Weve already been here too long. It isnt just a question of getting back for roomcheck; me n Stanleyve got to trig their fucking telemetery so when Prentiss and The Wease check it theyll say Teddy B was there all the time. So was Dinky Earnshaw and Stanley Ruiz, no problem with those boys. Yes, Ted agreed. I suppose youre right. Five more minutes? Dinky nodded reluctantly. The sound of a siren, made faint by distance, came on the wind, and the young mans teeth showed in a smile of genuine amusement. They get so upset when the sun goes in, he said. When they have to face up to whats really around them, which is some fuckedup version of nuclear winter. Ted put his hands in his pockets for a moment, looking down at his feet, then up at Roland. Its time that this  this grotesque comedy came to an end. We three will be back tomorrow, if all goes well. Meanwhile, theres a bigger cave about forty yards down the slope, and on the side away from Thunderclap Station and Algul Siento. Theres food and sleeping bags and a stove that runs on propane gas. Theres a map, very crude, of the Algul. Ive also left you a tape recorder and a number of tapes. They probably dont explain everything youd like to know, but theyll fill in many of the blank spots. For now, just realize that Blue Heaven isnt as nice as it looks. The ivy towers are watchtowers. There are three runs of fence around the whole place. If youre trying to get out from the inside, the first run you strike gives you a sting Like barbwire, Dink said. The second one packs enough of a wallop to knock you out, Ted went on. And the third I think we get the picture, Susannah said. What about the Children of Roderick? Roland asked. They have something to do with the Devar, for we met one on our way here who said so. Susannah looked at Eddie with her eyebrows raised. Eddie gave her a tellyoulater look in return. It was a simple and perfect bit of wordless communication, the sort people who love each other take for granted. Those wanks, Dinky said, but not without sympathy. Theyre  what do they call em in the old movies? Trusties, I guess. Theyve got a little village about two miles beyond the station in that direction. He pointed. They do groundskeeping work at the Algul, and there might be three or four skilled enough to do roofwork replacing shingles and such. Whatever contaminants there are in the air here, those poor shmucks are especially vulnerable to em. Only on them it comes out looking like radiation sickness instead of just pimples and eczema. Tell me about it, Eddie said, remembering poor old Chevin of Chayven his soreeaten face and urinesoaked robe. Theyre wandering folken, Ted put in. Bedouins. I think they follow the railroad tracks, for the most part. There are catacombs under the station and Algul Siento. The Rods know their way around them. Theres tons of food down there, and twice a week theyll bring it into the Devar on sledges. Mostly now thats what we eat. Its still good, but  He shrugged. Things are falling down fast, Dinky said in a tone of uncharacteristic gloom. But like the man said, the wines great. If I asked you to bring one of the Children of Roderick with you tomorrow, Roland said, could you do that? Ted and Dinky exchanged a startled glance. Then both of them looked at Stanley. Stanley nodded, shrugged, and spread his hands before him, palms down Why, gunslinger? Roland stood for a moment lost in thought. Then he turned to Ted. Bring one with half a brain left in his head, Roland instructed. Tell him Dan sur, dan tur, dan Roland, dan Gilead. Tell it back. Without hesitation, Ted repeated it. Roland nodded. If he still hesitates, tell him Chevin of Chayven says he must come. They speak a little plain, do they not? Sure, Dinky said. But mister  you couldnt let a Rod come up here and see you and then turn him free again. Their mouths are hung in the middle and run on both ends. Bring one, Roland said, and well see what we see. I have what my kamai Eddie calls a hunch. Do you ken hunchthink? Ted and Dinky nodded. If it works out, fine. If not  be assured that the fellow you bring will never tell what he saw here. Youd kill him if your hunch doesnt pan out? Ted asked. Roland nodded. Ted gave a bitter laugh. Of course you would. It reminds me of the part in Huckleberry Finn when Huck sees a steamboat blow up. He runs to Miss Watson and the Widow Douglas with the news, and when one of them asks if anyone was killed, Huck says with perfect aplomb, No, maam, only a nigger. In this case we can say Only a Rod. Gunslingerman had a hunch, but it didnt pan out. Roland gave him a cold smile, one that was unnaturally full of teeth. Eddie had seen it before and was glad it wasnt aimed at him. He said, I thought you knew what the stakes were, sai Ted. Did I misunderstand? Ted met his gaze for a moment, then looked down at the ground. His mouth was working. During this, Dinky appeared to be engaged in silent palaver with Stanley. Now he said If you want a Rod, well get you one. Its not much of a problem. The problem may be getting here at all. If we dont Roland waited patiently for the young man to finish. When he didnt, the gunslinger asked If you dont, what would you have us do? Ted shrugged. The gesture was such a perfect imitation of Dinkys that it was funny. The best you can, he said. There are also weapons in the lower cave. A dozen of the electric fireballs they call sneetches. A number of machineguns, what Ive heard some of the low men call speedshooters. Theyre U.S. Army AR15s. Other things were not sure of. One of thems some kind of scifi raygun like in a movie, Dinky said. I think its supposed to disintegrate things, but either Im too dumb to turn it on or the batterys dead. He turned anxiously to the whitehaired man. Five minutes are up, and more. We have to put an egg in our shoe and beat it, Tedster. Lets chug. Yes. Well, well be back tomorrow. Perhaps by then youll have a plan. You dont? Eddie asked, surprised. My plan was to run, young man. It seemed like a terribly bright idea at the time. I ran all the way to the spring of 1960. They caught me and brought me back, with a little help from my young friend Bobbys mother. And now, we really must One more minute, do it please ya, Roland said, and stepped toward Stanley. Stanley looked down at his feet, but his beardscruffy cheeks once more flooded with color. And Hes shivering, Susannah thought. Like an animal in the woods, faced with its first human being. Stanley looked perhaps thirtyfive, but he could have been older; his face had the carefree smoothness Susannah associated with certain mental defects. Ted and Dinky both had pimples, but Stanley had none. Roland put his hands on the fellows forearms and looked earnestly at him. At first the gunslingers eyes met nothing but the masses of dark, curly hair on Stanleys bowed head. Dinky started to speak. Ted silenced him with a gesture. Willee not look me in the face? Roland asked. He spoke with a gentleness Susannah had rarely heard in his voice. Willee not, before you go, Stanley, son of Stanley? Sheemie that was? Susannah felt her mouth drop open. Beside her, Eddie grunted like a man who has been punched. She thought, But Rolands old so old! Which means that if this is the tavernboy he knew in Mejis  the one with the donkey and the pink sombrera hat  then he must also be  The man raised his face slowly. Tears were streaming from his eyes. Good old Will Dearborn, he said. His voice was hoarse, and jigged up and down through the registers as a voice will do when it has lain long unused. Im so sorry, sai. Were you to pull your gun and shoot me, Id understand. So I would. Why doee say so, Sheemie? Roland asked in that same gentle voice. Stanleys tears flowed faster. You saved my life. Arthur and Richard, too, but mostly you, good old Will Dearborn who was really Roland of Gilead. And I let her die! Her that you loved! And I loved her, too! The mans face twisted in agony and he tried to pull away from Roland. Yet Roland held him. None of that was your fault, Sheemie. I should have died for her! he cried. I should have died in her place! Im stupid! Foolish as they said! He slapped himself across the face, first one way and then the other, leaving red weals. Before he could do it again, Roland seized the hand and forced it down to his side again. Twas Rhea did the harm, Roland said. Stanleywho had been Sheemie an eon agolooked into Rolands face, searching his eyes. Aye, Roland said, nodding. Twas the Cos  and me, as well. I should have stayed with her. If anyone was blameless in the business, SheemieStanleyit was you. Do you say so, gunslinger? Trueytrue? Roland nodded. Well palaver all you would about this, if theres time, and about those old days, but not now. No time now. You have to go with your friends, and I must stay with mine. Sheemie looked at him a moment longer, and yes, Susannah could now see the boy who had bustled about a longago tavern called the Travellers Rest, picking up empty beer schooners and dropping them into the washbarrel which stood beneath the twoheaded elks head that was known as The Romp, avoiding the occasional shove from Coral Thorin or the even more illnatured kicks that were apt to come from an aging whore called Pettie the Trotter. She could see the boy who had almost been killed for spilling liquor on the boots of a hardcase named Roy Depape. It had been Cuthbert who had saved Sheemie from death that night  but it had been Roland, known to the townsfolk as Will Dearborn, who had saved them all. Sheemie put his arms around Rolands neck and hugged him tight. Roland smiled and stroked his curly hair with his disfigured right hand. A loud, honking sob escaped Sheemies throat. Susannah could see the tears in the corners of the gunslingers eyes. Aye, Roland said, speaking in a voice almost too low to hear. I always knew you were special; Bert and Alain did, too. And here we find each other, wellmet further down the path. Were wellmet, Sheemie son of Stanley. So we are. So we are. CHAPTER VI THE MASTER OF BLUE HEAVEN  ONE Pimli Prentiss, the Algul Siento Master, was in the bathroom when Finli (known in some quarters as The Weasel) knocked at the door. Prentiss was examining his complexion by the unforgiving light of the fluorescent bar over the washbasin. In the magnifying mirror, his skin looked like a grayish, craterpocked plain, not much different from the surface of the wastelands stretching in every direction around the Algul. The sore on which he was currently concentrating looked like an erupting volcano. Who be for me? Prentiss bawled, although he had a pretty good idea. Finli o Tego! Walk in, Finli! Never taking his eyes from the mirror. His fingers, closing in on the sides of the infected pimple, looked huge. They applied pressure. Finli crossed Prentisss office and stood in the bathroom door. He had to bend slightly in order to look in. He stood over seven feet, very tall even for a taheen. Back from the station like I was never gone, said Finli. Like most of the taheen, his speaking voice reeled wildly back and forth between a yelp and a growl. To Pimli, they all sounded like the hybrids from H. G. Wellss The Island of Dr. Moreau, and he kept expecting them to break into a chorus of Are we not men? Finli had picked this out of his mind once and asked about it. Prentiss had replied with complete honesty, knowing that in a society where lowgrade telepathy was the rule, honesty was ever the best policy. The only policy, when dealing with the taheen. Besides, he liked Finli o Tego. Back from the station, good, Pimli said. And what did you find? A maintenance drone. Looks like it went rogue on the Arc 16 side and Wait, Prentiss said. If you will, if you will, thanks. Finli waited. Prentiss leaned even closer toward the mirror, face frowning in concentration. The Master of Blue Heaven was tall himself, about sixtwo, and possessed of an enormous sloping belly supported by long legs with