And Dink, who was willing to reach out. Most morks are selfish introverts masquerading as rugged individualiststhey want the world to see them as Danl Boone typesand the Algul staff loves it, believe me. No community is easier to govern than one that rejects the very concept of community. Do you see why I was attracted to Sheemie and Dinky, and how lucky I was to find them? Susannahs hand crept into Eddies. He took it and squeezed it gently. Sheemie was afraid of the dark, Ted continued. The low menI call em all low men, although there are humes and taheen at work here as well as cantoihave a dozen sophisticated tests for psychic potential, but they couldnt seem to realize that they had caught a halfwit who was simply afraid of the dark. Their bad luck. Dinky understood the problem right away, and solved it by telling Sheemie stories. The first ones were fairytales, and one of them was Hansel and Gretel. Sheemie was fascinated by the idea of a candy house, and kept asking Dinky for more details. So, you see, it was Dinky who actually thought of the chocolate chairs with the marshmallow seats, the gumdrop arch, and the candycane banister. For a little while there was a second floor; it had the beds of the Three Bears in it. But Sheemie never cared much for that story, and when it slipped his mind, the upstairs of Casa Gingerbread  Ted Brautigan chuckled. Well, I suppose you could say it biodegraded. In any case, I believe that this place Im in is actually a fistula in time, or  Another pause. A sigh. Then Look, there are a billion universes comprising a billion realities. Thats something Ive come to realize since being hauled back from what the kidam insists on calling my little vacation in Connecticut. Smarmy son of a bitch! Real hate in Brautigans voice, Roland thought, and that was good. Hate was good. It was useful. Those realities are like a hall of mirrors, only no two reflections are exactly the same. I may come back to that image eventually, but not yet. What I want you to understand for nowor simply acceptis that reality is organic, reality is alive. Its something like a muscle. What Sheemie does is poke a hole in that muscle with a mental hypo. He only has a needle like this because hes special Because hes a mork, Eddie murmured. Hush! Susannah said. using it, Brautigan went on. (Roland considered rewinding in order to pick up the missing words and decided they didnt matter.) Its a place outside of time, outside of reality. I know you understand a little bit about the function of the Dark Tower; you understand its unifying purpose. Well, think of Gingerbread House as a balcony on the Tower when we come here, were outside the Tower but still attached to the Tower. Its a real placereal enough so Ive come back from it with candystains on my hands and clothesbut its a place only Sheemie Ruiz can access. And once were there, its whatever he wants it to be. One wonders, Roland, if you or your friends had any inkling of what Sheemie truly was and what he could do when you met him in Mejis. At this, Roland reached out and pushed the STOP button on the tape recorder. We knew he was  odd, he told the others. We knew he was special. Sometimes Cuthbert would say, What is it about that boy? He makes my skin itch! And then he showed up in Gilead, he and his mule, Cappi. Claimed to have followed us. And we knew that was impossible, but so much was happening by then that a saloonboy from Mejisnot bright but cheerful and helpfulwas the least of our worries. He teleported, didnt he? Jake asked. Roland, who had never even heard the word before today, nodded immediately. At least part of the distance; he had to have. For one thing, how else could he have crossed the Xay River? There was only the one bridge, a thing made out of ropes, and once we were across, Alain cut it. We watched it fall into the water a thousand feet below. Maybe he went around, Jake said. Roland nodded. Maybe he did  but it would have taken him at least six hundred wheels out of his way. Susannah whistled. Eddie waited to see if Roland had more to say. When it was clear he didnt, Eddie leaned forward and pushed the PLAY button again. Teds voice filled the cave once more. Sheemies a teleport. Dinky himself is a precog  among other things. Unfortunately, a good many avenues into the future are blocked to him. If youre wondering if young sai Earnshaw knows how all this is going to turn out, the answer is no. In any case, theres this hypodermic hole in the living flesh of reality  this balcony on the flank of the Dark Tower  this Gingerbread House. A real place, as hard as that might be to believe. Its here that well store the weapons and camping gear we eventually mean to leave for you in one of the caves on the far side of SteekTete, and its here that Im making this tape. When I left my room with this oldfashioned but fearsomely efficient machine under my arm, it was 1014 AM, BHSTBlue Heaven Standard Time. When I return, it will still be 1014 AM. No matter how long I stay. That is only one of the terribly convenient things about Gingerbread House. You need to understandperhaps Sheemies old friend Roland already doesthat we are three rebels in a society dedicated to the idea of going along to get along, even if it means the end of existence  and sooner rather than later. We have a number of extremely useful talents, and by pooling them weve managed to stay one step ahead. But if Prentiss or Finli o Tegohes Prentisss Security Chieffinds out what were trying to do, Dinky would be wormfood by nightfall. Sheemie as well, quite likely. Id probably be safe awhile longer, for reasons Ill get to, but if Pimli Prentiss found out we were trying to bring a true gunslinger into his affairsone who may already have orchestrated the deaths of over five dozen Greencloaks not far from hereeven my life might not be safe. A pause. Worthless thing that it is. There was a longer pause. The reel that had been empty was now halffull. Listen, then, Brautigan said, and Ill tell you the story of an unfortunate and unlucky man. It may be a longer story than you have time to listen to; if that be the case, Im sure at least three of you will understand the use of the button labeled FF. As for me, Im in a place where clocks are obsolete and broccoli is no doubt prohibited by law. I have all the time in the world. Eddie was again struck by how weary the man sounded. Id just suggest that you not fastforward unless you really have to. As Ive said, there may be something here that can help you, although I dont know what. Im simply too close to it. And Im tired of keeping my guard up, not just when Im awake but when Im sleeping, too. If I wasnt able to slip away to Gingerbread House every now and again and sleep with no defenses, Finlis cantoi boys would surely have bagged the three of us a long time ago. Theres a sofa in the corner, also made out of those wonderful nonstick marshmallows. I can go there and lie down and have the nightmares I need to have in order to keep my sanity. Then I can go back to the DevarToi, where my job isnt just protecting myself but protecting Sheemie and Dink, too. Making sure that when we go about our covert business, it appears to the guards and their fucking telemetry that we were right where we belonged the whole time in our suites, in The Study, maybe taking in a movie at the Gem or grabbing ice cream sodas at Henry Grahams Drug Store and Fountain afterward. It also means continuing to Break, and every day I can feel the Beam were currently working onBear and Turtlebending more and more. Get here quick, boys. Thats my wish for you. Get here just as quick as ever you can. Because it isnt just a question of me slipping up, you know. Dinkys got a terrible temper and a habit of going off on foulmouthed tirades if someone pushes his hotbuttons. He could say the wrong thing in a state like that. And Sheemie does his best, but if someone were to ask him the wrong question or catch him doing the wrong thing when Im not around to fix it  Brautigan didnt finish that particular thought. As far as his listeners were concerned, he didnt need to. THREE When he begins again, its to tell them he was born in Milford, Connecticut, in the year 1898. We have all heard similar introductory lines, enough to know that they signalfor better or worsethe onset of autobiography. Yet as they listen to that voice, the gunslingers are visited by another familiarity; this is true even of Oy. At first theyre not able to put their finger on it, but in time it comes to them. The story of Ted Brautigan, a Wandering Accountant instead of a Wandering Priest, is in many ways similar to that of Pere Donald Callahan. They could almost be twins. And the sixth listenerthe one beyond the blanketblocked cave entrance in the windy darkhears with growing sympathy and understanding. Why not? Booze isnt a major player in Brautigans story, as it was in the Peres, but its still a story of addiction and isolation, the story of an outsider. FOUR At the age of eighteen, Theodore Brautigan is accepted into Harvard, where his Uncle Tim went, and Uncle Timchildless himselfis more than willing to pay for Teds higher education. And so far as Timothy Atwood knows, what happens is perfectly straightforward offer made, offer accepted, nephew shines in all the right areas, nephew graduates and prepares to enter uncles furniture business after six months spent touring postWorld War I Europe. What Uncle Tim doesnt know is that before going to Harvard, Ted tries to enlist in what will soon be known as the American Expeditionary Force. Son, the doctor tells him, youve got one hell of a loud heart murmur, and your hearing is substandard. Now are you going to tell me that you came here not knowing those things would get you a red stamp? Because, pardon me if Im out of line, here, you look too smart for that. And then Ted Brautigan does something hes never done before, has sworn he never will do. He asks the Army doc to pick a number, not just between one and ten but between one and a thousand . To humor him (its rainy in Hartford, and that means things are slow in the enlistment office), the doctor thinks of the number 748. Ted gives it back to him. Plus 419 89 and 997. When Ted invites him to think of a famous person, living or dead, and when Ted tells him Andrew Johnson, not Jackson but Johnson, the doc is finally amazed. He calls over another doc, a friend, and Ted goes through the same rigmarole again  with one exception. He asks the second doctor to pick a number between one and a million, then tells the doctor he was thinking of eightyseven thousand, four hundred and sixteen. The second doctor looks momentarily surprisedstunned, in fact then covers with a big shitlicking smile. Sorry, son, he says, you were only off by a hundred and thirty thousand or so. Ted looks at him, not smiling, not responding to the shitlicking smile in any way at all of which he is aware, but hes eighteen, and still young enough to be flabbergasted by such utter and seemingly pointless mendacity. Meanwhile, Doc Number Twos shitlicking smile has begun to fade on its own. Doc Number Two turns to Doc Number One and says Look at his eyes, Sam look at whats happening to his eyes. The first doctor tries to shine an ophthalmoscope in Teds eyes and Ted brushes it impatiently aside. He has access to mirrors and has seen the way his pupils sometimes expand and contract, is aware when its happening even when theres no mirror handy by a kind of shuttering, stuttering effect in his vision, and it doesnt interest him, especially not now. What interests him now is that Doc Number Two is fucking with him and he doesnt know why. Write the number down this time, he invites. Write it down so you cant cheat. Doc Number Two blusters. Ted reiterates his challenge. Doc Sam produces a piece of paper and a pen and the second doctor takes it. He is actually about to write a number when he reconsiders and tosses