There she raises a hand and waves it over her head. Roland! she cries. Hey, gunslinger! Im over here! He sees her and waves back. Then he bends and puts down the animal. Oy races toward her hellbent for election, head down, ears flat against his skull, running with the speed and lowslung, leaping grace of a weasel on a crust of snow. While hes still seven feet away from her (seven at least), he jumps into the air, his shadow flying fleetly over the packed dirt of the street. She grabs him like a deep receiver hauling in a Hail Mary pass. The force of his forward motion knocks the breath from her and bowls her over in a puff of dust, but the first breath shes able to take in goes back out as laughter. Shes still laughing as he stands with his stubby front legs on her chest and his stubby rear ones on her belly, ears up, squiggly tail wagging, licking her cheeks, her nose, her eyes. Let up on it! she cries. Let up on it, honey, fore you kill me! She hears this, so lightly meant, and her laughter stops. Oy steps off her, sits, tilts his snout at the empty blue socket of the sky, and lets loose a single long howl that tells her everything she would need to know, had she not known already. For Oy has more eloquent ways of speaking than his few words. She sits up, slapping puffs of dust out of her shirt, and a shadow falls over her. She looks up but at first cannot see Rolands face. His head is directly in front of the sun, and it makes a fierce corona around him. His features are lost in blackness. But hes holding out his hands. Part of her doesnt want to take them, and do ya not kennit? Part of her would end it here and send him into the Badlands alone. No matter what Eddie wanted. No matter what Jake undoubtedly wanted, too. This dark shape with the sun blazing around its head has dragged her out of a mostly comfortable life (oh yes, she had her ghostsand at least one meanhearted demon, as wellbut which of us dont?). He has introduced her first to love, then to pain, then to horror and loss. The deals run pretty much downhill, in other words. It is his balefully talented hand that has authored her sorrow, this dusty knighterrant who has come walking out of the old world in his old boots and with an old deathengine on each hip. These are melodramatic thoughts, purple images, and the old Odetta, patron of The Hungry i and allaround cool kitty, would no doubt have laughed at them. But she has changed, he has changed her, and she reckons that if anyone is entitled to melodramatic thoughts and purple images, it is Susannah, daughter of Dan. Part of her would turn him away, not to end his quest or break his spirit (only death will do those things), but to take such light as remains out of his eyes and punish him for his relentless unmeaning cruelty. But ka is the wheel to which we all are bound, and when the wheel turns we must perforce turn with it, first with our heads up to heaven and then revolving hellward again, where the brains inside them seem to burn. And so, instead of turning away TWO Instead of turning away, as part of her wanted to do, Susannah took Rolands hands. He pulled her up, not to her feet (for she had none, although for awhile a pair had been given her on loan) but into his arms. And when he tried to kiss her cheek, she turned her face so that his lips pressed on hers. Let him understand its no halfway thing, she thought, breathing her air into him and then taking his back, changed. Let him understand that if Im in it, Im in to the end. God help me, Im in with him to the end. THREE There were clothes in the Fedic Millinery  Ladies Wear, but they fell apart at the touch of their handsthe moths and the years had left nothing usable. In the Fedic Hotel (QUIET ROOMS, GUD BEDS) Roland found a cabinet with some blankets that would do them at least against the afternoon chill. They wrapped up in themthe afternoon breeze was just enough to make their musty smell bearableand Susannah asked about Jake, to have the immediate pain of it out of the way. The writer again, she said bitterly when he had finished, wiping away her tears. God damn the man. My hip let go and the  and Jake never hesitated. Roland had almost called him the boy, as he had taught himself to think of Elmers son as they closed in on Walter. Given a second chance, he had promised himself he would never do that again. No, of course he didnt, she said, smiling. He never would. He had a yard of guts, our Jake. Did you take care of him? Did you do him right? Id hear that part. So he told her, not failing to include Irene Tassenbaums promise of the rose. She nodded, then said I wish we could do the same for your friend, Sheemie. He died on the train. Im sorry, Roland. Roland nodded. He wished he had tobacco, but of course there was none. He had both guns again and they were seven Oriza plates to the good, as well. Otherwise they were stocked with littlegoingonnone. Did he have to push again, while you were coming here? I suppose he did. I knew one more might kill him. Sai Brautigan did, too. And Dinky. But that wasnt it, Roland. It was his foot. The gunslinger looked at her, not understanding. He cut it on a piece of broken glass during the fight to take Blue Heaven, and the air and dirt of that place was poison! It was Detta who spat the last word, her accent so thick that the gunslinger barely understood it Pizen! Goddam foot swole up  toes like sausages  then his cheeks and throat went all dusky, like a bruise  he took fever  She pulled in a deep breath, clutching the two blankets she wore tighter around her. He was delirious, but his head cleared at the end. He spoke of you, and of Susan Delgado. He spoke with such love and such regret  She paused, then burst out We will go there, Roland, we will, and if it isnt worth it, your Tower, somehow well make it worth it! Well go, he said. Well find the Dark Tower, and nothing will stand against us, and before we go in, well speak their names. All of the lost. Your list will be longer than mine, she said, but mine will be long enough. To this Roland did not reply, but the robot huckster, perhaps startled out of its long sleep by the sound of their voices, did. Girls, girls, girls! it cried from inside the batwing doors of the Gaiety Bar and Grill. Some are humie and some are cybie, but who cares, you cant tell, who cares, they give, you tell, girls tell, you tell  There was a pause and then the robot huckster shouted one final wordSATISFACTION!and fell silent. By the gods, but this is a sad place, he said. Well stay the night and then see it no more. At least the suns out, and thats a relief after Thunderclap, but isnt it cold! He nodded, then asked about the others. Theyve gone on, she said, but there was a minute there when I didnt think any of us were going anywhere except to the bottom of yonder crevasse. She pointed to the end of the Fedic high street furthest from the castle wall. There are TV screens that still work in some of the traincars, and as we came up on town we got a fine view of the bridge thats gone. We could see the ends sticking out over the hole, but the gap in the middle had to be a hundred yards across. Maybe more. We could see the train trestle, too. That was still intact. The train was slowing down by then, but not enough so any of us could have jumped off. By then there was no time. And the jump would likely have killed anyone who tried. We were going, oh Im gonna say fifty miles an hour. And as soon as we were on the trestle, the fucking thing started to creak and groan. Or to queel and grale, if youve ever read your James Thurber, which I suppose you have not. The train was playing music. Like Blaine did, do you remember? Yes. But we could hear the trestle getting ready to let go even over that. Then everything started shaking from side to side. A voicevery calm and soothingsaid, We are experiencing minor difficulties, please take your seats. Dinky was holding that little Russian girl, Dani. Ted took my hands and said, I want to tell you, madam, that it has been a pleasure to know you. There was a lurch so hard it damn near threw me out of my seatwould have, if Ted hadnt been holding onto meand I thought Thats it, were gone, please God let me be dead before whatevers down there gets its teeth into me, and for a second or two we were going backward. Backward, Roland! I could see the whole carwe were in the first one behind the locotilting up. There was the sound of tearing metal. Then the good old Spirit of Topeka put on a burst of speed. Say what you want to about the old people, I know they got a lot of things wrong, but they built machines that had some balls. The next thing I knew, we were coasting into the station. And here comes that same soothing voice, this time telling us to look around our seats and make sure weve got all our personalsour gunna, you ken. Like we were on a damn TWA flight landing at Idlewild! It wasnt until we were out on the platform that we saw the last nine cars of the train were gone. Thank God they were all empty. She cast a baleful (but frightened) eye toward the far end of the street. Hope whatevers down there chokes on em. Then she brightened. Theres one good thingat speeds of up to three hundred miles an hour, which is what that aintwehappy voice said the Spirit of Topeka was doing, we must have left Master SpiderBoy in the dust. I wouldnt count on it, Roland said. She rolled her eyes wearily. Dont tell me that. I do tell you. But well deal with Mordred when the time comes, and I dont think that will be today. Good. Have you been beneath the Dogan again? I take it you have. Susannahs eyes grew round. Isnt it something? Makes Grand Central look like a train station someplace out in Sticksville, U.S.A. How long did it take you to find your way up? If it had just been me, Id still be wandering around down there, Roland admitted. Oy found the way out. I assumed he was following your scent. Susannah considered this. Maybe he was. Jakes, more likely. Did you cross a wide passage with a sign on the wall reading SHOW ORANGE PASS ONLY, BLUE PASS NOT ACCEPTED? Roland nodded, but the fading sign painted on the wall had meant little to him. He had identified the passage which the Wolves took at the beginning of their raids by the sight of two motionless gray horses far down the passage, and another of those snarling masks. He had also seen a moccasin he remembered quite well, one that had been made from a chunk of rubber. One of Teds or Dinkys, he decided; Sheemie Ruiz had no doubt been buried in his. So, he said. You got off the trainhow many were you? Five, with Sheemie gone, she said. Me, Ted, Dinky, Dani Rostov, and Fred Worthington  do you remember Fred? Roland nodded. The man in the bankerly suit. I gave them the guided tour of the Dogan, she said. As much as I could, anyway. The beds where they stole the brains out of the kids and the one where Mia finally gave birth to her monster; the oneway door between Fedic and the Dixie Pig in New York that still works; Nigels apartment. Ted and his friends were pretty amazed by the rotunda where all the doors are, especially the one going to Dallas in 1963, where President Kennedy was killed. We found another door two levels downthis is where most of the passages are that goes to Fords Theater, where President Lincoln was assassinated in 1865. Theres even a poster for the play he was watching when Booth shot him. Our American Cousin, it was called. What kind of people would want to go and watch things like that? Roland thought a lot of people might, actually, but knew better than to say so. Its all very old, she said. And very hot. And very fucking scary, if you want to know the truth. Most of the machinery has quit, and there are puddles of water and oil and God knows what everywhere. Some of the puddles gave off a glow, and Dinky said he thought it might be radiation. I dont like to think what I got growin on my bones or when my hairll start fallin