by David Ward
“That’s the way of it,” Bones affirmed. Then he added with chilly calm, “But ye’d better make certain ye know which ye want most.”
Yeats felt a cold shiver down his back. “What did you say?”
The pirate hefted his sword. “She’s got to undo her wish. It’s not good enough to remember. I told ye that.”
“What do you mean?” yelled Yeats. “Look at her. We did it. We rescued her.”
“Rats and ropes, lad! Ye call this rescued? There’s no wish broken here.”
“And we’re not out of the palace yet,” added Skin. “We’ve a long way to the boat and who knows how many guards to fight.”
Yeats stared, flabbergasted. “We might be stuck?”
Bones stamped his foot. “The deal was to rescue ye both. If one of ye chooses not to go home, then both of ye stay behind.”
“What does he mean?” Shari asked quietly.
Yeats turned away. “It means we may be marooned. And my family is on the other side not knowing anything that’s happened. Not only will they have lost you, they’ll lose me too.”
He regretted his words immediately. For Shari put her hands to her head. “My parents … an accident! They are gone.” Her face paled.
“Easy now.” Skin perked up. “Let’s not bring foul weather before the sun’s gone! Let’s try one thing at a time.” Then to Yeats, he added, “If we can win our way to the boat, ye’ll have yer moment to convince the lass.”
“Convince me of what?” asked Shari.
Yeats ran his fingers through his hair. He was trying to be so careful, so gentle with her, but now could not disguise his disappointment. “I guess it’s not enough that you trust me,” he said. “You’ve got to choose to come with me. With all your heart. I was so excited that you remembered that I forgot what it takes to get us back.”
She studied him thoughtfully, her eyes a little more clear than a few moments before. “I’ll try! But you’ve no idea what it feels like to be part of two places at once. Of course I want to go with you. It’s an adventure. But when I look around I see everything I’ve ever known. And your news about the people here … Oh my poor people!” She brought her hands to her mouth. Then she looked at Yeats and said, “William!” She burst into tears. Confusion filled her face again. “What is happening to me?” she cried.
Yeats cast a glance helplessly at the pirates, but they would not meet his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he said to Shari. “Let’s get to the boat. I’ll think of something!” He picked up the scimitar and turned it experimentally in his hand.
“Do you know how to use that?” Shari asked, snuffling.
Yeats swiped the air experimentally with the blade. “Not yet.”
“You’d better give it to me,” she said. She gazed over the room one last time, slowly, as if memorizing every carpet, every tassel, every candlestick. Then abruptly she turned and pulled Yeats to the door.
he crunch of marching feet reverberated through the stone corridor. Shoulder to shoulder Yeats and Shari peered out. Moments before, Bones had extinguished the oil lamps, leaving them in semidarkness. Smoke from Shari’s diversion fire still hung in the air. Despite the absence of Khan, the garden felt hostile. The ocean breeze made the branches lurch and imaginary guards lunged from every shadow.
“They’ve reached the near lawn now,” Shari whispered in his ear. “Tell Skin to veer to the left and find the trees.” After he delivered her message he felt her shiver through their clasped hands.
“It’s so strange to be stealing away,” she said, ducking behind a bush. “I’ve spent many a night in these gardens. It was the only place I could be alone without Rawiya.”
“Quiet!” snapped Skin.
Shari swung around to face the pirate. “And I’m not used to being spoken to in such a manner.”
The pirate snarled and said, “Get used to it.”
Yeats caught her slap in midswing. “He’s a pirate, Shari!” he whispered vehemently. “He says very rude things all the time. And remember, you’re not royalty.”
The girl’s eyes flamed. “I am here.”
“He’s very good with a sword,” Yeats added quickly. “And probably our best chance of getting to your grandfather and my father.”
Seconds later, Bones started forward. They slipped as four shadows across the lawn. Torches bobbed ahead and they could hear the jingle of armor and weapons. Behind them, they heard the sound of thudding and wood splintering as the guards launched an attack against Shaharazad’s door. Mohassin would soon be free.
Skin waited for the guards to pass, then bolted for the cover of the trees. Still hand in hand, Yeats and Shari hurried after him.