the pen on Sams desk and says This is some kind of cheap streetcorner trick, Sam. If you cant see that, youre blind. And stalks away. Ted invites Dr. Sam to think of a relative, any relative, and a moment later tells the doctor hes thinking of his brother Guy, who died of appendicitis when Guy was fourteen; ever since, their mother has called Guy Sams guardian angel. This time Dr. Sam looks as though hes been slapped. At last hes afraid. Whether its the odd inandout movement of Teds pupils, or the matteroffact demonstration of telepathy with no dramatic foreheadrubbing, no Im getting a picture wait , Dr. Sam is finally afraid. He stamps REJECTEDon Teds enlistment application with the big red stamp and tries to get rid of himnext case, who wants to go to France and sniff the mustard gas?but Ted takes his arm in a grip which is gentle but not in the least tentative. Listen to me, says Ted Stevens Brautigan. I am a genuine telepath. Ive suspected it since I was six or seven years oldold enough to know the word and Ive known it for sure since I was sixteen. I could be of great help in Army Intelligence, and my substandard hearing and heart murmur wouldnt matter in such a post. As for the thing with my eyes? He reaches into his breast pocket, produces a pair of sunglasses, and slips them on. Tada! He gives Dr. Sam a tentative smile. It does no good. There is a SergeantatArms standing at the door of the temporary recruitment office in East Hartford Highs physical education department, and the medic summons him. This fellow is 4F and Im tired of arguing with him. Perhaps youd be good enough to escort him off the premises. Now it is Teds arm which is gripped, and none too gently. Wait a minute! Ted says. Theres something else! Something even more valuable! I dont know if theres a word for it, but  Before he can continue, the SergeantatArms drags him out and hustles him rapidly down the hall, past several gawking boys and girls almost exactly his own age. There is a word, and hell learn it years later, in Blue Heaven. The word is facilitator, and as far as Paul Pimli Prentiss is concerned, it makes Ted Stevens Brautigan just about the most valuable hume in the universe. Not on that day in 1916, though. On that day in 1916, he is dragged briskly down the hallway and deposited on the granite step outside the main doors and told by a man with a footthick accent that Yall just want tstay outta heah, boa. After some consideration, Ted decides the SergeantatArms isnt calling him a snake; boa in this context is most likely Dixie for boy. For a little while Ted just stands where he has been left. Hes thinking What does it take to convince you? and How blind can you be? He cant believe what just happened to him. But he has to believe it, because here he is, on the outside. And at the end of a sixmile walk around Hartford he thinks he understands something else as well. They will never believe. None of them. Not ever. Theyll refuse to see that a fellow who could read the collective mind of the German High Command might be mildly useful. A fellow who could tell the Allied High Command where the next big German push was going to come. A fellow who could do a thing like that a few times maybe even just once or twice!might be able to end the war by Christmas. But he wont have the chance because they wont give it to him. And why? It has something to do with the second doctor changing his number when Ted landed on it, and then refusing to write another one down. Because somewhere down deep they want to fight, and a guy like him would spoil everything. Its something like that. Fuck it, then. Hell go to Harvard on his uncles nickel. And does. Harvards all Dinky told them, and more Drama, Debate, Harvard Crimson,Mathematical Odd Fellows and, of course, the capper, Phi Beta Crapper. He even saves Unc a few bucks by graduating early. He is in the south of France, the war long over, when a telegram reaches him UNCLE DEAD STOP RETURN HOME SOONEST STOP. The key word here seemed to be STOP. God knows it was one of those watershed moments. He went home, yes, and he gave comfort where comfort was due, yes. But instead of stepping into the furniture business, Ted decides to STOP his march toward financial success and START his march toward financial obscurity. In the course of the mans long story, Rolands katet never once hears Ted Brautigan blame his deliberate anonymity on his outr talent, or on his moment of epiphany this is one valuable talent that no one in the world wants. And God, how he comes to understand that! For one thing, his wild talent (as the pulp sciencefiction magazines sometimes call it) is actually physically dangerous under the right circumstances. Or the wrong ones. In 1935, in Ohio, it makes Ted Brautigan a murderer. He has no doubt that some would feel the word is too harsh, but he will be the judge of that in this particular case, thank you oh so very much, and he thinks the word is apt. Its Akron and its a blue summer dusk and kids are playing kickthecan at one end of Stossy Avenue and stickball at the other and Brautigan stands on the corner in a summerweight suit, stands by the pole with the white stripe painted on it, the white stripe that means the bus stops here. Behind him is a deserted candystore with a blue NRA eagle in one window and a whitewashed message in the other that says THEIR KILLING THE LITTLE MAN. Ted is just standing there with his scuffed cordovan briefcase and a brown sack a pork chop for his supper, he got it at Mr. Dales Fancy Butcher Shopwhen all at once somebody runs into him from behind and hes driven into the telephone pole with the white stripe on it. He connects nosefirst. His nose breaks. It sprays blood. Then his mouth connects, and he feels his teeth cut into the soft lining of his lips, and all at once his mouth is filled with a salty taste like hot tomato juice. Theres a thud in the small of his back and a ripping sound. His trousers are pulled halfway down over his ass by the force of the hit, hanging crooked and twisted, like the pants of a clown, and all at once a guy in a teeshirt and gabardine slacks with a shiny seat is running off down Stossy Avenue toward the stickball game and that thing flapping in his right hand, flapping like a brown leather tongue, why, that thing is Ted Brautigans wallet. He has just been mugged out of his wallet, by God! The purple dusk of that summer night deepens suddenly to full dark, then lightens up again, then deepens once more. Its his eyes, doing the trick that so amazed the second doctor almost twenty years before, but Ted hardly notices. His attention is fixed on the fleeing man, the son of a bitch who just mugged him out of his wallet and spoiled his face in the process. Hes never been so angry in his life, never, and although the thought he sends at the fleeing man is innocuous, almost gentle (say buddy I wouldve given you a dollar if youd asked maybe even two) it has the deadly weight of a thrown spear. And it was a spear. It takes him some time to fully accept that, but when the time comes he realizes that hes a murderer and if theres a God, Ted Brautigan will someday have to stand at His throne and answer for what hes just done. The fleeing man looks like he stumbles over something, but theres nothing there, only HARRY LOVES BELINDA printed on the cracked sidewalk in fading chalk. The sentiment is surrounded with childish doodlesstars, a comet, a crescent moonwhich he will later come to fear. Ted feels like he just took a spear in the middle of the back himself, but he, at least, is still standing. And he didnt mean it. Theres that. He knows in his heart that he didnt mean it. He was just surprised into anger. He picks up his wallet and sees the stickball kids staring at him, their mouths open. He points his wallet at them like some kind of gun with a floppy barrel, and the boy holding the sawedoff broomhandle flinches. Its the flinch even more than the falling body that will haunt Teds dreams for the next year or so, and then off and on for the rest of his life. Because he likes kids, would never scare one on purpose. And he knows what they are seeing a man with his pants mostly pulled down so his boxer shorts show (for all he knows his dingus could be hanging out of the fly front, and wouldnt that just be the final magical touch), a wallet in his hand and a loony look on his bloody kisser. You didnt see anything! he shouts at them. You hear me, now! You hear me! You didnt see anything! Then he hitches up his pants. Then he goes back to his briefcase and picks it up, but not the pork chop in the brown paper sack, fuck the pork chop, he lost his appetite along with one of his incisors. Then he takes another look at the body on the sidewalk, and the frightened kids. Then he runs. Which turns into a career. FIVE The end of the second tape pulled free of the hub and made a soft fwipfwipfwip sound as it turned. Jesus, Susannah said. Jesus, that poor man. So long ago, Jake said, and shook his head as if to clear it. To him, the years between his when and Mr. Brautigans seemed an unbridgeable chasm. Eddie picked up the third box and displayed the tape inside, raising his eyebrows at Roland. The gunslinger twirled a finger in his old gesture, the one that said go on, go on. Eddie threaded the tape through the heads. Hed never done this before, but you didnt have to be a rocket scientist, as the saying went. The tired voice began again, speaking from the Gingerbread House Dinky Earnshaw had made for Sheemie, a real place created from nothing more than imagination. A balcony on the side of the Dark Tower, Brautigan had called it. Hed killed the man (by accident, they all would have agreed; they had come to live by the gun and knew the difference between by accident and on purpose without needing to discuss the matter) around seven in the evening. By nine that night, Brautigan was on a westbound train. Three days later he was scanning the Accountants Wanted ads in the Des Moines newspaper. He knew something about himself by then, knew how careful he would have to be. He could no longer allow himself the luxury of anger even when anger was justified. Ordinarily he was just your gardenvariety telepathcould tell you what you had for lunch, could tell you which card was the queen of hearts because the streetcorner sharpie running the montecon knewbut when angry he had access to this spear, this terrible spear  And just by the way, thats not true, said the voice from the tape recorder. The part about being just a gardenvariety telepath, I mean, and I understood that even when I was a wetbehindtheears kid trying to get into the Army. I just didnt know the word for what I was. The word, it turned out, was facilitator. And he later became sure that certain folkscertain talent scoutswere watching him even then, sizing him up, knowing he was different even in the subset of telepaths but not how different. For one thing, telepaths who did not come from the Keystone Earth (it was their phrase) were rare. For another, Ted had come to realize by the midnineteenthirties that what he had was actually catching if he touched a person while in a state of high emotion, that person for a short time became a telepath. What he hadnt known then was that people who were already telepaths became stronger. Exponentially stronger. But thats ahead of my story, he said. He moved from town to town, a hobo who rode the rods in a passenger car and wearing a suit instead of in a boxcar wearing Oshkosh biballs, never staying in one place long enough to put down roots. And in retrospect, he supposed he knew that even then he was being watched. It was an intuitive thing, or like oddities one sometimes glimpsed from the corner of ones eye. He became aware of a certain kind of people, for instance. A few were women, most were men, and all had a taste for loud clothes, rare steak, and fast cars painted in colors as garish as their