Between Two Ends (7 page)

“Stop that!” Yeats's voice cracked.

Odysseus ran between the boy's feet, still spitting and hissing.

“Watch it, Odysseus! You're getting in the way.” Cat and boy tangled and Yeats stumbled. In an effort to protect the pirate bookend Yeats rolled onto his shoulder. He lay on his back staring at the bookshelf. Several books protruded from under the legs of the bottom shelf.
Paradise Lost, The Tempest, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
.

He tried to sit, but the pirate upset his balance. He set the pirate at the near end of the bookcase and knelt in front of the shelf. And then he saw it. On the same shelf, yet at the opposite end, was
a book. “… the
Arabian Nights: The Marvels and Wonders of the Thousand and One Nights
. His heart gave a disturbing thump when he read the next part.
Collfield's unexpurgated translation
. He touched the leather binding.

Then he noticed something else. He peeked around the book. The tall volume shielded a second pirate, identical to his, back-to-back with the book. There were other books as well, but they had fallen behind the shelf. “Did you do this?” he asked Odysseus. The cat settled on the back of Yeats's legs. “Bold face, no bite. A lot of good you are.”

Odysseus stared hard. Turning back to the
Arabian Nights
, Yeats suddenly caught his breath. The bookend he had found in the garden was now only a foot from the
Arabian Nights
. He pushed the cat off his legs. He must have moved the pirate when he looked at Odysseus, he assured himself. He glanced at the door. He could run to it in a second if he needed to.

Collfield's translation was covered in dust and was the oldest-looking of all the volumes. Yeats
slid the book from the shelf, raising a cloud of dust. He sneezed and the book fell open at his knees.

It is told in days of long ago, that once there lived a king in the lands of India and China and lands between, who was great in strength and wealth
.

Yeats sneezed again and the pages flipped.
And lo! Shaharazad saw that the dawn was coming and with her lord's permission she ceased her storytelling with the promise of more the following night. The king slept without the torment of his nightly dreams and awoke with a fresh vision of his kingdom
. The letters were in a rather fancy font, and Yeats traced the elaborately decorated
A
at the top of the page.

“He's in!” said a voice, alarmingly close. Yeats's fingers dug into the pages. The voice continued.
“Where
have ye been? It's been twenty years if'n ye hadn't noticed.”

The voice was coming from the bookshelf. One of the bookend pirates had removed his metal foot from his treasure chest and was dusting off his sea cape. The second pirate stared at Yeats.

“He's not in yet, ye stupid blowfish!”

The first pirate whipped his foot back onto the chest and resumed his pose.

Yeats ran out of air. The book fell to the floor.

“Hold yer pose,” the first pirate whispered. The second pirate raised his steely eyebrows.

“Too late.”

“Hold yer pose!”

“Too late. He's lookin'.”

“Huuuuhhh,” wheezed Yeats.

“Son of a sea dog! What do we do now?”

The pirate walked off his platform and over to Yeats. For the first time Yeats realized that this pirate was different from the pirate he had found outside. The pirate from the garden wore tall sea boots, whereas this pirate was missing a leg. In its place was a wooden peg. The peg leg made the pirate stoop a little when he walked but did not interfere with his speed.

“Ye little shred of rotten seaweed …”

“Shut up, Skin!” shouted the boot-wearing pirate. He threw his hands up and stepped down from the shelf. “It's not his fault! Argh! Right back into the thick of it the moment I'm back.”

Yeats leaned as far from the shelf as his limbs would allow.

“Shut it yerself, Bones,” challenged Skin, the peg-legged pirate.

“Help,” gasped Yeats.

Bones eyed him up and down and grimaced. “I suppose we'll have to, now.”

Skin drew his sword. “Ye were in!” he accused Yeats. “Swear it! It weren't me. Ye was reading! Ye can't see or hear us when ye is reading.” He stomped his peg leg angrily.

“I … I stopped reading,” Yeats whispered. “I was looking at the letters.”

“It
was
yer fault,” Bones said to the fiery Skin. Bones eased Skin's sword down.

Then Skin raised the weapon again swiftly. “Pick up that book and start reading!”

His heart pounding, Yeats managed, “Why?”