Someone shouted.
“They’ve seen us!” Yeats said.
“Hush up! We’re nearly at the gate!” Bones answered from behind.
Shari gave a little squeal. “Gran. Is Gran all right? I haven’t thought of her in oh so long!” She shook the little bell.
Bones waved frantically. “Keep her quiet!”
“Please, Shari!” Yeats implored. “You’ve got to stop talking. I’m sure you’re remembering everything … and it’s wonderful and all, but this is hardly the time and place. They’ll kill us if we’re caught. At least, they’ll kill me.”
She sobered instantly. “They will not! I’ll have their houses turned into rubble if they try such a thing!”
“No, ye won’t!” Skin whispered furiously. “Yer Mr. Sutcliff’s granddaughter. The moment ye picked up that bell and remembered ye changed. Now those gents out there”—he indicated to the garden—“they may or may not believe yer the real Shaharazad. I’d rather not take the chance to find out.”
Yeats squeezed her hand encouragingly. “When we get you home everything will seem right again,” he said.
Shari said uncertainly, “I’m not sure where home is.”
“Quiet!” Bones hissed.
They were hunkered in the same little woods in which Khan had tracked down Yeats. How long ago it felt! The gate to the beach was in sight. Guards were everywhere, thrashing the bushes with their spears and stabbing behind trees. Some carried torches and the light spread dangerously close to their hiding place. Yeats gulped. The guards would not wait to hang him this time.
“There’s the gate!” Bones whispered. His sword glinted dully. “The scalawags behind us will take no prisoners, save perhaps the girl. Keep that in mind if yer legs are tired. Now, run for it!”
Something whistled through the bushes and stuck in a trunk near their heads. Skin touched the arrow embedded in the splintered bark. “Pieces of eight!” he muttered. “Half an inch from Davy Jones’s locker.” Yeats swallowed hard. He had an answer to his earlier question. Anyone can die in a story—even bookends.
“Through the gate!” Bones interrupted his thoughts with a shout. There was no need for silence now. Their pursuers had found them. Yeats pulled Shari along and fled after the pirates, down the darkened slope toward the water. As they ran Shari suddenly faltered.
“What is it?” asked Yeats, worried that she had been hit by an arrow.
“I can’t see,” she gasped.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t see anything.”
“Skin and Bones!” Yeats hollered, and wrapped his arm around the girl’s waist. They stumbled to the waiting pirates.
“Plagues of scurvy! What is it now?”
“It’s Shari. She can’t see!” Without a word Bones leaned forward, hoisted Shari over his shoulder, and whirled around again for the beach.
“Put me down, you buccaneer!” Shari said. “I can run.”
“Sorry, missy. No time.”
“Yeats!” Shari pleaded.
“Why can’t she see?” Yeats puffed beside Skin.
“Story blindness,” he said gruffly. “Seen it before. Very rare. The story’s breaking down for her. It all starts to blur and fade, like empty end pages of a book. It’s bad news for ye. Means she hasn’t broken her wish. Ye better pray for
a miracle.”
“Will she be all right?”
“Does it matter?” came the reply. “We’re likely all dead anyway if Sutcliff doesn’t have the boat ready.”
The moon lit the beach like a ghostly sunset. The salt breeze swept away the pungent aroma of the garden. Wisps of mist curled along the surface of the water. In a glimmer of moonlight Yeats spotted the figure of a man standing on the beach.
“Mr. Sutcliff!”
“Quickly, my boy!”
Mr. Sutcliff loomed over them. Bones set the girl back on her feet. There was an intake of breath.
“Shari!”
“Grandpa!”
The girl embraced the old man. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she said.
“It is indeed, dearest!”
“I only wish my parents were here too,” she said. “I thought that perhaps, somehow, they might … ”
“My dear,” said Mr. Sutcliff, “I cannot express the overflow of my heart at this moment—”
“Good!” interrupted Bones. “ ’Cause yer heart will be overflowing with something else once those arrows find their mark!”
Rocks clattered behind him and Yeats spun around. Something whizzed overhead.
“Oars out, Sutcliff!” Skin hollered. “Anchors away!”