out. There were doors where we could hear those awful chimes  the ones that set your teeth on edge. Todash chimes. Yep. And things behind some of em. Slithery things. Was it you or was it Mia who told me there are monsters in the todash darkness? I might have, he said. Gods knew there were. There are things in that crack beyond town, too. Was Mia told me that. Monsters that cozen, diddle, increase, and plot to escape, she said. And then Ted, Dinky, Dani, and Fred joined hands. They made what Ted called the little goodmind. I could feel it even though I wasnt in their circle, and I was glad to feel it, because thats one spooky old place down there. She clutched her blankets more tightly. I dont look forward to going again. But you believe we have to. Theres a passage that goes deep under the castle and comes out on the other side, in the Discordia. Ted and his friends located it by picking up old thoughts, what Ted called ghostthoughts. Fred had a piece of chalk in his pocket and he marked it for me, but itll still be hard to find again. What its like down there is the labyrinth in an old Greek story where this bullmonster was supposed to run. I guess we can find it again  Roland bent and stroked Oys rough fur. Well find it. This fella will backtrail your scent. Wont you, Oy? Oy looked up at him with his goldringed eyes but said nothing. Anyway, she went on, Ted and the others touched the minds of the things that live in that crack outside of town. They didnt mean to, but they did. Those things are neither for the Crimson King nor against him, theyre only for themselves, but they think. And theyre telepathic. They knew we were there, and once the contact was made, they were glad to palaver. Ted and his friends said that theyve been tunneling their way toward the catacombs under the Experimental Station for a long long time, and now theyre close to breaking through. Once they do, theyll be free to roam wherever they want. Roland considered this silently for a few moments, rocking back and forth on the eroded heels of his boots. He hoped he and Susannah would be long gone before that breakthrough happened  but perhaps it would happen before Mordred got here, and the halfling would have to face them, if he wanted to follow. Baby Mordred against the ancient monsters from under the earththat was a happy thought. At last he nodded for Susannah to go on. We heard todash chimes coming from some of the passages, too. Not just from behind the doors but from passages with no doors to block em off! Do you see what that means? Roland did. If they picked the wrong oneor if Ted and his friends were wrong about the passageway they had marked he, Susannah, and Oy would likely disappear forever instead of coming out on the far side of Castle Discordia. They wouldnt leave me down therethey took me back as far as the infirmary before going on themselvesand I was damned glad. I wasnt looking forward to finding my way alone, although I guess I probably couldve. Roland put an arm around her and gave her a hug. And their plan was to use the door that the Wolves used? Uhhuh, the one at the end of the ORANGE PASS corridor. Theyll come out where the Wolves did, find their way to the River Whye, and then across it to Calla Bryn Sturgis. The Callafolken will take them in, wont they? Yes. And once they hear the whole story, they wontwont lynch them or anything? Im sure not. Henchick will know theyre telling the truth and stand up for them, even if no one else will. Theyre hoping to use the Doorway Cave to get back Americaside. She sighed. I hope it works for them, but I have my doubts. Roland did, as well. But the four of them were powerful, and Ted had struck him as a man of extraordinary determination and resource. The Mannifolk were also powerful, in their way, and great travelers between the worlds. He thought that, sooner or later, Ted and his friends probably would get back to America. He considered telling Susannah that it would happen if ka willed it, then thought better of it. Ka was not her favorite word just now, and he could hardly blame her for that. Now hear me very well and think hard, Susannah. Does the word Dandelo mean anything to you? Oy looked up, eyes bright. She thought about it. It might have some faint ring, she said, but I cant do better than that. Why? Roland told her what he believed that as Eddie lay dying, he had been granted some sort of vision about a thing or a place  or a person. Something named Dandelo. Eddie had passed this on to Jake, Jake had passed it to Oy, and Oy had passed it on to Roland. Susannah was frowning doubtfully. Its maybe been handed around too much. There was this game we used to play when we were kids. Whisper, it was called. The first kid would think something up, a word or a phrase, and whisper it to the next kid. You could only hear it once, no repeats allowed. The next kid would pass on what he thought hed heard, and the next, and the next. By the time it got to the last kid in line, it was something entirely different, and everyone would have a good laugh. But if this is wrong, I dont think well be laughing. Well, Roland said, well keep a lookout and hope that I got it right. Mayhap it means nothing at all. But he didnt really believe that. What are we going to do for clothes, if it gets colder than this? she asked. Well make what we need. I know how. Its something else we dont need to worry about today. What we do need to worry about is finding something to eat. I suppose if we have to, we can find Nigels pantry I dont want to go back under the Dogan until we have to, Susannah said. Theres got to be a kitchen near the infirmary; they must have fed those poor kids something. Roland considered this, then nodded. It was a good idea. Lets do it now, she said. I dont even want to be on the top floor of that place after dark. FOUR On Turtleback Lane, in the year of 02, month of August, Stephen King awakes from a waking dream of Fedic. He types I dont even want to be on the top floor of that place after dark. The words appear on the screen before him. Its the end of what he calls a subchapter, but that doesnt always mean hes done for the day. Being done for the day depends on what he hears. Or, more properly, on what he doesnt. What he listens for is VesKa Gan, the Song of the Turtle. This time the music, which is faint on some days and so loud on others that it almost deafens him, seems to have ceased. It will return tomorrow. At least, it always has. He pushes the controlkey and the Skey together. The computer gives a little chime, indicating that the material hes written today has been saved. Then he gets up, wincing at the pain in his hip, and walks to the window of his office. It looks out on the driveway slanting up at a steep angle to the road where he now rarely walks. (And on the main road, Route 7, never.) The hip is very bad this morning, and the big muscles of his thigh are on fire. He rubs the hip absently as he stands looking out. Roland, you bastard, you gave me back the pain, he thinks. It runs down his right leg like a redhot rope, can ya not say Gawd, can ya not say Gawdbomb, and hes the one who got stuck with it in the end. Its been three years since the accident that almost took his life and the pain is still there. Its less now, the human body has an amazing engine of healing inside it (a hotenj, he thinks, and smiles), but sometimes its still bad. He doesnt think about it much when hes writing, writings a sort of benign todash, but its always stiff after hes spent a couple of hours at his desk. He thinks of Jake. Hes sorry as hell that Jake died, and he guesses that when this last book is published, the readers are going to be just wild. And why not? Some of them have known Jake Chambers for twenty years, almost twice as long as the boy actually lived. Oh, theyll be wild, all right, and when he writes back and says hes as sorry as they are, as surprised as they are, will they believe him? Not on your tintype, as his grandfather used to say. He thinks of MiseryAnnie Wilkes calling Paul Sheldon a cockadoodie brat for trying to get rid of silly, bubbleheaded Misery Chastain. Annie shouting that Paul was the writer and the writer is God to his characters, he doesnt have to kill any of them if he doesnt want to. But hes not God. At least not in this case. He knows damned well that Jake Chambers wasnt there on the day of his accident, nor Roland Deschain, eitherthe ideas laughable, theyre makebelieve, for Christs sakebut he also knows that at some point the song he hears when he sits at his fancy Macintosh writingmachine became Jakes deathsong, and to ignore that would have been to lose touch with VesKa Gan entirely, and he must not do that. Not if he is to finish. That song is the only thread he has, the trail of breadcrumbs he must follow if he is ever to emerge from this bewildering forest of plot he has planted, and Are you sure you planted it? Well  no. In fact he is not. So call for the men in the white coats. And are you completely sure Jake wasnt there that day? After all, how much of the damned accident do you actually remember? Not much. He remembers seeing the top of Bryan Smiths van appear over the horizon, and realizing its not on the road, where it should be, but on the soft shoulder. After that he remembers Smith sitting on a rock wall, looking down at him, and telling him that his leg was broke in at least six places, maybe seven. But between these two memoriesthe one of the approach and the one of the immediate aftermaththe film of his memory has been burned red. Or almost red. But sometimes in the night, when he awakes from dreams he cant quite remember  Sometimes there are  well  Sometimes there are voices, he says. Why dont you just say it? And then, laughing I guess I just did. He hears the approaching click of toenails down the hall, and Marlowe pokes his long nose into the office. Hes a Welsh Corgi, with short legs and big ears, and a pretty old guy now, with his own aches and pains, not to mention the eye he lost to cancer the previous year. The vet said he probably wouldnt make it back from that one, but he did. What a good guy. What a tough guy. And when he raises his head from his necessarily low perspective to look at the writer, hes wearing his old fiendish grin. Hows it goin, bubba? that look seems to say. Gettin any good words today? How do ya? I do fine, he tells Marlowe. Hangin in. How are you doin? Marlowe (sometimes known as The Snoutmaster) waggles his arthritic rear end in response. You again. Thats what I said to him. And he asked, Do you remember me? Or maybe he said itYou remember me. I told him I was thirsty. He said he didnt have anything to drink, he said sorry, and I called him a liar. And I was right to call him a liar because he wasnt sorry a bit. He didnt care a row of pins if I was thirsty because Jake was dead and he tried to put it on me, son of a bitch tried to put the blame on me But none of that actually happened, King says, watching Marlowe waddle back toward the kitchen, where he will check his dish again before taking one of his increasingly long naps. The house is empty except for the two of them, and under those circumstances he often talks to himself. I mean, you know that, dont you? That none of it actually happened? He supposes he does, but it was so odd for Jake to die like that. Jake is in all his notes, and no surprise there, because Jake was supposed to be around until the very end. All of them were, in fact. Of course no story except a bad one, one that arrives DOA, is ever completely under the writers control, but this one is so out of control its ridiculous. It really is more like watching something happenor listening to a songthan writing a damned madeup story. He decides to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch and forget the whole damned thing for another day. Tonight he will go to see the new Clint Eastwood movie, Bloodwork, and be glad he can go anywhere, do anything. Tomorrow hell be back at his desk, and something from the film may slip out into the bookcertainly Roland himself was partly Clint Eastwood to start with, Sergio Leones Man with No Name. And  speaking of books  Lying on the coffeetable is one that came via FedEx from his office in Bangor just this morning The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Browning. It contains, of course, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came, the narrative poem that lies at the root of Kings long (and trying) story. An idea suddenly occurs to him, and it brings an expression to his face that stops just short of outright laughter. As if reading his feelings (and possibly he can; King has always suspected dogs are fairly recent migrs from that great Iknowjusthowyoufeel country of Empathica), Marlowes own fiendish grin appears to widen. One place for the poem, old boy, King says, and tosses the book back onto the coffeetable. Its a big un, and lands with a thud. One place and one place only. Then he settles deeper in the chair and closes his eyes. Just gonna sit here like this for a minute or two, he thinks, knowing hes fooling himself, knowing hell almost certainly doze off. As he does.  