Except…
They shared each other’s thoughts, Roland had said; sharing khef was part of what ka-tet meant. And what had been seeping into Jake’s thoughts ever since Roland stepped into the aisle and began to try Blaine with riddles from his young days was a sense of doom. It wasn’t coming just from the gunslinger; Susannah was sending out the same grim blue-black vibe. Only Eddie wasn’t sending it, and that was because he’d gone off somewhere, was chasing his own thoughts. That might be good, but there were no guarantees, and—
—and Jake began to be scared again. Worse, he felt desperate, like a creature that is pressed deeper and deeper into its final comer by a relentless foe. His fingers worked restlessly in Oy’s fur, and when he looked down at them, he realized an amazing thing: the hand which Oy had bitten into to keep from falling off the bridge no longer hurt. He could see the holes the bumbler’s teeth had made, and blood was still crusted in his palm and on his wrist, but the hand itself no longer hurt. He flexed it cautiously. There was some pain, but it was low and distant,
hardly there at all.
“Blaine, what may go up a chimney down but cannot go down a chimney up?”
“A LADY’S PARASOL,” Blaine replied in that tone of jolly complacency which Jake, too, was coming to loathe.
“Thankee-sai, Blaine, once again you have answered true. Next—”
“Roland?”
The gunslinger looked around at Jake, and his look of concentration lightened a bit. It wasn’t a smile, but it went a little way in that direction, at least, and Jake was glad.
“What is it, Jake?”
“My hand. It was hurting like crazy, and now it’s stopped!”
“SHUCKS,” Blaine said in the drawling voice of John Wayne. “I COULDN’T
WATCH A HOUND SUFFER WITH A MASHED-UP FOREPAW LIKE THAT,
LET ALONE A FINE LITTLE TRAIL HAND LIKE YOURSELF. SO I FIXED
IT UP.”
“How?” Jake asked.
“LOOK ON THE ARM OF YOUR SEAT.”
Jake did, and saw a faint gridwork of lines. It looked a little like the speaker of the transistor radio he’d had when he was seven or eight.
“ANOTHER BENEFIT OF TRAVELLING BARONY CLASS,” Blaine went on in his smug voice. It crossed Jake’s mind that Blaine would fit in perfectly at the Piper School. The world’s first slo-trans, dipolar nerd. “THE HAND-SCAN
SPECTRUM MAGNIFIER IS A DIAGNOSTIC TOOL ALSO CAPABLE OF
ADMINISTERING MINOR FIRST AID, SUCH AS I HAVE PERFORMED ON
YOU. IT IS ALSO A NUTRIENT DELIVERY SYSTEM, A BRAIN-PATTERN
RECORDING DEVICE, A STRESS-ANALYZER, AND AN EMOTION-
ENHANCER WHICH CAN NATURALLY STIMULATE THE PRODUCTION
OF ENDORPHINS. HAND-SCAN IS ALSO CAPABLE OF CREATING VERY
BELIEVABLE ILLUSIONS AND HALLUCINATIONS. WOULD YOU CARE
TO HAVE YOUR FIRST SEXUAL EXPERIENCE WITH A NOTED SEX-
GODDESS FROM YOUR LEVEL OF THE TOWER, JAKE OF NEW YORK?
PERHAPS MARILYN MONROE, RAQUEL WELCH, OR EDITH BUNKER?”
Jake laughed. He guessed that laughing at Blaine might be risky, but this time he just couldn’t help it. “There is no Edith Bunker,” he said. “She’s just a character on
a TV show. The actress’s name is, um, Jean Stapleton. Also, she looks like Mrs.
Shaw. She’s our housekeeper. Nice, but not—you know—a babe.”
A long silence from Blaine. When the voice of the computer returned, a certain coldness had replaced the jocose ain’t-we-having-fun tone of voice.
“I CRY YOUR PARDON, JAKE OF NEW YORK. I ALSO WITHDRAW MY
OFFER OF A SEXUAL EXPERIENCE.”
That’ll teach me, Jake thought, raising one hand to cover a smile. Aloud (and in what he hoped was a suitably humble tone of voice) he said:
“That’s okay, Blaine. I think I’m still a little young for that, anyway.”
Susannah and Roland were looking at each other. Susannah didn’t know who Edith Bunker was— All in the Family hadn’t been on the tube in her when. But she grasped the essence of the situation just the same;
Jake saw her full lips form one soundless word and send it to the gun-slinger like a message in a soap bubble:
Mistake.
