Between Two Ends (24 page)

She gave Yeats a frown. “Must you be so practical?”

He shook his head. “I don't want Odysseus to die either. And it's not as if he'll pop off tomorrow. He's a young cat. It's just that his clock has started again.”

They fell silent listening to the wind whine around the old house and rattle the shutters.

Shari kept staring at him with her eyes half shut. “Of course!” she said presently.

“What?”

“I think I know what Roland is up to. And I know who can help us.”

“Who?”

The girl's smile grew wide. “Come with me!” She reached for his hand.

On the first step of the staircase the boards screeched out a protest. Shari burst into giggles. “I keep forgetting!”

“Shhh!” Yeats whispered vehemently. His parents were exhausted, and he didn't want to alarm them.

“Where are we going?” asked Yeats suspiciously.

“The library.”

Yeats stopped short. “No. We can't go there. Not after everything we've been through.”

“We're not going to do anything. We're just going to ask a question.” She plucked at his shirt. “Come on, brave Yeats.”

They stole through the kitchen and followed
the hallway down to the infamous doors. Yeats stopped.

“No! This isn't right!”

“It's just a question.”

“To who?”

Shari pushed the door and stepped inside.

Exasperated, Yeats waited for several seconds before entering. Shari was bathed in moonlight, frozen below the ticking clock, staring. Yeats followed her gaze to the bronze pirates now guarding a full shelf of books.

“Shari!” he growled, surprised at the force in his own voice. He stepped to her side.

She knelt in front of the bookends. Despite his anger Yeats couldn't stop his curiosity. He leaned down for a peek.

Shari gave a little wave. “Hello, boys!” She glanced at Yeats but all was quiet. “Skin? Bones? We have a very important question for you.” Yeats crouched beside her, half expecting to hear a gruff, piratey voice responding. But the pirates remained frozen.

Yeats looked for the peg leg. “You're talking to Skin.”

“It doesn't look as if anything ever happened, does it?” she murmured.

Yeats turned to her. “Yeah, but we know better.”

She tapped the spine of a small book. “We certainly do.” She gave Yeats a mischievous smile. Then she cupped her hands to his ear and whispered, “I think we have more wishes.”

Yeats pulled back to say, “We've used it up. Both of us.”

She put her mouth back to his ear. “There are two pirates. You caught Skin talking and I did too. That leaves one pirate and two wishes between us!”

“The scalawags!” hissed Yeats. “They never …”

Shari covered his mouth with her hand. “And we won't mention it either, will we?”

He nodded and fell silent. Then he said, “I did think that we might try the wishing well. But it was so badly broken. I think my father's wish was the last one to make it out.”

“We'll make our plans upstairs and out of earshot,” she said. She traced her finger across the spines of the books between the pirates. Then she whispered, “It would be fun to use our wish in one of these, wouldn't it?” Her large brown eyes turned to him. “It wouldn't matter which book we started with as long as we could meet Roland.” She made a motion with her finger and pointed at Collfield's unexpurgated version.

Yeats shivered. “Don't even think it!”

“Do you want to see Roland?”

“Yes! But—”

She shrugged. “Well, then.” She slid out the small volume she had touched earlier. “I think we can make our wish and then enter any story and we'll be able to meet him. We just have to agree when and where. Wouldn't it be fun?”

They stared at each other for long time.

“Not sure I can make a choice like that so quickly,” said Yeats.

“We don't have to decide tonight,” she replied.

His thoughts drifted to his parents, sleeping
so peacefully upstairs, and to Mr. Sutcliff, whose long wait had finally been rewarded.

He took the book from Shari's hand. “What story is it anyway?” he asked gruffly. He turned it over.

Treasure Island
.

David Ward was born in Montreal and grew up in Vancouver. He is the author of the Grassland Trilogy and is a university instructor in children's literature. He lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and three children.

This book was designed by Melissa Arnst and art directed by Chad W. Beckerman. The text is set in 12-point Baskerville, a font designed in 1757 by John Baskerville, an English typographer and printer. Somewhat dissatisfied with the heavy popular type styles of the time, he created his own distinct style, which was more delicate. He examined various faces for their ease of reading, and found that finer types were easier to read when printed in the smaller sizes used in books. Baskerville's type style is appreciated today as one of the best type choices for printed books. The display font used is Sackers Solid Antique.