Darktower 4 - Wizard and Glass

By King, Stephen

ARGUEMENT

Wizard and Glass is the fourth volume of a longer tale inspired by Robert

Brownings narrative poem Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.

The first volume, The Gunslinger, tells how Roland of Gilead pursues and at last

catches Walter, the man in black, who pretended friendship with Rolands father

but who actually served Marten, a great sorcer er. Catching the half-human Walter is not Rolands goal but only a means to an end: Roland wants to reach the Dark

Tower, where he hopes the quickening de struc tion of MidWorld may be halted,

perhaps even reversed.

Roland is a kind of knight, the last of his breed, and the Tower is his ob session,

his only reason for living when first we meet him.

We learn of an early test of

manhood forced upon him by Marten, who has se duced Rolands mother. Marten

expects Roland to fail this test and to be sent west,

his fa thers guns forever

denied him. Roland, however, lays Martens plans at nines, passing the test …due mostly to his clever choice of weapon.

We discover that the gunslingers world is relat ed to our own in some fundamental

and terrible way. This link is first revealed when Roland meets Jake, a boy from

the New York of 1977, at a desert way station. There are doors between Rolands

world and our own; one of them is death, and that is how Jake first reaches MidWorld, pushed into Forty-third Street and run over by a car. The pusher was a man

named Jack Mort … except the thing hiding inside of Morts head and guiding his

murderous hands on this par ticular occasion was Rolands old enemy, Walter.

Before Jake and Roland reach Walter, Jake dies again

this time be cause the

gunslinger faced with an agonizing choice be tween this symbolic son and the Dark Tower, chooses the Tower. Jakes last words be fore plung ing into the abyss are

Go, thenthere are other worlds than these.

The final confrontation between Roland and Wal ter occurs near the Western Sea.

In a long night of palaver, the man in black tells Rolands future with a strange

Tarot deck. Three cardsThe Prisoner, The Lady of the Shadows, and Death

(but not for you, gunslinger)are especially called to Rolands attention.

The second volume, The Drawing of the Three, begins on the edge of the Western

Sea not long after Roland awakens from his con frontation with his old nemesis

and discovers Walter long dead, only more bones in a place of bones. The

exhausted gunslinger is attacked by a horde of carnivorous lobstrosities, and

before he can escape them, he has been seri ously wounded, losing the first two fingers of his right hand. He is also poisoned by their bites, and as he resumes his trek northward along the Western Sea, Roland is sickening

perhaps dying.

On his walk he encounters three doors standing freely on the beach. These open

into our city of New York, at three different whens.

From 1987, Roland draws

Eddie Dean, a prisoner of heroin. From 1964, he draws Odetta Susannah Holmes,

a woman who has lost her lower legs in a subway mis hap … one that was no

accident. She is indeed a lady of shadows, with a vi cious second personality

hiding within the socially committed young black woman her friends know. This hidden woman, the violent and crafty Detta Walk er, is determined to kill both

Roland and Eddie when the gunslinger draws her into MidWorld.

Between these two in time, once again in 1977, Roland enters the hellish mind of

Jack Mort, who has hurt Odetta/Detta not once but twice. Death, the man in

black told Roland, but not for you, gunslinger. Nor is Mort the third of whom

Walter foretold; Roland prevents Mort from mur dering Jake Chambers, and

shortly afterward Mort dies beneath the wheels of the same train which took

Odettas legs in 1959. Roland thus fails to draw the psy chotic into MidWorld

but, he thinks, who would want such a being in any case

Yet theres a price to be paid for rebellion against a foretold future; isnt there

always Ka, maggot, Rolands old teacher, Cort, might have said; Such is the great wheel, and always turns. Be not in front of it when it does, or you II be crushed

under it, and so make an end to your stupid brains and use less bags of guts and

water.

Roland thinks that perhaps he has drawn three in just Eddie and Odetta, since

Odetta is a double personality, yet when Odet ta and Detta merge as one in

Susannah (thanks in large part to Eddie Deans love and courage), the gun slinger knows its not so. He knows something else as well: he is being tor mented by

thoughts of Jake, the boy who, dying, spoke of other worlds. Half of the

gunslingers mind, in fact, believes there never was a boy. In prevent ing Jack

Mort from pushing Jake in front of the car meant to kill him, Roland has created a

temporal paradox which is tearing him apart.

And, in our world, it is tearing Jake Chambers apart as well.

The Wastelands, the third volume of the series, begins with this paradox. After

killing a gigantic bear named either Mir (by the old people who went in fear of it)

or Shardik (by the Great Old Ones who built it

for the bear turns out to be a

cyborg), Roland, Eddie, and Susannah back track the beast and dis cover Path of the Beam. There are six of these beams, running be tween the twelve portals which

mark the edges of MidWorld. At the point where the beams crossat the center

of Rolands world, perhaps the center of all worlds

the gunslinger believes that

he and his friends will at last find the Dark Tower.

By now Eddie and Susannah are no longer pris oners in Rolands world. In love

and well on the way to becoming gunslingers themselves, they are full participants in the quest and follow him willingly along the Path of the Beam.

In a speaking ring not far from the Portal of the Bear, time is mended, paradox is

ended, and the real third is at last drawn. Jake reenters MidWorld at the

conclusion of a perilous rite where all fourJake, Eddie, Susannah, and

Rolandremember the faces of their fathers and acquit themselves hon orably.

Not long after, the quartet becomes a quintet, when Jake befriends a billy-bumbler.

Bumblers, which look like a combination of bad ger, raccoon, and dog, have a

limited speaking ability. Jake names his new friend Oy.

The way of the pilgrims leads them toward Lud, an urban wasteland where the

degenerate survivors of two old factions, the Pubes and the Grays, carry on the

vestige of an old conflict. Before reaching the city, they come to a little town

called River Crossing, where a few antique res idents still remain. They recognize Roland as a remnant of the old days, before the world moved on, and honor him

and his companions. After, the old people tell them of a monorail train which may still run from Lud and into the wastelands, along the Path of the Beam and toward

the Dark Tower.

Jake is frightened by this news, but not really sur prised; before being drawn away

from New York, he obtained two books from a book store owned by a man with

the thought-provoking name of Calvin Tower. One is a book of riddles with the

answers torn out. The other, Charlie the ChooChoo, is a childrens book about a train. An amusing little tale, most might say … but to Jake, theres something

about Charlie that isnt amusing at all. Something frightening. Roland knows

something else: in the High Speech of his world, the word char means death.

Aunt Talitha, the matriarch of the River Crossing folk, gives Roland a silver cross

to wear, and the travellers go their course. Before reaching Lud, they discover a

downed plane from our worlda German fighter from the 1930s. Jammed into the

cockpit is the mummified corpse of a giant, al most certainly the half-mythical

outlaw David Quick.

While crossing the dilapidated bridge which spans the River Send, Jake and Oy

are nearly lost in an accident. While Roland, Ed die, and Susannah are distracted

by this, the party is ambushed by a dying (and very dangerous) out law named

Gasher. He abducts Jake and takes him under ground to the TickTock Man, the

last leader of the Grays. TickTocks real name is Andrew Quick; he is the greatgrand son of the man who died trying to land an air plane from another world.

While Roland (aided by Oy) goes after Jake, Ed die and Susannah find the Cradle

of Lud, where Blaine the Mono awakes. Blaine is the last above-ground tool of the

vast computer-system which lies beneath the city of Lud, and it has only one

remaining interest: riddles. It promises to take the trav ellers to the monorails final stop if they can solve a riddle it poses them. Oth erwise, Blaine says, the only trip theyll be taking will be to the place where the path ends in the clearing

to their

deaths, in other words. In that case theyll have plen ty of company, for Blaine is

planning to release stocks of nerve-gas which will kill everyone left in Lud: Pubes,

Grays, and gunslingers alike.

Roland rescues Jake, leaving the TickTock Man for dead

but An drew Quick is

not dead. Half blind, hideously wounded about the face, he is rescued by a man

who calls himself Richard Fannin. Fannin, how ever, also identifies himself as the Ageless Stranger, a demon of whom Roland has been warned by Walter.

Roland and Jake are reunited with Eddie and Su sannah in the Cradle of Lud, and

Susannahwith a little help from dat bitch Detta Walkeris able to solve

Blaines riddle. They gain access to the mono, of necessity ig noring the horrified

warnings of Blaines sane but fatally weak under mind (Eddie calls this voice Little Blaine), only to discover that Blaine means to commit suicide with them aboard.

The fact that the actual mind running the mono ex ists in computers falling farther

and farther behind them, running be neath a city which has become a slaughteringpen, will make no difference when the pink bullet jumps the tracks somewhere

along the line at a speed in excess of eight hundred miles an hour.

There is only one chance of survival: Blaines love of riddles. Roland of Gilead

proposes a desperate bargain. It is with this bargain that The Waste lands ends; it is with this bargain that Wizard and Glass begins.

romeo: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops

juliet: O, swear not by the moon, th inconstant moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

romeo: What shall I swear by

juliet: Do not swear at all.

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry,

And Ill believe thee.

Romeo and Juliet William Shakespeare On the fourth day, to [Dorothys] great joy, Oz sent for her, and when she entered

the Throne Room, he greeted her pleasantly.

Sit down; my dear. I think I have found a way to get you out of this country.

And back to Kansas she asked eagerly.

Well, Im not sure about Kansas, said Oz, for I havent the faintest notion which

way it lies

.

The Wizard of Oz L. Frank Baum

I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.

Think first, fight afterwardsthe soldiers art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights!

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came Robert Browning

PROLOGUE

BLAINE

ASK ME A RIDDLE, Blaine invited.

Fuck you, Roland said. He did not raise his voice.

WHAT DO YOU SAY In its clear disbelief, the voice of Big Blaine had

become very close to the voice of its unsuspect ed twin.

I said fuck you, Roland said calmly, but if that puz zles you, Blaine, I can make

it clearer. No. The answer is no.

There was no reply from Blaine for a long, long time, and when he did respond, it

was not with words. Instead, the walls, floor, and ceil ing began to lose their color

and solidity again. In a space of ten seconds the Barony Coach once more ceased

to exist. They were now flying through the moun tain-range they had seen on the

horizon: iron-gray peaks rushed toward them at suicidal speed, then fell away to

disclose sterile valleys where gigantic beetles crawled about like landlocked

turtles. Roland saw something that looked like a huge snake suddenly uncoil from

the mouth of a cave. It seized one of the beetles and yanked it back into its lair.

Roland had never in his life seen such animals or countryside, and the sight made

his skin want to crawl right off his flesh. Blaine might have transported them to

some other world.

PERHAPS I SHOULD DERAIL US HERE, Blaine said. His voice was

meditative, but beneath it the gunslinger heard a deep, pulsing rage.

Perhaps you should, the gunslinger said indif ferently.

Eddies face was frantic. He mouthed the words What are you DO ING Roland

ignored him; he had his hands full with Blaine, and he knew perfectly well what

he was doing.

YOU ARE RUDE AND ARROGANT, Blaine said.

THESE MAY SEEM

LIKE INTERESTING TRAITS TO YOU, BUT THEY

ARE NOT TO ME.

Oh, I can be much ruder than I have been.

Roland of Gilead unfolded his hands and got slow ly to his feet. He stood on what

appeared to be nothing, legs apart, his right hand on his hip and his left on the

sandalwood grip of his revolver. He stood as he had so many times before, in the

dusty streets of a hundred forgotten towns, in a score of rocky canyon killingzones, in unnumbered dark saloons with their smells of bitter beer and old fried meals. It was just another show down in another empty street. That was all, and

that was enough. It was khef, ka, and ka-tet. That the showdown always came was

the central fact of his life and the axle upon which his own ka revolved. That the

battle would be fought with words instead of bullets this time made no differ ence;

it would be a battle to the death, just the same. The stench of killing in the air was

as clear and definite as the stench of exploded carrion in a swamp. Then the battlerage descended, as it always did

and he was no longer really there to himself at all.

I can call you a nonsensical, empty-headed, foolish machine. I can call you a

stupid, unwise creature whose sense is no more than the sound of a winter wind in a hollow tree.

STOP IT.

Roland went on in the same serene tone, ignoring Blaine completely. Youre what

Eddie calls a gadget. Were you more, I might be ruder yet.

I AM A GREAT DEAL MORE THAN JUST

I could call you a sucker of cocks, for instance, but you have no mouth. I could

say youre viler than the vilest beggar who ever crawled the lowest street in

creation, but even such a creature is better than you; you have no knees on which

to crawl, and would not fall upon them even if you did, for you have no

conception of such a human flaw as mercy. I could even say you fucked your

mother, had you one.

Roland paused for breath. His three companions were holding theirs. All around

them, suffocating, was Blaine the Monos thun derstruck silence.

I can call you a faithless creature who let your only companion kill herself, a

coward who has delighted in the torture of the foolish and the slaughter of the

innocent, a lost and bleating mechanical goblin who

I COMMAND YOU TO STOP IT OR ILL KILL YOU

ALL RIGHT HERE!

Rolands eyes blazed with such wild blue fire that Ed die shrank away from him.

Dimly, he heard Jake and Susannah gasp.

Kill if you will, but command me nothing! the gun slinger roared. You have

forgotten the faces of those who made you! Now ei ther kill us or be silent and

listen to me, Roland of Gilead, son of Steven, gun slinger, and lord of ancient

lands! I have not come across all the miles and all the years to listen to your

childish prating! Do you understand Now you will listen to ME!

There was another moment of shocked silence.

No one breathed. Roland stared

sternly forward, his head high, his hand on the butt of his gun.

Susannah Dean raised her hand to her mouth and felt the small smile there as a

woman might feel some strange new article of clothinga hat, perhapsto make

sure it is still on straight. She was afraid this was the end of her life, but the feeling

which dominated her heart at that moment was not fear but pride. She glanced to

her left and saw Eddie regarding Roland with an amazed grin. Jakes expression

was even simpler: pure adoration.

Tell him! Jake breathed. Kick his ass! Right!

You better pay attention, Eddie agreed. He re ally doesnt give much of a fuck,

Blaine. They dont call him The Mad Dog of Gilead for nothing.

After a long, long moment, Blaine asked: DID

THEY CALL YOU SO,

ROLAND SON OF STEVEN

They may have, Roland replied, standing calmly on thin air above the sterile

foothills.

WHAT GOOD ARE YOU TO ME IF YOU WONT

TELL ME RIDDLES

Blaine asked. Now he sounded like a grumbling, sulky child who has been

allowed to stay up too long past his usual bedtime.

I didnt say we wouldnt, Roland said.

NO Blaine sounded bewildered. I DO NOT

UNDERSTAND, YET VOICEPRINT

ANALYSIS INDICATES RATIONAL

DISCOURSE. PLEASE

EXPLAIN.

You said you wanted them right now the gunslinger replied. That was what I

was refusing. Your eagerness has made you un seemly.

I DONT UNDERSTAND.

It has made you rude. Do you understand that

There was a long, thoughtful silence. Centuries had passed since the computer had

experienced any human responses other than ignorance, ne glect, and superstitious subservience. It had been eons since it had been ex posed to simple human

courage. Finally: IF WHAT I SAID STRUCK YOU

AS RUDE, I APOLOGIZE.

It is accepted, Blaine. But there is a larger prob lem.

EXPLAIN.

Close the carriage again and I will. Roland sat down as if further argumentand

the prospect of immediate deathwas now un thinkable.

Blaine did as he was asked. The walls filled with col or and the night mare

landscape below was once more blotted out. The blip on the routemap was now

blinking close to the dot marked Candleton.

All right, Roland said. Rudeness is forgivable, Blaine; so I was taught in my

youth. But I was also taught that stupidity is not.

HOW HAVE I BEEN STUPID, ROLAND OF

GILEAD Blames voice was

soft and ominous. Susannah thought of a cat crouched out side a mouse-hole, tail swishing back and forth, green eyes shining with malevolence.

We have something you want, Roland said, but the only reward you offer if we

give it to you is death. Thats very stupid.

There was a long, long pause as Blaine thought this over. Then: WHAT YOU

SAY IS TRUE, ROLAND OF GILEAD, BUT THE

QUALITY OF YOUR

RIDDLES IS NOT PROVEN. I WILL NOT RE WARD

YOU WITH YOUR

LIVES FOR BAD RIDDLES.

Roland nodded. I understand, Blaine. Listen, now, and take under standing from

me. I have told some of this to my friends already.

When I was a boy in the

Barony of Gilead, there were seven FairDays each yearWinter, Wide Earth,

Sowing, MidSummer, Full Earth, Reaping, and Years End. Riddling was an

important part of every FairDay, but it was the most important event of the Fair

of Wide Earth and that of Full Earth, for the riddles told were supposed to augur

well or ill for the suc cess of the crops.

THAT IS SUPERSTITION WITH NO BASIS AT

ALL IN FACT, Blaine said.

I FIND IT ANNOYING AND UPSETTING.

Of course it was superstition, Roland agreed, but you might be surprised at how well the riddles foresaw the crops. For instance, riddle me this, Blaine: What is the difference between a grandmother and a gra nary

THAT IS OLD AND NOT VERY INTERESTING,

Blaine said, but he sounded

happy to have something to solve, just the same.

ONE IS ONES BORN KIN;

THE OTHER IS ONES CORN-BIN. A RIDDLE

BASED ON PHONETIC COINCIDENCE. AN

OTHER OF THIS TYPE, ONE

TOLD ON THE LEVEL WHICH CONTAINS THE

BARONY OF NEW YORK,

GOES LIKE THIS: WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE

BE TWEEN A CAT AND A

COMPLEX SENTENCE

Jake spoke up. I know. A cat has claws at the end of its paws, and a complex

sentence has a pause at the end of its clause.

YES, Blaine agreed. A VERY SILLY OLD RID

DLE, USEFUL ONLY AS A

MNEMONIC DEVICE.

For once I agree with you, Blaine old buddy, Eddie said.

I AM NOT YOUR BUDDY, EDDIE OF NEW YORK.

Well, jeez. Kiss my ass and go to heaven.

THERE IS NO HEAVEN.

Eddie had no comeback for that one.

I WOULD HEAR MORE OF FAIR-DAY RIDDLING

IN GILEAD, ROLAND

SON OF STEVEN.

At noon on Wide Earth and Full Earth, somewhere between sixteen and thirty

riddlers would gather in the Hall of the Grandfa thers, which was opened for the

event. Those were the only times of year when com mon folkmerchants and

farmers and ranchers and suchwere allowed in to the Hall of the Grandfathers,

and on that day they all crowded in.

