2ND STANZA THE PERSISTENCE OF MAGIC ONE They neednt have worried about the Mannifolk showing up. Henchick, dour as ever, appeared at the town common, which had been the designated settingout point, with forty men. He assured Roland it would be enough to open the Unfound Door, if it could indeed be opened now that what he called the dark glass was gone. The old man offered no word of apology for showing up with less than the promised number of men, but he kept tugging on his beard. Sometimes with both hands. Why does he do that, Pere, do you know? Jake asked Callahan. Henchicks troops were rolling eastward in a dozen bucka waggons. Behind these, drawn by a pair of albino asses with freakishly long ears and fiery pink eyes, was a twowheeled fly completely covered in white duck. To Jake it looked like a big JiffyPop container on wheels. Henchick rode upon this contraption alone, gloomily yanking at his chinwhiskers. I think it means hes embarrassed, Callahan said. I dont see why. Im surprised so many showed up, after the Beamquake and all. What he learned when the ground shook is that some of his men were more afraid of that than of him. As far as Henchicks concerned, it adds up to an unkept promise. Not just any unkept promise, either, but one he made to your dinh. Hes lost face. And, without changing his tone of voice at all, tricking him into an answer he would not otherwise have given, Callahan asked Is she still alive, then, your molly? Yes, but in ter Jake began, then covered his mouth. He looked at Callahan accusingly. Ahead of them, on the seat of the twowheeled fly, Henchick looked around, startled, as if they had raised their voices in argument. Callahan wondered if everyone in this damned story had the touch but him. Its not a story. Its not a story, its my life! But it was hard to believe that, wasnt it, when youd seen yourself set in type as a major character in a book with the word FICTION on the copyright page. Doubleday and Company, 1975. A book about vampires, yet, which everyone knew werent real. Except they had been. And, in at least some of the worlds adjacent to this one, still were. Dont treat me like that, Jake said. Dont trick me like that. Not if were all on the same side, Pere. Okay? Im sorry, Callahan said. And then Cry pardon. Jake smiled wanly and stroked Oy, who was riding in the front pocket of his poncho. Is she The boy shook his head. I dont want to talk about her now, Pere. Its best we not even think about her. I have a feelingI dont know if its true or not, but its strongthat somethings looking for her. If there is, its better it not overhear us. And it could. Something ? Jake reached out and touched the kerchief Callahan wore around his neck, cowboystyle. It was red. Then he put a hand briefly over his left eye. For a moment Callahan didnt understand, and then he did. The red eye. The Eye of the King. He sat back on the seat of the waggon and said no more. Behind them, not talking, Roland and Eddie rode horseback, side by side. Both were carrying their gunna as well as their guns, and Jake had his own in the waggon behind him. If they came back to Calla Bryn Sturgis after today, it wouldnt be for long. In terror was what he had started to say, but it was worse than that. Impossibly faint, impossibly distant, but still clear, Jake could hear Susannah screaming. He only hoped Eddie did not. TWO So they rode away from a town that mostly slept in emotional exhaustion despite the quake which had struck it. The day was cool enough so that when they started out they could see their breath on the air, and a light scrim of frost coated the dead cornstalks. A mist hung over the Devartete Whye like the rivers own spent breath. Roland thought This is the edge of winter. An hours ride brought them to the arroyo country. There was no sound but the jingle of trace, the squeak of wheels, the clop of horses, an occasional sardonic honk from one of the albino asses pulling the fly, and distant, the call of rusties on the wing. Headed south, perhaps, if they could still find it. Ten or fifteen minutes after the land began to rise on their right, filling in with bluffs and cliffs and mesas, they returned to the place where, just twentyfour hours before, they had come with the children of the Calla and fought their battle. Here a track split off from the East Road and rambled more or less northwest. In the ditch on the other side of the road was a raw trench of earth. It was the hide where Roland, his katet, and the ladies of the dish had waited for the Wolves. And, speaking of the Wolves, where were they? When theyd left this place of ambush, it had been littered with bodies. Over sixty, all told, manshaped creatures who had come riding out of the west wearing gray pants, green cloaks, and snarling wolfmasks. Roland dismounted and walked up beside Henchick, who was getting down from the twowheeled fly with the stiff awkwardness of age. Roland made no effort to help him. Henchick wouldnt expect it, might even be offended by it. The gunslinger let him give his dark cloak a final settling shake, started to ask his question, and then realized he didnt have to. Forty or fifty yards farther along, on the right side of the road, was a vast hill of uprooted cornplants where no hill had been the day before. It was a funerary heap, Roland saw, one which had been constructed without any degree of respect. He hadnt lost any time or wasted any effort wondering how the folken had spent the previous afternoonbefore beginning the party they were now undoubtedly sleeping offbut now he saw their work before him. Had they been afraid the Wolves might come back to life? he wondered, and knew that, on some level, that was exactly what theyd feared. And so theyd dragged the heavy, inert bodies (gray horses as well as grayclad Wolves) off into the corn, stacked them willyrully, then covered them with uprooted cornplants. Today theyd turn this bier into a pyre. And if the seminon winds came? Roland guessed theyd light it up anyway, and chance a possible conflagration in the fertile land between road and river. Why not? The growing season was over for the year, and there was nothing like fire for fertilizer, so the old folks did say; besides, the folken would not really rest easy until that hill was burned. And even then few of them would like to come out here. Roland, look, Eddie said in a voice that trembled somewhere between sorrow and rage. Ah, goddammit, look. Near the end of the path, where Jake, Benny Slightman, and the Tavery twins had waited before making their final dash for safety across the road, stood a scratched and battered wheelchair, its chrome winking brilliantly in the sun, its seat streaked with dust and blood. The left wheel was bent severely out of true. Why doee speak in anger? Henchick inquired. He had been joined by Cantab and half a dozen elders of what Eddie sometimes referred to as the Cloak Folk. Two of these elders looked a good deal older than Henchick himself, and Roland thought of what Rosalita had said last night Many of them nigh as old as Henchick, trying to climb that path after dark. Well, it wasnt dark, but he didnt know if some of these would be able to walk as far as the upsy part of the path to Doorway Cave, let alone the rest of the way to the top. They brought your womans rolling chair back here to honor her. And you. So why doee speak in anger? Because its not supposed to be all banged up, and shes supposed to be in it, Eddie told the old man. Do you ken that, Henchick? Anger is the most useless emotion, Henchick intoned, destructive to the mind and hurtful of the heart. Eddies lips thinned to no more than a white scar below his nose, but he managed to hold in a retort. He walked over to Susannahs scarred chairit had rolled hundreds of miles since theyd found it in Topeka, but its rolling days were doneand looked down at it moodily. When Callahan approached him, Eddie waved the Pere back. Jake was looking at the place on the road where Benny had been struck and killed. The boys body was gone, of course, and someone had covered his spilled blood with a fresh layer of the oggan, but Jake found he could see the dark splotches, anyway. And Bennys severed arm, lying palmup. Jake remembered how his friends Da had staggered out of the corn and seen his son lying there. For five seconds or so he had been capable of no sound whatever, and Jake supposed that was time enough for someone to have told sai Slightman theyd gotten off incredibly light one dead boy, one dead ranchers wife, another boy with a broken ankle. Piece of cake, really. But no one had and then Slightman the Elder had shrieked. Jake thought he would never forget the sound of that shriek, just as he would always see Benny lying here in the dark and bloody dirt with his arm off. Beside the place where Benny had fallen was something else which had been covered with dirt. Jake could see just a small wink of metal. He dropped to one knee and excavated one of the Wolves deathballs, things called sneetches. The Harry Potter model, according to what was written on them. Yesterday hed held a couple of these in his hand and felt them vibrating. Heard their faint, malevolent hum. This one was as dead as a rock. Jake stood up and threw it toward the heap of corncovered dead Wolves. Threw hard enough to make his arm hurt. That arm would probably be stiff tomorrow, but he didnt care. Didnt care much about Henchicks low opinion of anger, either. Eddie wanted his wife back; Jake wanted his friend. And while Eddie might get what he wanted somewhere down the line, Jake Chambers never would. Because dead was the gift that kept on giving. Dead, like diamonds, was forever. He wanted to get going, wanted this part of the East Road looking at his back. He also wanted not to have to look at Susannahs empty, beatup chair any longer. But the Manni had formed a ring around the spot where the battle had actually taken place, and Henchick was praying in a high, rapid voice that hurt Jakes ears it sounded quite a lot like the squeal of a frightened pig. He spoke to something called the Over, asking for safe passage to yon cave and success of endeavor with no loss of life or sanity (Jake found this part of Henchicks prayer especially disturbing, as hed never thought of sanity as a thing to be prayed for). The bossman also begged the Over to enliven their mags and bobs. And finally he prayed for kaven, the persistence of magic, a phrase that seemed to have a special power for these people. When he was finished, they all said Oversam, Overkra, Overcantah in unison, and dropped their linked hands. A few went down on their knees to have a little extra palaver with the really big boss. Cantab, meanwhile, led four or five of the younger men to the fly. They folded back its snowy white top, revealing a number of large wooden boxes. Plumbbobs and magnets, Jake guessed, and a lot bigger than the ones they wore around their necks. Theyd brought out the heavy artillery for this little adventure. The boxes were covered with designsstars and moons and odd geometric shapesthat looked cabalistic rather than Christian. But, Jake realized, he had no basis for believing the Manni were Christians. They might look like Quakers or Amish with their cloaks and beards and roundcrowned black hats, might throw the occasional thee or thou into their conversation, but so far as Jake knew, neither the Quakers nor the Amish had ever made a hobby of traveling to other worlds. Long polished wooden rods were pulled from another wagon. They were thrust through metal sleeves on the undersides of the engraved boxes. The boxes were called coffs, Jake learned. The Manni carried them like religious artifacts through the streets of a medieval town. Jake supposed that in a way they were religious artifacts. They started up the path, which was still scattered with hairribbons, scraps of cloth, and a few small toys. These had been bait for