slab thighs. He was balding and had the turnip nose of a veteran drinker. He looked perhaps fifty. He felt like about fifty (younger, when he hadnt spent the previous night tossing them back with Finli and several of the cantoi). He had been fifty when he came here, a good many years ago; at least twentyfive, and that might be a big underestimation. Time was goofy on this side, just like direction, and you were apt to lose both quickly. Some folken lost their minds, as well. And if they ever lost the sun machine for good The top of the pimple bulged trembled  burst. Ah! A glut of bloody pus leaped from the site of the infection, splattered onto the mirror, and began to drool down its slightly concave surface. Pimli Prentiss wiped it off with the tip of a finger, turned to flick it into the jakes, then offered it to Finli instead. The taheen shook his head, then made the sort of exasperated noise any veteran dieter would have recognized, and guided the Masters finger into his mouth. He sucked the pus off and then released the finger with an audible pop. Shouldnt do it, cant resist, Finli said. Didnt you tell me that folken on the other side decided eating rare beef was bad for them? Yar, Pimli said, wiping the pimple (which was still oozing) with a Kleenex. He had been here a long time, and there would never be any going back, for all sorts of reasons, but until recently he had been up on current events; until the previous could you call it a year?hed gotten The New York Times on a fairly regular basis. He bore a great affection for the Times, loved doing the daily crossword puzzle. It was a little touch of home. But they go on eating it, just the same. Yar, I suppose many do. He opened the medicine cabinet and brought out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from Rexall. Its your fault for putting it in front of me, Finli said. Not that such stuff is bad for us, ordinarily; its a natural sweet, like honey or berries. The problems Thunderclap. And, as if his boss hadnt gotten the point, Finli added Too much of what comes out of it dont run the true thread, no matter how sweet it might taste. Poison, do ya. Prentiss dampened a cotton ball with the hydrogen peroxide and swabbed out the wound in his cheek. He knew exactly what Finli was talking about, how could he not? Before coming here and assuming the Masters mantle, he hadnt seen a blemish on his skin in well over thirty years. Now he had pimples on his cheeks and brow, acne in the hollows of his temples, nasty nests of blackheads around his nose, and a cyst on his neck that would soon have to be removed by Gangli, the compound doctor. (Prentiss thought Gangli was a terrible name for a physician; it reminded him both of ganglion and gangrene.) The taheen and the cantoi were less susceptible to dermatological problems, but their flesh often broke open spontaneously, they suffered from nosebleeds, and even minor woundsthe scrape of a rock or a thorncould lead to infection and death if not promptly seen to. Antibiotics had worked a treat on such infections to begin with; not so well anymore. Same with such pharmaceutical marvels as Accutane. It was the environment, of course; death baking out of the very rocks and earth that surrounded them. If you wanted to see things at their worst you only had to look at the Rods, who were no better than slow mutants these days. Of course, they wandered far to the  was it still the southeast? They wandered far in the direction where a faint red glow could be seen at night, in any case, and everyone said things were much worse in that direction. Pimli didnt know for sure if that was true, but he suspected it was. They didnt call the lands beyond Fedic the Discordia because they were vacation spots. Want more? he asked Finli. Ive got a couple on my forehead thatre ripe. Nay, I want to make my report, doublecheck the videotapes and telemetry, go on over to The Study for a quick peek, and then sign out. After that I want a hot bath and about three hours with a good book. Im reading The Collector. And you like it, Prentiss said, fascinated. Very much, say thankya. It reminds me of our situation here. Except I like to think our goals are a little nobler and our motivations a little higher than sexual attraction. Noble? So you call it? Finli shrugged and made no reply. Close discussion of what was going on here in Blue Heaven was generally avoided by unspoken consent. Prentiss led Finli into his own librarystudy, which overlooked the part of Blue Heaven they called the Mall. Finli ducked beneath the light fixture with the unconscious grace of long practice. Prentiss had once told him (after a few shots of graf) that he would have made a hell of a center in the NBA. The first alltaheen team, hed said. Theyd call you The Freaks, but so what? These basketball players, they get the best of everything? Finli had inquired. He had a sleek weasels head and large black eyes. No more expressive than dolls eyes, in Pimlis view. He wore a lot of gold chainsthey had become fashionable among Blue Heaven personnel, and a brisk trading market in such things had grown up over the last few years. Also, hed had his tail docked. Probably a mistake, hed told Prentiss one night when theyd both been drunk. Painful beyond belief and bound to send him to the Hell of Darkness when his life was over, unless  Unless there was nothing. This was an idea Pimli denied with all his mind and heart, but hed be a liar if he didnt admit (if only to himself) that the idea sometimes haunted him in the watches of the night. For such thoughts there were sleeping pills. And God, of course. His faith that all things served the will of God, even the Tower itself. In any case, Pimli had confirmed that yes, basketball players American basketball players, at least  got the best of everything, including more pussy than a fackin toilet seat. This remark had caused Finli to laugh until reddish tears had seeped from the corners of his strangely inexpressive eyes. And the best thing, Pimli had continued, is this youd be able to play near forever, by NBA standards. For instance, do ya hear, the most highly regarded player in my old country (although I never saw him play; he came after my time) was a fellow named Michael Jordan, and If he were taheen, what would he be? Finli had interrupted. This was a game they often played, especially when a few drinks over the line. A weasel, actually, and a damned handsome one, Pimli had said, and in a tone of surprise that had struck Finli as comical. Once more hed roared until tears came out of his eyes. But, Pimli had continued, his career was over in hardly more than fifteen years, and that includes a retirement and a comeback or two. How many years could you play a game where youd have to do no more than run back and forth the length of a campa court for an hour or so, Fin? Finli of Tego, who was then over three hundred years old, had shrugged and flicked his hand at the horizon. Delah. Years beyond counting. And how long had Blue HeavenDevarToi to the newer inmates, Algul Siento to the taheen and the Rodshow long had this prison been here? Also delah. But if Finli was correct (and Pimlis heart said that Finli almost certainly was), then delah was almost over. And what could he, once Paul Prentiss of Rahway, New Jersey, and now Pimli Prentiss of the Algul Siento, do about it? His job, that was what. His fackin job. TWO So, Pimli said, sitting down in one of the two wing chairs by the window, you found a maintenance drone. Where? Close to where Track 97 leaves the switchingyard, said Finli. That tracks still hothas what you call a third rail and so that explains that. Then, after wed left, you call and say theres been a second alarm. Yes. And you found? Nothing, Finli said. That time, nothing. Probably a malfunction, maybe even caused by the first alarm. He shrugged, a gesture that conveyed what they both knew it was all going to hell. And the closer to the end they moved, the faster it went. You and your fellows had a good look, though? Of course. No intruders. But both of them were thinking in terms of intruders who were human, taheen, cantoi, or mechanical. No one in Finlis searchparty had thought to look up, and likely would not have spotted Mordred even if they had a spider now as big as a mediumsized dog, crouched in the deep shadow under the main stations eave, held in place by a little hammock of webbing. Youre going to check the telemetry again because of the second alarm? Partly, Finli said. Mostly because things feel hinky to me. This was a word hed picked up from one of the many otherside crime novels he readthey fascinated himand he used it at every opportunity. Hinky how? Finli only shook his head. He couldnt say. But telemetry doesnt lie. Or so I was taught. You question it? Aware he was on thin ice againthat they both were Finli hesitated, and then decided what the hell. These are the endtimes, boss. I question damn near everything. Does that include your duty, Finli o Tego? Finli shook his head with no hesitation. No, it didnt include his duty. It was the same with the rest of them, including the former Paul Prentiss of Rahway. Pimli remembered some old soldiermaybe Dugout Doug MacArthursaying, When my eyes close in death, gentlemen, my final thought will be of the corps. And the corps. And the corps. Pimlis own final thought would probably be of Algul Siento. Because what else was there now? In the words of another great AmericanMartha Reeves of Martha and the Vandellasthey had nowhere to run, baby, nowhere to hide. Things were out of control, running downhill with no brakes, and there was nothing left to do but enjoy the ride. Would you mind a little company as you go your rounds? Pimli asked. Why not? The Weasel replied. He smiled, revealing a mouthful of needlesharp teeth. And sang, in his odd and wavering voice Dream with me  Im on my way to the moon of my faaathers  Give me one minute, Pimli said, and got up. Prayers? Finli asked. Pimli stopped in the doorway. Yes, he said. Since you ask. Any comments, Finli o Tego? Just one, perhaps. The smiling thing with the human body and the sleek brown weasels head continued to smile. If prayers so exalted, why do you kneel in the same room where you sit to shit? Because the Bible suggests that when one is in company, one should do it in ones closet. Further comments? Nay, nay. Finli waved a negligent hand. Do thy best and thy worst, as the Manni say. THREE In the bathroom, Paul o Rahway closed the lid on the toilet, knelt on the tiles, and folded his hands. If prayers so exalted, why do you kneel in the same room where you sit to shit? Maybe I should have said because it keeps me humble, he thought. Because it keeps me rightsized. Its dirt from which we arose and its dirt to which we return, and if theres a room where its hard to forget that, its this one. God, he said, grant me strength when I am weak, answers when I am confused, courage when I am afraid. Help me to hurt no one who doesnt deserve it, and even then not unless they leave me no other choice. Lord  And while hes on his knees before the closed toilet seat, this man who will shortly be asking his God to forgive him for working to end creation (and with absolutely no sense of irony), we might as well look at him a bit more closely. We wont take long, for Pimli Prentiss isnt central to our tale of Roland and his katet. Still, hes a fascinating man, full of folds and contradictions and dead ends. Hes an alcoholic who believes deeply in a personal God, a man of compassion who is now on the very verge of toppling the Tower and sending the trillions of worlds that spin on its axis flying into the darkness in a trillion different directions. He would quickly put Dinky Earnshaw and Stanley Ruiz to death if he knew what theyd been up to  and he spends most of every Mothers Day in tears, for he loved his own Ma dearly and misses her bitterly. When it comes to the Apocalypse, heres