be soon,” Schumeer replied, wiping the sweat from his brow. “The room has ventilation shafts and a wind tower. If all else fails, I’ve also had someone prepare some mint drinks.”
“That’s wonderful.” Margot sighed, pulling her veil tighter around herself. “I wonder what people outside are going to do in this weather.”
Yes, what about those outside? Yubi silently clenched his gloves under his sleeve. He remembered Yakov's appearance each time he returned: a knight unlike a true nobleman, who could wear loose, breathable, comfortable robes and spend his days hiding under the cool eaves. Every evening, Yakov, like an iron ingot just pulled from the furnace, would step over his threshold, dirty and scalding, only reluctantly entering the bathroom. His boots could empty a basket of gravel, his turban could be wrung out half a puddle of sweat, and his heavy chainmail would be removed as if a bridle had been taken off an ox pulling a cart. But when asked what he was doing, why he wouldn't stay in the monastery to rest, he would give vague and nonsensical answers, as if discussing these matters were as unbearable as peeling off his skin.
“Sir, it’s your turn,” Margot whispered. “The bishop has finished reading.”
Yubi blinked, snapping out of his daze in the dust. "...Okay," he said dismissively, pulling out a silver coin and a handful of salt from his pocket and beginning to recite the bishop's prayer.
"God, bless this house and grant it peace."
He threw the silver coins and salt into the hole dug in front of the threshold, and was led by the master craftsman into the new house.
“Initially, considering your esteemed health, the courtyard design did not include a skylight.” The master architect spoke fluent Arabic, while an assistant beside him translated into French—neither language was Yubi's forte, and he had to concentrate intently to understand. “But the skylight is extremely important, sir. With a skylight, the courtyard can be landscaped with flowers and plants. The hot spring pool and fountain you requested are connected, and the skylight and wind tower are designed to be connected by waterways. In this way, your house will be cool and airy even in the hottest summer. This is the ingenuity of Eastern architecture; without it, the people inside would not be able to withstand the scorching heat.”
“But haven’t you forgotten about your health, sir?” Before Yubi could object, Schumacher asked sharply from behind him with his hands behind his back.
“Exactly!” The master craftsman showed no embarrassment, leading the group through the spacious and magnificent hall. “Look, sir. This is the beauty of engineering, the ingenuity of design, the surprise I present to you. How could I ensure you are protected from the scorching sun while also allowing you to appreciate the beautiful scenery and enjoy the coolness?”
Yubi walked at the head of the procession, following the direction indicated by the master's arm. His gaze passed over the last gatepost—a bright and spacious courtyard appeared before him, filled with Damask roses. The vibrant flowers surrounded a pristine white rock fountain, with clear water flowing down a stone channel—and in the center of that winding channel stood a delicate octagonal pavilion.
"A pavilion!" Yubi exclaimed, suddenly enlightened. "I can stay in that pavilion!"
“Exactly, sir, this is a blend of Syrian and Persian styles.” The master beamed and pointed to several stained-glass windows on the eaves for Yubi to see—they reflected beautiful firelight and were clearly the most expensive part of the structure. “Calculations show that from sunrise to sunset, the sunlight in the courtyard is perfectly blocked by the roof. This way, you can enjoy the fountain and flowers, find coolness and ventilation, and your delicate skin will be completely protected from the sun.”
These words sounded terribly strange, and Yubi lowered his head shyly. "It is indeed a good design, excellent." Schumeer clapped his hands amidst the admiring voices of the servants and onlookers. "I think this design truly deserves some reward from you."
“…You’ve thought of everything.” Yubi nodded. “Give him something.”
Schumeer waved his sleeve, clearly having anticipated this, and had Nuuk toss over a bag of coins—"Sir, you're too generous," Margot teased. "They're trying to empty your purse."
"Then I'll hope the next room isn't what I wanted," Yubi sighed.
They continued walking, around the courtyard, and along the canal toward the hot spring pool. Yubi noticed that they were descending the steps, turning and going underground—"This is to keep it warm, sir," the master explained. "I have designed an oriental-style bathroom for you."
Soon, Yubi arrived at a steamy room that was so hot it made one dizzy. The people behind him covered their mouths and noses, their sleeves soaked by the steam. The true face of the hot spring pool was revealed in the mist—it was not as large and luxurious as the villa in Golden Horn Bay—the pool was carved from a single block of gray basalt, rather than expensive white marble.
“Please look up.” Yubi’s gaze followed the master’s words and moved upwards. He discovered that the bathroom ceiling was a cathedral-like dome, densely covered with holes. “These were originally for lighting, sir. However, considering your health, I added some coverings, and now they are mainly for ventilation,” he explained astutely.
