Mordred went immediately on to the buttons that would open the inner door in response to the sequence 25413121, but his motor control was still almost nonexistent and he was rewarded by another harsh buzz and an infuriating female voice (infuriating because it reminded him of the brown bitchs voice) which said, YOU HAVE ENTERED THE WRONG SECURITY CODE FOR THIS DOOR. YOU MAY RETRY ONCE WITHIN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS. TEN  NINE  Mordred would have said Fuck you if hed been capable of speech, but he wasnt. The best he could do was a babble of babytalk that undoubtedly would have caused Mia to crow with a mothers pride. Now he didnt bother with the buttons; he wanted what the robot had in the bag too badly. The rats (he assumed they were rats) were alive this time. Alive, by God, the blood still running in their veins. Mordred closed his eyes and concentrated. The red light Susannah had seen before his first change once more ran beneath his fair skin from the crown of his head to the stained right heel. When that light passed the open wound in the babys hip, the sluggish flow of blood and pussy matter grew briefly stronger, and Mordred uttered a low cry of misery. His hand went to the wound and spread blood over the small bowl of his belly in a thoughtless comforting gesture. For a moment there was a sense of blackness rising to replace the red flush, accompanied by a wavering of the infants shape. This time there was no transformation, however. The baby slumped back in the chair, breathing hard, a tiny trickle of clear urine dribbling from his penis to wet the front of the towel he wore. There was a muffled pop from beneath the control panel in front of the chair where the baby slumped askew, panting like a dog. Across the room, a door marked MAIN ACCESS slid open. Nigel tramped stolidly in, twitching his capsule of a head almost constantly now, counting off not in two or three languages but in perhaps as many as a dozen. Sir, I really cannot continue to Mordred made a babys cheerful googoogaga sounds and held out his hands toward the bag. The thought which he sent was both clear and cold Shut up. Give me what I need. Nigel put the bag in his lap. From within it came a cheeping sound almost like human speech, and for the first time Mordred realized that the twitches were all coming from a single creature. Not a rat, then! Something bigger! Bigger and bloodier! He opened the bag and peered in. A pair of goldringed eyes looked pleadingly back at him. For a moment he thought it was the bird that flew at night, the hoohoo bird, he didnt know its name, and then he saw the thing had fur, not feathers. It was a throcken, known in many parts of MidWorld as a billybumbler, this one barely old enough to be off its mothers teat. There now, there, he thought at it, his mouth filling with drool. Were in the same boat, my little cullywere motherless children in a hard, cruel world. Be still and Ill give you comfort. Dealing with a creature as young and simpleheaded as this wasnt much different from dealing with the machines. Mordred looked into its thoughts and located the node that controlled its simple bit of will. He reached for it with a hand made of thoughtmade of his willand seized it. For a moment he could hear the creatures timid, hopeful thought (dont hurt me please dont hurt me; please let me live; I want to live have fun play a little; dont hurt me please dont hurt me please let me live ) and he responded All is well, dont fear, cully, all is well. The bumbler in the bag (Nigel had found it in the motorpool, separated from its mother, brothers, and sisters by the closing of an automatic door) relaxednot believing, exactly, but hoping to believe. SIX In Nigels study, the lights had been turned down to quarterbrilliance. When Oy began to whine, Jake woke at once. The others slept on, at least for the time being. Whats wrong, Oy? The bumbler didnt reply, only went on whining deep in his throat. His goldringed eyes peered into the gloomy far corner of the study, as if seeing something terrible there. Jake could remember peering into the corner of his bedroom the same way after waking from some nightmare in the small hours of the morning, a dream of Frankenstein or Dracula or (Tyrannasorbet Wrecks ) some other boogeyman, God knew what. Now, thinking that perhaps bumblers also had nightmares, he tried even harder to touch Oys mind. There was nothing at first, then a deep, blurred image (eyes eyes looking out of the darkness ) of something that might have been a billybumbler in a sack. Shhhh, he whispered into Oys ear, putting his arms around him. Dont wake em, they need their sleep. Leep, Oy said, very low. You just had a bad dream, Jake whispered. Sometimes I have them, too. Theyre not real. Nobodys got you in a bag. Go back to sleep. Leep. Oy put his snout on his right forepaw. Oybe kiyit. Thats right, Jake thought at him, Oy be quiet. The goldringed eyes, still looking troubled, remained open a bit longer. Then Oy winked at Jake with one and closed both. A moment later, the bumbler was asleep again. Somewhere close by, one of his kind had died  but dying was the way of the world; it was a hard world and always had been. Oy dreamed of being with Jake beneath the great orange orb of the Peddlers Moon. Jake, also sleeping, picked it up by touch and they dreamed of Old Cheap Rover Mans Moon together. Oy, who died? asked Jake beneath the Peddlers oneeyed, knowing wink. Oy, said his friend. Delah. Many. Beneath the Old Cheap Mans empty orange stare Oy said no more; had, in fact, found a dream within his dream, and here also Jake went with him. This dream was better. In it, the two of them were playing together in bright sunshine. To them came another bumbler a sad fellow, by his look. He tried to talk to them, but neither Jake nor Oy could tell what he said, because he was speaking in English. SEVEN Mordred wasnt strong enough to lift the bumbler from the bag, and Nigel either would not or could not help him. The robot only stood inside the door of the Control Center, twisting his head to one side or the other, counting and clanking more loudly than ever. A hot, cooked smell had begun to rise from his innards. Mordred succeeded in turning the bag over and the bumbler, probably half a yearling, fell into his lap. Its eyes were halfopen, but the yellowandblack orbs were dull and unmoving. Mordred threw his head back, grimacing in concentration. That red flash ran down his body, and his hair tried to stand on end. Before it could do more than begin to rise, however, it and the infants body to which it had been attached were gone. The spider came. It hooked four of its seven legs about the bumblers body and drew it effortlessly up to the craving mouth. In twenty seconds it had sucked the bumbler dry. It plunged its mouth into the creatures soft underbelly, tore it open, lifted the body higher, and ate the guts which came tumbling out delicious, strengthgiving packages of dripping meat. It ate deeper, making muffled mewling sounds of satisfaction, snapping the billybumblers spine and sucking the brief dribble of marrow. Most of the energy was in the bloodaye, always in the blood, as the Grandfathers well knewbut there was strength in meat, as well. As a human baby (Roland had used the old Gilead endearment, bahbo ), he could have taken no nourishment from either the juice or the meat. Would likely have choked to death on it. But as a spider He finished and cast the corpse aside onto the floor, just as he had the usedup, desiccated corpses of the rats. Nigel, that dedicated bustling butler, had disposed of those. He would not dispose of this one. Nigel stood silent no matter how many times Mordred bawled Nigel,I need you! Around the robot, the smell of charred plastic had grown strong enough to activate the overhead fans. DNK 45932 stood with his eyeless face turned to the left. It gave him an oddly inquisitive look, as if hed died while on the verge of asking an important question What is the meaning of life, perhaps, or Who put the overalls in Mrs. Murphys chowder? In any case, his brief career as a rat and bumblercatcher was over. For the time being, Mordred was full of energythe meal had been fresh and wonderfulbut that wouldnt last long. If he stayed in his spidershape, hed use up this new reservoir of strength even faster. If he went back to being a baby, however, he wouldnt even be able to get down from the chair in which he was sitting, or once more put on the diaperwhich had, of course, slid off his body when he changed. But he had to change back, for in his spidershape he couldnt think clearly at all. As for deductive reasoning? The idea was a bitter joke. The white node on the spiders back closed its human eyes, and the black body beneath flushed a congested red. The legs retracted toward the body and disappeared. The node which was the babys head grew and gained detail as the body beneath paled and took on human shape; the childs blue eyes  bombardier eyes, gunslinger eyesflashed. He was still full of strength from the bumblers blood and meat, he could feel it as the transformation rushed toward its conclusion, but a distressing amount of it (something like the foam on top of a glass of beer) had already dissipated. And not just from switching back and forth, either. The fact was that he was growing at a headlong pace. That sort of growth required relentless nourishment, and there was damned little nourishment to be had in the Arc 16 Experimental Station. Or in Fedic beyond, for that matter. There were canned goods and meals in foil packets and powdered power drinks, yar, plenty of those, but none of what was here would feed him as he needed to be fed. He needed fresh meat and even more than meat he needed blood. And the blood of animals would sustain the avalanche of his growth for only so long. Very soon he was going to need human blood, or the pace of his growth would first slow, then stop. The pain of starvation would come, but that pain, twisting relentlessly in his vitals like an auger, would be nothing to the mental and spiritual pain of watching them on the various video screens still alive, reunited in their fellowship, with the comfort of a cause. The pain of seeing him. Roland of Gilead. How, he wondered, did he know the things he knew? From his mother? Some of them, yes, for hed felt a million of Mias thoughts and memories (a good many of them swiped from Susannah) rush into him as he fed on her. But to know it was that way with the Grandfathers, as well, how did he know that? That, for instance, a German vampire who swilled the lifes blood of a Frenchman might speak French for a week or ten days, speak it like a native, and then the ability, like his victims memories, would begin to fade  How could he know a thing like that? Did it matter? Now he watched them sleep. The boy Jake had awakened, but only briefly. Earlier Mordred had watched them eat, four fools and a bumblerfull of blood, full of energydining in a circle together. Always they would sit in a circle, they would make that circle even when they stopped to rest five minutes on the trail, doing it without even being aware of it, their circle that kept the rest of the world out. Mordred had no circle. Although he was new, he already understood that outside was his ka, just as it was the ka of winters wind to swing through only half the compass from north to east and then back again to bleak north once more. He accepted this, yet he still looked at them with the outsiders resentment, knowing he would hurt them and that the satisfaction would be bitter. He was of two worlds, the foretold joining of Prim and Am, of gadosh and godosh, of Gan and Gilead. He was in a way like Jesus Christ, but in a way he was purer than the sheepgodman, for the sheepgodman had but one true father, who was in the highly hypothetical heaven, and a stepfather who was on Earth. Poor old Joseph, who wore horns put