Free Between Two Ends by David Ward Page B

stories and poets.”
    â€œI am. Shall I continue, stranger? And have you a name before I am interrupted again?”
    â€œIt is Yeats.”
    â€œFascinating!” the girl exclaimed. “I know it not. Nor have I read it in any book. You are not from here.”
    â€œNo. I am from another place.” Peering suspiciously at the near bushes, Yeats whispered, “And neither are you. You just don’t remember it.”
    Shaharazad tapped her lip. “I have read of this philosophy before. Does it not come from the eastern part of the empire?”
    â€œIt’s not a philosophy. It’s reality!” Yeats gestured in exasperation. “You don’t belong here and you’ve got to come with me.” He broke into a sweat. “Listen. I don’t know why the city weeps. I’ll find out! But, Shari, I’ve really come to find
you
.”
    The girl frowned.
    â€œDon’t you know who you are?” Yeats pressed.
    â€œI am the vizier’s daughter.”
    â€œYes, but who you
really
are? Don’t you remember William Trafford?”
    She stared ahead with half-closed eyes, as ifshe was thinking hard. Her response, when it came, was deflating. “You are indeed strange, Yeats. Nonetheless, you are an answer to my prayers, for I have searched many days to find anyone who will tell me the mystery outside these walls. My father will not let me leave the palace, and his guards are sworn to execute anyone who speaks to me.”
    â€œExecute?”
    A bell rang and Shaharazad gasped. “My father! Quickly now!” She grabbed his hand. The echo of many heavy footfalls sounded in the colonnade, followed by crunching stones. Spearheads glinted in the moonlight.
    Shari pulled him across the lawn to the shelter of a torch-lit archway. They crouched against the wall as three servants carrying earthen jars passed. They could hear but not see the group of soldiers in the garden. Yeats looked at the girl closely. With her curls framing her cheeks she looked prettier than the picture in Gran’s house.
    â€œMy chamber is through that door,” she said. “Can you see it?”
    He squinted through the archway into the palace. “Yes.”
    â€œI will wait for you tomorrow night.”
    â€œTomorrow night?” Yeats exclaimed.
    â€œYes,” the girl said. “Come at midnight when Rawiya, my maidservant, has left my chamber. There will be a diversion to distract the guards. Knock with a single rap. Find out the grief of the city and bring me news! Then I will reward you.”
    He panicked as the girl prepared to leave. “Wait! I just got here,” he began.
    She pressed something into his hands. “Here are the coins Mohassin refused. Go to the kitchens and find him. He will help with all your other needs. But you must go to him. There is no one else I trust. Take this ring. It is a sign for him that you are true. But do not tell him why you are here, for I must protect him too.”
    The voices from the garden faded. Shaharazad looked out briefly, then pulled him close. “There is a passage beyond the archway of the next colonnade. Follow it to its end. There you will find a door that can only be opened from the insideand so is not guarded at night. Follow the path to the main road. It will take you to the market and inns. In the morning, come back to the palace kitchens to find Mohassin.” Shaharazad squeezed his hand. “I know you, though I know not from where. You warm my heart.”
    â€œThen come with me,” he urged.
    The flash of torchlight made them both look up.
    â€œGo, Yeats!”
    She should be close to remembering! If only they had more time. “There is so much to explain,” he said. “I need to tell you about my family, about my father, about Gran’s library and where it all began. Can’t you hide me somewhere so we can talk?”
    â€œUnless you wish to spend the night in the garden