by David Ward
“Hurry, Yeats,” she whispered. “I am anxious for your news.” She smiled briefly. “And your familiar face.”
Rawiya returned with a small flask of cordial and fairly cast it on the table. Her face was pale and her hands shook when she poured the drink.
“Are you ill, Rawiya?”
“No, my lady.”
“You are shaking.”
Rawiya gasped, then whispered frantically, “Guards are doubled at every entrance and two wait outside your door. An assistant cook told me that a villain tried to enter the palace!” She was as near to clucking as a startled chicken. “And he was trying to get to your chamber!”
Shaharazad sat straight up. “Was he caught?”
“No! Three tried to apprehend him, including a palace guard, but he overpowered them! The cook’s nose! It was broken. It must be a fierce rogue.” Rawiya shook her finger. “We must be cautious!”
The girl nodded thoughtfully. “Did the cook describe this villain?”
Her maidservant frowned. “That is the strangest of things. The cook claimed the rogue was a beast who could hurl stones the size of his head with the accuracy of an archer. But the royal food taster swore he was no more than a boy! A cabbage seller confessed the same. And Mustafa the beggar won’t utter a word, which is something to be said in itself.”
Shaharazad smothered a smile. So! Mohassin must have bribed the beggar to silence. Yeats had made it to the kitchen! She frowned. But what of the palace guard? Oh, please be safe!
Composing herself, Shaharazad took her maid’s hands. “Rawiya. If there is a rogue loose in the palace—and a dangerous one at that—then I want you back in your home with your husband. I will be safe with guards outside my door. Besides, it is late. And you have already stayed too long.”
Tears formed in the woman’s eyes. “Sweet Shaharazad. You never think of yourself.”
“I insist,” the girl said.
Rawiya did not move.
“I command,” Shaharazad said firmly.
Rawiya stood slowly. “Thank you, my lady. I will be here at dawn for your bath.”
“As always, Rawiya.”
When the maid reached the door, Shaharazad called out, “Rawiya. Do I … I mean … is my hair pretty tonight?”
Rawiya looked up in surprise.
or old bookends, Skin and Bones still had a knack for stealth. Keeping to shadows, they maneuvered through the darkened streets. In black robes and turbans the pirates made convincing palace guards. Even Skin’s peg leg was perfectly hidden beneath the swirling garments.
“As long as they don’t speak, it might work,” Mr. Sutcliff said quietly to Yeats.
The wailing had started again and covered the sound of their passing. “Steady on,” Mr. Sutcliff whispered as weeping erupted from one house and made them all jump. “What a mournful sound. No wonder my granddaughter worries for the city.”
“Quiet!” Bones hissed. They all pressed against the wall. The dusty alleys crisscrossed with cobbled roads as they made their way up to the palace. Bones leapt onto a wall and stood in the moonlight, his robes billowing in the gusty desert wind.
“We’re too far to port. Bear starboard-side. Wind’s picking up!” he whispered.
Yeats chewed the inside of his cheek. Since leaving the ruined house he could not shake the feeling that they were being followed. Yet every time he turned, the streets were deserted.
He thought of Shaharazad. So much had happened to him that there hadn’t been much time to wonder about her since the morning. She was so determined. Her eyes commanded without words. But would she listen? Would she believe him? Mr. Sutcliff had such faith in him. There had to be a way of convincing her. Yeats wrapped his tunic tighter and stepped into the street behind Bones.
Closer to the palace the roads were paved with smooth luminescent stones that gleamed in the moonlight. It gave the streets an eerie glow that made Yeats peer anxiously into the shadows. The rasp of Mr. Sutcliff’s labored breathing sounded far too loud. The brooding watchfulness of the vacant streets made Yeats’s skin crawl.
A moment later two watchmen carrying lanterns stepped into the street from an alley. The pirates pressed against a wall. Yeats held his breath and focused on the figures, only a stone’s throw from their meager hiding place. Ahead, with the promise of further danger, the palace loomed.
It was a cat that gave them away. Mr. Sutcliff inadvertently stepped on its tail. The cat yowled and shot across the road, directly alerting the watchmen.