on him by God Himself. Mordred Deschain, on the other hand, had two real fathers. One of whom now slept on the screen before him. Youre old, Father, he thought. It gave him vicious pleasure to think so; it also made him feel small and mean, no more than  well, no more than a spider, looking down from its web. Mordred was twins, and would remain twins until Roland of the Eld was dead and the last katet broken. And the longing voice that told him to go to Roland, and call him father? To call Eddie and Jake his brothers, Susannah his sister? That was the gullible voice of his mother. Theyd kill him before he could get a single word out of his mouth (assuming he had reached a stage where he could do more than gurgle babytalk). Theyd cut off his balls and feed them to the brats bumbler. Theyd bury his castrated corpse, and shit on the ground where he lay, and then move on. Youre finally old, Father, and now you walk with a limp, and at end of day I see you rub your hip with a hand thats picked up the tiniest bit of a shake. Look, if you would. Here sits a baby with blood streaking his fair skin. Here sits a baby weeping his silent, eerie tears. Here sits a baby that knows both too much and too little, and although we must keep our fingers away from his mouth (he snaps, this one; snaps like a baby crocodile), we are allowed to pity him a little. If ka is a trainand it is, a vast, hurtling mono, maybe sane, maybe notthen this nasty little lycanthrope is its most vulnerable hostage, not tied to the tracks like little Nell but strapped to the things very headlight. He may tell himself he has two fathers, and there may be some truth to it, but there is no father here and no mother, either. He ate his mother alive, say true, ate her bigbig, she was his first meal, and what choice did he have about that? He is the last miracle ever to be spawned by the stillstanding Dark Tower, the scarred wedding of the rational and the irrational, the natural and the supernatural, and yet he is alone, and he is ahungry. Destiny might have intended him to rule a chain of universes (or destroy them all), but so far he has succeeded in establishing dominion over nothing but one old domestic robot who has now gone to the clearing at the end of the path. He looks at the sleeping gunslinger with love and hate, loathing and longing. But suppose he went to them and was not killed? What if they were to welcome him in? Ridiculous idea, yes, but allow it for the sake of argument. Even then he would be expected to set Roland above him, accept Roland as dinh, and that he will never do, never do, no, never do. CHAPTER III THE SHINING WIRE  ONE You were watching them, said a soft, laughing voice. Then it lilted a bit of cradle nonsense Roland would have remembered well from his own early childhood Penny, posy, Jacks anosy! Do ya say so? Yes I doso! Hes my sneaky, peeky, darling bahbo! Did you like what you saw before you fell asleep? Did you watch them move on with the rest of the failing world? Perhaps ten hours had passed since Nigel the domestic robot had performed his last duty. Mordred, who in fact had fallen deeply asleep, turned his head toward the voice of the stranger with no residual fuzzyheadedness or surprise. He saw a man in bluejeans and a hooded parka standing on the gray tiles of the Control Center. His gunnanothing more than a beatup duffelbaglay at his feet. His cheeks were flushed, his face handsome, his eyes burning hot. In his hand was an automatic pistol, and as he looked into the dark eye of its muzzle, Mordred Deschain for the second time realized that even gods could die once their divinity had been diluted with human blood. But he wasnt afraid. Not of this one. He did look back into the monitors that showed Nigels apartment, and confirmed that the newcomer was right it was empty. The smiling stranger, who seemed to have sprung from the very floor, raised the hand not holding the gun to the hood of his parka and turned a bit of it outward. Mordred saw a flash of metal. Some kind of woven wire coated the inside of the hood. I call it my thinkingcap, said the stranger. I cant hear your thoughts, which is a drawback, but you cant get into my head, which is a (which is a definite advantage, wouldnt you say ) which is a definite advantage, wouldnt you say? There were two patches on the jacket. One read U.S. ARMY and showed a birdthe eaglebird, not the hoohoo bird. The other patch was a name RANDALL FLAGG. Mordred discovered (also with no surprise) that he could read easily. Because, if youre anything like your fatherthe red one, that isthen your mental powers may exceed mere communication. The man in the parka tittered. He didnt want Mordred to know he was afraid. Perhaps hed convinced himself he wasnt afraid, that hed come here of his own free will. Maybe he had. It didnt matter to Mordred one way or the other. Nor did the mans plans, which jumbled and ran in his head like hot soup. Did the man really believe the thinkingcap had closed off his thoughts? Mordred looked closer, pried deeper, and saw the answer was yes. Very convenient. In any case, I believe a bit of protection to be very prudent. Prudence is always the wisest course; how else did I survive the fall of Farson and the death of Gilead? I wouldnt want you to get in my head and walk me off a high building, now would I? Although why would you? You need me or someone, now that yon bucket of bolts has gone silent and you just a bahbo who cant tie his own clout across the crack of his shitty ass! The strangerwho was really no stranger at alllaughed. Mordred sat in the chair and watched him. On the side of the childs cheek was a pink weal, for hed gone to sleep with his small hand against the side of his small face. The newcomer said, I think we can communicate very well if I talk and you nod for yes or shake your head for no. Knock on your chair if you dont understand. Simple enough! Do you agree? Mordred nodded. The newcomer found the steady blue glare of those eyes unsettlingtrs unsettlingbut tried not to show it. He wondered again if coming here had been the right thing to do, but he had tracked Mias course ever since she had kindled, and why, if not for this? It was a dangerous game, agreed, but now there were only two creatures who could unlock the door at the foot of the Tower before the Tower fell  which it would, and soon, because the writer had only days left to live in his world, and the final Books of the Tower three of themremained unwritten. In the last one that was written in that key world, Rolands katet had banished sai Randy Flagg from a dreampalace on an interstate highway, a palace that had looked to Eddie, Susannah, and Jake like the Castle of Oz the Great and Terrible (Oz the Green King, may it do ya fine). They had, in fact, almost killed that bad old bumhug Walter o Dim, thereby providing what some would no doubt call a happy ending. But beyond page 676 of Wizard and Glass not a word about Roland and the Dark Tower had Stephen King written, and Walter considered this the real happy ending. The people of Calla Bryn Sturgis, the roont children, Mia and Mias baby all those things were still sleeping inchoate in the writers subconscious, creatures without breath pent behind an unfound door. And now Walter judged it was too late to set them free. Damnably quick though King had been throughout his careera genuinely talented writer whod turned himself into a shoddy (but rich) quicksketch artist, a rhymeless Algernon Swinburne, do it please yahe couldnt get through even the first hundred pages of the remaining tale in the time he had left, not if he wrote day and night. Too late. There had been a day of choice, as Walter well knew he had been at Le Casse Roi Russe, and had seen it in the glass ball the Old Red Thing still possessed (although by now it no doubt lay forgotten in some castle corner). By the summer of 1997, King had clearly known the story of the Wolves, the twins, and the flying plates called Orizas. But to the writer, all that had seemed like too much work. He had chosen a book of loosely interlocked stories called Hearts in Atlantis instead, and even now, in his home on Turtleback Lane (where he had never seen so much as a single walkin), the writer was frittering away the last of his time writing about peace and love and Vietnam. It was true that one character in what would be Kings last book had a part to play in the Dark Towers history as it might be, but that fellowan old man with talented brainswould never get a chance to speak lines that really mattered. Lovely. In the only world that really mattered, the true world where time never turns back and there are no second chances (tell ya true), it was June 12th of 1999. The writers time had shrunk to less than two hundred hours. Walter o Dim knew he didnt have quite that long to reach the Dark Tower, because time (like the metabolism of certain spiders) ran faster and hotter on this side of things. Say five days. Five and a half at the outside. He had that long to reach the Tower with Mordred Deschains birthmarked, amputated foot in his gunna  to open the door at the bottom and mount those murmuring stairs  to bypass the trapped Red King  If he could find a vehicle  or the right door  Was it too late to become the God of All? Perhaps not. In any case, what harm in trying? Walter o Dim had wandered long, and under a hundred names, but the Tower had always been his goal. Like Roland, he wanted to climb it and see what lived at the top. If anything did. He had belonged to none of the cliques and cults and faiths and factions that had arisen in the confused years since the Tower began to totter, although he wore their siguls when it suited him. His service to the Crimson King was a late thing, as was his service to John Farson, the Good Man whod brought down Gilead, the last bastion of civilization, in a tide of blood and murder. Walter had done his own share of murder in those years, living a long and only quasimortal life. He had witnessed the end of what he had then believed to be Rolands last katet at Jericho Hill. Witnessed it? That was a little overmodest, by all the gods and fishes! Under the name of Rudin Filaro, he had fought with his face painted blue, had screamed and charged with the rest of the stinking barbarians, and had brought down Cuthbert Allgood himself, with an arrow through the eye. Yet through all that hed kept his gaze on the Tower. Perhaps that was why the damned gunslingeras the sun went down on that days work, Roland of Gilead had been the last of themhad been able to escape, having buried himself in a cart filled with the dead and then creeping out of the slaughterpile at sundown, just before the whole works had been set alight. He had seen Roland years earlier, in Mejis, and had just missed his grip on him there, too (although he put that mostly down to Eldred Jonas, he of the quavery voice and the long gray hair, and Jonas had paid). The King had told him then that they werent done with Roland, that the gunslinger would begin the end of matters and ultimately cause the tumble of that which he wished to save. Walter hadnt begun to believe that until the Mohaine Desert, where he had looked around one day and discovered a certain gunslinger on his backtrail, one who had grown old over the course of falling years, and hadnt completely believed it until the reappearance of Mia, who fulfilled an old and grave prophecy by giving birth to the Crimson Kings son. Certainly the Old Red Thing was of no more use to him, but even in his imprisonment and insanity, heitwas dangerous. Still, until hed had Roland to complete him  to make him greater than his own destiny, perhapsWalter o Dim had been little more than a wanderer left over from the old days, a mercenary with a vague ambition to penetrate the Tower before it was brought down. Was that not what had brought him to the Crimson King in the first place? Yes. And it wasnt his fault that the