The gunslingers eyes were far away and dreamy; it was the expres sion Jake had

seen on his face in that misty other life, when Roland had told him of how he and

his friends, Cuthbert and Jamie, had once sneaked into the balcony of that same

Hall to watch some sort of dance-party. Jake and Roland had been climbing into

the mountains when Roland had told him of that time, close on the trail of Walter.

Marten sat next to my mother and father, Roland had said. I knew them even from

so high aboveand once she and Marten danced, slowly and revolvingly, and the

others cleared the floor for them and clapped when it was over. But the

gunslingers did not clap

.

Jake looked curiously at Roland, wondering again where this strange man had

come from … and why.

A great barrel was placed in the center of the floor,

Roland went on, and into

this each riddler would toss a handful of bark scrolls with rid dles writ upon them.

Many were old, riddles they had gotten from the el derseven from books, in

some casesbut many others were new, made up for the occasion. Three judges,

one always a gunslinger, would pass on these when they were told aloud, and they

were accepted only if the judges deemed them fair.

YES, RIDDLES MUST BE FAIR, Blaine agreed.

So they riddled, the gunslinger said. A faint smile touched his mouth as he

thought of those days, days when he had been the age of the bruised boy sitting

across from him with the billy-bumbler in his lap.

For hours on end they riddled.

A line was formed down the center of the Hall of the Grandfathers. Ones position

in this line was determined by lot, and since it was much better to be at the end of

the line than at the head, everyone hoped for a high draw, although the winner had

to answer at least one riddle correctly.

OF COURSE.

Each man or womanfor some of Gileads best riddlers were

womenapproached the barrel, drew a riddle, and if the riddle was still

unanswered after the sands in a three-minute glass had run out, that con testant had to leave the line.

AND WAS THE SAME RIDDLE ASKED OF THE

NEXT PER SON IN THE

LINE

Yes.

SO THE NEXT PERSON HAD EXTRA TIME TO

THINK.

Yes.

I SEE. IT SOUNDS PRETTY SWELL.

Roland frowned. Swell

He means it sounds like fun, Susannah said qui etly.

Roland shrugged. It was fun for the onlookers, I suppose, but the contestants took

it very seriously. Quite often there were argu ments and fistfights after the contest was over and the prize awarded.

WHAT PRIZE WAS THAT, ROLAND SON OF

STEVEN

The largest goose in Barony. And year after year my teacher, Cort, carried that

goose home.

I WISH HE WERE HERE, Blaine said respectful ly. HE MUST HAVE BEEN

A GREAT RIDDLER.

Indeed he was, Roland said. Are you ready for my proposal, Blaine

OF COURSE. I WILL LISTEN WITH GREAT IN

TEREST, ROLAND OF

GILEAD.

Let these next few hours be our FairDay. You will not riddle us, for you wish to

hear new riddles, not tell some of those millions you already know

CORRECT.

We couldnt solve most of them, anyway, Roland went on. Im sure you know

riddles that would have stumped even Cort, had they been pulled out of the

barrel. He was not sure of it at all, but the time to use the fist had passed and the

time to use the feather had come.

OF COURSE, Blaine agreed.

Instead of a goose, our lives shall be the prize,

Roland said. We will riddle you

as we run, Blaine. If, when we come to Topeka, you have solved every one of our

riddles, you may carry out your original plan and kill us. That is your goose. But if

we pose youif there is a riddle in ei ther Jakes book or one of our heads which

you dont know and cant an sweryou must take us to Topeka and then free us to

pursue our quest. That is our goose.

Silence.

Do you understand

YES.

Do you agree

More silence from Blaine the Mono. Eddie sat stiffly with his arm around

Susannah, looking up at the ceiling of the Barony Coach. Susan nahs left hand

slipped across her belly, stroking the secret which might be hidden there. Jake

stroked Oys fur lightly, avoiding the bloody tangles where the bumbler had been

stabbed. They waited while Blainethe real Blaine, now far behind them, living

his quasi-life beneath a city where all the inhab itants lay dead by his

handconsidered Rolands proposal.

YES, Blaine said at last. I AGREE. IF I SOLVE ALL

THE RID DLES YOU

ASK ME, I WILL TAKE YOU WITH ME TO THE

PLACE WHERE THE

PATH ENDS IN THE CLEARING. IF ONE OF YOU

TELLS A RIDDLE I

CANNOT SOLVE, I WILL SPARE YOUR LIVES

AND LEAVE YOU IN

TOPEKA, FROM WHENCE YOU MAY CONTIN

UE YOUR QUEST FOR THE

DARK TOWER, IF YOU SO CHOOSE. HAVE I UN

DERSTOOD THE TERMS

AND LIMITS OF YOUR PROPOSAL COR

RECTLY, ROLAND SON OF

STEVEN

Yes.

VERY WELL, ROLAND OF GILEAD.

VERY WELL, EDDIE OF NEW YORK.

VERY WELL, SUSANNAH OF NEW YORK.

VERY WELL, JAKE OF NEW YORK.

VERY WELL, OY OF MID-WORLD.

Oy looked up briefly at the sound of his name.

YOU ARE KA-TET; ONE MADE FROM MANY. SO

AM I. WHOSE KA-TET

IS THE STRONGER IS SOMETHING WE MUST

NOW PROVE.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the hard steady throb of the slotrans turbines bearing them on across the waste lands, bearing them along the Path of the Beam toward Topeka, where MidWorld ended and End-World began.

SO, cried the voice of Blaine. CAST YOUR NETS, WANDER ERS! TRY ME

WITH YOUR QUESTIONS, AND LET THE CON

TEST BEGIN.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

PART ONE

RIDDLES

CHAPTER 1

beneath the

demon moon (I)

1

The town of Candleton was a poisoned and irra diated ruin, but not dead; after all the centuries it still twitched with tenebrous life

trundling beetles the size of

turtles, birds that looked like small, misshapen dragonlets, a few stumbling robots that passed in and out of the rotten build ings like stainless steel zombies, their

joints squalling, their nuclear eyes flickering.

Show your pass, pard! cried the one that had been stuck in a corner of the lobby

of the Candleton Travellers Hotel for the last two hundred and thirty-four years.

Embossed on the rusty lozenge of its head was a sixpointed star. It had over the

years managed to dig a shallow concavity in the steel-sheathed wall blocking its

way, but that was all.

Show your pass, pard! Elevated radiation lev els possible south and east of town!

Show your pass, pard! Elevated radiation levels possible south and east of town!

A bloated rat, blind and dragging its guts behind it in a sac like a rot ten placenta,

struggled over the posse robots feet. The posse robot took no notice, just went on butting its steel head into the steel wall. Show your pass, pard! Elevated radiation

levels possible, dad rattit and gods cuss it! Be hind it, in the hotel bar, the skulls of men and women who had come in here for one last drink before the cataclysm

caught up with them grinned as if they had died laugh ing. Perhaps some of them

had.

When Blaine the Mono blammed overhead, running up the night like a bullet

running up the barrel of a gun, windows broke, dust sifted down, and several of

the skulls disintegrated like ancient pottery vases. Outside, a brief hurricane of radioactive dust blew up the street, and the hitch ing post in front of the Elegant

Beef and Pork Restaurant was sucked into the squally updraft like smoke. In the town square, the Candleton Fountain split in two, spilling out not water but only

dust, snakes, mutie scorpions, and a few of the blindly trundling turtle-beetles.

Then the shape which had hurtled above the town was gone as if it had never been,

Candleton reverted to the mouldering activ ity which had been its substitute for life over the last two and a half centuries… and then the trailing sonic boom caught

up, slamming its thunderclap above the town for the first time in seven years,

causing enough vibration to tumble the mercan tile store on the far side of the

fountain. The posse ro bot tried to voice one final warning: Elevated rad and

then quit for good, facing into its corner like a child that has been bad.

Two or three hundred wheels outside Candleton, as one travelled along the Path of the Beam, the radiation levels and concentra tions of DEP3 in the soil fell rapidly.

Here the monos track swooped down to less than ten feet off the ground, and here

a doe that looked almost normal walked prettily from piney woods to drink from a

stream in which the wa ter had threequarters cleansed itself.

The doe was not normala stumpish fifth leg dan gled down from the center of

her lower belly like a teat, waggling bonelessly to and fro when she walked, and a

blind third eye peered milkily from the left side of her muzzle. Yet she was fertile,

and her DNA was in reasonably good order for a twelfth-generation mutie. In her

six years of life she had given birth to three live young. Two of these fawns had

been not just viable but nor malthreaded stock, Aunt Talitha of River Crossing

would have called them. The third, a skinless, bawl ing horror, had been killed

quickly by its sire.

The worldthis part of it, at any ratehad begun to heal itself.

The deer slipped her mouth into the water, began to drink, then looked up, eyes

wide, muzzle dripping. Off in the distance she could hear a low humming sound.

A moment later it was joined by an eyelash of light.

Alarm flared in the does

nerves, but although her reflexes were fast and the light when first glimpsed was

still many wheels away across the desolate country side, there was never a chance

for her to escape. Before she could even begin to fire her muscles, the distant

spark had swelled to a searing wolfs eye of light that flooded the stream and the

clearing with its glare. With the light came the mad dening hum of Blaines slotrans

en gines, running at full capacity. There was a blur of pink above the

con crete ridge which bore the rail; a rooster-tail of dust, stones, small

dismembered animals, and whirling foliage fol lowed along after. The doe was

killed instantly by the concussion of Blaines pas sage. Too large to be sucked in

the monos wake, she was still yanked forward al most sev enty yards, with water

dripping from her muzzle and hoofs. Much of her hide (and the boneless fifth leg)

was torn from her body and pulled after Blaine like a discarded garment.

There was brief silence, thin as new skin or early ice on a Years End pond, and

then the sonic boom came rushing after like some noisy crea ture late for a

wedding-feast, tearing the silence apart, knock ing a single mutated birdit might have been a ravendead out of the air. The bird fell like a stone and splashed into

the stream.

In the distance, a dwindling red eye: Blaines tail light.

Overhead, a full moon came out from behind a scrim of cloud, paint ing the

clearing and the stream in the tawdry hues of pawn shop jewelry. There was a face

in the moon, but not one upon which lovers would wish to look. It seemed the

scant face of a skull, like those in the Candleton Travellers Hotel; a face which

looked upon those few beings still alive and strug gling below with the amusement

of a lunatic. In Gilead, before the world had moved on, the full moon of Years

End had been called the Demon Moon, and it was considered ill luck to look

directly at it.

Now, however, such did not matter. Now there were demons every where.

2

Susannah looked at the routemap and saw that the green dot marking their present position was now almost halfway between Can dleton and Rilea, Blaines next stop.

Except whos stopping she thought.

From the routemap she turned to Eddie. His gaze was still directed up at the

ceiling of the Barony Coach. She followed it and saw a square which could only

be a trapdoor (except when you were dealing with fu turistic shit like a talking

train, she supposed you called it a hatch, or some thing even cooler). Stencilled on

it was a simple red drawing which showed a man stepping through the opening.

Susannah tried to imagine following the im plied instruction and popping up

through that hatch at over eight hundred miles an hour. She got a quick but clear

image of a womans head being ripped from her neck like a flower from its stalk; she saw the head flying backward along the length of the Barony Coach, perhaps

bouncing once, and then disappearing into the dark, eyes staring and hair rippling.

She pushed the picture away as fast as she could.

The hatch up there was almost

certainly locked shut, anyway. Blaine the Mono had no inten tion of letting them

go. They might win their way out, but Susannah didnt think that was a sure thing even if they managed to stump Blaine with a riddle.

Sorry to say this, but you sound like just one more honky motherfucker to me,

honey, she thought in a mental voice that was not quite Detta Walkers. I dont

trust your mechanical ass. You apt to be more dan gerous beaten than with the

blue ribbon pinned to your memory banks.

Jake was holding his tattered book of riddles out to the gunslinger as if he no

longer wanted the responsibility of carrying it.

Susannah knew how the kid must

feel; their lives might very well be in those grimy, wellthumbed pages. She wasnt

sure she would want the responsibility of holding onto it, either.

Roland! Jake whispered. Do you want this

Ont! Oy said, giving the gunslinger a forbidding glance. Olan-ont-iss! The

bumbler fixed his teeth on the book, took it from Jakes hand, and stretched his

disproportionately long neck toward Roland, of fering him RiddleDe-Dum! BrainTwisters and Puzzles for Everyone!

Roland glanced at it for a moment, his face distant and preoccupied, then shook

his head. Not yet. He looked forward at the routemap. Blaine had no face, so

the map had to serve them as a fixing-point. The flashing green dot was closer to

Rilea now. Susannah wondered briefly what the countryside through which they

were passing looked like, and decided she didnt really want to know. Not after

what theyd seen as they left the city of Lud.

Blaine! Roland called.

YES.

Can you leave the room We need to confer.

You nuts if you think hes gonna do that, Susannah thought, but Blaines reply was

quick and eager.

YES, GUNSLINGER. I WILL TURN OFF ALL MY

SENSORS IN THE

BARONY COACH. WHEN YOUR CONFERENCE

IS DONE AND YOU ARE

READY TO BEGIN THE RIDDLING, I WILL RE

TURN.

Yeah, you and General MacArthur, Eddie mut tered.

WHAT DID YOU SAY, EDDIE OF NEW YORK

Nothing. Talking to myself, thats all.

TO SUMMON ME, SIMPLY TOUCH THE ROUTEMAP, said Blaine. AS

LONG AS THE MAP IS RED, MY SENSORS ARE

OFF. SEE YOU LATER,

ALLIGATOR. AFTER AWHILE, CROCODILE.

DONT FORGET TO WRITE.

A pause. Then: OLIVE OIL BUT NOT CASTORIA.

The routemap rectangle at the front of the cabin suddenly turned a red so bright

Susannah couldnt look at it without squinting.

Olive oil but not castoria Jake asked. What the heck does that mean

It doesnt matter, Roland said. We dont have much time. The mono travels just

as fast toward its point of ending whether Blaines with us or not.

You dont really believe hes gone, do you Ed die asked. A slip pery pup like

him Come on, get real. Hes peeking, I guaran tee you.

I doubt it very much, Roland said, and Susannah decided she agreed with him.

For now, at least. You could hear how excited he was at the idea of riddling again

after all these years. And

And hes confident, Susannah said. Doesnt expect to have much trouble with

the likes of us.

Will he Jake asked the gunslinger. Will he have trouble with us

I dont know, Roland said. I dont have a Watch Me hidden up my sleeve, if

thats what youre asking. Its a straight game … but at least its a game Ive played

before. Weve all played it before, at least to some ex tent. And theres that. He

nodded toward the book which Jake had taken back from Oy. There are forces at work here, big ones, and not all of them are working to keep us away from the

Tower.

Susannah heard him, but it was Blaine she was thinking ofBlaine who had gone

away and left them alone, like the kid whos been cho sen it obediently covering

his eyes while his playmates hide. And wasnt that what they were Blaines

playmates The thought was somehow worse than the image shed had of trying

the escape hatch and having her head torn off.

So what do we do Eddie asked. You must have an idea, or you never would

have sent him away.

His great intelligencecoupled with his long pe riod of loneliness and forced

inactivitymay have combined to make him more human than he knows. Thats

my hope, anyway. First, we must establish a kind of geography. We must tell, if

we can, where he is weak and where he is strong, where he is sure of the game and

where not so sure. Riddles are not just about the cleverness of the riddler, never

think it. They are also about the blind spots of he who is riddled.

Does he have blind spots Eddie asked.

If he doesnt, Roland said calmly, were going to die on this train.

I like the way you kind of ease us over the rough spots, Eddie said with a thin

smile. Its one of your many charms.

We will riddle him four times to begin with, Roland said. Easy, not so easy,

quite hard, very hard. Hell answer all four, of that I am con fident, but we will be

listening for how he answers.

Eddie was nodding, and Susannah felt a small, almost reluctant glim mer of hope.

It sounded like the right approach, all right.

Then well send him away again and hold palaver, the gunslinger said. Mayhap

well get an idea of what direction to send our hors es. These first riddles can come

from anywhere, buthe nodded gravely toward the bookbased on Jakes story

of the bookstore, the answer we really need should be in there, not in any

memories I have of FairDay riddlings. Must be in there.

Question, Susannah said.

Roland looked at her, eyebrows raised over his fad ed, danger ous eyes.

Its a question were looking for, not an answer,

she said. This time its the

answers that are apt to get us killed.

The gunslinger nodded. He looked puzzledfrus trated, evenand this was not an

expression Susannah liked seeing on his face.

But this time when Jake held out the book, Roland took it. He held it for a moment (its fad ed but still gay red cover

looked very strange in his big sunburned hands …

especially in the right one,

with its essential reduction of two fingers), then passed it on to Eddie.

Youre easy, Roland said, turning to Susannah.

Perhaps, she replied, with a trace of a smile, but its still not a very polite thing to say to a lady, Roland.

He turned to Jake. Youll go second, with one thats a little harder. Ill go third.

Youll go last, Eddie. Pick one from the book that looks hard

The hard ones are toward the back, Jake sup plied.

… but none of your foolishness, mind. This is life and death. The time for

foolishness is past.

Eddie looked at himold long, tall, and ugly, whod done God knew how many

ugly things in the name of reaching his Tower

and wondered if Roland had any

idea at all of how much that hurt. Just that casual admo nition not to behave like a

child, grinning and cracking jokes, now that their lives were at wager.

He opened his mouth to say somethingan Eddie Dean Special, something that

would be both funny and stinging at the same time, the kind of remark that always

used to drive his brother Henry dogshit and then closed it again. Maybe long,

tall, and ugly was right; maybe it was time to put away the one-liners and dead

baby jokes. Maybe it was finally time to grow up.

3

After three more minutes of murmured consulta tion and some quick flip ping

through RiddleDe-Dum! on Eddies and Su sannahs parts (Jake al ready knew the one he wanted to try Blaine with first, hed said), Roland went to the front of the

Barony Coach and laid his hand on the fiercely glow ing rectangle there. The routemap

reappeared at once. Although there was no sensation of movement now that

the coach was closed, the green dot was closer to Rilea than ever.

SO, ROLAND SON OF STEVEN! Blaine said. To Eddie he sounded more than

jovial; he sounded next door to hilarious. IS YOUR

KA-TET READY TO

BEGIN

Yes. Susannah of New York will begin the first round. He turned to her, lowered

his voice a little (not that she reckoned that would do much good if Blaine wanted

to listen), and said: You wont have to step for ward like the rest of us, because of

your legs, but you must speak fair and address him by name each time you talk to

him. Ifwhenhe answers your riddle correctly, say Thankee-sai, Blaine, you

have answered true. Then Jake will step into the aisle and have his turn. All

right

And if he should get it wrong, or not guess at all

Roland smiled grimly. I think thats one thing we dont have to worry about just

yet. He raised his voice again. Blaine

YES, GUNSLINGER.