the Wolves, and the bait had been taken. When they reached the place where Frank Tavery had gotten his foot caught, Jake heard the voice of the useless gits beautiful sister in his mind Help him, please, sai, I beg. He had, God forgive him. And Benny had died. Jake looked away, grimacing, then thought Youre a gunslinger now, you gotta do better. He forced himself to look back. Pere Callahans hand dropped onto his shoulder. Son, are you all right? Youre awfully pale. Im okay, Jake said. A lump had risen in his throat, quite a large one, but he forced himself to swallow past it and repeat what hed just said, telling the lie to himself rather than to the Pere Yeah, Im okay. Callahan nodded and shifted his own gunna (the halfhearted packsack of a town man who does not, in his heart, believe hes going anywhere) from his left shoulder to his right. And whats going to happen when we get up to that cave? If we can get up to that cave? Jake shook his head. He didnt know. THREE The path was okay. A good deal of loose rock had shaken down on it, and the going was arduous for the men carrying the coffs, but in one respect their way was easier than before. The quake had dislodged the giant boulder that had almost blocked the path near the top. Eddie peered over and saw it lying far below, shattered into two pieces. There was some sort of lighter, sparkly stuff in its middle, making it look to Eddie like the worlds largest hardboiled egg. The cave was still there, too, although a large pile of talus now lay in front of its mouth. Eddie joined some of the younger Manni in helping to clear it, tossing handfuls of bustedup shale (garnets gleaming in some of the pieces like drops of blood) over the side. Seeing the caves mouth eased a band which had been squeezing Eddies heart, but he didnt like the silence of the cave, which had been damnably chatty on his previous visit. From somewhere deep in its gullet he could hear the grating whine of a draft, but that was all. Where was his brother, Henry? Henry should have been bitching about how Balazars gentlemen had killed him and it was all Eddies fault. Where was his Ma, who should have been agreeing with Henry (and in equally dolorous tones)? Where was Margaret Eisenhart, complaining to Henchick, her grandfather, about how shed been branded forgetful and then abandoned? This had been the Cave of the Voices long before it had been the Doorway Cave, but the voices had fallen silent. And the door looked  stupid was the word which first came to Eddies mind. The second was unimportant. This cave had once been informed and defined by the voices from below; the door had been rendered awful and mysterious and powerful by the glass ballBlack Thirteenwhich had come into the Calla through it. But now its left the same way, and its just an old door that doesnt Eddie tried to stifle the thought and couldnt. that doesnt go anywhere. He turned to Henchick, disgusted by the sudden welling of tears in his eyes but unable to stop them. Theres no magic left here, he said. His voice was wretched with despair. Theres nothing behind that fucking door but stale air and fallen rock. Youre a fool and Im another. There were shocked gasps at this, but Henchick looked at Eddie with eyes that almost seemed to twinkle. Lewis, Thonnie! he said, almost jovially. Bring me the Branni coff. Two strapping young men with short beards and hair pulled back in long braids stepped forward. Between them they bore an ironwood coff about four feet long, and heavy, from the way they carried the poles. They set it before Henchick. Open it, Eddie of New York. Thonnie and Lewis looked at him, questioning and a little afraid. The older Manni men, Eddie saw, were watching with a kind of greedy interest. He supposed it took a few years to become fully invested in the Manni brand of extravagant weirdness; in time Lewis and Thonnie would get there, but they hadnt made it much past peculiar as yet. Henchick nodded, a little impatiently. Eddie bent and opened the box. It was easy. There was no lock. Inside was a silk cloth. Henchick removed it with a magicians flourish and disclosed a plumbbob on a chain. To Eddie it looked like an oldfashioned childs top, and was nowhere near as big as he had expected. It was perhaps eighteen inches long from its pointed tip to its broader top and made of some yellowish wood that looked greasy. It was on a silver chain that had been looped around a crystal plug set in the coffs top. Take it out, Henchick said, and when Eddie looked to Roland, the hair over the old mans mouth opened and a set of perfect white teeth displayed themselves in a smile of astounding cynicism. Why doee look to your dinh, young snivelment? The magics gone out of this place, you said so yourself! And wouldee not know? Why, thee must be all of  I dont know  twentyfive? Snickers from the Manni who were close enough to hear this jape, several of them not yet twentyfive themselves. Furious with the old bastardand with himself, as wellEddie reached into the box. Henchick stayed his hand. Touch not the bob itself. Not if theed keep thy cream in on one side and thy crap on the other. By the chain, doee kennit? Eddie almost reached for the bob anywayhed already made a fool of himself in front of these people, there was really no reason not to finish the jobbut he looked into Jakes grave gray eyes and changed his mind. The wind was blowing hard up here, chilling the sweat of the climb on his skin, making him shiver. Eddie reached forward again, took hold of the chain, and gingerly unwound it from the plug. Lift him out, Henchick said. Whatll happen? Henchick nodded, as if Eddie had finally talked some sense. Thats to see. Lift him out. Eddie did so. Given the obvious effort with which the two young men had been carrying the box, he was astounded at how light the bob was. Lifting it was like lifting a feather which had been attached to a fourfoot length of finelink chain. He looped the chain over the back of his fingers and held his hand in front of his eyes. He looked a little like a man about to make a puppet caper. Eddie was about to ask Henchick again what the old man expected to happen, but before he could, the bob began to sway back and forth in modest arcs. Im not doing that, Eddie said. At least, I dont think I am. It must be the wind. I dont think it can be, Callahan said. There are no flukes to Hush! Cantab said, and with such a forbidding look that Callahan did hush. Eddie stood in front of the cave, with all the arroyo country and most of Calla Bryn Sturgis spread out below him. Dreaming bluegray in the far distance was the forest through which they had come to get herethe last vestige of MidWorld, where they would never go more. The wind gusted, blowing his hair back from his forehead, and suddenly he heard a humming sound. Except he didnt. The humming was inside the hand in front of his eyes, the one with the chain lying upon the spread fingers. It was in his arm. And most of all, in his head. At the far end of the chain, at about the height of Eddies right knee, the bobs swing grew more pronounced and became the arc of a pendulum. Eddie realized a strange thing each time the bob reached the end of its swing, it grew heavier. It was like holding onto something that was being pulled by some extraordinary centrifugal force. The arc grew longer, the bobs swings faster, the pull at the end of each swing stronger. And then Eddie! Jake called, somewhere between concern and delight. Do you see? Of course he did. Now the bob was growing dim at the end of each swing. The downward pressure on his armthe bobs weightwas rapidly growing stronger as this happened. He had to support his right arm with his left hand in order to maintain his grip, and now he was also swaying at the hips with the swing of the bob. Eddie suddenly remembered where he wasroughly seven hundred feet above the ground. This baby would shortly yank him right over the side, if it wasnt stopped. What if he couldnt get the chain off his hand? The plumbbob swung to the right, tracing the shape of an invisible smile in the air, gaining weight as it rose toward the end of its arc. All at once the puny piece of wood hed lifted from its box with such ease seemed to weigh sixty, eighty, a hundred pounds. And as it paused at the end of its arc, momentarily balanced between motion and gravity, he realized he could see the East Road through it, not just clearly but magnified. Then the Branni bob started back down again, plummeting, shedding weight. But when it started up again, this time to his left  Okay, I get the point! Eddie shouted. Get it off me, Henchick. At least make it stop! Henchick uttered a single word, one so guttural it sounded like something yanked from a mudflat. The bob didnt slow through a series of diminishing arcs but simply quit, again hanging beside Eddies knee with the tip pointing at his foot. For a moment the humming in his arm and head continued. Then that also quit. When it did, the bobs disquieting sense of weight lifted. The damn thing was once more featherlight. Doee have something to say to me, Eddie of New York? Henchick asked. Yeah, cry your pardon. Henchicks teeth once more put in an appearance, gleaming briefly in the wilderness of his beard and then gone. Thees not entirely slow, is thee? I hope not, Eddie said, and could not forbear a small sigh of relief as Henchick of the Manni lifted the finelink silver chain from his hand. FOUR Henchick insisted on a dryrun. Eddie understood why, but he hated all this foreplay crap. The passing time now seemed almost to be a physical thing, like a rough piece of cloth slipping beneath the palm of your hand. He kept silent, nevertheless. Hed already pissed off Henchick once, and once was enough. The old man brought six of his amigos (five of them looked older than God to Eddie) into the cave. He passed bobs to three of them and shellshaped magnets to the other three. The Branni bob, almost certainly the tribes strongest, he kept for himself. The seven of them formed a ring at the mouth of the cave. Not around the door? Roland asked. Not until we have to, Henchick said. The old men joined hands, each holding a bob or a mag at the clasping point. As soon as the circle was complete, Eddie heard that humming again. It was as loud as an overamped stereo speaker. He saw Jake raise his hands to his ears, and Rolands face tighten in a brief grimace. Eddie looked at the door and saw it had lost that dusty, unimportant look. The hieroglyphs on it once more stood out crisply, some forgotten word that meant UNFOUND. The crystal doorknob glowed, outlining the rose carved there in lines of white light. Could I open it now? Eddie wondered. Open it and step through? He thought not. Not yet, anyway. But he was a hell of a lot more hopeful about this process than hed been five minutes ago. Suddenly the voices from deep in the cave came alive, but they did so in a roaring jumble. Eddie could make out Benny Slightman the Younger screaming the word Dogan, heard his Ma telling him that now, to top off a career of losing things, hed lost his wife, heard some man (probably Elmer Chambers) telling Jake that Jake had gone crazy, he was fou, he was Monsieur Lunatique. More voices joined in, and more, and more. Henchick nodded sharply to his colleagues. Their hands parted. When they did, the voices from below ceased in midbabble. And, Eddie was not surprised to see, the door immediately regained its look of unremarkable anonymityit was any door you ever passed on the street without a second look. What in Gods name was that? Callahan asked, nodding toward the deeper darkness where the floor sloped down. It wasnt like that before. I believe that either the quake or the loss of the magic ball has driven the cave insane, Henchick said calmly. It doesnt matter to our business here, anyroa. Our business is with the door. He looked at Callahans packsack. Once you were a wandering