“Dead man’s hand!” exclaimed Skin.
“Ho there! What’s your business?” cried a watchman.
“What should we do?” Yeats whispered.
Mr. Sutcliff gripped Yeats’s arm and pushed him toward Bones. “Hold the boy out in front. Tell them you’ve caught the traitor!”
Bones grasped Yeats roughly. “Er, we caught the scurvy dog …”
“Traitor!” Mr. Sutcliff hissed.
“Er … traitor,” Bones finished.
The watchmen stepped into the middle of the street. “Who are you?”
“Palace guard, ya poltroon!”
The watchmen drew their scimitars.
Skin’s face caught the moonlight. He grinned and pushed Yeats away. “Go on, lad. Git! We’ll take it from here. Ye too,” he added to Mr. Sutcliff. “We’ll catch up.”
Mr. Sutcliff seized Yeats’s arm and hurried up the street. “Come on.”
“What about them?” Yeats craned his neck to see the watchmen advance menacingly toward the pirates, fanning out with scimitars pointing.
“They’re pirates. I’ve no doubt we’ll see them again. I dare say they’re enjoying themselves,” said Mr. Sutcliff.
Another patrol marched past the entrance of an empty road and Mr. Sutcliff waited until their footsteps died away. Yeats searched the shadows.
“We’re being followed,” he finally whispered.
Mr. Sutcliff swung around. “Did you hear something?”
“Not sure. I sense it.”
“You may just be hearing the echoes of our pirates and the watch. They were having quite a fight!”
Yeats shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Mr. Sutcliff poked his head around the wall. “Can you find your way to her, Yeats?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I know we ran across a garden lawn …”
“So you were in the palace garden.”
“Yes.”
“I think I can get you there.”
Yeats frowned. “You know this place, sir?”
Footsteps made them fall silent. They waited for stillness before moving on. The wailing from the town had ceased.
“It’s late,” Mr. Sutcliff whispered. “Families are finally asleep. What a dreadful existence! They have such courage to keep going despite all the tragedy that has befallen them. This way, my boy.”
Yeats pulled back. “How do you know where to go?”
The old man sniffed. “I’ve read Collfield’s unexpurgated translation a hundred times since Shari disappeared. I’ve also read every version of the Arabian Nights in your grandmother’s library. My memory holds detailed maps of this palace. And so it should! I’ve been trying to get here for twenty years. The gardens are this way.”
He led them farther into the palace grounds, past fountains, statues, and tall pillars. Small oil lamps placed at regular intervals along the walkways illuminated the route. Mr. Sutcliff froze.
“There!” he whispered. An enormous gateway loomed before them. Against the marble floor waves of shimmering light reflected their faces. “Doors of pure gold!”
Yeats’s skin prickled. Two guards stood at attention on either side of the mighty portal, their bare scimitars balanced on their shoulders.
“This could be a problem.” Mr. Sutcliff tapped his lips as if he held his pipe.
“Now what?” asked Yeats. “They’ll kill us if we walk up to them!”
“Yes, indeed!” Mr. Sutcliff agreed.
“Do
you have a plan, sir?”
“A plan?” Mr. Sutcliff raised an eyebrow. “Well, we are in a story. Something will present itself. Have you forgotten? We will have action. There is no story unless things happen.”
Yeats whispered desperately, “Are we just going to—” The cold tip of steel pressed against his neck. From the corners of his eyes he glimpsed black robes swishing around his feet. Whiskers tickled his ear.
“Ye two are so loud I could have run ye through with eye patches over both me eyes!” Skin grinned.
“There, you see?” Mr. Sutcliff smiled knowingly. “Something had to happen. Thankfully it was in our favor. You two do look like palace guards. And your timing is perfect. We are going to need you to get beyond those rather intimidating figures at the gate.”
Bones grimaced. “Don’t push yer luck, Sutcliff.”
“Ah, but we must!” said the older man. “Now listen!”
