Stephen King – The Dark Tower

the corners of Sheemie’s mouth and run up his modestly stubbled cheeks.

“Give me something to put in his mouth!” Ted cried. “Come on, somebody! Wake up!

He’s biting theshit out of himself!”

The wooden lid was still leaning against the open crate of sneetches. Roland brought it

smartly down on his raised knee—no sign of dry twist in that hip now, she noted—and

smashed it to bits. Susannah grabbed a piece of board on the fly, then turned to Sheemie.

No need to get on her knees; she was always on them, anyway. One end of the wooden

piece was jagged with splinters. She wrapped a protective hand around this and then put the

piece of wood in Sheemie’s mouth. He bit down on it so hard she could hear the crunch.

The Rod, meanwhile, continued his high, almost falsetto chant. The only words she could

pick out of the gibberish wereHile, Roland, Gilead, andEld .

“Somebody shut him up!” Dinky cried, and Oy began barking.

“Never mind the Rod, get Sheemie’s feet!” Ted snapped. “Hold him still!”

Dinky dropped to his knees and grabbed Sheemie’s feet, one now bare, the other still

wearing its absurd rubber moc.

“Oy, hush!” Jake said, and Oy did. But he was standing with his short legs spread and his

belly low to the ground, his fur bushed out so he seemed nearly double his normal size.

Roland crouched by Sheemie’s head, forearms on the dirt floor of the cave, mouth by one

of Sheemie’s ears. He began to murmur. Susannah could make out very little of it because

of the Rod’s falsetto babbling, but she did hearWill Dearborn that was andAll’s well

and—she thought—rest.

Whatever it was, it seemed to get through. Little by little Sheemie relaxed. She could see

Dinky easing his hold on the former tavern-boy’s ankles, ready to grab hard again if Sheemie renewed his kicking. The muscles around Sheemie’s mouth also relaxed, and his

teeth unlocked. The piece of wood, still nailed lightly to his mouth by his upper incisors,

seemed to levitate. Susannah pulled it gently free, looking with amazement at the

blood-rimmed holes, some almost half an inch deep, that had been driven into the soft

wood. Sheemie’s tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, reminding her of how Oy

looked at siesta time, sleeping on his back with his legs spread to the four points of the

compass.

Now there was only the rapid auctioneer’s babble of the Rod, and the low growl deep in

Oy’s chest as he stood protectively at Jake’s side, looking at the newcomer with narrowed

eyes.

“Shut your mouth and be still,” Roland told the Rod, then added something else in another

language.

The Rod froze halfway into another salaam, hands still raised above his head, staring at

Roland. Eddie saw the side of his nose had been eaten away by a juicy sore, red as a

strawberry. The Rod put his scabbed, dirty palms over his eyes, as if the gunslinger were a

thing too bright to look at, and fell on his side. He drew his knees up to his chest, producing a loud fart as he did so.

“Harpo speaks,” Eddie said, a joke snappy enough to make Susannah laugh. Then there

was silence except for the whine of the wind outside the cave, the faint sound of recorded

music from the Devar-Toi, and the distant rumble of thunder, that sound of rolling bones.

Five minutes later Sheemie opened his eyes, sat up, and looked around with the

bewildered air of one who knows not where he is, how he got there, or why. Then his eyes

fixed on Roland, and his poor, tired face lit in a smile.

Roland returned it, and held out his arms. “Can’ee come to me, Sheemie? If not, I’ll come

to you, sure.”

Sheemie crawled to Roland of Gilead on his hands and knees, his dark and dirty hair

hanging in his eyes, and laid his head on Roland’s shoulder. Susannah felt tears stinging

her eyes and looked away.

Two

Some short time later Sheemie sat propped against the wall of the cave with the mover’s

pad that had been over Suzie’s Cruisin Trike cushioning his head and back. Eddie had

offered him a soda, but Ted suggested water might be better. Sheemie drank the first bottle

of Perrier at a single go, and now sat sipping another. The rest of them had instant coffee,

except for Ted; he was drinking a can of Nozz-A-La.

“Don’t know how you stand that stuff,” Eddie said.