Yes. Blaine had made a mistake. More, Jake Chambers, a boy of eleven, had picked up on it. And if Blaine had made one, he could make another. Maybe there was hope after all. Jake decided he would treat that possibility as he had treated the graf of River Crossing and allow himself just a little.
2
Roland nodded imperceptibly at Susannah, then turned back to the front of the coach, presumably to resume riddling. Before he could open his mouth, Jake felt his body pushed forward. It was funny; you couldn’t feel a thing when the mono was running flat-out, but the minute it began to decelerate, you knew.
“HERE IS SOMETHING YOU REALLY OUGHT TO SEE,” Blaine said. He sounded cheerful again, but Jake didn’t trust that tone; he had sometimes heard his father start telephone conversations that way (usually with some subordinate who had FUB, Fucked Up Big), and by the end Elmer Chambers would be up on his feet, bent over the desk like a man with a stomach cramp and screaming at the top of his lungs, his cheeks red as radishes and the circles of flesh under his eyes as purple as an eggplant. “I HAVE TO STOP HERE, ANYWAY, AS I MUST
SWITCH TO BATTERY POWER AT THIS POINT AND THAT MEANS PRE-
CHARGING.”
The mono stopped with a barely perceptible jerk. The walls around them once more drained of color and then became transparent. Susannah gasped with fear and wonder. Roland moved to his left, felt for the side of the coach so he wouldn’t bump his head, then leaned forward with his hands on his knees and his eyes narrowed. Oy began to bark again. Only Eddie seemed unmoved by the breathtaking view which had been provided them by the Barony Coach’s visual mode. He glanced around once, face preoccupied and somehow bleary with thought, and then looked down at his hands again. Jake glanced at him with brief curiosity, then stared back out.
They were halfway across a vast chasm and seemed to be hovering on the moon-dusted air. Beyond them Jake could see a wide, boiling river. Not the Send, unless the rivers in Roland’s world were somehow able to run in different directions at different points in their courses (and Jake didn’t know enough about Mid-World to entirely discount that possibility); also, this river was not placid but raging, a torrent that came tumbling out of the mountains like something that was pissed off and wanted to brawl.
For a moment Jake looked at the trees which dressed the steep slopes along the sides of this river, registering with relief that they looked pretty much all right—the sort of firs you’d expect to see in the mountains of Colorado or Wyoming, say—and then his eyes were dragged back to the lip of the chasm. Here the torrent broke apart and dropped in a waterfall so wide and so deep that Jake thought it made Niagara, where he had gone with his parents (one of three family vacations he could remember; two had been cut short by urgent calls from his father’s Network), look like the kind you might see in a third-rate theme-park. The air filling the enclosing semicircle of the falls was further thickened by an up rushing mist that looked like steam; in it half a dozen moonbows gleamed like gaudy, interlocking dream-jewelry. To Jake they looked like the overlapping rings which symbolized the Olympics.
Jutting from the center of the falls, perhaps two hundred feet below the point where the river actually went over the drop, were two enormous stone protrusions.
Although Jake had no idea how a sculptor (or a team of them) could have gotten down to where they were, he found it all but impossible to believe they had simply eroded that way. They looked like the heads of enormous, snarling dogs.
The Falls of the Hounds, he thought. There was one more stop beyond this—Dasherville—and then Topeka. Last stop. Everybody out.
“ONE MOMENT,” Blaine said. “I MUST ADJUST THE VOLUME FOR YOU
TO ENJOY THE FULL EFFECT.”
There was a brief, whispery hooting sound—a kind of mechanical throat clearing—and then they were assaulted by a vast roar. It was water—a billion gallons a minute, for all Jake knew—pouring over the lip of the chasm and falling perhaps two thousand feet into the deep stone basin at the base of the falls.
Streamers of mist floated past the blunt almost-faces of the jutting dogs like steam from the vents of hell. The level of sound kept climbing. Now Jake’s whole head vibrated with it, and as he clapped his hands over his ears, he saw Roland, Eddie, and Susannah doing the same. Oy was barking, but Jake couldn’t hear him.
Susannah’s lips were moving again, and again he could read the words— Stop it, Blaine, stop it!— but he couldn’t hear them any more than he could hear Oy’s barks, although he was sure Susannah was screaming at the top of her lungs.