man. So I was. Henchicks teeth made another brief guest appearance. Eddie decided that, on some level, the old bastard was enjoying this. From the look of your gunna, sai Callahan, youve lost the knack. I suppose its hard for me to believe that were really going anywhere, Callahan said, and offered a smile. Compared to Henchicks, it was feeble. And Im older now. Henchick made a rude sound at thatfah!, it sounded like. Henchick, Roland said, do you know what caused the ground to shake early this morning? The old mans blue eyes were faded but still sharp. He nodded. Outside the caves mouth, in a line going down the path, almost three dozen Manni men waited patiently. Beam let go is what we think. What I think, too, Roland said. Our business grows more desperate. Id have an end to idle talk, if it does ya. Lets have what palaver we must have, and then get on with our business. Henchick looked at Roland as coldly as he had looked at Eddie, but Rolands eyes never wavered. Henchicks brow furrowed, then smoothed out. Aye, he said. Asee will, Roland. Thees rendered us a great service, Manni and forgetful folk alike, and wed return it now as best we can. The magics still here, and thick. Wants only a spark. We can make that spark, aye, easy as commala. You may get whatee want. On the other hand, we all may go to the clearing at the end of the path together. Or into the darkness. Does thee understand? Roland nodded. Wouldee go ahead? Roland stood for a moment with his head lowered and his hand on the butt of his gun. When he looked up, he was wearing his own smile. It was handsome and tired and desperate and dangerous. He twirled his whole left hand twice in the air Lets go. FIVE The coffs were set downcarefully, because the path leading up to what the Manni called Kra Kammen was narrowand the contents were removed. Longnailed fingers (the Manni were allowed to cut their nails only once a year) tapped the magnets, producing a shrill hum that seemed to slice through Jakes head like a knife. It reminded him of the todash chimes, and he guessed that wasnt surprising; those chimes were the kammen. What does Kra Kammen mean? he asked Cantab. House of Bells? House of Ghosts, he replied without looking up from the chain he was unwinding. Leave me alone, Jake, this is delicate work. Jake couldnt see why it would be, but he did as bade. Roland, Eddie, and Callahan were standing just inside the caves mouth. Jake joined them. Henchick, meanwhile, had placed the oldest members of his group in a semicircle that went around the back of the door. The front side, with its incised hieroglyphs and crystal doorknob, was unguarded, at least for the time being. The old man went to the mouth of the cave, spoke briefly with Cantab, then motioned for the line of Manni waiting on the path to move up. When the first man in line was just inside the cave, Henchick stopped him and came back to Roland. He squatted, inviting the gunslinger with a gesture to do the same. The caves floor was powdery with dust. Some came from rocks, but most of it was the bone residue of small animals unwise enough to wander in here. Using a fingernail, Henchick drew a rectangle, open at the bottom, and then a semicircle around it. The door, he said. And the men of my kra. Doee kennit? Roland nodded. You and your friends will finish the circle, he said, and drew it. The boys strong in the touch, Henchick said, looking at Jake so suddenly that Jake jumped. Yes, Roland said. Well put him direct in front of the door, then, but far enough away so that if it opens hardand it mayit wont clip his head off. Willee stand, boy? Yes, until you or Roland says different, Jake replied. Youll feel something in your headlike a sucking. Its not nice. He paused. Yed open the door twice. Yes, Roland said. Twim. Eddie knew the doors second opening was about Calvin Tower, and hed lost what interest hed had in the bookstore proprietor. The man wasnt entirely without courage, Eddie supposed, but he was also greedy and stubborn and selfinvolved the perfect twentiethcentury New York City man, in other words. But the most recent person to use this door had been Suze, and the moment it opened, he intended to dart through. If it opened a second time on the little Maine town where Calvin Tower and his friend, Aaron Deepneau, had gone to earth, fine and dandy. If the rest of them wound up there, trying to protect Tower and gain ownership of a certain vacant lot and a certain wild pink rose, also fine and dandy. Eddies priority was Susannah. Everything else was secondary to that. Even the tower. SIX Henchick said Who wouldee send the first time the door opens? Roland thought about this, absently running his hand over the bookcase Calvin Tower had insisted on sending through. The case containing the book which had so upset the Pere. He did not much want to send Eddie, a man who was impulsive to begin with and now all but blinded by his concern and his love, after his wife. Yet would Eddie obey him if Roland ordered him after Tower and Deepneau instead? Roland didnt think so. Which meant Gunslinger? Henchick prodded. The first time the door opens, Eddie and I will go through, Roland said. The door will shut on its own? Indeed it will, Henchick said. You must be as quick as the devils bite, or youll likely be cut in two, half of you on the floor of this cave and the rest wherever the brownskinned woman took herself off to. Well be as quick as we can, sure, Roland said. Aye, thats best, Henchick said, and put his teeth on display once more. This was a smile (whats he not telling? something he knows or only thinks he knows?) Roland would have occasion to think of not long hence. Id leave your guns here, Henchick said. If you try to carry them through, you may lose them. Im going to try and keep mine, Jake said. It came from the other side, so it should be all right. If its not, Ill get another one. Somehow. I expect mine may travel, as well, Roland said. Hed thought about this carefully, and had decided to try and keep the big revolvers. Henchick shrugged, as if to say As you will. What about Oy, Jake? Eddie asked. Jakes eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Roland realized the boy hadnt considered his bumbler friend until this moment. The gunslinger reflected (not for the first time) how easy it was to forget the most basic truth about John Jake Chambers he was just a kid. When we went todash, Oy Jake began. This aint that, sugar, Eddie said, and when he heard Susannahs endearment coming out of his mouth, his heart gave a sad cramp. For the first time he admitted to himself that he might never see her again, any more than Jake might see Oy once they left this stinking cave. But  Jake began, and then Oy gave a reproachful little bark. Jake had been squeezing him too tightly. Well keep him for you, Jake, Cantab said gently. Keep him very well, say true. Therell be folk posted here until thee comes back for thy friend and all the rest of thy goods. If you ever do was the part he was too kind to state. Roland read it in his eyes, however. Roland, are you sure I cant  that he cant  no. I see. Not todash this time. Okay. No. Jake reached into the front pocket of the poncho, lifted Oy out, set him on the powdery floor of the cave. He bent down, hands planted just above his knees. Oy looked up, stretching his neck so that their faces almost touched. And Roland now saw something extraordinary not the tears in Jakes eyes, but those that had begun to well up in Oys. A billybumbler crying. It was the sort of story you might hear in a saloon as the night grew late and drunkthe faithful bumbler who wept for his departing master. You didnt believe such stories but never said so, in order to save brawling (perhaps even shooting). Yet here it was, he was seeing it, and it made Roland feel a bit like crying himself. Was it just more bumbler imitation, or did Oy really understand what was happening? Roland hoped for the former, and with all his heart.


Oy, you have to stay with Cantab for a little while. Youll be okay. Hes a pal. Tab! the bumbler repeated. Tears fell from his muzzle and darkened the powdery surface where he stood in dimesized drops. Roland found the creatures tears uniquely awful, somehow even worse than a childs might have been. Ake! Ake! No, I gotta split, Jake said, and wiped at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. He left dirty streaks like warpaint all the way up to his temples. No! Ake! I gotta. You stay with Cantab. Ill come back for you, Oyunless Im dead, Ill come back. He hugged Oy again, then stood up. Go to Cantab. Thats him. Jake pointed. Go on, now, you mind me. Ake! Tab! The misery in that voice was impossible to deny. For a moment Oy stayed where he was. Then, still weepingor imitating Jakes tears, Roland still hoped for thatthe bumbler turned, trotted to Cantab, and sat between the young mans dusty shorboots. Eddie attempted to put an arm around Jake. Jake shook it off and stepped away from him. Eddie looked baffled. Roland kept his Watch Me face, but inside he was grimly delighted. Not thirteen yet, no, but there was no shortage of steel there. And it was time. Henchick? Aye. Wouldee speak a word of prayer first, Roland? To whatever God thee holds? I hold to no God, Roland said. I hold to the Tower, and wont pray to that. Several of Henchicks migos looked shocked at this, but the old man himself only nodded, as if he had expected no more. He looked at Callahan. Pere? Callahan said, God, Thy hand, Thy will. He sketched a cross in the air and nodded at Henchick. If were goin, lets go. Henchick stepped forward, touched the Unfound Doors crystal knob, then looked at Roland. His eyes were bright. Hear me this last time, Roland of Gilead. I hear you very well. I am Henchick of the Manni Kra RedpathaSturgis. We are farseers and far travelers. We are sailors on kas wind. Would thee travel on that wind? Thee and thine? Aye, to where it blows. Henchick slipped the chain of the Branni bob over the back of his hand and Roland at once felt some power let loose in this chamber. It was small as yet, but it was growing. Blooming, like a rose. How many calls would you make? Roland held up the remaining fingers of his right hand. Two. Which is to say twim in the Eld. Two or twim, both the same, Henchick said. Commalacometwo. he raised his voice. Come, Manni! Comecommala, join your force to my force! Come and keep your promise! Come and pay our debt to these gunslingers! Help me send them on their way! Now! SEVEN Before any of them could even begin to register the fact that ka had changed their plans, ka had worked its will on them. But at first it seemed that nothing at all would happen. The Manni Henchick had chosen as senderssix elders, plus Cantabformed their semicircle behind the door and around to its sides. Eddie took Cantabs hand and laced his fingers through the Mannis. One of the shellshaped magnets kept their palms apart. Eddie could feel it vibrating like something alive. He supposed it was. Callahan took his other hand and gripped it firmly. On the other side of the door, Roland took Henchicks hand, weaving the Branni bobs chain between his fingers. Now the circle was complete save for the one spot directly in front of the door. Jake took a deep breath, looked around, saw Oy sitting against the wall of the cave about ten feet behind Cantab, and nodded. Oy, stay, Ill be back, Jake sent, and then he stepped into his place. He took Callahans right hand, hesitated, and then took Rolands left. The humming returned at once. The Branni bob began to move, not in arcs this time but in a small, tight circle. The door brightened and became more thereJake saw this with his own eyes. The lines and circles of the hieroglyphs spelling UNFOUND grew clearer. The rose etched into the doorknob began to glow. The door, however, remained closed. (Concentrate, boy!) That was Henchicks voice, so strong in his head that it almost seemed