Roland took a deep breath. It starts now.

EXCELLENT!

Roland nodded at Susannah. Eddie squeezed one of her hands; Jake patted the

other. Oy gazed at her raptly with his goldringed eyes.Susannah smiled at them nervously, then looked up at the routemap. Hello,

Blame.

HOWDY, SUSANNAH OF NEW YORK.

Her heart was pounding, her armpits were damp, and here was some thing she had

first discovered way back in the first grade: it was hard to begin. It was hard to

stand up in front of the class and be first with your song, your joke, your report on

how you spent your summer vacation … or your riddle, for that matter. The one

she had decided upon was one from Jake Cham berss crazed English essay, which he had recited to them almost verbatim during their long palaver after leaving the old people of River Crossing. The essay, titled My Understanding of Truth, had

con tained two riddles, one of which Eddie had al ready used on Blaine.

SUSANNAH ARE YOU THERE, LIL COW

GIRL

Teasing again, but this time the teasing sounded light, good-natured. Goodhu

mored. Blaine could be charming when he got what he wanted. Like certain

spoiled children she had known.

Yes, Blaine, I am, and here is my riddle. What has four wheels and flies

There was a peculiar click, as if Blaine were mim icking the sound of a man

popping his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It was followed by a brief pause.

When Blaine replied, most of the jocularity had gone out of his voice. THE

TOWN GARBAGE WAGON, OF COURSE. A

CHILDS RIDDLE. IF THE

REST OF YOUR RIDDLES ARE NO BET TER, I WILL BE EXTREMELY

SORRY I SAVED YOUR LIVES FOR EVEN A SHORT WHILE.

The routemap flashed, not red this time but pale pink. Dont get him mad, the

voice of Little Blaine begged. Each time it spoke, Susannah found herself

imagining a sweaty little bald man whose every movement was a kind of cringe.

The voice of Big Blaine came from everywhere (like the voice of God in a Cecil

B. DeMille movie, Susannah thought), but Lit tle Blaines from only one: the

speaker directly over their heads. Please dont make him angry, fellows; hes

already got the mono in the red, speedwise, and the track compensators can barely

keep up. The trackage has degenerated terri bly since the last time we came out this way.

Susannah, who had been on her share of humpy trolleys and subways in her time,

felt nothing the ride was as smooth now as it had been when they had first pulled

out of the Cradle of Ludbut she believed Little Blaine anyway. She guessed that

if they did feel a bump, it would be the last thing any of them would ever feel.

Roland poked an elbow into her side, bringing her back to her current situation.

Thankee-sai, she said, and then, as an af terthought, tapped her throat rapidly three times with the fingers of her right hand. It was what Roland had done when

speaking to Aunt Talitha for the first time.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR COURTESY, Blaine said.

He sounded amused

again, and Susannah reckoned that was good even if his amuse ment was at her

expense. I AM NOT FEMALE, HOWEVER. IN

SO FAR AS I HAVE A SEX, IT

IS MALE.

Susannah looked at Roland, bewildered.

Left hand for men, he said. On the breastbone. He tapped to demonstrate.

Oh.

Roland turned to Jake. The boy stood, put Oy on his chair (which did no good; Oy

immediately jumped down and followed after Jake when he stepped into the aisle to face the routemap), and turned his attention to Blaine.

Hello, Blaine, this is Jake. You know, son of Elmer.

SPEAK YOUR RIDDLE.

What can run but never walks, has a mouth but nev er talks, has a bed but never

sleeps, has a head but never weeps

NOT BAD! ONE HOPES SUSANNAH WILL

LEARN FROM YOUR

EXAMPLE, JAKE SON OF ELMER. THE AN

SWER MUST BE SELFEV

IDENT TO ANYONE OF ANY INTELLI

GENCE AT ALL, BUT A DECENT

EFFORT, NEVERTHELESS. A RIVER.

Thankee-sai, Blaine, you have answered true. He tapped the bunched fingers of

his left hand three times against his breastbone and then sat down. Susannah put

her arm around him and gave him a brief squeeze.

Jake looked at her gratefully.

Now Roland stood up. Hile, Blaine, he said.

HILE, GUNSLINGER. Once again Blaine sounded amused … possibly by the

greeting, which Susannah hadnt heard before.

Heil what she wondered. Hitler

came to mind, and that made her think of the downed plane theyd found outside

Lud. A Focke-Wulf, Jake had claimed. She didnt know about that, but she knew it

had contained one seriously dead harrier, too old even to stink. SPEAK YOUR

RIDDLE, ROLAND, AND LET IT BE HANDSOME.

Handsome is as handsome does, Blaine. In any case, here it is: What has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night

THAT IS INDEED HANDSOME, Blaine allowed.

SIMPLE BUT

HANDSOME, JUST THE SAME. THE ANSWER IS

A HUMAN BE ING,

WHO CRAWLS ON HANDS AND KNEES IN BABY

HOOD, WALKS ON

TWO LEGS DURING ADULTHOOD, AND WHO

GOES ABOUT WITH THE

HELP OF A CANE IN OLD AGE.

Blaine sounded positively smug, and Susannah suddenly discovered a mildly

interesting fact: she loathed the self-satisfied, murderous thing. Machine or not, it or he, she loathed Blaine. She had an idea she would have felt the same even if he

hadnt made them wager their lives in a stu pid rid dling contest.

Roland, however, did not look the slightest put out of countenance. Thankee-sai,

Blaine, you have answered true. He sat down with out tap ping his breastbone and

looked at Eddie. Eddie stood up and stepped into the aisle.

Whats happening, Blaine my man he asked.

Roland winced and shook his

head, putting his mutilated right hand up briefly to shade his eyes.

Silence from Blaine.

Blaine Are you there

YES, BUT IN NO MOOD FOR FRIVOLITY, EDDIE

OF NEW YORK. SPEAK

YOUR RIDDLE. I SUSPECT IT WILL BE DIFFI CULT IN SPITE OF YOUR

FOOLISH POSES. I LOOK FORWARD TO IT.

Eddie glanced at Roland, who waved a hand at him Go on, for your fathers

sake, go on!and then looked back at the routemap, where the green dot had just

passed the point marked Rilea. Susannah saw that Eddie suspected what she

herself all but knew: Blaine understood they were trying to test his capabilities

with a spectrum of riddles. Blaine knew … and wel comed it.

Susannah felt her heart sink as any hopes they might find a quick and easy way

out of this disappeared.

4 

Well, Eddie said, 

I

dont know how hard itll seem to

you, but it struck me as a

toughie. Nor did he know the answer, since that sec tion of RiddleDe-Dum! had

been torn out, but he didnt think that made any differ ence; their knowing the

answers hadnt been part of the ground-rules.

I SHALL HEAR AND ANSWER.

No sooner spoken than broken. What is it

SILENCE, A THING YOU KNOW LITTLE ABOUT, EDDIE OF NEW

YORK, Blaine said with no pause at all, and Eddie felt his heart drop a little.

There was no need to consult with the others; the answer was self-evident. And

having it come back at him so quickly was the real bummer. Eddie never would

have said so, but he had harbored the hope al most a secret suretyof bringing

Blaine down with a single riddle, ker-smash, all the Kings horses and all the

Kings men couldnt put Blaine together again. The same secret surety, he

supposed, that he had harbored every time he picked up a pair of dice in some

sharpies back-bedroom crap game, every time he called for a hit on seventeen

while playing blackjack. That feeling that you couldnt go wrong because you

were you, the best, the one and only.

Yeah, he said, sighing. Silence, a thing I know lit tle about. Thankee-sai, Blaine,

you speak truth.

I HOPE YOU HAVE DISCOVERED SOMETHING

WHICH WILL HELP

YOU, Blaine said, and Eddie thought: You fucking mechanical liar. The

complacent tone had returned to Blaines voice, and Eddie found it of some

passing interest that a machine could express such a range of emo tion. Had the

Great Old Ones built them in, or had Blaine created an emo tional rainbow for

himself at some point A little dipolar pretty with which to pass the long decades

and centuries DO YOU WISH ME TO GO AWAY

AGAIN SO YOU MAY

CONSULT

Yes, Roland said.

The routemap flashed bright red. Eddie turned to ward the gunslinger. Roland

composed his face quickly, but before he did, Ed die saw a hor rible thing: a brief look of complete hopelessness. Eddie had nev er seen such a look there before, not when Roland had been dying of the lobstrosities

bites, not when Eddie had been

pointing the gunslingers own revolver at him, not even when the hideous Gasher

had taken Jake pris oner and disappeared into Lud with him.

What do we do next Jake asked. Do another round of the four of us

I think that would serve little purpose, Roland said.

Blame must know

thousands of riddlesperhaps millionsand that is bad. Worse, far worse, he

understands the how of riddling

the place the mind has to go to in order to make them and solve them. He turned to Eddie and Su sannah, sitting once more with

their arms about one another. Am I right about that he asked them. Do you

agree

Yes, Susannah said, and Eddie nodded reluc tantly. He didnt want to agree …

but he did.

So Jake asked. What do we do, Roland I mean, there has to be a way out of

this … doesnt there

Lie to him, you bastard, Eddie sent fiercely in Rolands direction. Roland, perhaps hearing the thought, did the best he could. He touched Jakes hair with his

diminished hand and ruffled through it. I think theres always an answer, Jake.

The real question is whether or not well have time to find the right riddle. He said

it took him a little under nine hours to run his route 

Eight hours, forty-five minutes, Jake put in. … and thats not much time.

Weve already been running almost an hour

And if that maps right, were almost halfway to Topeka, Susannah said in a tight

voice. Could be our mechanical pals been lying to us about the length of the run.

Hedging his bets a little. Could be, Roland agreed. So what do we do Jake

repeated.

Roland drew in a deep breath, held it, let it out. Let me riddle him alone, for now.

Ill ask him the hardest ones I remember from the FairDays of my youth. Then,

Jake, if were approaching the point of

if were approaching Topeka at this same

speed with Blaine still unposed, I think you should ask him the last few riddles in

your book. The hardest riddles. He rubbed the side of his face distractedly and

looked at the ice sculpture. This chilly rendering of his own likeness had now

melted to an unrecognizable hulk. I still think the answer must be in the book.

Why else would you have been drawn to it before coming back to this world

And us Susannah asked. What do Eddie and I do

Think,  Roland said. Think, for your fathers sakes.

 I do not shoot with my hand,  Eddie said. He sud denly felt far away, strange to

himself. It was the way hed felt when he had seen first the slingshot and then the

key in pieces of wood, just waiting for him to whittle them free

and at the same

time this feeling was not like that at all.

Roland was looking at him oddly. Yes, Eddie, you say true. A gunslinger shoots

with his mind. What have you thought of

Nothing. He might have said more, but all at once a strange im agea strange

memoryintervened: Roland hunkering by Jake at one of their stopping-points on the way to Lud. Both of them in front of an unlit camp fire. Roland once more at

his everlasting lessons. Jakes turn this time. Jake with the flint and steel, trying to quicken the fire. Spark after spark licking out and dying in the dark. And Roland

had said that he was being silly. That he was just being … well… silly.

No, Eddie said. He didnt say that at all. At least not to the kid, he didnt.

Eddie Susannah. Sounding concerned. Al most frightened.

Well why dont you ask him what he said, bro That was Henrys voice, the voice

of the Great Sage and Eminent Junkie. First time in a long time. Ask him, hes

practically sitting right next to you, go on and ask him what he said. Quit dancing

around like a baby with a load in his diapers.

Except that was a bad idea, because that wasnt the way things worked in Rolands

world. In Rolands world everything was riddles, you didnt shoot with your hand

but with your mind, your motherfucking mind, and what did you say to someone

who wasnt getting the spark into the kindling Move your flint in closer, of

course, and thats what Roland had said: Move your flint in closer, and hold it

steady.

Except none of that was what this was about. It was close, yes, but close only

counts in horseshoes, as Henry Dean had been wont to say be fore he became the

Great Sage and Eminent Junkie. Eddies memory was jinking a little because

Roland had embarrassed him

shamed him …

made a joke at his expense …

Probably not on purpose, but

something. Some thing that had made him feel the

way Henry always used to make him feel, of course it was, why else would Henry

be here after such a long absence

All of them looking at him now. Even Oy.

Go on, he told Roland, sounding a little waspish.

You wanted us to think, were

thinking, already. He himself was thinking so hard

(I shoot with my mind )

that his goddam brains were almost on fire, but he wasnt going to tell old long,

tall, and ugly that. Go on and ask Blaine some rid dles. Do your part.

As you will, Eddie. Roland rose from his seat, went forward, and laid his hand

on the scarlet rectangle again. The routemap reappeared at once. The green dot

had moved farther beyond Rilea, but it was clear to Eddie that the mono had

slowed down significantly, either obeying some built-in program or because

Blaine was having too much fun to hurry.

IS YOUR KA-TET READY TO CONTINUE OUR

FAIR-DAY RIDDLING,

ROLAND SON OF STEVEN

Yes, Blaine, Roland said, and to Eddie his voice sounded heavy. I will riddle

you alone for awhile now. If you have no objection.

AS DINH AND FATHER OF YOUR KA-TET, SUCH IS YOUR RIGHT. WILL

THESE BE FAIR-DAY RIDDLES

Yes.

GOOD. Loathsome satisfaction in that voice. I WOULD HEAR MORE OF

THOSE.

All right. Roland took a deep breath, then began.

Feed me and I live. Give me

to drink and I die. What am I

FIRE. No hesitation. Only that insufferable smugness, a tone which said That

was old to me when your grandmother was young, but try again! This is more fun

than Ive had in centuries, so try again!

I pass before the sun, Blaine, yet make no shadow.

What am I

WIND. No hesitation.

You speak true, sai. Next. This is as light as a feath er, yet no man can hold it for

long.

ONES BREATH. No hesitation.

Yet he did hesitate, Eddie thought suddenly. Jake and Susannah were watching

Roland with agonized concentration, fists clenched, willing him to ask Blaine the right riddle, the stumper, the one with the Get the Fuck Out of Jail Free card

hidden inside it; Eddie couldnt look at them

Suze, in particularand keep his

concentration. He lowered his gaze to his own hands, which were also clenched,

and forced them to open on his lap. It was surpris ingly hard to do. From the aisle

he heard Roland continuing to trot out the golden oldies of his youth.

Riddle me this, Blaine: If you break me, Ill not stop working. If you can touch

me, my work is done. If you lose me, you must find me with a ring soon after.

What am I

Susannahs breath caught for a moment, and al though he was looking down, Eddie

knew she was thinking what he was thinking: that was a good one, a damned good

one, maybe

THE HUMAN HEART, Blaine said. Still with not a whit of hesita tion. THIS

RIDDLE IS BASED IN LARGE PART UPON HU

MAN POETIC CONCEITS;

SEE FOR INSTANCE JOHN AVERY, SIRONIA HUNTZ, ONDOLA,

WILLIAM BLAKE, JAMES TATE, VERONICA MAYS, AND OTHERS. IT IS

REMARKABLE HOW HUMAN BE INGS PITCH

THEIR MINDS ON LOVE.

YET IT IS CONSTANT FROM ONE LEVEL OF THE

TOWER TO THE NEXT,

EVEN IN THESE DE GENERATE DAYS. CON

TINUE, ROLAND OF

GILEAD.

Susannahs breath resumed. Eddies hands wanted to clench again, but he wouldnt let them. Move your flint in closer, he thought in Ro lands voice. Move your flint

in closer, for your fathers sake!

And Blaine the Mono ran on, southeast under the Demon Moon.

CHAPTER II

THE FALLS OF

THE HOUNDS

1J

ake didnt know how easy or difficult Blaine might find the last ten puz zlers in

RiddleDe-Dum!, but they looked pretty tough to him. Of course, he reminded

himself, he wasnt a thinking-machine with a city wide bank of computers to draw

on. All he could do was go for it; God hates a cow ard, as Eddie sometimes said.

If the last ten failed, he would try Aaron Deepneaus Samson riddle (Out of the

eater came forth meat, and so on). If that one also failed, hed probably … shit, he didnt know what hed do, or even how hed feel. The truth is, Jake thought, Im

fried.

And why not He had gone through an extraordi nary swarm of emo tions in the

last eight hours or so. First, terror: of being sure he and Oy were going to drop off

the suspension bridge and to their deaths in the River Send; of being driven

through the crazed maze that was Lud by Gasher; of having to look into the TickTock Mans terrible green eyes and try to answer his unanswerable questions about

time, Nazis, and the nature of transitive circuits.

Being questioned by TickTock

had been like having to take a final exam in hell.

Then the exhilaration of being rescued by Roland (and Oy; without Oy he would almost certainly be toast now), the wonder of all they had seen beneath the city,

his awe at the way Susannah had solved Blaines gate-riddle, and the final mad

rush to get aboard the mono before Blaine could re lease the stocks of nerve-gas

stored under Lud.

After surviving all that, a kind of blissed-out sure ty had settled over himof

course Roland would stump Blaine, who would then keep his part of the bargain

and set them down safe and sound at his final stop (whatever passed for Topeka in

this world). Then they would find the Dark Tower and do whatever they were

supposed to do there, right what needed righting, fix what needed fixing. And

then They Lived Happily Ever After, of course.

Like folk in a fairy tale.

Except

They shared each others thoughts, Roland had said; sharing khef was part of what

ka-tet meant. And what had been seeping into Jakes 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 wasnt coming just from the gunslinger; Susannah was

sending out the same grim blue-black vibe. Only Eddie wasnt sending it, and that

was because hed gone off somewhere, was chas ing 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 com er by a relent less foe. His fingers worked restlessly in Oys 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 bum blers 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 cau tiously. 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 LADYS PARASOL, Blaine replied in that tone of jolly compla cency which

Jake, too, was coming to loathe.

Thankee-sai, Blaine, once again you have an swered true. Next

Roland

The gunslinger looked around at Jake, and his look of concentration lightened a

bit. It wasnt a smile, but it went a little way in that di rection, at least, and Jake was

glad.

What is it, Jake

My hand. It was hurting like crazy, and now its stopped!

SHUCKS, Blaine said in the drawling voice of John Wayne. I COULDNT

WATCH A HOUND SUFFER WITH A MASHEDUP 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 hed had when he was seven or eight.

