Stephen King – The Dark Tower

“Aye, I had to,” the gunslinger agreed. “ ’Twas no more than what he wanted.”

Jake said, “The vampires didn’t get him. He used my Ruger before they could take his

blood and change him into one ofthem. I don’t think they would’ve done that, anyway.

They would have torn him apart and eaten him. They weremad. ”

Roland was nodding.

“The last thing he sent—I think he said it out loud, although I’m not sure—it was…” Jake considered it. He was weeping freely now. “He said ‘May you find your Tower, Roland,

and breach it, and may you climb to the top.’ Then…” Jake made a little puffing sound

between his pursed lips. “Gone. Like a candle-flame. To whatever worlds there are.”

He fell silent. For several moments they all did, and the quiet had the feel of a deliberate

thing. Then Eddie said, “All right, we’re back together again. What the hell do we do

next?”

Four

Roland sat down with a grimace, then gave Eddie Dean a look which said—clearer than

any words ever could have done—Why do you try my patience?

“All right,” Eddie said, “it’s just a habit. Quit giving me the look.”

“What’sa habit, Eddie?”

Eddie thought of his final bruising, addictive year with Henry less frequently these days,

but he thought of it now. Only he didn’t like to say so, not because he was ashamed—Eddie

really thought he might be past that—but because he sensed the gunslinger’s growing

impatience with Eddie’s explaining things in terms of his big brother. And maybe that was

fair. Henry had been the defining, shaping force in Eddie’s life, okay. Just as Cort had been the defining, shaping force in Roland’s…but the gunslinger didn’t talk about his old

teacherall the time.

“Asking questions when I already know the answer,” Eddie said.

“And what’s the answer this time?”

“We’re going to backtrack to Thunderclap before we go on to the Tower. We’re either

going to kill the Breakers or set them free. Whatever it takes to make the Beams safe. We’ll

kill Walter, or Flagg, or whatever he’s calling himself. Because he’s the field marshal, isn’t he?”

“He was,” Roland agreed, “but now a new player has come on the scene.” He looked at the

robot. “Nigel, I need you.”

Nigel unfolded his arms and raised his head. “How may I serve?”

“By getting me something to write with. Is there such?”

“Pens, pencils, and chalk in the Supervisor’s cubicle at the far end of the Extraction Room,

sai. Or so there was, the last time I had occasion to be there.”

“The Extraction Room,” Roland mused, studying the serried ranks of beds. “Do you call it

so?”

“Yes, sai.” And then, almost timidly: “Vocal elisions and fricatives suggest that you’re

angry. Is that the case?”

“They brought children here by the hundreds and thousands—healthy ones, for the most

part, from a world where too many are still born twisted—and sucked away their minds.

Why would I be angry?”

“Sai, I’m sure I don’t know,” Nigel said. He was, perhaps, repenting his decision to come

back here. “But I had no part in the extraction procedures, I assure you. I am in charge of

domestic services, including maintenance.”

“Bring me a pencil and a piece of chalk.”

“Sai, you won’t destroy me, will you? It was Dr. Scowther who was in charge of the

extractions over the last twelve or fourteen years, and Dr. Scowther is dead. This lady-sai

shot him, and with his own gun.” There was a touch of reproach in Nigel’s voice, which

was quite expressive within its narrow range.

Roland only repeated: “Bring me a pencil and a piece of chalk, and do it jin-jin.”

Nigel went off on his errand.

“When you say a new player, you mean the baby,” Susannah said.

“Certainly. He has two fathers, that bah-bo.”

Susannah nodded. She was thinking about the tale Mia had told her during their todash

visit to the abandoned town of Fedic—abandoned, that was, except for the likes of Sayre

and Scowther and the marauding Wolves. Two women, one white and one black, one

pregnant and one not, sitting in chairs outside the Gin-Puppy Saloon. There Mia had told

Eddie Dean’s wife a great deal—more than either of them had known, perhaps.