“Impudence! Scurvy dog! Dirty … er … dirty … er …”

“Rat?” Yeats offered.

“Rat!” Skin spat and pointed his sword at Yeats's nose.

“Put that away!” Bones ordered. He scratched his unshaven chin. “Skulls and crossbones, I need to think! I carry the brains for us both. When it be time for muscle I'll let ye know. We've precious little time afore someone else walks in.”

Yeats glanced furtively, expecting some new specter from the bookstacks. “Who?”

“Yer own meddling kind, that's who!” Skin said. “I shouldn't wonder if old Sutcliff makes an appearance at any moment.”

“Mr. Sutcliff?”

“I've had trouble with him.” Skin shifted uncomfortably. He made a little circle in the dust with the end of his peg. “He knows about us.”

“What happened?” asked Bones.

“He spies on me! He caught me whistling a few times and singing a sea chantey. But I never—I swear it on my granny's boots—I never granted him a wish!” The pirate clapped his hands over his mouth the moment the words were out.

There was a long pause. “That weren't a wise thing to say, partner,” Bones said with a grimace.
He slapped his forehead. “Not surprising, mind ye, since ye've got as much wit as a stone!”

Intuitively Yeats pounced. He gripped the closest pirate, who happened to be Bones, around the waist. The pirate thrashed his legs and pounded his little fists on Yeats's finger.

Yeats raised him level to his eyes yet far enough away so that he could not be poked by the pirate's sword. “A wish?” he demanded. “I get a wish?”

The pirate scowled back, then threw up his hands. “Open yer hand, landlubber! I can't run for it. Ye've asked the golden question. Now I've got to answer.” He shot an angry look at his partner and said, “Ye be one of the finest idiots I've known.” Skin hung his head.

Hesitantly Yeats opened his fist. Removing his hat, Bones sat heavily on Yeats's palm.

“A fine fix we're in again,” he grumbled.

“Well?” prodded Yeats. He rose to his knees and took a better look at the pirate. “You know about my dad, don't you? And Shari. You're the magical … whatevers … Gran and Dad talked about.”

“Bookends,” said Bones. “We're bookends. And don't get yer hackles up.” He rested his hand on his sword.

Yeats snorted. “Try it. I don't care if you're made of metal. I'll kick you across the room like a football.”

“Simmer down, codfish!” said Skin. “Ye be as flighty as a … er … as a …”

“Pigeon,” Yeats filled in.

“Exactly.”

“Listen, you metal clowns,” Yeats growled. “I want to help my dad. My family's falling apart. So, if you're the cause of it, and you know how to fix it, tell me now!” He raised his fist.

Skin rested his peg leg on the edge of a book and picked at his nails with a dagger. “A touch jumpy, are we? The ‘metal clowns' bit was good, though. Very witty.”

“You start talking or I'll knock over this bookshelf. Then I'll tell everyone in this house—no—I'll tell the whole world about you! Then you'll have more explaining to do.”

Skin and Bones exchanged glances. “Will ye,
now?” they chimed simultaneously, with chilling calm.

“Yes,” said Yeats. “Now what's all this about a wish?”

Bones sighed. Then he said simply, “If we're caught using our magic then ye gets one wish.” The bristles of his metal mustache twitched.

“A wish,” Yeats repeated.

“Aye.”

Odysseus rubbed against Yeats's leg. “Are you suggesting,” asked Yeats, “that I can ask for a wish … as in a fairy-tale kind of wish? Like a genie?”

“That's the idea.”

“Anything?”

“No,” said the pirate. “Can't bring the dead back to life. And the wish has to come from here.” He swept a hand around the shelves.

“What do you mean? I can't leave the library?”

“No! Ye can go anywhere a book goes.”

“Why?”

“Our magic is limited to books!” Skin shouted.

“Why?” asked Yeats.

“Because we're BOOKENDS!” cried Skin. He rolled his eyes and tapped his forehead.

“Oh,” said Yeats. “Fair enough.” He frowned. “Does that mean I can ask for anything inside a book? Like all the treasure from Treasure Island?”

Bones shook his head. “Can't take things out of books. Ye can only go inside. And ye can come back out.”