ANOTHER BENEFIT OF TRAVELLING

BARONY CLASS, Blaine went on

in his smug voice. It crossed Jakes mind that Blaine would fit in perfectly at the

Piper School. The worlds first slotrans, dipo lar nerd. THE HAND-SCAN

SPECTRUM MAGNIFIER IS A DIAG NOSTIC

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-ANALYZ

ER, AND AN EMOTIONEN

HANCER WHICH CAN NATURALLY STIM

ULATE THE PRODUCTION

OF ENDORPHINS. HAND-SCAN IS ALSO CA PABLE OF CREATING VERY

BELIEVABLE ILLUSIONS AND HALLUCI

NATIONS. WOULD YOU CARE

TO HAVE YOUR FIRST SEXUAL EXPERIENCE

WITH A NOTED SEXGOD

DESS FROM YOUR LEVEL OF THE TOW

ER, 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 couldnt help it. There is no Edith Bunker, he said.

Shes just a character on

a TV show. The actresss name is, um, Jean Sta pleton. Also, she looks like Mrs.

Shaw. Shes our housekeeper. Nice, but notyou knowa babe.

A long silence from Blaine. When the voice of the computer returned, a certain

coldness had replaced the jocose aint-we-hav ing-fun tone of voice.

I CRY YOUR PARDON, JAKE OF NEW YORK. I ALSO WITH DRAW MY

OFFER OF A SEXUAL EXPERIENCE.

Thatll 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:

Thats okay, Blaine. I think Im still a little young for that, anyway.

Susannah and Roland were looking at each oth er. Susannah didnt know who Edith Bunker wasAll in the Family hadnt 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 gunslinger like a

message in a soap bubble:

Mistake.

Yes. Blaine had made a mistake. More, Jake Cham bers, 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 couldnt feel a thing when the mono

was running flat-out, but the minute it began to de celerate, you knew.

HERE IS SOMETHING YOU REALLY OUGHT TO

SEE, Blaine said. He

sounded cheerful again, but Jake didnt trust that tone; he had sometimes heard his

father start telephone conversations that way (usu ally 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 cir cles 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 PRECHARG

ING.

The mono stopped with a barely perceptible jerk.

The walls around them once

more drained of color and then became transpar ent. Susannah gasped with fear

and wonder. Roland moved to his left, felt for the side of the coach so he wouldnt

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 pro vided them by the Barony Coachs 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 moondust

ed air. Beyond them Jake could see a wide, boiling river. Not the Send, unless the rivers in Rolands world were somehow able to run in different directions at

different points in their courses (and Jake didnt know enough about MidWorld to

entirely discount that possi bility); also, this riv er 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

rightthe sort of firs youd expect to see in the mountains of Colorado or

Wyoming, sayand 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

fathers Network), look like the kind you might see in a third-rate theme-park. The

air filling the en closing 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 im possi ble 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 be yond

thisDashervilleand then Topeka. Last stop. Ev erybody out.

ONE MOMENT, Blaine said. I MUST ADJUST

THE VOLUME FOR YOU

TO ENJOY THE FULL EFFECT.

There was a brief, whispery hooting sounda kind of mechanical throat

clearingand then they were assaulted by a vast roar. It was wa tera billion

gallons a minute, for all Jake knewpouring 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 almostfaces of the jutting dogs like steam from the vents of hell. The level of sound kept climb ing. Now Jakes whole head

vibrated with it, and as he clapped his hands over his ears, he saw Roland, Eddie,

and Susannah do ing the same. Oy was barking, but Jake couldnt hear him.

Susannahs lips were moving again, and again he could read the wordsStop it,

Blaine, stop it!but he couldnt hear them any more than he could hear Oys

barks, although he was sure Susannah was screaming at the top of her lungs.

And still Blame increased the sound of the water fall, until Jake could feel his eyes shaking in their sockets and he was sure his ears were going to short out like

overstressed stereo speakers.

Then it was over. They still hung above the moonmisty drop, the moonbows still

made their slow and dreamlike revolutions before the cur tain of endlessly falling

water, the wet and brutal stone faces of the dogguardians continued to jut out of

the torrent, but that world-ending thunder was gone.For a moment Jake thought what hed feared had happened, that he had gone deaf.

Then he realized that he could hear Oy, still bark ing, and Susannah crying. At first these sounds seemed distant and flat, as if his ears had been packed with crackercrumbs, but then they began to clarify.

Eddie put his arm around Susannahs shoulders and looked toward the routemap.

Nice guy, Blaine.

I MERELY THOUGHT YOU WOULD ENJOY

HEARING THE SOUND OF

THE FALLS AT FULL VOLUME, Blaine said. His boom ing voice sounded

laughing and injured at the same time. I THOUGHT

IT MIGHT HELP YOU TO

FORGET MY REGRETTABLE MISTAKE IN THE

MATTER OF EDITH

BUNKER.

My fault, Jake thought. Blaine may just be a machine, and a suicidal one at that,

but he still doesnt like to be laughed at.

He sat beside Susannah and put his own arm around her. He could still hear the Falls of the Hounds, but the sound was now distant.

What happens here Roland asked. How do you charge your batteries

YOU WILL SEE SHORTLY, GUNSLINGER. IN THE

MEAN TIME, TRY ME

WITH A RIDDLE.

All right, Blaine. Heres one of Corts own making, and has posed many in its

time.

I AWAIT IT WITH GREAT INTEREST.

Roland, pausing perhaps to gather his thoughts, looked up at the place where the

roof of the coach had been and where there was now only a starry spill across a

black sky (Jake could pick out Aton and LydiaOld Star and Old Motherand

was oddly comforted by the sight of them, still glar ing at each other from their

accustomed places). Then the gunslinger looked back at the lighted rectangle

which served them as Blaines face.

 We are very little creatures; all of us have differ ent features. One of us in glass

is set; one of us youll find in jet. Another you may see in tin, and a fourth is boxed

within. If the fifth you should pursue, it can never fly from you. What are we 

A AND E AND I AND O AND U, Blaine replied. THE

VOWELS OF THE

HIGH SPEECH. Still no hesitation, not so much as a whit. Only that voice,

mocking and just about two steps from laughter; the voice of a cruel little boy

watching bugs run around on top of a hot stove. AL

THOUGH THAT

PARTICULAR RIDDLE IS NOT FROM YOUR

TEACHER, ROLAND OF

GILEAD; I KNOW IT FROM JONATHAN SWIFT OF

LONDONA CITY IN

THE WORLD YOUR FRIENDS COME FROM.

Thankee-sai, Roland said, and his sai sounded like a sigh. Your answer is true, Blaine, and undoubtedly what you believe of the riddles origins is true as well.

That Cort knew of other worlds is something I long suspected. I think he may have

held palaver with the manni who lived outside the city.

I CARE NOT ABOUT THE MANNI, ROLAND OF

GILEAD. THEY WERE

ALWAYS A FOOLISH SECT. TRY ME WITH AN

OTHER RIDDLE.

All right. What has

HOLD, HOLD. THE FORCE OF THE BEAM GATH

ERS. LOOK NOT

DIRECTLY AT THE HOUNDS, MY INTEREST

ING NEW FRIENDS! AND

SHIELD YOUR EYES!

Jake looked away from the colossal rock sculptures jutting from the falls, but

didnt get his hand up quite in time. With his periph eral vision he saw those

featureless heads suddenly develop eyes of a fiercely glow ing blue. Jagged tines of lightning leaped out of them and toward the mono. Then Jake was lying on the

carpeted floor of the Barony Coach with the heels of his hands pasted against his

closed eyes and the sound of Oy whining in one faintly ringing ear. Beyond Oy, he heard the crackle of electricity as it stormed around the mono.

When Jake opened his eyes again, the Falls of the Hounds were gone;

Blaine had opaqued the cabin. He could still hear the sound, thougha waterfall

of electricity, a force somehow drawn from the Beam and shot out through the

eyes of the stone heads. Blaine was feeding himself with it, somehow. When we go

on, Jake thought, he II be running on batteries.

Then Lud really will be behind us.

For good.

Blaine, Roland said. How is the power of the Beam stored in that place What

makes it come from the eyes of yon stone templedogs How do you use it

Silence from Blaine.

And who carved them Eddie asked. Was it the Great Old Ones It wasnt, was

it There were people even before them. Or

were they people

More silence from Blaine. And maybe that was good.

Jake wasnt sure how much

he wanted to know about the Falls of the Hounds, or what went on beneath them.

He had been in the dark of Rolands world before, and had seen enough to believe

that most of what was growing there was neither good nor safe.

Better not to ask him, the voice of Little Blaine drifted down from over their

heads. Safer.

Dont ask him silly questions, he wont play silly games, Eddie said. That distant,

dreaming look had come onto his face again, and when Susannah spoke his name,

he didnt seem to hear.

3

Roland sat down across from Jake and scrubbed his right hand slowly up the

stubble on his right cheek, an unconscious ges ture he seemed to make only when

he was feeling tired or doubtful. Im running out of riddles, he said.

Jake looked back at him, startled. The gunslinger had posed fifty or more to the

computer, and Jake supposed that was a lot to just yank out of your head with no

preparation, but when you considered that rid dling had been such a big deal in the place where Roland had grown up

He seemed to read some of this on Jakes face, for a small smile, lemon-bitter,

touched the comers of his mouth, and he nodded as if the boy had spoken out loud.

I dont understand, either. If youd asked me yes terday or the day before, I would

have told you that I had at least a thousand riddles stored up in the junkbin I keep

at the back of my mind. Perhaps two thousand. But.

. .

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, shook his head, rubbed his hand up his cheek

again.

Its not like forgetting. Its as if they were never there in the first place. Whats

happening to the rest of the world is happening to me, I reckon.

Youre moving on, Susannah said, and looked at Roland with an expression of

pity which Roland could look back at for only a sec ond or two; it was as if he felt

burned by her regard. Like everything else here.

Yes, I fear so. He looked at Jake, lips tight, eyes sharp. Will you be ready with

the riddles from your book when I call on you

Yes.

Good. And take heart. Were not finished yet.

Outside, the dim crackle of electricity ceased.

I HAVE FED MY BATTERIES AND ALL IS WELL,

Blaine announced.

Marvelous, Susannah said dryly.

Luss! Oy agreed, catching Susannahs sarcas tic tone exactly.

I HAVE A NUMBER OF SWITCHING FUNC

TIONS TO PER FORM. THESE

WILL TAKE ABOUT FORTY MINUTES AND ARE

LARGELY

AUTOMATIC. WHILE THIS SWITCHOVER

TAKES PLACE AND THE

ACCOMPANYING CHECKLIST IS RUNNING, WE SHALL CONTINUE OUR

CONTEST. I AM ENJOYING IT VERY MUCH.

Its like when you have to switch over from electric to diesel on the train to

Boston, Eddie said. He still sounded as if he wasnt quite with them. At Hartford

or New Haven or one of those other places where no one in their right fucking

mind would want to live.

Eddie Susannah asked. What are you

Roland touched her shoulder and shook his head.

NEVER MIND EDDIE OF NEW YORK, Blaine said in his expan sive, goshbutthis-is-fun voice.

Thats right, Eddie said. Never mind Eddie of New York.

HE KNOWS NO GOOD RIDDLES. BUT YOU

KNOW MANY, ROLAND OF

GILEAD. TRY ME WITH ANOTHER.

And, as Roland did just that, Jake thought of his Final Essay. Blaine is a pain, he

had written there. Blaine is a pain and that is the truth.

It was the truth, all right.

The stone truth.

A little less than an hour later, Blaine the Mono be gan to move again.

4

Susannah watched with dreadful fascination as the flashing dot approached

Dasherville, passed it, and made its final dogleg for home. The dots movement

said that Blaine was moving a bit more slowly now that it had switched over to

batteries, and she fancied the lights in the Barony Coach were a little dimmer, but

she didnt believe it would make much differ ence, in the end. Blaine might reach

his terminus in Topeka doing six hundred miles an hour instead of eight hundred,

but his last load of pas sengers would be toothpaste either way.

Roland was also slowing down, going deeper and deeper into that mental junkbin of his to find riddles. Yet he did find them, and he re fused to give up. As always.

Ever since he had begun teaching her to shoot, Su sannah had felt a reluctant love

for Roland of Gilead, a feeling that seemed a mix ture of admiration, fear, and pity.

She thought she would never really like him (and that the Detta Walker part of her

might always hate him for the way he had seized hold of her and dragged her,

raving, into the sun), but her love was nonetheless strong. He had, after all, saved

Eddie Deans life and soul; had rescued her beloved. She must love him for that if for nothing else. But she loved him even more, she suspected, for the way he

would never, never give up. The word retreat didnt seem to be in his vocabulary,

even when he was discouraged

as he so clearly was now.

Blaine, where may you find roads without carts, forests without trees, cities

without houses

ON A MAP.

You say true, sai. Next. I have a hundred legs but cannot stand, a long neck but

no head; I eat the maids life. What am I

A BROOM, GUNSLINGER. ANOTHER VARI ATION ENDS, I EASE THE

MAIDS LIFE. I LIKE YOURS BETTER.

Roland ignored this. Cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, cannot be

smelt. It lies behind the stars and beneath the hills.

Ends life and kills laughter.

What is it, Blaine

THE DARK.

Thankee-sai, you speak true.

The diminished right hand slid up the right cheek

the old fretful gestureand

the minute scratching sound produced by the cal lused pads of his fingers made

Susannah shiver. Jake sat crosslegged on the floor, looking at the gunslinger with a kind of fierce intensity.

This thing runs but cannot walk, sometimes sings but never talks. Lacks arms,

has hands; lacks a head but has a face. What is it, Blaine

A CLOCK.

Shit, Jake whispered, lips compressing.

Susannah looked over at Eddie and felt a pass ing ripple of irritation. He seemed to have lost interest in the whole thinghad zoned out, in his weird 1980s slang.

She thought to throw an elbow into his side, wake him up a little, then

remembered Roland shaking his head at her and didnt. You wouldnt know he was

thinking, not from that slack expres sion on his face, but maybe he was.

If so, you better hurry it up a little, precious, she thought. The dot on the route

map was still closer to Dasherville than Topeka, but it would reach the halfway

point within the next fifteen minutes or so.

And still the match went on, Roland serving ques tions, Blaine send ing the

answers whistling right back at him, low over the net and out of reach.

What builds up castles, tears down mountains, makes some blind, helps others to

see SAND.

Thankee-sai.

What lives in winter, dies in summer, and grows with its roots up ward AN

ICICLE.

Blaine. you say true.

Man walks over; man walks under; in time of war he bums asunder A BRIDGE.

Thankee-sai.

A seemingly endless parade of riddles marched past her, one after the other, until she lost all sense of their fun and playfulness. Had it been so in the days of

Rolands youth, she wondered, during the riddle contests of Wide Earth and Full

Earth, when he and his friends (although she had an idea they hadnt all been his

friends, no, not by a long chalk) had vied for the FairDay goose She guessed that

the answer was probably yes. The winner had probably been the one who could

stay fresh longest, keep his poor bludgeoned brains aerated somehow.

The killer was the way Blaine came back with the an swer so damned promptly

each time. No matter how hard the riddle might seem to her, Blaine served it right back to their side of the court, ka-slam.

Blaine, what has eyes yet cannot see

THERE ARE FOUR ANSWERS, Blaine replied.

NEEDLES, STORMS,

POTATOES, AND A TRUE LOVER.

Thankee-sai, Blaine, you speak

LISTEN. ROLAND OF GILEAD. LISTEN, KATET

Roland fell silent at once, his eyes narrowing, his head slightly cocked.

YOU WILL SHORTLY HEAR MY ENGINES BE

GIN TO CYCLE UP, Blaine

said. WE ARE NOW EXACTLY SIXTY MIN

UTES OUT OF TOPEKA. AT

THIS POINT

If weve been riding for seven hours or more, I grew up with the Brady Bunch,

Jake said.

Susannah looked around apprehensively, ex pecting some new terror or small act of cruelty in response to Jakes sarcasm, but Blaine only chuck led. When he

spoke again, the voice of Humphrey Bogart had resurfaced.

TIMES DIFFERENT HERE, SHWEETHEART.

YOU MUST KNOW THAT

BY NOW. BUT DONT WORRY; THE FUNDAMEN

TAL THINGS APPLY

AS TIME GOES BY. WOULD I LIE TO YOU

Yes, Jake muttered.

That apparently struck Blames funny bone, be cause he began to laugh againthe

mad, mechanical laughter that made Susannah think of funhouses in sleazy

amusement parks and roadside carnivals. When the lights began to pulse in sync

with the laughter, she shut her eyes and put her hands over her ears.

Stop it, Blaine! Stop it!

BEG PARDON, MAAM, drawled the aw-shucks voice of Jimmy Stewart.

AHM RIGHT SORRY IF I RUINT YOUR EARS

WITH MY RISABILITY.

Ruin this, Jake said, and hoisted his middle fin ger at the routemap.

Susannah expected Eddie to laughyou could count on him to be amused by

vulgarity at any time of the day or night, she would have saidbut Eddie only

continued looking down at his lap, his forehead creased, his eyes vacant, his

mouth hung slightly agape. He looked a little too much like the village idiot for

comfort, Susannah thought, and again had to re strain herself from throwing an

elbow into his side to get that doltish look off his face. She wouldnt restrain

herself for much longer; if they were going to die at the end of Blaines run, she

wanted Eddies arms around her when it hap pened, Eddies eyes on her, Eddies mind with hers.

But for now, better let him be.

AT THIS POINT, Blaine resumed in his normal voice, I INTEND TO BEGIN

WHAT I LIKE TO THINK OF AS MY KAMIKAZE RUN.

THIS WILL

QUICKLY DRAIN MY BATTERIES, BUT I THINK

THE TIME FOR

CONSERVATION HAS PASSED, DONT YOU

WHEN I STRIKE THE

TRANSTEEL PIERS AT THE END OF THE TRACK, I SHOULD BE

TRAVELLING AT BETTER THAN NINE HUN

DRED MILES AN

HOURFIVE HUNDRED AND THIRTY IN

WHEELS, THAT IS. SEE YOU

LATER, ALLIGATOR, AFTER AWHILE, CRO

CO DILE, DONT FORGET TO

WRITE. I TELL YOU THIS IN THE SPIRIT OF FAIR

PLAY, MY

INTERESTING NEW FRIENDS. IF YOU HAVE

BEEN SAVING YOUR BEST

RIDDLES FOR LAST, YOU MIGHT DO WELL TO

POSE THEM TO ME

NOW.

The unmistakable greed in Blaines voiceits naked desire to hear and solve their best riddles before it killed themmade Susan nah feel tired and old.

I might not have time even so to pose you all my very best ones, Roland said in

a casual, considering tone of voice. That would be a shame, wouldnt it

A pause ensuedbrief, but more of a hesitation than the computer had accorded

any of Rolands riddlesand then Blaine chuckled.

Susan nah hated the sound of

its mad laughter, but there was a cynical weariness in this chuckle that chilled her

even more deeply. Perhaps because it was almost sane.