to slosh Jakes brains. He lowered his head and looked at the doorknob. He saw the rose. He saw it very well. He imagined it turning as the knob upon which it had been cast turned. Once not so long ago he had been obsessed by doors and the other world (MidWorld) he knew must lie behind one of them. This felt like going back to that. He imagined all the doors hed known in his lifebedroom doors bathroom doors kitchen doors closet doors bowling alley doors cloakroom doors movie theater doors restaurant doors doors marked KEEP OUT doors marked EMPLOYEES ONLY refrigerator doors, yes even thoseand then saw them all opening at once. Open! he thought at the door, feeling absurdly like an Arabian princeling in some ancient story. Open sesame! Open says me! From the caves belly far below, the voices began to babble once more. There was a whooping, windy sound, the heavy crump of something falling. The caves floor trembled beneath their feet, as if with another Beamquake. Jake paid no mind. The feeling of live force in this chamber was very strong nowhe could feel it plucking at his skin, vibrating in his nose and eyes, teasing the hairs out from his scalpbut the door remained shut. He bore down more strongly on Rolands hand and the Peres, concentrating on firehouse doors, police station doors, the door to the Principals Office at Piper, even a science fiction book hed once read called The Door into Summer. The smell of the cavedeep must, ancient bones, distant draftsseemed suddenly very strong. He felt that brilliant, exuberant uprush of certaintyNow, it will happen now, I know it willyet the door still stayed closed. And now he could smell something else. Not the cave, but the slightly metallic aroma of his own sweat, rolling down his face. Henchick, its not working. I dont think I Nar, not yetand never think thee needs to do it all thyself, lad. Feel for something between you and the door  something like a hook  or a thorn  As he spoke, Henchick nodded at the Manni heading the line of reinforcements. Hedron, come forward. Thonnie, take hold of Hedrons shoulders. Lewis, take hold of Thonnies. And on back! Do it! The line shuffled forward. Oy barked doubtfully. Feel, boy! Feel for that hook! Its between thee and tdoor! Feel for it! Jake reached out with his mind while his imagination suddenly bloomed with a powerful and terrifying vividness that was beyond even the clearest dreams. He saw Fifth Avenue between Fortyeighth and Sixtieth (the twelve blocks where my Christmas bonus disappears every January, his father had liked to grumble). He saw every door, on both sides of the street, swinging open at once Fendi! Tiffany! Bergdorf Goodman! Cartier! Doubleday Books! The Sherry Netherland Hotel! He saw an endless hallway floored with brown linoleum and knew it was in the Pentagon. He saw doors, at least a thousand of them, all swinging open at once and generating a hurricane draft. Yet the door in front of him, the only one that mattered, remained closed. Yeah, but It was rattling in its frame. He could hear it. Go, kid! Eddie said. The words came from between clamped teeth. If you cant open it, knock the fucker down! Help me! Jake shouted. Help me, goddammit! All of you! The force in the cave seemed to double. The hum seemed to be vibrating the very bones of Jakes skull. His teeth were rattling. Sweat ran into his eyes, blurring his sight. He saw two Henchicks nodding to someone behind him Hedron. And behind Hedron, Thonnie. And behind Thonnie, all the rest, snaking out of the cave and down thirty feet of the path. Get ready, lad, Henchick said. Hedrons hand slipped under Jakes shirt and gripped the waistband of his jeans. Jake felt pushed instead of pulled. Something in his head bolted forward, and for a moment he saw all the doors of a thousand, thousand worlds flung wide, generating a draft so great it could almost have blown out the sun. And then his progress was stopped. There was something  something right in front of the door  The hook! Its the hook! He slipped himself over it as if his mind and lifeforce were some sort of loop. At the same time he felt Hedron and the others pulling him backward. The pain was immediate, enormous, seeming to tear him apart. Then the draining sensation began. It was hideous, like having someone pull his guts out a loop at a time. And always, the manic buzzing in his ears and deep in his brain. He tried to cry outNo, stop, let go, its too much!and couldnt. He tried to scream and heard it, but only inside his head. God, he was caught. Caught on the hook and being ripped in two. One creature did hear his scream. Barking furiously, Oy darted forward. And as he did, the Unfound Door sprang open, swinging in a hissing arc just in front of Jakes nose. Behold! Henchick cried in a voice that was at once terrible and exalted. Behold, the door opens! Oversam kammen! Cantah, cankavar kammen! Overcantah! The others responded, but by then Jake Chambers had already been torn loose from Rolands hand on his right. By then he was flying, but not alone. Pere Callahan flew with him. EIGHT There was just time for Eddie to hear New York, smell New York, and to realize what was happening. In a way, that was what made it so awfulhe was able to register everything going diabolically counter to what he had expected, but not able to do anything about it. He saw Jake yanked out of the circle and felt Callahans hand ripped out of his own; he saw them fly through the air toward the door, actually looping the loop in tandem, like a couple of fuckedup acrobats. Something furry and barking like a motherfucker shot past the side of his head. Oy, doing barrelrolls, his ears laid back and his terrified eyes seeming to start from his head. And more. Eddie was aware of dropping Cantabs hand and lunging forward toward the doorhis door, his city, and somewhere in it his lost and pregnant wife. He was aware (exquisitely so) of the invisible hand that pushed him back, and a voice that spoke, but not in words. What Eddie heard was far more terrible than any words could have been. With words you could argue. This was only an inarticulate negation, and for all he knew, it came from the Dark Tower itself. Jake and Callahan were shot like bullets from a gun shot into a darkness filled with the exotic sounds of honking horns and rushing traffic. In the distance but clear, like the voices you heard in dreams, Eddie heard a rapid, rapping, ecstatic voice streetbopping its message Say Gawd, brotha, thats right, say Gawd on Second Avenue, say Gawd on Avenue B, say Gawd in the Bronx, I say Gawd, I say Gawdbomb, I say Gawd! The voice of an authentic New York crazy if Eddie had ever heard one and it laid his heart open. He saw Oy zip through the door like a piece of newspaper yanked up the street in the wake of a speeding car, and then the door slammed shut, swinging so fast and hard that he had to slit his eyes against the wind it blew into his face, a wind that was gritty with the bonedust of this rotten cave. Before he could scream his fury, the door slapped open again. This time he was dazzled by hazy sunshine loaded with birdsong. He smelled pine trees and heard the distant backfiring of what sounded like a big truck. Then he was sucked into that brightness, unable to yell that this was fucked up, assbackw Something collided with the side of Eddies head. For one brief moment he was brilliantly aware of his passage between the worlds. Then the gunfire. Then the killing. STAVE Commalacomecoo The windll blow ya through. Ya gotta go where kas wind blows ya Cause theres nothin else to do. RESPONSE Commalacometwo! Nothin else to do! Gotta go where kas wind blows ya Cause theres nothin else to do. 3RD STANZA TRUDY AND MIA Until June first of 1999, Trudy Damascus was the sort of hardheaded woman whod tell you that most UFOs were weather balloons (and those that werent were probably the fabrications of people who wanted to get on TV), the Shroud of Turin was some fourteenthcentury con mans trick, and that ghostsJacob Marleys includedwere either the perceptions of the mentally ill or caused by indigestion. She was hardheaded, she prided herself on being hardheaded, and had nothing even slightly spiritual on her mind as she walked down Second Avenue toward her business (an accounting firm called Guttenberg, Furth, and Patel) with her canvas carrybag and her purse slung over her shoulder. One of GFPs clients was a chain of toy stores called KidzPlay, and KidzPlay owed GFP a goodly sum of money. The fact that they were also tottering on the edge of Chapter Eleven meant el zippo to Trudy. She wanted that 69,211.19, and had spent most of her lunchhour (in a back booth of Denniss Waffles and Pancakes, which had been Chew Chew Mamas until 1994) mulling over ways to get it. During the last two years she had taken several steps toward changing Guttenberg, Furth, and Patel to Guttenberg, Furth, Patel and Damascus; forcing KidzPlay to cough up would be yet another stepa long onein that direction. And so, as she crossed Fortysixth Street toward the large dark glass skyscraper which now stood on the uptown corner of Second and Fortysixth (where there had once been a certain Artistic Deli and then a certain vacant lot), Trudy wasnt thinking about gods or ghosts or visitations from the spirit world. She was thinking about Richard Goldman, the asshole CEO of a certain toy company, and how But that was when Trudys life changed. At 119 P.M., EDT, to be exact. She had just reached the curb on the downtown side of the street. Was, in fact, stepping up. And all at once a woman appeared on the sidewalk in front of her. A wideeyed AfricanAmerican woman. There was no shortage of black women in New York City, and God knew there had to be a fair percentage of them with wide eyes, but Trudy had never seen one emerge directly from thin air before, which was what this one did. And there was something else, something even more unbelievable. Ten seconds before, Trudy Damascus would have laughed and said nothing could be more unbelievable than a woman flicking into existence in front of her on a Midtown sidewalk, but there was. There definitely was. And now she knew how all those people who reported seeing flying saucers (not to mention ghosts wrapped in clanking chains) must feel, how they must grow frustrated by the entrenched disbelief of people like  well, people like the one Trudy Damascus had been at 118 P.M. on that day in June, the one who said goodbye for good on the downtown side of Fortysixth Street. You could tell people You dont understand, this REALLY HAPPENED! and it cut zero ice. They said stuff like Well, she probably came out from behind the bus shelter and you just didnt notice or She probably came out of one of the little stores and you just didnt notice. You could tell them that there was no bus shelter on the downtown side of Second and Fortysixth (or on the uptown side, for that matter), and it did no good. You could tell them there were no little stores in that area, not since 2 Hammarskjld Plaza went up, and that didnt work, either. Trudy would soon find these things out for herself, and they would drive her close to insanity. She was not used to having her perceptions dismissed as no more than a blob of mustard or a bit of underdone potato. No bus shelter. No little shops. There were the steps going up to Hammarskjld Plaza, where a few late lunchers were still sitting with their brown bags, but the ghostwoman hadnt come from there, either. The fact was this when Trudy Damascus put her sneakerclad left foot up on the curb, the sidewalk directly ahead of her was completely empty. As she shifted her weight preparatory to lifting her right foot up from the street, a woman appeared. For just a moment, Trudy could see Second Avenue through her, and something else, as well, something that looked like the mouth of a cave. Then that was gone and the woman was solidifying. It probably took only a second