Stephen King – The Dark Tower

called petechiae. Something like that.” Then, in a tone of apology Eddie found rather

bizarre, under the circumstances: “I don’t know if I’m saying that right.”

“I don’t care what you call them, it’s not good. And him pitching a fit like that—”

“Not a very nice way to put it,” Dinky said.

Eddie didn’t give a shit if it was or wasn’t. “Has it ever happened to him before?”

Dinky’s eyes broke contact with Eddie’s and looked down at his own shuffling feet,

instead. Eddie thought that was answer enough.

“How many times?” Eddie hoped he didn’t sound as appalled as he felt. There were enough pinprick-sized blood-spots in the whites of Sheemie’s eyes to make them look as if

someone had flung paprika into them. Not to mention the bigger ones in the corners.

Still without looking at him, Dinky raised four fingers.

“Four times?”

“Yuh,” Dinky said. He was still studying his makeshift mocs. “Starting with the time he

sent Ted to Connecticut in 1960. It was like doing that ruptured something inside him.” He

looked up, trying to smile. “But he didn’t faint yesterday, when the three of us went back to the Devar.”

“Let me make sure I’ve got this right. In the prison down there, you guys have all sorts of

venial sins, but only one mortal one: teleportation.”

Dinky considered this. The rules certainly weren’t that liberal for the taheen and the

can-toi; they could be exiled or lobotomized for all sorts of reasons, including such wrongs

as negligence, teasing the Breakers, or the occasional act of outright cruelty. Once—so he

had been told—a Breaker had been raped by a low man, who was said to have explained

earnestly to the camp’s last Master that it was part of hisbecoming —the Crimson King

himself had appeared to this fellow in a dream and told him to do it. For this the can-toi had been sentenced to death. The Breakers had been invited to attend his execution

(accomplished by a single pistol-shot to the head), which had taken place in the middle of

Pleasantville’s Main Street.

Dinky told Eddie about this, then admitted that yes, for the inmates, at least, teleportation was the only mortal sin. That he knew of, anyway.

“And Sheemie’s your teleport,” Eddie said. “You guys help him—facilitatefor him, to use

the Tedster’s word—and you cover up for him by fudging the records, somehow—”

“They have no idea how easy it is to cook their telemetry,” Dinky said, almost laughing.

“Partner, they’d beshocked . The hard part is making sure we don’t tip over the whole

works.”

Eddie didn’t care about that, either. It worked. That was the only thing that mattered.

Sheemie also worked…but for how long?

“—buthe’s the one who does it,” Eddie finished. “Sheemie.”

“Yuh.”

“The only one whocan do it.”

“Yuh.”

Eddie thought about their two tasks: freeing the Breakers (or killing them, if there was no

other way to make them stop) and keeping the writer from being struck and killed by a

minivan while taking a walk. Roland thought they might be able to accomplish both things,

but they’d need Sheemie’s teleportation ability at least twice. Plus, their visitors would

have to get back inside the triple run of wire after today’s palaver was done, and

presumably that meant he’d have to do it a third time.

“He says it doesn’t hurt,” Dinky said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Inside the cave the others laughed at something, Sheemie back to consciousness and

taking nourishment, everyone the best of friends.

“It’s not,” Eddie said. “What does Ted think is happening to Sheemie when he teleports?”

“That he’s having brain hemorrhages,” Dinky said promptly. “Little tiny strokes on the

surface of his brain.” He tapped a finger at different points on his own skull in

demonstration. “Boink, boink, boink.”

“Is it getting worse? It is, isn’t it?”

“Look, if you think him jaunting us around is my idea, you better think again.”

Eddie raised one hand like a traffic cop. “No, no. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”And what our chances are.

“I hate using him that way!” Dinky burst out. He kept his voice pitched low, so those in the

cave wouldn’t hear, but Eddie never for a moment considered that he was exaggerating.

