Between Two Ends (16 page)

“If we were in the same cell,” Roland said a few minutes later, “we might pretend we were sleeping. When the guard comes—it's always the same one, and he hates me—we could knock him over or something.”

“And then what?” Yeats grumbled.

“Well, we could take his sword!”

“And how would that help? Have you ever attacked someone with a sword? These are warriors! They know their business. I've never even held a sword.”

Roland slapped the ground. “Still, one of us might get out!”

A guard walked across the grille and they both stiffened. His shadow washed over them and disappeared.

“What happens if we die here?” Yeats murmured. A thought flickered in his mind and he sat up. “Can we die? Roland! Maybe we can't die! It's a story, so how can we die in this story if we belong in a different world?”

Roland took a sip of water and then said, “Not sure why you're so worried about what will happen in two different places. This one's bad enough. And look at your leg. You better tighten the rag. Blood's leaking through.”

Yeats stared at his leg for a long moment. “The pain is real enough. If I can feel this kind of pain, then …” He looked wildly up at Roland. “Then death will probably be real too!”

Roland started to speak, then stopped. Yeats buried his face in his hands.

haharazad knelt and dipped her fingers in the cool water. There was no one else around and so she had the pool to herself. It was one of her favorite places in the palace. She could see the servants bustling in and out of the kitchens, and if she squinted, she could even glimpse a door that opened to the outside, to the market and the wide world beyond.

Each day she hoped she might see something that would reveal what was going on in the city. But she was not allowed to step past the raging bulls on the floor. The guards knew it, too, and kept a close eye on her when she came near. Whenever weepers went by the entrance a guard
always went out and moved them away and out of hearing.

However, this day her mind was full and she rarely looked toward the servants' door. The air was cooler near the pool, and it was the best place to read without interruption in the late afternoon. The pool was also a favorite location for Rawiya, who never missed an opportunity to gossip with friends in the kitchens. Shaharazad and Rawiya had fallen into the comfortable habit of coming to the pool most afternoons. Rawiya visited and Shaharazad read.

On this occasion, however, she had a hard time relaxing. No sooner had she begun to read when she found her mind wandering.

“Yeats,” she murmured. She thought of him standing in the shadows beneath the tree only the night before. “How you stir my memory,” she said. It was the strangest feeling. There were pictures in her mind that were clearer than detailed paintings, of places and people she did not know. They rose up like ghosts every time she thought of Yeats. Since their first meeting she had felt a growing sense of
anticipation that something terribly significant was about to happen. She began to believe that his coming to the garden and her finding him was no accident but rather providential.

“And what news will you bring tonight?” she whispered. “What will you tell me? Have you kept your word? Will you tell me why the people weep?”

She laid the book aside and leaned over the water. When her eyes locked with those of her reflection she gasped, for at that very moment she felt a tug, as if her whole body was being pulled forward. She reached out to steady herself against a statue. At the same time she heard a voice, a boy's voice, echoing across the pool. “I wish! I wish!” it said. The voice rolled over her like a wind. And then it was gone.

She sat up and looked around her, but all was as it had been before the voice had spoken. She took several deep breaths and then leaned over the water again, this time a little more cautiously. She did not let go of the statue's base.

“‘Mysteries and wonders too great to compare!'” she quoted from a favorite poet. Then
she passed a hand over her eyes. What had just happened? A vision? A ghost?

“My lady?”

Scrambling to keep her balance, Shaharazad pulled herself back. “Rawiya!” she said. “You startled me.”

“What were you doing?” asked the older woman.

“I was … I heard …” Her heart was troubled. It suddenly occurred to her that whenever she thought of Yeats strange memories arose. And then the ghostlike voice appeared. She shivered. What if Yeats was not safe? What if he was not good but evil? The thought was disturbing. “I was looking at my reflection,” she said slowly. “I wanted …”

“My lady,” Rawiya interrupted. “Something is amiss. I was not allowed in the kitchen and was told to take you back to your room. Immediately.”

Shaharazad's head shot up. For a moment she wanted to run into the kitchen and find out what was happening. Then her mind settled. Whether or not Yeats kept his end of their agreement, she
at least would keep hers. She felt her confidence returning. Of course Yeats was good. She knew it in her heart. And he was coming at midnight to answer her questions. She would be ready. Aloud, all she said was, “Of course.”

On their way back to her chamber they met a pair of guards running in the direction of the pool. Shaharazad had never seen guards running in the palace before. Back in her chamber, Rawiya closed the door behind them and locked it.

illiam held the book in his lap. A tear splashed onto the pages.

“William?” Faith said. “What in heaven's name just happened? Where did Mr. Sutcliff go? You'd better have an explanation.”

Her husband did not turn from the pages. He merely whispered, “Why can't I go? Why can't I help my son?”

“Go where, William?” The blood drained from her face. Where was Yeats?

Gran touched the spot where, only moments before, two long-forgotten bookends stood watch over her library. “Don't be afraid, Faith. Instead, be patient.”

“Mum!” Faith stammered. “Did you not just see? Mr. Sutcliff was standing here, right there, and reading
that
book. He disappeared! And what on earth was he doing yelling at a bookend?”

Gran clasped her hands to her face. “Yes! Yes! It was wonderful. I've always known Mr. Sutcliff would figure it out.”

“Wonderful?” Faith gaped, flabbergasted. “William?”

He ran his fingers over the pages. “I can't get in.”

“Get in where?! Are you both mad?”

Gran rested her hand on Faith's shoulder. “Faith. Don't turn away—look at me, girl! I know you are afraid. You have a right to be. But rest assured that while there may be forces out of our control, we just gained one for our side. Mr. Sutcliff is there now, I'm sure of it. He'll find Yeats. And your husband is not mad. Neither am I.”

Faith was speechless.

“Listen to me,” Gran continued. “You will need to see this with your heart and not just your eyes. You're a smart girl. Always have been. I'm proud
of you. But all your intelligence can't help you if you won't see what is happening. Three people have disappeared, one of them before your very eyes. You are witnessing a marvel. If you can't believe it for William, and Lord knows he needs you to, then at least do it for your son. Can you?”

Faith felt ill.

“Can you?” Gran repeated.

Faith clutched her stomach. It was late afternoon. She could not imagine making it through the night without knowing something about Yeats.

Gran waited patiently.

Slowly she turned to her mother-in-law. Without looking at her husband she said, “I'll do anything to get my son back.”

eats awoke to darkness and cold bars pressed against his back.

“Roland?”

“Hmmm?”

“Roland! What time is it?”

“Don't know, exactly. I think it's still daytime, if that's what you are wondering.”

“It is?”

“Yep. But they put a carpet over the grate. They've never done that before.”

Yeats kicked the bars. “They're trying to frighten us. Not letting us know when it's midnight. Maggots!” he yelled. “Khan! Khan! Roland's here!

Come and save us!”