the perfect guy for the job, one who knows how to get kneebound and can speak to the Lord God of Hosts like an old friend. And heres an irony Paul Prentiss could be right out of the ads that proclaim I got my job through The New York Times ! In 1970, laid off from the prison then known as Attica (he and Nelson Rockefeller missed the megariot, at least), he spied an ad in the Times with this headline WANTED EXPERIENCED CORRECTIONS OFFICER FOR HIGHLY RESPONSIBLE POSITION IN PRIVATE INSTITUTION High Pay! Top Benefits! Must Be Willing to Travel! The high pay had turned out to be what his beloved Ma would have called a pureD, highcorn lie, because there was no pay at all, not in the sense an Americaside corrections officer would have understood, but the benefits  yes, the bennies were exceptional. To begin with hed wallowed in sex as he now wallowed in food and booze, but that wasnt the point. The point, in sai Prentisss view, was this what did you want out of life? If it was to do no more than watch the zeros increase in your bank account, than clearly Algul Siento was no place for you  which would be a terrible thing, because once you had signed on, there was no turning back; it was all the corps. And the corps. And every now and then, when an example needed to be made, a corpse or two. Which was a hundred per cent okeyfine with Master Prentiss, who had gone through the solemn taheen namechanging ceremony some twelve years before and had never regretted it. Paul Prentiss had become Pimli Prentiss. It was at that point he had turned his heart as well as his mind away from what he now only called Americaside. And not because hed had the best baked Alaska and the best champagne of his life here. Not because hed had sim sex with hundreds of beautiful women, either. It was because this was his job, and he intended to finish it. Because hed come to believe that their work at the DevarToi was Gods as well as the Crimson Kings. And behind the idea of God was something even more powerful the image of a billion universes tucked into an egg which he, the former Paul Prentiss of Rahway, once a fortythousanddollarayear man with a stomach ulcer and a bad medical benefits program okayed by a corrupt union, now held in the palm of his hand. He understood that he was also in that egg, and that he would cease to exist as flesh when he broke it, but surely if there was heaven and a God in it, then both superseded the power of the Tower. It was to that heaven he would go, and before that throne he would kneel to ask forgiveness for his sins. And he would be welcomed in with a hearty Well done, thou good and faithful servant. His Ma would be there, and she would hug him, and they would enter the fellowship of Jesus together. That day would come, Pimli was quite sure, and probably before Reap Moon rolled around again. Not that he considered himself a religious nut. Not at all. These thoughts of God and heaven he kept strictly to himself. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was just a joe doing a job, one he intended to do well to the very end. Certainly he saw himself as no villain, but no truly dangerous man ever has. Think of Ulysses S. Grant, that Civil War general whod said he intended to fight it out on this line if it took all summer. In the Algul Siento, summer was almost over. FOUR The Masters home was a tidy Cape Cod at one end of the Mall. It was called Shapleigh House (Pimli had no idea why), and so of course the Breakers called it Shit House. At the other end of the Mall was a much larger dwellinga gracefully rambling Queen Anne called (for equally obscure reasons) Damli House. It would have looked at home on Fraternity Row at Clemson or Ole Miss. The Breakers called this one Heartbreak House, or sometimes Heartbreak Hotel. Fine. It was where the taheen and a sizable contingent of cantoi lived and worked. As for the Breakers, let them have their little jokes, and by all means let them believe that the staff didnt know. Pimli Prentiss and Finli o Tego strolled up the Mall in companionable silence  except, that was, when they passed offduty Breakers, either alone or in company. Pimli greeted each of them with unfailing courtesy. The greetings they returned varied from the completely cheerful to sullen grunts. Yet each made some sort of response, and Pimli counted this a victory. He cared about them. Whether they liked it or notmany didnt he cared about them. They were certainly easier to deal with than the murderers, rapists, and armed robbers of Attica. Some were reading old newspapers or magazines. A foursome was throwing horseshoes. Another foursome was on the putting green. Tanya Leeds and Joey Rastosovich were playing chess under a graceful old elm, the sunlight making dapples on their faces. They greeted him with real pleasure, and why not? Tanya Leeds was now actually Tanya Rastosovich, for Pimli had married them a month ago, just like the captain of a ship. And he supposed that in a way, that was what this was the good ship Algul Siento, a cruise vessel that sailed the dark seas of Thunderclap in her own sunny spotlight. The sun went out from time to time, say true, but todays outage had been minimal, only fortythree seconds. Hows it going, Tanya? Joseph? Always Joseph and never Joey, at least not to his face; he didnt like it. They said it was going fine and gave him those dazed, fuckstruck smiles of which only newlyweds are capable. Finli said nothing to the Rastosoviches, but near the Damli House end of the Mall, he stopped before a young man sitting on a faux marble bench beneath a tree, reading a book. Sai Earnshaw? the taheen asked. Dinky looked up, eyebrows raised in polite enquiry. His face, studded with a bad case of acne, bore the same polite noexpression. I see youre reading The Magus, Finli said, almost shyly. I myself am reading The Collector. Quite a coincidence! If you say so, Dinky replied. His expression didnt change. I wonder what you think of Fowles? Im quite busy right now, but perhaps later we could discuss him. Still wearing that politely expressionless expression, Dinky Earnshaw said, Perhaps later you could take your copy of The Collectorhardcover, I hopeand stick it up your furry ass. Sideways. Finlis hopeful smile disappeared. He gave a small but perfectly correct bow. Im sorry you feel that way, sai. The fuck outta here, Dinky said, and opened his book again. He raised it pointedly before his face. Pimli and Finli o Tego walked on. There was a period of silence during which the Master of Algul Siento tried out different approaches to Finli, wanting to know how badly hed been hurt by the young mans comment. The taheen was proud of his ability to read and appreciate hume literature, that much Pimli knew. Then Finli saved him the trouble by putting both of his longfingered handshis ass wasnt actually furry, but his fingers werebetween his legs. Just checking to make sure my nuts are still there, he said, and Pimli thought the good humor he heard in the Chief of Securitys voice was real, not forced. Im sorry about that, Pimli said. If theres anyone in Blue Heaven who has an authentic case of postadolescent angst, its sai Earnshaw. Youre tearing me apart! Finli moaned, and when the Master gave him a startled look, Finli grinned, showing those rows of tiny sharp teeth. Its a famous line from a film called Rebel Without a Cause, he said. Dinky Earnshaw makes me think of James Dean. He paused to consider. Without the haunting good looks, of course. An interesting case, Prentiss said. He was recruited for an assassination program run by a Positronics subsidiary. He killed his control and ran. We caught him, of course. Hes never been any real troublenot for usbut hes got that painintheass attitude. But you feel hes not a problem. Pimli gave him a sideways glance. Is there something you feel I should know about him? No, no. Ive never seen you so jumpy as youve been over the last few weeks. Hell, call a spade a spadeso paranoid.


My grandfather had a proverb, Pimli said. You dont worry about dropping the eggs until youre almost home. Were almost home now. And it was true. Seventeen days ago, not long before the last batch of Wolves had come galloping through the door from the Arc 16 Staging Area, their equipment in the basement of Damli House had picked up the first appreciable bend in the BearTurtle Beam. Since then the Beam of Eagle and Lion had snapped. Soon the Breakers would no longer be needed; soon the disintegration of the secondtolast Beam would happen with or without their help. It was like a precariously balanced object that had now picked up a sway. Soon it would go too far beyond its point of perfect balance, and then it would fall. Or, in the case of the Beam, it would break. Wink out of existence. It was the Tower that would fall. The last Beam, that of Wolf and Elephant, might hold for another week or another month, but not much longer. Thinking of that should have pleased Pimli, but it didnt. Mostly because his thoughts had returned to the Greencloaks. Sixty or so had gone through Callabound last time, the usual deployment, and they should have been back in the usual seventytwo hours with the usual catch of Calla children. Instead  nothing. He asked Finli what he thought about that. Finli stopped. He looked grave. I think it may have been a virus, he said. Cry pardon? A computer virus. Weve seen it happen with a good deal of our computer equipment in Damli, and you want to remember that, no matter how fearsome the Greencloaks may look to a bunch of ricefarmers, computers on legs is all they really are. He paused. Or the Callafolken may have found a way to kill them. Would it surprise me to find that theyd gotten up on their hind legs to fight? A little, but not a lot. Especially if someone with guts stepped forward to lead them. Someone like a gunslinger, mayhap? Finli gave him a look that stopped just short of patronizing. Ted Brautigan and Stanley Ruiz rode up the sidewalk on tenspeed bikes, and when the Master and the Security Head raised hands to them, both raised their hands in return. Brautigan didnt smile but Ruiz did, the loose happy smile of a true mental defective. He was all eyeboogers, stubbly cheeks, and spitshiny lips, but a powerful bugger just the same, before God he was, and such a man could do worse than chum around with Brautigan, who had changed completely since being hauled back from his little vacation in Connecticut. Pimli was amused by the identical tweed caps the two men were wearingtheir bikes were also identicalbut not by Finlis look. Quit it, Pimli said. Quit what, sai? Finli asked. Looking at me as if I were a little kid who just lost the top off his ice cream cone and doesnt have the wit to realize it. But Finli didnt back down. He rarely did, which was one of the things Pimli liked about him. If you dont want folk to look at you like a child, then you mustnt act like one. Thereve been rumors of gunslingers coming out of MidWorld to save the day for a thousand years and more. And never a single authenticated sighting. Personally, Id be more apt to expect a visit from your Man Jesus. The Rods say Finli winced as if this actually hurt his head. Dont start with what the Rods say. Surely you respect my intelligenceand your own  more than that. Their brains have rotted even faster than their skins. As for the Wolves, let me advance a radical concept it doesnt matter where they are or whats happened to them. Weve got enough booster to finish the job, and thats all I care about. The Security Head stood for a moment at the steps that led up to the Damli House porch. He was looking after the two men on the identical bikes and frowning thoughtfully. Brautigans been a lot of trouble. Hasnt he just! Pimli laughed ruefully. But his troublesome days are over. Hes been told that his special friends from Connecticuta boy named Robert Garfield and a girl named Carol Gerberwill die if he makes any more trouble. Also hes