Stephen King – The Dark Tower

(rare) in front of him at six-thirty, he didn’t think of them at all. Certainly he would have been quite astounded to learn that Tammy (his housekeeper) and Tassa (his houseboy)

loathed each other. They treated each other with perfect—if chilly—respect when they

were around him, after all.

Only Pimli wasn’t around this morning as “ ’At’s Amore” (interpreted by the Billion

Bland Strings) rose from Algul Siento’s hidden speakers. The Master was walking up the

Mall, now in the company of Jakli, a ravenhead taheen tech, as well as his Security Chief.

They were discussing the Deep Telemetry, and Pimli had no thought at all for the house he

had left behind for the last time. Certainly it never crossed his mind that Tammy Kelly (still in her nightgown) and Tassa of Sonesh (still in his silk sleep-shorts) were on the verge of

battle about the pantry-stock.

“Look at this!” she cried. They were standing in the kitchen, which was deeply gloomy. It

was a large room, and all but three of the electric lights were burned out. There were only a few bulbs left in Stores, and they were earmarked for The Study.

“Look at what?” Sulky.Pouty. And was that the remains of lip paint on his cunning little

Cupid’s-bow of a mouth? She thought it was.

“Do’ee not see the empty spots on the shelves?” she asked indignantly. “Look! No more

baked beans—”

“He don’t care beans for beans, as you very well know—”

“No tuna-fish, either, and will’ee tell me he don’t eatthat? He’d eat it until it ran out his ears, and thee knows it!”

“Can you not—”

“No more soup—”

“Balls there ain’t!” he cried. “Look there, and there, andth —”

“Not the Campbell’s Tamater he likes best,” she overrode him, drawing closer in her

excitement. Their arguments had never developed into outright fisticuffs before, but Tassa

had an idea this might be the day. And if it were so, it were fine-oh! He’d love to sock this fat old run-off-at-the-mouth bitch in the eye. “Do you see any Campbell’s Tamater, Tassa

o’ wherever-you-

grew?”

“Can you not bring back a box of tins yourself?” he asked, taking his own step forward;

now they were nearly nose-to-nose, and although the woman was large and the young man

was willowy, the Master’s houseboy showed no sign of fear. Tammy blinked, and for the

first time since Tassa had shuffled into the kitchen—wanting no more than a cup of coffee,

say thanks—an expression that was not irritation crossed her face. It might have been

nervousness; it might even have been fear. “Are you so weak in the arms, Tammy of

wherever-you- grew, that you can’t carry a box of soup-tins out of Stores?”

She drew herself up to her full height, stung. Her jowls (greasy and a-glow with some sort

of night-cream) quivered with self-righteousness. “Fetching pantry supplies has ever been

the houseboy’s job! And thee knows it very well!”

“That don’t make it a law that you can’t help out. I was mowing his lawn yest’y, as surely

you know; I spied you sitting a-kitchen with a glass of cold tea, didn’t I, just as comfortable as old Ellie in your favorite chair.”

She bristled, losing any fear she might have had in her outrage. “I have as much right to

rest as anyone else! I’d just warshed the floor—”

“Looked to me like Dobbie was doing it,” he said. Dobbie was the sort of domestic robot

known as a “house-elf,” old but still quite efficient.

Tammy grew hotter still. “What would you know about house chores, you mincy little

queer?”

Color flushed Tassa’s normally pale cheeks. He was aware that his hands had rolled

themselves into fists, but only because he could feel his carefully cared-for nails biting into his palms. It occurred to him that this sort of petty bitch-and-whistle was downright

ludicrous, coming as it did with the end of everything stretching black just beyond them;

they were two fools sparring and catcalling on the very lip of the abyss, but he didn’t care.

Fat old sow had been sniping at him for years, and now here was the real reason. Here it

was, finally naked and out in the open.

“Is that what bothers thee about me, sai?” he enquired sweetly. “That I kiss the pole

instead of plug the hole, no more than that?”

Now there were torches instead of roses flaring in Tammy Kelly’s cheeks. She’d not

meant to go so far, but now that she had—thatthey had, for if there was to be a fight, it was his fault as much as hers—she wouldn’t back away. Was damned if she would.