That’s where they changed me,Mia had told her, “they” presumably meaning Scowther

and a team of other doctors. Plus magicians? Folk like the Manni, only gone over to the

other side? Maybe. Who could say? In the Extraction Room she’d been made mortal. Then,

with Roland’s sperm already in her, something else had happened. Mia didn’t remember

much about that part, only a red darkness. Susannah wondered now if the Crimson King

had come to her in person, mounting her with its huge and ancient spider’s body, or if its

unspeakable sperm had been transported somehow to mix with Roland’s. In either case, the

baby grew into the loathsome hybrid Susannah had seen: not a werewolf but a were-spider.

And now it was out there, somewhere. Or perhaps it was here, watching them even as they

palavered and Nigel returned with various writing implements.

Yes,she thought.It’s watching us. And hating us…but not equally. Mostly it’s Roland the

dan-tete hates. Its first father.

She shivered.

“Mordred means to kill you, Roland,” she said. “That’s its job. What it was made for. To

end you, and your quest, and the Tower.”

“Yes,” Roland said, “and to rule in his father’s place. For the Crimson King is old, and I

have come more and more to believe that he is imprisoned, somehow. If that’s so, then he’s

no longer our real enemy.”

“Will we go to his castle on the other side of the Discordia?” Jake asked. It was the first

time he’d spoken in half an hour. “We will, won’t we?”

“I think so, yes,” Roland said.“Le Casse Roi Russe, the old legends call it. We’ll go there

ka-tet and slay what lives there.”

“Let it be so,” Eddie said. “By God, let that be so.”

“Aye,” Roland agreed. “But our first job is the Breakers. The Beamquake we felt in Calla

Bryn Sturgis, just before we came here, suggests that their work is nearly done. Yet even if

it isn’t—”

“Ending what they’re doing is our job,” Eddie said.

Roland nodded. He looked more tired than ever. “Aye,” he said. “Killing them or setting

them free. Either way, we must finish their meddling with the two Beams that remain. And

we must finish off the dan-tete. The one that belongs to the Crimson King…and to me.”

Five

Nigel ended up being quite helpful (although not just to Roland and his ka-tet, as things

fell). To begin with he brought two pencils, two pens (one of them a great old thing that

would have looked at home in the hand of a Dickens scrivener), and three pieces of chalk,

one of them in a silver holder that looked like a lady’s lipstick. Roland chose this and gave Jake another piece. “I can’t write words you’d understand easily,” he said, “but our

numbers are the same, or close enough. Print what I say to one side, Jake, and fair.”

Jake did as he was bid. The result was crude but understandable enough, a map with a

legend.

“Fedic,” Roland said, pointing to 1, and then drew a short chalk line to 2. “And here’s

Castle Discordia, with the doors beneath. An almighty tangle of em, from what we hear.

There’ll be a passage that’ll take us from here to there, under the castle. Now, Susannah,

tell again how the Wolves go, and what they do.” He handed her the chalk in its holder.

She took it, noticing with some admiration that it sharpened itself as it was used. A small

trick but a neat one.

“They ride through a one-way door that brings them out here,” she said, drawing a line

from 2 to 3, which Jake had dubbed Thunderclap Station. “We ought to know this door

when we see it, because it’ll bebig, unless they go through single-file.”

“Maybe they do,” Eddie said. “Unless I’m wrong, they’re pretty well stuck with what the

old people left them.”

“You’re not wrong,” Roland said. “Go on, Susannah.” He wasn’t hunkering but sitting

with his right leg stretched stiffly out. Eddie wondered how badly his hip was hurting him,

and if he had any of Rosalita’s cat-oil in his newly recovered purse. He doubted it.

She said, “The Wolves ride from Thunderclap along the course of the railroad tracks, at

least until they’re out of the shadow…or the darkness…or whatever it is. Do you know,

Roland?”

“No, but we’ll see soon enough.” He made his impatient twirling gesture with his left

hand.

“They cross the river to the Callas and take the children. When they get back to the

Thunderclap Station, I think they must board their horses and their prisoners on a train and go back to Fedic that way, for the door’s no good to them.”