She hoped Mia couldnt read her thoughts when they were separated like this. If she could, they were all likely up shit creek without a paddle. Lets go back to Walter. Can we speak of him a bit? Mia signaled a weary acceptance that Susannah didnt quite believe. How long had it been since Mia had had an ear for any tale she might care to tell? The answer, Susannah guessed, was probably never. And the questions Susannah was asking, the doubts she was articulating  surely some of them must have passed through Mias own head. Theyd be banished quickly as the blasphemies they were, but still, come on, this was not a stupid woman. Unless obsession made you stupid. Susannah supposed a case could be made for that idea. Susannah? Bumbler got your tongue? No, I was just thinking what a relief it must have been when he came to you. Mia considered that, then smiled. Smiling changed her, made her look girlish and artless and shy. Susannah had to remind herself that wasnt a look she could trust. Yes! It was! Of course it was! After discovering your purpose and being trapped here by it  after seeing the Wolves getting ready to store the kids and then operate on them  after all that, Walter comes. The devil, in fact, but at least he can see you. At least he can hear your sad tale. And he makes you an offer. He said the Crimson King would give me a child, Mia said, and put her hands gently against the great globe of her belly. My Mordred, whose time has come round at last. TWELVE Mia pointed again at the Arc 16 Experimental Station. What she had called the Dogan of Dogans. The last remnant of her smile lingered on her lips, but there was no happiness or real amusement in it now. Her eyes were shiny with fear andperhapsawe. Thats where they changed me, made me mortal. Once there were many such placesthere must have beenbut Id set my watch and warrant thats the only one left in all of InWorld, MidWorld, or EndWorld. Its a place both wonderful and terrible. And it was there I was taken. I dont understand what you mean. Susannah was thinking of her Dogan. Which was, of course, based on Jakes Dogan. It was certainly a strange place, with its flashing lights and multiple TV screens, but not frightening. Beneath it are passages which go under the castle, Mia said. At the end of one is a door that opens on the Calla side of Thunderclap, just under the last edge of the darkness. Thats the one the Wolves use when they go on their raids. Susannah nodded. That explained a lot. Do they take the kiddies back the same way? Nay, lady, do it please you; like many doors, the one that takes the Wolves from Fedic to the Calla side of Thunderclap goes in only one direction. When youre on the other side, its no longer there. Because its not a magic door, right? Mia smiled and nodded and patted her knee. Susannah looked at her with mounting excitement. Its another twinthing. Do you say so? Yes. Only this time Tweedledum and Tweedledee are science and magic. Rational and irrational. Sane and insane. No matter what terms you pick, thats a doubledamned pair if ever there was one. Aye? Do you say so? Yes! Magic doorslike the one Eddie found and you took me through to New Yorkgo both ways. The doors North Central Positronics made to replace them when the Prim receded and the magic faded  they go only one way. Have I got that right? I think so, aye. Maybe they didnt have time to figure out how to make teleportation a twolane highway before the world moved on. In any case, the Wolves go to the Calla side of Thunderclap by door and come back to Fedic by train. Right? Mia nodded. Susannah no longer thought she was just trying to kill time. This information might come in handy later on. And after the Kings men, Peres low men, have scooped the kids brains, what then? Back through the door with them, I supposethe one under the castle. Back to the Wolves staging point. And a train takes them the rest of the way home. Aye. Why do they bother takin em back at all? Lady, I know not. Then Mias voice dropped. Theres another door under Castle Discordia. Another door in the rooms of ruin. One that goes  She licked her lips. That goes todash. Todash?  I know the word, but I dont understand whats so bad There are endless worlds, your dinh is correct about that, but even when those worlds are close togetherlike some of the multiple New Yorksthere are endless spaces between. Think ya of the spaces between the inner and outer walls of a house. Places where its always dark. But just because a place is always dark doesnt mean its empty. Does it, Susannah? There are monsters in the todash darkness. Who had said that? Roland? She couldnt remember for sure, and what did it matter? She thought she understood what Mia was saying, and if so, it was horrible. Rats in the walls, Susannah. Bats in the walls. All sorts of sucking, biting bugs in the walls. Stop it, I get the picture. That door beneath the castleone of their mistakes, I have no doubtgoes to nowhere at all. Into the darkness between worlds. Todashspace. But not empty space. Her voice lowered further. That door is reserved for the Red Kings most bitter enemies. Theyre thrown into a darkness where they may existblind, wandering, insanefor years. But in the end, something always finds them and devours them. Monsters beyond the ability of such minds as ours to bear thought of. Susannah found herself trying to picture such a door, and what waited behind it. She didnt want to but couldnt help it. Her mouth dried up. In that same low and somehow horrible tone of confidentiality, Mia said, There were many places where the old people tried to join magic and science together, but yon may be the only one left. She nodded toward the Dogan. It was there that Walter took me, to make me mortal and take me out of Prims way forever. To make me like you. THIRTEEN Mia didnt know everything, but so far as Susannah could make out, WalterFlagg had offered the spirit later to be known as Mia the ultimate Faustian bargain. If she was willing to give up her nearly eternal but discorporate state and become a mortal woman, then she could become pregnant and bear a child. Walter was honest with her about how little she would actually be getting for all shed be giving up. The baby wouldnt grow as normal babies didas Baby Michael had done before Mias unseen but worshipful eyesand she might only have him for seven years, but oh what wonderful years they could be! Beyond this, Walter had been tactfully silent, allowing Mia to form her own pictures how she would nurse her baby and wash him, not neglecting the tender creases behind the knees and ears; how she would kiss him in the honeyspot between the unfledged wings of his shoulderblades; how she would walk with him, holding both of his hands in both of hers as he toddled; how she would read to him and point out Old Star and Old Mother in the sky and tell him the story of how Rustie Sam stole the widows best loaf of bread; how she would hug him to her and bathe his cheek with her grateful tears when he spoke his first word, which would, of course, be Mama. Susannah listened to this rapturous account with a mixture of pity and cynicism. Certainly Walter had done one hell of a job selling the idea to her, and as ever, the best way to do that was to let the mark sell herself. Hed even proposed a properly Satanic period of proprietorship seven years. Just sign on the dotted line, madam, and please dont mind that whiff of brimstone; I just cant seem to get the smell out of my clothes. Susannah understood the deal and still had trouble swallowing it. This creature had given up immortality for morning sickness, swollen and achy breasts, and, in the last six weeks of her carry, the need to pee approximately every fifteen minutes. And wait, folks, theres more! Two and a half years of changing diapers soaked with piss and loaded with shit! Of getting up in the night as the kid howls with the pain of cutting his first tooth (and cheer up, Mom, only thirtyone to go). That first magic spitup! That first heartwarming spray of urine across the bridge of your nose when the kid lets go as youre changing his clout! And yes, there would be magic. Even though shed never had a child herself, Susannah knew there would be magic even in the dirty diapers and the colic if the child were the result of a loving union. But to have the child and then have him taken away from you just when it was getting good, just as the child approached what most people agreed was the age of reason, responsibility, and accountability? To then be swept over the Crimson Kings red horizon? That was an awful idea. And was Mia so besotted by her impending motherhood that she didnt realize the little she had been promised was now being whittled away? WalterFlagg had come to her in Fedic, Scenic Aftermath of the Red Death, and promised her seven years with her son. On the telephone in the PlazaPark, however, Richard Sayre had spoken of a mere five. In any case, Mia had agreed to the dark mans terms. And really, how much sport could there have been in getting her to do that? Shed been made for motherhood, had arisen from the Prim with that imperative, had known it herself ever since seeing her first perfect human baby, the boy Michael. How could she have said no? Even if the offer had only been for three years, or for one, how? Might as well expect a longtime junkie to refuse a loaded spike when it was offered. Mia had been taken into the Arc 16 Experimental Station. Shed been given a tour by the smiling, sarcastic (and undoubtedly frightening) Walter, who sometimes called himself Walter of EndWorld and sometimes Walter of AllWorld. Shed seen the great room filled with beds, awaiting the children who would come to fill them; at the head of each was a stainlesssteel hood attached to a segmented steel hose. She did not like to think what the purpose of such equipment might be. Shed also been shown some of the passages under the Castle on the Abyss, and had been in places where the smell of death was strong and suffocating. Shethere had been a red darkness and she Were you mortal by then? Susannah asked. It sounds as though maybe you were. I was on my way, she said. It was a process Walter called becoming. All right. Go on. But here Mias recollections were lost in a dark fuguenot todash, but far from pleasant. A kind of amnesia, and it was red. A color Susannah had come to distrust. Had the pregnant womans transition from the world of the spirit to the world of the fleshher trip to Miabeen accomplished through some other kind of doorway? She herself didnt seem to know. Only that there had been a time of darknessunconsciousness, she supposedand then she had awakened  as you see me. Only not yet pregnant, of course. According to Walter, Mia could not actually make a baby, even as a mortal woman. Carry, yes. Conceive, no. So it came to pass that one of the demon elementals had done a great service for the Crimson King, taking Rolands seed as female and passing it on to Susannah as male. And there had been another reason, as well. Walter hadnt mentioned it, but Mia had known. Its the prophecy, she said, looking into Fedics deserted and shadowless street. Across the way, a robot that looked like Andy of the Calla stood silent and rusting in front of the Fedic Caf, which promised GOOD MEELS CHEEP. What prophecy? Susannah asked. He who ends the line of Eld shall conceive a child of incest with his sister or his daughter, and the child will be marked, by his red heel shall you know him. It is he who shall stop the breath of the last warrior. Woman, Im not Rolands sister, or his daughter, either! You maybe didnt notice a small but basic difference in the color of our hides, namely his being white and mine being black. But she thought she had a pretty good idea of what the prophecy meant, just the same. Families were made in many ways. Blood was only one of them. Did he not tell you what dinh means? Mia asked. Of course. It means