“Wait till we’re afloat. Then all get in the boat,” Bones shouted.
“To me, Yeats!” Mr. Sutcliff handed out orders. “Untie that rope! Here now, take hold of the other side.”
Yeats hurriedly grabbed the side of the small craft. The pirates took the other side. The bottom scraped along stones. It was dreadfully heavy.
“Heave ho, lad!” Mr. Sutcliff threw in the tie rope. “Angels and minstrels of grace help us if we can’t all fit.” With a last effort, the boat slid into the water. Mist already covered the bow and Yeats desperately hoped it would be enough to hide them from the guards on land.
Skin gave Yeats a crooked grin. “Cutlass out, my boy! If ye can think of anything witty, this may be yer last chance to say it. Sutcliff and the girl, get in!”
Yeats stared dumbly at the pirate.
“No.” Shari stepped away from the boat. “I know what to do with a scimitar. And I’m seeing a little better now.”
The roaring guardsmen were fewer than thirty feet away and there was no leaving shore without a fight. The arrows had ceased. The guards had finally seen Shari. They fell silent at their final approach, and at a motion from their captain, all raised their scimitars.
“Hand-to-hand combat! My favorite!” Skin smirked. “And so many! I hardly know where to start.”
“Sutcliff!” Bones yelled. “Push off and get in the boat. Hold her steady about forty feet out.”
Shari and her grandfather shook their heads as one. “No!” the girl said emphatically. “I’m staying. Even blind, I can fight better than Yeats.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Yeats said angrily. But there was no time for more conversation. The soldiers were upon them at last. His teeth chattered. He gazed in horror at the imposing figures, all in black save their leader, whose white turban set him apart.
“Yeats!” Shari called.
“I’m right here. But I don’t have a sword.” The sight of Shari standing beside her grandfather with her scimitar aimed at the guards made him pause. All this way to be caught at the beach! Anger boiled inside of him. He took a deep breath and a grin began to spread. “I don’t need a weapon,” he said. “I’m not a killer. So let’s see how many I can knock down with my fists.”
Mr. Sutcliff gave Yeats an encouraging wink. “Good boy.”
“Stay beside me, Yeats,” said Shari.
The guards attacked like a pounding wave. Even with the pirates taking the brunt of the assault Yeats was bowled over into the sea. Someone hauled him up. Choking and spluttering, Yeats caught sight of a guard lying at his feet and rubbing his chin.
“Beginner’s luck!” Bones cried. Skin had taken an opponent’s weapon and was wielding a sword in each hand, singing as he fought. Shari struck expertly at the attacking soldiers, who fell back, astonished at her ferocity.
“Look out, Yeats!” Mr. Sutcliff roared.
He ducked instinctively. Someone flew over his shoulder and a knee struck his head. Reeling, he lost his footing on the sand. Everywhere, guards poured onto the beach, their torches lighting up the fight. Their little group was vastly outnumbered. It was only a matter of seconds before one of them was killed. I’m going to die! Yeats thought as he took aim at another head.
A sudden loud crack filled the air and there was a pause in the fighting. Two soldiers fell back and Yeats sank to one knee, gasping for breath.
Skin held a smoking pistol and the acrid smell of burning shot wafted over the beach. The leader of the guards grasped his shoulder, dumbfounded at the blood spreading over his tunic.
“There be more where that came from!” roared Skin. Bones dropped his cutlass and pulled two pistols from his belt.
“Only two more shots before he has to reload,” muttered Mr. Sutcliff. “And there are many more needed to stop this tide of guardsmen, but they don’t know that. It’s a clever trick. I hope the guards believe it. They’ve likely not seen a pistol before!”
The soldiers stared at their leader in disbelief. The man fell to the ground clutching his shoulder.
“Now for it!” said Mr. Sutcliff. He hurried a protesting Shari into the shallows and they climbed into the boat. Skin caught Yeats by the back of the neck. “That’s enough for ye. Fly like an albatross!” With a mighty heave Skin flung him deep into the water toward their drifting boat.
Shari gripped the bow of the boat as her grandfather swung himself on board. “Where is he, Grandpa? Where’s Yeats?”
Yeats gasped from a few yards away. “Here!”
