Between Two Ends by David Ward Page A

into the mass of jostling merchants. He looked back after a few minutes and it appeared that no one was chasing him.
    Outside the main town the long line of farmers and merchants thinned, and Yeats slowed to catch his breath and chew on a fig. In the distance, the palace rose up majestically from the desert, farenough to give him time to think. The figs were a welcome relief from the bitter cabbage. The dust was thick and already Vignan’s freshly cleaned tunic was turning the color of the red earth. He thought again of the friendly girl who had helped him in the alley. If only there was someone like her ahead!
    He joined a procession of carts and people carrying baskets toward the palace. A donkey brayed and a moment later Yeats had to step over a steaming pile of manure.
    The crowd grew thicker closer to the palace gates. He caught his breath against a wall. He munched on another fig and spat the stem at the feet of the moving crowd.
    â€œStupid!” he chided himself. Some rescuer! He couldn’t even buy fruit without drawing attention.
    The crowd pressed forward through the enormous gate to the palace. Hewn slabs formed the archway and, open on either side, tall timbers made an impressive door. In the daylight, the roadways and walls gleamed white and channeled the people under a myriad of branches.
    He had to find Mohassin. But where were the kitchens? He stood uncertainly at a fork in the great road while people brushed by.
    He was about to merge into the crowd when suddenly someone yelled, “You’ll catch trouble for it, Ali, if those cabbages are not on the King’s table by midday.”
    A tall young man pushed a cart full of cabbages along the right-hand road. Yeats hurried after him. The road was so packed that Yeats had to jump up above the crowd occasionally to follow the cabbage seller’s bobbing turban. It all looked so different in the daylight; he saw nothing of the route he had taken the previous evening. Somewhere ahead was the door that led to Shaharazad’s chamber. If he could just find Mohassin! His only chance was to follow the cabbage seller and hope that he was headed in the right direction.
    Yeats made use of his size to push through the crowd. He stopped saying “Excuse me” after he realized that everyone else was pushing too, the shorter people more than anyone. For one brief moment he lost sight of his quarry. He stood upon a cage full of colorful birds and looked. The cabbage seller had stopped under the shadow of an arched entryway.
    â€œGet off!” shouted a voice below.
    â€œSorry!” called Yeats and he jumped back into the crowd. He sidled up to Ali and his cart. The seller was desperately defending himself to an angry cook.
    â€œThe roads are madness today. Look at them!”
    The cook waved a finger. “They are no less mad than yesterday or a thousand days before that! Watch yourself, Ali. Or I may get my cabbages from another. Is there such darkness in your heart that you would keep his lordship waiting for his meal?”
    Another figure appeared behind the cook. “What is all this talk of darkness on such a fine morning?”
    Mohassin! Although he was now dressed in an apron, Yeats recognized him immediately. Yeats took the ring from his pocket and clasped it tightly.
    â€œLook at poor Ali,” Mohassin continued. “You have turned his face as white as his turban. Andover cabbages! Go heat the fires. I will take the cabbages.”
    Ali bowed low, then hurriedly unloaded his vegetables into giant baskets on the floor. Yeats remained frozen to the wall. He had to speak to Mohassin. But would he listen?
    â€œFilth!” croaked a voice at his knees. Yeats recoiled from a mangled figure he had mistaken for a heap of onion sacks. A beggar, lying on the ground, with a crumpled face that looked as worn as the cloak he was wearing, stared him down. “My spot, young maggot. Mohassin! Tell this maggot to leave my