leader. If he was in charge of a whole country instead of just three scruffyass gunpuppies, itd mean king. Leader and king, you say true. Now, Susannah, will you tell me that such words arent just poor substitutes for another? Susannah made no reply. Mia nodded as though she had, then winced when a fresh contraction struck. It passed, and she went on. The sperm was Rolands. I believe it may have been preserved somehow by the old peoples science while the demon elemental turned itself inside out and made man from woman, but that isnt the important part. The important part is that it lived and found the rest of itself, as ordained by ka. My egg. Your egg. When I was raped in the ring of stones. Say true. Susannah sat, musing. Finally she looked up. Seem to me that its what I said before. You didnt like it then, not apt to like it now, butgirl, you just the babysitter. There was no rage this time. Mia only smiled. Who went on having her periods, even when she was being sick in the mornings? You did. And whos got the full belly today? I do. If there was a babysitter, Susannah of New York, it was you. How can that be? Do you know? Mia did. FOURTEEN The baby, Walter had told her, would be transmitted to Mia; sent to her cell by cell just as a fax is sent line by line. Susannah opened her mouth to say she didnt know what a fax was, then closed it again. She understood the gist of what Mia was saying, and that was enough to fill her with a terrible combination of awe and rage. She had been pregnant. She was, in a real sense, pregnant right this minute. But the baby was being (faxed) sent to Mia. Was this a process that had started fast and slowed down, or started slow and speeded up? The latter, she thought, because as time passed shed felt less pregnant instead of more. The little swelling in her belly had mostly flattened out again. And now she understood how both she and Mia could feel an equal attachment to the chap it did, in fact, belong to both of them. Had been passed on like a  a blood transfusion. Only when they want to take your blood and put it into someone else, they ask your permission. If theyre doctors, that is, and not one of Pere Callahans vampires. Youre a lot closer to one of those, Mia, arent you? Science or magic? Susannah asked. Which one was it that allowed you to steal my baby? Mia flushed a little at that, but when she turned to Susannah, she was able to meet Susannahs eyes squarely. I dont know, she said. Likely a mixture of both. And dont be so selfrighteous! Its in me, not you. Its feeding off my bones and my blood, not yours. So what? Do you think that changes anything? You stole it, with the help of some filthy magician. Mia shook her head vehemently, her hair a storm around her face. No? Susannah asked. Then how come you werent the one eating frogs out of the swamp and shoats out of the pen and God knows what other nasty things? How come you needed all that makebelieve nonsense about the banquets in the castle, where you could pretend to be the one eating? In short, sugarpie, how come your chaps nourishment had to go down my throat? Because  because  Mias eyes, Susannah saw, were filling with tears. Because this is spoiled land! Blasted land! The place of the Red Death and the edge of the Discordia! Id not feed my chap from here! It was a good answer, Susannah reckoned, but not the complete answer. And Mia knew it, too. Because Baby Michael, perfect Baby Michael, had been conceived here, had thrived here, had been thriving when Mia last saw him. And if she was so sure, why were those tears standing in her eyes? Mia, theyre lying to you about your chap. You dont know that, so dont be hateful! I do know it. And she did. But there wasnt proof, gods damn it! How did you prove a feeling, even one as strong as this? FlaggWalter, if you like that betterhe promised you seven years. Sayre says you can have five. What if they hand you a card, GOOD FOR THREE YEARS OF CHILDREARING WITH STAMP, when you get to this Dixie Pig? Gonna go with that, too? That wont happen! Youre as nasty as the other one! Shut up! You got a nerve calling me nasty! Cant wait to give birth to a child supposed to murder his Daddy. I dont care! Youre all confused, girl, between what you want to happen and what will happen. How do you know they arent gonna kill him before he can cry out his first breath, and grind him up and feed him to these Breaker bastards? Shut  up! Kind of a superfood? Finish the job all at once? Shut up, I said, shut UP! Point is, you dont know. You dont know anything. You just the babysitter, just the au pair. You know they lie, you know they trick and never treat, and yet you go on. And you want me to shut up. Yes! Yes! I wont, Susannah told her grimly, and seized Mias shoulders. They were amazingly bony under the dress, but hot, as if the woman were running a fever. I wont because its really mine and you know it. Cat can have kittens in the oven, girl, but that wont ever make em muffins. All right, they had made it back to allout fury after all. Mias face twisted into something both horrible and unhappy. In Mias eyes, Susannah thought she could see the endless, craving, grieving creature this woman once had been. And something else. A spark that might be blown into belief. If there was time. Ill shut you up, Mia said, and suddenly Fedics main street tore open, just as the allure had. Behind it was a kind of bulging darkness. But not empty. Oh no, not empty, Susannah felt that very clearly. They fell toward it. Mia propelled them toward it. Susannah tried to hold them back with no success at all. As they tumbled into the dark, she heard a singsong thought running through her head, running in an endless worrycircle Oh SusannahMio, divided girl of mine, Done parked her RIG FIFTEEN in the DIXIE PIG, In the year of Before this annoying (but ever so important) jingle could finish its latest circuit through SusannahMios head, the head in question struck something, and hard enough to send a galaxy of bright stars exploding across her field of vision. When they cleared, she saw, very large, in front of her eyes NK AWA She pulled back and saw BANGO SKANK AWAITS THE KING! It was the graffito written on the inside of the toilet stalls door. Her life was haunted by doorshad been, it seemed, ever since the door of her cell had clanged closed behind her in Oxford, Mississippibut this one was shut. Good. She was coming to believe that shut doors presented fewer problems. Soon enough this one would open and the problems would start again. Mia I told you all I know. Now are you going to help me get to the Dixie Pig, or do I have to do it on my own? I can if I have to, especially with the turtle to help me. Susannah Ill help. Although how much or how little help Mia got from her sort of depended on what time it was right now. How long had they been in here? Her legs felt completely numb from the knees downher butt, tooand she thought that was a good sign, but under these fluorescent lights, Susannah supposed it was always halfpast anytime. What does it matter to you? Mia asked, suspicious. What does it matter to you what time it is? Susannah scrambled for an explanation. The baby. You know that what I did will keep it from coming only for so long, dont you? Of course I do. Thats why I want to get moving. All right. Lets see the cash our old pal Mats left us. Mia took out the little wad of bills and looked at them uncomprehendingly. Take the one that says Jackson. I  Embarrassment. I cant read. Let me come forward. Ill read it. No! All right, all right, calm down. Its the guy with the long white hair combed back kind of like Elvis. I dont know this Elvis Never mind, its that one right on top. Good. Now put the rest of the cash back in your pocket, nice and safe. Hold the twenty in the palm of your hand. Okay, were blowing this popstand. Whats a popstand? Mia, shut up. SIXTEEN When they reentered the lobbywalking slowly, on legs that tingled with pins and needlesSusannah was marginally encouraged to see that it was dusk outside. She hadnt succeeded in burning up the entire day, it seemed, but shed gotten rid of most of it. The lobby was busy but no longer frantic. The beautiful Eurasian girl whod checked herthem in was gone, her shift finished. Under the canopy, two new men in green monkeysuits were whistling up cabs for folks, many of whom were wearing tuxedos or long sparkly dresses. Going out to parties, Susannah said. Or maybe the theater. Susannah, I care not. Do we need to get one of the yellow vehicles from one of the men in the green suits? No. Well get a cab on the corner. Do you say so? Oh, quit with the suspicion. Youre taking your kid to either its death or yours, Im sure of that, but I recognize your intention to do well and Ill keep my promise. Yes, I do say so. All right. Without another wordcertainly none of apologyMia left the hotel, turned right, and began walking back toward Second Avenue, 2 Hammarskjld Plaza, and the beautiful song of the rose. SEVENTEEN On the corner of Second and Fortysixth, a metal waggon of faded red was parked at the curb. The curb was yellow at this point, and a man in a blue suita Guard o the Watch, by his sidearmseemed to be discussing that fact with a tall, whitebearded man. Inside of her, Mia felt a flurry of startled movement. Susannah? What is it? That man! The Guard o the Watch? Him? No, the one with the beard! He looks almost exactly like Henchick! Henchick of the Manni! Do you not see? Mia neither saw nor cared. She gathered that although parking waggons along the yellow curb was forbidden, and the man with the beard seemed to understand this, he still would not move. He went on setting up easels and then putting pictures on them. Mia sensed this was an old argument between the two men. Im gonna have to give you a ticket, Rev. Do what you need to do, Officer Benzyck. God loves you. Good. Delighted to hear it. As for the ticket, youll tear it up. Right? Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesars; render unto God those things that are Gods. So says the Bible, and blessed be the Lords Holy Book. I can get behind that, said Benzyck o the Watch. He pulled a thick pad of paper from his back pocket and began to scribble on it. This also had the feel of an old ritual. But let me tell you something, Harrigansooner or later City Hall is gonna catch up to your action, and theyre gonna render unto your scofflaw holyrollinass. I only hope Im there when it happens. He tore a sheet from his pad, went over to the metal waggon, and slipped the paper beneath a black windowslider resting on the waggons glass front. Susannah, amused Hes gettin a ticket. Not the first one, either, from the sound. Mia, momentarily diverted in spite of herself What does it say on the side of his waggon, Susannah? There was a slight shift as Susanna came partway forward, and the sense of a squint. It was a strange sensation for Mia, like having a tickle deep in her head. Susannah, still sounding amused It says CHURCH OF THE HOLY GODBOMB, Rev. Earl Harrigan. It also says YOUR CONTRIBUTIONS WILL BE REWARDED IN HEAVEN. Whats heaven? Another name for the clearing at the end of the path. Ah. Benzyck o the Watch was strolling away with his hands clasped behind his back, his considerable ass bunching beneath his blue uniform trousers, his duty done. The Rev. Harrigan, meanwhile, was adjusting his easels. The picture on one showed a man being let out of jail by a fellow in a white robe. The whiterobes head was glowing. The picture on the other showed the whiterobe turning away from a monster with red skin and horns on his head. The monster with the horns looked pissed like a bear at sai Whiterobe. Susannah, is that red thing how the folk of this world see the Crimson King? Susannah I guess so. Its Satan, if you carelord of the underworld. Have the godguy get you a cab, why dont you? Use the turtle. Again, suspicious (Mia apparently couldnt help it) Do you say