Dinky was badly upset. “He doesn’t mind—hewants to do it—and that makes it worse, not

better. The way he looks at Ted…” He shrugged. “It’s the way a dog’d look at the best

master in the universe. He looks at your dinh the same way, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“He’s doing itfor my dinh,” Eddie said, “and that makes it okay. You may not believe that,

Dink, but—”

“But you do.”

“Totally. Now here’s the really important question: does Ted have any idea how long

Sheemie can last? Keeping in mind that now he’s got a little more help at this end?”

Who you tryin to cheer up, bro?Henry spoke up suddenly inside his head. Cynical as

always.Him or yourself?

Dinky was looking at Eddie as if he were crazy, or soft in the head, at least. “Ted was an

accountant. Sometimes a tutor. A day-laborer when he couldn’t get anything better. He’s

no doctor.”

But Eddie kept pushing. “What does he think?”

Dinky paused. The wind blew. The music wafted. Farther away, thunder mumbled out of

the murk. At last he said: “Three or four times, maybe…but the effects are getting worse.

Maybe only twice. But there are no guarantees, okay? He could drop dead of a massive

stroke the next time he bears down to make that hole we go through.”

Eddie tried to think of another question and couldn’t. That last answer pretty well covered

the waterfront, and when Susannah called them back inside, he was more than glad to go.

Four

Sheemie Ruiz had rediscovered his appetite, which all of them took as a good sign, and

was tucking in happily. The bloodspots in his eyes had faded somewhat, but were still

clearly visible. Eddie wondered what the guards back in Blue Heaven would make of those

if they noticed them, and also wondered if Sheemie could wear a pair of sunglasses without

exciting comment.

Roland had gotten the Rod to his feet and was now conferring with him at the back of the

cave. Well…sort of. The gunslinger was talking and the Rod was listening, occasionally

sneaking tiny awed peeks at Roland’s face. It was gibberish to Eddie, but he was able to

pick out two words: Chevin and Chayven. Roland was asking this one about the one they’d

met staggering along the road in Lovell.

“Does he have a name?” Eddie asked Dink and Ted, taking a second plate of food.

“I call him Chucky,” Dinky said. “Because he looks a little bit like the doll in this horror

movie I saw once.”

Eddie grinned.“Child’s Play, yeah. I saw that one. After your when, Jake. Andway after

yours, Suziella.” The Rod’s hair wasn’t right, but the chubby, freckled cheeks and the blue

eyes were. “Do you think he can keep a secret?”

“If no one asks him, he can,” Ted said. Which was not, in Eddie’s view, a very satisfactory

answer.

After five minutes or so of chat, Roland seemed satisfied and rejoined the others. He

hunkered—no problem doing that now that his joints had limbered up—and looked at Ted.

“This fellow’s name is Haylis of Chayven. Will anyone miss him?”

“Unlikely,” Ted said. “The Rods show up at the gate beyond the dorms in little groups,

looking for work. Fetching and carrying, mostly. They’re given a meal or something to

drink as pay. If they don’t show up, no one misses them.”

“Good. Now—how long are the days here? Is it twenty-four hours from now until tomorrow morning at this time?”

Ted seemed interested in the question and considered it for several moments before

replying. “Call it twenty-five,” he said. “Maybe a little longer. Because time is slowing

down, at least here. As the Beams weaken, there seems to be a growing disparity in the

time-flow between the worlds. It’s probably one of the major stress points.”

Roland nodded. Susannah offered him food and he shook his head with a word of thanks.

Behind them, the Rod was sitting on a crate, looking down at his bare and sore-covered feet.

Eddie was surprised to see Oy approach the fellow, and more surprised still when the

bumbler allowed Chucky (or Haylis) to stroke his head with one misshapen claw of a hand.

“And is there a time of morning when things down there might be a little less…I don’t

know…”

“A little disorganized?” Ted suggested.

Roland nodded.

“Did you hear a horn a little while ago?” Ted asked. “Just before we showed up?”

They all shook their heads.

Ted didn’t seem surprised. “But you heard the music start, correct?”

“Yes,” Susannah said, and offered Ted a fresh can of Nozz-A-La. He took it and drank