great scuttering spiderking had run mad. Never mind. Here was his son with the same mark on his heelWalter could see it at this very momentand everything balanced. Of course hed need to be careful. The thing in the chair looked helpless, perhaps even thought it was helpless, but it wouldnt do to underestimate it just because it looked like a baby. Walter slipped the gun into his pocket (for the moment; only for the moment) and held his hands out, empty and palms up. Then he closed one of them into a fist, which he raised to his forehead. Slowly, never taking his eyes from Mordred, wary lest he should change (Walter had seen that change, and what had happened to the little beasts mother), the newcomer dropped to one knee. Hile, Mordred Deschain, son of Roland of Gilead that was and of the Crimson King whose name was once spoken from EndWorld to OutWorld; hile you son of two fathers, both of them descended from Arthur Eld, first king to rise after the Prim receded, and Guardian of the Dark Tower. For a moment nothing happened. In the Control Center there was only silence and the lingering smell of Nigels fried circuits. Then the baby lifted its chubby fists, opened them, and raised his hands Rise, bondsman, and come to me. TWO Its best you not think strong, in any case, the newcomer said, stepping closer. They knew you were here, and Roland is almighty Christing clever; trigdelah is he. He caught up with me once, you know, and I thought I was done. I truly did. From his gunna the man who sometimes called himself Flagg (on another level of the Tower, he had brought an entire world to ruin under that name) had taken peanut butter and crackers. Hed asked permission of his new dinh, and the baby (although bitterly hungry himself) had nodded regally. Now Walter sat crosslegged on the floor, eating rapidly, secure in his thinkingcap, unaware there was an intruder inside and all that he knew was being ransacked. He was safe until that ransacking was done, but afterward Mordred raised one chubby babyhand in the air and swooped it gracefully down in the shape of a question mark. How did I escape? Walter asked. Why, I did what any true cozener would do in such circumstancestold him the truth! Showed him the Tower, at least several levels of it. It stunned him, right and proper, and while he was open in such fashion, I took a leaf from his own book and hypnotized him. We were in one of the fistulas of time which sometimes swirl out from the Tower, and the world moved on all around us as we had our palaver in that bony place, aye! I brought more boneshuman onesand while he slept I dressed em in what was left of my own clothes. I could have killed him then, but what of the Tower if I had, eh? What of you, for that matter? You never would have come to be. Its fair to say, Mordred, that by allowing Roland to live and draw his three, I saved your life before your life was even kindled, so I did. I stole away to the seashorefelt in need of a little vacation, hee! When Roland got there, he went one way, toward the three doors. Id gone the other, Mordred my dear, and here I am! He laughed through a mouthful of crackers and sprayed crumbs on his chin and shirt. Mordred smiled, but he was revolted. This was what he was supposed to work with, this? A crackergobbling, crumbspewing fool who was too full of his own past exploits to sense his present danger, or to know his defenses had been breached? By all the gods, he deserved to die! But before that could happen, there were two more things he needed. One was to know where Roland and his friends had gone. The other was to be fed. This fool would serve both purposes. And what made it easy? Why, that Walter had also grown oldold and lethally sure of himselfand too vain to realize it. You may wonder why Im here, and not about your fathers business, Walter said. Do you? Mordred didnt, but he nodded, just the same. His stomach rumbled. In truth, I am about his business, Walter said, and gave his most charming smile (spoiled somewhat by the peanut butter on his teeth). He had once probably known that any statement beginning with the words In truth is almost always a lie. No more. Too old to know. Too vain to know. Too stupid to remember. But he was wary, all the same. He could feel the childs force. In his head? Rummaging around in his head? Surely not. The thing trapped in the babys body was powerful, but surely not that powerful. Walter leaned forward earnestly, clasping his knees. Your Red Father is  indisposed. As a result of having lived so close to the Tower for so long, and having thought upon it so deeply, I have no doubt. Its down to you to finish what he began. Ive come to help you in that work. Mordred nodded, as if pleased. He was pleased. But ah, he was also so hungry. You may have wondered how I reached you in this supposedly secure chamber, Walter said. In truth I helped build this place, in what Roland would call the longago. That phrase again, as obvious as a wink. He had put the gun in the left pocket of his parka. Now, from the right, he withdrew a gadget the size of a cigarettepack, pulled out a silver antenna, and pushed a button. A section of the gray tiles withdrew silently, revealing a flight of stairs. Mordred nodded. Walteror Randall Flagg, if that was what he was currently calling himselfhad indeed come out of the floor. A neat trick, but of course he had once served Rolands father Steven as Gileads court magician, hadnt he? Under the name of Marten. A man of many faces and many neat tricks was Walter o Dim, but never as clever as he seemed to think. Not by half. For Mordred now had the final thing he had been looking for, which was the way Roland and his friends had gotten out of here. There was no need to pluck it from its hiding place in Walters mind, after all. He only needed to follow the fools backtrail. First, however  Walters smile had faded a little. Didee say something, sire? For I thought I heard the sound of your voice, far back in my mind. The baby shook his head. And who is more believable than a baby? Are their faces not the very definition of guilelessness and innocence? Id take you with me and go after them, if youd come, Walter said. What a team wed make! Theyve gone to the devartoi in Thunderclap, to release the Breakers. Ive already promised to meet your fatheryour White Fatherand his katet should they dare go on, and thats a promise I intend to keep. For, hear me well, Mordred, the gunslinger Roland Deschain has stood against me at every turn, and Ill bear it no more. No more! Do you hear? His voice was rising in fury. Mordred nodded innocently, widening his pretty babys eyes in what might have been taken for fear, fascination, or both. Certainly Walter o Dim seemed to preen beneath his regard, and really, the only question now was when to take him  immediately or later? Mordred was very hungry, but thought he would hold off at least a bit longer. There was something oddly compelling about watching this fool stitching the last few inches of his fate with such earnestness. Once again Mordred drew the shape of a question mark in the air. Any last vestige of a smile faded from Walters face. What do I truly want? Is that what youre asking for? Mordred nodded yes. Tisnt the Dark Tower at all, if you want the truth; its Roland who stays on my mind and in my heart. I want him dead. Walter spoke with flat and unsmiling finality. For the long and dusty leagues hes chased me; for all the trouble hes caused me; and for the Red King, as wellthe true King, ye do ken; for his presumption in refusing to give over his quest no matter what obstacles were placed in his path; most of all for the death of his mother, whom I once loved. And, in an undertone Or at least coveted. In either case, it was he who killed her. No matter what part I or Rhea of the Cos may have played in that matter, it was the boy himself who stopped her breath with his damned guns, slow head, and quick hands.


As for the end of the universe  I say let it come as it will, in ice, fire, or darkness. What did the universe ever do for me that I should mind its welfare? All I know is that Roland of Gilead has lived too long and I want that son of a bitch in the ground. And those hes drawn, too. For the third and last time, Mordred drew the shape of a question in the air. Theres only a single working door from here to the devartoi, young master. Its the one the Wolves use  or used; I think theyve made their last run, so I do. Roland and his friends have gone through it, but thats all right, theres plenty to occupy em right where they come outthey might find the reception a bit hot! Mayhap we can take care of em while theyve got the Breakers and the remaining Children of Roderick and the true guards o the watch to worry about. Would you like that? The infant nodded an affirmative with no hesitation. He then put his fingers to his mouth and chewed at them. Yes, Walter said. His grin shone out. Hungry, of course you are. But Im sure we can do better than rats and halfgrown billybumblers when it comes to dinner. Dont you? Mordred nodded again. He was sure they could, too. Will I play the good da and carry you? Walter asked. That way you dont have to change to your spiderself. Ugh! Not a shape tis easy to love, or even like, I must say. Mordred was holding up his arms. Ywont shit on me, will you? Walter asked casually, halting halfway across the floor. His hand slid into his pocket, and Mordred realized with a touch of alarm that the sly bastard had been hiding something from him, just the same he knew the socalled thinkingcap wasnt working. Now he meant to use the gun after all. THREE In fact, Mordred gave Walter o Dim far too much credit, but isnt that a trait of the young, perhaps even a survival skill? To a wideeyed lad, the tacky tricks of the worlds most hamfisted prestidigitator look like miracles. Walter did not actually realize what was happening until very late in the game, but he was a wily old survivor, tell ya true, and when understanding came, it came entire. Theres a phrase, the elephant in the living room, which purports to describe what its like to live with a drug addict, an alcoholic, an abuser. People outside such relationships will sometimes ask, How could you let such a business go on for so many years? Didnt you see the elephant in the living room? And its so hard for anyone living in a more normal situation to understand the answer that comes closest to the truth Im sorry, but it was there when I moved in. I didnt know it was an elephant ; I thought it was part of the furniture. There comes an aha moment for some folksthe lucky oneswhen they suddenly recognize the difference. And that moment came for Walter. It came too late, but not by much. Ywont shit on me, will youthat was the question he asked, but between the word shit and the phrase on me, he suddenly realized there was an intruder in his house  and it had been there all along. Not a baby, either; this was a gangling, slopeheaded adolescent with pockmarked skin and dully curious eyes. It was perhaps the best, truest visualization Walter could have made for Mordred Deschain as he at that moment existed a teenage housebreaker, probably high on some aerosol cleaning product. And he had been there all the time! God, how could he not have known? The housebreaker hadnt even been hiding! He had been right out in the open, standing there against the wall, gapemouthed and taking it all in. His plans for bringing Mordred with himof using him to end Rolands life (if the guards at the devartoi couldnt do it first, that was), then killing the little bastard and taking his valuable left footcollapsed in an instant. In the next one a new plan arose, and it was simplicity itself. Mustnt let him see that I know. One shot, thats all I can risk, and only because I must risk it. Then I run. If hes dead, fine. If not, perhaps hell starve before Then Walter realized his hand had stopped. Four fingers had closed