by David Ward
A bead of sweat or water, Yeats couldn’t tell which, dropped from the end of Mr. Sutcliff’s nose. The pirates were becoming restless.
“Time to go,” Skin muttered. “She’s not coming.” At Skin’s words, Yeats felt his heart thumping. They were rapidly running out of time. If Shari didn’t break her wish soon the pirates would return alone. Mr. Sutcliff lowered his head and his shoulders sagged. He appeared old again. His eyes looked at Yeats pleadingly.
Yeats desperately cast about in his mind for something clever to say. He saw the bell and stifled a gasp. Reaching over, he opened her hand. He picked up the bell and in the face of the moon he held it up.
“I know why you need to wish for home,” he said.
The girl sat up. “Why?”
He held her gaze steadily. Then he took the bell and put it back in her hand. He wrapped her fingers around it. “Because you were born to rescue people. It’s in your name. And it’s the reason you wanted to come here, to be the rescuer. But now, the people who need you most are on the other side of this story. And you are the only one who can bring us back and make a happy ending.”
Shari frowned, but she was listening closely.
He pressed on. “My dad was messed up when you didn’t return. My mom is ready to leave him because of it. Gran has faithfully dusted your picture and hoped for a miracle. Your grandfather risked everything to come here. He’s tried for twenty years to save you. Now look at him.” Yeats put his hand on her shoulder. “Shaharazad, your people need you. And they are waiting for you right now. Not outside a palace in a time from long ago. But now, at Gran’s house, waiting, hoping beyond hope that you will come home.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. She gave a weak smile. “You sound so much like William and yet not like William too.” She sniffed and pressed the bell to her cheek. “You are right, Yeats. This isn’t my story, no matter how much I feel that it is.”
Bones stopped rowing and stared at her.
Shari looked at Mr. Sutcliff. “Grandpa.”
“My dear,” he said.
She turned to Yeats and murmured, “I think I want to go home.” As her last word echoed over the water, the wind suddenly gusted and Yeats heard again a boy’s voice calling, “I wish! I wish!”
The pirates heard it, too, for they sat up straight.
“That came from the well,” said Skin. “I thought it was broken.”
“’Tis,” said Bones. “It rattled and roared for twenty years while I was marooned in the garden.”
“Wait!” Yeats cried excitedly. “I’ve heard that voice. At the well. I threw a coin in and the whole thing erupted. That voice was calling from the well.”
Shari stared keenly at him. “That was William.”
“’Twas an old wish, no doubt,” said Bones. “Likely yer father’s, finally making its way out. Not much strength to it.” Then he added with a wink, “Must have helped, though. Look to the girl!”
Shari’s eyes were bright and hopeful, all doubt gone from her face. She looked at the pirates, then straight at Yeats. “I want to go home!” she said with conviction. Then, at the top of her voice, she shouted, “I want to go home!”
“Thar she blows!” roared Bones. “The old wish is broken.”
Yeats leaned forward and gave Shari a bear hug. Over her shoulder, he looked at the pirates. “Can we really go home?”
“Ye can indeed,” said Bones.
Skin leaned down to Yeats. “Well done, ye little pirate,” he said. “It took a mite more than just wit to win the day.”
All at once, something pounced. A furry face peered up from Yeats’s ankles.
“Odysseus!”
Shari scooped the cat into her arms. “Dear, dear Odysseus.” Odysseus stared at Yeats with his cat’s smile.
Seconds later Yeats felt the sensation of falling. The air around them changed and he clung to the gunwale. Shari felt it, too, for she sat up straight as an arrow. A deep sensation of sorrow welled up inside him. Tears formed in the corners of Shari’s eyes. Then, just as quickly as it came, the feeling left, only to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of confidence.
They exchanged glances. “The sea of words,” Yeats said. The wind gusted and blew their hair wildly.
“We’re going home!” Shari shouted. She raised Odysseus’s paws in the air triumphantly.
Yeats laughed with relief. Home. Home and his parents. “We’re coming home, Mom and Dad!”
“We’re coming, William!” Shari sang.