CHAPTER I THE THING UNDER THE CASTLE  ONE They did indeed find a goodsized kitchen and an adjoining pantry at groundlevel in the Arc 16 Experimental Station, and not far from the infirmary. They found something else, as well the office of sai Richard P. Sayre, once the Crimson Kings Head of Operations, now in the clearing at the end of the path courtesy of Susannah Deans fast right hand. Lying atop Sayres desk were amazingly complete files on all four of them. These they destroyed, using the shredder. There were photographs of Eddie and Jake in the folders that were simply too painful to look at. Memories were better. On Sayres wall were two framed oilpaintings. One showed a strong and handsome boy. He was shirtless, barefooted, touslehaired, smiling, dressed only in jeans and wearing a dockers clutch. He looked about Jakes age. This picture had a notquitepleasant sensuality about it. Susannah thought that the painter, sai Sayre, or both might have been part of the Lavender Hill Mob, as she had sometimes heard homosexuals called in the Village. The boys hair was black. His eyes were blue. His lips were red. There was a livid scar on his side and a birthmark on his left heel as crimson as his lips. A snowwhite horse lay dead before him. There was blood on its snarling teeth. The boys marked left foot rested on the horses flank, and his lips were curved in a smile of triumph. Thats Llamrei, Arthur Elds horse, Roland said. Its image was carried into battle on the pennons of Gilead, and was the sigul of all InWorld. So according to this picture, the Crimson King wins? she asked. Or if not him then Mordred, his son? Roland raised his eyebrows. Thanks to John Farson, the Crimson Kings men won the InWorld lands long ago, he said. But then he smiled. It was a sunny expression so unlike his usual look that seeing it always made Susannah feel dizzy. But I think we won the only battle that matters. Whats shown in this picture is no more than someones wishful fairytale. Then, with a savagery that startled her, he smashed the glass over the frame with his fist and yanked the painting free, ripping it most of the way down the middle as he did so. Before he could tear it to pieces, as he certainly meant to do, she stopped him and pointed to the bottom. Written there in small but nonetheless extravagant calligraphy was the artists name Patrick Danville. The other painting showed the Dark Tower, a sootygray black cylinder tapering upward. It stood at the far end of CanKa No Rey, the field of roses. In their dreams the Tower had seemed taller than the tallest skyscraper in New York (to Susannah this meant the Empire State Building). In the painting it looked to be no more than six hundred feet high, yet this robbed it of none of its dreamlike majesty. The narrow windows rose in an ascending spiral around it just as in their dreams. At the top was an oriel window of many colorseach, Roland knew, corresponding to one of the Wizards glasses. The inmost circle but one was the pink of the ball that had been left for awhile in the keeping of a certain witchwoman named Rhea; the center was the dead ebony of Black Thirteen. The room behind that window is where I would go, Roland said, tapping the glass over the picture. That is where my quest ends. His voice was low and awestruck. This picture wasnt done from any dream, Susannah. Its as if I could touch the texture of every brick. Do you agree? Yes. It was all she could say. Looking at it here on the late Richard Sayres wall robbed her breath. Suddenly it all seemed possible. The end of the business was, quite literally, in sight. The person who painted it must have been there, Roland mused. Must have set up his easel in the very roses. Patrick Danville, she said. Its the same signature as on the one of Mordred and the dead horse, do you see? I see it very well. And do you see the path through the roses that leads to the steps at the base? Yes. Nineteen steps, I have no doubt. Chassit. And the clouds overhead She saw them, too. They formed a kind of whirlpool before streaming away from the Tower, and toward the Place of the Turtle, at the other end of the Beam they had followed so far. And she saw another thing. Outside the barrel of the Tower, at what might have been fiftyfoot intervals, were balconies encircled with waisthigh wroughtiron railings. On the second of these was a blob of red and three tiny blobs of white a face that was too small to see, and a pair of upraised hands. Is that the Crimson King? she asked, pointing. She didnt quite dare put the tip of her finger on the glass over that tiny figure. It was as if she expected it to come to life and snatch her into the picture. Yes, Roland said. Locked out of the only thing he ever wanted. Then maybe we could go right up the stairs and past him. Give him the old raspberry on the way by. And when Roland looked puzzled at that, she put her tongue between her lips and demonstrated. This time the gunslingers smile was faint and distracted. I dont think it will be so easy, he said. Susannah sighed. Actually I dont, either. They had what theyd come forquite a bit more, in fact but they still found it hard to leave Sayres office. The picture held them. Susannah asked Roland if he didnt want to take it along. Certainly it would be simple enough to cut it out of the frame with the letteropener on Sayres desk and roll it up. Roland considered the idea, then shook his head. There was a kind of malevolent life in it that might attract the wrong sort of attention, like moths to a bright light. And even if that were not the case, he had an idea that both of them might spend too much time looking at it. The picture might distract them or, even worse, hypnotize them. In the end, maybe its just another mindtrap, he thought. Like Insomnia. Well leave it, he said. Soon enoughin months, maybe even weekswell have the real thing to look at. Do you say so? she asked faintly. Roland, do you really say so? I do. All three of us? Or will Oy and I have to die, too, in order to open your way to the Tower? After all, you started alone, didnt you? Maybe you have to finish that way. Isnt that how a writer would want it? That doesnt mean he can do it, Roland said. Stephen Kings not the water, Susannahhes only the pipe the water runs through. I understand what youre saying, but Im not sure I entirely believe it. Roland wasnt completely sure he did, either. He thought of pointing out to Susannah that Cuthbert and Alain had been with him at the true beginning of his quest, in Mejis, and when they set out from Gilead the next time, Jamie DeCurry had joined them, making the trio a quartet. But the quest had really started after the battle of Jericho Hill, and yes, by then he had been on his own.


I started lonejohn, but thats not how Ill finish, he said. She had been making her way quite handily from place to place in a rolling officechair. Now he plucked her out of it and settled her on his right hip, the one that no longer pained him. You and Oy will be with me when I climb the steps and enter the door, youll be with me when I climb the stairs, youll be with me when I deal with yon capering red goblin, and youll be with me when I enter the room at the top. Although Susannah did not say so, this felt like a lie to her. In truth it felt like a lie to both of them. TWO They brought canned goods, a skillet, two pots, two plates, and two sets of utensils back to the Fedic Hotel. Roland had added a flashlight that provided a feeble glow from nearly dead batteries, a butchers knife, and a handy little hatchet with a rubber grip. Susannah had found a pair of net bags in which to store this little bit of fresh gunna. She also found three cans of jellylike stuff on a high shelf in the pantry adjacent to the infirmary kitchen. Its Sterno, she told the gunslinger when he inquired. Good stuff. You can light it up. It burns slow and makes a blue flame hot enough to cook on. I thought wed build a little fire behind the hotel, he said. I wont need this smelly stuff to make one, certainly. He said it with a touch of contempt. No, I suppose not. But it might come in handy. How? I dont know, but  She shrugged. Near the door to the street they passed what appeared to be a janitors closet filled with piles of rickrack. Susannah had had enough of the Dogan for one day and was anxious to be out, but Roland wanted to have a look. He ignored the mop buckets and brooms and cleaning supplies in favor of a jumble of cords and straps heaped in a corner. Susannah guessed from the boards on top of which they lay that this stuff had once been used to build temporary scaffoldings. She also had an idea what Roland wanted the strappage for, and her heart sank. It was like going all the way back to the beginning. Thought I was done with piggybackin, she said crossly, and with more than a touch of Detta in her voice. Its the only way, I think, Roland said. Im just glad Im whole enough again to carry your weight. And that passage underneaths the only way through? Youre sure of that? I suppose there might be a way through the castle he began, but Susannah was already shaking her head. Ive been up top with Mia, dont forget. The drop into the Discordia on the far sides at least five hundred feet. Probably more. There might have been stairs in the longago, but theyre gone now. Then were for the passage, he said, and the passage is for us. Mayhap well find something for you to ride in once were on the other side. In another town or village. Susannah was shaking her head again. I think this is where civilization ends, Roland. And I think we better bundle up as much as we can, because its gonna get cold. Bundlingup materials seemed to be in short supply, however, unlike the foodstuffs. No one had thought to store a few extra sweaters and fleecelined jackets in vacuumpacked cans. There were blankets, but even in storage they had grown thin and fragile, just short of useless. I dont give a bedbugs ass, she said in a wan voice. Just as long as we get out of this place. We will, he said. THREE Susannah is in Central Park, and its cold enough to see her breath. The sky overhead is white from side to side, a snowsky. Shes looking down at the polar bear (whos rolling around on his rocky island, seeming to enjoy the cold just fine) when a hand snakes around her waist. Warm lips smack her cold cheek. She turns and there stand Eddie and Jake. They are wearing identical grins and nearly identical red stocking caps. Eddies says MERRY across the front and Jakes says CHRISTMAS. She opens her mouth to tell them You boys cant be here, you boys are dead, and then she realizes, with a great and singing relief, that all that business was just a dream