so? Say true! Aye! Say Jesus Christ, woman! All right, all right. Mia sounded a bit embarrassed. She walked toward Rev. Harrigan, pulling the scrimshaw turtle out of her pocket. EIGHTEEN What she needed to do came to Susannah in a flash. She withdrew from Mia (if the woman couldnt get a taxi with the help of that magic turtle, she was hopeless) and with her eyes squeezed shut visualized the Dogan. When she opened them, she was there. She grabbed the microphone shed used to call Eddie and depressed the toggle. Harrigan! she said into the mike. Reverend Earl Harrigan! Are you there? Do you read me, sugar? Do you read me? NINETEEN Rev. Harrigan paused in his labors long enough to watch a black womanone finestruttin honey, too, praise Godget into a cab. The cab drove off. He had a lot to do before beginning his nightly sermonhis little dance with Officer Benzyck was only the opening gunbut he stood there watching the cabs taillights twinkle and dwindle, just the same. Had something just happened to him? Had ? Was it possible that ? Rev. Harrigan fell to his knees on the sidewalk, quite oblivious of the pedestrians passing by (just as most were oblivious of him). He clasped his big old praiseGod hands and raised them to his chin. He knew the Bible said that praying was a private thing best done in ones closet, and hed spent plenty of time getting kneebound in his own, yes Lord, but he also believed God wanted folks to see what a praying man looked like from time to time, because most of themsay Gawd!had forgotten what that looked like. And there was no better, no nicer place to speak with God than right here on the corner of Second and Fortysixth. There was a singing here, clean and sweet. It uplifted the spirit, clarified the mind  and, just incidentally, clarified the skin, as well. This wasnt the voice of God, and Rev. Harrigan was not so blasphemously stupid as to think it was, but he had an idea that it was angels. Yes, say Gawd, say Gawdbomb, the voice of the seraphim! God, did you just drop a little Godbomb on me? I want to ask was that voice I just heard yours or mine own? No answer. So many times there was no answer. He would ponder this. In the meantime, he had a sermon to prepare for. A show to do, if you wanted to be perfectly vulgar about it. Rev. Harrigan went to his van, parked at the yellow curb as always, and opened the back doors. Then he took out the pamphlets, the silkcovered collection plate which hed put beside him on the sidewalk, and the sturdy wooden cube. The soapbox upon which he would stand, could you raise up high and shout hallelujah? And yes, brother, while you were right at it, could you give amen? STAVE Commalacomeken Its the other one again. You may know her name and face But that dont make her your friend. RESPONSE Commalacometen! She is not your friend! If you let her get too close Shell cut you up again. 11TH STANZA THE WRITER By the time they reached the little shopping center in the town of Bridgtona supermarket, a laundry, and a surprisingly large drugstoreboth Roland and Eddie sensed it not just the singing, but the gathering power. It lifted them up like some crazy, wonderful elevator. Eddie found himself thinking of Tinkerbells magic dust and Dumbos magic feather. This was like drawing near the rose and yet not like that. There was no sense of holiness or sanctification in this little New England town, but something was going on here, and it was powerful. Driving here from East Stoneham, following the signs to Bridgton from back road to back road, Eddie had sensed something else, as well the unbelievable crispness of this world. The summergreen depths of the pine forests had a validity he had never encountered before, never even suspected. The birds which flew across the sky fair stopped his breath for wonder, even the most common sparrow. The very shadows on the ground seemed to have a velvety thickness, as if you could reach down, pick them up, and carry them away under your arm like pieces of carpet, if you so chose. At some point, Eddie asked Roland if he felt any of this. Yes, Roland said. I feel it, see it, hear it  Eddie, I touch it. Eddie nodded. He did, too. This world was real beyond reality. It was  antitodash. That was the best he could do. And they were very much in the heart of the Beam. Eddie could feel it carrying them on like a river rushing down a gorge toward a waterfall. But Im afraid, Roland said. I feel as though were approaching the center of everythingthe Tower itself, mayhap. Its as if, after all these years, the quest itself has become the point for me, and the end is frightening. Eddie nodded. He could get behind that. Certainly he was afraid. If it wasnt the Tower putting out that stupendous force, then it was some potent and terrible thing akin to the rose. But not quite the same. A twin to the rose? That could be right. Roland looked out at the parking lot and the people who came and went beneath a summer sky filled with fat, slowfloating clouds, seemingly unaware that the whole world was singing with power around them, and that all the clouds flowed along the same ancient pathway in the heavens. They were unaware of their own beauty. The gunslinger said, I used to think the most terrible thing would be to reach the Dark Tower and find the top room empty. The God of all universes either dead or nonexistent in the first place. But now  suppose there is someone there, Eddie? Someone in charge who turns out to be  He couldnt finish. Eddie could. Someone who turns out to be just another bumhug? Is that it? God not dead but feebleminded and malicious? Roland nodded. This was not, in fact, precisely what he was afraid of, but he thought Eddie had at least come close. How can that be, Roland? Considering what we feel? Roland shrugged, as if to say anything could be. In any case, what choice do we have? None, Roland said bleakly. All things serve the Beam. Whatever the great and singing force was, it seemed to be coming from the road that ran west from the shopping center, back into the woods. Kansas Road, according to the sign, and that made Eddie think of Dorothy and Toto and Blaine the Mono. He dropped the transmission of their borrowed Ford into Drive and started rolling forward. His heart was beating in his chest with slow, exclamatory force. He wondered if Moses had felt like this when he approached the burning bush which contained God. He wondered if Jacob had felt like this, awakening to find a stranger, both radiant and fair, in his campthe angel with whom he would wrestle. He thought that they probably had. He felt sure that another part of their journey was about to come to an endanother answer lay up ahead. God living on Kansas Road, in the town of Bridgton, Maine? It should have sounded crazy, but didnt. Just dont strike me dead, Eddie thought, and turned west. I need to get back to my sweetheart, so please dont strike me dead, whoever or whatever you are. Man, Im so scared, he said. Roland reached out and briefly grasped his hand. TWO Three miles from the shopping center, they came to a dirt road which struck off into the pine trees on their left. There had been other byways, which Eddie had passed without slowing from the steady thirty miles an hour he had been maintaining, but at this one he stopped. Both front windows were down. They could hear the wind in the trees, the grouchy call of a crow, the nottoodistant buzz of a powerboat, and the rumble of the Fords engine. Except for a hundred thousand voices singing in rough harmony, those were the only sounds. The sign marking the turnoff said no more than PRIVATE DRIVE. Nevertheless, Eddie was nodding. This is it. Yes, I know. Hows your leg? Hurts. Dont worry about it. Are we gonna do this? We have to, Roland said. You were right to bring us here. Whats here is the other half of this. He tapped the paper in his pocket, the one conveying ownership of the vacant lot to the Tet Corporation. You think this guy King is the roses twin.


You say true. Roland smiled at his own choice of words. Eddie thought hed rarely seen one so sad. Weve picked up the Calla way of talking, havent we? Jake first, then all of us. But that will fall away. Further to go, Eddie said. It wasnt a question. Aye, and it will be dangerous. Still  maybe nothing so dangerous as this. Shall we roll? In a minute. Roland, do you remember Susannah mentioning a man named Moses Carver? A stem  which is to say a man of affairs. He took over her fathers business when sai Holmes died, am I correct? Yeah. He was also Suzes godfather. She said he could be trusted completely. Remember how mad she got at Jake and me when we suggested he might have stolen the companys money? Roland nodded. I trust her judgment, Eddie said. What about you? Yes. If Carver is honest, we might be able to put him in charge of the things we need to accomplish in this world. None of this seemed terribly important compared to the force Eddie felt rising all around him, but he thought it was. They might only have one chance to protect the rose now and ensure its survival later. They had to do it right, and Eddie knew that meant heeding the will of destiny. In a word, ka. Suze says Holmes Dental was worth eight or ten million when you snatched her out of New York, Roland. If Carvers as good as I hope he is, the company might be worth twelve or fourteen million by now. Thats a lot? Delah, Eddie said, tossing his open hand at the horizon, and Roland nodded. It sounds funny to talk about using the profits from some kind of dental process to save the universe, but thats just what I am talking about. And the money the toothfairy left her may only be the beginning. Microsoft, for instance. Remember me mentioning that name to Tower? Roland nodded. Slow down, Eddie. Calm down, I beg. Im sorry, Eddie said, and pulled in a deep breath. Its this place. The singing. The faces  do you see the faces in the trees? In the shadows? I see them very well. It makes me feel a little crazy. Bear with me. What Im talking about is merging Holmes Dental and the Tet Corporation, then using our knowledge of the future to turn it into one of the richest combinations in the history of the world. Resources to equal those of the Sombra Corporation  or maybe North Central Positronics itself. Roland shrugged, then lifted a hand as if to ask how Eddie could talk about money while in the presence of the immense force flowing along the barrel of the Beam and through them, lifting the hair from the napes of their necks, making their sinuses tingle, turning every woodsy shadow into a watching face  as if a multitude had gathered here to watch them play out a crucial scene in their drama. I know how you feel, but it matters, Eddie insisted. Believe me, it does. Suppose, for instance, we were to grow fast enough to buy out North Central Positronics before it can rise as a force in this world? Roland, we might be able to turn it, the way you can turn even the biggest river with no more than a single spade up in its headwaters, where its only a trickle. At this Rolands eyes gleamed. Take it over, he said. Turn its purpose from the Crimson Kings to our own. Yes, that might be possible. Whether it is or isnt, we have to remember that were not just playing for 1977, or 1987, where I came from, or 1999, where Suze went. In that world, Eddie realized, Calvin Tower might be dead and Aaron Deepneau would be for sure, their final action in the Dark Towers dramasaving Donald Callahan from the Hitler Brotherslong finished. Swept from the stage, both of them. Into the clearing at the end of the path along with Gasher and Hoots, Benny Slightman, Susan Delgado (Calla, Callahan, Susan, Susannah) and the TickTock Man, even Blaine and Patricia. Roland and his katet would also pass into that clearing, be it early or late. In the endif they were fantastically lucky and suicidally braveonly the Dark Tower would stand. If they could nip North Central Positronics in the bud, they