clothing. Their faces were oddly heavy and strangely inexpressive. It was a look he much later came to associate with dumbbells whod gotten plastic surgery from quack doctors. During that same twentyyear periodbut once again not consciously, only in the corner of his minds eye  he became aware that no matter what city he was in, those childishly simple symbols had a way of turning up on fences and stoops and sidewalks. Stars and comets, ringed planets and crescent moons. Sometimes a red eye. There was often a hopscotch grid in the same area, but not always. Later on, he said, it all fit together in a crazy sort of way, but not back in the thirties and forties and early fifties, when he was drifting. No, back then hed been a little bit like Docs One and Two, not wanting to see what was right in front of him, because it was  disturbing. And then, right around the time Korea was winding down, he saw The Ad. It promised THE JOB OF A LIFETIME and said that if you were THE MAN WITH THE RIGHT QUALIFICATIONS, there would be ABSOLUTELY NO QUESTIONS ASKED. A number of required skills were enumerated, accountancy being one of them. Brautigan was sure the ad ran in newspapers all over the country; he happened to read it in the Sacramento Bee. Holy crap! Jake cried. Thats the same paper Pere Callahan was reading when he found out his friend George Magruder Hush, Roland said. Listen. They listened. SIX The tests are administered by humes (a term Ted Brautigan wont know for another few weeks not until he steps out of the year 1955 and into the notime of the Algul). The interviewer he eventually meets in San Francisco is also a hume. Ted will learn (among a great many other things) that the disguises the low men wear, most particularly the masks they wear, are not good, not when youre up close and personal. Up close and personal you can see the truth they are humetaheen hybrids who take the matter of their becoming with a religious fervor. The easiest way to find yourself wrapped in a lowman bearhug with a set of murderous lowman teeth searching for your carotid artery is to aver that the only two things they are becoming is older and uglier. The red marks on their foreheadsthe Eye of the Kingusually disappear when they are Americaside (or dry up, like temporarily dormant pimples), and the masks take on a weird organic quality, except for behind the ears, where the hairy, toothscabbed underflesh shows, and inside the nostrils, where one can see dozens of little moving cilia. But who is so impolite as to look up a fellows snotgutters? Whatever they think, up close and personal theres something definitely wrong with them even when theyre Americaside, and no one wants to scare the new fish before the nets properly in place. So its humes (an abbreviation the cantoi wont even use; they find it demeaning, like nigger or vamp) at the exams, humes in the interview rooms, nothing but humes until later, when they go through one of the working Americaside doorways and come out in Thunderclap. Ted is tested, along with a hundred or so others, in a gymnasium that reminds him of the one back in East Hartford. This one has been filled with rows and rows of studyhall desks (wrestling mats have been considerately laid down to keep the desks oldfashioned round iron bases from scratching the varnished hardwood), but after the first round of testinga ninetyminute diagnostic full of math, English, and vocabulary questions half of them are empty. After the second round, its three quarters. Round Two consists of some mighty weird questions, highly subjective questions, and in several cases Ted gives an answer in which he does not believe, because he thinks maybe knowsthat the people giving the test want a different answer from the one he (and most people) would ordinarily give. For instance, theres this little honey 23. You come to a stop near an overturned car on a littletraveled road. Trapped in the car is a Young Man crying for rescue. You ask, Are you hurt, Young Man? to which he responds, I dont think so! In the field nearby is a Satchel filled with Money. You a. Rescue the Young Man and give him back his Money b. Rescue the Young Man but insist that the Money be taken to the local Police c. Take the Money and go on your way, knowing that although the road may be little traveled, someone will be along eventually to free the Young Man d. None of the above Had this been a test for the Sacramento PD, Ted would have circled b in a heartbeat. He may be little more than a hobo on the road, but his mama didnt raise no fools, thank you oh so very much. That choice would be the correct one in most circumstances, toothe playitsafe choice, the cantgowrong choice. And, as a fallback position, the one that says I dont have a frigging clue what this is about but at least Im honest enough to say so, theres d. Ted circles c, but not because that is necessarily what hed do in that situation. On the whole he tends to think that hed go for a, presuming he could at least ask the Young Man a few questions about where the loot came from. And if outright torture wasnt involved (and he would know, wouldnt he, no matter what the Young Man might have to say on the subject), sure, heres your money, Vaya con Dios. And why? Because Ted Brautigan happens to believe that the owner of the defunct candystore had a point THEIR KILLING THE LITTLE MAN. But he circles c, and five days later he finds himself in the anteroom of an outofbusiness dance studio in San Francisco (his trainfare from Sacramento prepaid), along with three other men and a sullenlooking teenage girl (the girls the former Tanya Leeds of Bryce, Colorado, as it turns out). Better than four hundred people showed up for the test in the gym, lured by the honeypot ad. Goats, for the most part. Here, however, are four sheep. One per cent. And even this, as Brautigan will discover in the full course of time, is an amazing catch. Eventually he is shown into an office marked PRIVATE. It is mostly filled with dusty ballet stuff. A broadshouldered, hardfaced man in a brown suit sits in a folding chair, incongruously surrounded by filmy pink tutus. Ted thinks, A real toad in an imaginary garden. The man sits forward, arms on his elephantine thighs. Mr. Brautigan, he says, I may or may not be a toad, but I can offer you the job of a lifetime. I can also send you out of here with a handshake and a muchobliged. It depends on the answer to one question. A question about a question, in fact. The man, whose name turns out to be Frank Armitage, hands Ted a sheet of paper. On it, blown up, is Question 23, the one about the Young Man and the Satchel of Money. You circled c,  Frank Armitage says. So now, with absolutely no hesitation whatever, please tell me why. Because c was what you wanted, Ted replies with absolutely no hesitation whatever. And how do you know that? Because Im a telepath, Ted says. And thats what youre really looking for. He tries to keep his poker face and thinks he succeeds pretty well, but inside hes filled with a great and singing relief. Because hes found a job? No. Because theyll shortly make him an offer that would make the prizes on the new TV quiz shows look tame? No. Because someone finally wants what he can do. Because someone finally wants him. SEVEN The job offer turned out to be another honeypot, but Brautigan was honest enough in his taped memoir to say he might have gone along even if hed known the truth. Because talent wont be quiet, doesnt know how to be quiet, he said. Whether its a talent for safecracking, thoughtreading, or dividing tendigit numbers in your head, it screams to be used. It never shuts up. Itll wake you in the middle of your tiredest night, screaming, Use me, use me, use me! Im tired of just sitting here! Use me, fuckhead, use me! Jake broke into a roar of preadolescent laughter. He covered his mouth but kept laughing through his hands. Oy looked up at him, those black eyes with the gold wedding rings floating in them, grinning fiendishly.


There in the room filled with the frilly pink tutus, his fedora hat cocked back on his crewcut head, Armitage asked if Ted had ever heard of the South American Seabees. When Ted replied that he hadnt, Armitage told him that a consortium of wealthy South American businessmen, mostly Brazilian, had hired a bunch of American engineers, construction workers, and roughnecks in 1946. Over a hundred in all. These were the South American Seabees. The consortium hired them all for a fouryear period, and at different paygrades, but the pay was extremely generousalmost embarrassingly soat all grades. A dozer operator might sign a contract for 20,000 a year, for instance, which was tall tickets in those days. But there was more a bonus equal to one years pay. A total of 100,000. If, that was, the fellow would agree to one unusual condition you go, you work, and you dont come back until the four years are up or the work is done. You got two days off every week, just like in America, and you got a vacation every year, just like in America, but in the pampas. You couldnt go back to North America (or even Rio) until your fouryear hitch was over. If you died in South America, you got planted thereno one was going to pay to have your body shipped back to WilkesBarre. But you got fifty grand up front, and a sixtyday grace period during which you could spend it, save it, invest it, or ride it like a pony. If you chose investment, that fifty grand might be seventyfive when you came waltzing out of the jungle with a bonedeep tan, a whole new set of muscles, and a lifetime of stories to tell. And, of course, once you were out you had what the limeys liked to call the other half to put on top of it. This was like that, Armitage told Ted earnestly. Only the front half would be a cool quarter of a million and the back end half a million. Which sounded incredible, Ted said from the Wollensak. Of course it did, by jiminy. I didnt find out until later how incredibly cheap they were buying us, even at those prices. Dinky is particularly eloquent on the subject of their stinginess  they in this case being all the Kings bureaucrats. He says the Crimson King is trying to bring about the end of all creation on the budget plan, and of course hes right, but I think even Dinky realizesalthough he wont admit it, of course that if you offer a man too much, he simply refuses to believe it. Or, depending on his imagination (many telepaths and precogs have almost no imagination at all), be unable to believe it. In our case the period of indenture was to be six years, with an option to renew, and Armitage needed my decision immediately. Few techniques are so successful, lady and gentlemen, as the one where you boggle your targets mind, freeze him with greed, then blitz him. I was duly blitzed, and agreed at once. Armitage told me that my quartermil would be in the Seamans San Francisco Bank as of that afternoon, and I could draw on it as soon as I got down there. I asked him if I had to sign a contract. He reached out one of his handsbig as a ham, it wasand told me that was our contract. I asked him where Id be going and what Id be doingall questions I should have asked first, Im sure youd agree, but I was so stunned it never crossed my mind. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew. I thought Id be working for the government. Some kind of Cold War deal. The telepathic branch of the CIA or FBI, set up on an island in the Pacific. I remember thinking it would make one hell of a radio play. Armitage told me, Youll be traveling far, Ted, but it will also be right next door. And for the time being, thats all I can say. Except to keep your mouth shut about our arrangement during the eight weeks before you actually  mmm  ship out. Remember that loose lips sink ships. At the risk of inculcating you with paranoia, assume that you are being watched. And of course I was watched. Latertoo later, in a manner of speakingI was able to replay my last two months in Frisco and realize that the cantoi were watching me the whole time. The low men. EIGHT Armitage and two other humes met us outside the Mark Hopkins Hotel, said the voice from the tape recorder. I remember the date with perfect clarity; it was Halloween of 1955. Five oclock in the afternoon. Me, Jace McGovern, Dave Ittaway, Dick  I cant remember his last name, he died about six months later, Humma said it was pneumonia and the rest of the kicans backed him upkican sort of means shitpeople or shitfolken, if youre interestedbut it was suicide and I knew it if no one else did. The rest  well, remember Doc Number Two? The rest were and are like him. Dont tell me what I dont want to know, sai, dont mess up my worldview. Anyway, the last one was Tanya Leeds. Tough little thing  A pause and a click. Then Teds voice resumed, sounding temporarily refreshed. The third tape had almost finished. He must have really burned through the rest of the story, Eddie thought, and found that the idea disappointed him. Whatever else he was, Ted was a hell of a good talespinner. Armitage and his colleagues showed up in a Ford station wagon, what we called a woody in those charming days. They drove us inland, to a town called Santa Mira. There was a paved main street. The rest of them were dirt. I remember there were a lot of oilderricks, looking like praying mantises, sort of  although it was dark by then and they were really just shapes against the sky. I was expecting a train depot, or maybe a bus with CHARTERED in the destination window. Instead we pulled up to this empty freight depot with a sign reading SANTA MIRA SHIPPING hanging askew on the front and I got a thought, clear as day, from Dick whateverhisname was. Theyre going to kill us, he was thinking. They brought us out here to kill us and steal our stuff. If youre not a telepath, you dont know how scary something like that can be. How the surety of it kind of  invades your head. I saw Dave Ittaway go pale, and although Tanya didnt make a soundshe was a tough little thing, as I told youit was bright enough in the car to see there were tears standing in the corners of her eyes. I leaned over her, took Dicks hands in mine, and squeezed down on them when he tried to pull away. I thought at him, They didnt give us a quarter of a mill each, most of it still stashed safe in the Seamans Bank, so they could bring us out to the williwags and steal our watches. And Jace thought at me, I dont even have a watch. I pawned my Gruen two years ago in Albuquerque, and by the time I thought about buying another onearound midnight last night, this wasall the stores were closed and I was too drunk to climb down off the barstool I was on, anyway. That relaxed us, and we all had a laugh. Armitage asked us what we were laughing about and that relaxed us even more, because we had something they didnt, could communicate in a way they couldnt. I told him it was nothing, then gave Dicks hands another little squeeze. It did the job. I  facilitated him, I suppose. It was my first time doing that. The first of many. Thats part of the reason Im so tired; all that facilitating wears a man out. Armitage and the others led us inside. The place was deserted, but at the far end there was a door with two words chalked on it, along with those moons and stars. THUNDERCLAP STATION, it said. Well, there was no station no tracks, no buses, no road other than the one wed used to get there. There were windows on either side of the door and nothing on the other side of the building but a couple of smaller buildingsdeserted sheds, one of them just a burntout shelland a lot of scrubland littered with trash. Dave Ittaway said, Why are we going out there? and one of the others said, Youll see, and we certainly did. Ladies first, Armitage said, and he opened the door. It was dark on the other side, but not the same kind of dark. It was darker dark. If youve seen Thunderclap at night, youll know. And it sounded different. Old buddy Dick there had some second thoughts and turned around. One of the men pulled a gun. And Ill never forget what Armitage said. Because he sounded  kindly. Too late to back out now, he said. Now you can only go forward. And I think right then I knew that business about the sixyear plan, and reupping if we wanted to, was what my friend Bobby Garfield and his friend SullyJohn would have called just a shuck and jive. Not that we could read it in their thoughts. They were all wearing hats, you see. You never see a low man or a low lady, for that matterwithout a hat on. The mens looked like plain old fedoras, the sort most guys wore back then, but these were no ordinary lids. They were thinkingcaps. Although anti thinkingcaps would be more accurate; they muffle the thoughts of the people wearing them. If you try to prog someone whos wearing oneprog is Dinkys word for thoughtreadingyou just get a hum with a lot of whispering underneath. Very unpleasant, like the todash chimes. If youve heard them, you know. Discourages too much effort, and efforts the last thing most of the telepaths in the Algul are interested in. What the Breakers are mostly interested in, lady and gentlemen, is going along to get along. Which only shows up for what it is monstrousif you pull back and take the long view. One more thing most Breakers are not into. Quite often you hear a saying a little poemaround campus, or see it chalked on the walls Enjoy the cruise, turn on the fan, theres nothing to lose, so work on your tan. It means a lot more than Take it easy. The implications of that little piece of doggerel are extremely unpleasant. I wonder if you can see that. Eddie thought he could, at least, and it occurred to him that his brother Henry would have made an absolutely wonderful Breaker. Always assuming hed been allowed to take along his heroin and his Creedence Clearwater Revival albums, that was. A longer pause from Ted, then a rueful sort of laugh. I believe its time to make a long story a little shorter. We went through the door, leave it at that. If youve done it, you know it can be very unpleasant, if the doors not in tiptop working order. And the door between Santa Mira, California, and Thunderclap was in better shape than some Ive been through since. For a moment there was only darkness on the other side, and the howl of what the taheen call desertdogs. Then a cluster of lights went on and we saw these  these things with the heads of birds and weasels and one with the head of a bull, horns and all. Jace screamed, and so did I. Dave Ittaway turned and tried to run, but Armitage grabbed him. Even if he hadnt, where was there to go? Back through the door? It was closed, and for all I know, thats a oneway. The only one of us who never made a sound was Tanya, and when she looked at me, what I saw in her eyes and read in her thoughts was relief. Because we knew, you see. Not all the questions were answered, but the two that mattered were. Where were we? In another world. When were we coming back? Never in life. Our money would sit in the Seamans of San Francisco until it turned into millions, and no one would ever spend it. We were in for the long haul. There was a bus there, with a robot driver named Phil. My names Phil, Im over the hill, but the best news is that I never spill, he said. He smelled like lightning and there were all sorts of discordant clicking sounds coming from deep in his guts. Old Phils dead now, dumped in the train and robot graveyard with God alone knows how many others, but theyve got enough mechanized help to finish what theyve started, Im sure. Dick fainted when we came out on Thunderclapside, but by the time we could see the lights of the compound, hed come around again. Tanya had his head in her lap, and I remember how gratefully he was looking up at her. Its funny what you remember, isnt it? They checked us in at the gate. Assigned us our dorms, assigned us our suites, saw that we were fed  and a damned fine meal it was. The first of many. The next day, we went to work. And, barring my little vacation in Connecticut, weve been working ever since. Another pause. Then God help us, weve been working ever since. And, God forgive us, most of us have been happy. Because the only thing talent wants is to be used. NINE He tells them of his first few shifts in The Study, and his realization not gradual but almost immediate that they are not here to search out spies or read the thoughts of Russian scientists, or any of that spaceshot nonsense, as Dinky would say (not that Dinky was there at first, although Sheemie was). No, what they are doing is breaking something. He can feel it, not just in the sky above Algul Siento but everywhere around them, even under their feet. Yet he is content enough. The food is good, and although his sexual appetites have subsided quite a bit over the years, hes not a bit averse to the odd bonk, just reminding himself every time that sim sex is really nothing but accessorized masturbation. But then, hes had the odd bonk with the odd whore over the years, as many men living on the road have, and he could testify that that sort of sex is also not much different than masturbation; youre putting it to her just as hard as you can, the sweat pouring off you, and shes going Babybabybaby, and all the time wondering if she ought to gas the car and trying to remember which day is double stamps at the Red  White. As with most things in life, you have to use your imagination, and Ted can do that, hes good at the old visualization thing, thank you oh so very much. He likes the roof over his head, he likes the company the guards are guards, yeah, but he believes them when they say its as much their job to keep bad stuff from getting in as it is to make sure the Breakers dont get out. He likes most of the inmates, too, and realizes after a year or two that the inmates need him in some strange way. Hes able to comfort them when they get the mean reds; hes able to assuage their crampy waves of homesickness with an hour or so of murmured conversation. And surely this is a good thing. Maybe its all a good thing certainly it feels like a good thing. To be homesick is human, but to Break is divine. He tries to explain to Roland and his tet, but the best he can do, the closest he can come, is to say its like finally being able to scratch that outofreach place on your back that always drives you crazy with its mild but persistent itch. He likes to go to The Study, and so do all the others. He likes the feeling of sitting there, of smelling the good wood and good leather, of searching  searching  and then, suddenly, aahhh. There you are. Youre hooked in, swinging like a monkey on a limb. Youre breaking, baby, and to break is divine. Dinky once said that The Study was the only place in the world where he really felt in touch with himself, and that was why he wanted to see it shut down. Burned down, if possible. Because I know the kind of shit I get up to when Im in touch with myself, he told Ted. When I, you know, really get in the groove. And Ted knew exactly what he was talking about. Because The Study was always too good to be true. You sat down, maybe picked up a magazine, looked at pictures of models and margarine, movie stars and motor cars, and you felt your mind rise. The Beam was all around, it was like being in some vast corridor full of force, but your mind always rose to the roof and when it got there it found that big old sliding groove. Maybe once, just after the Prim withdrew and Gans voice still echoed in the rooms of the macroverse, the Beams were smooth and polished, but those days are gone. Now the Way of the Bear and the Turtle is lumpy and eroded, full of coves and cols and bays and cracks, plenty of places to get your fingers in and take hold, and sometimes you drag at it and sometimes you can feel yourself worming your way into it like a drop of acid that can think. All these sensations are