Stephen King – The Dark Tower 5 – The Wolves of the Calla

“Are we done?” Slightman asked.

“Unless you have some reason to linger, I believe we are,” Andy said.

“Does anything in here seem different to you?” Slightman asked suddenly, and Jake felt his blood turn cold.

“No,” Andy said, “but I have great respect for human intuition. Are you having intuition, sai?”

There was a pause that seemed to go on for at least a full minute, although Jake knew it must have been much shorter than that. He held Oy’s head against his thigh and waited.

“No,” Slightman said at last. “Guess I’m just getting jumpy, now that it’s close. God, I wish it was over! I hate this!”

“You’re doing the right thing, sai.” Jake didn’t know about Slightman, but Andy’s plummily sympathetic tone made him feel like gnashing his teeth. “The only thing, really. ‘Tisn’t your fault that you’re father to the only mateless twin in Calla Bryn Sturgis, is it? I know a song that makes this point in particularly moving fashion.

Perhaps you’d like to hear—”

“Shut up!” Slightman cried in a choked voice. “Shut up, you mechanical devil! I’ve sold my goddam soul, isn’t that enough for you? Must I be made sport of, as well?”

“If I’ve offended, I apologize from the bottom of my admittedly hypothetical heart,” Andy said. “In other words, I cry your pardon.” Sounding sincere. Sounding as though he meant every word. Sounding as though butter wouldn’t melt. Yet Jake had no doubt that Andy’s eyes were flashing out in gales of silent blue laughter.

TWELVE

The conspirators left. There was an odd, meaningless jingle of melody from the overhead speakers (meaningless to Jake, at least), and then silence. He waited for them to discover his pony, come back, search for him, find him, kill him. When he had counted to a hundred and twenty and they hadn’t returned to the Dogan, he got to his feet (the overdose of adrenaline in his system left him feeling as stiff as an old man) and went back into the control room. He was just in time to see the motion-sensor lights in front of the place switch off. He looked at the monitor showing the top of the rise and saw the Dogan’s most recent visitors walking between the boom-flurry. This time the cactuses didn’t move. They had apparently learned their lesson. Jake watched Slightman and Andy go, bitterly amused by the difference in their heights. Whenever his father saw such a Mutt-and-Jeff duo on the street, he inevitably said Put em in vaudeville. It was about as close to a joke as Elmer Chambers could get.

When this particular duo was out of sight, Jake looked down at the floor. No dust, of course. No dust and no tracks. He should have seen that when he came in. Certainly Roland would have seen that. Roland would have seen everything.

Jake wanted to leave but made himself wait. If they saw the motion-lights glare back on behind them, they’d probably assume it was a rock-cat (or maybe what Benny called “an armydillo”), but probably wasn’t good enough. To pass the time, he looked at the various control panels, many of which had the LaMerk Industries name on them. Yet he also saw the familiar GE and IBM logos, plus one he didn’t know—Microsoft. All of these latter gadgets were stamped made in usa. The LaMerk products bore no such mark.

He was pretty sure some of the keyboards he saw—there were at least two dozen—controlled computers.

What other gadgetry was there? How much was still up and running? Were there weapons stored here? He somehow thought the answer to this last question was no—if there had been weapons, they had no doubt been decommissioned or appropriated, very likely by Andy the Messenger Robot (Many Other Functions).

At last he decided it was safe to leave… if, that was, he was extremely careful, rode slowly back to the river, and took pains to approach the Rocking B the back way. He was nearly to the door when another question occurred to him. Was there a record of his and Oy’s visit to the Dogan? Were they on videotape somewhere?

He looked at the operating TV screens, sparing his longest stare for the one showing the control room. He and Oy were on it again. From the camera’s high angle, anyone in the room would have to be in that picture.

Let it go, Jake, the gunslinger in his head advised. There’s nothing you can do about it, so just let it go. If you try poking and prying, you’re apt to leave sign. You might even set off an alarm.

The idea of tripping an alarm convinced him. He picked up Oy—as much for comfort as anything else—and got the hell out. His pony was exacdy where Jake had left him, cropping dreamily at the bushes in the moonlight. There were no tracks in the hardpan… but, Jake saw, he wasn’t leaving any himself. Andy would have broken through the crusty surface enough to leave tracks, but not him. He wasn’t heavy enough.

Probably Benny’s Da’ wasn’t, either.

Quit it. If they’d smelled you, they would have come back.

Jake supposed that was true, but he still felt more than a little like Goldilocks tiptoeing away from the house of the Three Bears. He led his pony back to the desert road, then put on the duster and slipped Oy into the wide front pocket. As he mounted up, he thumped the bumbler a fairly good one on the saddle-horn.

“Ouch, Ake!” Oy said.

“Quit it, ya baby,” Jake said, turning his pony back in the direction of the river. “Gotta be quiet, now.”

“Kiyit,” Oy agreed, and gave him a wink. Jake worked his fingers down through the bumbler’s heavy fur and scratched the place Oy liked the best. Oy closed his eyes, stretched his neck to an almost comical length, and

grinned.

When they got back to the river, Jake dismounted and peered over a boulder in both directions. He saw nothing, but his heart was in his throat all the way across to the other side. He kept trying to think what he would say if Benny’s Da’ hailed him and asked him what he was doing out here in the middle of the night.

Nothing came. In English class, he’d almost always gotten As on his creative-writing assignments, but now he was discovering that fear and invention did not mix. If Benny’s Da’ hailed him, Jake would be caught. It was as simple as that.

There was no hail—not crossing the river, not going back to the Rocking B, not unsaddling the horse and rubbing him down. The world was silent, and that was just fine with Jake.

THIRTEEN

Once Jake was back on his pallet and pulling the covers to his chin, Oy jumped up on Benny’s bed and lay down, nose once more under his tail. Benny made a deep-sleep muttering sound, reached out, and gave the bumbler’s flank a single stroke.

Jake lay looking at the sleeping boy, troubled. He liked Benny—his openness, his appetite for fun, his willingness to work hard when there were chores that needed doing. He liked Benny’s yodeling laugh when something struck him funny, and the way they were evenly matched in so many things, and—

And until tonight, Jake had liked Benny’s Da’, too.

He tried to imagine how Benny would look at him when he found out that (a) his father was a traitor and (b) his friend had squealed on him. Jake thought he could bear anger. It was hurt that would be hard.

You think hurt’s all it’ll be? Simple hurt? You better think again. There aren’t many props under Benny Slightman’s world, and this is going to knock them all out from under him. Every single one.

Not my fault that his father’s a spy and a traitor.

But it wasn’t Benny’s, either. If you asked Slightman, he’d probably say it wasn’t even his fault, that he’d been forced into it. Jake guessed that was almost true. Completely true, if you looked at things with a father’s eye.

What was it that the Calla’s twins made and the Wolves needed? Something in their brains, very likely. Some sort of enzyme or secretion not produced by singleton children; maybe the enzyme or secretion that created the supposed phenomenon of “twin telepathy.” Whatever it was, they could take it from Benny Slightman, because Benny Slightman only looked like a singleton. Had his sister died? Well, that was tough titty, wasn’t it? Very tough titty, especially for the father who loved the only one left. Who couldn’t bear to let him go.

Suppose Roland kills him ? How will Benny look at you then ?

Once, in another life, Roland had promised to take care of Jake Chambers and then let him drop into the darkness. Jake had thought there could be no worse betrayal than that. Now he wasn’t so sure. No, not so sure at all. These unhappy thoughts kept him awake for a long time. Finally, half an hour or so before the first hint of dawn touched the horizon, he fell into a thin and troubled sleep.