A few moments later, Yeats and his companions walked brazenly into the light of the palace gateway. The sensation was almost as horrifying as waiting to be hanged in a dark cell. Yeats took comfort from Skin and Bones, although they held him so tightly his arms ached. At the same time, the sight of the real guards, whose scimitars dwarfed the pirates’ cutlasses, made his knees tremble.
“We have the traitor!” Bones declared before either guard spoke. “And here is the merchant who delivered him into our hands.” Mr. Sutcliff bowed.
“We are taking them to the King!” Bones added.
The guards glanced at each other. “Password!”
There was a second of silence and then Yeats was on the ground, having been dropped simultaneously by both pirates. He looked up in time to see Skin head-butt his opponent over a hedge. Bones wrestled the other guard. Skin leapt to his partner’s aid and gripped the guard by the neck, smacking him on the top of his head with the hilt of his cutlass.
Skin and Bones stood panting above the motionless man. Yeats looked around to see if any further alarm had been raised.
“Marvelous!” Mr. Sutcliff congratulated. “Quickly, now. We haven’t much time. It’s almost midnight!”
With a creak and a shudder, the doors opened at the pirates’ shove, revealing the sculptured plants and the open lawn where Yeats had first found Shaharazad. Mr. Sutcliff pressed against the hedge.
“Guards everywhere! Your cook has spread the word.”
Yeats nodded. “How will we get to her?”
Mr. Sutcliff grunted. “If I know that girl she will make a way for you. As for our part, we must get you as close to her chamber as possible. After that, it is up to you.”
Yeats’s heart thumped. He pointed and grimaced. “That’s the entrance to her room—where the guards are standing. They weren’t there last night.”
“Not sure if we can take four of ’em quietly,” Bones whispered soberly.
Mr. Sutcliff was thinking, his eyes sternly focused on the guards who separated him from his granddaughter.
“Have any ideas, sir?” Yeats asked.
Mr. Sutcliff turned to Yeats. He took his hands in his own wrinkly palms. “You’re a good boy, Yeats,” he said. “You’ve done your father proud. Always remember that you are a visitor here, sharing an adventure. But you belong somewhere else. Never forget it. Can you do that? Get her home, boy! And may your young friend Roland find his way to safety as well.”
Yeats nodded uncertainly.
Then without another word the old man released Yeats and stepped into the moonlit garden.
“Scurvy dog!” Bones hissed after him. “Are ye daft, man?”
Mr. Sutcliff paid no heed. Instead he made for the center of the grounds where Shaharazad’s fountain splashed and foamed. The guards saw him at once and shouted.
“A ruse!” Skin whispered. “Very brave and very stupid! Go on, lad. He’s cleared the way. Run for it!”
Yeats held his ground. “But what about Mr. Sutcliff?”
Bones shifted his cutlass. “He’s not alone. Come on, Skin!” The pirates broke from their cover.
The path to Shaharazad was open and Yeats sprang forward.
Green eyes gleamed, unnoticed, from the hedge.
haharazad pressed her ear to the door. After a long minute a guard coughed. She turned and paced to the window. She had doused the lamps long ago and it was moonlight that lit her her face as she raised it to the stars. “A night for poets,” she murmured.
Her gaze fell from the sky to the darkness of the carpeted floor. Something stirred her soul but she could not place it. Many an hour she had spent planning and plotting a way out of her confines. And then Yeats had appeared in the garden, under the nose of Khan and the guards, wanting to rescue her. Why he wanted to rescue her—and from what—she could not imagine, but it was a noble desire, was it not? With his help she felt certain that she could discover the pain of the people, the cause of their weeping, and then set about saving them.
“‘Adventure finds the thirsty heart,’” she quoted softly. “And how my heart thirsts!” She rose from the window and went to her bed. Lifting the cushions, she felt for the sword. The hilt settled comfortably in her hand as she cut the darkness with practiced skill. Rawiya was not in the chamber after dark and so missed Shaharazad’s military drills and swordsmanship exercises each night.
Shaharazad returned the weapon to the cushions. She found her tinderbox and placed it at the door. Rummaging through her clothes, she found a scarf of considerable length. “As good a fuse as any,” she murmured. With a last deep breath, she reached for the tinderbox.
n the garden, Yeats once again found himself pinned to the earth by Khan. The panther growled.