might be able to save all the Beams that had been broken. Even if they failed at that, two Beams might be enough to hold the Tower in place the rose in New York and a man named Stephen King in Maine. Eddies head had no proof that this was indeed the case  but his heart believed it. What were playing for, Roland, is the ages. Roland made a fist and thumped it lightly on the dusty dashboard of John Cullums old Ford and nodded. Anything can go on that lot, you realize that? Anything. A building, a park, a monument, The National Gramophone Institute. As long as the rose stays. This guy Carver can make the Tet Corporation legal, maybe working with Aaron Deepneau Yes, Roland said. I liked Deepneau. He had a true face. Eddie thought so, too. Anyway, they can draw up legal papers that take care of the rosethe rose always stays, no matter what. And Ive got a feeling that it will. 2007, 2057, 2525, 3700  hell, the year 19,000  I think itll always be there. Because it may be fragile, but I think its also immortal. We have to do it right while we have the chance, though. Because this is the key world. In this one you never get a chance to whittle a little more if the key doesnt turn. In this world I dont think there are any doovers. Roland considered this, then pointed to the dirt road leading into the trees. Into a forest of watching faces and singing voices. A harmonium of all that filled life with worth and meaning, that held to the truth, that acknowledged the White. And what about the man who lives at the end of this road, Eddie? If he is a man. I think he is, and not just because of what John Cullum said. Its what I feel here. Eddie patted his chest above the heart. So do I. Do you say so, Roland? Aye, I do. Is he immortal, do you think? Because Ive seen much in my years, and heard rumors of much more, but never of a man or woman who lived forever. I dont think he needs to be immortal. I think all he needs to do is write the right story. Because some stories do live forever. Understanding lit up Rolands eyes. At last, Eddie thought. At last he sees it. But how long had it taken him to see it himself, and then to swallow it? God knew he should have been able to, after all the other wonders hed seen, and yet still this last step had eluded him. Even discovering that Pere Callahan had seemingly sprung alive and breathing from a fiction called Salems Lot hadnt been enough to take him that last crucial step. What had finally done it was finding out that CoOp City was in the Bronx, not Brooklyn. In this world, at least. Which was the only world that mattered. Maybe hes not at home, Roland said as around them the whole world waited. Maybe this man who made us is not at home. You know he is. Roland nodded. And the old light had dawned in his eyes, light from a fire that had never gone out, the one that had lit his way along the Beam all the way from Gilead. Then drive on! he cried hoarsely. Drive on, for your fathers sake! If hes Godour GodId look Him in the eye and ask Him the way to the Tower! Would you not ask him the way to Susannah, first? As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Eddie regretted it and prayed the gunslinger would not answer it. Roland didnt. He only twirled the remaining fingers on his right hand Go, go. Eddie put the gearshift of Cullums Ford into Drive and turned onto the dirt road. He drove them into a great singing force that seemed to go through them like a wind, turning them into something as insubstantial as a thought, or a dream in the head of some sleeping god. THREE A quarter of a mile in, the road forked. Eddie took the lefthand branch, although the sign pointing that way said ROWDEN, not KING. The dust raised by their passage hung in the rearview mirror. The singing was a sweet din, pouring through him like liquor. His hair was still standing up at the roots, and his muscles were trembling. Called upon to draw his gun, Eddie thought he would probably drop the damned thing. Even if he managed to hold onto it, aiming would be impossible. He didnt know how the man they were looking for could live so close to the sound of that singing and eat or sleep, let alone write stories. But of course King wasnt just close to the sound; if Eddie had it right, King was the source of the sound. But if he has a family, what about them? And even if he doesnt, what about the neighbors? Here was a driveway on the right, and Eddie, stop. It was Roland, but not sounding the least bit like himself. His Calla tan was thin paint over an immense pallor. Eddie stopped. Roland fumbled at the doorhandle on his side, couldnt make it work, levered himself out the window all the way to his waist instead (Eddie heard the chink his belt buckle made on the chrome strip which faced the windowwell), and then vomited onto the oggan. When he fell back into the seat, he looked both exhausted and exalted. The eyes which rolled to meet Eddies were blue, ancient, glittering. Drive on. Roland, are you sure Roland only twirled his fingers, looking straight out through the Fords dusty windshield. Go, go. For your fathers sake! Eddie drove on. FOUR It was the sort of house realestate agents call a ranch. Eddie wasnt surprised. What did surprise him a little was how modest the place was. Then he reminded himself that not every writer was a rich writer, and that probably went double for young writers. Some sort of typo had apparently made his second novel quite the catch among bibliomaniacs, but Eddie doubted if King ever saw a commission on that sort of thing. Or royalties, if that was what they called it. Still, the car parked in the turnaround driveway was a newlooking Jeep Cherokee with a nifty Indian stripe running up the side, and that suggested Stephen King wasnt exactly starving for his art, either. There was a wooden jungle gym in the front yard with a lot of plastic toys scattered around it. Eddies heart sank at the sight of them. One lesson which the Calla had taught exquisitely was that kids complicated things. The ones living here were little kids, from the look of the toys. And to them comes a pair of men wearing hard calibers. Men who were not, at this point in time, strictly in their right minds. Eddie cut the Fords engine. A crow cawed. A powerboatbigger than the one theyd heard earlier, from the soundbuzzed. Beyond the house, bright sun glinted on blue water. And the voices sang Come, come, comecomecommala. There was a clunk as Roland opened his door and got out, slewing a little as he did so bad hip, dry twist. Eddie got out on legs that felt as numb as sticks. Tabby? That you? This from around the right side of the house. And now, running ahead of the voice and the man who owned the voice, came a shadow. Never had Eddie seen one that so filled him with terror and fascination. He thought, and with absolute certainty Yonder comes my maker. Yonder is he, aye, say true. And the voices sang, Commalacomethree, he who made me. Did you forget something, darling? Only the last word came out in a downeast drawl, daaalin, the way John Cullum would have said it. And then came the man of the house, then came he. He saw them and stopped. He saw Roland and stopped. The singing voices stopped with him, and the powerboats drone seemed to stop as well. For a moment the whole world hung on a hinge. Then the man turned and ran. Not, however, before Eddie saw the terrible thunderstruck look of recognition on his face. Roland was after him in a flash, like a cat after a bird. FIVE But sai King was a man, not a bird. He couldnt fly, and there was really nowhere to run. The side lawn sloped down a mild hill broken only by a concrete pad that might have been the well or some kind of sewagepumping device. Beyond the lawn was a postage stampsized bit of beach, littered with more toys. After that came the lake. The man reached the edge of it, splashed into it, then turned so awkwardly he almost fell down. Roland skidded to a stop on the sand. He and Stephen King regarded each other. Eddie stood perhaps ten yards behind Roland, watching both of them. The singing had begun again, and so had the buzzing drone of the powerboat. Perhaps they had never stopped, but Eddie believed he knew better. The man in the water put his hands over his eyes like a child. Youre not there, he said. I am, sai. Rolands voice was both gentle and filled with awe. Take your hands from your eyes, Stephen of Bridgton. Take them down and see me very well. Maybe Im having a breakdown, said the man in the water, but he slowly dropped his hands. He was wearing thick glasses with severe black frames. One bow had been mended with a bit of tape. His hair was either black or a very dark brown. The beard was definitely black, the first threads of white in it startling in their brilliance. He was wearing bluejeans below a teeshirt that said THE RAMONES and ROCKET TO RUSSIA and GABBAGABBAHEY. He looked like starting to run to middleaged fat, but he wasnt fat yet. He was tall, and as ashypale as Roland. Eddie saw with no real surprise that Stephen King looked like Roland. Given the age difference they could never be mistaken for twins, but father and son? Yes. Easily. Roland tapped the base of his throat three times, then shook his head. It wasnt enough. It wouldnt do. Eddie watched with fascination and horror as the gunslinger sank to his knees amid the litter of bright plastic toys and put his curled hand against his brow. Hile, talespinner, he said. Comes to you Roland Deschain of Gilead that was, and Eddie Dean of New York. Will you open to us, if we open to you? King laughed. Given the power of Rolands words, Eddie found the sound shocking. I  man, this cant be happening. And then, to himself Can it? Roland, still on his knees, went on as if the man standing in the water had neither laughed nor spoken. Do you see us for what we are, and what we do? Youd be gunslingers, if you were real. King peered at Roland through his thick spectacles. Gunslingers seeking the Dark Tower. Thats it, Eddie thought as the voices rose and the sun shimmered on the blue water. That nails it. You say true, sai. We seek aid and succor, Stephen of Bridgton. Willee give it? Mister, I dont know who your friend is, but as for you  man, I made you. You cant be standing there because the only place you really exist is here. He thumped a fist to the center of his forehead, as if in parody of Roland. Then he pointed to his house. His ranchstyle house. And in there. Youre in there, too, I guess. In a desk drawer, or maybe a box in the garage. Youre unfinished business. I havent thought of you in  in  His voice had grown thin. Now he began to sway like someone who hears faint but delicious music, and his knees buckled. He fell. Roland! Eddie shouted, at last plunging forward. Mans had a fucking heart attack! Already knowing (or perhaps only hoping) better. Because the singing was as strong as ever. The faces in the trees and shadows as clear. The gunslinger was bending down and grasping Kingwho had already begun to thrash weaklyunder the arms. Hes but fainted. And who could blame him? Help me get him into the house. SIX The master bedroom had a gorgeous view of the lake and a hideous purple rug on the floor. Eddie sat on the bed and watched through the bathroom door as King took off his wet sneakers and outer clothes, stepping between the door and the tiled bathroom wall for a moment to swap his wet undershorts for a dry pair. He hadnt objected to Eddie following him into the bedroom. Since coming toand hed been out for no more than thirty secondshe had displayed an almost eerie calm. Now he came out of the bathroom and crossed to the bureau. Is this a practical joke? he asked, rummaging for dry jeans and a fresh teeshirt. To Eddie, Kings house said moneysome, at least. God knew what the clothes said. Is it something Mac McCutcheon and Floyd Calderwood dreamed up? I dont know those men, and its no joke. Maybe not, but that man cant be real. King stepped into the