or two, that was Trudys estimate; she would later think of that old saying If you blinked you missed it and wish she had blinked. Because it wasnt just the materialization. The black lady grew legs right in front of Trudy Damascuss eyes. Thats right; grew legs. There was nothing wrong with Trudys powers of observation, and she would later tell people (fewer and fewer of whom wanted to listen) that every detail of that brief encounter was imprinted on her memory like a tattoo. The apparition was a little over four feet tall. That was a bit on the stumpy side for an ordinary woman, Trudy supposed, but probably not for one who quit at the knees. The apparition was wearing a white shirt, splattered with either maroon paint or dried blood, and jeans. The jeans were full and round at the thighs, where there were legs inside them, but below the knees they trailed out on the sidewalk like the shed skins of weird blue snakes. Then, suddenly, they plumped up. Plumped up, the very words sounded insane, but Trudy saw it happen. At the same moment, the woman rose from her nothingbelowtheknee fourfeetfour to her allthere height of perhaps fivesix or seven. It was like watching some extraordinary camera trick in a movie, but this was no movie, it was Trudys life. Over her left shoulder the apparition wore a clothlined pouch that looked as if it had been woven of reeds. There appeared to be plates or dishes inside it. In her right hand she clutched a faded red bag with a drawstring top. Something with square sides at the bottom, swinging back and forth. Trudy couldnt make out everything written on the side of the bag, but she thought part of it was MIDTOWN LANES. Then the woman grabbed Trudy by the arm. What you got in that bag? she asked. You got shoes? This caused Trudy to look at the black womans feet, and she saw another amazing thing when she did the AfricanAmerican womans feet were white. As white as her own. Trudy had heard of people being rendered speechless; now it had happened to her. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and wouldnt come down. Still, there was nothing wrong with her eyes. They saw everything. The white feet. More droplets on the black womans face, almost certainly dried blood. The smell of sweat, as if materializing on Second Avenue like this had only come as the result of tremendous exertion. If you got shoes, lady, you best give em to me. I dont want to kill you but I got to get to folks thatll help me with my chap and I cant do that barefoot. No one on this little piece of Second Avenue. Peoplea few, anywaysitting on the steps of 2 Hammarskjld Plaza, and a couple were looking right at Trudy and the black woman (the mostly black woman), but not with any alarm or even interest, what the hell was wrong with them, were they blind? Well, its not them shes grabbing, for one thing. And its not them shes threatening to kill, for anoth The canvas Borders bag with her office shoes inside it (sensible halfheels, cordovancolored) was snatched from her shoulder. The black woman peered inside it, then looked up at Trudy again. What sizere these? Trudys tongue finally came unstuck from the roof of her mouth, but that was no help; it promptly fell dead at the bottom. Nemine, Susannah says you look like about a seven. Thesell d The apparitions face suddenly seemed to shimmer. She lifted one handit rose in a loose loop with an equally loose fist anchoring the end, as if the woman didnt have very good control of itand thumped herself on the forehead, right between the eyes. And suddenly her face was different. Trudy had Comedy Central as part of her basic cable deal, and shed seen standup comics who specialized in mimicry change their faces that same way. When the black woman spoke again, her voice had changed, too. Now it was that of an educated woman. And (Trudy would have sworn it) a frightened one. Help me, she said. My name is Susannah Dean and I  I  oh dear  oh Christ This time it was pain that twisted the womans face, and she clutched at her belly. She looked down. When she looked back up again, the first one had reappeared, the one who had talked of killing for a pair of shoes. She took a step back on her bare feet, still holding the bag with Trudys nice Ferragamo lowheels and her New York Times inside it. Oh Christ, she said. Oh dont that hurt! Mama! You got to make it stop. It cant come yet, not right out here on the street, you got to make it stop awhile. Trudy tried to raise her voice and yell for a cop. Nothing came out but a small, whispering sigh. The apparition pointed at her. You want to get out of here now, she said. And if you rouse any constabulary or raise any posse, Ill find you and cut your breasts off. She took one of the plates from the reed pouch. Trudy observed that the plates curved edge was metal, and as keen as a butchers knife, and suddenly found herself in a struggle to keep from wetting her pants. Find you and cut your breasts off, and an edge like the one she was looking at would probably do the job. Zipzoop, instant mastectomy, O dear Lord. Good day to you, madam, Trudy heard her mouth saying. She sounded like someone trying to talk to the dentist before the Novocain has worn off. Enjoy those shoes, wear them in good health. Not that the apparition looked particularly healthy. Not even with her legs on and her fancy white feet. Trudy walked. She walked down Second Avenue. She tried to tell herself (with no success at all) that she had not seen a woman appear out of thin air in front of 2 Hammarskjld, the building the folks who worked there jokingly called the Black Tower. She tried to tell herself (also with no success at all) that this was what she got for eating roast beef and fried potatoes. She should have stuck to her usual waffleandegg, you went to Denniss for waffles, not for roast beef and potatoes, and if you didnt believe that, look what had just happened to her. Seeing AfricanAmerican apparitions, and And her bag! Her canvas Borders bag! She must have dropped it! Knowing better. All the time expecting the woman to come after her, shrieking like a headhunter from the deepest, darkest jungles of Papua. There was a ninglytumb place on her back (she meant a tinglynumb place, but ninglytumb was how it actually felt, kind of loose and cool and distant) where she knew the crazy womans plate would bite into her, drinking her blood and then eating one of her kidneys before coming to rest, still quivering, in the live chalk of her spine. She would hear it coming, somehow she knew that, it would make a whistling sound like a childs top before it chunked into her and warm blood went splashing down over her buttocks and the backs of her legs She couldnt help it. Her bladder let go, her urine gushed, and the front of her slacks, part of a trs expensive Norma Kamali suit, went distressingly dark. She was almost at the corner of Second and Fortyfifth by then. Trudynever again to be the hardheaded woman shed once fancied herselfwas finally able to stop and turn around. She no longer felt quite so ninglytumb. Only warm at the crotch. And the woman, the mad apparition, was gone. TWO Trudy kept some softballpractice clothesteeshirts and two old pairs of jeansinside her office storage cabinet. When she got back to Guttenberg, Furth, and Patel, she made changing her first priority. Her second was a call to the police. The cop who took her report turned out to be Officer Paul Antassi. My name is Trudy Damascus, she said, and I was just mugged on Second Avenue. Officer Antassi was extremely sympathetic on the phone, and Trudy found herself imagining an Italian George Clooney. Not a big stretch, considering Antassis name and Clooneys dark hair and eyes. Antassi didnt look a bit like Clooney in person, but hey, who expected miracles and movie stars, it was a real world they were living in. Although  considering what had happened to her on the corner of Second and Fortysixth at 119 P.M., EDT  Officer Antassi arrived at about threethirty, and she found herself telling him exactly what had happened to her, everything, even the part about feeling ninglytumb instead of tinglynumb and her weird certainty that the woman was getting ready to throw that dish at her Dish had a sharpened edge, you say? Antassi asked, jotting on his pad, and when she said yes, he nodded sympathetically. Something about that nod had struck her as familiar, but right then shed been too involved in telling her tale to chase down the association. Later, though, she wondered how she could possibly have been so dumb. It was every sympathetic nod shed ever seen in one of those ladygonecrazy films, from Girl, Interrupted with Winona Ryder all the way back to The Snake Pit, with Olivia de Havilland. But right then shed been too involved. Too busy telling the nice Officer Antassi about how the apparitions jeans had been dragging on the sidewalk from the knees down. And when she was done, she for the first time heard the one about how the black woman had probably come out from behind a bus shelter. Also the onethisll killyaabout how the black woman had probably just stepped out of some little store, there were billions of them in that neighborhood. As for Trudy, she premiered her bit about how there were no bus shelters on that corner, not on the downtown side of Fortysixth, not on the uptown side, either. Also the one about how all the shops were gone on the downtown side since 2 Hammarskjld went up, that would prove to be one of her most popular routines, would probably get her onstage at Radio Goddam City someday. She was asked for the first time what shed had for lunch just before seeing this woman, and realized for the first time that shed had a twentiethcentury version of what Ebenezer Scrooge had eaten shortly before seeing his old (and longdead) business partner potatoes and roast beef. Not to mention several blots of mustard. She forgot all about asking Officer Antassi if hed like to go out to dinner with her. In fact, she threw him out of her office. Mitch Guttenberg poked his head in shortly thereafter. Do they think theyll be able to get your bag back, Tru Get lost, Trudy said without looking up. Right now. Guttenberg assessed her pallid cheeks and set jaw. Then he retired without saying another word. THREE Trudy left work at fourfortyfive, which was early for her. She walked back to the corner of Second and Fortysixth, and although that ninglytumb feeling began to work its way up her legs and into the pit of her stomach again as she approached Hammarskjld Plaza, she never hesitated. She stood on the corner, ignoring both white WALK and red DONT WALK. She turned in a tight little circle, almost like a ballet dancer, also ignoring her fellow Second Avenueites and being ignored in turn. Right here, she said. It happened right here. I know it did. She asked me what size I was, and before I could answerI would have answered, I would have told her what color my underwear was if she asked, I was in shockbefore I could answer, she said  Nemine, Susannah says you look like about a seven. Thesell do. Well, no, she hadnt quite finished that last part, but Trudy was sure that was what the woman had meant to say. Only then her face had changed. Like a comic getting ready to imitate Bill Clinton or Michael Jackson or maybe even George Clooney. And shed asked for help. Asked for help and said her name was  what? Susannah Dean, Trudy said. That was the name. I never told Officer Antassi. Well, yeah, but fuck Officer Antassi. Officer Antassi with his bus shelters and little stores, just fuck him. That womanSusannah Dean, Whoopi Goldberg, Coretta Scott King, whoever she wasthought she was pregnant. Thought she was in labor. Im almost sure of it. Did she look pregnant to you, Trudes? No, she said. On the uptown side of Fortysixth, white WALK once again became red DONT WALK. Trudy realized she was calming down. Something about just standing here, with 2 Dag Hammarskjld Plaza