she had. And really, how could you doubt it? There are no talking animals called billybumblers, not really, no taheencreatures with the bodies of humans and the heads of animals, no places called Fedic or Castle Discordia. Most of all, there are no gunslingers. John Kennedy was the last, her chauffeur Andrew was right about that. Brought you hot chocolate, Eddie says and holds it out to her. Its the perfect cup of hot chocolate, mit schlag on top and little sprinkles of nutmeg dotting the cream; she can smell it, and as she takes it she can feel his fingers inside his gloves and the first flakes of that winters snow drift down between them. She thinks how good it is to be alive in plain old New York, how great that reality is reality, that they are together in the Year of Our Lord What Year of Our Lord? She frowns, because this is a serious question, isnt it? After all, Eddies an eighties man and she never got any further than 1964 (or was it 65?). As for Jake, Jake Chambers with the word CHRISTMAS printed on the front of his happy hat, isnt he from the seventies? And if the three of them represent three decades from the second half of the twentieth century, what is their commonality? What year is this? NINETEEN, says a voice out of the air (perhaps it is the voice of Bango Skank, the Great Lost Character),this is NINETEEN, this is CHASSIT. All your friends are dead. With each word the world becomes more unreal. She can see through Eddie and Jake. When she looks down at the polar bear she sees its lying dead on its rock island with its paws in the air. The good smell of hot chocolate is fading, being replaced by a musty smell old plaster, ancient wood. The odor of a hotel room where no one has slept for years. No, her mind moans. No, I want Central Park, I want Mr. MERRY and Mr. CHRISTMAS, I want the smell of hot chocolate and the sight of Decembers first hesitant snowflakes, Ive had enough of Fedic, InWorld, MidWorld, and EndWorld. I want MyWorld. I dont care if I ever see the Dark Tower. Eddies and Jakes lips move in unison, as if they are singing a song she cant hear, but its not a song; the words she reads on their lips just before the dream breaks apart are FOUR Watch out for Dandelo. She woke up with these words on her own lips, shivering in the early notquitedawn light. And the breathseeing part of her dream was true, if no other. She felt her cheeks and wiped away the wetness there. It wasnt quite cold enough to freeze the tears to her skin, but justadamnbout. She looked around the dreary room here in the Fedic Hotel, wishing with all her heart that her dream of Central Park had been true. For one thing, shed had to sleep on the floor the bed was basically nothing but a rustsculpture waiting to disintegrateand her back was stiff. For another, the blankets shed used as a makeshift mattress and the ones shed wrapped around her had all torn to rags as she tossed and turned. The air was heavy with their dust, tickling her nose and coating her throat, making her feel like she was coming down with the worlds worst cold. Speaking of cold, she was shivering. And she needed to pee, which meant dragging herself down the hall on her stumps and halfnumbed hands. And none of that was really what was wrong with Susannah Odetta Holmes Dean this morning, all right? The problem was that she had just come from a beautiful dream to a world (this is NINETEEN all your friends are dead) where she was now so lonely that she felt halfcrazy with it. The problem was that the place where the sky was brightening was not necessarily the east. The problem was that she was tired and sad, homesick and heartsore, griefstruck and depressed. The problem was that, in this hour before dawn, in this frontier museumpiece of a hotel room where the air was full of musty blanketfibers, she felt as if all but the last two ounces of fuckyou had been squeezed out of her. She wanted the dream back. She wanted Eddie. I see youre up, too, said a voice, and Susannah whirled around, pivoting on her hands so quickly she picked up a splinter. The gunslinger leaned against the door between the room and the hall. He had woven the straps into the sort of carrier with which she was all too familiar, and it hung over his left shoulder. Hung over his right was a leather sack filled with their new possessions and the remaining Orizas. Oy sat at Rolands feet, looking at her solemnly. You scared the living Jesus out of me, sai Deschain, she said. Youve been crying. Isnt any of your nevermind if I have been or if I havent. Well feel better once were out of here, he said. Fedics curdled. She knew exactly what he meant. The wind had kicked up fierce in the night, and when it screamed around the eaves of the hotel and the saloon next door, it had sounded to Susannah like the screams of childrenwee ones so lost in time and space they would never find their way home. All right, but Rolandbefore we cross the street and go into that Dogan, I want your promise on one thing. What promise would you have? If something looks like getting ussome monster out of the Devils Arse or one from the todash betweenlandsyou put a bullet in my head before it happens. When it comes to yourself you can do whatever you want, but  what? What are you holding that out for? It was one of his revolvers. Because Im only really good with one of them these days. And because I wont be the one to take your life. If you should decide to do it yourself, however Roland, your fuckedup scruples never cease to amaze me, she said. Then she took the gun with one hand and pointed to the harness with the other. As for that thing, if you think Im gonna ride in it before I have to, youre crazy. A faint smile touched his lips. Its better when its the two of us, isnt it? She sighed, then nodded. A little bit, yeah, but far from perfect. Come on, big fella, lets blow this place. My ass is an icecube and the smell is killing my sinuses. FIVE He put her in the rolling officechair once they were back in the Dogan and pushed her in it as far as the first set of stairs, Susannah holding their gunna and the bag of Orizas in her lap. At the stairs the gunslinger booted the chair over the edge and then stood with Susannah on his hip, both of them wincing at the crashing echoes as the chair tumbled over and over to the bottom. Thats the end of that, she said when the echoes had finally ceased. You might as well have left it at the top for all the good its going to do me now. Well see, Roland said, starting down. You might be surprised. That thing aint gonna work fo shit an we bofe know it, Detta said. Oy uttered a short, sharp bark, as if to say Thats right. SIX The chair did survive its tumble, however. And the next, as well. But when Roland hunkered to examine the poor battered thing after being pushed down a third (and extremely long) flight of stairs, one of the casters was bent badly out of true. It reminded him a little of how her abandoned wheelchair had looked when theyd come upon it after the battle with the Wolves on the East Road. There, now, dint I tell you? she asked, and cackled. Reckon its time to start totin dat barge, Roland! He eyed her. Can you make Detta go away? She looked at him, surprised, then used her memory to replay the last thing she had said. She flushed. Yes, she said in a remarkably small voice. Say sorry, Roland. He picked her up and got her settled into the harness. Then they went on. As unpleasant as it was beneath the Doganas creepy as it was beneath the DoganSusannah was glad that they were putting Fedic behind them. Because that meant they were putting the rest of it behind them, too Lud, the Callas, Thunderclap, Algul Siento; New York City and western Maine, as well. The castle of the Red King was ahead, but she didnt think they had to worry much about it, because its most celebrated occupant had run mad and decamped for the Dark Tower. The extraneous was slipping away. They were closing in on the end of their long journey, and there was little else to worry about. That was good. And if she should happen to fall on her way to Rolands obsession? Well, if there was only darkness on the other side of existence (as she had for most of her adult life believed), then nothing was lost, as long as it wasnt todash darkness, a place filled with creeping monsters. And, hey! Perhaps there was an afterlife, a heaven, a reincarnation, maybe even a resurrection in the clearing at the end of the path. She liked that last idea, and had now seen enough wonders to believe it might be so. Perhaps Eddie and Jake would be waiting for her there, all bundled up and with the first downdrifting snowflakes of winter getting caught in their eyebrows Mr. MERRY and Mr. CHRISTMAS, offering her hot chocolate. Mit schlag. Hot chocolate in Central Park! What was the Dark Tower compared to that? SEVEN They passed through the rotunda with its doors to everywhere; they came eventually to the wide passage with the sign on the wall reading SHOW ORANGE PASS ONLY, BLUE PASS NOT ACCEPTED. A little way down it, in the glow of one of the stillworking fluorescent lights (and near the forgotten rubber moccasin), they saw something printed on the tile wall and detoured down to read it. Under the main message they had signed their names Fred Worthington, Dani Rostov, Ted Brautigan, and Dinky Earnshaw. Below the names were two more lines, written in another hand. Susannah thought it was Teds, and reading them made her feel like crying God love em, Susannah said hoarsely. May God love and keep em all. Keepum, said a small and rather timid voice from Rolands heel. They looked down. Decided to talk again, sugarpie? Susannah asked, but to this Oy made no reply. It was weeks before he spoke again. EIGHT Twice they got lost. Once Oy rediscovered their way through the maze of tunnels and passagessome moaning with distant drafts, some alive with sounds that were closer and more menacingand once Susannah came back to the route herself, spotting a Mounds Bar wrapper Dani had dropped. The Algul had been wellstocked with candy, and the girl had brought plenty with her. (Although not one single change of clothes, Susannah said with a laugh and a shake of her head.) At one point, in front of an ancient ironwood door that looked to Roland like the ones hed found on the beach, they heard an unpleasant chewing sound. Susannah tried to imagine what might be making such a noise and could think of nothing but a giant, disembodied mouth full of yellow fangs streaked with dirt. On the door was an indecipherable symbol. Just looking at it made her uneasy. Do you know what that says? she asked. Rolandalthough he spoke over half a dozen languages and was familiar with many moreshook his head. Susannah was relieved. She had an idea that if you knew the sound that symbol stood for, youd want to say it. Might have to say it. And then the door would open. Would you want to run when you saw the thing that was chewing on the other side? Probably. Would you be able to? Maybe not. Shortly after passing this door they went down another, shorter, flight of stairs. I guess I forgot this one when we were talking yesterday, but I remember it now, she said, and pointed to the dust on the risers, which was disturbed. Look, theres our tracks. Fred carried me going down, Dinky when we came back up. Were almost there now, Roland, promise you. But she got lost again in the warren of diverging passages at the bottom of the stairs and this was when Oy put them right, trotting down a dim, tunnellike passage where the gunslinger had to walk bentover with Susannah clinging to his neck. I dont know Susannah began, and that was when Oy led them into a brighter corridor (comparatively brighter half of the overhead fluorescents were out, and many of the tiles had fallen from the walls, revealing the dark and oozy earth beneath). The bumbler sat down on a scuffed confusion of tracks and looked at them as if to say, Is this what you