“Each to his own taste, said the old maid as she kissed the cow,” Ted replied.

Only the Child of Roderick had nothing. He lay where he was, at the mouth of the cave,

with his hands pressed firmly over his eyes. He was trembling lightly.

Ted had checked Sheemie over between Sheemie’s first and second bottle of water, taking

his pulse, looking in his mouth, and feeling his skull for any soft places. Each time he asked Sheemie if it hurt, Sheemie solemnly shook his head, never taking his eyes off Roland

during the examination. After feeling Sheemie’s ribs (“Tickles, sai, so it do,” Sheemie said

with a smile), Ted pronounced him fit as a fiddle.

Eddie, who could see Sheemie’s eyes perfectly well—one of the gas-lanterns was nearby

and cast a strong glow on Sheemie’s face—thought that was a lie of near Presidential

quality.

Susannah was cooking up a fresh batch of powdered eggs and corned beef hash. (The grill

had spoken up again—“More of the same, eh?” it asked in a tone of cheery approval.)

Eddie caught Dinky Earnshaw’s eye and said, “Want to step outside with me for a minute

while Suze makes with the chow?”

Dinky glanced at Ted, who nodded, then back at Eddie. “If you want. We’ve got a little

more time this morning, but that doesn’t mean we can waste any.”

“I understand,” Eddie said.

Three

The wind had strengthened, but instead of freshening the air, it smelled fouler than ever.

Once, in high school, Eddie had gone on a field trip to an oil refinery in New Jersey. Until

now he thought that was hands-down the worst thing he’d ever smelled in his life; two of

the girls and three of the boys had puked. He remembered their tour-guide laughing

heartily and saying, “Just remember that’s the smell of money—it helps.” Maybe Perth Oil

and Gas was still the all-time champeen, but only because what he was smelling now

wasn’t quite so strong. And just by the way, what was there about Perth Oil and Gas that

seemed familiar? He didn’t know and it probably didn’t matter, but it was strange, the way

things kept coming around over here. Only “coming around” wasn’t quite right, was it?

“Echoing back,” Eddie murmured. “That’s what it is.”

“Beg pardon, partner?” Dinky asked. They were once again standing on the path, looking

down at the blue-roofed buildings in the distance, and the tangle of stalled traincars, and

the perfect little village. Perfect, that was, until you remembered it was behind a triple run of wire, one of those runs carrying an electrical charge strong enough to kill a man on

contact.

“Nothing,” Eddie said. “What’s that smell? Any idea?”

Dinky shook his head, but pointed beyond the prison compound in a direction that might

or might not be south or east. “Something poison out there is all I know,” he said. “Once I

asked Finli and he said there used to be factories in that direction. Positronics business.

You know that name?”

“Yes. But who’s Finli?”

“Finli o’ Tego. The top security guy, Prentiss’s number one boy, also known as The

Weasel. A taheen. Whatever your plans are, you’ll have to go through him to make them

work. And he won’t make it easy for you. Seeing him stretched out dead on the ground

would make me feel like it was a national holiday. By the way, my real name’s Richard

Earnshaw. Pleased as hell to meetcha.” He put out his hand. Eddie shook it.

“I’m Eddie Dean. Known as Eddie of New York out here west of the Pecos. The woman’s

Susannah. My wife.”

Dinky nodded. “Uh-huh. And the boy’s Jake. Also of New York.”

“Jake Chambers, right. Listen, Rich—”

“I salute the effort,” he said, smiling, “but I’ve been Dinky too long to change now, I guess.

And it could be worse. I worked for awhile at the Supr Savr Supermarket with a

twentysomething guy known as JJ the Fuckin Blue Jay. People will still be calling him that

when he’s eighty and wearing a pee-bag.”

“Unless we’re brave, lucky, and good,” Eddie said,“nobody’s gonna see eighty. Not in this

world or any of the others.”

Dinky looked startled, then glum. “You got a point.”

“That guy Roland used to know looks bad,” Eddie said. “Did you see hiseyes? ”

Dinky nodded, glummer than ever. “I think those little spots of blood in the whites are