around the butt of the gun in the jacket pocket, but they were now frozen. One was very near the trigger, but he couldnt move that, either. It might as well have been buried in cement. And now Walter clearly saw the shining wire for the first time. It emerged from the toothless pinkgummed mouth of the baby sitting in the chair, crossed the room, glittering beneath the lights, and then encircled him at chestlevel, binding his arms to his sides. He understood the wire wasnt really there  but at the same time, it was. He couldnt move. FOUR Mordred didnt see the shining wire, perhaps because hed never read Watership Down. Hed had the chance to explore Susannahs mind, however, and what he saw now was remarkably like Susannahs Dogan. Only instead of switches saying things like CHAP and EMOTIONAL TEMP, he saw ones that controlled Walters ambulation (this one he quickly turned to OFF), cogitation, and motivation. It was certainly a more complex setup than the one in the young bumblers headthere hed found nothing but a few simple nodes, like granny knotsbut still not difficult to operate. The only problem was that he was a baby. A damned baby stuck in a chair. If he really meant to change this delicatessen on legs into coldcuts, hed have to move quickly. FIVE Walter o Dim was not too old to be gullible, he understood that nowhed underestimated the little monster, relying too much on what it looked like and not enough on his own knowledge of what it wasbut he was at least beyond the young mans trap of total panic. If he means to do anything besides sit in that chair and look at me, hell have to change. When he does, his control may slip. Thatll be my chance. Its not much, but its the only one I have left. At that moment he saw a brilliant red light run down the babys skin from crown to toes. In the wake of it, the chubbypink bahbos body began to darken and swell, the spiders legs bursting out through his sides. At the same instant, the shining wire coming out of the babys mouth disappeared and Walter felt the suffocating band which had been holding him in place disappear. No time to risk even a single shot, not now. Run. Run from him from it. Thats all you can do. You never should have come here in the first place. You let your hatred of the gunslinger blind you, but it still may not be too la He turned to the trapdoor even as this thought raced through his mind, and was about to put his foot on the first step when the shining wire reestablished itself, this time not looping around his arms and chest but around his throat, like a garrote. Gagging and choking and spewing spit, eyes bulging from their sockets, Walter turned jerkily around. The loop around his throat loosened the barest bit. At the same time he felt something very like an invisible hand skim up his brow and push the hood back from his head. Hed always gone dressed in such fashion, when he could; in certain provinces to the south even of Garlan he had been known as Walter Hodji, the latter word meaning both dim and hood. But this particular lid (borrowed from a certain deserted house in the town of French Landing, Wisconsin) had done him no good at all, had it? I think I may have come to the end of the path, he thought as he saw the spider strutting toward him on its seven legs, a bloated, lively thing (livelier than the baby, aye, and four thousand times as ugly) with a freakish blob of human head peering over the hairy curve of its back. On its belly, Walter could see the red mark that had been on the babys heel. Now it had an hourglass shape, like the one that marks the female black widow, and he understood that was the mark hed have wanted; killing the baby and amputating its foot likely would have done him no good at all. It seemed he had been wrong all down the line. The spider reared up on its four back legs. The three in front pawed at Walters jeans, making a low and ghastly scratching sound. The things eyes bulged up at him with that dull intruders curiosity which he had already imagined too well. Oh yes,Im afraid its the end of the path for you. Huge in his head. Booming like words from a loudspeaker. But you intended the same for me, didnt you? No! At least not immediately But you did! Dont kid a kidder, as Susannah would say. So now I do the one you call my White Father a small favor.You may not have been his greatest enemy, Walter Padick (as you were called when you set out, all in the longago), but you were his oldest, I grant. And now I take you out of his road. Walter did not realize he had held onto some dim hope of escape even with the loathsome thing before him, reared up, the eyes staring at him with dull avidity while the mouth drooled, until he heard for the first time in a thousand years the name a boy from a farm in Delain had once answered to Walter Padick. Walter, son of Sam the Miller in the Eastard Barony. He who had run away at thirteen, had been raped in the ass by another wanderer a year later and yet had somehow withstood the temptation to go crawling back home. Instead he had moved on toward his destiny. Walter Padick. At the sound of that voice, the man who had sometimes called himself Marten, Richard Fannin, Rudin Filaro, and Randall Flagg (among a great many others), gave over all hope except for the hope of dying well. I be ahungry, Mordred be ahungry, spoke the relentless voice in the middle of Walters head, a voice that came to him along the shining wire of the little kings will. But Id eat proper, beginning with the appetizer.Your eyes, I think. Give them to me. Walter struggled mightily, but without so much as a moments success. The wire was too strong. He saw his hands rise and hover in front of his face. He saw his fingers bend into hooks. They pushed up his eyelids like windowshades, then dug the orbs out from the top. He could hear the sounds they made as they tore loose of the tendons which turned them and the optic nerves which relayed their marvelous messages. The sound that marked the end of sight was low and wet. Bright red dashes of light filled his head, and then darkness rushed in forever. In Walters case, forever wouldnt last long, but if time is subjective (and most of us know that it is), then it was far too long. Give them to me, I say! No more dillydallying! Im ahungry! Walter o Dimnow Walter o Darkturned his hands over and dropped his eyeballs. They trailed filaments as they fell, making them look a little like tadpoles. The spider snatched one out of the air. The other plopped to the tile where the surprisingly limber claw at the end of one leg picked it up and tucked it into the spiders mouth. Mordred popped it like a grape but did not swallow; rather he let the delicious slime trickle down his throat. Lovely. Tongue next, please. Walter wrapped an obedient hand around it and pulled, but succeeded in ripping it only partly loose. In the end it was too slippery. He would have wept with agony and frustration if the bleeding sockets where his eyes had been could have manufactured tears. He reached for it again, but the spider was too greedy to wait. Bend down! Poke your tongue out like you would at your honeys cunny. Quick, for your fathers sake! Mordreds ahungry! Walter, still all too aware of what was happening to him, struggled against this fresh horror with no more success than against the last. He bent over with his hands on his thighs and his bleeding tongue stuck crookedly out between his lips, wavering wearily as the hemorrhaging muscles at the back of his mouth tried to support it. Once more he heard the scrabbling sounds as Mordreds front legs scratched at the legs of his denim pants. The spiders hairy maw closed over Walters tongue, sucked it like a lollipop for one or two blissful seconds, and then tore it free with a single powerful wrench. Walter now speechless as well as eyelessuttered a swollen scream of pain and fell over, clutching at his distorted face, rolling back and forth on the tiles. Mordred bit down on the tongue in his mouth. It burst into a bliss of blood that temporarily wiped away all thought. Walter had rolled onto his side and was feeling blindly for the trapdoor, something inside still screaming that he should not give up but keep trying to escape the monster that was eating him alive. With the taste of blood in his mouth, all interest in foreplay departed Mordred. He was reduced to his central core, which was mostly appetite. He pounced upon Randall Flagg, Walter o Dim, Walter Padick that was. There were more screams, but only a few. And then Rolands old enemy was no more. SIX The man had been quasiimmortal (a phrase at least as foolish as most unique) and made a legendary meal. After gorging on so much, Mordreds first urgestrong but not quite insurmountablewas to vomit. He controlled it, as he did his second one, which was even stronger to change back to his babyself and sleep. If he was to find the door of which Walter had spoken, the best time to do so was right now, and in a shape which would make it possible to hurry along at a good speed the shape of the spider. So, passing the desiccated corpse without a glance, Mordred scarpered nimbly through the trapdoor and down the stairs and into a corridor below. This passage smelled strongly of alkali and seemed to have been cut out of the desert bedrock. All of Walters knowledgeat least fifteen hundred years of itbellowed in his brain. The dark mans backtrail eventually led to an elevator shaft. When a bristly claw pressed on the UP button produced nothing but a tired humming from far above and a smell like frying shoeleather from behind the control panel, Mordred climbed the cars inner wall, pushed up the maintenance hatch with a slender leg, and squeezed through. That he had to squeeze did not surprise him; he was bigger now. He climbed the cable (itsy bitsy spider went up the waterspout ) until he came to the door where, his senses told him, Walter had entered the elevator and then sent it on its last ride. Twenty minutes later (and still jazzing on all that wonderful blood; gallons of the stuff, it had seemed), he came to a place where Walters trail divided. This might have posed him, child that he still very much was, but here the scent and the sense of the others joined Walters track and Mordred went that way, now following Roland and his katet rather than the magicians backtrail. Walter must have followed them for awhile and then turned around to find Mordred. To find his fate. Twenty minutes later the little fellow came to a door marked with no word but a sigul he could read well enough The question was whether to open it now or to wait. Childish eagerness clamored for the former, growing prudence for the latter. He had been wellfed and had no need of more nourishment, especially if he changed back to his humeself for awhile. Also, Roland and his friends might still be on the far side of this door. Suppose they were, and drew their weapons at the sight of him? They were infernally fast, and he could be killed by gunfire. He could wait; felt no deep need beyond the eagerness of the child that wants everything and wants it now. Certainly he didnt suffer the bright intensity of Walters hate. His own feelings were more complex, tinctured by sadness and loneliness andyes, hed do better to admit itlove. Mordred felt he wanted to enjoy this melancholy for awhile. There would be food aplenty on the other side of this door, he was sure of it, so hed eat. And grow. And watch. He would watch his father, and his sistermother, and his kabrothers, Eddie and Jake. Hed watch them camp at night, and light their fires, and form their circle around it. Hed watch from his place that was outside. Perhaps they would feel him and look uneasily into the dark, wondering what was out there. He approached the door, reared up before it, and pawed at it questioningly. Too bad, really, there wasnt a peephole. And it probably would be safe to go through now. What had Walter said? That Rolands katet meant