come to realize that while a number of his fellow Breakers regard him as a mentor, and some, such as the softheaded boy hes with, revere him, no one is interested in his  philosophical ideas, shall we say. Not any longer, if they ever were. And I had a talk with him after he came back. A hearttoheart. This was news to Finli. About what? Certain facts of life. Sai Brautigan has come to understand that his unique powers no longer matter as much as they once did. Its gone too far for that. The remaining two Beams are going to break with him or without him. And he knows that at the end theres apt to be  confusion. Fear and confusion. Pimli nodded slowly. Brautigan wants to be here at the end, if only to comfort such as Stanley Ruiz when the sky tears open. Come, lets have another look at the tapes and the telemetry. Just to be safe. They went up the wide wooden steps of Damli House, side by side. FIVE Two of the cantoi were waiting to escort the Master and his Security Chief downstairs. Pimli reflected on how odd it was that everyoneBreakers and Algul Siento staff alikehad come to call them the low men. Because it was Brautigan who coined the phrase. Speak of angels, hear the flutter of their wings, Prentisss beloved Ma might have said, and Pimli supposed that if there were true manimals in these final days of the true world, then the cantoi would fill the bill much better than the taheen. If you saw them without their weird living masks, you would have thought they were taheen, with the heads of rats. But unlike the true taheen, who regarded humes (less a few remarkable exceptions such as Pimli himself) as an inferior race, the cantoi worshipped the human form as divine. Did they wear the masks in worship? They were closemouthed on the subject, but Pimli didnt think so. He thought they believed they were becoming humanwhich was why, when they first put on their masks (these were living flesh, grown rather than made), they took a hume name to go with their hume aspect. Pimli knew they believed they would somehow replace human beings after the Fall  although how they could believe such a thing was entirely beyond him. There would be heaven after the Fall, that was obvious to anyone whod ever read the Book of Revelation  but Earth? Some new Earth, perhaps, but Pimli wasnt even sure of that. Two cantoi security guards, Beeman and Trelawney, stood at the end of the hall, guarding the head of the stairs going down to the basement. To Pimli, all cantoi men, even those with blond hair and skinny builds, looked weirdly like that actor from the forties and fifties, Clark Gable. They all seemed to have the same thick, sensual lips and batty ears. Then, when you got very close, you could see the artificial wrinkles at the neck and behind the ears, where their hume masks twirled into pigtails and ran into the hairy, toothy flesh that was their reality (whether they accepted it or not). And there were the eyes. Hair surrounded them, and if you looked closely, you could see that what you originally took for sockets were, in fact, holes in those peculiar masks of living flesh. Sometimes you could hear the masks themselves breathing, which Pimli found both weird and a little revolting. Hile, said Beeman. Hile, said Trelawney. Pimli and Finli returned the greeting, they all fisted their foreheads, and then Pimli led the way downstairs. In the lower corridor, walking past the sign which read WE MUST ALL WORK TOGETHER TO CREATE A FIREFREE ENVIRONMENT and another reading ALL HAIL THE CANTOI, Finli said, very low They are so odd. Pimli smiled and clapped him on the back. That was why he genuinely liked Finli o Tego like Ike and Mike, they thought alike. SIX Most of the Damli House basement was a large room jammed with equipment. Not all of the stuff worked, and they had no use for some of the instruments that did (there was plenty they didnt even understand), but they were very familiar with the surveillance equipment and the telemetry that measured darks  units of expended psychic energy. The Breakers were expressly forbidden from using their psychic abilities outside of The Study, and not all of them could, anyway. Many were like men and women so severely toilettrained that they were unable to urinate without the visual stimuli that assured them that yes, they were in the toilet, and yes, it was all right to let go. Others, like children who arent yet completely toilettrained, were unable to prevent the occasional psychic outburst. This might amount to no more than giving someone they didnt like a transient headache or knocking over a bench on the Mall, but Pimlis men kept careful track, and outbursts that were deemed on purpose were punished, first offenses lightly, repeat offenses with rapidly mounting severity. And, as Pimli liked to lecture to the newcomers (back in the days when there had been newcomers), Be sure your sin will find you out. Finlis scripture was even simpler Telemetry doesnt lie. Today they found nothing but transient blips on the telemetry readouts. It was as meaningless as a fourhour audio recording of some groups farts and burps would have been. The videotapes and the swingguards daybooks likewise produced nothing of interest. Satisfied, sai? Finli asked, and something in his voice caused Pimli to swing around and look at him sharply. Are you? Finli o Tego sighed. At times like this Pimli wished that either Finli were hume or that he himself were truly taheen. The problem was Finlis inexpressive black eyes. They were almost the shoebutton eyes of a Raggedy Andy doll, and there was simply no way to read them. Unless, maybe, you were another taheen. I havent felt right for weeks now, Finli said at last. I drink too much graf to put myself asleep, then drag myself through the day, biting peoples heads off. Part of its the loss of communications since the last Beam went You know that was inevitable Yes, of course I know. What Im saying is that Im trying to find rational reasons to explain irrational feelings, and thats never a good sign. On the far wall was a picture of Niagara Falls. Some cantoi guard had turned it upside down. The low men considered turning pictures upside down the absolute height of humor. Pimli had no idea why. But in the end, who gave a shit? I know how to do my facking job, he thought, rehanging Niagara Falls rightside up. I know how to do that, and nothing else matters, tell God and the Man Jesus thank ya. We always knew things were going to get wacky at the end, Finli said, so I tell myself thats all this is. This you know  This feeling you have, the former Paul Prentiss supplied. Then he grinned and laid his right forefinger over a circle made by his left thumb and index finger. This was a taheen gesture which meant I tell you the truth. This irrational feeling. Yar. Certainly I know that the Bleeding Lion hasnt reappeared in the north, nor do I believe that the suns cooling from the inside. Ive heard tales of the Red Kings madness and that the DanTete has come to take his place, and all I can say is Ill believe it when I see it. Same with this wonderful news about how a gunslingermans come out of the west to save the Tower, as the old tales and songs predict. Bullshit, every bit of it. Pimli clapped him on the shoulder. Does my heart good to hear you say so! It did, too. Finli o Tego had done a hell of a job during his tenure as Head. His security cadre had had to kill half a dozen Breakers over the yearsall of them homesick fools trying to escapeand two others had been lobotomized, but Ted Brautigan was the only one whod actually made it under the fence (this phrase Pimli had picked up from a film called Stalag 17 ), and they had reeled him back in, by God. The cantoi took the credit, and the Security Chief let them, but Pimli knew the truth it was Finli whod choreographed each move, from beginning to end. But it might be more than just nerves, this feeling of mine, Finli continued. I do believe that sometimes folk can have bona fide intuitions. He laughed. How could one not believe that, in a place as lousy with precogs and postcogs as this one? But no teleports, Pimli said. Right? Teleportation was the one socalled wild talent of which all the Devar staff was afraid, and with good reason. There was no end to the sort of havoc a teleport could wreak. Bringing in about four acres of outer space, for instance, and creating a vacuuminduced hurricane. Fortunately there was a simple test to isolate that particular talent (easy to administer, although the equipment necessary was another leftover of the old people and none of them knew how long it would continue to work) and a simple procedure (also left behind by the old ones) for shorting out such dangerous organic circuits. Dr. Gangli was able to take care of potential teleports in under two minutes. So simple it makes a vasectomy look like brainsurgery, hed said once. Absafackinlutely no teleports, was what Finli said now, and led Prentiss to an instrument console that looked eerily like Susannah Deans visualization of her Dogan. He pointed at two dials marked in the henscratch of the old people (marks similar to those on the Unfound Door). The needle of each dial lay flat against the O mark on the left. When Finli tapped them with his furry thumbs, they jumped a little and then fell back. We dont know exactly what these dials were actually meant to measure, he said, but one thing they do measure is teleportation potential. Weve had Breakers whove tried to shield the talent and it doesnt work. If there was a teleport in the woodpile, Pimli o New Jersey, these needles would be jittering all the way up to fifty or even eighty. So. Halfsmiling, halfserious, Pimli began to count off on his fingers. No teleports, no Bleeding Lion stalking from the north, no gunslingerman. Oh, and the Greencloaks succumbed to a computer virus. If all thats the case, whats gotten under your skin? What feels hinkydidi to ya? The approaching end, I suppose. Finli sighed heavily. Im going to double the guard in the watchtowers tonight, any ro, and humes along the fence, as well. Because it feels hinkydidi. Pimli, smiling a little. Hinkydidi, yar. Finli did not smile; his cunning little teeth remained hidden inside his shiny brown muzzle. Pimli clapped him on the shoulder. Come on, lets go up to The Study. Perhaps seeing all those Breakers at work will soothe you. Prhaps it will, Finli said, but he still didnt smile. Pimli said gently, Its all right, Fin. I suppose, said the taheen, looking doubtfully around at the equipment, and then at Beeman and Trelawney, the two low men, who were respectfully waiting at the door for the two big bugs to finish their palaver. I suppose tis. Only his heart didnt believe it. The only thing he was sure his heart believed was that there were no teleports left in Algul Siento. Telemetry didnt lie. SEVEN Beeman and Trelawney saw them all the way down the oakpaneled basement corridor to the staff elevator, which was also oakpaneled. There was a fireextinguisher on the wall of the car and another sign reminding Devarfolken that they had to work together to create a firefree environment. This too had been turned upside down. Pimlis eyes met Finlis. The Master believed he saw amusement in his Security Chiefs look, but of course what he saw might have been no more than his own sense of humor, reflected back at him like a face in a mirror. Finli untacked the sign without a word and turned it rightside up. Neither of them commented on the elevator machinery, which was loud and illsounding. Nor on the way the car shuddered in the shaft. If it froze, escape through the upper hatch would be no problem, not even for a slightly overweight (well  quite overweight) fellow like Prentiss. Damli House was hardly a skyscraper, and there was plenty of help near at hand. They reached the third floor, where the sign on the closed elevator door was rightside up. It said STAFF ONLY and PLEASE USE KEY and GO DOWN IMMEDIATELY