jeans. He spoke to Eddie in a reasonable tone of voice. I mean, I wrote about him! Eddie nodded. I kind of figured that. But hes real, just the same. Ive been running with him for How long? Eddie didnt know. for awhile, he finished. You wrote about him but not me? Do you feel left out? Eddie laughed, but in truth he did feel left out. A little, anyway. Maybe King hadnt gotten to him yet. If that was the case, he wasnt exactly safe, was he? This doesnt feel like a breakdown, King said, but I suppose they never do. Youre not having a breakdown, but I have some sympathy for how you feel, sai. That man Roland. Roland of  Gilead? You say true. I dont know if I had the Gilead part or not, King said. Id have to check the pages, if I could find them. But its good. As in There is no balm in Gilead. Im not following you. Thats okay, neither am I. King found cigarettes, Pall Malls, on the bureau and lit one. Finish what you were going to say. He dragged me through a door between this world and his world. I also felt like I was having a breakdown. It hadnt been this world from which Eddie had been dragged, close but no cigar, and hed been jonesing for heroin at the timejonesing bigtimebut the situation was complicated enough without adding that stuff. Still, there was one question he had to ask before they rejoined Roland and the real palaver began. Tell me something, sai Kingdo you know where CoOp City is? King had been transferring his coins and keys from his wet jeans to the dry ones, right eye squinted shut against the smoke of the cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth. Now he stopped and looked at Eddie with his eyebrows raised. Is this a trick question? No. And you wont shoot me with that gun youre wearing if I get it wrong? Eddie smiled a little. King wasnt an unlikable cuss, for a god. Then he reminded himself that God had killed his little sister, using a drunk driver as a tool, and his brother Henry as well. God had made Enrico Balazar and burned Susan Delgado at the stake. His smile faded. But he said, No ones getting shot here, sai. In that case, I believe CoOp Citys in Brooklyn. Where you come from, judging by your accent. So do I win the FairDay Goose? Eddie jerked like someone whos been poked with a pin. What? Just a thing my mother used to say. When my brother Dave and I did all our chores and got em right the first time, shed say You boys win the FairDay Goose. It was a joke. So do I win the prize? Yes, Eddie said. Sure. King nodded, then butted out his cigarette. Youre an okay guy. Its your pal I dont much care for. And never did. I think thats part of the reason I quit on the story. That startled Eddie again, and he got up from the bed to cover it. Quit on it? Yeah. The Dark Tower, it was called. It was gonna be my Lord of the Rings, my Gormenghast, my younameit. One thing about being twentytwo is that youre never short of ambition. It didnt take me long to see that it was just too big for my little brain. Too  I dont know  outr? Thats as good a word as any, I guess. Also, he added dryly, I lost the outline. You did what? Sounds crazy, doesnt it? But writing can be a crazy deal. Did you know that Ernest Hemingway once lost a whole book of short stories on a train? Really? Really. He had no backup copies, no carbons. Just poof, gone. Thats sort of what happened to me. One fine drunk nightor maybe I was done up on mescaline, I can no longer rememberI did a complete outline for this fiveor tenthousandpage fantasy epic. It was a good outline, I think. Gave the thing some form. Some style. And then I lost it. Probably flew off the back of my motorcycle when I was coming back from some fucking bar. Nothing like that ever happened to me before. Im usually careful about my work, if nothing else. Uhhuh, Eddie said, and thought of asking Did you happen to see any guys in loud clothes, the sort of guys who drive flashy cars, around the time you lost it? Low men, not to put too fine a point on it? Anyone with a red mark on his or her forehead? The sort of thing that looks a little like a circle of blood? Any indications, in short, that someone stole your outline? Someone who might have an interest in making sure The Dark Tower never gets finished? Lets go out to the kitchen. We need to palaver. Eddie just wished he knew what they were supposed to palaver about. Whatever it was, they had better get it right, because this was the real world, the one in which there were no doovers. SEVEN Roland had no idea of how to stock and then start the fancy coffeemaker on the counter, but he found a battered coffee pot on one of the shelves that was not much different from the one Alain Johns had carried in his gunna long ago, when three boys had come to Mejis to count stock. Sai Kings stove ran on electricity, but a child could have figured out how to make the burners work. When Eddie and King came into the kitchen, the pot was beginning to get hot. I dont use coffee, myself, King said, and went to the coldbox (giving Roland a wide berth). And I dont ordinarily drink beer before five, but I believe that today Ill make an exception. Mr. Dean? Coffeell do me fine. Mr. Gilead? Its Deschain, sai King. Ill also have the coffee, and say thank ya. The writer opened a can by using the builtin ring in the top (a device that struck Roland as superficially clever and almost moronically wasteful). There was a hiss, followed by the pleasant smell (commalacomecome) of yeast and hops. King drank down at least half the can at a go, wiped foam out of his mustache, then put the can on the counter. He was still pale, but seemingly composed and in possession of his faculties. The gunslinger thought he was doing quite well, at least so far. Was it possible that, in some of the deeper ranges of his mind and heart, King had expected their visit? Had been waiting for them? You have a wife and children, Roland said. Where are they? Tabbys folks live up north, near Bangor. My daughters been spending the last week with her nanna and poppa. Tabby took our youngestOwen, hes just a babyand headed that way about an hour ago. Im supposed to pick up my other sonJoein  He checked his watch. In just about an hour. I wanted to finish my writing, so this time were taking both cars. Roland considered. It might be true. It was almost certainly Kings way of telling them that if anything happened to him, he would be missed in short order. I cant believe this is happening. Have I said that enough to be annoying yet? In any case, its too much like one of my own stories to be happening. Like Salems Lot, for instance, Eddie suggested. King raised his eyebrows. So you know about that. Do they have the Literary Guild wherever you came from? He downed the rest of his beer. He drank, Roland thought, like a man with a gift for it. A couple of hours ago there were sirens way over on the other side of the lake, plus a big plume of smoke. I could see it from my office. At the time I thought it was probably just a grassfire, maybe in Harrison or Stoneham, but now I wonder. Did that have anything to do with you guys? It did, didnt it? Eddie said, Hes writing it, Roland. Or was. He says he stopped. But its called The Dark Tower. So he knows. King smiled, but Roland thought he looked really, deeply frightened for the first time. Setting aside that initial moment when hed come around the corner of the house and seen them, that was. When hed seen his creation. Is that what I am? His creation? It felt wrong and right in equal measure. Thinking about it made Rolands head ache and his stomach feel slippery all over again. He knows, King said. I dont like the sound of that, boys. In a story, when someone says He knows, the next line is usually Well have to kill him. Believe me when I tell you this, Roland said. He spoke with great emphasis. Killing you is the last thing wed ever want to do, sai King. Your enemies are our enemies, and those who would help you along your way are our friends. Amen, Eddie said. King opened his coldbox and got another beer. Roland saw a great many of them in there, standing to frosty attention. More cans of beer than anything else. In that case, he said, you better call me Steve. EIGHT Tell us the story with me in it, Roland invited. King leaned against the kitchen counter and the top of his head caught a shaft of sun. He took a sip of his beer and considered Rolands question. Eddie saw it then for the first time, very dima contrast to the sun, perhaps. A dusty black shadow, something swaddled around the man. Dim. Barely there. But there. Like the darkness you saw hiding behind things when you traveled todash. Was that it? Eddie didnt think so. Barely there. But there. You know, King said, Im not much good at telling stories. That sounds like a paradox, but its not; its the reason I write them down. Is it Roland he talks like, or me? Eddie wondered. He couldnt tell. Much later on hed realize that King talked like all of them, even Rosa Munoz, Pere Callahans woman of work in the Calla. Then the writer brightened. Tell you what, why dont I see if I can find the manuscript? Ive got four or five boxes of busted stories downstairs. Dark Towers got to be in one of them. Busted. Busted stories. Eddie didnt care for the sound of that at all. You can read some of it while I go get my little boy. He grinned, displaying big, crooked teeth. Maybe when I get back, youll be gone and I can get to work on thinking you were never here at all. Eddie glanced at Roland, who shook his head slightly. On the stove, the first bubble of coffee blinked in the pots glass eye. Sai King Eddie began. Steve. Steve, then. We ought to transact our business now. Matters of trust aside, were in a ripping hurry. Sure, sure, right, racing against time, King said, and laughed. The sound was charmingly goofy. Eddie suspected that the beer was starting to do its work, and he wondered if the man was maybe a juicehead. Impossible to tell for sure on such short acquaintance, but Eddie thought some of the signs were there. He didnt remember a whole hell of a lot from high school English, but he did recall some teacher or other telling him that writers really liked to drink. Hemingway, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, The Raven guy. Writers liked to drink. Im not laughing at you guys, King said. Its actually against my religion to laugh at men who are toting guns. Its just that in the sort of books I write, people are almost always racing against time. Would you like to hear the first line of The Dark Tower? Sure, if you remember it, Eddie said. Roland said nothing, but his eyes gleamed bright under brows that were now threaded with white. Oh, I remember it. It may be the best opening line I ever wrote. King set his beer aside, then raised his hands with the first two fingers of each held out and bent, as if making quotation marks. The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed. The rest might have been puff and blow, but man, that was clean. He dropped his hands and picked up his beer. For the fortythird time, is this really happening? Was the man in blacks name Walter? Roland asked. Kings beer tilted shy of his mouth and he spilled some down his front, wetting his fresh shirt. Roland nodded, as if that was all the answer he needed. Dont faint on us again, Eddie said, a trifle sharply. Once was enough to impress me. King nodded, took another sip of his beer, seemed to take hold of himself at the same time. He glanced at the clock. Are you gentlemen really going to let me pick up my son? Yes, Roland said. You  King paused to consider, then smiled. Do you set your watch and your warrant on it? With no smile in return, Roland said, So I do. Okay, then, The Dark Tower, Readers Digest Condensed Book version. Keeping in mind that oral storytelling isnt my thing, Ill do the best I can. NINE Roland listened as if worlds depended on it, as he was quite sure they did. King had begun his version of Rolands life with the