to release the Breakers, whatever they might be (it had been in Walters mind, but Mordred hadnt bothered looking for it). Theres plenty to occupy em right where they come outthey might find the reception a trifle hot! Had Roland and his children perhaps been killed on the other side? Ambushed? Mordred believed he would have known had that happened. Would have felt it in his mind like a Beamquake. In any case he would wait awhile before creeping through the door with the cloudandlightning sigul on it. And when he was through? Why, hed find them. And overhear their palaver. And watch them, both awake and asleep. Most of all, he would watch the one Walter had called his White Father. His only real father now, if Walter had been right about the Crimson Kings having gone insane. And for the present? Now, for a little while, I may sleep. The spider ran up the wall of this room, which was full of great hanging objects, and spun a web. But it was the baby naked, and now looking fully a year oldthat slept in it, head down and high above any predators that might come hunting. CHAPTER IV THE DOOR INTO THUNDERCLAP  ONE When the four wanderers woke from their sleep (Roland first, and after six hours exactly), there were more popkins stacked on a clothcovered tray, and also more drinks. Of the domestic robot, however, there was no sign. All right, enough, Roland said, after calling Nigel for the third time. He told us he was on his last legs; seems that while we slept, he fell off em. He was doing something he didnt want to do, Jake said. His face looked pale and puffy. From sleeping too heavily was Rolands first thought, and then wondered how he could be such a fool. The boy had been crying for Pere Callahan. Doing what? Eddie asked, slipping his pack over one shoulder and then hoisting Susannah onto his hip. For who? And why? I dont know, Jake said. He didnt want me to know, and I didnt feel right about prying. I know he was just a robot, but with that nice English voice and all, he seemed like more. Thats a scruple you may need to get over, Roland said, as gently as he could. How heavy am I, sugar? Susannah asked Eddie cheerfully. Or maybe what I should ask is How bad you missin that good old wheelchair? Not to mention the shoulderrig. Suze, you hated that piggyback rig from the word go and we both know it. Wasnt askin about that, and you know it. It always fascinated Roland when Detta crept unheard into Susannahs voice, or  even more spooky  her face. The woman herself seemed unaware of these incursions, as her husband did now. Id carry you to the end of the world, Eddie said sentimentally, and kissed the tip of her nose. Unless you put on another ten pounds or so, that is. Then I might have to leave you and look for a lighter lady. She poked himnot gently, eitherand then turned to Roland. This is a damn big place, once youre down underneath. Howre we gonna find the door that goes through to Thunderclap? Roland shook his head. He didnt know. How bout you, Cisco? Eddie asked Jake. Youre the one whos strong in the touch. Can you use it to find the door we want? Maybe if I knew how to start, Jake said, but I dont. And with that, all three of them again looked at Roland. No, make it four, because even the godscursed bumbler was staring. Eddie would have made a joke to dispel any discomfort he felt at such a combined stare, and Roland actually fumbled for one. Something about how too many eyes spoiled the pie, maybe? No. That saying, which hed heard from Susannah, was about cooks and broth. In the end he simply said, Well cast about a little, the way hounds do when theyve lost the scent, and see what we find. Maybe another wheelchair for me to ride in, Susannah said brightly. This nasty white boy has got his hands all over my purity. Eddie gave her a sincere look. If it was really pure, hon, he said, it wouldnt be cracked like it is. TWO It was Oy who actually took over and led them, but not until they returned to the kitchen. The humans were poking about with a kind of aimlessness that Jake found rather unsettling when Oy began to bark out his name Ake! AkeAke! They joined the bumbler at a chockedopen door that read CLEVEL. Oy went a little way along the corridor then looked back over his shoulder, eyes brilliant. When he saw they werent following, he barked his disappointment. What do you think? Roland asked. Should we follow him? Yes, Jake said. What scent has he got? Eddie asked. Do you know? Maybe something from the Dogan, Jake said. The real one, on the other side of the River Whye. Where Oy and I overheard Ben Slightmans Da and the  you know, the robot. Jake? Eddie asked. You okay, kid? Yes, Jake said, although hed had a bit of a bad turn, remembering how Bennys Da had screamed. Andy the Messenger Robot, apparently tired of Slightmans grumbling, had pushed or pinched something in the mans elbowa nerve, probablyand Slightman had hollered like an owl, as Roland might say (and probably with at least mild contempt). Slightman the Younger was beyond such things, now, of course, and it was that realizationa boy, once full of fun and now cool as riverbank claywhich had made the son of Elmer pause. You had to die, yes, and Jake hoped he could do it at least moderately well when the hour came. Hed had some training in how to do it, after all. It was the thought of all that gravetime that chilled him. That downtime. That liestillandcontinuetobedead time. Andys scentcold but oily and distinctivehad been all over the Dogan on the far side of the River Whye, for he and Slightman the Elder had met there many times before the Wolf raid that had been greeted by Roland and his makeshift posse. This smell wasnt exactly the same, but it was interesting. Certainly it was the only familiar one Oy had struck so far, and he wanted to follow it. Wait a minute, wait a minute, Eddie said. I see something we need. He put Susannah down, crossed the kitchen, and returned rolling a stainlesssteel table probably meant for transporting stacks of freshly washed dishes or larger utensils. Upsydaisy, dont be crazy, Eddie said, and lifted Susannah onto it. She sat there comfortably enough, gripping the sides, but looked dubious. And when we come to a flight of stairs? What then, sugarboy? Sugarboy will burn that bridge when he comes to it, Eddie said, and pushed the rolling table into the hall. Mush, Oy! On, you huskies! Oy! Husk! The bumbler hurried briskly along, bending his head every now and again to dip into the scent but mostly not bothering much. It was too fresh and too wide to need much attention. It was the smell of the Wolves he had found. After an hours walk, they passed a hangarsized door marked TO HORSES. Beyond this, the trail led them to a door which read STAGING AREA and AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. (That they were followed for part of their hike by Walter o Dim was a thing none of them, not even Jakestrong in the touch though he was suspected. On the boy, at least, the hooded mans thinkingcap worked quite well. When Walter was sure where the bumbler was leading them, hed turned back to palaver with Mordreda mistake, as it turned out, but one with this consolation he would never make another.) Oy sat before the closed door, which was the kind that swung both ways, with his cartoon squiggle of tail tight against his hindquarters, and barked. Ake, opeope! Ope, Ake! Yeah, yeah, Jake said, in a minute. Hold your water. STAGING AREA, Eddie said. That sounds at least moderately hopeful. They were still pushing Susannah on the stainlesssteel table, having negotiated the only stairway theyd come to (a fairly short one) without too much trouble. Susannah had gone down first on her butther usual mode of descent while Roland and Eddie carried the table along behind her. Jake went between the woman and the men with Eddies gun raised, the long scrolled barrel laid into the hollow of his left shoulder, a position known as the guard. Roland now drew his own gun, laid it in the hollow of his right shoulder, and pushed the door open. He went through in a slight crouch, ready to dive either way or jump backward if the situation demanded it. The situation did not. Had Eddie been first, he might have believed (if only momentarily) that he was being attacked by flying Wolves sort of like the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. Roland, however, was not overburdened with imagination, and even though a good many of the overhead fluorescent light strips in this huge, barnlike space had gone out, he wasted no timeor adrenalinein mistaking the suspended objects for anything but what they actually were broken robot raiders awaiting repair. Come on in, he said, and his words came echoing back to him. Somewhere, high in the shadows, came a flutter of wings. Swallows, or perhaps barnrusties that had found their way in from outside. I think alls well. They came, and stood looking up with silent awe. Only Jakes fourfooted friend was unimpressed. Oy was taking advantage of the break to groom himself, first the left side and then the right. At last Susannah, still sitting on the rolling steel table, said Tell you what, Ive seen a lot, but I havent ever seen anything quite like this. Neither had the others. The huge room was thick with Wolves that seemed suspended in flight. Some wore their green Dr. Doom hoods and capes; others hung naked save for their steel suits. Some were headless, some armless, and a few were missing either one leg or the other. Their gray metal faces seemed to snarl or grin, depending on how the light hit them. Lying on the floor was a litter of green capes and discarded green gauntlets. And about forty yards away (the room itself had to stretch at least two hundred yards from end to end) was a single gray horse, lying on its back with its legs sticking stiffly up into the air. Its head was gone. From its neck there emerged tangles of yellow, green, and redcoated wires. They walked slowly after Oy, who was trotting with brisk unconcern across the room. The sound of the rolling table was loud in here, the returning echo a sinister rumble. Susannah kept looking up. At firstand only because there was now so little light in what must once have been a place of brillianceshe thought the Wolves were floating, held up by some sort of antigravity device. Then they came to a place where most of the fluorescents were still working, and she saw the guywires. They must have repaired em in here, she said. If there was anyone left to do it, that is. And I think over theres where they powered em up, Eddie said, and pointed. Along the far wall, which they could just now begin to see clearly, was a line of bays. Wolves were standing stiffly in some of them. Other bays were empty, and in these they could see a number of plugin points. Jake abruptly burst out laughing. What? Susannah asked. What is it? Nothing, he said. Its just that  His laughter pealed out again, sounding fabulously young in that gloomy chamber. Its just that they look like commuters at Penn Station, lined up at the pay telephones to call home or the office. Eddie and Susannah considered this for a moment, and then they also burst out laughing. So, Roland thought, Jakes seeing must have been true. After all theyd been through, this did not surprise him. What made him glad was to hear the boys laughter. It was right that Jake should cry for the Pere, who had been his friend, but it was good that he could still laugh. Very good, indeed. THREE The door they wanted was to the left of the utility bays. They all recognized the cloudandlightning sigul on it at once from the note R.F. had left them on the back of a sheet of the Oz Daily Buzz, but the door itself was very different from the ones they had encountered so far; except for the cloud and lightningbolt, it was strictly utilitarian. Although it had been painted green they could see it was steel, not ironwood or the heavier ghostwood. Surrounding it was a gray frame, also