wanted? Yeah, she said, obviously relieved. Okay. Look, just like I told you. She pointed to a door marked FORDS THEATER, 1865 SEE THE LINCOLN ASSASSINATION. Beside it, under glass, was a poster for Our American Cousin that looked as if it had been printed the day before. What we wants just down here a little way. Two lefts and then a rightI think. Anyway, Ill know it when I see it. Through it all Roland was patient with her. He had a nasty idea which he did not share with Susannah that the maze of passageways and corridors down here might be in drift, just as the points of the compass were, in what he was already thinking of as the world above. If so, they were in trouble. It was hot down here, and soon they were both sweating freely. Oy panted harshly and steadily, like a little engine, but kept a steady pace beside the gunslingers left heel. There was no dust on the floor, and the tracks theyd seen off and on earlier were gone. The noises from behind the doors were louder, however, and as they passed one, something on the other side thumped it hard enough to make it shudder in its frame. Oy barked at it, laying his ears back against his skull, and Susannah voiced a little scream. Steadyoh, Roland said. It cant break through. None of them can break through. Are you sure of that? Yes, said the gunslinger firmly. He wasnt sure at all. A phrase of Eddies occurred to him All bets are off. They skirted the puddles, being careful not even to touch the ones that were glowing with what might have been radiation or witchlight. They passed a broken pipe that was exhaling a listless plume of green steam, and Susannah suggested they hold their breath until they were well past it. Roland thought that an extremely good idea. Thirty or forty yards further along she bid him stop. I dont know, Roland, she said, and he could hear her struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. I thought we had it made in the shade when I saw the Lincoln door, but now this  this here  Her voice wavered and he felt her draw a deep breath, struggling to get herself under control. This all looks different. And the sounds  how they get in your head  He knew what she meant. On their left was an unmarked door that had settled crookedly against its hinges, and from the gap at the top came the atonal jangle of todash chimes, a sound that was both horrible and fascinating. With the chimes came a steady draft of stinking air. Roland had an idea she was about to suggest they go back while they still could, maybe rethink this whole goingunderthecastle idea, and so he said, Lets see whats up there. Its a little brighter, anyway. As they neared an intersection from which passages and tiled corridors rayed off in all directions, he felt her shift against him, sitting up. There! she shouted. That pile of rubble! We walked around that! We walked around that, Roland, I remember! Part of the ceiling had fallen into the middle of the intersection, creating a jumble of broken tiles, smashed glass, snags of wire, and plain old dirt. Along the edge of it were tracks. Down there! she cried. Straight ahead! Ted said, I think this is the one they called Main Street and Dinky said he thought so, too. Dani Rostov said that a long time ago, around the time the Crimson King did whatever it was that darkened Thunderclap, a whole bunch of people used that way to get out. Only they left some of their thoughts behind. I asked her what feeling that was like and she said it was a little like seeing dirty soapscum on the sides of the tub after you let out the water. Not nice, she said. Fred marked it and then we went all the way back up to the infirmary. I dont want to brag and queer the deal, but I think were gonna be okay. And they were, at least for the time being. Eighty paces beyond the pile of rubble they came upon an arched opening. Beyond it, flickering white balls of radiance hung down from the ceiling, leading off at a downwardsloping angle. On the wall, in four chalkstrokes that had already started to run because of the moisture seeping through the tiles, was the last message left for them by the liberated Breakers They rested here for awhile, eating handfuls of raisins from a vacuumsealed can. Even Oy nibbled a few, although it was clear from the way he did it that he didnt care for them much. When theyd all eaten their fill and Roland had once more stored the can in the leather sack hed found along the way, he asked her Are you ready to go on? Yes. Right away, I think, before I lose mymy God, Roland, what was that? From behind them, probably from one of the passages leading away from the rubblechoked intersection, had come a low thudding sound. It had a liquid quality to it, as if a giant in waterfilled rubber boots had just taken a single step. I dont know, he said. Susannah was looking uneasily back over her shoulder but could see only shadows. Some of them were moving, but that could have been because some of the lights were flickering. Could have been. You know, she said, I think it might be a good idea if we vacated this area just about as fast as we can. I think youre right, he said, resting on one knee and the splayed tips of his fingers, like a runner getting ready to burst from the blocks. When she was back in the harness, he got to his feet and moved past the arrow on the wall, setting a pace that was just short of a jog. NINE They had been moving at that nearjog for about fifteen minutes when they came upon a skeleton dressed in the remains of a rotting military uniform. There was still a flap of scalp on its head and tuft of listless black hair sprouting from it. The jaw grinned, as if welcoming them to the underworld. Lying on the floor beside the things naked pelvis was a ring that had finally slipped from one of the moldering fingers of the dead mans right hand. Susannah asked Roland if she could have a closer look. He picked it up and handed it to her. She examined it just long enough to confirm what she had thought, then cast it aside. It made a little clink and then there were only the sounds of dripping water and the todash chimes, fainter now but persistent. What I thought, she said. And what was that? he asked, moving on again. The guy was an Elk. My father had the same damn ring. An elk? I dont understand. Its a fraternal order. A kind of goodoleboy katet. But what in the hell would an Elk be doing down here? A Shriner, now, that I could understand. And she laughed, a trifle wildly. The hanging bulbs were filled with some brilliant gas that pulsed with a rhythmic but not quite constant beat. Susannah knew there was something there to get, and after a little while she got it. While Roland was hurrying, the pulse of the guidelights was rapid. When he slowed down (never stopping but conserving his energy, all the same), the pulse in the globes also slowed down. She didnt think they were responding to his heartbeat, exactly, or hers, but that was part of it. (Had she known the term biorhythm, she would have seized upon it.) Fifty yards or so ahead of their position at any given time, Main Street was dark. Then, one by one, the lights would come on as they approached. It was mesmerizing. She turned to look backonly once, she didnt want to throw him off his stride and saw that, yes, the lights were going dark again fifty yards or so behind. These lights were much brighter than the flickering globes at the entrance to Main Street, and she guessed that those ran off some other powersource, one that was (like almost everything else in this world) starting to give out. Then she noticed that one of the globes they were approaching remained dark. As they neared and then passed under it, she saw that it wasnt completely dead; a dim core of illumination burned feebly deep inside, twitching to the beat of their bodies and brains. It reminded her of how youd sometimes see a neon sign with one or more letters on the fritz, turning PABST into PA ST or TASTY BRATWURST into TASTY RATWURST. A hundred feet or so further on they came to another burntout bulb, then another, then two in a row. Chances are good were gonna be in the dark before long, she said glumly. I know, Roland said. He was starting to sound the teensiest bit out of breath. The air was still dank, and a chill was gradually replacing the heat. There were posters on the walls, most rotted far beyond the point of readability. On a dry stretch of wall she saw one that depicted a man who had just lost an arena battle to a tiger. The big cat was yanking a bloody snarl of intestines from the screaming mans belly while the crowd went nuts. There was one line of copy in half a dozen different languages. English was second from the top. VISIT CIRCUS MAXIMUS! YOU WILL CHEER! it said. Christ, Roland, Susannah said. Christ almighty, what were they? Roland did not reply, although he knew the answer they were folken who had run mad. TEN At hundredyard intervals, little flights of stairsthe longest was only ten risers from top to bottomtook them gradually deeper into the bowels of the earth. After theyd gone what Susannah estimated to be a quarter of a mile, they came to a gate that had been torn away, perhaps by some sort of vehicle, and smashed to flinders. Here were more skeletons, so many that Roland had to tread upon some in order to pass. They did not crunch but made a damp puttering sound that was somehow worse. The smell that arose from them was sallow and wet. Most of the tiles had been torn away above these bodies, and those that were still on the walls had been pocked with bulletholes. A firefight, then. Susannah opened her mouth to say something about it, but before she could, that low thudding sound came again. She thought it was a little louder this time. A little closer. She looked behind her again and saw nothing. The lights fifty yards back were still going dark in a line. I dont like to sound paranoid, Roland, but I think we are being followed. I know we are. You want me to throw a shot at it? Or a plate? That whistling can be pretty spooky. No. Why not? It may not know what we are. If you shoot  it will. It took her a moment to realize what he was really saying he wasnt sure bulletsor an Orizawould stop whatever was back there. Or, worse, perhaps he was sure. When she spoke again, she worked very hard to sound calm, and thought she succeeded tolerably well. Its something from that crack in the earth, do you think? It might be, Roland said. Or it might be something that got through from todash space. Now hush. The gunslinger went on more quickly, finally reaching jogging pace and then passing it. She was amazed by his mobility now that the pain that had troubled his hip was gone, but she could hear his breathing as well as feel it in the rise and fall of his backquick, gasping intakes followed by rough expulsions that sounded almost like cries of annoyance. She would have given anything to be running beside him on her own legs, the strong ones Jack Mort had stolen from her. The overhead globes pulsed faster now, the pulsation easier to see because there were fewer of them. In between, their combined shadow would stretch long ahead of them, then shorten little by little as they approached the next light. The air was cooler; the ceramic stuff which floored the passage less and less even. In places it had split apart and pieces of it had been tossed aside, leaving traps for the unwary. These Oy avoided with ease, and so far Roland had been able to avoid them, too. She was about to tell him that she hadnt heard their follower for awhile when something behind them pulled in a great gasping breath. She felt the air around her reverse direction; felt the tight curls on her head spring wildly about as the air was sucked backward. There was an enormous slobbering noise that made her feel like screaming. Whatever was back there, it was big. No. Enormous. ELEVEN They pelted down another of those short stairways. Fifty yards beyond it, three more of