intensely pleasurable. Sexy. And for Ted theres something else, as well, although he doesnt know hes the only one whos got it until Trampas tells him. Trampas never means to tell him anything, but hes got this lousy case of eczema, you see, and it changes everything. Hard to believe a flaky scalp might be responsible for saving the Dark Tower, but the ideas not entirely farfetched. Not entirely farfetched at all. TEN There are about a hundred and eighty fulltime personnel at work in the Algul, Ted said. Im not the guy to tell anyone how to do his job, but thats something you may want to write down, or at least remember. Roughly speaking, its sixty per eighthour shift and split twentytwentytwenty. Taheen have the sharpest eyes and generally man the watchtowers. Humes patrol the outer run of fence. With guns, mind youhard calibers. Topside theres Prentiss, the Master, and Finli o Tego, the Security Chief  hume and taheen, respectively  but most of the floaters are cantoi  the low men, you understand. Most low men dont get along with the Breakers; a little stiff camaraderie is the best they can do. Dinky told me once that theyre jealous of us because were what he calls finished humes. Like the hume guards, the cantoi wear thinkingcaps when theyre on duty so we cant prog them. The fact is most Breakers havent tried to prog anyone or anything but the Beam in years, and maybe cant, anymore; the mind is also a muscle, and like any other, it atrophies if you dont use it. A pause. A click on the tape. Then Im not going to be able to finish. Im disappointed but not entirely surprised. This will have to be my last story, folks. Im sorry. A low sound. A sipping sound, Susannah was quite sure; Ted having another drink of water. Have I told you that the taheen dont need the thinkingcaps? They speak perfectly good English, and Ive sensed from time to time that some have limited progging abilities of their own, can send and receiveat least a littlebut if you dip into them, you get these mindnumbing blasts of what sounds like mental staticwhite noise. I assumed it was some sort of protective device; Dinky believes its the way they actually think. Either way, it makes it easier for them. They dont have to remember to put on hats in the morning when they go out! Trampas was one of the cantoi rovers. You might see him one day strolling along Main Street in Pleasantville, or sitting on a bench in the middle of the Mall, usually with some selfhelp book like Seven Steps to Positive Thinking. Then, the next day, there he is leaning against the side of Heartbreak House, taking in the sun. Same with the other cantoi floaters. If theres a pattern, Ive never been able to anticipate it, or Dinky either. We dont think there is one. Whats always made Trampas different is a complete lack of that sense of jealousy. Hes actually friendlyor was; in some ways he hardly seemed to be a low man at all. Not many of his cantoi colleagues seem to like him a whole hell of a lot. Which is ironic, you know, because if there really is such a thing as becoming, then Trampas is one of the few who actually seem to be getting somewhere with it. Simple laughter, for instance. When most low men laugh, it sounds like a basket of rocks rolling down a tin coalchute makes you fair shiver, as Tanya says. When Trampas laughs, he sounds a little highpitched but otherwise normal. Because he is laughing, I think. Genuinely laughing. The others are just forcing it. Anyway, I struck up a conversation with him one day. On Main Street, this was, outside the Gem. Star Wars was back for its umptyumpth revival. If theres any movie the Breakers never get enough of, its Star Wars. I asked him if he knew where his name came from. He said yes, of course, from his clanfam. Each cantoi is given a hume name by his clanfam at some point in his development; its a kind of maturitymarker. Dinky says they get that name the first time they successfully whack off, but thats just Dinky being Dinky. The fact is we dont know and it doesnt matter, but some of the names are pretty hilarious. Theres one fellow who looks like Rondo Hatton, a film actor from the thirties who suffered from acromegaly and got work playing monsters and psychopaths, but his name is Thomas Carlyle. Theres another one named Beowulf and a fellow named Van Gogh Baez. Susannah, a Bleecker Street folkie from way back, put her face in her hands to stifle a gust of giggles. Anyway, I told him that Trampas was a character from a famous Western novel called The Virginian. Only second banana to the actual hero, true, but Trampas has got the one line from the book everyone remembers Smile when you say that! It tickled our Trampas, and I ended up telling him the whole plot of the book over cups of drugstore coffee. We became friends. Id tell him what was going on in our little community of Breakers, and hed tell me all sorts of interesting but innocent things about what was going on over on his side of the fence. He also complained about his eczema, which made his head itch terribly. He kept lifting his hatthis little beanietype of thing, almost like a yarmulke, only made of denimto scratch underneath. He claimed that was the worst place of all, even worse than down there on your makieman. And little by little, I realized that every time he lifted his beanie to scratch, I could read his thoughts. Not just the ones on top but all of them. If I was fastand I learned to beI could pick and choose, exactly the way youd pick and choose articles in an encyclopedia by turning the pages. Only it wasnt really like that; it was more like someone turning a radio on and off during a news broadcast. Holy shit, Eddie said, and took another graham cracker. He wished mightily for milk to dip them in; graham crackers without milk were almost like Oreos without the white stuff in the middle. Imagine turning a radio or a TV on fullblast, Ted said in his rusty, failing voice, and then turning it off again  justasquick. He purposely ran this together, and they all smiledeven Roland. Thatll give you the idea. Now Ill tell you what I learned. I suspect you know it already, but I just cant take the risk that you dont. Its too important. There is a Tower, lady and gentlemen, as you must know. At one time six beams crisscrossed there, both taking power from itits some kind of unimaginable powersourceand lending support, the way guywires support a radio tower. Four of these Beams are now gone, the fourth very recently. The only two remaining are the Beam of the Bear, Way of the Turtle Shardiks Beamand the Beam of the Elephant, Way of the Wolfsome call that one Gans Beam. I wonder if you can imagine my horror at discovering what Id actually been doing in The Study. When Id been scratching that innocent itch. Although I knew all along that it was something important, knew it. And there was something worse, something I hadnt suspected, something that applied only to me. Id known that I was different in some ways; for one thing, I seemed to be the only Breaker with an ounce of compassion in my makeup. When theyve got the mean reds, I am, as I told you, the one they come to. Pimli Prentiss, the Master, married Tanya and Joey Rastosovichinsisted on it, wouldnt hear a word against the idea, kept saying that it was his privilege and his responsibility, he was just like the captain on an old cruiseshipand of course they let him do it. But afterward, they came to my rooms and Tanya said, You marry us, Ted. Then well really be married. And sometimes I ask myself, Did you think that was all it was? Before you started visiting with Trampas, and listening every time he lifted up his cap to scratch, did you truly think that having a little pity and a little love in your soul were the only things that set you apart from the others? Or were you fooling yourself about that, too? I dont know for sure, but maybe I can find myself innocent on that particular charge. I really did not understand that my talent goes far beyond progging and Breaking. Im like a microphone for a singer or a steroid for a muscle. I  hype them. Say theres a unit of forcecall it darks, all right? In The Study, twenty or thirty people might be able to put out fifty darks an hour without me. With me? Maybe it jumps to five hundred darks an hour. And it jumps all at once. Listening to Trampass head, I came to see that they considered me the catch of the century, maybe of all time, the one truly indispensable Breaker. Id already helped them to snap one Beam and I was cutting centuries off their work on Shardiks Beam. And when Shardiks Beam snaps, lady and gentlemen, Gans can only last a little while. And when Gans Beam also snaps, the Dark Tower will fall, creation will end, and the very Eye of Existence will turn blind. How I ever kept Trampas from seeing my distress I dont know. And Ive reason to believe that I didnt keep as complete a poker face as I thought at the time. I knew I had to get out. And that was when Sheemie came to me the first time. I think hed been reading me all along, but even now I dont know for sure, and neither does Dinky. All I know is that one night he came to my room and thought to me, Ill make a hole for you, sai, if you want, and you can go boogiebyebye. I asked him what he meant, and he just looked at me. Its funny how much a single look can say, isnt it? Dont insult my intelligence. Dont waste my time. Dont waste your own. I didnt read those thoughts in his mind, not at all. I saw them on his face. Roland grunted agreement. His brilliant eyes were fixed on the turning reels of the tape recorder. I did ask him where the hole would come out. He said he didnt knowId be taking luck of the draw. All the same, I didnt think it over for long. I was afraid that if I did, Id find reasons to stay. I said, Go ahead, Sheemiesend me boogiebyebye. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and all at once the corner of my room was gone. I could see cars going by. They were distorted, but they were actual American cars. I didnt argue or question any more, I just went for it. I wasnt completely sure I could go through into that other world, but Id reached a point where I hardly even cared. I thought dying might be the best thing I could do. It would slow them down, at least. And just before I took the plunge, Sheemie thought to me, Look for my friend Will Dearborn. His real name is Roland. His friends are dead, but I know hes not, because I can hear him. Hes a gunslinger, and he has new friends. Bring them here and theyll make the bad folks stop hurting the Beam, the way he made Jonas and his friends stop when they were going to kill me. For Sheemie, this was a sermon. I closed my eyes and went through. There was a brief sensation of being turned on my head, but that was all. No chimes, no nausea. Really quite pleasant, at least compared to the Santa Mira doorway. I came out on my hands and knees beside a busy highway. There was a piece of newspaper blowing around in the weeds. I picked it up and saw Id landed in April of 1960, almost five years after Armitage and his friends herded us through the door in Santa Mira, on the other side of the country. I was looking at a piece of the Hartford Courant, you see. And the road turned out to be the Merritt Parkway. Sheemie can make magic doors! Roland cried. He had been cleaning his revolver as he listened, but now he put it aside. Thats what teleporting is! Thats what it means! Hush, Roland, Susannah said. This must be his Connecticut adventure. I want to hear this part. ELEVEN But none of them hear about Teds Connecticut adventure. He simply calls it a story for another day and tells his listeners that he was caught in Bridgeport while trying to accumulate enough cash to disappear permanently. The low men bundled him into a car, drove him to New York, and took him to a ribjoint called the Dixie Pig. From there to Fedic, and from Fedic to Thunderclap Station; from the station right back to