Thoughts were swirling in his head so fast that Yeats could hardly think. “So I can go inside any book I want?”

“Aye.”

“Wow.” Yeats's mind was flooded with possibilities. He knew a lot of good stories!
Peter Pan
. He could go to Neverland!
Robin Hood
. Fighting the Sheriff of Nottingham with a quarter staff. Wa-hoo!

The pirates waited impatiently. He shook his head vigorously to clear his mind. “Wait, wait a minute,” he murmured. “This is what happened to Shari, isn't it?” His eyes widened as the truth struck home. “She made a wish, didn't she?”

Skin and Bones nodded. Yeats's gaze dropped
to the book on the floor. “She wished to be in the
Arabian Nights!
”

“Aye,” said Bones. “More to the point, she wished to be Shaharazad.”

All the glorious possibilities drained away as Yeats imagined his father's desperate face. “What did my dad wish for?” he murmured.

Bones covered his heart with his hat. “He wished to be with her. Very honorable, I'll give him that. Then, not long after they were in the story, he broke the spell and came back.”

“Why? How?”

The pirate snapped his fingers at Yeats's eyes. “Would ye mind settin' a poor old man down for a moment? To get me balance?”

Yeats regripped and said vehemently, “No way!”

“All right, all right,” grumbled the pirate.

“How did my dad break the spell?” Yeats repeated. “And why?”

Bones rested his sword arm on Yeats's thumb. “Spells are meant to be broken,” the pirate said. “That's the way of magic. It don't last. But ye've
got to want it with all yer heart—more than anything else—before it will break. Yer dad wanted to come home. And he wanted the girl to go with him.”

“But she wouldn't,” Yeats said softly. “Because her parents were dead. Because she was searching for a happy ending.”

“Ye can't wish for another person,” said Bones. “Only yerself. Yer father had to come back alone. And in the nick of time too. He was about to lose his head!”

Yeats looked around the room and thought of the books, the history and stories, and all the glorious worlds he had read since he was little. His father had stood in the same place twenty years ago. But he was not alone back then. And the story was chosen by Shari. The result of that wish had left old Mr. Sutcliff unstable, his father in a lifelong depression, and his family on the brink of splitting.

Yeats scowled. He knew what he had to wish for. But before he said the words he needed answers to a few questions.

“If I asked, could you take me to Shari?” he asked.

“Aye,” said Bones.

“And if I could convince her to go with me, would the spell be broken and she could return?”

The pirates regarded each other. Finally Bones shrugged and said, “If she wants to come back here with her whole heart … then yes.”

Yeats leaned eagerly forward.

“But it gets muddy in the story world, lad,” Bones added. “It will be hard to think clearly as ye do now. Especially for the girl. She's been in for a long time! Her memory will be like a cloudy soup.”

Yeats squeezed his eyes shut. “Is there a chance I could get stuck in there too?”

“Aye,” they said together.

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Yeats.

“'Course ye don't,” jeered Skin. “Ye be as lily-livered as yer father.”

Yeats turned red and scowled as fiercely as any pirate. “Say that again, Skinny, and I'll chase your boogers up your nose with your own sword.”

Skin hopped up from his sitting position and swung his sword. “I'll kill him! Davy Jones, I don't care. Just let me kill him.”

Bones thrust his finger at Yeats. “Say yer sorry!”

“No!”

“This isn't going to help yer father. Say it!”

Yeats pounded the top of the shelf, bouncing Skin off balance.

“Sorry,” Yeats said through gritted teeth. “Sorry,” he said again. “But don't you ever call my dad a coward.”

Skin regarded him closely for a moment before putting away his sword.
“A
sword up the nose, eh? Very pirate-like. Might use it meself.”

Yeats took a deep breath and regained his composure. “Will you help me if I get stuck?”

“Why should we?” Bones retorted. “Not like we owe ye or yer father anything! The codfish! Hauled me off to the garden when the girl didn't come back. Demanded more wishes to go back and get her.”

The sudden image of his father as a frightened boy filled Yeats with rage. “You didn't help him?
He needed you! That's disgusting, even for a pirate.”

“I've been eating garden dirt for twenty years,” Bones retorted. “I suppose I paid for it by being marooned.”