“It reminds me of how the Tatars used to bathe.” Yubi felt around the edge of the tub and found a huge, table-like stone platform next to the tap. “What’s this for?”
"This is a bathing table," the master said confidently. "First, you steam, then soak, then scrub with black olive soap and a horsehair scrub cloth, then massage your whole body with essential oils, and finally have a cup of tea and snacks. This is the Eastern way of bathing."
It sounded somewhat similar to Roman bathing. Just as Yubi was thinking this, the master grabbed a piece of horsehair scrubber and shoved it into his hand—the rough, hard texture immediately added a layer of fear to his "Eastern bathing methods." He put down the scrubber—he immediately began to miss the Roman scalpel.
“…Maybe Yakov will like it,” Yubi murmured. “Shumer, give him another bag of money.”
Immediately afterwards, everyone left the bathroom and headed towards the most important bedroom. The master smiled and pushed open a carved wooden door, revealing the entire room to everyone.
Yubi strolled in with astonishment, looking around the room: the walls were tiled, with niches containing icons and crosses, and the cornices were whitewashed and painted with patterns. A huge, semi-transparent gauze curtain hung down from above, almost completely obscuring all the windowpanes—he noticed that the windowpanes here were not only small and close together like those in the monastery where he had stayed before, but also had ingenious wooden mechanisms that allowed the window slats to open and close to block the sun. It was clear that the people here had gone to great lengths for shade.
"...Isn't there a bed here?" he asked, touching the low couch in the center. "Where will we sleep tonight?"
His question made everyone in the room laugh. “Sleep right where you’re touching,” the master replied, both surprised and cautious. “This is much more convenient and comfortable than a Western bed! If you’re cold, you can put on a wool blanket; if you’re hot, you can put on a silk mat; if it’s too soft, you can change to a linen mattress; if it’s too hard, you can bring a cotton pillow. Add or remove as you please, sleep wherever you want!”
Yubi couldn't help but think of Yakov's feet, which often dangled off the bed. "Indeed," he nodded thoughtfully, "such a large couch would feel spacious even for the tallest person."
But the thought of Yakov hiding from him and disappearing made Yubi's brows furrow again, and he felt a sense of emptiness in his sleeve.
“You’ve been distracted since this morning,” Margot whispered in his ear. “I bet you’re worried about your knightly affairs.”
“…It’s all my fault for showing my distress on my face and spoiling everyone’s fun.” Yubi sighed softly. “But he came back in the evening.”
“This is your new house. Even if it spoils everyone else’s fun, it shouldn’t spoil yours.” Margot shrugged. “If you ask me, you should ask me to dance for him at the banquet tonight.”
This unreasonable and audacious request immediately made Yubi smile wryly. "...Leaving aside whether I can do it or not, this isn't good for you!" He rubbed his wrists under his robe. "Besides, what use is this to him? He doesn't care about any of this. In his eyes, this is just like a child throwing a tantrum."
The girl's eyes darted around mischievously, then she glanced back—Schumel was just taking out money for the master craftsman for the third time, checking off the final tasks, and didn't have time to deal with the two of them—she suddenly pulled Yubi away around the corner, "Sir, do you trust me?" she asked.
"What?" Yubi exclaimed in surprise. "You're not going to do something outrageous, are you?"
"My lord, you are the city lord here!" Margo pinched his arm hard, causing him to flinch. "How can you allow others to deceive you, exercise your power on your behalf, and deprive you of your freedom?"
“There are many things you don’t understand…” Yubi shook his head and said, “They did this for my own good. I am their master, and they are sharing my burden.”
After he finished speaking, he saw a mixture of pity and mockery in the girl's eyes, as if he had just said something incredibly foolish and childish.
"You put your knights in charge of your army and your treasurer in charge of your money. You think that's perfect, don't you? It allows you to live a leisurely and comfortable life in a beautiful mansion, doing nothing. Do you think they won't conspire to deceive you?" Margot shook his head in disappointment, clutching his sleeve tightly. "You are the lord of the city. You should know what you want to know, and you should make them do what you want them to do. If they don't let you know, or don't obey your orders, then they must have something to hide. If this continues, you might be ruined by them one day."
Yubi wanted to refute her, but then he felt that there was an opportunity hidden in these simple words—what if he could find out what Yakov was doing without being discovered by any of the blood slaves?
"...Since you've said that, you must have a plan in mind," he asked tentatively.
“That depends on what you think.” Margot raised an eyebrow at him. “If you need my help, I’m always ready.”
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