The wind suddenly reached gale force and Yeats and Shari clung to each other for dear life. Odysseus dug his claws in so deeply Shari yelped.
Mr. Sutcliff gave his granddaughter a jaunty wave.
Skin rowed with a fury. “Never thought I’d miss it!” he yelled above the wind.
“A wind to take us home.” Mr. Sutcliff watched his granddaughter and wiped the tears from his eyes.
fter a thoroughly wretched afternoon Faith decided that nothing worse could happen and that perhaps it was time to call the police. “William?”
Her husband closed the book with a snap. He put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”
“What is it?” Gran whispered and set down the tea.
William looked at Gran. “Someone just called my name.” He tapped the book. “From inside.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t close it!” Faith stepped toward him.
He shook his head, his eyes widening. “It doesn’t matter. I think … I think … they are—”
A wind tore through the library. Loose pages flew wildly above their heads and pages flapped in chorus from every shelf in the room. Several seconds later, three people and one cat appeared on the floor.
After a breathless moment of silence, Faith cried and pounced on the figure nearest to her. “Yeats!”
William froze, his eyes moving from his son to the person sitting next to him. Faith stopped fussing over the cut above Yeats’s eye as the new arrivals slowly rose to their feet. A page from the book fluttered to the floor.
“Hello, William,” Shari said softly.
Tears flowed freely down William’s cheeks.
She embraced him. Wrapping her small arms around William, she patted his back while he wept. “I’m back, finally.” She pulled away to look at him. “And let me say—you are old! Do you remember how we used to imagine what we would look like when we were ancient? We used to put our hands out and pretend they were wrinkled.”
William couldn’t speak. Yeats walked to his father and threw his arm around his shoulders.
“Thank you, son,” William gasped.
Yeats looked him square in the eye. “Thank you, Dad. You gave me the necklace. You knew it was important. It was! We were stuck there. I couldn’t get Shari to remember. When she saw the bell she remembered everything.”
His father nodded. “My heart told me you needed it. Thank God, for once I was right.”
“And your wishes at the well! One of them made it through. I put a coin in and one of them got out. It helped Shari choose to come home. You’ve been right all your life, Dad.” Yeats grinned. “There is no madness in our family. It was just so hard for everyone else to believe.”
Faith wiped her eyes. “Especially me.”
William looked up hopefully.
Shari sighed. “I kind of like this. You’ve gotten old.” She shifted her gaze to Yeats. “But I get to stay a kid!”
“For the moment,” said Mr. Sutcliff thoughtfully. “I do believe, however, that all will progress normally now.” He grinned. “As normal as childhood can be. For there seems to be enough magic in it to last a lifetime.”
William wiped his eyes. “You haven’t changed at all,” he said to Shari. “I feel like there’s a part of me that’s still twelve. Like I’ve gone back. But I know I can’t. Shari, this is Faith. She is—”
“I’m his wife.” Faith stood beside her husband and took his hand. Yeats hugged them both.
“I knew William would marry som
eone pretty,” said Shari.
“Welcome home,” Faith said. “And thank you.”
Shari nodded. “In the palace, you would have all the young men running after you. …” She paused, suddenly troubled, as if stirred by a memory.
“I fear,” said her grandfather, “that you will find the memory of your adventure lingering for many a year to come.”
Shari ran to him.
Gran moved over to them and ran her hands through the girl’s hair. “Exactly the same as when you left.” She stifled a sob.
Odysseus growled at the shelf. The bookends were back in place.
Yeats pointed. “Skin and Bones!”
The metal pirates remained frozen.
Mr. Sutcliff smiled. “Hats off to you gentlemen.” He glanced at the ceiling and lowered his voice. “For pirates, I’ve never known any so gallant.”
“How about some tea?” Gran asked and gestured to the kitchen. “I think we’ve all had enough adventures to fill twenty years.”
“To quote a favorite of mine”—Mr. Sutcliff put his hand over his heart—“‘All’s well that ends well!’”
eats could not sleep. He lay against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. For all the happiness of seeing his parents restored and spending time with Shari, he somehow could not quiet a pang of ill ease. The bed creaked as he sat up.