steel, with thighthick insulated powercords coming out of each side. These ran into one of the walls. From behind that wall came a rough rumbling sound which Eddie thought he recognized. Roland, he said in a low voice. Do you remember the Portal of the Beam we came to, way back at the start? Even before Jake joined our happy band, this was. Roland nodded. Where we shot the Little Guardians. Shardiks retinue. Those of it that still survived. Eddie nodded. I put my ear against that door and listened. All is silent in the halls of the dead,  I thought. These are the halls of the dead, where the spiders spin and the great circuits fall quiet, one by one. He had actually spoken this aloud, but Roland wasnt surprised Eddie didnt remember doing so; hed been hypnotized or close to it. We were on the outside, then, Eddie said. Now were on the inside. He pointed at the door into Thunderclap, then with one finger traced the course of the fat cables. The machinery sending power through these doesnt sound very healthy. If were going to use this thing, I think we ought to right away. It could shut down for good anytime, and then what? Have to call TripleA Travel, Susannah said dreamily. I dont think so. Wed be basted  what do you call it, Roland? Basted in a hot oast. These are the rooms of ruin. You said that, too. Do you recall? I said it? Right out loud? Aye. Roland led them to the door. He reached out, touched the knob, then pulled his hand back. Hot? Jake asked. Roland shook his head. Electrified? Susannah asked. The gunslinger shook his head again. Then go on and go for it, Eddie said. Lets boogie. They crowded close behind Roland. Eddie was once more holding Susannah on his hip and Jake had picked Oy up. The bumbler was panting through his usual cheery grin and inside their gold rings his eyes were as bright as polished onyx. What do we do if its locked was how Jake meant to finish, but before he could, Roland turned the knob with his right hand (he had his remaining gun in the left) and pulled the door open. Behind the wall, the machinery cycled up a notch, the sound of it growing almost desperate. Jake thought he could smell something hot burning insulation, maybe. He was just telling himself to stop imagining things when a number of overhead fans started up. They were as loud as taxiing fighter airplanes in a World War II movie, and they all jumped. Susannah actually put a hand on her head, as if to shield it from falling objects. Come on, Roland snapped. Quick. He stepped through without a backward look. During the brief moment when he was halfway through, he seemed to be broken into two pieces. Beyond the gunslinger, Jake could see a vast and gloomy room, much bigger than the Staging Area. And silvery crisscrossing lines that looked like dashes of pure light. Go on, Jake, Susannah said. You next. Jake took a deep breath and stepped through. There was no riptide, such as theyd experienced in the Cave of Voices, and no jangling chimes. No sense of going todash, not even for a moment. Instead there was a horrid feeling of being turned insideout, and he was attacked by the most violent nausea he had ever known. He stepped downward, and his knee buckled. A moment later he was on both knees. Oy spilled out of his arms. Jake barely noticed. He began to retch. Roland was on all fours next to him, doing the same. From somewhere came steady low chugging sounds, the persistent dingdingdingding of a bell, and an echoing amplified voice. Jake turned his head, meaning to tell Roland that now he understood why they sent robot raiders through their damned door, and then he vomited again. The remains of his last meal ran steaming across cracked concrete. All at once Susannah was crying No! No! in a distraught voice. Then Put me down! Eddie, put me down before I Her voice was interrupted by harsh yarking sounds. Eddie managed to deposit her on the cracked concrete before turning his head and joining the Upchuck Chorus.


Oy fell on his side, hacked hoarsely, then got back on his feet. He looked dazed and disoriented  or maybe Jake was only attributing to the bumbler the way he felt himself. The nausea was beginning to fade a little when he heard clacking, echoing footfalls. Three men were hurrying toward them, all dressed in jeans, blue chambray shirts, and odd, homemadelooking footwear. One of them, an elderly gent with a mop of untidy white hair, was ahead of the other two. All three had their hands in the air. Gunslingers! cried the man with the white hair. Are you gunslingers? If you are, dont shoot! Were on your side! Roland, who looked in no condition to shoot anyone (Not that Id want to test that, Jake thought), tried to get up, almost made it, then went back to one knee and made another strangled retching sound. The man with the white hair seized one of his wrists and hauled him up without ceremony. The sickness is bad, the old man said, no one knows it any better than I. Fortunately it passes rapidly. You have to come with us right away. I know how little you feel like it but you see, theres an alarm in the kidams study and He stopped. His eyes, almost as blue as Rolands, were widening. Even in the gloom Jake could see the old guys face losing its color. His friends had caught up with him, but he seemed not to notice. It was Jake Chambers he was looking at. Bobby? he said in a voice that was not much more than a whisper. My God, is it Bobby Garfield? CHAPTER V STEEKTETE  ONE The whitehaired gents companions were a good deal younger (one looked to Roland hardly out of his teens), and both seemed absolutely terrified. Afraid of being shot by mistake, of coursethat was why theyd come hurrying out of the gloom with their hands raisedbut of something else, as well, because it must be clear to them now that they werent going to be assassinated out of hand. The older man gave an almost spastic jerk, pulling himself out of some private place. Of course youre not Bobby, he murmured. Hairs the wrong color, for one thing  and Ted, we have to get out of here, the youngest of the three said urgently. And I mean inmediatamento. Yes, the older man said, but his gaze remained on Jake. He put a hand over his eyes (to Eddie he looked like a carny mentalist getting ready to go into his big thoughtreading routine), then lowered it again. Yes, of course. He looked at Roland. Are you the dinh? Roland of Gilead? Roland of the Eld? Yes, I Roland began, then bent over and retched again. Nothing came out but a long silver string of spittle; hed already lost his share of Nigels soup and sandwiches. Then he raised a slightly trembling fist to his forehead in greeting and said, Yes. You have the advantage of me, sai. That doesnt matter, the whitehaired man replied. Will you come with us? You and your katet? To be sure, Roland said. Behind him, Eddie bent over and vomited again. Goddamn! he cried in a choked voice. And I thought going Greyhound was bad! That thing makes the bus look like aa Like a firstclass stateroom on the Queen Mary, Susannah said in a weak voice. Come  on! the youngest man said in an urgent voice. If The Weasels on the way with his taheen posse, hell be here in five minutes! That cat can scramble! Yes, the man with the white hair agreed. We really must go, Mr. Deschain. Lead, Roland said. Well follow. TWO They hadnt come out in a train station but rather in some sort of colossal roofed switchingyard. The silvery lines Jake had seen were crisscrossing raillines, perhaps as many as seventy different sets of tracks. On a couple of them, stubby, automated engines went back and forth on errands that had to be centuries outdated. One was pushing a flatcar filled with rusty Ibeams. The other began to cry in an automated voice Will a CamkaA please go to Portway 9. CamkaA to Portway 9, if you please. Pogosticking up and down on Eddies hip began to make Susannah feel sick to her stomach all over again, but shed caught the whitehaired mans urgency like a cold. Also, she now knew what the taheen were monstrous creatures with the bodies of human beings and the heads of either birds or beasts. They reminded her of the things in that Bosch painting, The Garden of Earthly Delights. I may have to puke again, sugarbunch, she said. Dont you dare slow down if I do. Eddie made a grunting sound she took for an affirmative. She could see sweat pouring down his pale skin and felt sorry for him. He was as sick as she was. So now she knew what it was like to go through a scientific teleportation device that was clearly no longer working very well. She wondered if she would ever be able to bring herself to go through another one. Jake looked up and saw a roof made of a million panes of different shapes and sizes; it was like looking at a tile mosaic painted a uniform dark gray. Then a bird flew through one of them, and he realized those werent tiles up there but panels of glass, some of them broken. That dark gray was apparently just how the outside world looked in Thunderclap. Like a constant eclipse, he thought, and shivered. Beside him, Oy made another series of those hoarse hacking sounds and then trotted on, shaking his head. THREE They passed a clutter of beached machinery  generators, maybethen entered a maze of helterskelter traincars that were very different from those hauled by Blaine the Mono. Some looked to Susannah like the sort of New York Central commuter cars she might have seen in Grand Central Station in her own when of 1964. As if to underline this notion, she noticed one with BAR CAR printed on the side. Yet there were others that appeared much older than that; made of dark riveted tin or steel instead of brushed chrome, they looked like the sort of passenger cars youd see in an old Western movie, or a TV show like Maverick. Beside one of these stood a robot with wires sprouting crazily from its neck. It was holding its head which wore a hat with a badge reading CLASS A CONDUCTOR on itbeneath one arm. At first Susannah tried to keep count of the lefts and rights they were making in this maze, then gave it up as a bad job. They finally emerged about fifty yards from a clapboardsided hut with the alliterative message LADINGLOST LUGGAGE over the door. The intervening distance was an apron of cracked concrete scattered with abandoned luggagecarts, stacks of crates, and two dead Wolves. No, Susannah thought, make that three. The third one was leaning against the wall in the deeper shadows just around the corner from LADINGLOST LUGGAGE. Come on, said the old man with the mop of white hair, not much further, now. But we have to hurry, because if the taheen from Heartbreak House catch us, theyll kill you. Theyd kill us, too, said the youngest of the three. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. All except for Ted. Teds the only one of us whos indispensable. Hes just too modest to say so. Past LADINGLOST LUGGAGE was (reasonably enough, Susannah thought) SHIPPING OFFICE. The fellow with the white hair tried the door. It was locked. This seemed to please rather than upset him. Dinky? he said. Dinky, it seemed, was the youngest of the three. He took hold of the knob and Susannah heard a snapping sound from somewhere inside. Dinky stepped back. This time when Ted tried the door, it opened easily. They stepped into a dim office bisected by a high counter. On it was a sign that almost made Susannah feel nostalgic TAKE NUMBER AND WAIT, it said. When the door was closed, Dinky once more grasped the knob. There was another brisk snap. You just locked it again, Jake said. He sounded accusing, but there was a smile on his face, and the color was coming back into his cheeks. Didnt you? Not now, please, said the whitehaired manTed. No time. Follow me, please. He flipped up a section of the counter and led them through. Behind it was an office area containing two robots that looked long dead, and three skeletons. Why the hell do we keep finding bones? Eddie asked. Like Jake he was feeling better and only thinking out loud, not really expecting an answer. He got one, however. From Ted. Do you know of the Crimson King, young man? You do, of course you do. I believe that at one time he covered this entire part of the world with poison gas. Probably for a lark. Killed almost everyone. The darkness you see is the lingering result. Hes mad, of course. Its a large part of the problem. In here. He led them through a door marked PRIVATE and into a room that had once probably belonged to a high poobah in the wonderful world of shipping and lading. Susannah saw tracks on the floor, suggesting that this place had been visited recently. Perhaps by these same three men. There was a desk beneath six inches of fluffy dust, plus two chairs and a couch. Behind the desk was a window. Once it had been covered with venetian blinds, but these had collapsed onto the floor, revealing a vista as forbidding as it was fascinating. The land beyond Thunderclap Station reminded her of the flat, deserty wastes on the far side of the River Whye, but rockier and even more forbidding. And of course it was darker. Tracks (eternally halted trains sat on some of them) radiated out like strands of a steel spiderweb. Above them, a sky of darkest slategray seemed to sag almost close enough to touch. Between the sky and the Earth the air was thick, somehow; Susannah found herself squinting to see things, although there seemed to be no actual mist or smog in the air. Dinky, the whitehaired man said. Yes, Ted. What have you left for our friend The Weasel to find? A maintenance drone, Dinky replied. Itll look like it found its way in through the Fedic door, set off the alarm, then got fried on some of the tracks at the far end of the switchingyard. Quite a few are still hot. You see dead birds around em all the time, fried to a crisp, but even a goodsized rusties too small to trip the alarm. A drone, though Im pretty sure hell buy it. The Wease aint stupid, but itll look pretty believable. Good. Thats very good. Look yonder, gunslingers. Ted pointed to a sharp upthrust of rock on the horizon. Susannah could make it out easily; in this dark countryside all horizons seemed close. She could see nothing remarkable about it, though, only folds of deeper shadow and sterile slopes of tumbled rock. Thats Can SteekTete. The Little Needle, Roland said. Excellent translation. Its where were going. Susannahs heart sank. The mountainor perhaps you called something like that a buttehad to be eight or ten miles away. At the very limit of vision, in any case. Eddie and Roland and the two younger men in Teds party couldnt carry her that far, she didnt believe. And how did they know they could trust these new fellows, anyway? On the other hand, she thought, what choice do we have? You wont need to be carried, Ted told her, but Stanley can use your help. Well join hands, like folks at a sance. Ill want you all to visualize that rock formation when we go through. And hold the name in the forefront of your mind SteekTete, the Little Needle. Whoa, whoa, Eddie said. They had approached yet another door, this one standing open on a closet. Wire hangers and one ancient red blazer hung in there. Eddie grasped Teds shoulder and swung him around. Go through what? Go through where? Because if its a door like the last one Ted looked up at Eddiehad to look up, because Eddie was tallerand Susannah saw an amazing, dismaying thing Teds eyes appeared to be shaking in their sockets. A moment later she realized this wasnt actually the case. The mans pupils were growing and then shrinking with eerie rapidity. It was as if they couldnt decide if it was light or dark in here. Its not a door were going through at all, at least not of the kinds with which you may be familiar. You have to trust me, young man. Listen. They all fell silent, and Susannah could hear the snarl of approaching motors. Thats The Weasel, Ted told them. Hell have taheen with him, at least four, maybe half a dozen. If they catch sight of us in here, Dink and Stanley are almost certainly going to die. They dont have to catch us but only catch sight of us. Were risking our lives for you. This isnt a game, and I need you to stop asking questions and follow me! We will, Roland said. And well think about the Little Needle. SteekTete, Susannah agreed. You wont get sick again, Dinky said. Promise. Thank God, Jake said. Thangodd, Oy agreed. Stanley, the third member of Teds party, continued to say nothing at all. FOUR It was just a closet, and an office closet, at thatnarrow and musty. The ancient red blazer had a brass tag on the breast pocket with the words HEAD OF SHIPPING stamped on it. Stanley led the way to the back, which was nothing but a blank wall. Coathangers jingled and jangled. Jake had to watch his step to keep from treading on Oy. Hed always been slightly prone to claustrophobia, and now he began to feel the pudgy fingers of the PanicMan caressing his neck first one side and then the other. The Rizas clanked softly together in their bag. Seven people and one billybumbler crowding into an abandoned office closet? It was nuts. He could still hear the snarl of the approaching engines. The one in charge called The Weasel. Join hands, Ted murmured. And concentrate. SteekTete, Susannah repeated, but to Jake she sounded dubious this time. Little Nee Eddie began, and then stopped. The blank wall at the end of the closet was gone. Where it had been was a small clearing with boulders on one side and a steep, scrubcrusted hillside on another. Jake was willing to bet that was SteekTete, and if it was a way out of this enclosed space, he was delighted to see it. Stanley gave a little moan of pain or effort or both. The mans eyes were closed and tears were trickling out from beneath the lids. Now, Ted said. Lead us through, Stanley. To the others he added And help him if you can! Help him, for your fathers sakes! Jake tried to hold an image of the outcrop Ted had pointed to through the office window and walked forward, holding Rolands hand ahead of him and Susannahs behind him. He felt a breath of cold air on his sweaty skin and then stepped through onto the slope of SteekTete in Thunderclap, thinking just briefly of Mr. C. S. Lewis, and the wonderful wardrobe that took you to Narnia. FIVE They did not come out in Narnia. It was cold on the slope of the butte, and Jake was soon shivering. When he looked over his shoulder he saw no sign of the portal theyd come through. The air was dim and smelled of something pungent and not particularly pleasant, like kerosene. There was a small cave folded into the flank of the slope (it was really not much more than another closet), and from it Ted brought a stack of blankets and a canteen that turned out to hold a sharp, alkalitasting water. Jake and Roland wrapped themselves in single blankets. Eddie took two and bundled himself and Susannah together. Jake, trying not to let his teeth start chattering (once they did, thered be no stopping them), envied the two of them their extra warmth. Dink had also wrapped himself in a blanket, but neither Ted nor Stanley seemed to feel the cold. Look down there, Ted invited Roland and the others. He was pointing at the spiderweb of tracks. Jake could see the rambling glass roof of the switchingyard and a greenroofed structure next to it that had to be half a mile long. Tracks led away in every direction. Thunderclap Station, he marveled. Where the Wolves put the kidnapped kids on the train and send them along the Path of the Beam to Fedic. And where they bring them back after theyve been roont. Even after all hed been through, it was hard for Jake to believe that they had been down there, six or eight miles away, less than two minutes ago. He suspected theyd all played a part in keeping the portal open, but it was the one called Stanley whod created it in the first place. Now he looked pale and tired, nearly used up. Once he staggered on his feet and Dink (a very unfortunate nickname, in Jakes humble opinion) grabbed his arm and steadied him. Stanley seemed not to notice. He was looking at Roland with awe. Not just awe, Jake thought, and not exactly fear, either. Something else. What? Approaching the station were two motorized buckas with big balloon tiresATVs. Jake assumed it was The Weasel (whoever he was) and his taheen buddies. As you may have gleaned, Ted told them, theres an alarm in the DevarToi Supervisors office. The wardens office, if you like. It goes off when anyone or anything uses the door between the Fedic staging area and yon station I believe the term you used for him, Roland said dryly, wasnt supervisor or warden but kidam. Dink laughed. Thats a good pickup on your part, dude. What does kidam mean? Jake asked, although he had a fair notion. There was a phrase folks used in the Calla headbox, heartbox, kibox. Which meant, in descending order, ones thought processes, ones emotions, and ones lower functions. Animal functions, some might say; kibox could be translated as shitbox if you were of a vulgar turn of mind. Ted shrugged. Kidam means shitforbrains. Its Dinkys nickname for sai Prentiss, the Devar Master. But you already knew that, didnt you? I guess, Jake said. Kinda. Ted looked at him long, and when Jake identified that expression, it helped him define how Stanley was looking at Roland not with fear but with fascination. Jake had a pretty good idea Ted was still thinking about how much he looked like someone named Bobby, and he was pretty sure Ted knew he had the touch. What was the source of Stanleys fascination? Or maybe he was making too much of it. Maybe it was just that Stanley had never expected to see a gunslinger in the flesh. Abruptly, Ted turned from Jake and back to Roland. Now look this way, he said. Whoa! Eddie cried. What the hell? Susannah was amused as well as amazed. What Ted was pointing out reminded her of Cecil B. DeMilles Bible epic The Ten Commandments, especially the parts where the Red Sea opened by Moses had looked suspiciously like JellO and the voice of God coming from the burning bush sounded quite a bit like Charles Laughton. Still, it was amazing. In a cheesy Hollywoodspecialeffects way, that was. What they saw was a single fat and gorgeous bolt of sunlight slanting down from a hole in the sagging clouds. It cut through the strangely dark air like a searchlight beam and lit a compound that might have been six miles from Thunderclap Station. And about six miles was really all you could say, because there was no more north or south in this world, at least not that you could count on. Now there was only the Path of the Beam. Dinky, theres a pair of binoculars in The lower cave, right? No, I brought them up the last time we were here, Ted replied with carefully maintained patience. Theyre sitting on that pile of crates just inside. Get them, please. Eddie barely noticed this byplay. He was too charmed (and amused) by that single broad ray of sun, shining down on a green and cheerful plot of land, as unlikely in this dark and sterile desert as  well, he supposed, as unlikely as Central Park must seem to tourists from the Midwest making their first trip to New York. He could see buildings that looked like college dormitoriesnice onesand others that looked like comfy old manor houses with wide stretches of green lawn before them. At the far side of the sunbeams area was what looked like a street lined with shops. The perfect little Main Street America, except for one thing in all directions it ended in dark and rocky desert. He saw four stone towers, their sides agreeably green with ivy. No, make that six. The other two were mostly concealed in stands of graceful old elms. Elms in the desert! Dink returned with a pair of binoculars and offered them to Roland, who shook his head. Dont hold it against him, Eddie said. His eyes  well, lets just say theyre something else. I wouldnt mind a peek, though. Me, either, Susannah said. Eddie handed her the binoculars. Ladies first. No, really, I