His breath strained, Yeats whispered, “I’ve seen Roland. He’s in the town. In prison. There is a garden and gallows right next to it.”
The green eyes winked shut. The giant paws pushed heavily on Yeats’s chest.
“It’s true! I can prove it. Roland found you in a trunk,” he stammered at last. “He got it from his aunt. He has running shoes, and now he … he’s my friend.”
Khan’s breath blasted in Yeats’s face. “What happened?”
Wincing, Yeats looked across the lawn. “He was caught for stealing. I was caught too. The guards said they would hang him in the morning. They wanted to kill me tonight but the pirates—”
“How many guards?” Khan stepped off him and began to pace.
“We only saw one. But there will be far more now that I’ve escaped.”
Turning into the night, the giant cat coiled his muscles, ready to spring away.
“Khan!”
The panther faced him.
“Khan. Tell him I told you.”
The panther’s long tail flickered. “Be good to my mistress,” he growled. “She has been good to me. And watch your back with those pirates!” The green eyes winked and the cat was gone.
There was no sign of the others when Yeats skidded across the lawn. The pirates and Mr. Sutcliff must have successfully drawn the guards deeper into the gardens. He made it to Shari’s archway safely, his chest heaving. He peered down the corridor. A second later he flung himself back and pressed against the stones. Two guards approached with their swords drawn and looked anxiously up and down the corridor. From the garden came shouts and the clang of steel on steel.
Impossible! How could a kid take on two guards?
What should I do? he wondered. He couldn’t risk running out into the open to look for the pirates or Mr. Sutcliff. And from the sounds of all the fighting, his friends were too busy to help him. Must be only minutes till midnight! Oh, where are those pirates?
He had just started concocting a plan involving throwing rocks at the guards when there was a burst of shouting. Yeats pressed his cheek against the cold stone and peeked around the corner. Flames appeared at the other end of the corridor. The guards whispered but did not leave their post. One of them pounded on Shaharazad’s door.
“My lady! Please open. We must take you to another room. There is fir
e in the corridor.” The door did not open. Smoke billowed and thickened and began to blow down the corridor. Yeats wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell. A few seconds later he covered his nose and mouth with his arm to breathe. The guards coughed and choked and still they pounded on her door. At last they ran out past Yeats with their eyes streaming. Smoke billowed out the archways and swirled around the pillars lining the corridor.
“Now or never!” Yeats muttered. With one arm flung over his mouth and nose he ran toward the fire. The smoke was too thick to see anything. Instead, he desperately felt along the wall. Almost out of air, he finally found the door. He was about to start pounding when something teased his memory. One knock, she had said. He rapped once with all his might. With no reserves left he opened his mouth to the awaiting smoke.
The door flung open and Yeats fell in. It closed behind him and a key turned in the lock. Yeats coughed and spluttered on the floor. His eyes streamed with tears that blurred his vision. He couldn’t seem to get his breath.
A hand pressed a wet cloth against his face. “It will help,” someone said, and he recognized Shari’s voice immediately. A moment later she propped up his head with a pillow. “Hurry, Yeats, and clear your eyes. I did not set much of a fire and the guards will return. They will break down the door to make certain I am well. There is, after all, a rogue loose in the palace!”
Yeats mopped his face and sucked in the clean air. When he opened his eyes, his mouth fell open at the extravagance of the room. Persian carpets covered the floor in a mosaic of rich purples and reds. Woven hangings, veils, and scarves of many colors latticed the walls. A couch littered with pillows stood near his head. At the opposite end of the room was a bed, majestically enfolded in veils and sheets. Several candles burned throughout the chamber, releasing the smell of cinnamon and other spices.
Shari was dressed in a nightgown and her unbraided hair fell past her shoulders. In her hands she held out a cup. “Drink,” she said.
Yeats sipped the cool water. He was suddenly aware of his own dirty, smoke-covered tunic. “You look like Jasmine from Aladdin,” he said.