Between Two Ends by David Ward Page B

spot!”
    Yeats held his ground and his breath as well.
    Mohassin came closer and stared curiously at Yeats. He was not as old as Yeats had first thought, at least, not quite as old as Mr. Sutcliff. But years of hard work and sun had taken their toll, judging by his bent back and weathered face. He wiped his sweating forehead with a cloth.
    â€œGod’s blessings, child,” he said. “Do not mind Mustafa’s scolding. The cabbages from my kitchen doors feed the rich and poor alike.”
    Yeats nodded weakly. He couldn’t find his voice.
    â€œCome, child. There is enough. No, Mustafa! Do not shake your stick! Eat your cabbage stew with thankfulness or I’ll put you around the corner.”
    The beggar was mortified and tried to make amends. “Nice maggot. Come and sit with Mustafa. There is room!”
    Still unable to speak, Yeats opened his hand to reveal Shaharazad’s ring. The effect was immediate. The beggar pointed in astonishment and opened his mouth.
    Mohassin pounced. He clapped a hand over the begger’s mouth and hissed, “Have you not always eaten your fill here?”
    The beggar nodded.
    â€œThen fear not and speak not.”
    Before Yeats could retract his prize, Mohassin pulled him into the palace kitchens. Fires from two stone hearths, one at either end of the large room, filled the space with heat and flickering light. No wonder Mohassin was sweating! Earthen pots, herbs, and plants hung from lattices above theirheads. The air was filled with spice. Two cooks laboring over a pot looked up at him.
    â€œYoung fool!” Mohassin whispered. “Why endanger the lady? Put the ring away!” He whisked Yeats into a storeroom shelved floor to ceiling with baskets. The odor of rotten cabbage was nauseating. “Speak quickly,” Mohassin whispered. “We’ve already been noticed.”
    Yeats lifted the ring again hopefully.
    Mohassin released him. Then he folded his hands in prayer. “I know the lady’s token. Give it to me. There now, why are you here? What does she require and how have you managed to see her?”
    Yeats shook his head, unsure of where to start. “I can’t tell you! She told me not to. But she said you would help me.”
    Mohassin’s shrewd gaze held him firmly. “I must honor her wishes, of course. Unless it presents a danger to herself. What is it you need?”
    Yeats looked up sharply. “Take me to her chamber at midnight.”
    Twirling the end of his beard thoughtfully, theman answered, “A most unusual request. Highly unusual.”
    â€œIt is very important,” Yeats said. “And I need your help. I don’t know how to get to there from here. I can’t remember the way. But I must be there by midnight because that is when she … she will be expecting me.”
    Mohassin rested his hands on his portly belly. “How in the realm of heaven did you manage to meet her in the first place? The palace is sealed off from the town and the garden is guarded by more than just palace soldiers.”
    â€œI … I was taken there. By people who know my father.” It was partially true. Mohassin was unconvinced.
    â€œAnd what, pray, is your father’s name?”
    â€œWilliam Butler Trafford.”
    â€œHe is a merchant? Certainly not royalty—not from the way you are dressed. And a foreigner.”
    Yeats peered down at his robe. “These aren’t my regular clothes!”
    The old man raised his eyebrows. “I should hope not.”
    â€œWill you help me?”
    Mohassin regarded him thoughtfully. Finally he chuckled. “Shaharazad is always up to some new mischief. I imagine she is hungry for young company—strange as it appears to my eyes. And you are but a child! No harm to it, I think.” He turned the ring over in his hand. “Although it is a dangerous game you two are playing. If you are caught, your head will hang from the palace