the DevarToi, oh Ted, so good to see you, welcome back. The fourth tape is now threequarters done, and Teds voice is little more than a croak. Nevertheless, he gamely pushes on. I hadnt been gone long, but over here time had taken one of its erratic slips forward. Humma o Tego was out, possibly because of me, and Prentiss of New Jersey, the kidam, was in. He and Finli interrogated me in the Masters suite a good many times. There was no physical tortureI guess they still reckoned me too important to chance spoiling me but there was a lot of discomfort and plenty of mindgames. They also made it clear that if I tried to run again, my Connecticut friends would be put to death. I said, Dont you boys get it? If I keep doing my job, theyre going out, anyway. Everybodys going out, with the possible exception of the one you call the Crimson King. Prentiss steepled his fingers in the annoying way he has and said, That may be or may not be true, sai, but if it is, we wont suffer when we go out, as you put it. Little Bobby and little Carol, on the other hand  not to mention Carols mother and Bobbys friend, SullyJohn  He didnt have to finish. I still wonder if they knew how terribly frightened theyd made me with that threat against my young friends. And how terribly angry. All their questions came down to two things they really wanted to know Why had I run, and who helped me do it. I could have fallen back on the old namerankserial number routine, but decided to chance being a bit more expansive. Id wanted to run, I said, because Id gotten a glimmering from some of the cantoi guards about what we were really doing, and I didnt like the idea. As for how Id gotten out, I told them I didnt know. I went to sleep one night, I said, and just woke up beside the Merritt Parkway. They went from scoffing at this story to semibelieving it, mostly because I never varied it a single jot or tittle, no matter how many times they asked. And of course they already knew how powerful I was, and in ways that were different from the others. Do you think youre a teleport in some subconscious way, sai? Finli asked me. How could I say? I asked in turnalways answer a question with a question is a good rule to follow during interrogation, I think, as long as its a relatively soft interrogation, as this one was. Ive never sensed any such ability, but of course we dont always know whats lurking in our subconscious, do we? You better hope it wasnt you, Prentiss said. We can live with almost any wild talent around here except that one. That one, Mr. Brautigan, would spell the end even for such a valued employee as yourself. I wasnt sure I believed that, but later Trampas gave me reason to think Prentiss might have been telling the truth. Anyway, that was my story and I never went beyond it. Prentisss houseboy, a fellow named Tassaa hume, if it matterswould bring in cookies and cans of NozzALawhich I like because it tastes a bit like root beerand Prentiss would offer me all I wanted  after, that was, I told them where Id gotten my information and how Id escaped Algul Siento. Then the whole round of questions would start again, only this time with Prentiss and the Wease munching cookies and drinking Nozzie. But at some point theyd always give in and allow me a drink and a bite to eat. As interrogators, Im afraid there just wasnt enough Nazi in them to make me give up my secrets. They tried to prog me, of course, but  have you heard that old saying about never bullshitting a bullshitter? Eddie and Susannah both nod. So does Jake, who has heard his father say that during numerous conversations concerning Programming at the Network. I bet you have, Ted resumes. Well, its also fair to say that you cant prog a progger, at least not one whos gone beyond a certain level of understanding. And Id better get to the point before my voice gives out entirely. One day about three weeks after the low men hauled me back, Trampas approached me on Main Street in Pleasantville.


By then Id met Dinky, had identified him as a kindred spirit, and was, with his help, getting to know Sheemie better. A lot was going on in addition to my daily interrogations in Wardens House. Id hardly even thought about Trampas since returning, but hed thought of little else than me. As I quickly found out. I know the answers to the questions they keep asking you, he said. What I dontknow is why you havent given me up. I said the idea had never crossed my mindthat tattletaleing wasnt the way Id been raised to do things. And besides, it wasnt as if they were putting an electrified cattleprod up my rectum or pulling my fingernails  although they might have resorted to such techniques, had it been anyone other than me. The worst theyd done was to make me look at the plate of cookies on Prentisss desk for an hour and a half before relenting and letting me have one. I was angry at you at first, Trampas said, but then I realized reluctantlythat I might have done the same thing in your place. The first week you were back I didnt sleep much, I can tell you. Id lie on my bed there in Damli, expecting them to come for me at any minute. You know what theyd do if they found out it was me, dont you? I told him I did not. He said that hed be flogged by Gaskie, Finlis Second, and then sent rawbacked into the wastes, either to die in the Discordia or to find service in the castle of the Red King. But such a trip would not be easy. Southeast of Fedic one may also contract such things as the Eating Sickness (probably cancer, but a kind thats very fast, very painful, and very nasty) or what they just call the Crazy. The Children of Roderick commonly suffer from both these problems, and others, as well. The minor skin diseases of Thunderclapthe eczema, pimples, and rashesare apparently only the beginning of ones problems in EndWorld. But for an exile, service in the Court of the Crimson King would be the only hope. Certainly a cantoi such as Trampas couldnt go to the Callas. Theyre closer, granted, and theres genuine sunshine there, but you can imagine what would happen to low men or the taheen in the Arc of the Callas. Rolands tet can imagine that very well. Dont make too much of it, I said. As that new fellow Dinky might say, I dont put my business on the street. Its really as simple as that. Theres no chivalry involved. He said he was grateful nevertheless, then looked around and said, very low Id pay you back for your kindness, Ted, by telling you to cooperate with them, to the extent that you can. I dont mean you should get me in trouble, but I dont want you to get in more trouble yourself, either. They may not need you quite as badly as you may think. And Id have you hear me well now, lady and gentlemen, for this may be very important; I simply dont know. All I know for certain is that what Trampas told me next gave me a terrible deep chill. He said that of all the otherside worlds, theres one thats unique. They call it the Real World. All Trampas seems to know about it is that its real in the same way MidWorld was, before the Beams began to weaken and MidWorld moved on. In Americaside of this special Real World, he says, time sometimes jerks but always runs one way ahead. And in that world lives a man who also serves as a kind of facilitator; he may even be a mortal guardian of Gans Beam. TWELVE  Roland looked at Eddie, and as their eyes met, both mouthed the same word King. THIRTEEN Trampas told me that the Crimson King has tried to kill this man, but ka has ever protected his life. They say his song has cast the circle, Trampas told me, although no one seems to know exactly what that means. Now, however, kanot the Red King but plain old ka has decreed that this man, this guardian or whatever he is, should die. Hes stopped, you see. Whatever song it was he was supposed to sing, hes stopped, and that has finally made him vulnerable. But not to the Crimson King. Trampas kept telling me that. No, its ka hes vulnerable to. He no longer sings, Trampas said. His song, the one that matters, has ended. He has forgotten the rose. FOURTEEN  In the outer silence, Mordred heard this and then withdrew to ponder it. FIFTEEN Trampas told me all this only so Id understand I was no longer completely indispensable. Of course they want to keep me; presumably there would be honor in bringing down Shardiks Beam before this mans death could cause Gans Beam to break. A pause. Do they see the lethal insanity of a race to the brink of oblivion, and then over the edge? Apparently not. If they did, surely they wouldnt be racing to begin with. Or is it a simple failure of imagination? One doesnt like to think such a rudimentary failing could bring about the end, yet  SIXTEEN Roland, exasperated, twirled his fingers almost as if the old man to whose voice they were listening could see them. He wanted to hear, very well and every word, what the cantoi guard knew about Stephen King, and instead Brautigan had gotten off onto some rambling, discursive sidetrack. It was understandablethe man was clearly exhaustedbut there was something here more important than everything else. Eddie knew it, too. Roland could read it on the young mans strained face. Together they watched the remaining brown tapenow no more than an eighth of an inch deepmelt away. SEVENTEEN  yet were only poor benighted humies, and I suppose we cant know about these things, not with any degree of certainty  He fetches a long, tired sigh. The tape turns, melting off the final reel and running silently and uselessly between the heads. Then, at last I asked this magic mans name and Trampas said, I know it not, Ted, but I do know theres no magic in him anymore, for hes ceased whatever it was that ka meant him to do. If we leave him be, the Ka of Nineteen, which is that of his world, and the Ka of Ninetynine, which is that of our world, will combine to But there is no more. That is where the tape runs out. EIGHTEEN The takeup reel turned and the shiny brown tapeend flapped, making that low fwipfwipfwip sound until Eddie leaned forward and pressed STOP. He muttered Fuck! under his breath. Just when it was getting interesting, Jake said. And those numbers again. Nineteen  and ninetynine. He paused, then said them together. Nineteenninetynine. Then a third time. 1999. The Keystone Year in the Keystone World. Where Mia went to have her baby. Where Black Thirteen is now. Keystone World, Keystone Year, Susannah said. She took the last tape off the spindle, held it up to one of the lamps for a moment, then put it back in its box. Where time always goes in one direction. Like its sposed to. Gan created time, Roland said. This is what the old legends say. Gan rose from the voidsome tales say from the sea, but both surely mean the Primand made the world. Then he tipped it with his finger and set it rolling and that was time. Something was gathering in the cave. Some revelation. They all felt it, a thing as close to bursting as Mias belly had been at the end. Nineteen. Ninetynine. They had been haunted by these numbers. They had turned up everywhere. They saw them in the sky, saw them written on board fences, heard them in their dreams. Oy looked up, ears cocked, eyes bright. Susannah said, When Mia left the room we were in at the PlazaPark to go to the Dixie Pigroom 1919, it wasI fell into a kind of trance. I had dreams  jailhousedreams  newscasters announcing that this one, that one, and tother one had died You told us, Eddie said. She shook her head violently. Not all of it, I didnt. Because some of it didnt seem to make any sense. Hearing Dave Garroway say that President Kennedys little boy was dead, for instancelittle JohnJohn, the one who saluted his Daddys coffin when the catafalque went by. I didnt tell you because that part was nuts. Jake, Eddie, had little JohnJohn Kennedy died in your whens? Either of your whens? They shook their heads. Jake was not even sure of whom Susannah was speaking. But he did. In the Keystone World, and in a when beyond any of ours. I bet it was in the when of 99. So dies the son of the last gunslinger, O Discordia. What I think now is that I was kind of hearing the obituary page from The Time Travelers Weekly. It was all different times mixed together. JohnJohn Kennedy, then Stephen King. Id never heard of him, but David Brinkley said he wrote Salems Lot. Thats the book Father Callahan was in, right? Roland and Eddie nodded. Father Callahan told us his story. Yeah, Jake said. But what She overrode him. Her eyes were hazy, distant. Eyes just a look away from understanding. And then comes Brautigan to the KaTet of Nineteen, and tells his tale. And look! Look at the tape counter! They leaned over. In the windows were 1999. I think King might have written Teds story, too, she said. Anybody want to take a guess what year that story showed up, or will show up, in the Keystone World? 