on her right, was calming. Like a cool hand on a hot brow, or a soothing word that assured you that there was nothing, absolutely nothing to feel ninglytumb about. She could hear a humming, she realized. A sweet humming sound. Thats not humming, she said as red DONT WALK cycled back to white WALK one more time (she remembered a date in college once telling her the worst karmic disaster he could imagine would be coming back as a traffic light). Thats not humming, thats singing. And then, right beside herstartling her but not frightening hera mans voice spoke. Thats right, he said. Trudy turned and saw a gentleman who looked to be in his early forties. I come by here all the time, just to hear it. And Ill tell you something, since were just ships passing in the night, so to speakwhen I was a young man, I had the worlds most terrible case of acne. I think coming here cleared it up, somehow. You think standing on the corner of Second and Fortysixth cleared up your acne, she said. His smile, only a small one but very sweet, faltered a tiny bit. I know it sounds crazy I saw a woman appear out of nowhere right here, Trudy said. Three and a half hours ago, I saw this. When she showed up, she had no legs from the knees down. Then she grew the rest of em. So whos crazy, my friend? He was looking at her, wideeyed, just some anonymous timeserver in a suit with his tie pulled down at the end of the workday. And yes, she could see the pits and shadows of old acne on his cheeks and forehead. This is true? She held up her right hand. If Im lyin, Im dyin. Bitch stole my shoes. She hesitated. No, she wasnt a bitch. I dont believe she was a bitch. She was scared and she was barefooted and she thought she was in labor. I just wish Id had time to give her my sneakers instead of my good goddam shoes. The man was giving her a cautious look, and Trudy Damascus suddenly felt tired. She had an idea this was a look she was going to get used to. The sign said WALK again, and the man whod spoken to her started across, swinging his briefcase. Mister! He didnt stop walking, but did look back over his shoulder. What used to be here, back when you used to stop by for acne treatments? Nothing, he said. It was just a vacant lot behind a fence. I thought it would stopthat nice soundwhen they built on the site, but it never did. He gained the far curb. Walked off up Second Avenue. Trudy stood where she was, lost in thought. I thought it would stop, but it never did. Now why would that be? she asked, and turned to look more directly at 2 Hammarskjld Plaza. The Black Tower. The humming was stronger now that she was concentrating on it. And sweeter. Not just one voice but many of them. Like a choir. Then it was gone. Disappeared as suddenly as the black woman had done the opposite. No it didnt, Trudy thought. I just lost the knack of hearing it, thats all. If I stood here long enough, I bet it would come back. Boy, this is nuts. Im nuts. Did she believe that? The truth was that she did not. All at once the world seemed very thin to her, more an idea than an actual thing, and barely there at all. She had never felt less hardheaded in her life. What she felt was weak in her knees and sick to her stomach and on the verge of passing out. FOUR There was a little park on the other side of Second Avenue. In it was a fountain; nearby was a metal sculpture of a turtle, its shell gleaming wetly in the fountains spray. She cared nothing for fountains or sculptures, but there was also a bench. WALK had come around again. Trudy tottered across Second Avenue, like a woman of eightythree instead of thirtyeight, and sat down. She began to take long, slow breaths, and after three minutes or so felt a little better. Beside the bench was a trash receptacle with KEEP LITTER IN ITS PLACE stenciled on the side. Below this, in pink spraypaint, was an odd little graffito See the TURTLE of enormous girth. Trudy saw the turtle, but didnt think much of its girth; the sculpture was quite modest.


She saw something else, as well a copy of the New York Times, rolled up as she always rolled hers, if she wanted to keep it a little longer and happened to have a bag to stow it in. Of course there were probably at least a million copies of that days Times floating around Manhattan, but this one was hers. She knew it even before fishing it out of the litter basket and verifying what she knew by turning to the crossword, which shed mostly completed over lunch, in her distinctive lilaccolored ink. She returned it to the litter basket and looked across Second Avenue to the place where her idea of how things worked had changed. Maybe forever. Took my shoes. Crossed the street and sat here by the turtle and put them on. Kept my bag but dumped the Times. Whyd she want my bag? She didnt have any shoes of her own to put in it. Trudy thought she knew. The woman had put her plates in it. A cop who got a look at those sharp edges might be curious about what you served on dishes that could cut your fingers off if you grabbed them in the wrong place. Okay, but then where did she go? There was a hotel down at the corner of First and Fortysixth. Once it had been the U.N. Plaza. Trudy didnt know what its name was now, and didnt care. Nor did she want to go down there and ask if a black woman in jeans and a stained white shirt might have come in a few hours ago. She had a strong intuition that her version of Jacob Marleys ghost had done just that, but here was an intuition she didnt want to follow up on. Better to let it go. The city was full of shoes, but sanity, ones sanity Better to head home, take a shower, and just  let it go. Except Something is wrong, she said, and a man walking past on the sidewalk looked at her. She looked back defiantly. Somewhere something is very wrong. Its Tipping was the word that came to mind, but she would not say it. As if to say it would cause the tip to become a topple. It was a summer of bad dreams for Trudy Damascus. Some were about the woman who first appeared and then grew. These were bad, but not the worst. In the worst ones she was in the dark, and terrible chimes were ringing, and she sensed something tipping further and further toward the point of no return. STAVE Commalacomekey Can ya tell me what ya see? Is it ghosts or just the mirror That makes ya want to flee? RESPONSE Commalacomethree! I beg ya, tell me! Is it ghosts or just your darker self That makes ya want to flee? 4TH STANZA SUSANNAHS DOGAN ONE Susannahs memory had become distressingly spotty, unreliable, like the halfstripped transmission of an old car. She remembered the battle with the Wolves, and Mia waiting patiently while it went on  No, that wasnt right. Wasnt fair. Mia had been doing a lot more than waiting patiently. She had been cheering Susannah (and the others) on with her own warriors heart. Holding the labor in abeyance while her chaps surrogate mother dealt death with her plates. Only the Wolves had turned out to be robots, so could you really say  Yes. Yes, you can. Because they were more than robots, much more, and we killed them. Rose up righteous and killed their asses. But that was neither here nor there, because it was over. And once it was, she had felt the labor coming back, and strong. She was going to have the kid at the side of the damn road if she didnt look out; and there it would die, because it was hungry, Mias chap was hongry, and  You got to help me! Mia. And impossible not to respond to that cry. Even while she felt Mia pushing her aside (as Roland had once pushed Detta Walker aside), it was impossible not to respond to that wild mothers cry. Partly, Susannah supposed, because it was her body they shared, and the body had declared itself on behalf of the baby. Probably could not do otherwise. And so she had helped. She had done what Mia herself no longer could do, had stopped the labor a bit longer. Although that in itself would become dangerous to the chap (funny how that word insinuated itself into her thoughts, became her word as well as Mias word) if it was allowed to go on too long. She remembered a story some girl had told during a latenight hen party in the dorm at Columbia, half a dozen of them sitting around in their pjs, smoking cigarettes and passing a bottle of Wild Irish Roseabsolutely verboten and therefore twice as sweet. The story had been about a girl their age on a long cartrip, a girl whod been too embarrassed to tell her friends she needed a peestop. According to the story, the girl had suffered a ruptured bladder and died. It was the kind of tale you simultaneously thought was bullshit and believed absolutely. And this thing with the chap  the baby  But whatever the danger, shed been able to stop the labor. Because there were switches that could do that. Somewhere. (in the Dogan) Only the machinery in the Dogan had never been meant to do what shethey (us we) were making it do. Eventually it would overload and (rupture) all the machines would catch fire, burn out. Alarms going off. Control panels and TV screens going dark. How long before that happened? Susannah didnt know. She had a vague memory of taking her wheelchair out of a bucka waggon while the rest of them were distracted, celebrating their victory and mourning their dead. Climbing and lifting werent easy when you were legless from the knees down, but they werent as hard as some folks might believe, either. Certainly she was used to mundane obstacleseverything from getting on and off the toilet to getting books off a shelf that had once been easily accessible to her (there had been a stepstool for such chores in every room of her New York apartment). In any case, Mia had been insistinghad actually been driving her, as a cowboy might drive a stray dogie. And so Susannah had hoisted herself into the bucka, had lowered the wheelchair down, and then had lowered herself neatly into it. Not quite as easy as rolling off a log, but far from the hardest chore shed ever done since losing her last sixteen inches or so. The chair had taken her one last mile, maybe a little more (no legs for Mia, daughter of none, not in the Calla). Then it smashed into a spur of granite, spilling her out. Luckily, she had been able to break her fall with her arms, sparing her turbulent and unhappy belly. She remembered picking herself upcorrection, she remembered Mia picking up Susannah Deans hijacked bodyand working her way on up the path. She had only one other clear memory from the Calla side, and that was of trying to stop Mia from taking off the rawhide loop Susannah wore around her neck. A ring hung from it, a beautiful light ring that Eddie had made for her. When hed seen it was too big (meaning it as a surprise, he hadnt measured her finger), he had been disappointed and told her hed make her another. You go on and do just that if you like, shed said, but Ill always wear this one. She had hung it around her neck, liking the way it felt between her breasts, and now here was this unknown woman, this bitch, trying to take it off. Detta had come forward, struggling with Mia. Detta had had absolutely no success in trying to reassert control over Roland, but Mia was no Roland of Gilead. Mias hands dropped away from the rawhide. Her control wavered. When it did, Susannah felt another of those labor pains sweep through her, making her double over and groan. It has to come off! Mia shouted. Otherwise, theyll have his scent as well as yours! Your husbands! You dont want that, believe me! Who? Susannah had asked. Who are you talking about? Never mindtheres no time. But if he comes after youand I know you think hell trythey mustnt have his scent! Ill leave it here, where hell find it. Later, if ka wills, you may wear it again. Susannah had thought of telling her they could wash the ring off, wash Eddies smell off it, but she knew it wasnt just a smell Mia was speaking of. It was a lovering, and that scent would always remain. But for whom? The Wolves, she