the pulsing globes bloomed with unsteady light, but after that there was just darkness. The ragged tiled sides of the passage and its uneven, decaying floor melted into a void so deep that it looked like a physical substance great clouds of loosely packed black felt. They would run into it, she thought, and at first their momentum would continue to carry them forward. Then the stuff would shove them backward like a spring, and whatever was back there would be on them. She would catch a glimpse of it, something so awful and alien her mind would not be able to recognize it, and that might be a mercy. Then it would pounce, and Roland ran into the darkness without slowing, and of course they did not bounce back. At first there was a little light, some from behind them and some from the globes overhead (a few were still giving off a last dying core of radiance). Just enough to see another short stairway, its upper end flanked by crumbling skeletons wearing a few wretched rags of clothing. Roland hurried down the steps  there were nine in this flight  without stopping. Oy ran at his side, ears back against his skull, fur rippling sleekly, almost dancing his way down. Then they were in pure dark. Bark, Oy, so we dont run into each other! Roland snapped. Bark! Oy barked. A thirtycount later, he snapped the same order and Oy barked again. Roland, what if we come to another stairway? We will, he said, and a ninetycount after that, they did. She felt him tip forward, feet stuttering. She felt the muscles in his shoulders jump as he put his hands out before him, but they did not fall. Susannah could only marvel at his reflexes. His boots rapped unhesitatingly downward in the dark. Twelve steps this time? Fourteen? They were back on the flat surface of the passageway before she could get a good count. So now she knew he was capable of negotiating stairs even in the dark, even at a dead run. Only what if he stuck his foot in a hole? God knew it was possible, given the way the flooring had rotted. Or suppose they came to a stacked bonebarrier of skeletons? In the flat passageway, at the speed he was now running, that would mean a nasty tumble at the very least. Or suppose they ran into a jumble of bones at the head of one of the little stairways? She tried to block the vision of Roland swooping out into blackness like a crippled highdiver and couldnt quite do it. How many of their bones would be broken when they crashlanded at the bottom? Shit, sugar, pick a number, Eddie might have said. This flatout run was insanity. But there was no choice. She could hear the thing behind them all too clearly now, not just its slobbering breath but a sandpapery rasping sound as something slid across one of the passageway wallsor maybe both. Every now and then shed also hear a clink and a clitter as a tile was torn off. It was impossible not to construct a picture from these sounds, and what Susannah began to see was a great black worm whose segmented body filled the passage from side to side, occasionally ripping off loose ceramic squares and crushing them beneath its gelatinous body as it rushed ever onward, hungry, closing the gap between it and them. And closing it much more rapidly now. Susannah thought she knew why. Before, they had been running in a moving island of light. Whatever that thing behind them was, it didnt like the light. She thought of the flashlight Roland had added to their gunna, but without fresh batteries, it would be next to useless. Twenty seconds after flicking the switch on its long barrel, the damn thing would be dead. Except  wait a minute. Its barrel. Its long barrel! Susannah reached into the leather bag bouncing around at Rolands side, finding tins of food, but those werent the tins she wanted. At last she found one that she did, recognizing it by the circular gutter running around the lid. There was no time to wonder why it should feel so immediately and intimately familiar; Detta had her secrets, and something to do with Sterno was probably one of them.


She held the can up to smell and be sure, then promptly bashed herself on the bridge of the nose with it when Roland stumbled over somethingmaybe a chunk of flooring, maybe another skeletonand had to battle again for balance. He won this time, too, but eventually hed lose and the thing back there might be on them before he could get up. Susannah felt warm blood begin to course down her face and the thing behind them, perhaps smelling it, let loose an enormous damp cry. She thought of a gigantic alligator in a Florida swamp, raising its scaly head to bay at the moon. And it was so close. Oh dear God give me time, she thought. I dont want to go like this, getting shots one thing, but getting eaten alive in the dark That was another. Go faster! she snarled at Roland, and thumped at his sides with her thighs, like a rider urging on a weary horse. Somehow, Roland did. His respiration was now an agonized roar. He had not breathed so even after dancing the commala. If he kept on, his heart would burst in his chest. But Faster, Tex! Let it all out, goddammit! I might have a trick up my sleeve, but in the meantime you give it everydamneverything you got! And there in the dark beneath Castle Discordia, Roland did. TWELVE She plunged her free hand once more into the bag and it closed on the flashlights barrel. She pulled it out and tucked it under her arm (knowing if she dropped it they were gone for sure), then snapped back the tabrelease on the Sterno can, relieved to hear the momentary hiss as the vacuumseal broke. Relieved but not surprisedif the seal had been broken, the flammable jelly inside would have evaporated long ago and the can would have been lighter. Roland! she shouted. Roland, I need matches! Shirt pocket! he panted. Reach for them! But first she dropped the flashlight into the seam where her crotch met the middle of his back, then snatched it up just before it could slide away. Now, with a good hold on it, she plunged the barrel into the can of Sterno. To grab one of the matches while holding the can and the jellycoated flashlight would have taken a third hand, so she jettisoned the can. There were two others in the bag, but if this didnt work shed never have a chance to reach for one of them. The thing bellowed again, sounding as if it were right behind them. Now she could smell it, the aroma like a load of fish rotting in the sun. She reached over Rolands shoulder and plucked a single match from his pocket. There might be time to light one; not for two. Roland and Eddie were able to pop them alight with their thumbnails, but Detta Walker had known a trick worth two of that, had used it on more than one occasion to impress her whiteboy victims in the roadhouses where shed gone trolling. She grimaced in the dark, peeling her lips away from her teeth, and placed the head of the match between the two front ones on top. Eddie, if youre there, help me, sugarhelp me do right. She struck the match. Something hot burned the roof of her mouth and she tasted sulfur on her tongue. The head of the match nearly blinded her darkadapted eyes, but she could see well enough to touch it to the jellycoated barrel of the flashlight. The Sterno caught at once, turning the barrel into a torch. It was weak but it was something. Turn around! she screamed. Roland skidded to a stop immediatelyno questions, no protestand pivoted on his heels. She held the burning flashlight out before her and for a moment they both saw the head of something wet and covered with pink albino eyes. Below them was a mouth the size of a trapdoor, filled with squirming tentacles. The Sterno didnt burn brightly, but in this Stygian blackness it was bright enough to make the thing recoil. Before it disappeared into the blackness again, she saw all those eyes squeezing shut and had a moment to think of how sensitive they must be if even a little guttering flame like this could Lining the floor of the passageway on both sides were jumbled heaps of bones. In her hand, the bulb end of the flashlight was already growing warm. Oy was barking frantically, looking back into the dark with his head down and his short legs splayed, every hair standing on end. Squat down, Roland, squat! He did and she handed him the makeshift torch, which was already beginning to gutter, the yellow flames running up and down the stainless steel barrel turning blue. The thing in the dark let out another deafening roar, and now she could see its shape again, weaving from side to side. It was creeping closer as the light faltered. If the floors wet here, were most likely done, she thought, but the touch of her fingers as she groped for a thighbone suggested it was not. Perhaps that was a false message sent by her hopeful sensesshe could certainly hear water dripping from the ceiling somewhere up aheadbut she didnt think so. She reached into the bag for another can of Sterno, but at first the releasering defied her. The thing was coming and now she could see any number of short, misshapen legs beneath its raised lump of a head. Not a worm after all but some kind of giant centipede. Oy placed himself in front of her, still barking, every tooth on display. It was Oy the thing would take first if she couldnt Then her finger slipped into the ring lying almost flat against the lid of the can. There was a pophissh sound. Roland was waving the flashlight back and forth, trying to fan a little life into the guttering flames (which might have worked had there been fuel for them), and she saw their fading shadows rock deliriously back and forth on the decaying tile walls. The circumference of the bone was too big for the can. Now lying in an awkward sprawl, half in and half out of the harness, she dipped into it, brought out a handful of jelly, and slathered it up and down the bone. If the bone was wet, this would only buy them a few more seconds of horror. If it was dry, however, then maybe just maybe  The thing was creeping ever closer. Amid the tentacles sprouting from its mouth she could see jutting fangs. In another moment it would be close enough to lunge at Oy, taking him with the speed of a gecko snatching a fly out of the air. Its rottedfish aroma was strong and nauseating. And what might be behind it? What other abominations? No time to think about that now. She touched her thighbone torch to the fading flames licking along the barrel of the flashlight. The bloom of fire was greater than she had expectedfar greaterand the things scream this time was filled with pain as well as surprise. There was a nasty squelching sound, like mud being squeezed in a vinyl raincoat, and it lashed backward. Git me more bones, she said as Roland cast the flashlight aside. And make sure theyre dem drah bones. She laughed at her own wit (since nobody else would), a downanddirty Detta cackle. Still gasping for breath, Roland did as she told him. THIRTEEN They resumed their progress along the passage, Susannah now riding backward, a position that was difficult but not impossible. If they got out of here, her back would ache a bitch for the next day or two. And Ill relish every single throb, she told herself. Roland still had the Bridgton Old Home Days teeshirt Irene Tassenbaum had bought him. He handed it up to Susannah. She wrapped it around the bottom of the bone and held it out as far as she possibly could while still keeping her balance. Roland wasnt able to runshe would have surely tumbled out of the harness had he tried doing thatbut he maintained a good fast walking pace, pausing every now and then to pick up a likelylooking arm or legbone. Oy soon got the idea and began bringing them to the gunslinger in his mouth. The thing continued to follow them. Every now and then Susannah caught a glimpse of its slickgleaming skin, and even when it drew back beyond the chancy light of her current torch they would hear those liquid stomping sounds, like a giant in mudfilled boots. She began to think it was