GOOD, GUNSLINGER. A VALIANT EFFORT. BUT

YOU ARE NOT

SCHEHERAZADE, NOR DO WE HAVE A THOU

SAND AND ONE NIGHTS

IN WHICH TO HOLD PALAVER.

I dont understand you. I know not this Scheherazade.

NO MATTER. SUSANNAH CAN FILL YOU IN, IF

YOU REALLY WANT

TO KNOW. PERHAPS EVEN EDDIE. THE POINT, ROLAND, IS THAT ILL

NOT BE DRAWN ON BY THE PROMISE OF MORE

RIDDLES. WE VIE FOR

THE GOOSE. COME TOPEKA, IT SHALL BE

AWARDED, ONE WAY OR

ANOTHER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT

Once more the diminished hand went up Rolands cheek; once more Susannah

heard the minute rasp of his fingers against the wiry stubble of his beard.

We play for keeps. No one cries off.

CORRECT. NO ONE CRIES OFF.

All right, Blaine, we play for keeps and no one cries off. Heres the next.

AS ALWAYS, I AWAIT IT WITH PLEASURE.

Roland looked down at Jake. Be ready with yours, Jake; Im almost at the end of

mine.

Jake nodded.

Beneath them, the monos slotrans engines con tinued to cycle up-mat beat-beatbeat which Susannah did not so much hear as feel in the hinges of her jaw, the

hollows of her temples, the pulse-points of her wrists.

Its not going to happen unless theres a stumper in Jakes book, she thought.

Roland cant pose Blame, and I think he knows it. I think he knew it an hour ago.

Blame, I occur once in a minute, twice in every mo ment, but not once in a

hundred thousand years. What am I

And so the contest would continue, Susannah realized, Roland asking and Blaine answering with his increasingly terrible lack of hesitation, like an all-seeing, allknow ing god. Susannah sat with her cold hands clasped in her lap and watched the glowing dot draw nigh Topeka, the place where all rail service ended, the place

where the path of their ka-tet would end in the clear ing. She thought about the

Hounds of the Falls, how they had jutted from the thundering white billows below

the dark and starshot sky; she thought of their eyes.

Their electric-blue eyes.

CHAPTER III

the fair-day goose

1

Eddie Deanwho did not know Roland sometimes thought of him as ka mai, kas

foolheard all of it and heard none of it; saw all of it and saw none of it. The only

thing to really make an impression on him once the riddling began in earnest was

the fire flashing from the stone eyes of the Hounds; as he raised his hand to shield

his eyes from that chain-lightning glare, he thought of the Portal of the Beam in

the Clearing of the Bear, how he had pressed his ear against it and heard the

distant, dreamy rumble of machinery.

Watching the eyes of the Hounds light up, listening as Blaine drew that current

into his batteries, powering up for his final plunge across MidWorld, Eddie had thought: Not all is silent in the halls of the dead and the rooms of ruin. Even now

some of the stuff the Old Ones left be hind still works.

And thats really the horror

of it, wouldnt t you say Yes. The exact horror of it.

Eddie had been with his friends for a short time af ter that, mentally as well as

physically, but then he had fallen back into his thoughts again. Eddies zonin.

Henry would have said. Let im be.

It was the image of Jake striking flint and steel that kept recurring; he would allow

his mind to dwell on it for a second or two, like a bee alight ing on some sweet

flower, and then he would take off again. Because that memory wasnt what he

wanted; it was just the way in to what he wanted, another door like the ones on the

beach of the Western Sea, or the one he had scraped in the dirt of the speaking ring before they had drawn Jake… only this door was in his mind. What he wanted was

behind it; what he was doing was kind of

well

diddling the lock.

Zoning, in Henry-speak.

His brother had spent most of his time putting Eddie downbecause Henry had

been afraid of him and jealous of him, Eddie had fi nally come to realizebut he

remembered one day when Henry had stunned him by saying something that was

nice. Better than nice, actually; mind-boggling.

A bunch of them had been sitting in the alley be hind Dahlies, some of them eating Popsicles and Hoodsie Rockets, some of them smoking Kents from a pack Jimmie

PolinoJimmie Polio, they had all called him, be cause he had that fucked-up

thing wrong with him, that clubfoothad hawked out of his mothers dresser

drawer. Henry, predictably enough, had been one of the ones smoking.

There were certain ways of referring to things in the gang Henry was a part of (and

which Eddie, as his little brother, was also a part of); the ar got of their miserable little ka-tet. In Henrys gang, you never beat any one else up; you sent em home

with a fuckin rupture. You never made out with a girl; you fucked that skag til she

cried. You never got stoned; you went on a fuckin bombin-run. And you never

brawled with another gang; you got in a fuckin piss er.

The discussion that day had been about who youd want with you if you got in a

fuckin pisser. Jimmie Polio (he got to talk first be cause he had supplied the

cigarettes, which Henrys homeboys called the fuckin cancer-sticks) opted for

Skipper Brannigan, because, he said, Skipper wasnt afraid of anyone. One time, Jimmie said, Skipper got pissed off at this teacher at the Friday night PAL

dance, this wasand beat the living shit out of him.

Sent THE FUCKIN

CHAPERONE home with a fuckin rupture, if you could dig it. That was his homie

Skipper Brannigan.

Everyone listened to this solemnly, nodding their heads as they ate their Rockets,

sucked their Popsicles, or smoked their Kents. Ev eryone knew that Skipper

Brannigan was a fuckin pussy and Jimmie was full of shit, but no one said so.

Christ, no. If they didnt pretend to believe Jim mie Polios outrageous lies, no one

would pretend to believe theirs.

Tommy Fredericks opted for John Parelli.

Georgie Pratt went for Csaba Drabnik, also known around the nabe as The Mad Fuckin Hun garian. Frank Duganelli

nominated Larry McCain, even though Larry was in Juvenile Detention; Larry

fuckin ruled, Frank said.

By then it was around to Henry Dean. He gave the question the weighty

consideration it deserved, then put his arm around his surprised brothers

shoulders. Eddie, he said. My little bro. Hes the man.

They all stared at him, stunnedand none more stunned than Eddie. His jaw had

been almost down to his belt-buckle. And then Jimmie Polio said. Come on.

Henry, stop fuckin around. This a serious ques tion. Who d you want watching

your hack if the shit was gonna come down I am being serious. Henry had replied.

Why Eddie Georgie Pratt had asked, echoing the question which had been in

Eddies own mind. He couldnt t fight his way out of a paper bag. A wet one. So

why the fuck

Henry thought some morenot, Eddie was con vinced, because he didnt know

why, but because he had to think about how to artic ulate it. Then he said: Because

when Eddies in that fuckin zone, he could talk the devil into setting himself on

fire.

The image of Jake returned, one memory step ping on another. Jake scraping steel on flint, flashing sparks at the kindling of their camp fire, sparks that fell short and

died before they lit.

He could talk the devil into setting himself on fire.

Move your flint in closer, Roland said, and now there was a third memory, one of

Roland at the door theyd come to at the end of the beach, Roland burning with

fever, close to death, shaking like a maraca, cough ing, his blue bombardiers eyes

fixed on Eddie, Roland saying, Come a little clos er, Eddiecome a little closer

for your fathers sake!

Because he wanted to grab me, Eddie thought.

Faintly, almost as if it were coming through one of those magic doors from some other world, he heard Blaine telling

them that the endgame had commenced; if they had been saving their best riddles,

now was the time to trot them out. They had an hour.

An hour! Only an hour!

His mind tried to fix on that and Eddie nudged it away. Something was happening

inside him (at least he prayed it was), some des perate game of association, and he couldnt let his mind get fucked up with deadlines and consequences and all that

crap; if he did, hed lose what ever chance he had. It was, in a way, like seeing

something in a piece of wood, something you could carve outa bow, a slingshot,

perhaps a key to open some unimaginable door.

You couldnt look too long,

though, at least to start with. Youd lose it if you did. It was almost as if you had to

carve while your own back was turned.

He could feel Blaines engines powering up be neath him. In his minds eye he saw the flint flash against the steel, and in his minds ear he heard Roland telling Jake

to move the flint in closer. And dont hit it with the steel, Jake; scrape it.

Why am I here If this isnt what I want, why does my mind keep com ing hack to

this place

Because its as close as I can get and still stay out of the hurt-zone. Only a

medium-sized hurt, actually, but it made me think of Henry. Being put down by

Henry.

Henry said you could talk the devil into setting himself on fire.

Yes. I always loved him for that. That was great.

And now Eddie saw Roland move Jakes hands, one holding flint and the other

steel, closer to the kindling. Jake was nervous.

Eddie could see it; Roland had seen it, too. And in order to ease his nerves, take his mind off the responsibility of

lighting the fire, Roland had

He asked the kid a riddle.

Eddie Dean blew breath into the keyhole of his memory. And this time the

tumblers turned.

2

The green dot was closing in on Topeka, and for the first time Jake felt vi bration

as if the track beneath them had decayed to a point where Blaines compensators

could no longer completely handle the problem.

With the sense of vibration there

at last came a feeling of speed. The walls and ceil ing of the Barony Coach were

still opaqued, but Jake found he didnt need to see the countryside blurring past to

imagine it. Blaine was rolling full out now, leading his last sonic boom across the

waste lands to the place where MidWorld ended, and Jake also found it easy to

imagine the transteel piers at the end of the mono rail. They would be painted in

di agonal stripes of yellow and black. He didnt know how he knew that, but he

did.

TWENTYFIVE MINUTES, Blaine said compla cently. WOULD YOU TRY

ME AGAIN, GUNSLINGER

I think not, Blaine. Roland sounded exhausted.

Ive done with you; youve

beaten me. Jake

Jake got to his feet and faced the routemap. In his chest his heartbeat seemed very

slow but very hard, each pulse like a fist slamming on a drumhead. Oy crouched

between his feet, looking anxiously up into his face.

Hello, Blaine, Jake said, and wet his lips.

HELLO, JAKE OF NEW YORK. The voice was kindlythe voice, perhaps, of

a nice old fellow with a habit of molesting the chil dren he from time to time leads

into the bushes. WOULD YOU TRY ME WITH RID

DLES FROM YOUR

BOOK OUR TIME TOGETHER GROWS SHORT.

Yes, Jake said. I would try you with these riddles.

Give me your understanding

of the truth concerning each, Blaine.

IT IS FAIRLY SPOKEN, JAKE OF NEW YORK. I WILL DO AS YOU ASK.

Jake opened the book to the place he had been keeping with his fin ger. Ten

riddles. Eleven, counting Samsons riddle, which he was saving for last. If Blaine

answered them all (as Jake now believed he prob ably would), Jake would sit down

next to Roland, take Oy onto his lap, and wait for the end. There were, after all,

other worlds than these.

Listen, Blaine: In a tunnel of darkness lies a beast of iron. It can only attack when

pulled back. What is it

A BULLET. No hesitation.

Walk on the living, they dont even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and

grumble. What are they

FALLEN LEAVES. No hesitation, and if Jake re ally knew in his heart that the

game was lost, why did he feel such despair, such bitterness, such anger

Because hes a pain, thats why. Blaine is a really BIG pain, and Id like to push

his face in it, just once. I think even making him stop is second to that on my wishlist.

Jake turned the page. He was very close to RiddleDe-Dums tom-out answer

section now; he could feel it under his finger, a kind of jagged lump. Very close to

the end of the book. He thought of Aaron Deepneau in the Manhattan Restaurant

of the Mind, Aaron Deepneau telling him to come back anytime, play a little

chess, and oh just by the way, old fatso made a pret ty good cup of coffee. A wave

of homesickness so strong it was like dying swept over him. He felt he would have

sold his soul for a look at New York; hell, he would have sold it for one deep lungfill ing breath of Forty-second Street at rush hour.

He fought it off and went to the next riddle.

I am emeralds and diamonds, lost by the moon. I am found by the sun and picked

up soon. What am I

DEW.

Still relentless. Still unhesitating.

The green dot grew closer to Topeka, closing the last of the distance on the routemap.

One after another, Jake posed his riddles; one after an other, Blaine

answered them. When Jake turned to the last page, he saw a boxed message from

the author or editor or whatever you called some one who put together books like

this: We hope youve enjoyed the unique combina tion of imagination and logic

known as RIDDLING!

I havent, Jake thought. I havent enjoyed it one little bit, and I hope you choke.

Yet when he looked at the question above the mes sage, he felt a thin thread of

hope. It seemed to him that, in this case, at least, they really had saved the best for

last.

On the routemap, the green dot was now no more than a fingers width from

Topeka.

Hurry up, Jake, Susannah murmured.

Blaine

YES, JAKE OF NEW YORK.

With no wings, I fly. With no eyes, I see. With no arms, I climb. More

frightening than any beast, stronger than any foe. I am cunning, ruthless, and tall;

in the end, I rule all. What am I

The gunslinger had looked up, blue eyes gleaming.

Susannah began to turn her

expectant face from Jake to the routemap. Yet Blaines an swer was as prompt as

ever: THE IMAGINATION OF MAN AND WOM

AN.

Jake briefly considered arguing, then thought, Why waste our time As always, the

answer, when it was right, seemed almost self-ev ident. Thankee-sai, Blaine, you

speak true.

AND THE FAIR-DAY GOOSE IS ALMOST MINE, I WOT. NINETEEN

MINUTES AND FIFTY SECONDS TO TERMI NATION. WOULD YOU SAY

MORE, JAKE OF NEW YORK VISUAL SEN

SORS INDICATE YOU HAVE

COME TO THE END OF YOUR BOOK, WHICH WAS

NOT, I MUST SAY,

AS GOOD AS I HAD HOPED.

Everybodys a goddam critic, Susannah said sotto voce. She wiped a tear from

the comer of one eye; without looking directly at her, the gun slinger took her free hand. She clasped it tightly.

Yes, Blaine, I have one more, Jake said.

EXCELLENT.

Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came sweetness.

THIS RIDDLE COMES FROM THE HOLY BOOK

KNOWN AS OLD

TESTAMENT BIBLE OF KING JAMES. Blaine sounded amused, and Jake felt

the last of his hope slip away. He thought he might cry not so much out of fear

as frustration. IT WAS MADE BY SAM SON THE

STRONG. THE EATER IS

A LION; THE SWEETNESS IS HONEY, MADE BY

BEES WHICH HIVED IN

THE LIONS SKULL. NEXT YOU STILL HAVE

OVER EIGHTEEN

MINUTES, JAKE.

Jake shook his head. He let go of RiddleDe-Dum!

and smiled when Oy caught it

neatly in his jaws and then stretched his long neck up to Jake, holding it out again.

Ive told them all. Im done.

SHUCKS, LIL TRAILHAND, THATS A PURE-D

SHAME, Blaine said. Jake

found this drawly John Wayne imitation all but un bear able in their current

circumstances. LOOKS LIKE I WIN THAT THAR

GOOSE, UNLESS

SOMEBODY ELSE CARES TO SPEAK UP. WHAT

ABOUT YOU, OY OF

MID-WORLD GOT ANY RIDDLES, MY LIT TLE

BUMBLER BUDDY

Oy! the billy-bumbler responded, his voice muffled by the book. Still smiling, Jake took it and sat down next to Roland, who put an arm around him.

SUSANNAH OF NEW YORK

She shook her head, not looking up. She had turned Rolands hand over in her

own, and was gently tracing the healed stumps where his first two fingers had

been.

ROLAND SON OF STEVEN HAVE YOU RE

MEMBERED ANY OTHERS

FROM THE FAIR-DAY RIDDLINGS OF GILEAD

Roland also shook his head … and then Jake saw that Eddie Dean was raising his.

There was a peculiar smile on Eddies face, a pe culiar shine in Eddies eyes, and

Jake found that hope hadnt deserted him, after all.

It suddenly flowered anew in

his mind, red and hot and vivid. Like … well, like a rose. A rose in the full fever

of its summer.

Blaine Eddie asked in a low tone. To Jake his voice sounded queerly choked.

YES, EDDIE OF NEW YORK. Unmistakable disdain.

I have a couple of riddles, Eddie said. Just to pass the time be tween here and

Topeka, you understand. No, Jake realized, Eddie didnt sound as if he were

choking; he sounded as if he were trying to hold back laughter.

SPEAK, EDDIE OF NEW YORK.

3

Sitting and listening to Jake run through the last of his riddles, Eddie had mused

on Rolands tale of the FairDay goose. From there his mind had returned to

Henry, travelling from Point A to Point B through the magic of associative

thinking. Or, if you wanted to get Zen about it, via Trans-Bird Airlines: goose to

turkey. He and Henry had once had a discussion about getting off heroin. Henry

had claimed that going cold turkey wasnt the only way; there was also, he said,

such a thing as going cool turkey. Eddie asked Henry what you called a hype who

had just administered a hot shot to himself, and, without missing a beat, Henry had

said. You call that baked turkey. How they had laughed … but now, all this long,

strange time later, it looked very much as if the joke was going to be on the

younger Dean brother, not to mention the younger Dean brothers new friends.

Looked like they were all going to be baked turkey before much longer.

Unless you can yank it out of the zone.

Yes.

Then do it, Eddie. It was Henrys voice again, that old resident of his head, but

now Henry sounded sober and clear-minded.

Henry sounded like his friend instead of his enemy, as if all the old conflicts were finally settled, all the old hatchets

buried. Do itmake the devil set himself on fire. It II hurt a little, maybe, but

youve hurt worse. Hell, I hurt you worse myself, and you survived. Survived just

fine. And you know where to look.

Of course. In their palaver around the campfire Jake had finally man aged to light.

Roland had asked the kid a riddle to loosen him up, Jake had struck a spark into

the kindling, and then they had all sat around the fire, talking. Talking and

riddling.

Eddie knew something else, too. Blaine had an swered hundreds of riddles as they ran southeast along the Path of the Beam, and the others believed that he had

answered every single one of them without hesi ta tion. Eddie had thought much

the same … but now, as he cast his mind back over the contest, he realized an

interesting thing: Blaine had hesitated.

Once.

He was pissed, too. Like Roland was.

The gunslinger, although often exasperated by Eddie, had shown real anger toward him just a single time after the business of carv ing the key, when Eddie had almost choked. Roland had tried to cover the depth of that angermake it seem like

nothing but more exasperationbut Eddie had sensed what was underneath. He

had lived with Henry Dean for a long time, and was still exquisitely attuned to all

the negative emotions. It had hurt him, toonot Rolands anger itself, exactly, but the contempt with which it had been laced. Con tempt had always been one of

Henrys favorite weapons.

Why did the dead baby cross the road Eddie had asked. Because it was stapled to

the chicken, nyuck-nyuck-nyuck!

Later, when Eddie had tried to defend his riddle, arguing that it was tasteless but

not pointless, Rolands response had been strangely like Blaines: / dont care about taste. Its senseless and unsolvable, and thats what makes it silly. A good riddle is neither.