supposed. The real Wolves. The ones in New York. The vampires of whom Callahan had spoken, and the low men. Or was there something else? Something even worse? Help me! Mia cried, and again Susannah found that cry impossible to resist. The baby might or might not be Mias, and it might or might not be a monster, but her body wanted to have it. Her eyes wanted to see it, whatever it was, and her ears wanted to hear it cry, even if the cries were really snarls. She had taken the ring off, kissed it, and then dropped it at the foot of the path, where Eddie would surely see it. Because he would follow her at least this far, she knew it. Then what? She didnt know. She thought she remembered riding on something most of the way up a steep path, surely the path which led to the Doorway Cave. Then, blackness. (not blackness) No, not complete blackness. There were blinking lights. The low glow of television screens that were, for the time being, projecting no pictures but only soft gray light. The faint hum of motors; the click of relays. This was (the Dogan Jakes Dogan) some sort of control room. Maybe a place she had constructed herself, maybe her imaginations version of a Quonset hut Jake had found on the west side of the River Whye. The next thing she remembered clearly was being back in New York. Her eyes were windows she looked through as Mia stole some poor terrified womans shoes. Susannah came forward again, asking for help. She meant to go on, to tell the woman she needed to go to the hospital, needed a doctor, she was going to have a baby and something was wrong with it. Before she could get any of that out, another labor pain washed over her, this one monstrous, deeper than any pain she had ever felt in her life, worse even than the pain shed felt after the loss of her lower legs. This, thoughthis Oh Christ, she said, but Mia took over again before she could say anything else, telling Susannah that she had to make it stop, and telling the woman that if she whistled for any John Laws, shed lose a pair of something a lot more valuable to her than shoes. Mia, listen to me, Susannah told her. I can stop it againI think I canbut you have to help. You have to sit down. If you dont settle for awhile, God Himself wont be able to stop your labor from running its course. Do you understand? Do you hear me? Mia did. She stayed where she was for a moment, watching the woman from whom shed stolen the shoes. Then, almost timidly, she asked a question Where should I go? Susannah sensed that her kidnapper was for the first time becoming aware of the enormous city in which she now found herself, was finally seeing the surging schools of pedestrians, the floods of metal carriages (every third one, it seemed, painted a yellow so bright it almost screamed), and towers so high that on a cloudy day their tops would have been lost to view. Two women looked at an alien city through one set of eyes. Susannah knew it was her city, but in many ways, it no longer was. Shed left New York in 1964. How many years further along was this? Twenty? Thirty? Never mind, let it go. Now was not the time to worry about it. Their combined gaze settled on the little pocket park across the street. The labor pains had ceased for the time being, and when the sign over there said WALK, Trudy Damascuss black woman (who didnt look particularly pregnant) crossed, walking slowly but steadily. On the far side was a bench beside a fountain and a metal sculpture. Seeing the turtle comforted Susannah a little; it was as if Roland had left her this sign, what the gunslinger himself would have called a sigul. Hell come after me, too, she told Mia. And you should ware him, woman. You should ware him very well. Ill do what I need to do, Mia replied. You want to see the womans papers. Why? I want to see when this is. The newspaper will say. Brown hands pulled the rolledup newspaper from the canvas Borders bag, unrolled it, and held it up to blue eyes that had started that day as brown as the hands. Susannah saw the dateJune 1st, 1999and marveled over it. Not twenty years or even thirty, but thirtyfive. Until this moment she hadnt realized how little shed thought of the worlds chances to survive so long. The contemporaries shed known in her old lifefellow students, civil rights advocates, drinking buddies, and folkmusic aficionadoswould now be edging into late middle age. Some were undoubtedly dead. Enough, Mia said, and tossed the newspaper back into the trash barrel, where it curled into its former rolled shape. She brushed as much dirt as she could from the soles of her bare feet (because of the dirt, Susannah did not notice they had changed color) and then put on the stolen shoes. They were a little tight, and with no socks she supposed theyd give her blisters if she had to walk very far, but What do you care, right? Susannah asked her. Aint your feet. And knew as soon as shed said it (for this was a form of talking; what Roland called palaver) that she might be wrong about that. Certainly her own feet, those which had marched obediently through life below the body of Odetta Holmes (and sometimes Detta Walker), were long gone, rotting ormore likelyburned in some municipal incinerator. But she did not notice the change in color. Except later shed think You noticed, all right. Noticed it and blocked it right out. Because too much is too much. Before she could pursue the question, as much philosophical as it was physical, of whose feet she now wore, another labor pain struck her. It cramped her stomach and turned it to stone even as it loosened her thighs. For the first time she felt the dismaying and terrifying need to push. You have to stop it! Mia cried. Woman, you have to! For the chaps sake, and for ours, too! Yes, all right, but how? Close your eyes, Susannah told her. What? Didnt you hear me? Youve got to I heard you, Susannah said. Close your eyes. The park disappeared. The world went dark. She was a black woman, still young and undoubtedly beautiful, sitting on a park bench beside a fountain and a metal turtle with a wet and gleaming metal shell. She might have been meditating on this warm latespring afternoon in the year of 1999. Im going away for a little while now, Susannah said. Ill be back. In the meantime, sit where you are. Sit quiet. Dont move. The pain should draw back again, but even if it doesnt at first, sit still. Moving around will only make it worse. Do you understand me? Mia might be frightened, and she was certainly determined to have her way, but she wasnt dumb. She asked only a single question. Where are you going? Back to the Dogan, Susannah said. My Dogan. The one inside. TWO The building Jake had found on the far side of the River Whye was some sort of ancient communicationsandsurveillance post. The boy had described it to them in some detail, but he still might not have recognized Susannahs imagined version of it, which was based on a technology which had been far out of date only thirteen years later, when Jake had left New York for MidWorld. In Susannahs when, Lyndon Johnson had been President and color TV was still a curiosity. Computers were huge things that filled whole buildings. Yet Susannah had visited the city of Lud and seen some of the wonders there, and so Jake might have recognized the place where he had hidden from Ben Slightman and Andy the Messenger Robot, after all. Certainly he would have recognized the dusty linoleum floor, with its checkerboard pattern of black and red squares, and the rolling chairs along consoles filled with blinking lights and glowing dials. And he would have recognized the skeleton in the corner, grinning above the frayed collar of its ancient uniform shirt. She crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs. Above her, blackandwhite TV screens showed dozens of pictures. Some were of Calla Bryn Sturgis (the town common, Callahans church, the general store, the road leading east out of town). Some were still pictures like studio photographs one of Roland, one of a smiling Jake holding Oy in his arms, and oneshe could hardly bear to look at itof Eddie with his hat tipped back cowpokestyle and his whittling knife in one hand. Another monitor showed the slim black woman sitting on the bench beside the turtle, knees together, hands folded in her lap, eyes closed, a pair of stolen shoes on her feet. She now had three bags the one shed stolen from the woman on Second Avenue, the rush sack with the sharpened Orizas in it  and a bowling bag. This one was a faded red, and there was something with square corners inside it. A box. Looking at it in the TV screen made Susannah feel angrybetrayedbut she didnt know why. The bag was pink on the other side, she thought. It changed color when we crossed, but only a little. The womans face on the blackandwhite screen above the control board grimaced. Susannah felt an echo of the pain Mia was experiencing, only faint and distant. Got to stop that. And quick. The question still remained how? The way you did on the other side. While she was horsing her freight up to that cave just as fast as she damn could. But that seemed a long time ago now, in another life. And why not? It had been another life, another world, and if she ever hoped to get back there, she had to help right now. So what had she done? You used this stuff, thats what you did. Its only in your head, anywaywhat Professor Overmeyer called a visualization technique back in Psych One. Close your eyes. Susannah did so. Now both sets of eyes were closed, the physical ones that Mia controlled in New York and the ones in her mind. Visualize. She did. Or tried. Open. She opened her eyes. Now on the panel in front of her there were two large dials and a single toggleswitch where before there had been rheostats and flashing lights. The dials looked to be made of Bakelite, like the ovendials on her mothers stove back in the house where Susannah had grown up. She supposed there was no surprise there; all you imagined, no matter how wild it might seem, was no more than a disguised version of what you already knew. The dial on her left was labeled EMOTIONAL TEMP. The markings on it ran from 32 to 212 (32 in blue; 212 in bright red). It was currently set at 160. The dial in the middle was marked LABOR FORCE. The numbers around its face went from 0 to 10, and it was currently turned to 9. The label under the toggleswitch simply read CHAP, and there were only two settings AWAKE and ASLEEP. It was currently set to AWAKE. Susannah looked up and saw one of the screens was now showing a baby in utero. It was a boy. A beautiful boy. His tiny penis floated like a strand of kelp below the lazy curl of his umbilical cord. His eyes were open, and although the rest of the image was black and white, those eyes were a piercing blue. The chaps gaze seemed to go right through her. Theyre Rolands eyes, she thought, feeling stupid with wonder. How can that be? It couldnt, of course. All this was nothing but the work of her own imagination, a visualization technique. But if so, why would she imagine Rolands blue eyes? Why not Eddies hazel ones? Why not her husbands hazel eyes? No time for that now. Do what you have to do. She reached out to EMOTIONAL TEMP with her lower lip caught between her teeth (on the monitor showing the park bench, Mia also began biting her lower lip). She hesitated, then dialed it back to 72, exactly as if it was a thermostat. And wasnt it? Calm immediately filled her. She relaxed in her chair and let her lip escape the grip of her teeth. On the park monitor, the black woman did the same. All right, so far, so good. She hesitated for a moment with her hand not quite touching the LABOR FORCE dial, then moved on to CHAP instead. She flipped the toggle from AWAKE to ASLEEP. The babys eyes closed immediately. Susannah found this something of a relief. Those blue eyes were disconcerting. All right, back to LABOR FORCE. Susannah thought this was the important one, what