IF YOU HAVE REACHED THIS LEVEL IN ERROR. YOU WILL NOT BE PENALIZED IF YOU REPORT IMMEDIATELY. As Finli produced his keycard, he said with a casualness that might have been feigned (God damn his unreadable black eyes) Have you heard from sai Sayre? No, Pimli said (rather crossly), nor do I really expect to. Were isolated here for a reason, deliberately forgotten in the desert just like the scientists of the Manhattan Project back in the 1940s. The last time I saw him, he told me it might be  well, the last time I saw him. Relax, Finli said. I was just asking. He swiped the keycard down its slot and the elevator door slid open with a rather hellish screee sound. EIGHT The Study was a long, high room in the center of Damli, also oakpaneled and rising three full stories to a glass roof that allowed the Alguls hardwon sunlight to pour in. On the balcony opposite the door through which Prentiss and the Tego entered was an odd trio consisting of a ravenhead taheen named Jakli, a cantoi technician named Conroy, and two hume guards whose names Pimli could not immediately recall. Taheen, cantoi, and humes got on together during work hours by virtue of carefuland sometimes brittlecourtesy, but one did not expect to see them socializing offduty. And indeed the balcony was strictly offlimits when it came to socializing. The Breakers below were neither animals in a zoo nor exotic fish in an aquarium; Pimli (Finli o Tego, as well) had made this point to the staff over and over. The Master of Algul Siento had only had to lobo one staff member in all his years here, a perfectly idiotic hume guard named David Burke, who had actually been throwing somethinghad it been peanutshells?down on the Breakers below. When Burke had realized the Master was serious about lobotomizing him, he begged for a second chance, promising hed never do anything so foolish and demeaning again. Pimli had turned a deaf ear. Hed seen a chance to make an example which would stand for years, perhaps for decades, and had taken it. You could see the now truly idiotic Mr. Burke around to this day, walking on the Mall or out by Leftrds Boundry, mouth slack and eyes vaguely puzzled I almost know who I am, I almost remember what I did to end up like this, those eyes said. He was a living example of what simply wasnt done when one was in the presence of working Breakers. But there was no rule expressly prohibiting staff from coming up here and they all did from time to time. Because it was refreshing. For one thing, being near working Breakers made talk unnecessary. What they called good mind kicked in as you walked down the thirdfloor hall on either side, from either elevator, and when you opened the doors giving on the balcony good mind bloomed in your head, opening all sorts of perceptual doorways. Aldous Huxley, Pimli had thought on more than one occasion, would have gone absolutely bonkers up here. Sometimes one found ones heels leaving the floor in a kind of halfassed float. The stuff in your pockets tended to rise and hang in the air. Formerly baffling situations seemed to resolve themselves the moment you turned your thoughts to them. If youd forgotten something, your five oclock appointment or your brotherinlaws middle name, for instance, this was the place where you could remember. And even if you realized that what youd forgotten was important, you were never distressed. Folken left the balcony with smiles on their faces even if theyd come up in the foulest of moods (a foul mood was an excellent reason to visit the balcony in the first place). It was as if some sort of happygas, invisible to the eye and unmeasurable by even the most sophisticated telemetry, always rose from the Breakers below. The two of them hiled the trio across the way, then approached the wide fumedoak railing and looked down. The room below might have been the capacious library of some richly endowed gentlemens club in London. Softly glowing lamps, many with genuine Tiffany shades, stood on little tables or shone on the walls (oakpaneled, of course). The rugs were the most exquisite Turkish. There was a Matisse on one wall, a Rembrandt on another  and on a third was the Mona Lisa. The real one, as opposed to the fake hanging in the Louvre on Keystone Earth. A man stood before it with his arms clasped behind him. From up here he looked as though he were studying the paintingtrying to decipher the famously enigmatic smile, maybebut Pimli knew better. The men and women holding magazines looked as though they were reading, too, but if you were right down there youd see that they were gazing blankly over the tops of their McCalls and their Harpers or a little off to one side. An eleven or twelveyearold girl in a gorgeous striped summer dress that might have cost sixteen hundred dollars in a Rodeo Drive kiddie boutique was sitting before a dollhouse on the hearth, but Pimli knew she wasnt paying any attention to the exquisitely made replica of Damli at all. Thirtythree of them down there. Thirtythree in all. At eight oclock, an hour after the artificial sun snapped off, thirtythree fresh Breakers would troop in. And there was one fellowone and one onlywho came and went just as he pleased. A fellow whod gone under the wire and paid no penalty for it at all  except for being brought back, that was, and for this man, that was penalty enough. As if the thought had summoned him, the door at the end of the room opened, and Ted Brautigan slipped quietly in. He was still wearing his tweed riding cap. Daneeka Rostov looked up from the dollhouse and gave him a smile. Brautigan dropped her a wink in return. Pimli gave Finli a little nudge. Finli (I see him ) But it was more than seeing. They felt him. The moment Brautigan came into the room, those on the balconyand, much more important, those on the floorfelt the powerlevel rise. They still werent completely sure what theyd gotten in Brautigan, and the testing equipment didnt help in that regard (the old dog had blown out several pieces of it himself, and on purpose, the Master was quite sure). If there were others like him, the low men had found none on their talent hunts (now suspended; they had all the talent they needed to finish the job). One thing that did seem clear was Brautigans talent as a facilitator, a psychic who was not just powerful by himself but was able to up the abilities of others just by being near them. Finlis thoughts, ordinarily unreadable even to Breakers, now burned in Pimlis mind like neon. Finli (He is extraordinary ) Pimli (And, so far as we know, unique Have you seen the thing ) Image Eyes growing and shrinking, growing and shrinking. Finli (Yes Do you know what causes it ) Pimli (Not at all Nor care dear Finli nor care That old ) Image An elderly mongrel with burdocks in his matted fur, limping along on three legs. (has almost finished his work almost time to ) Image A gun, one of the hume guards Berettas, against the side of the old mongrels head. Three stories below them, the subject of their conversation picked up a newspaper (the newspapers were all old, now, old like Brautigan himself, years out of date), sat in a leatherupholstered club chair so voluminous it seemed almost to swallow him, and appeared to read. Pimli felt the psychic force rising past them and through them, to the skylight and through that, too, rising to the Beam that ran directly above Algul, working against it, chipping and eroding and rubbing relentlessly against the grain. Eating holes in the magic. Working patiently to put out the eyes of the Bear. To crack the shell of the Turtle. To break the Beam which ran from Shardik to Maturin. To topple the Dark Tower which stood between. Pimli turned to his companion and wasnt surprised to realize he could now see the cunning little teeth in the Tegos weasel head. Smiling at last! Nor was he surprised to realize he could read the black eyes. Taheen, under ordinary circumstances, could send and receive some very simple mental communications, but not be progged. Here, though, all that changed. Here Here Finli o Tego was at peace. His concerns (hinkydidi ) were gone. At least for the time being. Pimli sent Finli a series of bright images a champagne bottle breaking over the stern of a boat; hundreds of flat black graduation caps rising in the air; a flag being planted on Mount Everest; a laughing couple escaping a church with their heads bent against a pelting storm of rice; a planet  Earth  suddenly glowing with fierce brilliance. Images that all said the same thing. Yes, Finli said, and Pimli wondered how he could ever have thought those eyes hard to read. Yes, indeed. Success at the end of the day. Neither of them looked down at that moment. Had they done, they would have seen Ted Brautiganan old dog, yes, and tired, but perhaps not quite as tired as some thought looking up at them. With a ghost of his own smile. NINE There was never rain out here, at least not during Pimlis years, but sometimes, in the Stygian blackness of its nights, there were great volleys of dry thunder. Most of the DevarTois staff had trained themselves to sleep through these fusillades, but Pimli often woke up, heart hammering in his throat, the Our Father running through his mostly unconscious mind like a circle of spinning red ribbon. Earlier that day, talking to Finli, the Master of Algul Siento had used the phrase hinkydidi with a selfconscious smile, and why not? It was a childs phrase, almost, like alleealleeinfree or eeniemeenieminiemoe. Now, lying in his bed at Shapleigh House (known as Shit House to the Breakers), a full Malls length away from Damli House, Pimli remembered the feelingthe flatout certainty that everything was going to be okay; success assured, only a matter of time. On the balcony Finli had shared it, but Pimli wondered if his Security Chief was now lying awake as Pimli himself was, and thinking how easy it was to be misled when you were around working Breakers. Because, do ya, they sent up that happygas. That goodmind vibe. And suppose  just suppose, now  someone was actually channeling that feeling? Sending it up to them like a lullabye? Go to sleep, Pimli, go to sleep, Finli, go to sleep all of you good children  Ridiculous idea, totally paranoid. Still, when another double boom of thunder rolled out of what might still be the southeastfrom the direction of Fedic and the Discordia, anyway Pimli Prentiss sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. Finli had spoken of doubling the guard tonight, both in the watchtowers and along the fences. Perhaps tomorrow they might triple it. Just to be on the safe side. And because complacency this close to the end would be a very bad thing, indeed. Pimli got out of bed, a tall man with a hairy slab of gut, now wearing blue pajama pants and nothing else. He pissed, then knelt in front of the toilets lowered lid, folded his hands, and prayed until he felt sleepy. He prayed to do his duty. He prayed to see trouble before trouble saw him. He prayed for his Ma, just as Jim Jones had prayed for his as he watched the line move toward the tub of poisoned KoolAid. He prayed until the thunder had died to little more than a senile mutter, then went back to bed, calm again. His last thought before drifting off was about tripling the guard first thing in the morning, and that was the first thing he thought of when he woke to a room awash in artificial sunlight. Because you had to take care of the eggs when you were almost home. CHAPTER VII KASHUME  ONE A feeling both blue and strange crept among the gunslingers after Brautigan and his friends left, but at first no one spoke of it. Each of them thought that melancholy belonged to him or her alone. Roland, who might have been expected to know the feeling for what it was (kashume, Cort would have called it), ascribed it instead to worries about the following day and even more to the debilitating atmosphere of Thunderclap, where day was dim and night was as dark as blindness. Certainly