1999, Jake said, low. But not the part we heard. The part we didnt hear. Teds Connecticut Adventure. And you met him, Susannah said, looking at her dinh and her husband. You met Stephen King. They nodded again. He made the Pere, he made Brautigan, he made us, she said, as if to herself, then shook her head. No. All things serve the Beam. He he facilitated us. Yeah. Eddie was nodding. Yeah, okay. That feels just about right. In my dream I was in a cell, she said. I was wearing the clothes I had on when I got arrested. And David Brinkley said Stephen King was dead, woe, Discordiasomething like that. Brinkley said he was  She paused, frowning. She would have demanded that Roland hypnotize the complete recollection out of her if it had been necessary, but it turned out not to be. Brinkley said King was killed by a minivan while walking near his home in Lovell, Maine. Eddie jerked. Roland sat forward, his eyes burning. Do you say so? Susannah nodded firmly. He bought the house on Turtleback Lane! the gunslinger roared. He reached out and took hold of Eddies shirt. Eddie seemed not to even notice. Of course he did! Ka speaks and the wind blows! He moved a little further along the Path of the Beam and bought the house where its thin! Where we saw the walkins! Where we talked to John Cullum and then came back through! Do you doubt it? Do you doubt it so much as a single goddam bit? Eddie shook his head. Of course he didnt doubt it. It had a ring, like the one you got when you were at the carnival and hit the pedal just right with the mallet, hit it with all your force, and the lead slug flew straight to the top of the post and rang the bell up there. You got a Kewpie doll when you rang the bell, and was that because Stephen King thought it was a Kewpie doll? Because King came from the world where Gan started time rolling with His holy finger? Because if King says Kewpie, we all say Kewpie, and we all say thankya? If hed somehow gotten the idea that the prize for ringing the Test Your Strength bell at the carnival was a Cloo pie doll, would they say Cloopie? Eddie thought the answer was yes. He thought the answer was yes just as surely as CoOp City was in Brooklyn. David Brinkley said King was fiftytwo. You boys met him, so do the math. Could he have been fiftytwo in the year of 99? You bet your purity, Eddie said. He tossed Roland a dark, dismayed glance. And since nineteens the part we keep running intoTed Stevens Brautigan, go on, count the letters! I bet it has to do with more than just the year. Nineteen Its a date, Jake said flatly. Sure it is. Keystone Date in Keystone Year in Keystone World. The nineteenth of something, in the year of 1999. Most likely a summer month, because he was out walking. Its summer over there right now, Susannah said. Its June. The 6month. Turn 6 on its head and you get 9. Yeah, and spell dog backward, you get god, Eddie said, but he sounded uneasy. I think shes right, Jake said. I think its June 19th. Thats when King gets turned into roadkill and even the chance that he might go back to work on the Dark Tower storyour storyis kaput. Gans Beam is lost in the overload. Shardiks Beam is left, but its already eroded. He looked at Roland, his face pale, his lips almost blue. Itll snap like a toothpick. Maybe its happened already, Susannah said. No, Roland said. How can you be sure? she asked. He gave her a wintry, humorless smile. Because, he said, wed no longer be here. NINETEEN How can we stop it from happening? Eddie asked. That guy Trampas told Ted it was ka. Maybe he got it wrong, Jake said, but his voice was thin. Trailing. It was only a rumor, so maybe he got it wrong. And hey, maybe Kings got until July. Or August. Or what about September? It could be September, doesnt that seem likely? Septembers the 9month, after all  They looked at Roland, who was now sitting with his leg stretched out before him. Heres where it hurts, he said, as if speaking to himself. He touched his right hip  then his ribs  last the side of his head. Ive been having headaches. Worse and worse. Saw no reason to tell you. He drew his diminished right hand down his right side. This is where hell be hit. Hip smashed. Ribs busted. Head crushed. Thrown dead into the ditch. Ka  and the end of ka. His eyes cleared and he turned urgently to Susannah. What date was it when you were in New York? Refresh me. June first of 1999. Roland nodded and looked to Jake. And you? The same, yes? Yes. Then to Fedic a rest  and on to Thunderclap. He paused, thinking, then spoke four words with measured emphasis. There is still time. But time moves faster over there And if it takes one of those hitches Ka Their words overlapped. Then they fell quiet again, looking at him again. We can change ka, Roland said. Its been done before. Theres always a price to paykashume, mayhapbut it can be done. How do we get there? Eddie asked. Theres only one way, Roland said. Sheemie must send us. Silence in the cave, except for a distant roll of the thunder that gave this dark land its name. We have two jobs, Eddie said. The writer and the Breakers. Which comes first? The writer, Jake said. While theres still time to save him. But Roland was shaking his head. Why not? Eddie cried. Ah, man, why not? You know how slippery time is over there! And its oneway! If we miss the window, well never get another chance! But we have to make Shardiks Beam safe, too, Roland said. Are you saying Ted and this guy Dinky wouldnt let Sheemie help us unless we help them first? No. Sheemie would do it for me, Im sure. But suppose something happened to him while we were in the Keystone World? Wed be stranded in 1999. Theres the door on Turtleback Lane Eddie began. Even if its still there in 1999, Eddie, Ted told us that Shardiks Beam has already started to bend. Roland shook his head. My heart says yonder prison is the place to start. If any of you can say different, I will listen, and gladly. They were quiet. Outside the cave, the wind blew. We need to ask Ted before we make any final decision, Susannah said at last. No, Jake said. No! Oy agreed. Zero surprise there; if Ake said it, you could take it to the bumbler bank, as far as Oy was concerned. Ask Sheemie, Jake said. Ask Sheemie what he thinks we should do. Slowly, Roland nodded. CHAPTER IX TRACKS ON THE PATH  ONE When Jake awoke from a night of troubled dreams, most of them set in the Dixie Pig, a thin and listless light was seeping into the cave. In New York, that kind of light had always made him want to skip school and spend the entire day on the sofa, reading books, watching gameshows on TV, and napping the afternoon away. Eddie and Susannah were curled up together inside a single sleepingbag. Oy had eschewed the bed which had been left him in order to sleep beside Jake. He was curled into a U, snout on left forepaw. Most people would have thought him asleep, but Jake saw the sly glimmer of gold beneath his lids and knew that Oy was peeking. The gunslingers sleepingbag was unzipped and empty. Jake thought about this for a moment or two, then got up and went outside. Oy followed along, padding quietly over the tamped dirt as Jake walked up the trail. TWO Roland looked haggard and unwell, but he was squatting on his hunkers, and Jake decided that if he was limber enough to do that, he was probably okay. He squatted beside the gunslinger, hands dangling loosely between his thighs. Roland glanced at him, said nothing, then looked back toward the prison the staff called Algul Siento and the inmates called the DevarToi. It was a brightening blur beyond and below them. The sun electric, atomic, whateverwasnt shining yet. Oy plopped down next to Jake with a little whuffing sound, then appeared to go back to sleep. Jake wasnt fooled. Hile and merrygreettheday, Jake said when the silence began to feel oppressive. Roland nodded. Merry see, merry be. He looked as merry as a funeral march. The gunslinger who had danced a furious commala by torchlight in Calla Bryn Sturgis might have been a thousand years in his grave. How are you, Roland? Good enough to hunker. Aye, but how are you? Roland glanced at him, then reached into his pocket and brought out his tobacco pouch. Old and full of aches, as you must know. Would you smoke? Jake considered, then nodded. Theyll be shorts, Roland warned. Theres plenty in my purse I was glad to have back, but not much blowweed. Save it for yourself, if you want. Roland smiled. A man who cant bear to share his habits is a man who needs to quit them. He rolled a pair of cigarettes, using some sort of leaf which he tore in two, handed one to Jake, then lit them up with a match he popped alight on his thumbnail. In the still, chill air of Can SteekTete, the smoke hung in front of them, then rose slowly, stacking on the air. Jake thought the tobacco was hot, harsh, and stale, but he said no word of complaint. He liked it. He thought of all the times hed promised himself he wouldnt smoke like his father did  never in lifeand now here he was, starting the habit. And with his new fathers agreement, if not approval. Roland reached out a finger and touched Jakes forehead  his left cheek  his nose  his chin. The last touch hurt a little. Pimples, Roland said. Its the air of this place. He suspected it was emotional upset, as wellgrief over the Perebut to let Jake know he thought that would likely just increase the boys unhappiness over Callahans passing. You dont have any, Jake said. Skins as clear as a bell. Luckee. No pimples, Roland agreed, and smoked. Below them in the seeping light was the village. The peaceful village, Jake thought, but it looked more than peaceful; it looked downright dead. Then he saw two figures, little more than specks from here, strolling toward each other. Hume guards patrolling the outer run of the fence, he presumed. They joined together into a single speck long enough for Jake to imagine a bit of their palaver, and then the speck divided again. No pimples, but my hip hurts like a son of a bitch. Feels like someone opened it in the night and poured it full of broken glass. Hot glass. But this is far worse. He touched the right side of his head. It feels cracked. You really think its Stephen Kings injuries youre feeling? Instead of making a verbal reply, Roland laid the forefinger of his left hand across a circle made by the thumb and pinky of his right that gesture which meant I tell you the truth. Thats a bummer, Jake said. For him as well as you. Maybe; maybe not. Because, think you, Jake; think you well. Only living things feel pain. What Im feeling suggests that King wont be killed instantly. And that means he might be easier to save. Jake thought it might only mean King was going to lie beside the road in semiconscious agony for awhile before expiring, but didnt like to say so. Let Roland believe what he liked. But there was something else. Something that concerned Jake a lot more, and made him uneasy. Roland, may I speak to you dandinh? The gunslinger nodded. If you would. A slight pause. A flick at the left corner of the mouth that wasnt