campfires, which had pleased the gunslinger because they confirmed Walters essential humanity. From there, King said, the story went back to Rolands meeting with a kind of shirttail farmer on the edge of the desert. Brown, his name had been. Life for your crop, Roland heard across an echo of years, and Life for your own. Hed forgotten Brown, and Browns pet raven, Zoltan, but this stranger had not. What I liked, King said, was how the story seemed to be going backward. From a purely technical standpoint, it was very interesting. I start with you in the desert, then slip back a notch to you meeting Brown and Zoltan. Zoltan was named after a folksinger and guitarist I knew at the University of Maine, by the way. Anyway, from the dwellers hut the story slips back another notch to you coming into the town of Tull  named after a rock group Jethro Tull, Eddie said. Goddam of course! I knew that name was familiar! What about Z.Z. Top, Steve? Do you know them? Eddie looked at King, saw the incomprehension, and smiled. I guess its not their when quite yet. Or if it is, you havent found out about them. Roland twirled his fingers Go on, go on. And gave Eddie a look that suggested he stop interrupting. Anyway, from Roland coming into Tull, the story slips back another notch to tell how Nort, the weedeater, died and was resurrected by Walter. You see what buzzed me about it, dont you? The early part of it was all told in reverse gear. It was bassackwards. Roland had no interest in the technical aspects that seemed to fascinate King; this was his life they were talking about, after all, his life, and to him it had all been moving forward. At least until hed reached the Western Sea, and the doors through which he had drawn his traveling companions. But Stephen King knew nothing of the doors, it seemed. He had written of the way station, and Rolands meeting with Jake Chambers; he had written of their trek first into the mountains and then through them; he had written of Jakes betrayal by the man he had come to trust and to love. King observed the way Roland hung his head during this part of the tale, and spoke with odd gentleness. No need to look so ashamed, Mr. Deschain. After all, I was the one who made you do it. But again, Roland wondered about that. King had written of Rolands palaver with Walter in the dusty golgotha of bones, the telling of the Tarot and the terrible vision Roland had had of growing right through the roof of the universe. He had written of how Roland had awakened following that long night of fortunetelling to find himself years older, and Walter nothing but bones. Finally, King said, hed written of Roland going to the edge of the water and sitting there. You said, I loved you, Jake Roland nodded matteroffactly. I love him still. You speak as though he actually exists. Roland looked at him levelly. Do I exist? Do you? King was silent. What happened then? Eddie asked. Then, seor, I ran out of storyor got intimidated, if you like that betterand stopped. Eddie also wanted to stop. He could see the shadows beginning to lengthen in the kitchen and wanted to get after Susannah before it was too late. He thought both he and Roland had a pretty good idea of how to get out of this world, suspected Stephen King himself could direct them to Turtleback Lane in Lovell, where reality was thin andaccording to John Cullum, at leastthe walkins had been plentiful of late. And King would be happy to direct them. Happy to get rid of them. But they couldnt go just yet, and in spite of his impatience Eddie knew it. You stopped because you lost your lineout, Roland said. Outline. And no, not really. King had gone after his third beer, and Eddie thought it was no wonder the man was getting pudgy in the middle; hed already consumed the caloric equivalent of a loaf of bread, and was starting on Loaf 2. I hardly ever work from an outline. In fact  dont hold me to this, but that might have been the only time. And it got too big for me. Too strange.


Also you became a problem, sir or sai or whatever you call yourself. King grimaced. Whatever form of address that is, I didnt make it up. Not yet, anyway, Roland remarked. You started as a version of Sergio Leones Man With No Name. In the Spaghetti Westerns, Eddie said. Jesus, of course! I watched a hundred of em at the Majestic with my brother Henry, when Henry was still at home. I went by myself or with this friend of mine, Chuggy Coter, when Henry was in the Nam. Those were guy flicks. King was grinning. Yeah, he said, but my wife went ape for em, so go figure. Cool on her! Eddie exclaimed. Yeah, Tabs a cool kitty. King looked back at Roland. As The Man With No Namea fantasy version of Clint Eastwoodyou were okay. A lot of fun to partner up with. Is that how you think of it? Yes. But then you changed. Right under my hand. It got so I couldnt tell if you were the hero, the antihero, or no hero at all. When you let the kid drop, that was the capper. You said you made me do that. Looking Roland straight in the eyesblue meeting blue amid the endless choir of voicesKing said I lied, brother. TEN There was a little pause while they all thought that over. Then King said, You started to scare me, so I stopped writing about you. Boxed you up and put you in a drawer and went on to a series of short stories I sold to various mens magazines. He considered, then nodded. Things changed for me after I put you away, my friend, and for the better. I started to sell my stuff. Asked Tabby to marry me. Not long after that I started a book called Carrie. It wasnt my first novel, but it was the first one I sold, and it put me over the top. All that after saying goodbye Roland, so long, happy trails to you. Then what happens? I come around the corner of my house one day six or seven years later and see you standing in my fucking driveway, big as Billybedamned, as my mother used to say. And all I can say now is that thinking youre a hallucination brought on by overwork is the most optimistic conclusion I can draw. And I dont believe it. How can I? Kings voice was rising, becoming reedy. Eddie didnt mistake it for fear; this was outrage. How can I believe it when I see the shadows you cast, the blood on your leg He pointed to Eddie. And the dust on your face? This time to Roland. Youve taken away my goddam options, and I can feel my mind  I dont know  tipping? Is that the word? I think it is. Tipping. You didnt just stop, Roland said, ignoring this last completely for the selfindulgent nonsense it probably was. No? I think telling stories is like pushing something. Pushing against uncreation itself, maybe. And one day while you were doing that, you felt something pushing back. King considered this for what seemed to Eddie like a very long time. Then he nodded. You could be right. It was more than the usual goingdry feeling, for sure. Im used to that, although it doesnt happen as often as it used to. Its  I dont know, one day you just start having less fun while youre sitting there, tapping the keys. Seeing less clearly. Getting less of a buzz from telling yourself the story. And then, to make things worse, you get a new idea, one thats all bright and shiny, fresh off the showroom floor, not a scratch on her. Completely unfuckedup by you, at least as of yet. And  well  And you felt something pushing back. Roland spoke in the same utterly flat tone. Yeah. Kings voice had dropped so low Eddie could barely hear him. NO TRESPASSING. DO NOT ENTER. HIGH VOLTAGE. He paused. Maybe even DANGER OF DEATH. You wouldnt like that faint shadow I see swirling around you, Eddie thought. That black nimbus. No, sai, I dont think youd like that at all, and what am I seeing? The cigarettes? The beer? Something else addictive you maybe have a taste for? A car accident one drunk night? And how far ahead? How many years? He looked at the clock over the Kings kitchen table and was dismayed to see that it was quarter to four in the afternoon. Roland, its getting late. This mans got to get his kid. And weve got to find my wife before Mia has the baby they seem to be sharing and the Crimson King has no more use for the Susannah part of her. Roland said, Just a little more. And lowered his head without saying anything. Thinking. Trying to decide which questions were the right questions. Maybe just one right question. And it was important, Eddie knew it was, because theyd never be able to return to the ninth day of July in the year 1977. They might be able to revisit that day in some other world, but not in this one. And would Stephen King exist in any of those other worlds? Eddie thought maybe not. Probably not. While Roland considered, Eddie asked King if the name Blaine meant anything special to him. No. Not particularly. What about Lud? As in Luddites? They were some sort of machinehating religious sect, werent they? Nineteenth century, I think, or they might have started even earlier. If Ive got it right, the ones in the nineteenth century would break into factories and bash the machinery to pieces. He grinned, displaying those crooked teeth. I guess they were the Greenpeace of their day. Beryl Evans? That name ring a bell? No. Henchick? Henchick of the Manni? No. What are the Manni? Too complicated to go into. What about Claudia y Inez Bachman? That one mean anyth King burst out laughing, startling Eddie. Startling King himself, judging from the look on his face. Dickys wife! he exclaimed. How in the hell do you know about that? I dont. Whos Dicky? Richard Bachman. Ive started publishing some of my earliest novels as paperback originals, under a pseudonym. Bachman is it. One night when I was pretty drunk, I made up a whole author bio for him, right down to how he beat adultonset leukemia, hooray Dickie. Anyway, Claudias his wife. Claudia Inez Bachman. The y part, though  that I dont know about. Eddie felt as if a huge invisible stone had suddenly rolled off his chest and out of his life. Claudia Inez Bachman only had eighteen letters. So something had added the y, and why? To make nineteen, of course. Claudia Bachman was just a name. Claudia y Inez Bachman, though  she was katet. Eddie thought theyd just gotten one of the things theyd come here for. Yes, Stephen King had created them. At least hed created Roland, Jake, and Father Callahan. The rest he hadnt gotten to yet. And he had moved Roland like a piece on a chessboard go to Tull, Roland, sleep with Allie, Roland, chase Walter across the desert, Roland. But even as he moved his main character along the board, so had King himself been moved. That one letter added to the name of his pseudonyms wife insisted upon it. Something had wanted to make Claudia Bachman nineteen. So Steve. Yes, Eddie of New York. King smiled selfconsciously. Eddie could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. What does the number nineteen mean to you? King considered. Outside the wind soughed in the trees, the powerboats whined, and the crowor anothercawed. Soon along this lake would come the hour of barbecues, and then maybe a trip to town and a band concert on the square, all in this best of all possible worlds. Or just the one most real. At last, King shook his head and Eddie let out a frustrated breath. Sorry. Its a prime number, but thats all I can come up with. Primes sort of fascinate me, have ever since Mr. Soychaks Algebra I class at Lisbon High. And I think its how old I was when I met my wife, but she might dispute that. She has a disputatious nature. What about ninetynine? King thought it over, then ticked items off on his fingers. A hell of an age to be. Ninetynine years on the old rockpile. A song calledI thinkThe Wreck of Old Ninetynine. Only it might be The Wreck of the Hesperus Im thinking about. Ninetynine bottles of beer on the wall, we took one down and passed it all around, and there were ninetyeight bottles of beer. Beyond that, nada. This time it was Kings turn to look at the clock. If I dont leave soon, Betty Jones is going to call