there was enough to keep them busy after the departure of Brautigan, Earnshaw, and Sheemie Ruiz, that friend of Rolands childhood. (Both Susannah and Eddie had attempted to talk to the gunslinger about Sheemie, and Roland had shaken them off. Jake, strong in the touch, hadnt even tried. Roland wasnt ready to talk about those old days again, at least not yet.) There was a path leading down and around the flank of SteekTete, and they found the cave of which the old man had told them behind a cunning camouflage of rocks and desertdusty bushes. This cave was much bigger than the one above, with gas lanterns hung from spikes that had been driven into the rock walls. Jake and Eddie lit two of these on each side, and the four of them examined the caves contents in silence. The first thing Roland noticed was the sleepingbags a quartet lined up against the lefthand wall, each considerately placed on an inflated air mattress. The tags on the bags read PROPERTY OF U.S. ARMY. Beside the last of these, a fifth air mattress had been covered with a layer of bath towels. They were expecting four people and one animal, the gunslinger thought. Precognition, or have they been watching us somehow? And does it matter? There was a plasticswaddled object sitting on a barrel marked DANGER! MUNITIONS! Eddie removed the protective plastic and revealed a machine with reels on it. One of the reels was loaded. Roland could make nothing of the single word on the front of the speaking machine and asked Susannah what it was. Wollensak, she said. A German company. When it comes to these things, they make the best. Not no mo, sugarbee, Eddie said. In my when we like to say Sony! No baloney! They make a tapeplayer you can clip right to your belt. Its called a Walkman. I bet this dinosaur weighs twenty pounds. More, with the batteries. Susannah was examining the unmarked tape boxes that had been stacked beside the Wollensak. There were three of them. I cant wait to hear whats on these, she said. After the daylight goes, maybe, Roland said. For now, lets see what else weve got here. Roland? Jake asked. The gunslinger turned toward him. There was something about the boys face that almost always softened Rolands own. Looking at Jake did not make the gunslinger handsome, but seemed to give his features a quality they didnt ordinarily have. Susannah thought it was the look of love. And, perhaps, some thin hope for the future. What is it, Jake? I know were going to fight Join us next week for Return to the O.K. Corral, starring Van Heflin and Lee Van Cleef, Eddie murmured, walking toward the back of the cave. There a much larger object had been covered with what looked like a quilted movers pad. but when? Jake continued. Will it be tomorrow? Perhaps, Roland replied. I think the day afters more likely. I have a terrible feeling, Jake said. Its not being afraid, exactly Do you think theyre going to beat us, hon? Susannah asked. She put a hand on Jakes neck and looked into his face. She had come to respect his feelings. She sometimes wondered how much of what he was now had to do with the creature hed faced to get here the thing in the house on Dutch Hill. No robot there, no rusty old clockwork toy. The doorkeeper had been a genuine leftover of the Prim. You smell a whuppin in the wind? That it? I dont think so, Jake said. I dont know what it is. Ive only felt something like it once, and that was just before  Just before what? Susannah asked, but before Jake had a chance to reply, Eddie broke in. Roland was glad. Just before I fell. That was how Jake had meant to finish. Just before Roland let me fall. Holy shit! Come here, you guys! You gotta see this! Eddie had pulled away the movers pad and revealed a motorized vehicle that looked like a cross between an ATV and a gigantic tricycle. The tires were wide balloon jobs with deep zigzag treads. The controls were all on the handlebars. And there was a playing card propped on the rudimentary dashboard.


Roland knew what it was even before Eddie plucked it up between two fingers and turned it over. The card showed a woman with a shawl over her head at a spinning wheel. It was the Lady of Shadows. Looks like our pal Ted left you a ride, sugarbee, Eddie said. Susannah had hurried over at her rapid crawl. Now she lifted her arms. Boost me up! Boost me, Eddie! He did, and when she was in the saddle, holding handlebars instead of reins, the vehicle looked made for her. Susannah thumbed a red button and the engine thrummed to life, so low you could barely hear it. Electricity, not gasoline, Eddie was quite sure. Like a golfcart, but probably a lot faster. Susannah turned toward them, smiling radiantly. She patted the threewheelers dark brown nacelle. Call me Missus Centaur! I been lookin for this my whole life and never even knew. None of them noticed the stricken expression on Rolands face. He bent over to pick up the card Eddie had dropped so no one would. Yes, it was her, all rightthe Lady of the Shadows. Under her shawl she seemed to be smiling craftily and sobbing, both at the same time. On the last occasion hed seen that card, it had been in the hand of the man who sometimes went by the name of Walter, sometimes that of Flagg. You have no idea how close you stand to the Tower now, he had said. Worlds turn about your head. And now he recognized the feeling that had crept among them for what it almost certainly was not worry or weariness but kashume. There was no real translation for that rueladen term, but it meant to sense an approaching break in ones katet. Walter o Dim, his old nemesis, was dead. Roland had known it as soon as he saw the face of the Lady of Shadows. Soon one of his own would die as well, probably in the coming battle to break the power of the DevarToi. And once again the scales which had temporarily tilted in their favor would balance. It never once crossed Rolands mind that the one to die might be him. TWO There were three brand names on what Eddie immediately dubbed Suzies Cruisin Trike. One was Honda; one was Takuro (as in that wildly popular presuperflu import, the Takuro Spirit); the third was North Central Positronics. And a fourth, as well U.S. ARMY, as in PROPERTY OF. Susannah was reluctant to get off it, but finally she did. God knew there was plenty more to see; the cave was a treasure trove. Its narrowing throat was filled with food supplies (mostly freezedried stuff that probably wouldnt taste as good as Nigels chow but would at least nourish them), bottled water, canned drinks (plenty of Coke and NozzALa but nothing alcoholic), and the promised propane stove. There were also crates of weaponry. Some of the crates were marked U.S. ARMY, but by no means all. Now their most basic abilities came out the true thread, Cort might have called it. Those talents and intuitions that could have remained sleeping for most of their lives, only stirring long enough to get them into occasional trouble, if Roland had not deliberately wakened them  cosseted them and then filed their teeth to deadly points. Hardly a word was spoken among them as Roland produced a wide prying tool from his purse and levered away the tops of the crates. Susannah had forgotten about the Cruisin Trike she had been waiting for all her life; Eddie forgot to make jokes; Roland forgot about his sense of foreboding. They became absorbed in the weaponry that had been left for them, and there was no piece of it they did not understand either at once or after a bit of study. There was a crate of AR15 rifles, the barrels packed in grease, the firing mechanisms fragrant with banana oil. Eddie noted the added selector switches, and looked in the crate next to the 15s. Inside, covered with plastic and also packed in grease, were metal drums. They looked like the ones you saw on tommyguns in gangster epics like White Heat, only these were bigger. Eddie lifted one of the 15s, turned it over, and found exactly what he expected a conversion clip that would allow these drums to be attached to the guns, turning them into rapidfire ricecutters. How many shots per drum? A hundred? A hundred and twentyfive? Enough to mow down a whole company of men, that was sure. There was a box of what looked like rocket shells with the letters STS stenciled on each. In a rack beside them, propped against the cave wall, were half a dozen handheld launchers. Roland pointed at the atomsymbol on them and shook his head. He did not want them shooting off weapons that would release potentially lethal radiation no matter how powerful they might be. He was willing to kill the Breakers if that was what it took to stop their meddling with the Beam, but only as a last resort. Flanking a metal tray filled with gasmasks (to Jake they looked gruesome, like the severed heads of strange bugs) were two crates of handguns snubnosed machinepistols with the word COYOTE embossed on the butts and heavy automatics called Cobra Stars. Jake was attracted to both weapons (in truth his heart was attracted to all the weapons), but he took one of the Stars because it looked a little bit like the gun he had lost. The clip fed up the handle and held either fifteen or sixteen shots. This was not a matter of counting but only of looking and knowing. Hey, Susannah said. Shed gone back toward the front of the cave. Come look at this. Sneetches. Check out the cratelid, Jake said when they joined her. Susannah had set it aside; Jake picked it up and was studying it with admiration. It showed the face of a smiling boy with a lightningbolt scar on his forehead. He was wearing round glasses and brandishing what appeared to be a magicians wand at a floating sneetch. The words stenciled beneath the drawing read PROPERTY 449th SQUADRON 24 SNEETCHES HARRY POTTER MODEL SERIAL 46517CC NDJKR Dont Mess with the 449! Well Kick the Slytherin Out of You! There were two dozen sneetches in the crate, packed like eggs in little nests of plastic excelsior. None of Rolands band had had the opportunity to study live ones closely during their battle with the Wolves, but now they had a good swatch of time during which they could indulge their most natural interests and curiosities. Each took up a sneetch. They were about the size of tennis balls, but a great deal heavier. Their surfaces had been gridded, making them resemble globes marked with lines of latitude and longitude. Although they looked like steel, the surfaces had a faint giving quality, like very hard rubber. There was an IDplate on each sneetch and a button beside it. That wakes it up, Eddie murmured, and Jake nodded. There was also a small depressed area in the curved surface, just the right size for a finger. Jake pushed it without the slightest worry that the thing would explode, or maybe extrude a minibuzzsaw that would cut off his fingers. You used the button at the bottom of the depression to access the programming. He didnt know how he knew that, but he most certainly did. A curved section of the sneetchs surface slid away with a faint Auowwm! sound. Revealed were four tiny lights, three of them dark and one flashing slow amber pulses. There were seven windows, now showing 0 00 00 00. Beneath each was a button so small that youd need something like the end of a straightened paperclip to push it. The size of a bugs asshole, as Eddie grumbled later on, while trying to program one. To the right of the windows were another two buttons, these marked S and W. Jake showed it to Roland. This ones SET and the other ones WAIT. Do you think so? I think so. Roland nodded. Hed never seen such a weapon before not close up, at any ratebut, coupled with the windows, he thought the use of the buttons was obvious. And he thought the sneetches might be useful in a way the longshooters with their atomshells would not be. SET and WAIT. SET  and WAIT. Did Ted and his two pals leave all this stuff for us here? Susannah asked. Roland hardly thought it mattered whod left itit was here and that was enoughbut he nodded. How? And