But as Jake finished riddling Blaine, Eddie real ized a wonderful, lib erating thing: that word good was up for grabs. Always had been, always would be. Even if the

man using it was maybe a thousand years old and could shoot like Buffalo Bill,

that word was still up for grabs. Roland himself had admitted he had never been

very good at the riddling game. His tutor claimed that Roland thought too deeply;

his father thought it was lack of imagination. What ever the reason, Roland of

Gilead had never won a FairDay riddling. He had survived all his contemporaries,

and that was certainly a prize of sorts, but he had never carried home a prize

goose. I could always haul a gun faster than any of my mates, but Ive never been

much good at thinking around corners.

Eddie remembered trying to tell Roland that jokes were riddles de signed to help

you build up that often overlooked talent, but Roland had ignored him. The way,

Eddie supposed, a color-blind person would ig nore someones description of a

rainbow.

Eddie thought Blaine also might have trouble thinking around comers.

He realized he could hear Blaine asking the oth ers if they had any more

riddleseven asking Oy. He could hear the mock ery in Blaines voice, could hear

it very well. Sure he could. Because he was coming back. Back from that fabled

zone. Back to see if he could talk the devil into set ting himself on fire. No gun

would help this time, but maybe that was all right.

Maybe that was all right

because

Because I shoot with my mind. My mind. God help me to shoot this overblown

calculator with my mind. Help me shoot it from around the corner.

Blaine he said, and then, when the computer had acknowledged him: I have a

couple of riddles. As he spoke, he discovered a wonderful thing: he was

struggling to hold back laughter.

4 

SPEAK, EDDIE OF NEW YORK.

No time to tell the others to be on their guard, that anything might happen, and

from the look of them, no need, either. Eddie forgot about them and turned his mil

attention to Blaine.

What has four wheels and flies

THE TOWN GARBAGE WAGON, AS I HAVE AL

READY SAID.

Disapprovaland dislike Yeah, probablyall but oozing out of that voice.

ARE YOU SO STUPID OR INATTENTIVE THAT

YOU DO NOT

REMEMBER IT WAS THE FIRST RIDDLE YOU

ASKED ME.

Yes, Eddie thought. And what we all missedbe cause we were fixated on

stumping you with some brain-buster out of Rolands past or Jakes bookis that the contest almost ended right there.

You didnt like that one, did you, Blaine

I FOUND IT EXCEEDINGLY STUPID, Blaine agreed. PER HAPS THATS

WHY YOU ASKED IT AGAIN. LIKE CALLS TO LIKE, EDDIE OF NEW

YORK, IS IT NOT SO

A smile lit Eddies face; he shook his finger at the routemap. Sticks and stones

may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Or, as we used to say back in

the neighborhood, You can rank me to the dogs and back, but Ill never lose the

hard-on I use to fuck your mother. 

Hurry up! Jake whispered at him. If you can do something, do it!

It doesnt like silly questions, Eddie said. It doesnt like silly games. And we

knew that. We knew it from Charlie the ChooChoo.

How stupid can you get

Hell, that was the book with the answers, not RiddleDe-Dum, but we never saw

it.

Eddie searched for the other riddle that had been in Jakes Final Essay, found it,

posed it.

Blaine: when is a door not a door

Once again, for the first time since Susannah had asked Blaine what had four legs

and flies, there came a peculiar clicking sound, like a man popping his tongue on

the roof of his mouth. The pause was briefer than the one which had followed

Susannahs opening riddle, but it was still there

Eddie heard it. WHEN ITS A

JAR, OF COURSE Blaine said. He sounded dour, unhappy. THIRTEEN

MINUTES AND FIVE SEC ONDS REMAIN BE

FORE TERMINATION,

EDDIE OF NEW YORK-WOULD YOU DIE WITH

SUCH STUPID RIDDLES

IN YOUR MOUTH

Eddie sat bolt upright, staring at the routemap, and although he could feel warm

trickles of sweat running down his back, that smile on his face widened.

Quit your whining, pal. If you want the privilege of smearing us all over the

landscape, youll just have to put up with a few rid dles that arent quite up to your

standards of logic.

YOU MUST NOT SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A MAN

NER.

Or what Youll kill me Dont make me laugh. Just play. You agreed to the

game; now play it.

Thin pink light flashed briefly out of the routemap.

Youre making him angry,

Little Blaine mourned. Oh, youre making him so angry.

Get lost, squirt, Eddie said, not unkindly, and when the pink glow receded, once

again revealing a flashing green dot that was al most on top of Topeka, Eddie said: Answer this one, Blaine: the big moron and the lit tle moron were standing on the

bridge over the River Send. The big mo ron fell off.

How come the little moron

didnt fall off, too

THAT IS UNWORTHY OF OUR CONTEST. I WILL NOT AN SWER. On

the last word Blaines voice actually dropped into a lower register, making him

sound like a fourteen-year-old coping with a change of voice.

Rolands eyes were not just gleaming now but blaz ing. What do you say, Blaine

I would understand you well. Are you saying that you cry off

NO! OF COURSE NOT! BUT

Then answer, if you can. Answer the riddle.

ITS NOT A RIDDLE! Blaine almost bleated. ITS

A JOKE, SOMETHING

FOR STUPID CHILDREN TO CACKLE OVER IN

THE PLAY YARD!

Answer now or I declare the contest over and our ka-tet the winner, Roland said.

He spoke in the dryly confident tone of authority Eddie had first heard in the town

of River Crossing. You must answer, for it is stu pidity you complain of, not

transgression of the rules, which we agreed upon mutually.

Another of those clicking sounds, but this time it was much louder so loud, in

fact, that Eddie winced. Oy flattened his ears against his skull. It was followed by the longest pause yet; three seconds, at least. Then: THE LITTLE MORON DID NOT FALL OFF BE

CAUSE HE WAS A LITTLE

MORE ON. Blaine sounded sulky. MORE PHO

NETIC CO INCIDENCE. TO

EVEN ANSWER SUCH AN UNWORTHY RID

DLE MAKES ME FEEL

SOILED.

Eddie held up his right hand. He rubbed the thumb and forefinger together.

WHAT DOES THAT SIGNIFY, FOOLISH CREA TURE

Its the worlds smallest violin, playing My Heart Pumps Purple Piss for You, 

Eddie said. Jake fell into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. But never mind the

cheap New York humor; back to the contest. Why do police lieutenants wear

belts

The lights in the Barony Coach began to flicker. An odd thing was happening to

the walls, as well; they began to fade in and out of true, lunging toward

transparency, perhaps, and then opaquing again.

Seeing this phenomenon even out

of the comer of his eye made Eddie feel a bit whoopsy.

Blaine Answer.

Answer, Roland agreed. Answer, or I declare the contest at an end and hold you

to your promise.

Something touched Eddies elbow. He looked down and saw Susan nahs small

and shapely hand. He took it, squeezed it, smiled at her. He hoped the smile was

more confident than the man making it felt. They were going to win the

contesthe was almost sure of thatbut he had no idea what Blaine would do if

and when they did.

TO

TO HOLD UP THEIR PANTS Blames voice firmed, and repeated the

question as a statement. TO HOLD UP THEIR

PANTS. A RIDDLE BASED

UPON THE EXAGGERATED SIMPLICITY

OF

Right. Good one, Blaine, but never mind trying to kill timeit wont work.

Next

I INSIST YOU STOP ASKING THESE SILLY

Then stop the mono, Eddie said. If youre that up set, stop right here, and I will.

NO.

Okay, then, on we go. Whats Irish and stays out in back of the house, even in the

rain

There was another of those clicks, this time so loud it felt like having a blunt spike

driven against his eardrum. A pause of five sec onds.

Now the flashing green dot

on the routemap was so close to Topeka that it lit the word like neon each time it

flashed. Then: PADDY OFURNITURE.

The correct answer to a joke-riddle Eddie had first heard in the alley behind

Dahlies, or at some similar gathering-point, but Blaine had appar ently paid a

price for forcing his mind into a channel that could conceive it: the Barony Coach

lights were flashing more wildly than ever, and Ed die could hear a low humming

from inside the wallsthe kind of sound your stereo amp made just before its shit

blew up.

Pink light stuttered from the routemap. Stop! Lit tle Blaine cried, his voice so

wavery it sounded like the voice of a character from an old Warner Bros. cartoon.

Stop it, youre killing him!

What do you think hes trying to do to us, squirt Ed die thought.

He considered shooting Blaine one Jake had told while theyd been sitting around

the campfire that nightWhats green, weighs a hun dred tons, and lives at the

bottom of the ocean Moby Snot!and then didnt.

He wanted to stick further

inside the bounds of logic than that one al lowed …

and he could do it. He didnt

think he would have to get much more surreal than the level of, say, a third-grader

with a fair-to-good col lection of Garbage Pail Kids cards in order to fuck Blaine

up royally

and permanently. Because no matter how many emotions his fancy dipo lar circuits had allowed him to mimic, he was still an ita computer. Even

following Eddie this far into riddledoms Twi light Zone had caused Blaines sanity to totter.

Why do people go to bed, Blaine

BECAUSE

BECAUSE

GODS DAMN YOU, BECAUSE



A low squalling started up from beneath them, and suddenly the Barony Coach

swayed violently from right to left. Susannah screamed. Jake was thrown into her lap. The gunslinger grabbed them both.

BECAUSE THE BED WONT COME TO THEM, GODS DAMN YOU! NINE

MINUTES AND FIFTY SECONDS!

Give up, Blaine, Eddie said. Stop before I have to blow your mind completely.

If you dont quit, its going to happen. We both know it.

NO!

I got a million of these puppies. Been hearing them my whole life.

They stick to my mind the way flies stick to flypaper.

Hey, with some people its

recipes. So what do you say Want to give

NO! NINE MINUTES AND THIRTY SECONDS!

Okay, Blaine. You asked for it. Here comes the cruncher. Why did the dead baby

cross the road

The mono took another of those gigantic lurch es; Eddie didnt under stand how it could still stay on its track after that, but somehow it did. The screaming from

beneath them grew louder; the walls, floor, and ceil ing of the car began to cycle

madly between opacity and transparency. At one moment they were enclosed, at

the next they were rushing over a gray daylight land scape that stretched flat and

featureless to a horizon which ran across the world in a straight line.

The voice which came from the speakers was now that of a panicky child: I

KNOW IT, JUST A MOMENT, I KNOW IT, RE

TRIEVAL IN PROGRESS,

ALL LOGIC CIRCUITS IN USE

Answer, Roland said.

I NEED MORE TIME! YOU MUST GIVE IT TO ME!

Now there was a kind

of cracked triumph in that splintered voice. NO

TEMPORAL LIMITS FOR

ANSWERING WERE SET, ROLAND OF GILEAD, HATEFUL GUNSLINGER

OUT OF A PAST THAT SHOULD HAVE STAYED

DEAD!

No, Roland agreed, no time limits were set, you are quite right. But you may

not kill us with a riddle still unanswered, Blaine, and Topeka draws nigh.

Answer!

The Barony Coach cycled into invisibility again, and Eddie saw what appeared to

be a tall and rusty grain elevator go flashing past; it was in his view barely long

enough for him to identify it. Now he fully appre ciated the maniacal speed at

which they were travelling; perhaps three hundred miles faster than a commercial

jet at cruising speed.

Let him alone! moaned the voice of Little Blaine.

Youre killing him, I say!

Killing him!

Isnt that bout what he wanted Susannah asked in the voice of Detta Walker.

To die Thats what he said. We dont mind, either.

You not so bad, Little Blaine,

but even a world as fucked up as this one has to be better with your big brother

gone. Its just him takin us with him we been objectin to all this time.

Last chance, Roland said. Answer or give up the goose, Blaine.

I

I

YOU … SIXTEEN LOG THIRTY-THREE .

. . ALL COSINE

SUBSCRIPTS

ANTI

ANTI

IN ALL THESE

YEARS … BEAM …

FLOOD … PYTHAGOREAN … CARTESIAN

LOGIC … CAN I

DARE I

A PEACH … EAT A PEACH

ALLMAN

BROTHERS … PATRICIA …

CROCODILE AND WHIPLASH SMILE

CLOCK OF

DIALS … TICKTOCK,

ELEVEN OCLOCK, THE MANS IN THE

MOON AND HES READY

TO ROCK … INCESSAMENT … INCESSA MENT, MON CHER

OH MY

HEAD … BLAINE … BLAINE DARES … BLAINE

WILL ANSWER

I



Blaine, now screaming in the voice of an infant, lapsed into some other language

and began to sing. Eddie thought it was French. He knew none of the words, but

when the drums kicked in, he knew the song per fect ly well: Velcro Fly by Z.Z.

Top.

The glass over the routemap blew out. A moment later, the routemap itself

exploded from its socket, revealing twinkling lights and a maze of circuit-boards behind it. The lights pulsed in time to the drums. Sud denly blue fire flashed out,

sizzling the surface around the hole in the wall where the map had been, scorching

it black. From deeper within that wall, toward Blaines blunt, bullet-shaped snout, came a thick grinding noise.

It crossed the road because it was stapled to the chicken, you dopey fuck! Eddie

yelled. He got to his feet and started to walk toward the smoking hole where the

routemap had been. Susannah grabbed at the back of his shirt, but Eddie barely felt it. Barely knew where he was, in fact. The battlefire had dropped over him,

burning him everywhere with its righteous heat, sizzling his sight, frying his

synapses and roasting his heart in its holy glow. He had Blaine in his sights, and

although the thing behind the voice was already mortally wounded, he was unable

to stop squeezing the trigger: I shoot with my mind.

Whats the difference between a truckload of bowling balls and a truckload of

dead woodchucks Eddie raved. You cant un load a truckload of bowling balls with a pitchfork!

A terrible shriek of mingled anger and agony is sued from the hole where the routemap had been. It was followed by a gust of blue fire, as if somewhere forward of

Barony Coach an electric dragon had exhaled vio lently. Jake called a warning,

but Eddie didnt need it; his reflexes had been re placed with razor-blades. He

ducked, and the burst of electricity went over his right shoulder, making the hair

on that side of his neck stand up. He drew the gun he worea heavy .45 with a

worn sandalwood grip, one of two revolvers which Roland had brought out of MidWorlds ruin. He kept walking as he bore down on the front of the coach… and of course he kept talking. As Roland had said, Eddie would die talking. As his old

friend Cuthbert had done. Eddie could think of many worse ways to go, and only

one better.

Say, Blaine, you ugly, sadistic fuck! Since were talking riddles, what is the

greatest riddle of the Orient Many men smoke but Fu Manchu! Get it No So

solly, Cholly! How about this one Whyd the wom an name her son Seven and a

Half Because she drew his name out of a hat!

He had reached the pulsing square. Now he lifted Rolands gun and the Barony

Coach suddenly filled with its thunder. He put all six rounds into the hole, fanning

the hammer with the flat of his hand in the way Roland had shown them, knowing

only that this was right, this was proper … this was ka, goddammit, fucking ka, it

was the way you ended things if you were a gun slinger. He was one of Rolands

tribe, all right, his soul was probably damned to the deepest pit of hell, and he

wouldnt have changed it for all the heroin in Asia.

I HATE YOU! Blaine cried in his childish voice. The splin ters were gone from

it now; it was growing soft, mushy. I HATE YOU

FOREVER!

Its not dying that bothers you, is it Eddie asked.

The lights in the hole where

the routemap had been were fading. More blue fire flashed, but he hardly had to

pull his head back to avoid it; the flame was small and weak. Soon Blaine would

be as dead as all the Pubes and Grays in Lud. Its losing that bothers you.

HATE … FORRRRrmr …

The word degenerated into a hum. The hum be came a kind of stuttery thudding

sound. Then it was gone.

Eddie looked around. Roland was there, holding Susannah with one arm curved

around her butt, as one might hold a child. Her thighs clasped his waist. Jake stood

on the gunslingers other side, with Oy at his heel.

Drifting out of the hole where the routemap had been was a peculiar charred

smell, somehow not unpleasant. To Eddie it smelled like burning leaves in

October. Otherwise, the hole was as dead and dark as a corpses eye. All the lights in there had gone out.

Your goose is cooked, Blaine, Eddie thought, and your turkeys baked. Happy

fuckin Thanksgiving.

5

The shrieking from beneath the mono stopped.

There was one final, grinding thud from up front, and then those sounds ceased, too.

Roland felt his legs and hips

sway gently forward and put out his free hand to steady himself. His body knew

what had happened before his head did: Blaines engines had quit. They were now simply gliding forward along the track.

But

Back, he said. All the way. Were coasting. If were close enough to Blaines

termination point, we may still crash.

He led them past the puddled remains of Blaines welcoming ice sculpture and to

the back of the coach. And stay away from that thing,

he said, pointing at the

instrument which looked like a cross between a piano and a harpsichord. It stood

on a small platform. It may shift. Gods, I wish we could see where we are! Lie

down. Wrap your arms over your heads.

They did as he told them. Roland did the same. He lay there with his chin pressing

into the nap of the royal blue carpet, eyes shut, thinking about what had just

happened.

I cry your pardon, Eddie, he said. How the wheel of ka turns! Once I had to ask

the same of my friend Cuthbert … and for the same reason. Theres a kind of

blindness in me. An arrogant blindness.

I hardly think theres any need of pardon-crying,

Eddie said. He sounded

uncomfortable.

There is. I held your jokes in contempt. Now they have saved our lives. I cry your

pardon. I have forgotten the face of my father.

You dont need any pardon and you didnt forget anybodys face, Eddie said.

You cant help your nature, Roland.

The gunslinger considered this carefully, and discovered something which was

wonderful and awful at the same time: that idea had never oc curred to him. Not

once in his whole life. That he was a captive of ka

this he had known since

earliest childhood. But his nature

his very na ture…

Thank you, Eddie. I think

Before Roland could say what he thought, Blaine the Mono crashed to a final

bitter halt. All four of them were thrown violently up Barony Coachs central aisle,

Oy in Jakes arms and barking. The cabins front wall buckled and Roland struck it

shoulder-first. Even with the padding (the wall was carpeted and, from the feel,

undercoated with some resilient stuff), the blow was hard enough to numb him.

The chandelier swung for ward and tore loose from the ceiling, pelting them with

glass pendants. Jake rolled aside, vacating its landing-zone just in time. The

harpsichord-piano flew off its podium, struck one of the sofas, and overturned,

coming to rest with a discordant brrrannnggg sound. The mono tilted to the right and the gunslinger braced himself, meaning to cover both Jake and Susan nah with his own body if it overturned completely. Then it settled back, the floor still a little canted, but at rest.

The trip was over.