the sound of the things tail. This filled her with a horror that was unreasoning and private and almost powerful enough to undo her mind. That it should have a tail! her mind nearly raved. A tail that sounds like its filled with water or jelly or halfcoagulated blood! Christ! My God! My Christ! It wasnt just light keeping it from attacking them, she reckoned, but fear of fire. The thing must have hung back while they were in the part of the passage where the glowglobes still worked, thinking (if it could think) that it would wait and take them once they were in the dark. She had an idea that if it had known they had access to fire, it might simply have closed some or all of its many eyes and pounced on them where a few of the globes were out and the light was dimmer. Now it was at least temporarily out of luck, because the bones made surprisingly good torches (the idea that they were being helped by the recovering Beam in this regard did not cross her mind). The only question was whether or not the Sterno would hold out. She was able to conserve now because the bones burned on their own once they were goingexcept for a couple of damp ones that she had to cast aside after lighting her next torches from their guttering tipsbut you did have to get them going, and she was already deep into the third and last can. She bitterly regretted the one shed tossed away when the thing had been closing in on them, but didnt know what else she could have done. She also wished Roland would go faster, although she guessed he now couldnt have maintained much speed even if shed been faced around the right way and holding onto him. Maybe a short burst, but surely no more. She could feel his muscles trembling under his shirt. He was close to blown out. Five minutes later, while getting a handful of canned heat to slather on a bony bulb of knee atop a shinbone, her fingers touched the bottom of the Sterno can. From the darkness behind them came another of those watery stomping sounds. The tail of their friend, her mind insisted. It was keeping pace. Waiting for them to run out of fuel and for the world to go dark again. Then it would pounce. Then it would eat. FOURTEEN They were going to need a fallback position. She became sure of that almost as soon as the tips of her fingers touched the bottom of the can. Ten minutes and three torches later, Susannah prepared to tell the gunslinger to stop whenand ifthey came to another especially large ossuary. They could make a bonfire of rags and bones, and once it was going hot and bright, theyd simply run like hell. Whenand ifthey heard the thing on their side of the firebarrier again, Roland could lighten his load and speed his heels by leaving her behind. She saw this idea not as selfsacrificing but merely logicalthere was no reason for the monstrous centipede to get both of them if they could avoid it. And she had no plans to let it take her, as far as that went. Certainly not alive. She had his gun, and shed use it. Five shots for Sai Centipede; if it kept coming after that, the sixth for herself. Before she could say any of these things, however, Roland got in three words that stopped all of hers. Light, he panted. Up ahead. She craned around and at first saw nothing, probably because of the torch shed been holding out. Then she did a faint white glow. More of those globes? she asked. A stretch of them that are still working? Maybe. I dont think so. Five minutes later she realized she could see the floor and walls in the light of her latest torch. The floor was covered with a fine scrim of dust and pebbles such as could only have been blown in from outside. Susannah threw her arms up over her head, one hand holding a blazing bone wrapped in a shirt, and gave a scream of triumph. The thing behind her answered with a roar of fury and frustration that did her heart good even as it pebbled her skin with goosebumps. Goodbye, honey! she screamed. Goodbye, you eyecovered muthafuck! It roared again and thrust itself forward. For one moment she saw it plain a huge round lump that couldnt be called a face in spite of the lolling mouth; the segmented body, scratched and oozing from contact with the rough walls; a quartet of stubby armlike appendages, two on each side. These ended in snapping pincers. She shrieked and thrust the torch back at it, and the thing retreated with another deafening roar. Did your mother never teach you that its wrong to tease the animals? Roland asked her, and his tone was so dry she couldnt tell if he was kidding her or not. Five minutes after that they were out. CHAPTER II ON BADLANDS AVENUE  ONE They exited through a crumbling hillside arch beside a Quonset hut similar in shape but much smaller than the Arc 16 Experimental Station. The roof of this little building was covered with rust. There were piles of bones scattered around the front in a rough ring. The surrounding rocks had been blackened and splintered in places; one boulder the size of the Queen Anne house where the Breakers had been kept was split in two, revealing an interior filled with sparkling minerals. The air was cold and they could hear the restless whine of the wind, but the rocks blocked the worst of it and they turned their faces up to the sharp blue sky with wordless gratitude. There was some kind of battle here, wasnt there? she asked. Yes, Id say so. A big one, long ago. He sounded utterly whipped. A sign lay facedown on the ground in front of the Quonsets halfopen door. Susannah insisted that he put her down so she could turn it over and read it. Roland did as she asked and then sat with his back propped against a rock, staring at Castle Discordia, which was now behind them. Two towers jutted into the blue, one whole and the other shattered off near what he judged had been the top. He concentrated on getting his breath back. The ground under him was very cold, and he knew already that their trek through the Badlands was going to be difficult. Susannah, meanwhile, had lifted the sign. She held it with one hand and wiped off an ancient scrum of dirt with the other. The words she uncovered were in English, and gave her a deep chill THIS CHECKPOINT IS CLOSED. FOREVER. Below it, in red, seeming to glare at her, was the Eye of the King. TWO There was nothing in the Quonsets main room but jumbles of equipment that had been blasted to ruin and more skeletons, none whole. In the adjoining storeroom, however, she found delightful surprises shelves and shelves of canned foodmore than they could possibly carryand also more Sterno. (She did not think Roland would sneer at the idea of canned heat anymore, and she was right.) She poked her head out of the storerooms rear door almost as an afterthought, not expecting to find anything except maybe a few more skeletons, and there was one. The prize was the vehicle in which this loose agglomeration of bones was resting a dogcart a bit like the one shed found herself sitting in atop the castle, during her palaver with Mia. This one was both smaller and in much better shape. Instead of wood, the wheels were metal coated with thin rinds of some synthetic stuff. Pullhandles jutted from the sides, and she realized it wasnt a dogcart at all, but a kind of rickshaw. Git ready to pull yo sweetie, graymeat! This was a typically nasty Detta Walker thought, but it surprised a laugh out of her, all the same. What have you found thats amusing? Roland called. Youll see, she called back, straining to keep Detta out of her voice, at least. In this she did not entirely succeed. You gonna see soon enough, sho. THREE There was a small motor at the rear of the rickshaw, but both saw at a glance it had been ages since it had run. In the storeroom Roland found a few simple tools, including an adjustable wrench. It was frozen with its jaw open, but an application of oil (in what was to Susannah a very familiar redandblack 3In1 can) got it working again. Roland used the wrench to unbolt the motor from its mounts and then tumbled it off the side. While he worked and Susannah did what Daddy Mose would have called the heavy lookingon, Oy sat forty paces outside the arch through which they had exited, clearly on guard against the thing that had followed them in the dark. No more than fifteen pounds, Roland said, wiping his hands on his jeans and looking at the tumbled motor, but I reckon Ill be glad we got rid of it by the time were done with this thing. When do we start? she asked. As soon as weve loaded as much canned stuff into the back as I think I can carry, he said, and fetched a heavy sigh. His face was pale and stubbly. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, new lines carving his cheeks and descending to his jaw from the corners of his mouth. He looked as thin as a whip. Roland, you cant! Not so soon! Youre done up! He gestured at Oy, sitting so patiently, and at the maw of darkness forty paces beyond him. Do you want to be this close to that hole when dark comes? We can build a fire It may have friends, he said, that arent shy of fire. While we were in yonder shaft, that thing wouldnt have wanted to share us because it didnt think it had to share. Now it might not care, especially if its vengeanceminded. A thing like that cant think. Surely not. This was easier to believe now that they were out. But she knew she might change her mind once the shadows began to grow long and pool together. I dont think its a chance we can afford to take, Roland said. She decided, very reluctantly, that he was right. FOUR Luckily for them, this first stretch of the narrow path winding into the Badlands was mostly level, and when they did come to an uphill stretch, Roland made no objection to Susannahs getting out and hopping gamely along behind what she had dubbed Ho Fats Luxury Taxi until they reached the crest of the hill. Little by little, Castle Discordia fell behind them. Roland kept going after the rocks had blocked the blasted tower from their view, but when the other one was gone as well, he pointed to a stony bower beside the path and said, Thats where well camp tonight, unless you have objections. She had none. Theyd brought along enough bones and khaki rags to make a fire, but Susannah knew the fuel wouldnt last long. The bits of cloth would burn as rapidly as newspaper and the bones would be gone before the hands of Rolands fancy new watch (which he had shown her with something like reverence) stood together at midnight. And tomorrow night there would likely be no fire at all and cold food eaten directly from the cans. She was aware that things could have been ever so much worseshe put the daytime temperature at fortyfive degrees, give or take, and they did have foodbut she would have given a great deal for a sweater; even more for a pair of longjohns. Probably well find more stuff we can use for fuel as we go along, she said hopefully once the fire was lit (the burning bones gave off a nasty smell, and they were careful to sit downwind). Weeds  bushes  more bones  maybe even deadwood. I dont think so, he said. Not on this side of the Crimson Kings castle. Not even devilgrass, which grows damned near anywhere in MidWorld. You dont know that. Not for sure. She couldnt bear thinking about days and days of unvarying chill, with the two of them dressed for nothing more challenging than a spring day in Central Park. I think he murdered this land when he darkened Thunderclap, Roland mused. It probably wasnt much of a shake to begin with, and its sterile now. But count your blessings. He reached over and touched a pimple that had popped out of her skin beside her full lower lip. A hundred years ago this might have darkened and spread and eaten your skin right off your bones. Gotten into your brain and run you mad before you died. Cancer? Radiation? Roland shrugged as if to say it didnt matter. Somewhere beyond the Crimson Kings castle we may come to grasslands and even forests again, but the grass will likely be buried under snow