whered they get it? Roland didnt know. What he did know was that the cave was a masuna warchest. Below them, men were making war on the Tower which the line of Eld was sworn to protect. He and his tet would fall upon them by surprise, and with these tools they would smite and smite until their enemies lay with their boots pointed to the sky. Or until theirs did. Maybe he explains on one of the tapes he left us, Jake said. He had engaged the safety of his new Cobra automatic and tucked it away in the shoulderbag with the remaining Orizas. Susannah had also helped herself to one of the Cobras, after twirling it around her finger a time or two, like Annie Oakley. Maybe he does, she said, and gave Jake a smile. It had been a long time since Susannah had felt so physically well. So notpreg. Yet her mind was troubled. Or perhaps it was her spirit. Eddie was holding up a piece of cloth that had been rolled into a tube and tied with three hanks of string. That guy Ted said he was leaving us a map of the prisoncamp. Bet this is it. Anyone sides me want a look? They all did. Jake helped Eddie to unroll the map. Brautigan had warned them it was rough, and it surely was really no more than a series of circles and squares. Susannah saw the name of the little townPleasantvilleand thought again of Ray Bradbury. Jake was tickled by the crude compass, where the mapmaker had added a question mark beside the letter N. While they were studying this hastily rendered example of cartography, a long and wavering cry rose in the murk outside. Eddie, Susannah, and Jake looked around nervously. Oy raised his head from his paws, gave a low, brief growl, then put his head back down again and appeared to go to sleep Hell witchoo, bad boy, Im wit my homies and I aint ascairt. What is it? Eddie asked. A coyote? A jackal? Some kind of desert dog, Roland agreed absently. He was squatted on his hunkers (which suggested his hip was better, at least temporarily) with his arms wrapped around his shins. He never took his eyes from the crude circles and squares drawn on the cloth. Cantoitete. Is that like Dan Tete? Jake asked. Roland ignored him. He scooped up the map and left the cave with it, not looking back. The others shared a glance and then followed him, once more wrapping their blankets about them like shawls. THREE Roland returned to where Sheemie (with a little help from his friends) had brought them through. This time the gunslinger used the binoculars, looking down at Blue Heaven long and long. Somewhere behind them, the desert dog howled again, a lonely sound in the gloom. And, Jake thought, the gloom was gloomier now. Your eyes adjusted as the day dialed itself down, but that brilliant spotlight of sun seemed brighter than ever by contrast. He was pretty sure the deal with the sunmachine was that you got your fullon, your fulloff, and nothing in between. Maybe they even let it shine all night, but Jake doubted it. Peoples nervous systems were set up for an orderly progression of dark and day, hed learned that in science class. You could make do with long periods of low lightpeople did it every year in the Arctic countriesbut it could really mess with your head. Jake didnt think the guys in charge down there would want to goof up their Breakers if they could help it. Also, theyd want to save their sun for as long as they could; everything here was old and prone to breakdowns. At last Roland gave the binoculars to Susannah. Do look ya especially at the buildings on either end of the grassy rectangle. He unrolled the map like a character about to read a scroll in a stageplay, glanced at it briefly, and then said, Theyre numbered 2 and 3 on the map. Susannah studied them carefully. The one marked 2, the Wardens House, was a small Cape Cod painted electric blue with white trim. It was what her mother might have called a fairytale house, because of the bright colors and the gingerbread scalloping around the eaves. Damli House was much bigger, and as she looked, she saw several people going in and out. Some had the carefree look of civilians. Others seemed much moreoh, call it watchful. And she saw two or three slumping along under loads of stuff. She handed the glasses to Eddie and asked him if those were Children of Roderick. I think so, he said, but I cant be completely Never mind the Rods, Roland said, not now. What do you think of those two buildings, Susannah? Well, she said, proceeding carefully (she did not, in fact, have the slightest idea what it was he wanted from her), theyre both beautifully maintained, especially compared to some of the fallingdown wrecks weve seen on our travels. The one they call Damli House is especially handsome. Its a style we call Queen Anne, and Are they of wood, do you think, or just made to look that way? Im particularly interested in the one called Damli. Susannah redirected the binoculars there, then handed them to Eddie. He looked, then handed them to Jake. While Jake was looking, there was an audible CLICK! sound that rolled to them across the miles  and the Cecil B. DeMille sunbeam which had been shining down on the DevarToi like a spotlight went out, leaving them in a thick purple dusk which would soon be complete and utter dark. In it, the desertdog began to howl again, raising the skin on Jakes arms into gooseflesh. The sound rose  rose and suddenly cut off with one final choked syllable. It sounded like some final cry of surprise, and Jake had no doubt that the desertdog was dead. Something had crept up behind it, and when the big overhead light went out There were still lights on down there, he saw a double white row that might have been streetlights in Pleasantville, yellow circles that were probably arcsodiums along the various paths of what Susannah was calling Breaker U  and spotlights running random patterns across the dark. No, Jake thought, not spotlights. Searchlights. Like in a prison movie. Lets go back, he said. Theres nothing to see anymore, and I dont like it out here in the dark. Roland agreed. They followed him in single file, with Eddie carrying Susannah and Jake walking behind them with Oy at his heel. He kept expecting a second desertdog to take up the cry of the first, but none did. FOUR They were wood, Jake said. He was sitting crosslegged beneath one of the gas lanterns, letting its welcome white glow shine down on his face. Wood, Eddie agreed. Susannah hesitated a moment, sensing it was a question of real importance and reviewing what she had seen. Then she also nodded. Wood, Im almost positive. Especially the one they call Damli House. A Queen Anne built out of stone or brick and camouflaged to look like wood? It makes no sense. If it fools wandering folk whod burn it down, Roland said, it does. It does make sense. Susannah thought about it. He was right, of course, but I still say wood. Roland nodded. So do I. He had found a large green bottle marked PERRIER. Now he opened it and ascertained that Perrier was water. He took five cups and poured a measure into each. He set them down in front of Jake, Susannah, Eddie, Oy, and himself. Do you call me dinh? he asked Eddie. Yes, Roland, you know I do. Will you share khef with me, and drink this water? Yes, if you like. Eddie had been smiling, but now he wasnt. The feeling was back, and it was strong. Kashume, a rueful word he did not yet know. Drink, bondsman. Eddie didnt exactly like being called bondsman, but he drank his water. Roland knelt before him and put a brief, dry kiss on Eddies lips. I love you, Eddie, he said, and outside in the ruin that was Thunderclap, a desert wind arose, carrying gritty poisoned dust. WhyI love you, too, Eddie said. It was surprised out of him. Whats wrong? And dont tell me nothing is, because I feel it. Nothings wrong, Roland said, smiling, but Jake had never heard the gunslinger sound so sad. It terrified him. Its only kashume, and it comes to every katet that ever was  but now, while we are whole, we share our water. We share our khef. Tis a jolly thing to do. He looked at Susannah. Do you call me dinh? Yes, Roland, I call you dinh. She looked very pale, but perhaps it was only the white light from the gas lanterns. Will you share khef with me, and drink this water? With pleasure, said she, and took up the plastic cup. Drink, bondswoman. She drank, her grave dark eyes never leaving his. She thought of the voices shed heard in her dream of the Oxford jailcell this one dead, that one dead, tother one dead; O Discordia, and the shadows grow deeper. Roland kissed her mouth. I love you, Susannah. I love you, too. The gunslinger turned to Jake. Do you call me dinh? Yes, Jake said. There was no question about his pallor; even his lips were ashy. Kashume means death, doesnt it? Which one of us will it be? I know not, Roland said, and the shadow may yet lift from us, for the wheels still in spin. Did you not feel kashume when you and Callahan went into the place of the vampires? Yes. Kashume for both? Yes. Yet here you are. Our katet is strong, and has survived many dangers. It may survive this one, too. But I feel Yes, Roland said. His voice was kind, but that awful look was in his eyes. The look that was beyond mere sadness, the one that said this would be whatever it was, but the Tower was beyond, the Dark Tower was beyond and it was there that he dwelt, heart and soul, ka and khef. Yes, I feel it, too. So do we all. Which is why we take water, which is to say fellowship, one with the other. Will you share khef with me, and share this water? Yes. Drink, bondsman. Jake did. Then, before Roland could kiss him, he dropped the cup, flung his arms about the gunslingers neck, and whispered fiercely into his ear Roland, I love you. I love you, too, he said, and released him. Outside, the wind gusted again. Jake waited for something to howl  perhaps in triumphbut nothing did. Smiling, Roland turned to the billybumbler. Oy of MidWorld, do you call me dinh? Dinh! Oy said. Will you share khef with me, and this water? Khef! Wat! Drink, bondsman. Oy inserted his snout into his plastic cupan act of some delicacy  and lapped until the water was gone. Then he looked up expectantly. There were beads of Perrier on his whiskers. Oy, I love you, Roland said, and leaned his face within range of the bumblers sharp teeth. Oy licked his cheek a single time, then poked his snout back into the glass, hoping for a missed drop or two. Roland put out his hands. Jake took one and Susannah the other. Soon they were all linked. Like drunks at the end of an A.A. meeting, Eddie thought. We are katet, Roland said. We are one from many. We have shared our water as we have shared our lives and our quest. If one should fall, that one will not be lost, for we are one and will not forget, even in death. They held hands a moment longer. Roland was the first to let go. Whats your plan? Susannah asked him. She didnt call him sugar; never called him that or any other endearment ever again, so far as Jake was aware. Will you tell us? Roland nodded toward the Wollensak tape recorder, still sitting on the barrel. Perhaps we should listen to that first, he said. I do have a plan of sorts, but what Brautigan has to say might help with some of the details. FIVE Night in Thunderclap is the very definition of darkness no moon, no stars. Yet if we were to stand outside the cave where Roland and his tet have just shared khef and will now listen to the tapes Ted Brautigan has left them, wed see two red coals floating in that winddriven darkness. If we were to climb the path up the side of SteekTete toward those floating coals (a dangerous proposition in the dark), wed eventually come upon a sevenlegged spider now crouched over the queerly deflated body of a mutie coyote. This cantoitete was a literally misbegotten thing in life, with the stub of a fifth leg jutting from its chest and a jellylike mass of flesh hanging down between its rear legs like a deformed udder, but its flesh nourishes Mordred, and its