“Master’s Bible says queerin be a sin,” she told him righteously. “I’ve read it myself, so I

have. Book of Leviticracks, Chapter Three, Verse—”

“And what do Leviticracks say about the sin of gluttony?” he enquired. “What do it say

about a woman with tits as big as bolsters and an ass as big as a kitchen ta—”

“Never mind the size o’ my ass, you littlecocksucker! ”

“At least I canget a man,” he said sweetly, “and don’t have to lie abed with a dustclout—”

“Don’t you dare!” she cried shrilly. “Shut your foul mouth before I shut it for you!”

“—to get rid of the cobwebs in my cunny so I can—”

“I’ll knock thy teeth out if thee doesn’t—”

“—finger my tired old pokeberry pie.” Then something which would offend her even

more deeply occurred to him. “My tired,dirty old pokeberry pie!”

She balled her own fists, which were considerably bigger than his. “At least I’ve never—”

“Go no further, sai, I beg you.”

“—never had some man’s nasty old…nasty…old…”

She trailed off, looking puzzled, and sniffed the air. He sniffed it himself, and realized the aroma he was getting wasn’t new. He’d been smelling it almost since the argument started,

but now it was stronger.

Tammy said, “Do you smell—”

“—smoke!” he finished, and they looked at each other with alarm, their argument

forgotten perhaps only five seconds before it would have come to blows. Tammy’s eyes

fixed on the sampler hung beside the stove. There were similar ones all over Algul Siento,

because most of the buildings which made up the compound were wood.Old wood.WE

ALL MUST WORK TOGETHER TO CREATE A FIRE-FREE ENVIRONMENT , it

said.

Somewhere close by—in the back hallway—one of the still-working smoke detectors

went off with a loud and frightening bray. Tammy hurried into the pantry to grab the

fire-extinguisher in there.

“Get the one in the library!” she shouted, and Tassa ran to do it without a word of protest.

Fire was the one thing they all feared.

Five

Gaskie o’ Tego, the Deputy Security Chief, was standing in the foyer of Feveral Hall, the

dormitory directly behind Damli House, talking with James Cagney. Cagney was a

redhaired can-toi who favored Western-style shirts and boots that added three inches to his

actual five-foot-five. Both had clipboards and were discussing certain necessary changes in

the following week’s Damli security. Six of the guards who’d been assigned to the second

shift had come down with what Gangli, the compound doctor, said was a hume disease

called “momps.” Sickness was common enough in Thunderclap—it was the air, as

everyone knew, and the poisoned leavings of the old people—but it was ever inconvenient.

Gangli said they were lucky there had never been an actual plague, like the Black Death or

the Hot Shivers.

Beyond them, on the paved court behind Damli House, an early-morning basketball game

was going on, several taheen and can-toi guards (who would be officially on duty as soon

as the horn blew) against a ragtag team of Breakers. Gaskie watched Joey Rastosovich take

a shot from way downtown—swish. Trampas snared the ball and took it out of bounds,

briefly lifting his cap to scratch beneath it. Gaskie didn’t care much for Trampas, who had

an entirely inappropriate liking for the talented animals who were his charges. Closer by,

sitting on the dorm’s steps and also watching the game, was Ted Brautigan. As always, he

was sipping at a can of Nozz-A-La.

“Well fuggit,” James Cagney said, speaking in the tones of a man who wants to be finished

with a boring discussion. “If you don’t mind taking a couple of humies off the fence-walk

for a day or two—”

“What’s Brautigan doing up so early?” Gaskie interrupted. “He almost never rolls out until

noon. That kid he pals around with is the same way. What’s his name?”

“Earnshaw?” Brautigan also palled around with that half-bright Ruiz, but Ruiz was no kid.

Gaskie nodded. “Aye, Earnshaw, that’s the one. He’s on duty this morning. I saw him earlier in The Study.”

Cag (as his friends called him) didn’t give a shit why Brautigan was up with the birdies

(not that there were many birdies left, at least in Thunderclap); he only wanted to get this

roster business settled so he could stroll across to Damli and get a plate of scrambled eggs.