Roland. In the wildness of their escape and the joy of his family’s reconciliation he had forgotten about his friend. He thought of Khan and hoped the great cat had made a successful rescue. In all likelihood his friend was free. But what if Roland was still there? What if Khan couldn’t get him out? The stark shadow of the gallows tree made him shiver.
There was a noise in the passage outside. A second later the door squeaked open and in the dim light of the hall stood Shari, dressed in one of Gran’s nightgowns.
“Hello,” she whispered. “You awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
A few steps farther and she stopped. She glanced at the long gown. “Not exactly royal, is it?”
Yeats raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what I was thinking. You could wear anything and you’d be pretty.”
She smiled. “Son of a poet.” She plunked herself down on the end of his bed. “I can’t sleep. I don’t think I will for days and days. There’s far too much to think about, even after all that talking to William … your father.”
Yeats nodded. “Every once in a while I start shaking.”
“It was so exciting!”
“It was, wasn’t it?” he said.
She frowned. “Although, so painful to see everyone old. It’s not something you want to experience, trust me.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “And I can’t stop thinking about Roland.”
“Who?”
He told her about running from the guards and being put in a cell. As he described his time with his friend and fellow prisoner she nodded knowingly. “I wondered why Khan was gone so often at night. I used to think that he preferred the cool air of the garden to the warmth of my room.”
“Now you know,” Yeats answered.
She scowled. “I hate to think of somebody else being left behind.”
The memory of his prison cell with its rigid bars and grate in the ceiling made Yeats shiver. “I hope Khan rescued him.”
Shari suddenly put her hand to her mouth. “What did you say your friend’s name was?”
“Roland.”
“Wait here,” she commanded. She leapt off the bed and disappeared out the door. A moment later she returned and held out an envelope. “Grandpa said to give this to you. He said it came special delivery today while we were talking in the back garden.”
Yeats took the envelope and turned it over. “It’s from Roland!” he said incredulously. “But how … ?”
“Open it!” cried Shari.
Yeats tore the envelope open. “I can’t believe it; I can’t believe it,” he murmured.
“Oh, give it to me,” said Shari. She took the letter and began to read aloud. “Yeats! It’s me, Roland! I am safe and sound, thanks to you. Khan came and got me and took me right home. You saved my life! I’ve been here a couple of days and I found your gran’s address. I’m writing this quickly so it gets to you. You can reach me at the number at the bottom of the page. It’s too expensive to fly to the USA and see you (and how could we explain knowing each other?), but I think I’ve got another way. I made a deal with Khan. Not sure if you’ll be the first to read this, so … My wish is his command. Do you get it? I can’t remember your girlfriend’s name …”
Shari looked up. “Your girlfriend?” Her eyes widened. “Oh! He means me.”
Yeats and Shari both turned bright red and she quickly began reading again.
“… but if you two would like to ‘meet’ me, we can. Know what I mean? Contact me no matter what! I will always be your friend, Roland.”
Shari said, “That’s all.”
“I can’t believe it!” Yeats said again. “It’s too good to be true.”
“I’d like to meet him,” said Shari.
“I want to see him again,” said Yeats. “It would be so strange. I mean, the last time we saw each other we were in prison!”
They were both quiet for a moment. Then Shari said, “How did the letter get here so quickly? We only got back today.”
Yeats was thinking hard. “Your grandfather said something to me about that. He said that time in the story world was different from ours. He found that out when he entered the story. I’d only been gone an hour here and yet he found me in a prison—hours and hours later. And it must be. I mean, look at you. You should be twenty years older. And then, of course, there’s Odysseus.”
Shari nodded. “So Roland must have beat us back and had time to write a letter!”
“But what does he mean by ‘meet’ him?” asked Yeats.
The quiet patter of paws made them both turn. “Odysseus, dear.” Shari scooped him up and placed the cat in between them. He circled them, kneading the bedspread and purring.
Yeats looked up at Shari. “That’s another thing.”
“What?”
“Odysseus can grow old now. The pirates told me he couldn’t die until you returned.”
“Die? How awful!”
“He’s got to go sometime.”
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?”