Between Two Ends by David Ward Page A

had been in his position had never returned.
    He rubbed the back of his neck and touched his father’s necklace. The bell made a faint tinkle. That gave him the courage he needed. Yeats squared his shoulders and sat up straight. “I’m ready,” he said.
    Bones smacked his hand. “Open yer fist,” he commanded. Now that it had come to themoment, Yeats knew instinctively he could release the pirate. He set him down beside his partner.
    â€œYe can’t change a wish partway,” Bones instructed.
    â€œA wish is final,” Skin added with a snarl.
    â€œOccasionally there’s a wind when the story world opens,” Bones said. “Don’t mind it! And don’t shout. Focus on the words!”
    â€œWhat words?” Yeats’s voice cracked.
    â€œAre ye daft? Ye’ve got to be reading the book in order to get there. Now pick it up.”
    Yeats reached for the
Arabian Nights
. His hands shook as he placed it on his lap.
    The pirates raised their swords and pointed them at Yeats’s nose. “Now, lad!” they cried. “What be yer wish?”
    Yeats was about to ask that they take him to Shari when a thought suddenly struck him. He needed to see her alone. Someone had taken Shari when she and his father had first come to the story. Gran called them “abductors.” They could still be around. Yeats wiped away a bead of sweat. “I wish for you to take me to Shaharazad where she is alone!”
    He squeezed his eyes shut. He waited but nothing happened. He felt Odysseus’s warm side against his legs. One of the pirates coughed. When he opened his eyes Bones was tapping his sword impatiently on the shelf. The pirate indicated the book. “Read!”
    â€œOh!” Yeats exclaimed. “I forgot.” Once again he mustered his strength. “For Dad,” he whispered. “This is for Dad.” He flipped a page or two and began to read.
    Shaharazad was the eldest of the vizier’s daughters. She devoted herself to poetry and stories, studying the books and lessons of the past
.
    An image of the pretty, determined girl from the picture in Gran’s kitchen popped into his head.
Many books had been gathered to the palace and the girl rigorously attended to the wisdom of the wise and the history of peoples all over the world. By day, she recited poetry and basked in the treasures of stories long forgotten by all but the poets and minstrels
.
    In the corners of his eyes the library blurred. Odysseus pushed hard against his legs. A wind tore through the stacks and the pages of the book flapped. He felt dizzy and his hair blew wildly.
    â€œHello, matey!” Bones shouted. The library was gone. They were in a rowboat shrouded by cloud. Skin, as large as life, sat at the tiller. Oars creaked. They rose and fell with the swells under the canopy of early dawn.
    â€œWhere are we?” Yeats whispered. He clung to the sides of the boat. The air was damp and free of salt. Green water lapped against the hull.
    â€œWhere do you think?” Skin snapped. “We’re on the sea of words.” He was much more alarming in human size. Neither pirate’s skin was metallic anymore. Now, every feature of the flesh-and-blood buccaneers stood out in the dim light, from their stubbly beards to the tattoos laced around their arms. Bones looked more tattered than Skin. There was a hole in his hat and his face was darker and deeply tanned. His sword, too, was pockmarked. But then again, he had been outside for the last twenty years. Erosion had taken its toll.
    â€œIt doesn’t smell like ocean,” said Yeats. Rather, the air smelled musty and reminiscent of Gran’s library.
    â€œIt will,” said Bones. “We haven’t made harbor yet. Hold on!” he yelled.
    Something butted against the bottom of the boat. They lurched and Skin gripped the gunwale, grinning. “I love the small stuff.”
    Yeats peered into the