bloodtaken in a series of long, steaming gulpsis as sweet as a dessert wine. There are, in truth, all sorts of things to eat over here. Mordred has no friends to lift him from place to place via the sevenleague boots of teleportation, but he found his journey from Thunderclap Station to SteekTete far from arduous. He has overheard enough to be sure of what his father is planning a surprise attack on the facility below. Theyre badly outnumbered, but Rolands band of shooters is fiercely devoted to him, and surprise is ever a powerful weapon. And gunslingers are what Jake would call fou, crazy when their blood is up, and afraid of nothing. Such insanity is an even more powerful weapon. Mordred was born with a fair amount of inbred knowledge, it seems. He knows, for instance, that his Red Father, possessed of such information as Mordred now has, would have sent word of the gunslingers presence at once to the DevarTois Master or Security Chief. And then, sometime later tonight, the katet out of MidWorld would have found themselves ambushed. Killed in their sleep, mayhap, thus allowing the Breakers to continue the Kings work. Mordred wasnt born with a knowledge of that work, but hes capable of logic and his ears are sharp. He now understands what the gunslingers are about they have come here to break the Breakers. He could stop it, true, but Mordred feels no interest in his Red Fathers plans or ambitions. What he most truly enjoys, hes discovering, is the bitter loneliness of outside. Of watching with the cold interest of a child watching life and death and war and peace through the glass wall of the antfarm on his bureau. Would he let yon kidam actually kill his White Father? Oh, probably not. Mordred is reserving that pleasure for himself, and he has his reasons; already he has his reasons. But as for the othersthe young man, the shorleg woman, the kid yes, if kidam Prentiss gets the upper hand, by all means let him kill any or all three of them. As for Mordred Deschain, he will let the game play out straight. He will watch. He will listen. He will hear the screams and smell the burning and watch the blood soak into the ground. And then, if he judges that Roland wont win his throw, he, Mordred, will step in. On behalf of the Crimson King, if it seems like a good idea, but really on his own behalf, and for his own reason, which is really quite simple Mordreds ahungry. And if Roland and his katet should win their throw? Win and press on to the Tower? Mordred doesnt really think it will happen, for he is in his own strange way a member of their katet, he shares their khef and feels what they do. He feels the impending break of their fellowship. Kashume! Mordred thinks, smiling. Theres a single eye left in the desertdogs face. One of the hairy black spiderlegs caresses it and then plucks it out. Mordred eats it like a grape, then turns back to where the white light of the gaslanterns spills around the corners of the blanket Roland has hung across the caves mouth. Could he go down closer? Close enough to listen? Mordred thinks he could, especially with the rising wind to mask the sound of his movements. An exciting idea. He scutters down the rocky slope toward the errant sparks of light, toward the murmur of the voice from the tape recorder and the thoughts of those listening his brothers, his sistermother, the pet billy, and, of course, overseeing them all, Big White KaDaddy. Mordred creeps as close as he dares and then crouches in the cold and windy dark, miserable and enjoying his misery, dreaming his outside dreams. Inside, beyond the blanket, is light. Let them have it, if they like; for now let there be light. Eventually he, Mordred, will put it out. And in the darkness, he will have his pleasure. CHAPTER VIII NOTES FROM THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE  ONE Eddie looked at the others. Jake and Roland were sitting on the sleepingbags which had been left for them. Oy lay curled up at Jakes feet. Susannah was parked comfortably on the seat of her Cruisin Trike. Eddie nodded, satisfied, and pushed the tape recorders PLAY button. The reels spun  there was silence  they spun  and silence  then, after clearing his throat, Ted Brautigan began to speak. They listened for over four hours, Eddie replacing each empty reel with the next full one, not bothering to rewind. No one suggested they stop, certainly not Roland, who listened with silent fascination even when his hip began to throb again. Roland thought he understood more, now; certainly he knew they had a real chance to stop what was happening in the compound below them. The knowledge frightened him because their chances of success were slim. The feeling of kashume made that clear. And one did not really understand the stakes until one glimpsed the goddess in her white robe, the bitchgoddess whose sleeve fell back to reveal her comely white arm as she beckoned Come to me, run to me. Yes, its possible, you may gain your goal, you may win, so run to me, give me your whole heart. And if I break it? If one of you falls short, falls into the pit of coffah (the place your new friends call hell)? Too bad for you. Yes, if one of them fell into coffah and burned within sight of the fountains, that would be too bad, indeed. And the bitch in the white robe? Why, shed only put her hands on her hips, and throw back her head, and laugh as the world ended. So much depended on the man whose weary, rational voice now filled the cave. The Dark Tower itself depended on him, for Brautigan was a man of staggering powers. The surprising thing was that the same could be said of Sheemie. TWO Test, one two  test, one two  test, test, test. This is Ted Stevens Brautigan and this is a test  A brief pause. The reels turned, one full, the other now beginning to fill. Okay, good. Great, in fact. I wasnt sure this thing would work, especially here, but it seems fine. I prepared for this by trying to imagine you fourfive, counting the boys little friend listening to me, because Ive always found visualization an excellent technique when preparing some sort of presentation. Unfortunately, in this case it doesnt work. Sheemie can send me very good mental picturesbrilliant ones, in fact but Roland is the only one of you hes actually seen, and him not since the fall of Gilead, when both of them were very young. No disrespect, fellows, but I suspect the Roland now coming toward Thunderclap looks hardly anything like the young man my friend Sheemie so worshipped. Where are you now, Roland? In Maine, looking for the writer? The one who also created me, after a fashion? In New York, looking for Eddies wife? Are any of you even still alive? I know the chances of you reaching Thunderclap arent good; ka is drawing you to the DevarToi, but a very powerful antika, set in motion by the one you call the Crimson King, is working against you and your tet in a thousand ways. All the same  Was it Emily Dickinson who called hope the thing with feathers? I cant remember. There are a great many things I cant remember any longer, but it seems I still remember how to fight. Maybe thats a good thing. I hope its a good thing. Has it crossed your mind to wonder where Im recording this, lady and gentlemen? It hadnt. They simply sat, mesmerized by the slightly dusty sound of Brautigans voice, passing a bottle of Perrier and a tin filled with graham crackers back and forth. Ill tell you, Brautigan went on, partly because the three of you from America will surely find it amusing, but mostly because you may find it useful in formulating a plan to destroy whats going on in Algul Siento. As I speak, Im sitting on a chair made of slab chocolate. The seat is a big blue marshmallow, and I doubt if the air mattresses were planning to leave you could be any more comfortable. Youd think such a seat would be sticky, but its not. The walls of this roomand the kitchen I can see if I look through the gumdrop arch to my leftare made of green, yellow, and red candy. Lick the green one and you taste lime. Lick the red one and you taste raspberry. Although taste (in any sense of that slippery word) had very little to do with Sheemies choices, or so I believe; I think he simply has a childs love of bright primary colors. Roland was nodding and smiling a little. Although I must tell you, the voice from the tape recorder said dryly, Id be happy to have at least one room with a slightly more reserved dcor. Something in blue, perhaps. Earthtones would be even better. Speaking of earth tones, the stairs are also chocolate. The banisters a candycane. One cannot, however, say the stairs going up to the second floor, because there is no second floor. Through the window you can see cars that look suspiciously like bonbons going by, and the street itself looks like licorice. But if you open the door and take more than a single step toward Twizzler Avenue, you find yourself back where you started. In what we may as well call the real world, for want of a better term. Gingerbread House  which is what we call it because thats what you always smell in here, warm gingerbread, just out of the ovenis as much Dinkys creation as it is Sheemies. Dink wound up in the Corbett House dorm with Sheemie, and heard Sheemie crying himself to sleep one night. A lot of people would have passed by on the other side in a case like that, and I realize that no one in the world looks less like the Good Samaritan than Dinky Earnshaw, but instead of passing by he knocked on the door of Sheemies suite and asked if he could come in. Ask him about it now and Dinky will tell you it was no big deal. I was new in the place, I was lonely, I wanted to make some friends, hell say. Hearing a guy bawling like that, it hit me that he might want a friend, too. As though it were the most natural thing in the world. In a lot of places that might be true, but not in Algul Siento. And you need to understand that above all else, I think, if youre going to understand us. So forgive me if I seem to dwell on the point. Some of the hume guards call us morks, after a space alien in some television comedy. And morks are the most selfish people on Earth. Antisocial? Not exactly. Some are extremely social, but only insofar as it will get them what they currently want or need. Very few morks are sociopaths, but most sociopaths are morks, if you understand what Im saying. The most famous, and thank God the low men never brought him over here, was a mass murderer named Ted Bundy. If you have an extra cigarette or two, no one can be more sympatheticor admiringthan a mork in need of a smoke. Once hes got it, though, hes gone. Most morksIm talking ninetyeight or nine out of a hundredwould have heard crying behind that closed door and never so much as slowed down on their way to wherever. Dinky knocked and asked if he could come in, even though he was new in the place and justifiably confused (he also thought he was going to be punished for murdering his previous boss, but thats a story for another day). And we should look at Sheemies side of it. Once again, Id say ninetyeight or even ninetynine morks out of a hundred would have responded to a question like that by shouting Get lost! or even Fuck off! Why? Because we are exquisitely aware that were different from most people, and that its a difference most people dont like. Any more than the Neanderthals liked the first CroMagnons in the neighborhood, I would imagine. Morks dont like to be caught offguard. A pause. The reels spun. All four of them could sense Brautigan thinking hard. No, thats not quite right, he said at last. What morks dont like is to be caught in an emotionally vulnerable state. Angry, happy, in tears or fits of hysterical laughter, anything like that. It would be like you fellows going into a dangerous situation without your guns. For a long time, I was alone here. I was a mork who cared, whether I liked it or not. Then there was Sheemie, brave enough to accept comfort if comfort was offered.