The gunslinger raised himself up. His shoulder was still numb, but the arm below

it supported him, and that was a good sign. On his left, Jake was sitting up and

picking glass beads out of his lap with a dazed ex pres sion. On his right, Susannah

was dabbing a cut under Eddies left eye. All right, Roland said. Whos hur

There was an explosion from above them, a hollow Pow! that re minded Roland

of the big-bangers Cuthbert and Alain had some times lit and tossed down drains,

or into the privies behind the scullery for a prank.

And once Cuthbert had shot

some big-bangers with his sling. That had been no prank, no childish folly. That

had been

Susannah uttered a short crymore of surprise than fear, the gun slinger

thoughtand then hazy daylight was shining down on his face. It felt good. The

taste of the air coming in through the blown emer gency exit was even

bettersweet with the smell of rain and damp earth.

There was a bony rattle, and a ladderit ap peared to be equipped with rungs

made of twisted steel wiredropped out of a slot up there.

First they throw the chandelier at you, then they show you the door, Eddie said.

He struggled to his feet, then got Susannah up.

Okay, I know when Im not

wanted. Lets make like bees and buzz off.

Sounds good to me. She reached toward the cut on Eddies face again. Eddie

took her fingers, kissed them, and told her to stop poking the moichandise.

Jake the gunslinger asked. Okay

Yes, Jake said. What about you, Oy

Oy!

Guess he is, Jake said. He raised his wounded hand and looked at it ruefully.

Hurting again, is it the gunslinger asked.

Yeah. Whatever Blaine did to it is wearing off. I dont care, thoughI m just

glad to still be alive.

Yes. Life is good. So is astin. Theres some of it left.

Aspirin, you mean.

Roland nodded. A pill of magical properties, but one of the words from Jakes

world he would never be able to say correctly.

Nine out of ten doctors recommend Anacin, hon ey, Susannah said, and when

Jake only looked at her quizzically: Guess they dont use that one anymore in

your when, huh Doesnt matter. Were here, sug arpie, right here and just fine, and thats what matters. She pulled Jake into her arms and gave him a kiss between

the eyes, on the nose, and then flush on the mouth.

Jake laughed and blushed

bright red. Thats what matters, and right now thats the only thing in the world

that does.

6 

First aid can wait, Eddie said. He put his arm around Jakes shoulders and led the boy to the ladder. Can you use that hand to climb with

Yes. But I cant bring Oy. Roland, will you

Yes. Roland picked Oy up and tucked him into his shirt as he had while

descending a shaft under the city in pursuit of Jake and Gasher. Oy peeked out at

Jake with his bright, goldringed eyes. Up you go.

Jake climbed. Roland followed close enough so that Oy could sniff the kids heels

by stretching out his long neck.

Suze Eddie asked. Need a boost

And get your nasty hands all over my well-turned fan ny Not likely, white boy!

Then she dropped him a wink and began to climb, pulling herself up easily with

her muscular arms and balancing with the stumps of her legs. She went fast, but

not too fast for Eddie; he reached up and gave her a soft pinch where the pinching

was good. Oh, my purity! Su sannah cried, laughing and rolling her eyes. Then she was gone. Only Eddie was left, standing by the foot of the ladder and looking

around at the luxury coach which he had believed might well be their ka-tets

coffin.

You did it, kiddo. Henry said. Made him set himself on fire. I knew you could,

fuckin-A. Remember when I said that to those scag-bags behind Dahlies Jimmie

Polio and those guys And how they laughed But you did it. Sent him home with

a fuckin rupture.

Well, it worked, anyway, Eddie thought, and touched the butt of Rolands gun

without even being aware of it. Well enough for us to walk away one more time.

He climbed two rungs, then looked back down. The Barony Coach al ready felt

dead. Long dead, in fact, just another artifact of a world that had moved on.

Adios, Blaine, Eddie said. So long, partner.

And he followed his friends out through the emer gency exit in the roof.

CHAPTER IV

topeka

1J

ake stood on the slightly tilted roof of Blame the Mono, looking south east along

the Path of the Beam. The wind riffled his hair (now quite long and decidedly unPiperish) back from his temples and forehead in waves. His eyes were wide with

surprise.

He didnt know what he had expected to seea smaller and more provincial

version of Lud, perhapsbut what he had not ex pected was what loomed above

the trees of a nearby park. It was a green roadsign (against the dull gray autumn

sky, it almost screamed with color) with a blue shield mounted on it:

Roland joined him, lifted Oy gently out of his shirt, and put him down. The

humbler sniffed the pink surface of Blaines roof, then looked toward the front of

the mono. Here the trains smooth bullet shape was broken by crumpled metal

which had peeled back in jagged wings. Two dark slashesthey began at the

monos tip and extended to a point about ten yards from where Jake and Roland

stoodgored the roof in parallel lines. At the end of each was a wide, flat metal

pole painted in stripes of yellow and black. These seemed to jut from the top of the

mono at a point just forward of the Barony Coach. To Jake they looked a little like

foot ball goalposts.

Those are the piers he talked about hitting, Su sannah murmured.

Roland nodded.

We got off lucky, big boy, you know it If this thing had been going much faster



Ka,  Eddie said from behind them. He sounded as if he might be smiling.

Roland nodded. Just so. Ka.

Jake dismissed the transteel goalposts and turned back toward the sign. He was

half convinced it would be gone, or that it would say some thing else (mid-world

toll road, perhaps, or beware of demons), but it was still there and still said the

same thing.

Eddie Susannah Do you see that

They looked along his pointing finger. For a mo mentone long enough for Jake

to fear he was having a hallucinationneither of them said anything. Then, softly, Eddie said: Holy shit. Are we back home If we are, where are all the people

And if something like Blaine has been stopping off in Topekaour Topeka,

Topeka, Kansashow come I havent seen any thing about it on Sixty Minutes

Whats Sixty Minutes Susannah asked. She was shading her eyes, looking

southeast toward the sign.

TV show, Eddie said. You missed it by five or ten years. Old white guys in ties.

Doesnt matter. That sign

Its Kansas, all right, Susannah said. Our Kansas.

I guess. She had spotted

another sign, just visible over the trees. Now she pointed until Jake, Eddie, and

Roland had all seen it:

There a Kansas in your world, Roland

No, Roland replied, looking at the signs, were far beyond the boundaries of the

world I knew. I was far beyond most of the world I knew long before I met you

three. This place…

He stopped and cocked his head to one side, as if he was listening to some sound

almost too distant to hear. And the expression on his face

Jake didnt like it

much.

Say, kiddies! Eddie said brightly. Today were studying Wacky Geography in

MidWorld. You see, boys and girls, in MidWorld you start in New York, travel

southeast to Kansas, and then continue along the Path of the Beam until you come

to the Dark Tower… which happens to be smack in the middle of everything.

First, fight the giant lobsters! Next, ride the psy chotic train! And then, after a visit to our snackbar for a popkin or two

Do you hear anything Roland broke in. Any of youJake listened. He heard the wind combing through the trees of the nearby

parktheir leaves had just begun to turnand he heard the click of Oys toenails

as he strolled back toward them along the roof of the Barony Coach. Then Oy

stopped, so even that sound

A hand seized him by the arm, making him jump. It was Susannah. Her head was

tilted, her eyes wide. Eddie was also listening.

Oy, too; his ears were up and he

was whining far down in his throat.

Jake felt his arms ripple with gooseflesh. At the same time he felt his mouth

tighten in a grimace. The sound, though very faint, was the audi tory version of

biting a lemon. And hed heard something like it be fore. Back when he was only

five or six, there had been a crazy guy in Central Park who thought he was a

musician … well, there were lots of crazy guys in Central Park who thought they

were musicians, but this was the only one Jake had ever seen who played a

workshop tool. The guy had had a sign beside his upturned hat which read worlds

greatest SAWPLAYER! SOUNDS HAWAIIAN

DOESNT IT! PLEASE

CONTRIBUTE TO MY WELFARE!

Greta Shaw had been with Jake the first time he en countered the sawplayer, and

Jake remembered how she had hurried past the guy. Just sit ting there like a cellist in a symphony orchestra hed been, only with a rust-speckled handsaw spread

across his open legs; Jake remembered the ex pression of comic horror on Mrs.

Shaws face, and the quiver of her pressed-togeth er lips, as ifyes, as if shed just bitten into a lemon.

This sound wasnt exactly like the one (SOUNDS HAWAIIAN DOESNT IT)

the guy in the park had made by vibrating the blade of his saw, but it was close: a

wavery, trembly, metallic sound that made you feel like your sinuses were filling

up and your eyes would shortly begin to gush wa ter. Was it coming from ahead of

them Jake couldnt tell. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere; at

the same time, it was so low he might have been tempted to believe the whole

thing was just his imagina tion, if the others hadnt

Watch out! Eddie cried. Help me, you guys! I think hes going to faint!

Jake wheeled toward the gunslinger and saw that his face had gone as white as

cottage cheese above the dusty no-color of his shirt. His eyes were wide and blank.

One corner of his mouth twitched spastically, as if an invisible fishhook were

buried there.

Jonas and Reynolds and Depape, he said. The Big Coffin Hunters. And her.

The Coos. They were the ones. They were the ones who

Standing on the roof of the mono in his dusty, bro ken boots, Roland tottered. On

his face was the greatest look of misery Jake had ever seen.

Oh Susan, he said. Oh, my dear.

2

They caught him, they formed a protective ring around him, and the gunslinger

felt hot with guilt and self-loathing. What had he done to deserve such enthusiastic

protectors What, besides tear them out of their known and ordinary lives as

ruthlessly as a man might tear weeds out of his gar den

He tried to tell them he was all right, they could stand back, he was fine, but no

words would come out; that terrible wavery sound had trans ported him back to

the box canyon west of Hambry all those years ago.

Depape and Reynolds and old

limping Jonas. Yet most of all it was the woman from the hill he hated, and from

black depths of feeling only a very young man can reach. Ah, but how could he

have done aught else but hate them His heart had been broken. And now, all

these years later, it seemed to him that the most hor rible fact of human existence

was that broken hearts mended.

My first thought was, he lied in every word/That hoary cripple, with malicious eye

What words Whose poem

He didnt know, but he knew that women could lie, too; women who hopped and

grinned and saw too much from the comers of their rheumy old eyes. It didnt

matter who had written the lines of poesy; the words were true words, and that

was all that mattered. Neither Eldred Jonas nor the crone on the hill had been of

Martens staturenor even of Wal terswhen it came to evil, but they had been

evil enough.

Then, after

in the box canyon west of town … that sound … that, and the

screams of wounded men and horses … for once in his life, even the normally

voluble Cuthbert had been struck silent.

But all that had been long ago, in another when; in the here and now, the warbling

sound was either gone or had temporarily fallen below the threshold of audibility.

They would hear it again, though. He knew that as well as he knew the fact that he

walked a road leading to damnation.

He looked up at the others and managed a smile.

The trembling at the comer of his

mouth had quit, and that was something.

Im all right, he said. But hear me well: this is very close to where MidWorld

ends, very close to where End-World begins. The first great course of our quest is finished. We have done well; we have remem bered the faces of our fathers; we have stood together and been true to one an other.

But now we have come to a

thinny. We must be very careful.

A thinny Jake asked, looking around nervously.

Places where the fabric of existence is almost entirely worn away. There are more since the force of the Dark Tower began to fail. Do you remember what we saw

below us when we left Lud

They nodded solemnly, remembering ground which had fused to black glass,

ancient pipes which gleamed with turquoise witch light, mis shapen bird-freaks

with wings like great leathern sails. Roland sudden ly could not bear to have them

grouped around him as they were, looking down on him as folk might look down

on a rowdy who had fallen in a bar room brawl.

He lifted his hands to his friendshis new friends.

Eddie took them and helped

him to his feet. The gunslinger fixed his enormous will on not swaying and stood

steady.

Who was Susan Susannah asked. The crease down the center of her forehead

suggested she was troubled, and probably by more than a co incidental similarity of names.

Roland looked at her, then at Eddie, then at Jake, who had dropped to one knee so

he could scratch behind Oys ears.

Ill tell you, he said, but this isnt the place or time.

You keep sayin that, Susannah said. You wouldnt just be putting us off again,

would you

Roland shook his head. You shall hear my talethis part of it, at leastbut not

on top of this metal carcass.

Yeah, Jake said. Being up here is like playing on a dead dinosaur or something.

I keep thinking Blaines going to come back to life and start, I dont know,

screwing around with our heads again.

That sound is gone, Eddie said. The thing that sounded like a wah-wah pedal.

It reminded me of this old guy I used to see in Cen tral Park,

Jake said.

The man with the saw Susannah asked. Jake looked up at her, his eyes round

with surprise, and she nodded. Only he wasnt old when I used to see him. Its not

just the geography thats wacky here. Times kind of funny, too.

Eddie put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief squeeze. Amen to

that.

Susannah turned to Roland. Her look was not ac cusing, but there was a level and

open measurement in her eyes that the gunslinger could not help but admire. Im

holding you to your promise, Roland. I want to know about this girl that got my

name.

You shall hear, Roland repeated. For now, though, lets get off this monsters

back.

3

That was easier said than done. Blaine had come to rest slightly askew in an

outdoor version of the Cradle of Lud (a littered trail of torn pink metal lay along one side of this, marking the end of Blaines last jour ney), and it was easily twentyfive feet from the roof of the Barony Coach to the ce ment. If there was a descentlad

der, like the one which had popped conve niently through the emergency hatch,

it had jammed when they crunched to a halt.

Roland unslung his purse, rummaged, and re moved the deerskin har ness they

used for carrying Susannah when the going got too rough for her wheelchair. The

chair, at least, would not worry them anymore, the gunslinger reflected; they had

left it behind in their mad scramble to board Blaine.

What you want that for Susannah asked trucu lently. She always sounded

truculent when the harness came into view. I hate them honky mahfahs down in

Missippi worsen I hate that harness, she had once told Eddie in the voice of Detta

Walker, but sometimes it be a close thing, sugar.

Soft, Susannah Dean, soft, the gunslinger said, smiling a little. He unbraided the network of straps which made up the harness, set the seat-piece aside, then

pigtailed the straps back together. He wedded this to his last good hank of rope with an old-fashioned sheetbend knot. As he worked, he listened for the warbling of the thinny

as the four of them had listened for the god-drums; as he and

Eddie had listened for the lobstrosities to begin asking their lawyerly questions

(Dad-a-cham Did-a-chee Dum-a-chum) as they came tumbling out of the

waves each night.

Ka is a wheel, he thought. Or, as Eddie liked to say, whatever went around came

around.

When the rope was finished, he fashioned a loop at the bottom of the braided

section. Jake stepped a foot into it with perfect confidence, gripped the rope with

one hand, and settled Oy into the crook of his other arm. Oy looked around

nervously, whined, stretched his neck, licked Jakes face.

Youre not afraid, are you Jake asked the humbler.

 Fraid, Oy agreed, but he was quiet enough as Roland and Eddie lowered Jake

down the side of the Barony Coach. The rope wasnt quite long enough to take him

all the way down, but Jake had no trouble twist ing his foot free and dropping the

last four feet. He set Oy down. The bumbler trotted off, sniffing, and lifted his leg

against the side of the ter minal building. This was nowhere near as grand as the

Cradle of Lud, but it had an old-fashioned look that Roland likedwhite boards,

over hanging eaves, high, narrow windows, what looked like slate shingles. It was a Western look. Written in gold gilt on a sign which stretched above the terminals

line of doors was this message:

ATCHISON, TOPEKA, AND SANTA FE

Towns, Roland supposed, and that last one sound ed familiar to him; had there not

been a Santa Fe in the Barony of Mejis But that led back toward Susan, lovely

Susan at the window with her hair unbraided and all down her back, the smell of

her like jasmine and rose and honeysuckle and old sweet hay, smells of which the oracle in the mountains had been able to make on ly the palest mimicry. Susan

lying back and looking solemnly up at him, then smiling and putting her hands

behind her head so that her breasts rose, as if aching for his hands.

If you love me, Roland, then love me … bird and bear and hare and fish

… next

He looked around at Eddie, having to use all of his will to pull himself back from

Susan Delgados when. There were thinnies here in Topeka, all right, and of many

sorts. My mind was wandering, Eddie. Cry your pardon.

Susannah next Thats what I asked.

Roland shook his head. You next, then Susannah.

Ill go last.

Will you be okay With your hand and all

Ill be fine.

Eddie nodded and stuck his foot into the loop.

When Eddie had first come into

MidWorld, Roland could have lowered him easily by himself, two fingers short

the full complement or no, but Eddie had been without his drug for months now,

and had put on ten or fifteen pounds of muscle.

Roland accepted Susannahs help

gladly enough, and together they low ered him down.

Now you, lady, Roland said, and smiled at her. It felt more natural to smile these

days.

Yes. But for the nonce she only stood there, biting her lower lip.

What is it

Her hand went to her stomach and rubbed there, as if it ached or griped her. He

thought she would speak, but she shook her head and said, Nothing.

I dont believe that. Why do you rub your belly Are you hurt Were you hurt

when we stopped

She took her hand off her tunic as if the flesh just south of her navel had grown

hot. No. Im fine.

Are you

Susannah seemed to think this over very careful ly. Well talk, she said at last.

Well palaver, if you like that better. But you were right be fore, Rolandthis

isnt the place or time.

All four of us, or just you and me and Eddie

Just you and me, Roland, she said, and poked the stump of her leg through the

loop. Just one hen and one rooster, at least to start with. Now lower away, if you

please.

He did, frowning down at her, hoping with all his heart that his first ideathe one

that had come to mind as soon as he saw that rest lessly rub bing handwas

wrong. Because she had been in the speaking ring, and the demon that denned

there had had its way with her while Jake was try ing to cross between the worlds.

Sometimesoftendemonic contact changed things.

Never for the better, in Rolands experience.

He pulled his rope back up after Eddie had caught Susannah around the waist and

helped her to the platform. The gunslinger walked forward to one of the piers

which had torn through the trains bullet snout, fash ioning the ropes end into a

shake-loop as he went. He tossed this over the pier, snubbed it (being careful not

to twitch the rope to the left), and then lowered him self to the platform himself,

bent at the waist and leaving boot-tracks on Blaines pink side.

Too bad to lose the rope and harness, Eddie re marked when Roland was beside

them.

I aint sorry about that harness, Susannah said.

Id rather crawl along the

pavement until I got chewin-gum all the way up my arms to the elbows.

We havent lost anything, Roland said. He snugged his hand into the rawhide

foot-loop and snapped it hard to the left. The rope slithered down from the pier,

Roland gathering it in almost as fast as it came down.

Neat trick! Jake said.

Eat! Rick! Oy agreed.