to see if I forgot I have a son. And after I get Joe Im supposed to drive a hundred and thirty miles north, theres that. Which might be easier if I quit with the beer. And that, in turn, might be easier if I didnt have a couple of armed spooks sitting in my kitchen. Roland was nodding. He reached down to his gunbelt, brought up a shell, and began to roll it absently between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Just one more question, if it does ya. Then well go our course and let you go yours. King nodded. Ask it, then. He looked at his third can of beer, then tipped it down the sink with an expression of regret. Was it you wrote The Dark Tower? To Eddie this question made no sense, but Kings eyes lit up and he smiled brilliantly. No! he said. And if I ever do a book on writingand I probably could, its what I taught before I retired to do thisIll say so. Not that, not any of them, not really. I know that there are writers who do write, but Im not one of them. In fact, whenever I run out of inspiration and resort to plot, the story Im working on usually turns to shit. I dont have a clue what youre talking about, Eddie said. Its like  hey, thats neat! The shell rolling back and forth between the gunslingers thumb and forefinger had jumped effortlessly to the backs of his fingers, where it seemed to walk along Rolands rippling knuckles. Yes, Roland agreed, it is, isnt it? Its how you hypnotized Jake at the way station. How you made him remember being killed. And Susan, Eddie thought. He hypnotized Susan the same way, only you dont know about that yet, sai King. Or maybe you do. Maybe somewhere inside you know all of it. Ive tried hypnosis, King said. In fact, a guy got me up onstage at the Topsham Fair when I was a kid and tried to make me cluck like a hen. It didnt work. That was around the time Buddy Holly died. And the Big Bopper. And Ritchie Valens. Todana! Ah, Discordia! He suddenly shook his head as if to clear it, and looked up from the dancing shell to Rolands face. Did I say something just then? No, sai. Roland looked down at the dancing shellback and forth it went, and back and forthwhich quite naturally drew Kings eyes back as well. What happens when you make a story? Roland inquired. My story, for instance? It just comes, King said. His voice had grown faint. Bemused. It blows into methats the good partand then it comes out when I move my fingers. Never from the head. Comes out the navel, or somewhere. There was an editor  I think it was Maxwell Perkins  who called Thomas Wolfe Eddie knew what Roland was doing and knew it was probably a bad idea to interrupt, but he couldnt help it. A rose, he said. A rose, a stone, an unfound door. Kings face lighted with pleasure, but his eyes never lifted from the shell dancing along the heddles of the gunslingers knuckles. Actually its a stone, a leaf, a door, he said. But I like rose even better. He had been entirely captured. Eddie thought he could almost hear the sucking sound as the mans conscious mind drained away. It occurred to him that something as simple as a ringing phone at this critical moment might change the whole course of existence. He got up, andmoving quietly in spite of his stiff and painful legwent to where it hung on the wall. He twisted the cord in his fingers and applied pressure until it snapped. A rose, a stone, an unfound door, King agreed. That could be Wolfe, all right. Maxwell Perkins called him a divine windchime. O lost, and by the wind grieved! All the forgotten faces! O Discordia! How does the story come to you, sai? Roland asked quietly. I dont like the New Agers  the crystalwavers  all the itdontmatter, turnthepagers  but they call it channeling, and thats  how it feels  like something in a channel  Or on a beam? Roland asked. All things serve the Beam, the writer said, and sighed. The sound was terrible in its sadness. Eddie felt his back prickle up in helpless waves of gooseflesh. ELEVEN Stephen King stood in a shaft of dusty afternoon sunlight. It lit his cheek, the curve of his left eye, the dimple at the corner of his mouth. It turned each white hair on the left side of his beard into a line of light. He stood in light, and that made the faint darkness around him clearer. His respiration had slowed to perhaps three or four breaths a minute. Stephen King, Roland said. Do you see me? Hile, gunslinger, I see you very well. When did you first see me? Not until today. Roland looked surprised at this, and a little frustrated. It was clearly not the answer he had expected. Then King went on. I saw Cuthbert, not you. A pause. You and Cuthbert broke bread and scattered it beneath the gallows. Thats in the part thats already written. Aye, so we did. When Hax the cook swung. We were but lads. Did Bert tell you that tale? But King did not answer this. I saw Eddie. I saw him very well. A pause. Cuthbert and Eddie are twins. Roland Eddie began in a low voice. Roland hushed him with a savage shake of the head and put the bullet hed used to hypnotize King on the table. King kept looking at the place where it had been, as if he still saw it there. Probably he did. Dust motes danced around his dark and shaggy head of hair. Where were you when you saw Cuthbert and Eddie? In the barn. Kings voice dropped. His lips had begun to tremble. Auntie sent me out because we tried to run away. Who? Me and my brother Dave. They caught us and brought us back. They said we were bad, bad boys. And you had to go into the barn. Yes, and saw wood. That was your punishment. Yes. A tear welled in the corner of Kings right eye. It slipped down his cheek to the edge of his beard. The chickens are dead. The chickens in the barn? Yes, them. More tears followed the first. What killed them? Uncle Oren says it was avian flu. Their eyes are open. Theyre  a little scary. Or perhaps more than just a little, Eddie thought, judging by the tears and the pallor of the mans cheeks. You couldnt leave the barn? Not until I saw my share of the wood. David did his. Its my turn. There are spiders in the chickens. Spiders in their guts, little red ones. Like specks of red pepper. If they get on me Ill catch the flu and die. Only then Ill come back. Why? Ill be a vampire. Ill be a slave to him. His scribe, maybe. His pet writer. Whose? The Lord of the Spiders. The Crimson King, Towerpent. Christ, Roland, Eddie whispered. He was shuddering. What had they found here? What nest had they exposed? Sai King, Steve, how old were youare you? Im seven. A pause. I wet my pants. I dont want the spiders to bite me. The red spiders. But then you came, Eddie, and I went free. He smiled radiantly, his cheeks gleaming with tears. Are you asleep, Stephen? Roland asked. Aye. Go deeper. All right. Ill count to three. On three youll be as deep as you can go. All right. One  two  three. On three, Kings head lolled forward. His chin rested on his chest. A line of silver drool ran from his mouth and swung like a pendulum. So now we know something, Roland said to Eddie. Something crucial, maybe. He was touched by the Crimson King when he was just a child, but it seems that we won him over to our side. Or you did, Eddie. You and my old friend, Bert. In any case, it makes him rather special. Id feel better about my heroism if I remembered it, Eddie said. Then You realize that when this guy was seven, I wasnt even born? Roland smiled. Ka is a wheel. Youve been turning on it under different names for a long time. Cuthbert for one, it seems. Whats this about the Crimson King being Towerpent? I have no idea. Roland turned back to Stephen King. How many times do you think the Lord of Discordia has tried to kill you, Stephen? Kill you and halt your pen? Shut up your troublesome mouth? Since that first time in your aunt and uncles barn? King seemed to try counting, then shook his head. Delah, he said. Many. Eddie and Roland exchanged a glance. And does someone always step in? Roland asked. Nay, sai, never think it. Im not helpless. Sometimes I step aside. Roland laughed at thatthe dry sound of a stick broken over a knee. Do you know what you are? King shook his head. His lower lip had pooched out like that of a sulky child. Do you know what you are? The father first. The husband second. The writer third. Then the brother. After brotherhood I am silent. Okay? No. Not ohkay. Do you know what you are? A long pause. No. I told you all I can. Stop asking me. Ill stop when you speak true. Do you know Yes, all right, I know what youre getting at. Satisfied? Not yet. Tell me what Im Gan, or possessed by Gan, I dont know which, maybe theres no difference. King began to cry. His tears were silent and horrible. But its not Dis, I turned aside from Dis, I repudiate Dis, and that should be enough but its not, ka is never satisfied, greedy old ka, thats what she said, isnt it? What Susan Delgado said before you killed her, or I killed her, or Gan killed her. Greedy old ka, how I hate it. Regardless of who killed her, I made her say that, I, for I hate it, so I do. I buck against kas goad, and will until the day I go into the clearing at the end of the path. Roland sat at the table, white at the sound of Susans name. And still ka comes to me, comes from me, I translate it, am made to translate it, ka flows out of my navel like a ribbon. I am not ka, I am not the ribbon, its just what comes through me and I hate it I hate it! The chickens were full of spiders, do you understand that, full of spiders! Stop your snivelment, Roland said (with a remarkable lack of sympathy, to Eddies way of thinking), and King stilled. The gunslinger sat thinking, then raised his head. Why did you stop writing the story when I came to the Western Sea? Are you dumb? Because I dont want to be Gan! I turned aside from Dis, I should be able to turn aside from Gan, as well. I love my wife. I love my kids. I love to write stories, but I dont want to write your story. Im always afraid. He looks for me. The Eye of the King. But not since you stopped, Roland said. No, since then he looks for me not, he sees me not. Nevertheless, you must go on. Kings face twisted, as if in pain, then smoothed out into the previous look of sleep. Roland raised his mutilated right hand. When you do, youll start with how I lost my fingers. Do you remember? Lobstrosities, King said. Bit them off. And how do you know that? King smiled a little and made a gentle wissshhhing sound. The wind blows, said he. Gan bore the world and moved on, Roland replied. Is that what you mean to say? Aye, and the world would have fallen into the abyss if not for the great turtle. Instead of falling, it landed on his back. So were told, and we all say thank ya. Start with the lobstrosities biting off my fingers. Dadajum, dadajingers, goddam lobsters bit off your fingers, King said, and actually laughed. Yes. Would have saved me a lot of trouble if youd died, Roland son of Steven. I know. Eddie and my other friends, as well. A ghost of a smile touched the corners of the gunslingers mouth. Then, after the lobstrosities Eddie comes, Eddie comes, King interrupted, and made a dreamy little flapping gesture with his right hand, as if to say he knew all that and Roland shouldnt waste his time. The Prisoner the Pusher the Lady of Shadows. The butcher the baker the candlemistaker. He smiled. Thats how my son Joe says it. When? Roland blinked, caught by surprise. When, when, when? King raised his hand and Eddie watched with surprise as the toaster, the waffle maker, and the drainer full of clean dishes rose and floated in the sunshine. Are you asking me when you should start again? Yes, yes, yes! A knife rose out of the floating dish drainer and flew the length of the room. There it stuck, quivering, in the wall. Then everything settled back into place again. Roland said, Listen for the song of the Turtle, the cry of the Bear. Song of Turtle, cry of Bear. Maturin, from the Patrick OBrian novels. Shardik from the Richard Adams novel. Yes. If you say so. Guardians