Mr. Sutcliff hauled on the oars. “Wait, my dear. Let me reel in our fish.”
“Hurry, Grandpa!” Shari called.
Two more pistol shots ripped through the night air. Yeats glanced back to see the line of torches retreating, regrouping, then surging forward again. Skin and Bones had jumped into the water.
“There we are,” said Mr. Sutcliff, positioning the boat as close to Yeats as possible. “Lift him under the shoulders, Shari! That’s it. Easy now. Ah! Here come our pirates!”
When Yeats looked up from the bottom of the boat, Shari was hovering over him.
“Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly.
“I think so.”
“You’ve got a cut above your eye,” she said. “I expect it might hurt a bit.” She touched his forehead.
“Can you see again?” he asked.
“A little. You look fuzzier than you did earlier tonight. It sort of comes and goes.”
The boat suddenly dipped and they fell together to the port side. A pair of knuckles gripped the gunwale. A second later the opposite side plunged.
“For goodness’ sake, are you trying to sink us?” Mr. Sutcliff shouted. The two pirates lay dripping on the bottom of the boat with Yeats and Shari squeezed in the middle.
Skin and Bones waved their arms frantically. “Row, Sutcliff, row!” The cacophony that followed, as the soldiers entered the shallows and Mr. Sutcliff started rowing, was deafening.
Skin stood. “Let me do it.”
“Down, pirate!” Mr. Sutcliff roared. “You’ll tip us.”
“Then row like a pirate yerself,” Skin retorted.
“Sit still like a good bookend,” wheezed Mr. Sutcliff. It was awful for Yeats to have to lie motionless, unable to see over the side of the boat, just waiting for the guards to overtake them. His only comfort was Shari, pressed next to him.
Skin leaned up on one elbow. “Well?”
“Down,” Mr. Sutcliff gasped. “Or I’ll whack you with my paddle. They are aiming arrows again.”
But the arrows did not reach them. The noise faded. Yeats and Shari stared up at the star-filled sky. It looked very much like the stars at home, thought Yeats.
He glanced at Shari. They were far from safe yet.
“We’ll take it from here,” Bones said. Mr. Sutcliff did not argue.
“That was too close,” Yeats said. “I’m not much of a warrior.”
Shari’s smile flashed. “You were wonderful back there, Yeats! Marvelous. For someone who’s never been in battle you held your ground like a hero.”
He smiled weakly. “Skin said it was beginner’s luck.”
He wanted to tell her that she was the bravest girl he’d ever met, but she was faster. To his astonishment, she kissed his cheek. “Maybe so. But I’ll think otherwise.”
He looked at her hopefully.
“It’s strange,” Shari murmured. “I’m leaving my home that is not my home. I have memories of every part of that palace.” She brought her gaze back to Yeats. “And they are not real.”
Yeats raised his eyebrows. “Shari, you’ve been gone for twenty years. No wonder you are confused.”
“Twenty years!” she groaned. She fell silent and Yeats wondered what on earth he could possibly say to make her want to go home. The slap of water against the boat’s sides was soothing and both of them fell silent. Mr. Sutcliff watched them intently. The pirates, Yeats noted, kept a close eye on Mr. Sutcliff. There was a tension in the air as thick as the fear they had on the beach when facing the soldiers. Everyone was waiting. Everyone was waiting for Shari.
“I had to make a decision back there,” the girl said suddenly.
“What’s that?” Yeats perked up.
“When I heard the bell and saw your face—so much like William’s—it took me back to Gran’s house, to my old life.” She looked at Yeats. “It took me back to my own story.” She held the bell to her ear and smiled, remembering. “Dear William. I left him in such a terrible state, you know. The guards came from nowhere and called me Shaharazad. They bowed low and treated me like royalty. I guess I didn’t have to believe it,” she said. “Poor William. He tried to warn me. But I wouldn’t listen. I wanted to get away from everything that reminded me of my parents.”
Yeats nodded. “I can understand that. I’ve felt that way a bit myself recently.”
“My parents are still gone.” She closed her eyes for the briefest moment. “I remember now. When I’m in the story I didn’t … I don’t have to remember.”