Eddie would call the Big Casino. She took hold of the oldfashioned dial, applied a little experimental force, and was not exactly surprised to find the clunky thing dully resistant in its socket. It didnt want to turn. But you will, Susannah thought. Because we need you to. We need you to. She grasped it tightly and began turning it slowly counterclockwise. A pain went through her head and she grimaced. Another momentarily constricted her throat, as if shed gotten a fishbone stuck in there, but then both pains cleared. To her right an entire bank of lights flashed on, most of them amber, a few bright red. WARNING, said a voice that sounded eerily like that of Blaine the Mono. THIS OPERATION MAY EXCEED SAFETY PARAMETERS. No shit, Sherlock, Susannah thought. The LABOR FORCE dial was now down to 6. When she turned it past 5, another bank of amber and red lights flashed on, and three of the monitors showing Calla scenes shorted out with sizzling pops. Another pain gripped her head like invisible pressing fingers. From somewhere beneath her came the startup whine of motors or turbines. Big ones, from the sound. She could feel them thrumming against her feet, which were bare, of courseMia had gotten the shoes. Oh well, she thought, I didnt have any feet at all before this, so maybe Im ahead of the game. WARNING, said the mechanical voice. WHAT YOURE DOING IS DANGEROUS, SUSANNAH OF NEW YORK. HEAR ME I BEG. ITS NOT NICE TO FOOL MOTHER NATURE. One of Rolands proverbs occurred to her You do what you need to, and Ill do what I need to, and well see who gets the goose. She wasnt sure what it meant, but it seemed to fit this situation, so she repeated it aloud as she slowly but steadily turned the LABOR FORCE dial past 4, to 3  She meant to turn the dial all the way back to 1, but the pain which ripped through her head when the absurd thing passed 2 was so hugeso sickeningthat she dropped her hand. For a moment the pain continuedintensified, evenand she thought it would kill her. Mia would topple off the bench where she was sitting, and both of them would be dead before their shared body hit the concrete in front of the turtle sculpture. Tomorrow or the next day, her remains would take a quick trip to Potters Field. And what would go on the death certificate? Stroke? Heart attack? Or maybe that old standby of the medical man in a hurry, natural causes? But the pain subsided and she was still alive when it did. She sat in front of the console with the two ridiculous dials and the toggleswitch, taking deep breaths and wiping the sweat from her cheeks with both hands. Boyhowdy, when it came to visualization technique, she had to be the champ of the world. This is more than visualizationyou know that, right? She supposed she did. Something had changed herhad changed all of them. Jake had gotten the touch, which was a kind of telepathy. Eddie had grown (was still growing) into some sort of ability to create powerful, talismanic objectsone of them had already served to open a door between two worlds. And she? I  see. Thats all. Except if I see it hard enough, it starts to be real. The way Detta Walker got to be real. All over this version of the Dogan, amber lights were glowing. Even as she looked, some turned red. Beneath her feetspecial guest feet, she thought themthe floor trembled and thrummed. Enough of this and cracks would start to appear in its elderly surface. Cracks that would widen and deepen. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the House of Usher. Susannah got up from the chair and looked around. She should go back. Was there anything else that needed doing before she did? One thing occurred to her. THREE Susannah closed her eyes and imagined a radio mike. When she opened them the mike was there, standing on the console to the right of the two dials and the toggleswitch. She had imagined a Zenith trademark, right down to the lightningbolt Z, on the microphones base, but NORTH CENTRAL POSITRONICS had been stamped there, instead. So something was messing in with her visualization technique. She found that extremely scary. On the control panel directly behind the microphone was a semicircular, tricolored readout with the words SUSANNAHMIO printed below it. A needle was moving out of the green and into the yellow. Beyond the yellow segment the dial turned red, and a single word was printed in black DANGER. Susannah picked up the mike, saw no way to use it, closed her eyes again, and imagined a toggleswitch like the onemarked with AWAKE and ASLEEP, only this time on the side of the mike. When she opened her eyes again, the switch was there. She pressed it. Eddie, she said. She felt a little foolish, but went on, anyway. Eddie, if you hear me, Im okay, at least for the time being. Im with Mia, in New York. Its June first of 1999, and Im going to try and help her have the baby. I dont see any other choice. If nothing else, I have to be rid of it myself. Eddie, you take care of yourself. I  Her eyes welled with tears. I love you, sugar. So much. The tears spilled down her cheeks. She started to wipe them away and then stopped herself. Didnt she have a right to cry for her man? As much right as any other woman? She waited for a response, knowing she could make one if she wanted to and resisting the urge. This wasnt a situation where talking to herself in Eddies voice would do any good. Suddenly her vision doubled in front of her eyes. She saw the Dogan for the unreal shade that it was. Beyond its walls were not the deserty wastelands on the east side of the Whye but Second Avenue with its rushing traffic. Mia had opened her eyes. She was feeling fine againthanks to me, honeybunch, thanks to meand was ready to move on. Susannah went back. FOUR A black woman (who still thought of herself as a Negro woman) was sitting on a bench in New York City in the spring of 99. A black woman with her traveling bagsher gunnaspread around her. One of them was a faded red. NOTHING BUT STRIKES AT MIDTOWN LANES was printed on it. It had been pink on the other side. The color of the rose. Mia stood up. Susannah promptly came forward and made her sit down again. What did you do that for? Mia asked, surprised. I dont know, I dont have a clue. But lets us palaver a little. Why dont you start by telling me where you want to go? I need a telefung. Someone will call. Telephone, Susannah said. And by the way, theres blood on our shirt, sugar, Margaret Eisenharts blood, and sooner or later someones gonna recognize it for what it is. Then where will you be? The response to this was wordless, a swell of smiling contempt. It made Susannah angry. Five minutes agoor maybe fifteen, it was hard to keep track of time when you were having funthis hijacking bitch had been screaming for help. And now that shed gotten it, what her rescuer got was an internal contemptuous smile. What made it worse was that the bitch was right she could probably stroll around Midtown all day without anyone asking her if that was dried blood on her shirt, or had she maybe just spilled her chocolate eggcream. All right, she said, but even if nobody bothers you about the blood, where are you going to store your goods? Then another question occurred to her, one that probably should have come to her right away. Mia, how do you even know what a telephone is? And dont tell me they have em where you came from, either. No response. Only a kind of watchful silence. But she had wiped the smile off the bitchs face; shed done that much. You have friends, dont you? Or at least you think theyre friends. Folks youve been talking to behind my back. Folks thatll help you. Or so you think. Are you going to help me or not? Back to that. And angry. But beneath the anger, what? Fright? Probably that was too strong, at least for now. But worry, certainly. How long have Ihave wegot before the labor starts up again? Susannah guessed somewhere between six and ten hourscertainly before midnight saw in June secondbut tried to keep this to herself. I dont know. Not all that long. Then we have to get started. I have to find a telefung. Phone. In a private place. Susannah thought there was a hotel at the First Avenue end of Fortysixth Street, and tried to keep this to herself. Her eyes went back to the bag, once pink, now red, and suddenly she understood. Not everything, but enough to dismay and anger her. Ill leave it here, Mia had said, speaking of the ring Eddie had made her, Ill leave it here, where hell find it. Later, if ka wills, you may wear it again. Not a promise, exactly, at least not a direct one, but Mia had certainly implied Dull anger surged through Susannahs mind. No, shed not promised. She had simply led Susannah in a certain direction, and Susannah had done the rest. She didnt cozen me; she let me cozen myself. Mia stood up again, and once again Susannah came forward and made her sit down. Hard, this time. What? Susannah, you promised! The chap Ill help you with the chap, Susannah replied grimly. She bent forward and picked up the red bag. The bag with the box inside it. And inside the box? The ghostwood box with UNFOUND written upon it in runes? She could feel a baleful pulse even through the layer of magical wood and cloth which hid it. Black Thirteen was in the bag. Mia had taken it through the door. And if it was the ball that opened the door, how could Eddie get to her now? I did what I had to, Mia said nervously. Its my baby, my chap, and every hand is against me now. Every hand but yours, and you only help me because you have to. Remember what I said  if ka wills, I said It was Detta Walkers voice that replied. It was harsh and crude and brooked no argument. I dont give a shit bout ka, she said, and you bes be rememberin dat. You got problems, girl. Got a rugmonkey comin you dont know what it is. Got folks say theyll hep you and you dont know what dey are. Shit, you doan even know what a telephone is or where to find one. Now we goan sit here, and youre goan tell me what happens next. We goan palaver, girl, and if you dont play straight, we still be sittin here with these bags come nightfall and you can have your precious chap on this bench and wash him off in the fuckin fountain. The woman on the bench bared her teeth in a gruesome smile that was all Detta Walker. You care bout dat chap  and Susannah, she care a little bout dat chap  but I been mosly turned out of this body, and I  dont  give a shit. A woman pushing a stroller (it looked as divinely lightweight as Susannahs abandoned wheelchair) gave the woman on the bench a nervous glance and then pushed her own baby onward, so fast she was nearly running. So! Detta said brightly. Its be purty out here, dont you think? Good weather for talkin. You hear me, mamma? No reply from Mia, daughter of none and mother of one. Detta wasnt put out of countenance; her grin widened. You hear me, all right; you hear me just fahn. So lets us have a little chat. Lets us palaver. STAVE Commalacomeko Whatcha doin at my do? If you doan tell me now, my friend, Ill lay ya on de flo. RESPONSE Commalacome fo! I can lay ya low! The things I done to such as you You never want to know. 5TH STANZA THE TURTLE ONE Mia said Talking will be easierquicker and clearer, tooif we do it facetoface. How can we? Susannah asked. Well have our palaver in the castle, Mia replied promptly. The Castle on the Abyss. In the banquet room. Do you remember the banquet room? Susannah nodded, but hesitantly. Her memories of the banquet room were but recently recovered, and consequently vague. She wasnt sorry, either. Mias feeding there had been  well, enthusiastic, to say the very least. Shed eaten from many plates (mostly with her fingers) and drunk from many glasses and spoken to many phantoms in many borrowed voices. Borrowed? Hell, stolen voices. Two of these Susannah had known quite well. One had been Odetta Holmess nervousand rather hoitytoitysocial voice. Another had been Dettas raucous whogivesashit bellow.