of the Beam. Yes. Of my Beam. Roland looked at him fixedly. Do you say so? Yes. Then let it be so. When you hear the song of the Turtle or the cry of the Bear, then you must start again. When I open my eye to your world, he sees me. A pause. It. I know. Well try to protect you at those times, just as we intend to protect the rose. King smiled. I love the rose. Have you seen it? Eddie asked. Indeed I have, in New York. Up the street from the U.N. Plaza Hotel. It used to be in the deli. Tom and Jerrys. In the back. Now its in the vacant lot where the deli was. Youll tell our story until youre tired, Roland said. When you cant tell any more, when the Turtles song and the Bears cry grow faint in your ears, then will you rest. And when you can begin again, you will begin again. You Roland? Sai King? Ill do as you say. Ill listen for the song of the Turtle and each time I hear it, Ill go on with the tale. If I live. But you must listen, too. For her song. Whose? Susannahs. The baby will kill her if you arent quick. And your ears must be sharp. Eddie looked at Roland, frightened. Roland nodded. It was time to go. Listen to me, sai King. Were wellmet in Bridgton, but now we must leave you. Good, King said, and he spoke with such unfeigned relief that Eddie almost laughed. You will stay here, right where you are, for ten minutes. Do you understand? Yes. Then youll wake up. Youll feel very well. You wont remember that we were here, except in the very deepest depths of your mind. In the mudholes. The mudholes, do ya. On top, youll think you had a nap. A wonderful, refreshing nap. Youll get your son and go to where youre supposed to go. Youll feel fine. Youll go on with your life. Youll write many stories, but every one will be to some greater or lesser degree about this story. Do you understand? Yar, King said, and he sounded so much like Roland when Roland was gruff and tired that Eddies back pricked up in gooseflesh again. Because whats seen cant be unseen. Whats known cant be unknown. He paused. Save perhaps in death. Aye, perhaps. Every time you hear the song of the Turtleif thats what it sounds like to youyoull start on our story again. The only real story you have to tell. And well try to protect you. Im afraid. I know, but well try Its not that. Im afraid of not being able to finish. His voice lowered. Im afraid the Tower will fall and Ill be held to blame. That is up to ka, not you, Roland said. Or me. Ive satisfied myself on that point. And now He nodded to Eddie, and stood up. Wait, King said. Roland looked at him, eyebrows raised. I am allowed mail privileges, but only once. Sounds like a guy in a POW camp, Eddie mused. And aloud Who allows you mail privileges, SteveO? Kings brow wrinkled. Gan? he asked. Is it Gan? Then, like the sun breaking through on a foggy morning, his brow smoothed out and he smiled. I think its me! he said. I can send a letter to myself  perhaps even a small package  but only once. His smile broadened into an engaging grin. All of this  sort of like a fairytale, isnt it? Yes indeed, Eddie said, thinking of the glass palace theyd come to straddling the Interstate in Kansas. What would you do? Roland asked. To whom would you send mail? To Jake, King said promptly. And what would you tell him? Kings voice became Eddie Deans voice. It wasnt an approximation; it was exact. The sound turned Eddie cold. Dadachum, dadachee, King lilted, not to worry, youve got the key! They waited for more, but it seemed there was no more. Eddie looked at Roland, and this time it was the younger mans turn to twirl his fingers in the letsgo gesture. Roland nodded and they started for the door. That was fuckingA creepy, Eddie said. Roland didnt reply. Eddie stopped him with a touch on the arm. One other thing occurs to me, Roland. While hes hypnotized, maybe you ought to tell him to quit drinking and smoking. Especially the ciggies. Hes a fiend for them. Did you see this place? Fuckin ashtrays everywhere. Roland looked amused. Eddie, if one waits until the lungs are fully formed, tobacco prolongs life, not shortens it. Its the reason why in Gilead everyone smoked but the very poorest, and even they had their shuckies, like as not. Tobacco keeps away illsick vapors, for one thing. Many dangerous insects, for another. Everyone knows this. The Surgeon General of the United States would be delighted to hear what everyone in Gilead knows, Eddie said dryly. What about the booze, then? Suppose he rolls his Jeep over some drunk night, or gets on the Interstate going the wrong way and headons someone? Roland considered it, then shook his head. Ive meddled with his mindand ka itselfas much as I intend to. As much as I dare to. Well have to keep checking back over the years in any  why do you shake your head at me? The tale spins from him! Maybe so, but we wont be able to check on him for twentytwo years unless we decide to abandon Susannah  and Ill never do that. Once we jump ahead to 1999, theres no coming back. Not in this world. For a moment Roland made no reply, just looked at the man leaning his behind against his kitchen counter, asleep on his feet with his eyes open and his hair tumbled on his brow. Seven or eight minutes from now King would awaken with no memory of Roland and Eddie  always assuming they were gone, that was. Eddie didnt seriously believe the gunslinger would leave Suze hung out on the line  but hed let Jake drop, hadnt he? Let Jake drop into the abyss, once upon a time. Then hell have to go it alone, Roland said, and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. Sai King. Yes, Roland. Rememberwhen you hear the song of the Turtle, you must put aside all other things and tell this story. I will. At least Ill try. Good. Then the writer said The ball must be taken off the board and broken. Roland frowned. Which ball? Black Thirteen? If it wakes, it will become the most dangerous thing in the universe. And its waking now. In some other place. Some other where and when. Thank you for your prophecy, sai King. Dadashim, dadashower. Take the ball to the double Tower. To this Roland shook his head in silent bewilderment. Eddie put a fist to his forehead and bent slightly. Hile, wordslinger. King smiled faintly, as if this were ridiculous, but said nothing. Long days and pleasant nights, Roland told him. You dont need to think about the chickens anymore. An expression of almost heartbreaking hope spread across Stephen Kings bearded face. Do you really say so? I really do. And may we meet again on the path before we all meet in the clearing. The gunslinger turned on his bootheel and left the writers house. Eddie took a final look at the tall, rather stooped man standing with his narrow ass propped against the counter. He thought The next time I see you, Stevieif I doyour beard will be mostly white and therell be lines around your face  and Ill still be young. Hows your bloodpressure, sai? Good to go for the next twentytwo years? Hope so. What about your ticker? Does cancer run in your family, and if it does, how deep? There was time for none of these questions, of course. Or any others. Very soon the writer would be waking up and going on with his life. Eddie followed his dinh out into the latening afternoon and closed the door behind him. He was beginning to think that, when ka had sent them here instead of to New York City, it had known what it was doing, after all. TWELVE Eddie stopped on the drivers side of John Cullums car and looked across the roof at the gunslinger. Did you see that thing around him? That black haze? The todana, yes. Thank your father that its still faint. Whats a todana? Sounds like todash. Roland nodded. Its a variation of the word. It means deathbag. Hes been marked. Jesus, Eddie said. Its faint, I tell you. But there. Roland opened his door. We can do nothing about it. Ka marks the time of each man and woman. Lets move, Eddie. But now that they were actually ready to get rolling again, Eddie was queerly reluctant to go. He had a sense of things unfinished with sai King. And he hated the thought of that black aura. What about Turtleback Lane, and the walkins? I meant to ask him We can find it. Are you sure? Because I think we need to go there. I think so, too. Come on. Weve got a lot of work ahead of us. THIRTEEN The taillights of the old Ford had hardly cleared the end of the driveway before Stephen King opened his eyes. The first thing he did was look at the clock. Almost four. He should have been rolling after Joe ten minutes ago, but the nap hed taken had done him good. He felt wonderful. Refreshed. Cleaned out in some weird way. He thought, If every nap could do that, taking them would be a national law. Maybe so, but Betty Jones was going to be seriously worried if she didnt see the Cherokee turning into her yard by fourthirty. King reached for the phone to call her, but his eyes fell to the pad on the desk below it, instead. The sheets were headed CALLING ALL BLOWHARDS. A little something from one of his sistersinlaw. Face going blank again, King reached for the pad and the pen beside it. He bent and wrote Dadachum, dadachee, not to worry, youve got the key. He paused, looking fixedly at this, then wrote Dadachud, dadached, see it, Jake! The key is red! He paused again, then wrote Dadachum, dadachee, give this boy a plastic key. He looked at what he had written with deep affection. Almost love. God almighty, but he felt fine! These lines meant nothing at all, and yet writing them afforded a satisfaction so deep it was almost ecstasy. King tore off the sheet. Balled it up. Ate it. It stuck for a moment in his throat and thenulp!down it went. Good deal! He snatched the (adachee) key to the Jeep off the wooden keyboard (which was itself shaped like a key) and hurried outside. Hed get Joe, theyd come back here and pack, theyd grab supper at Mickey Kees in South Paris. Correction, MickeyDees. He felt he could eat a couple of Quarter Pounders all by himself. Fries, too. Damn, but he felt good! When he reached Kansas Road and turned toward town, he flipped on the radio and got the McCoys, singing Hang On, Sloopyalways excellent. His mind drifted, as it so often did while listening to the radio, and he found himself thinking of the characters from that old story, The Dark Tower. Not that there were many left; as he recalled, hed killed most of them off, even the kid. Didnt know what else to do with him, probably. That was usually why you got rid of characters, because you didnt know what else to do with them. What had his name been, Jack? No, that was the haunted Dad in The Shining. The Dark Tower kid had been Jake. Excellent choice of name for a story with a Western motif, something right out of Wayne D. Overholser or Ray Hogan. Was it possible Jake could come back into that story, maybe as a ghost? Of course he could. The nice thing about tales of the supernatural, King reflected, was that nobody had to really die. They could always come back, like that guy Barnabas on Dark Shadows. Barnabas Collins had been a vampire. Maybe the kid comes back as a vampire, King said, and laughed. Watch out, Roland, dinner is served and dinner be you! But that didnt feel right. What, then? Nothing came, but that was all right. In time, something might. Probably when he least expected it; while feeding the cat or changing the baby or just walking dully along, as Auden said in that poem about suffering. No suffering today. Today he felt great. Yar, just call me Tony the Tiger. On the radio, the McCoys gave way to Troy Shondell, singing This Time. That Dark Tower thing had been sort of interesting, actually. King thought, Maybe when we get back from up north I ought to dig it out. Take a look at it. Not a bad idea. STAVE Commalacomecall We hail the One who made us all, Who made the men and made the maids, Who made the great and small. RESPONSE Commalacomecall! He made the great and small! And yet how great the hand of fate That rules us one and all.