quite a smile. If thee would. Jake gathered his courage. Why are you so angry now? What are you angry at ? Or whom? Now it was his turn to pause. Is it me? Rolands eyebrows rose, then he barked a laugh. Not you, Jake. Not a bit. Never in life. Jake flushed with pleasure. I keep forgetting how strong the touch has become in you. Youd have made a fine Breaker, no doubt. This wasnt an answer, but Jake didnt bother saying so. And the idea of being a Breaker made him repress a shiver. Dont you know? Roland asked. If thee knows Im what Eddie calls royally pissed, dont you know why? I could look, but it wouldnt be polite. But it was a lot more than that. Jake vaguely remembered a Bible story about Noah getting loaded on the ark, while he and his sons were waiting out the flood. One of the sons had come upon his old man lying drunk on his bunk, and had laughed at him. God had cursed him for it. To peek into Rolands thoughts wouldnt be the same as lookingand laughingwhile he was drunk, but it was close. Thees a fine boy, Roland said. Fine and good, aye. And although the gunslinger spoke almost absently, Jake could have died happily enough at that moment. From somewhere beyond and above them came that resonant CLICK! sound, and all at once the specialeffects sunbeam speared down on the DevarToi. A moment later, faintly, they heard the sound of music Hey Jude, arranged for elevator and supermarket. Time to rise and shine down below. Another day of Breaking had just begun. Although, Jake supposed, down there the Breaking never really stopped. Lets have a game, you and I, Roland proposed. You try to get into my head and see who Im angry at. Ill try to keep you out. Jake shifted position slightly. That doesnt sound like a fun game to me, Roland. Nevertheless, Id play against you. All right, if you want to. Jake closed his eyes and called up an image of Rolands tired, stubbled face. His brilliant blue eyes. He made a door between and slightly above those eyesa little one, with a brass knoband tried to open it. For a moment the knob turned. Then it stopped. Jake applied more pressure. The knob began to turn again, then stopped once again. Jake opened his eyes and saw that fine beads of sweat had broken on Rolands brow. This is stupid. Im making your headache worse, he said. Never mind. Do your best. My worst, Jake thought. But if they had to play this game, he wouldnt draw it out. He closed his eyes again and once again saw the little door between Rolands tangled brows. This time he applied more force, piling it on quickly. It felt a little like armwrestling. After a moment the knob turned and the door opened. Roland grunted, then uttered a painful laugh. Thats enough for me, he said. By the gods, thees strong! Jake paid no attention to that. He opened his eyes. The writer? King? Why are you mad at him? Roland sighed and cast away the smoldering butt of his cigarette; Jake had already finished with his. Because we have two jobs to do where we should have only one. Having to do the second one is sai Kings fault. He knew what he was supposed to do, and I think that on some level he knew that doing it would keep him safe. But he was afraid. He was tired. Rolands upper lip curled. Now his irons are in the fire, and we have to pull them out. Its going to cost us, and probably adearly. Youre angry at him because hes afraid? But  Jake frowned. But why wouldnt he be afraid? Hes only a writer. A talespinner, not a gunslinger. I know that, Roland said, but I dont think it was fear that stopped him, Jake, or not just fear. Hes lazy, as well. I felt it when I met him, and Im sure that Eddie did, too. He looked at the job he was made to do and it daunted him and he said to himself, All right, Ill find an easier job, one thats more to my liking and more to my abilities. And if theres trouble, theyll take care of me. Theyll have to take care of me. And so we do. You didnt like him. No, Roland agreed, I didnt. Not a bit. Nor trusted him. Ive met talespinners before, Jake, and theyre all cut more or less from the same cloth. They tell tales because theyre afraid of life. Do you say so? Jake thought it was a dismal idea. He also thought it had the ring of truth. I do. But  He shrugged. It is what it is, that shrug said. Kashume, Jake thought. If their katet broke, and it was Kings fault  If it was Kings fault, what? Take revenge on him? It was a gunslingers thought; it was also a stupid thought, like the idea of taking revenge on God. But were stuck with it, Jake finished. Aye. That wouldnt stop me from kicking his yellow, lazy ass if I got the chance, though. Jake burst out laughing at that, and the gunslinger smiled. Then Roland got to his feet with a grimace, both hands planted on the ball of his right hip. Bugger, he growled. Hurts bad, huh? Never mind my aches and mollies. Come with me. Ill show you something more interesting. Roland, limping slightly, led Jake to where the path curled around the flank of the lumpy little mountain, presumably bound for the top. Here the gunslinger tried to hunker, grimaced, and settled to one knee, instead. He pointed to the ground with his right hand. What do you see? Jake also dropped to one knee. The ground was littered with pebbles and fallen chunks of rock. Some of this talus had been disturbed, leaving marks in the scree. Beyond the spot where they knelt side by side, two branches of what Jake thought was a mesquite bush had been broken off. He bent forward and smelled the thin and acrid aroma of the sap. Then he examined the marks in the scree again. There were several of them, narrow and not too deep. If they were tracks, they certainly werent human tracks. Or those of a desertdog, either. Do you know what made these? Jake asked. If you do, just say itdont make me armrassle you for it. Roland gave him a brief grin. Follow them a little. See what you find. Jake rose and walked slowly along the marks, bent over at the waist like a boy with a stomachache. The scratches in the talus went around a boulder. There was dust on the stone, and scratches in the dustas if something bristly had brushed against the boulder on its way by. There were also a couple of stiff black hairs. Jake picked one of these up, then immediately opened his fingers and blew it off his skin, shivering with revulsion as he did it. Roland watched this keenly. You look like a goose just walked over your grave. Its awful! Jake heard a faint stutter in his voice. Oh God, what was it? What was wwatching us? The one Mia called Mordred. Rolands voice hadnt changed, but Jake found he could hardly bring himself to look into the gunslingers eyes; they were that bleak. The chap she says I fathered. He was here? In the night? Roland nodded. Listening  ? Jake couldnt finish. Roland could. Listening to our palaver and our plans, aye, I think so. And Teds tale as well. But you dont know for sure. Those marks could be anything. Yet the only thing Jake could think of in connection with those marks, now that hed heard Susannahs tale, were the legs of a monster spider. Go thee a little further, Roland said. Jake looked at him questioningly, and Roland nodded. The wind blew, bringing them the Muzak from the prison compound (now he thought it was Bridge Over Troubled Water), also bringing the distant sound of thunder, like rolling bones. What Follow, Roland said, nodding to the stony talus on the slope of the path. Jake did, knowing this was another lessonwith Roland you were always in school. Even when you were in the shadow of death there were lessons to be learned. On the far side of the boulder, the path carried on straight for about thirty yards before curving out of sight once more. On this straight stretch, those dashmarks were very clear. Groups of three on one side, groups of four on the other. She said she shot off one of its legs, Jake said. So she did. Jake tried to visualize a sevenlegged spider as big as a human baby and couldnt do it. Suspected he didnt want to do it. Beyond the next curve there was a desiccated corpse in the path. Jake was pretty sure it had been flayed open, but it was hard to tell. There were no innards, no blood, no buzzing flies. Just a lump of dirty, dusty stuff that vaguelyvery vaguely resembled something canine. Oy approached, sniffed, then lifted his leg and pissed on the remains. He returned to Jakes side with the air of one who has concluded some important piece of business. That was our visitors dinner last night, Roland said. Jake was looking around. Is he watching us now? What do you think? Roland said, I think growing boys need their rest. Jake felt a twinge of some unpleasant emotion and put it behind him without much examination. Jealousy? Surely not. How could he be jealous of a thing that had begun life by eating its own mother? It was bloodkin to Roland, yeshis true son, if you wanted to be picky about itbut that was no more than an accident. Wasnt it? Jake became aware that Roland was looking at him closely, looking in a way that made Jake uneasy. Penny for em, dimmyda, the gunslinger said. Nothing, Jake said. Just wondering where hes laid up. Hard to tell, Roland said. Theres got to be a hundred holes in this hill alone. Come. Roland led the way back around the boulder where Jake had found the stiff black hairs, and once he was there, he began to methodically scuff away the tracks Mordred had left behind. Why are you doing that? Jake asked, more sharply than he had intended. Theres no need for Eddie and Susannah to know about this, Roland said. He only means to watch, not to interfere in our business. At least for the time being. How do you know that? Jake wanted to ask, but that twinge came againthe one that absolutely couldnt be jealousy and he decided not to. Let Roland think whatever he wanted. Jake, meanwhile, would keep his eyes open. And if Mordred should be foolish enough to show himself  Its Susannah Im most concerned about, Roland said. Shes the one most likely to be distracted by the chaps presence. And her thoughts would be the easiest for him to read. Because shes its mother, Jake said. He didnt notice the change of pronoun, but Roland did. The two of them are connected, aye. Can I count on you to keep your mouth shut? Sure. And try to guard your mindthats important, as well. I can try, but  Jake shrugged in order to say that he didnt really know how one did that. Good, Roland said. And Ill do the same. The wind gusted again. Bridge Over Troubled Water had changed to (Jake was pretty sure) a Beatles tune, the one with the chorus that ended Beepbeepmmmbeepbeep, yeah! Did they know that one in the dusty, dying towns between Gilead and Mejis? Jake wondered. Were there Shebs in some of those towns that played Drive My Car jagtime on outoftune pianos while the Beams weakened and the glue that held the worlds together slowly stretched into strings and the worlds themselves sagged? He gave his head a hard, brisk shake, trying to clear it. Roland was still watching him, and Jake felt an uncharacteristic flash of irritation. Ill keep my mouth shut, Roland, and at least try to keep my thoughts to myself. Dont worry about me. Im not worried, Roland said, and Jake found himself fighting the temptation to look inside his dinhs head and find out if that was actually true. He still thought looking was a bad idea, and not just because it was impolite, either. Mistrust was very likely a kind of acid. Their katet was fragile enough already, and there was much work to do. Good, Jake said. Thats good. Good! Oy agreed, in a hearty thats settled tone that made them both grin. We know hes there, Roland said, and its likely he doesnt know we know. Under the circumstances, theres no better way for things to be. Jake nodded. The idea made him feel a little calmer. Susannah came to the mouth of the cave at her usual speedy crawl while they were walking back toward it. She sniffed at the air and grimaced. When she glimpsed them, the grimace turned into a grin.