Stop it, Ted almost snarled. Our time here is brief, our risk enormous. Dont waste the one or increase the other, if you please. Susannah was stung but held back a retort. Instead she took the binoculars, raised them to her eyes, and adjusted them. What she saw merely heightened her sense of looking at a small but perfect college campus, one that merged beautifully with the neighboring village. No townversusgown tensions there, I bet, she thought. I bet Elmville and Breaker U go together like peanut butter and jelly, Abbott and Costello, hand and glove. Whenever there was a Ray Bradbury short in the Saturday Evening Post, she always turned to it first, she loved Bradbury, and what she was looking at through the binoculars made her think of Greentown, Bradburys idealized Illinois village. A place where adults sat out on their porches in rocking chairs, drinking lemonade, and the kids played tag with flashlights in the lightningbugstitched dusk of summer evenings. And the nearby college campus? No drinking there, at least not to excess. No joysticks or goofballs or rock and roll, either. It would be a place where the girls kissed the boys goodnight with chaste ardor and were glad to sign back in so that the Dormitory Mom wouldnt think ill of them. A place where the sun shone all day, where Perry Como and the Andrews Sisters sang on the radio, and nobody suspected they were actually living in the ruins of a world that had moved on. No, she thought coldly. Some of them know. Thats why these three showed up to meet us. Thats the DevarToi, Roland said flatly. Not a question. Yeah, Dinky said. The good old DevarToi. He stood beside Roland and pointed at a large white building near the dormitories. See that white one? Thats Heartbreak House, where the cantoi live. Ted calls em the low men. Theyre taheenhuman hybrids. And they dont call it the DevarToi, they call it Algul Siento, which means Blue Heaven, Roland said, and Jake realized why all of the buildings except for the rock towers had blue tiled roofs. Not Narnia but Blue Heaven. Where a bunch of folks were busy bringing about the end of the world. All the worlds. SIX It looks like the pleasantest place in existence, at least since InWorld fell, Ted said. Doesnt it? Pretty nice, all right, Eddie agreed. He had at least a thousand questions, and guessed Suze and Jake probably had another thousand between them, but this wasnt the time to ask them. In any case, he kept looking at that wonderful little hundredacre oasis down there. The one sunny green spot in all of Thunderclap. The one nice place. And why not? Nothing but the best for Our Breaker Buddies. And, in spite of himself, one question did slip out. Ted, why does the Crimson King want to bring the Tower down? Do you know? Ted gave him a brief glance. Eddie thought it cool, maybe downright cold, until the man smiled. When he did, his whole face lit up. Also, his eyes had quit doing that creepy inandout thing, which was a big improvement. Hes mad, Ted told him. Nuttier than a fruitcake. Riding the fabled rubber bicycle. Didnt I tell you that? And then, before Eddie could reply Yes, its quite nice. Whether you call it DevarToi, the Big Prison, or Algul Siento, it looks a treat. It is a treat. Very classy accommos, Dinky agreed. Even Stanley was looking down at the sunlit community with an expression of faint longing. The food is the best, Ted went on, and the double feature at the Gem Theater changes twice a week. If you dont want to go to the movies, you can bring the movies home on DVDs. What are those? Eddie asked, then shook his head. Never mind. Go on. Ted shrugged, as if to say What else do you need? Absolutely astral sex, for one thing, Dinky said. Its sim, but its still incredible  I made it with Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, and Nicole Kidman all in one week. He said this with a certain uneasy pride. I could have had them all at the same time if Id wanted to. The only way you can tell theyre not real is to breathe directly on them, from close up. When you do, the part you blow on  kinda disappears. Its unsettling. Booze? Dope? Eddie asked. Booze in limited quantities, Ted replied. If youre into oenology, for instance, youll experience fresh wonders at every meal. Whats oenology? Jake asked. The science of winesnobbery, sugarbun, Susannah said. If you come to Blue Heaven addicted to something, Dinky said, they get you off it. Kindly. The one or two guys who proved especially tough nuts in that area  His eyes met Teds briefly. Ted shrugged and nodded. Those dudes disappeared. In truth, the low men dont need any more Breakers, Ted said. Theyve got enough to finish the job right now. How many? Roland asked. About three hundred, Dinky said. Three hundred and seven, to be exact, Ted said. Were quartered in five dorms, although that word conjures the wrong image. We have our own suites, and as muchor as little contact with our fellow Breakers as we wish. And you know what youre doing? Susannah asked. Yes. Although most dont spend a lot of time thinking about it. I dont understand why they dont mutiny. Whats your when, maam? Dinky asked her. My ? Then she understood. 1964. He sighed and shook his head. So you dont know about Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple. Its easier to explain if you know about that. Almost a thousand people committed suicide at this religious compound a Jesusguy from San Francisco set up in Guyana. They drank poisoned KoolAid out of a tub while he watched them from the porch of his house and used a bullhorn to tell them stories about his mother. Susannah was staring at him with horrified disbelief, Ted with poorly disguised impatience. Yet he must have thought something about this was important, because he held silence. Almost a thousand, Dinky reiterated. Because they were confused and lonely and they thought Jim Jones was their friend. Becausedig itthey had nothing to go back to. And its like that here. If the Breakers united, they could make a mental hammer thatd knock Prentiss and The Weasel and the taheen and the cantoi all the way into the next galaxy. Instead theres no one but me, Stanley, and everyones favorite superbreaker, the totally eventual Mr. Theodore Brautigan of Milford, Connecticut. Harvard Class of 20, Drama Society, Debate Club, editor of The Crimson, andof course!Phi Beta Crapper. Can we trust you three? Roland asked. The question sounded deceptively idle, little more than a timepasser. You have to, Ted said. Youve no one else. Neither do we. If we were on their side, Dinky said, dont you think wed have something better to wear on our feet than moccasins made out of rubber fuckin tires? In Blue Heaven you get everything except for a few basics. Stuff you wouldnt ordinarily think of as indispensable, but stuff that  well, its harder to take a powder when youve got nothing to wear but your Algul Siento slippers, lets put it that way. I still cant believe it, Jake said. All those people working to break the Beams, I mean. No offense, but Dinky turned on him with his fists clenched and a tight, furious smile on his face. Oy immediately stepped in front of Jake, growling low and showing his teeth. Dinky either didnt notice or paid no attention. Yeah? Well guess what, kiddo? I take offense. I take offense like a motherfucker. What do you know about what its like to spend your whole life on the outside, to be the butt of the joke every time, to always be Carrie at the fuckin prom? Who? Eddie asked, confused, but Dinky was on a roll and paid no attention. There are guys down there who cant walk or talk. One chick with no arms. Several with hydrocephalus, which means they have heads out to fuckin New Jersey. He held his hands two feet beyond his head on either side, a gesture they all took for exaggeration. Later they would discover it was not. Poor old Stanley here, hes one of the ones who cant talk. Roland glanced at Stanley, with his pallid, stubbly face and his masses of curly dark hair. And the gunslinger almost smiled. I think he can talk, he said, and then Doee bear your fathers name, Stanley? I believe thee does. Stanley lowered his head, and color mounted in his cheeks, yet he was smiling. At the same time he began to cry again. Just what in the hells going on here? Eddie wondered. Ted clearly wondered, too. Sai Deschain, I wonder if I could ask No, no, cry pardon, Roland said. Your time is short just now, so you said and we all feel it. Do the Breakers know how theyre being fed? What theyre being fed, to increase their powers? Ted abruptly sat on a rock and looked down at the shining steel cobweb of rails. It has to do with the kiddies they bring through the Station, doesnt it? Yes. They dont know and I dont know, Ted said in that same heavy voice. Not really. Were fed dozens of pills a day. They come morning, noon, and night. Some are vitamins. Some are no doubt intended to keep us docile. Ive had some luck purging those from my system, and Dinkys, and Stanleys. Only  for such a purging to work, gunslinger, you must want it to work. Do you understand? Roland nodded. Ive thought for a long time that they must also be giving us some kind of I dont know  brainbooster  but with so many pills, its impossible to tell which one it might be. Which one it is that makes us cannibals, or vampires, or both. He paused, looking down at the improbable sunray. He extended his hands on both sides. Dinky took one, Stanley the other. Watch this, Dinky said. This is good. Ted closed his eyes. So did the other two. For a moment there was nothing to see but three men looking out over the dark desert toward the Cecil B. DeMille sunbeam  and they were looking, Roland knew. Even with their eyes shut. The sunbeam winked out. For a space of perhaps a dozen seconds the DevarToi was as dark as the desert, and Thunderclap Station, and the slopes of SteekTete. Then that absurd golden glow came back on. Dinky uttered a harsh (but not dissatisfied) sigh and stepped back, disengaging from Ted. A moment later, Ted let go of Stanley and turned to Roland. You did that? the gunslinger asked. The three of us together, Ted said. Mostly its Stanley. Hes an extremely powerful sender. One of the few things that terrify Prentiss and the low men and the taheen is when they lose their artificial sunlight. It happens more and more often, you know, and not always because were meddling with the machinery. The machinery is just  He shrugged. Its running down. Everything is, Eddie said. Ted turned to him, unsmiling. But not fast enough, Mr. Dean. This fiddling with the remaining two Beams must stop, and very soon, or it will make no difference. Dinky, Stanley, and I will help you if we can, even if it means killing the rest of them. Sure, Dinky said with a hollow smile. If the Rev. Jim Jones could do it, why not us? Ted gave him a disapproving glance, then looked back at Rolands katet. Perhaps it wont come to that. But if it does  He stood up suddenly and seized Rolands arm. Are we cannibals? he asked in a harsh, almost strident voice. Have we been eating the children the Greencloaks bring from the Borderlands? Roland was silent. Ted turned to Eddie. I want to know. Eddie made no reply. Madamsai? Ted asked, looking at the woman who sat astride Eddies hip. Were prepared to help you. Will you not help me by telling me what I ask? Would knowing change anything? Susannah asked. Ted looked at her for a moment longer, then turned to Jake. You really could be my young friends twin, he said. Do you know that, son? No, but it doesnt surprise me, Jake said. Its the way things work over here, somehow. Everything um fits. Will you tell me what I want to know? Bobby would. So you can eat yourself alive? Jake thought. Eat yourself instead of them? He shook his head. Im not Bobby, he said. No matter how much I might look like him. Ted sighed and nodded. You stick together, and why would that surprise me? Youre katet, after all. We gotta go, Dink told Ted.