when we get there, for the seasons wrong. I can feel it in the air, see it in the way the days darkening so quickly. She groaned, striving for comic effect, but what came out was a sound of fear and weariness so real that it frightened her. Oy pricked up his ears and looked around at them. Why dont you cheer me up a little, Roland? You need to know the truth, he said. We can get on as we are for a good long while, Susannah, but it isnt going to be pleasant. We have food enough in yonder cart to keep us for a month or more, if we stretch it out  and we will. When we come again to land thats alive, well find animals even if there is snow. And thats what I want. Not because well be hungry for fresh meat by then, although we will be, but because well need the hides. I hope we wont need them desperately, that it wont be that near a thing, but But youre afraid it will. Yes, he said. Im afraid it will. For over a long period of time theres little in life so disheartening as constant coldnot deep enough to kill, mayhap, but always there, stealing your energy and your will and your bodyfat, an ounce at a time. Im afraid were in for a very hard stretch. Youll see. She did. FIVE Theres little in life thats so disheartening as constant cold. The days werent so bad. They were on the move, at least, exercising and keeping their blood up. Yet even during the days she began to dread the open areas they sometimes came to, where the wind howled across miles of broken bushless rock and between the occasional butte or mesa. These stuck up into the unvarying blue sky like the red fingers of otherwise buried stone giants. The wind seemed to grow ever sharper as they trudged below the milky swirls of cloud moving along the Path of the Beam. She would hold her chapped hands up to shield her face from it, hating the way her fingers would never go completely numb but instead turned into dazed things full of buried buzzings. Her eyes would well up with water, and then the tears would gush down her cheeks. These teartracks never froze; the cold wasnt that bad. It was just deep enough to make their lives a slowly escalating misery. For what pittance would she have sold her immortal soul during those unpleasant days and horrible nights? Sometimes she thought a single sweater would have purchased it; at other times she thought No, honey, you got too much selfrespect, even now. Would you be willing to spend an eternity in hellor maybe in the todash darknessfor a single sweater? Surely not! Well, maybe not. But if the devil tempting her were to throw in a pair of earmuffs And it would have taken so little, really, to make them comfortable. She thought of this constantly. They had the food, and they had water, too, because at fifteenmile intervals along the path they came to pumps that still worked, pulling great cold gushes of mineraltasting water from deep under the Badlands. Badlands. She had hours and days and, ultimately, weeks to meditate on that word. What made lands bad? Poisoned water? The water out here wasnt sweet, not by any means, but it wasnt poisoned, either. Lack of food? They had food, although she guessed it might become a problem later on, if they didnt find more. In the meantime she was getting almighty tired of corned beef hash, not to mention raisins for breakfast and raisins if you wanted dessert. Yet it was food. Bodygasoline. What made the Badlands bad when you had food and water? Watching the sky turn first gold and then russet in the west; watching it turn purple and then starshot black in the east. She watched the days end with increasing dread the thought of another endless night, the three of them huddled together while the wind whined and twined its way through the rocks and the stars glared down. Endless stretches of cold purgatory while your feet and fingers buzzed and you thought If I only had a sweater and a pair of gloves, I could be comfortable. Thats all it would take, just a sweater and a pair of gloves. Because its really not that cold. Exactly how cold did it get after sundown? Never below thirtytwo degrees Fahrenheit, she knew, because the water she put out for Oy never froze solid. She guessed that the temperature dropped to around forty in the hours between midnight and dawn; on a couple of nights it might have fallen into the thirties, because she saw tiny spicules of ice around the edge of the pot that served Oy as a dish. She began to eye his fur coat. At first she told herself this was nothing but a speculative exercise, a way of passing the time exactly how hot did the bumblers metabolism run, and exactly how warm did that coat (that thick, luxuriantly thick, that amazingly thick coat) keep him? Little by little she recognized her feelings for what they were jealousy that muttered in Dettas voice. Lil buggah doan feel no pain after the sun go down, do he? No, not him! You reckon you could git two sets o mittens outta that hide? She would thrust these thoughts away, miserable and horrified, wondering if there was any lower limit to the human spirit at its nasty, calculating, selfserving worst, not wanting to know. Deeper and deeper that cold worked into them, day by day and night by night. It was like a splinter. They would sleep huddled together with Oy between them, then turn so the sides of them that had been facing the night were turned inward again. Real restorative sleep never lasted long, no matter how tired they were. When the moon began to wax, brightening the dark, they spent two weeks walking at night and sleeping in the daytime. That was a little better. The only wildlife they saw were large black birds either flying against the southeastern horizon or gathered in a sort of convention atop the mesas. If the wind was right, Roland and Susannah could hear their shrill, gabby conversation. You think those thingsd be any good to eat? Susannah asked the gunslinger once. The moon was almost gone and they had reverted to traveling during the daytime so they could see any potential hazards (on several occasions deep crevasses had crossed the path, and once they came upon a sinkhole that appeared to be bottomless). What do you think? Roland asked her. Probly not, but I wouldnt mind tryin one and finding out. She paused. What do you reckon they live on? Roland only shook his head. Here the path wound through a fantastic petrified garden of needlesharp rock formations. Further off, a hundred or more black, crowlike birds either circled a flattopped mesa or sat on its edge looking in Roland and Susannahs direction, like a beadyeyed panel of jurors. Maybe we ought to make a detour, she said. See if we cant find out. If we lost the path, we might not be able to find it again, Roland said. Thats bullshit! Oy would Susannah, I dont want to hear any more about it! He spoke in a sharply angry tone she had never heard before. Angry, yes, she had heard Roland angry many times. But there was a pettiness in this, a sulkiness that worried her. And frightened her a little, as well. They went on in silence for the next half an hour, Roland pulling Ho Fats Luxury Taxi and Susannah riding. Then the narrow path (Badlands Avenue, shed come to call it) tilted upward and she hopped down, catching up with him and then going along beside. For such forays shed torn his Old Home Days teeshirt in half and wore it wrapped around her hands. It protected her from sharp stones, and also warmed her fingers, at least a little. He glanced down at her, then back at the path ahead. His lower lip was stuck out a bit and Susannah thought that surely he couldnt know how absurdly willful that expression waslike a threeyearold who has been denied a trip to the beach. He couldnt know and she wouldnt tell him. Later, maybe, when they could look back on this nightmare and laugh. When they could no longer remember what, exactly, was so terrible about a night when the temperature was fortyone degrees and you lay awake, shivering on the cold ground, watching the occasional meteor scrape cold fire across the sky, thinking Just a sweater, thats all I need. Just a sweater and Id go along as happy as a parakeet at feeding time. And wondering if there was enough hide on Oy to make them each a pair of underdrawers and if killing him might not actually be doing the poor little beastie a favor; hed just been so sad since Jake passed into the clearing. Susannah, Roland said. I was sharp with you just now, and I cry your pardon. Theres no need, she said. I think there is. Weve enough problems without making problems between us. Without making resentments between us. She was quiet. Looking up at him as he looked off into the southeast, at the circling birds. Those rooks, he said. She was quiet, waiting. In my childhood, we sometimes called them Gans Blackbirds. I told you and Eddie about how my friend Cuthbert and I spread bread for the birds after the cook was hanged, didnt I? Yes. They were birds exactly like those, named Castle Rooks by some. Never Royal Rooks, though, for they were scavenger birds. You asked what yonder rooks live on. Could be theyre scavenging in the yards and streets of his castle, now that hes departed. Le Casse Roi Russe, or Roi Rouge, or whatever you call it. Aye. I dont say for sure, but  Roland didnt finish and didnt need to. After that she kept an eye on the birds, and yes, they seemed to be both coming and going from the southeast. The birds might mean that they were making progress after all. It wasnt much, but enough to buoy her spirits for the rest of that day and deep into another shivering rottencold night. SIX The following morning, as they were eating another cold breakfast in another fireless camp (Roland had promised that tonight they would use some of the Sterno and have food that was at least warm), Susannah asked if she could look at the watch he had been given by the Tet Corporation. Roland passed it over to her willingly enough. She looked long at the three siguls cut into the cover, especially the Tower with its ascending spiral of windows. Then she opened it and looked inside. Without looking up at Roland she said, Tell me again what they said to you. They were passing on what one of their goodminds told them. An especially talented one, by their accounts, although I dont remember his name. According to him, the watch may stop when we near the Dark Tower, or even begin to run backward. Hard to imagine a Patek Philippe running backward, she said. According to this, its eightsixteen AM or PM back in New York. Here it looks about sixthirty AM, but I dont guess that means much, one way or the other. Howre we supposed to know if this baby is running fast or slow? Roland had stopped storing goods in his gunna and was considering her question. Do you see the tiny hand at the bottom? The one that runs all by himself? The secondhand, yes. Tell me when hes straight up. She looked at the secondhand racing around in its own circle, and when it was in the noon position, she said, Right now. Roland was hunkered down, a position he could accomplish easily now that the pain in his hip was gone. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his knees. Each breath he exhaled emerged in a thin mist. Susannah tried not to look at this; it was as if the hated cold had actually grown strong enough to appear before them, still ghostlike but visible. Roland, whatre you d He raised a hand to her, palm out, not opening his eyes, and she hushed. The secondhand hurried around its circle, first dipping down, then rising until it was straight up again. And when it had arrived there Roland opened his eyes and said, Thats a minute. A true minute, as I live beneath the Beam. Her mouth dropped open. How in the name of heaven did you do that? Roland shook his head. He didnt know. He only knew that Cort had told them they must always be able to keep time in their heads, because you couldnt depend on watches, and a sundial was no good on a cloudy day. Or at midnight, for that matter.