Cort Eddie asked.

Cort, Roland agreed, smiling.

The drill instructor from hell, Eddie said. Better you than me, Roland. Better

you than me.

4

As they walked toward the doors leading into the station, that low, liquid warbling sound began again. Roland was amused to see all three of his cohorts wrinkle their noses and pull down the comers of their mouths at the same time; it made them

look like blood family as well as ka-tet. Su sannah pointed toward the park. The

signs looming over the trees were wavering slightly, the way things did in a heathaze.

Is that from the thinny Jake asked.

Roland nodded.

Will we be able to get around it

Yes. Thinnies are dangerous in much the way that swamps full of quicksand and

saligs are dangerous. Do you know those things

We know quicksand, Jake said. And if saligs are long green things with big

teeth, we know them, too.

Thats what they are.

Susannah turned to look back at Blaine one last time. No silly ques tions and no

silly games. The book was right about that. From Blaine she turned her eyes to

Roland. What about Beryl Evans, the woman who wrote Charlie the ChooChoo

Do you think shes part of this That we might even meet her Id like to thank her.

Eddie figured it out, but

Its possible, I suppose, Roland said, but on measure, I think not. My world is

like a huge ship that sank near enough shore for most of the wreckage to wash up

on the beach. Much of what we find is fascinating, some of it may be useful, if ka

allows, but all of it is still wreckage. Sense less wreckage. He looked around.

Like this place, I think.

I wouldnt exactly call it wrecked, Eddie said.

Look at the paint on the

stationits a little rusty from the gutters up under the eaves, but it hasnt peeled

anywhere that I can see. He stood in front of the doors and ran his fingers down

one of the glass panels. They left four clear tracks behind. Dust and plenty of it,

but no cracks. Id say that this building has been left unmaintained at most since…

the start of the summer, maybe

He looked at Roland, who shrugged and nodded. He was listening with only half

an ear and paying attention with only half a mind.

The rest of him was fixed upon

two things: the warble of the thinny, and keeping away the memories that wanted

to swamp him.

But Lud had been going to wrack and ruin for cen turies Susannah said. This

place

it may or may not be Topeka, but what it re ally looks like to me is one of

those creepy little towns on The Twilight Zone. You boys probably dont

remember that one, but

Yes, I do, Eddie and Jake said in perfect unison, then looked at each other and

laughed. Eddie stuck out his hand and Jake slapped it.

They still show the reruns, Jake said.

Yeah, all the time, Eddie added. Usually spon sored by bankruptcy lawyers who

look like shorthair terriers. And youre right. This place isnt like Lud. Why would

it be Its not in the same world as Lud. I dont know where we crossed over,

but He pointed again at the blue Inter state 70

shield, as if that proved his case beyond a shadow of a doubt.

If its Topeka, where are the people Susannah asked.

Eddie shrugged and raised his handswho knows Jake put his forehead against the glass of the cen ter door, cupped his hands to the

sides of his face, and peered in. He looked for sev eral sec onds, then saw

something that made him pull back fast. Oh-oh, he said. No wonder the towns

so quiet.

Roland stepped up behind Jake and peered in over the boys head, cupping his own

hands to reduce his reflection. The gunslinger drew two conclusions before even

looking at what Jake had seen. The first was that al though this was most assuredly

a train station, it wasnt really a Blame station …

not a cradle. The other was that

the station did indeed belong to Eddies, Jakes, and Susannahs world… but

perhaps not to their where.

Its the thinny. Well have to be careful.

Two corpses were leaning together on one of the long benches that filled most of

the room; but for their hanging, wrinkled faces and black hands, they might have

been revellers who had fallen asleep in the station after an arduous party and

missed the last train home. On the wall behind them was a board marked

departures, with the names of cities and towns and baronies marching down it in a

line. denver, read one. wichita, read another.

omaha, read a third. Roland had once known a one-eyed gambler named Omaha; he had died with a knife in his throat at a Watch Me table. He had stepped into the clear ing at the end of the path with his head thrown back, and his last breath had sprayed blood all the way up to the

ceiling. Hanging down from the ceiling of this room (which Rolands stu pid and

laggard mind insisted on thinking of as a stage rest, as if this were a stop along some half-forgotten road like the one that had brought him to Tull) was a beautiful four-sided clock. Its hands had stopped at 4:14, and Roland supposed they would

never move again. It was a sad thought… but this was a sad world. He could not

see any other dead people, but ex perience sug gested that where there were two

dead, there were likely four more dead somewhere out of sight. Or four dozen.

Should we go in Eddie asked.

Why the gunslinger countered. We have no business here; it doesnt lie along the Path of the Beam.

Youd make a great tour-guide, Eddie said sourly.

 Keep up, everyone, and

please dont go wandering off into the 

Jake interrupted with a request Roland didnt un derstand. Do either of you guys

have a quarter The boy was looking at Eddie and Susannah. Beside him was a

square metal box. Written on it in blue was: The Topeka CapitalJournal covers Kansas like no other! Your hometown paper!

Read it every day!

Eddie shook his head, amused. Lost all my change at some point. Probably

climbing a tree, just before you joined us, in an allout effort to avoid becoming

snack-food for a robot bear. Sorry.

Wait a minute … wait a minute … Susannah had her purse open and was

rummaging through it in a way that made Roland grin broadly in spite of all his

preoccupations. It was so damned womanly, somehow. She turned over crumpled

Kleenex, shook them to make sure there was noth ing caught inside, fished out a

compact, looked at it, dropped it back, came up with a comb, dropped that back

She was too absorbed to look up as Roland strode past her, drawing his gun from

the dockers clutch he had built her as he went. He fired a single time. Susannah let

out a little scream, dropping her purse and slap ping at the empty holster high up

under her left breast.

Honky, you scared the livin Jesus out of me!

Take better care of your gun, Susannah, or the next time someone takes it from

you, the hole may be between your eyes instead of in a

what is it, Jake A newstelling device of some kind Or does it hold paper

Both. Jake looked startled. Oy had withdrawn halfway down the platform and

was looking at Roland mistrustfully. Jake poked his finger at the bullethole in the center of the newspaper boxs locking device. A lit tle curl of smoke was drifting from it.

Go on, Roland said. Open it.

Jake pulled the handle. It resisted for a moment, then a piece of metal clunked

down somewhere inside, and the door opened. The box itself was empty; the sign

on the back wall read when all papers are gone, please take display copy. Jake

worked it out of its wire holder, and they all gathered round.

What in Gods name …  Susannahs whisper was both horrified and accusing.

What does it mean What in Gods name hap pened^

Below the newspapers name, taking up most of the front pages top half, were

screaming black letters:

CAPTAIN TRIPS SUPERFLU RAGES

UNCHECKED

Govt. Leaders May Have Fled Country Topeka Hospitals Jammed with Sick, Dying Millions Pray for Cure

Read it aloud, Roland said. The letters are in your speech, I cannot make them

all out, and I would know this story very well.

Jake looked at Eddie, who nodded impatiently.

Jake unfolded the newspaper, revealing a dotpicture (Roland had seen pictures of this type; they were called fottergrafs) which shocked them all: it showed a

lakeside city with its skyline in flames. cleveland fires burn unchecked, the

caption beneath read.

Read, kid! Eddie told him. Susannah said noth ing; she was already reading the

storythe only one on the front pageover his shoulder. Jake cleared his throat

as if it were suddenly dry, and began.

5 

The byline says John Corcoran, plus staff and AP

reports. That means a lot of

different people worked on it, Roland. Okay. Here goes. Americas greatest

crisisand the worlds, perhapsdeepened overnight as the so-called superflu, known as Tube-Neck in the Midwest and Captain Trips in California, continues to

spread.

 Although the death-toll can only be estimat ed, medical experts say the total at this point is horrible beyond comprehension: twenty to thirty million dead in the continental U.S. alone is the estimate given by Dr. Morris Hackford of Topekas

St. Francis Hospital and Medical Center. Bod ies are being burned from Los

Angeles, California, to Boston, Massa chusetts, in crematoria, factory furnaces,

and at landfill sites.

 Here in Topeka, the bereaved who are still well enough and strong enough to do

so are urged to take their dead to one of three sites: the dis posal plant north of

Oakland Billard Park; the pit area at Heartland Park Race Track; the landfill on

Southeast Sixty-first Street, east of Forbes Field.

Landfill users should approach

by Berryton Road; California has been blocked by car wrecks and at least one

downed Air Force transport plane, sources tell us. 

Jake glanced up at his friends with frightened eyes, looked behind him at the silent

railway station, then looked back down at the news paper.

 Dr. April Montoya of the Stormont-Vail Region al Medical Center points out

that the death-toll, horrifying as it is, constitutes only part of this terrible story.

For every person who has died so far as a result of this new flu-strain, Montoya

said, there are another six who are lying ill in their homes, perhaps as many as a

dozen. And, so far as we have been able to deter mine, the recovery rate is zero.

Coughing, she then told this reporter: Speaking personally, Im not making any

plans for the weekend.

 In other local developments:

 All commercial flights out of Forbes and Phillip Billard have been cancelled.

 All Amtrak rail travel has been suspended, not just in Topeka but across all of

Kansas. The Gage Boulevard Amtrak station has been closed until further notice.

 All Topeka schools have also been closed until further notice. This includes

Districts 437, 345, 450 (Shawnee Heights), 372, and 501 (metro Topeka). Topeka

Lutheran and Topeka Technical College are al so closed, as is KU at Lawrence.

 Topekans must expect brownouts and perhaps blackouts in the days and weeks

ahead. Kansas Power and Light has announced a slow shutdown of the Kaw

River Nuclear Plant in Wamego. Although no one in KawNukes Office of Public

Relations answered this newspapers calls, a recorded announcement cautions that there is no plant emergency, that this is a safety measure only. KawNuke will

return to on-line status, the announcement con cludes, when the current crisis is past. Any com fort afforded by this statement is in large part negated by the

recorded statements final words, which are not Goodbye or Thank you for

call ing but God will help us through our time of trial.

 

Jake paused, following the story to the next page, where there were more pictures:

a burned-out panel truck overturned on the steps of the Kansas Museum of Natural

History; traffic on San Franciscos Golden Gate Bridge stalled bumper to bumper; piles of corpses in Times Square. One body, Susan nah saw, had been hung from a

lamppost, and that brought back nightmarish memories of the run for the Cradle of Lud she and Eddie had made after parting from the gunslinger; memories of

Luster and Winston and Jeeves and Maud. When the god-drums started up this

time, it was Spankers stone what came out of the hat, Maud had said. We set him

to dance. Except, of course, what shed meant was that they had set him to hang.

As they had hung some folks, it seemed, back home in little old New York. When

things got weird enough, someone always found a lynchrope, it seemed.

Echoes. Everything echoed now. They bounced back and forth from one world to

the other, not fading as ordinary echoes did but growing and becoming more

terrible. Like the god-drums, Susannah thought, and shuddered.

 In national developments,  Jake read,  con viction continues to grow that, after denying the superflus existence during its ear ly days, when quarantine measures

might still have had some effect, national lead ers have fled to underground

retreats which were created as brain-trust shel ters in case of nuclear war. VicePresident Bush and key members of the Reagan cabinet have not been seen during

the last forty-eight hours. Reagan himself has not been seen since Sunday

morning, when he at tended prayer services at Green Valley Methodist Church in

San Simeon.

  They have gone to the bunkers like Hitler and the rest of the Nazi sewer-rats at

the end of World War II, said Rep. Steve Sloan. When asked if he had any

objection to being quoted by name, Kansass first-term representative, a

Republican, laughed and said: Why should I Ive got a real fine case myself. Ill

be so much dust in the wind come this time next week.

 Fires, most likely set, continue to ravage Cleveland, Indianapolis, and Terre Haute.

 A gigantic explosion centered near Cincin natis Riverfront Sta dium was

apparently not nuclear in nature, as was first feared, but oc curred as the result of a natural gas buildup caused by unsupervised … 

Jake let the paper drop from his hands. A gust of wind caught it and blew it the

length of the platform, the few folded sheets sep arating as they went. Oy stretched his neck and snagged one of these as it went by. He trotted toward Jake with it in

his mouth, as obedient as a dog with a stick.

No, Oy, I dont want it, Jake said. He sounded ill and very young.

At least we know where all the folks are, Susannah said, bending and taking the

paper from Oy. It was the last two pages. They were crammed with obituaries

printed in the tiniest type she had ever seen. No pictures, no causes of death, no

announcement of burial services. Just this one died, beloved of so-and-so, that one died, beloved of Jill-n-Joe, tother one died, beloved of them-and-those. All in that tiny, notquite-even type. It was the jaggedness of the type which convinced her it

was all real.

But how hard they tried to honor their dead, even at the end, she thought, and a

lump rose in her throat. How hard they tried.

She folded the quarto together and looked on the backthe last page of the

CapitalJournal. It showed a picture of Jesus Christ, eyes sad, hands outstretched, forehead marked from his crown of thorns. Below it, three stark words in huge

type:

PRAY FOR US

She looked up at Eddie, eyes accusing. Then she handed him the newspaper, one

brown finger tapping the date at the top. It was June 24, 1986. Eddie had been

drawn into the gunslingers world a year later.

He held it for a long time, fingers slipping back and forth across the date, as if the

passage of his finger would somehow cause it to change. Then he looked up at

them and shook his head. No. I cant explain this town, this paper, or the dead

people in that station, but I can set you straight about one thingeverything was

fine in New York when I left. Wasnt it, Roland

The gunslinger looked a trifle sour. Nothing in your city seemed very fine to me,

but the people who lived there did not seem to be sur vivors of such a plague as

this, no.

There was something called Legionnaires dis ease, Eddie said. And AIDS, of

course

Thats the sex one, right Susannah asked.

Transmitted by fruits and drug

addicts

Yes, but calling gays fruits isnt the done thing in my when, Eddie said. He tried

a smile, but it felt stiff and unnatural on his face and he put it away again.

So this … this never happened, Jake said, ten tatively touching the face of Christ on the back page of the paper.

But it did, Roland said. It happened in June-sow ing of the year one thousand

nine hundred and eighty-six. And here we are, in the aftermath of that plague. If

Eddies right about the length of time that has gone by, the plague of this superflu

was this past June-sowing. Were in Topeka, Kansas, in the Reap of eighty-six.

Thats the when of it. As to the where, all we know is that its not Eddies. It might

be yours, Susannah, or yours, Jake, because you left your world before this

arrived. He tapped the date on the paper, then looked at Jake. You said

something to me once. I doubt if you remember, but I do; its one of the most

important things anyone has ever said to me: Go, then, there are other worlds than these. 

More riddles, Eddie said, scowling.

Is it not a fact that Jake Chambers died once and now stands before us, alive and

well Or do you doubt my story of his death under the moun tains That you have

doubted my honesty from time to time is some thing I know. And I suppose you

have your reasons.

Eddie thought it over, then shook his head. You lie when it suits your purpose,

but I think that when you told us about Jake, you were too fucked up to manage

anything but the truth.

Roland was startled to find himself hurt by what Ed die had saidYou lie when it

suits your purposebut he went on. After all, it was essen tially true.

We went back to times pool, the gunslinger said, and pulled him out before he

could drown.

You pulled him out, Eddie corrected.

You helped, though, Roland said, if only by keep ing me alive, you helped, but

let that go for now. Its beside the point. Whats more to it is that there are many

possible worlds, and an infinity of doors leading into them. This is one of those

worlds; the thinny we can hear is one of those doors .

. . only one much bigger

than the ones we found on the beach.

How big Eddie asked. As big as a warehouse loading door, or as big as the

warehouse

Roland shook his head and raised his hands palms to the skywho knows

This thinny, Susannah said. Were not just near it, are we We came through it.

Thats how we got here, to this version of Topeka.

We may have, Roland admitted. Did any of you feel something strange A

sensation of vertigo, or transient nausea

They shook their heads. Oy, who had been watching Jake closely, also shook his

head this time.

No, Roland said, as if he had expected this. But we were concen trating on the

riddling

Concentrating on not getting killed, Eddie grunted.

Yes. So perhaps we passed through without be ing aware. In any case, thinnies

arent naturalthey are sores on the skin of exis tence, able to exist because things are going wrong. Things in all worlds.

Because things are wrong at the Dark Tower, Ed die said.

Roland nodded. And even if this placethis when, this whereis not the ka of

your world now, it might become that ka. This plague or others even

worsecould spread. Just as the thinnies will con tinue to spread, growing in size

and number. Ive seen perhaps half a dozen in my years of searching for the

Tower, and heard maybe two dozen more. The first

the first one 1 ever saw was

when I was still very young. Near a town called Ham bry. He rubbed his hand up

his cheek again, and was not surprised to find sweat amid the bristles. Love me,

Roland. If you love me, then love me.

Whatever happened to us, it bumped us out of your world, Roland, Jake said.

Weve fallen off the Beam. Look. He pointed at the sky. The clouds were

moving slowly above them, but no longer in the di rec tion Blames smashed snout

was pointing. Southeast was still southeast, but the signs of the Beam which they

had grown so used to following were gone.

Does it matter Eddie asked. I mean

the Beam may be gone, but the Tower

exists in all worlds, doesnt it

Yes, Roland said, but it may not be accessible from all worlds.

The year before beginning his wonderful and fulfilling career as a heroin addict, Eddie had done a brief and not-very-successful turn as a bi cycle messenger. Now

he remembered certain office-building eleva tors hed been in while making

deliveries, buildings with banks or investment firms in them, mostly. There were

some floors where you couldnt stop the car and get off unless you had a special

card to swipe through the slot below the numbers.

When the elevator came to

those locked-off floors, the number in the window was replaced by an X.

I think, Roland said, we need to find the Beam again.

Im convinced, Eddie said. Come on, lets get go ing. He took a couple of steps,

then turned back to Roland with one eyebrow raised.

Where

The way we were going, Roland said, as if that should have been obvious, and

walked past Eddie in his dusty, broken boots, headed for the park across the way.

CHAPTER V

TURNPIKIN

1

Roland walked to the end of the platform, kicking bits of pink metal out of his way

as he went. At the stairs, he paused and looked back at them somberly. Mare

dead. Be ready.

Theyre not… um

runny, are they Jake asked.

Roland frowned, then his face cleared as he under stood what Jake meant. No. Not

runny. Dry.

Thats all right, then, Jake said, but he held his hand out to Susan nah, who was

being carried by Eddie for the time being. She gave him a smile and folded her

fingers around his.

At the foot of the stairs leading down to the com muter parking lot at the side of the station, half a dozen corpses lay together like a collapsed cornshock. Two were

women, three were men. The sixth was a child in a stroller. A summer spent dead

in the sun and rain and heat (not to mention at the mercy of any stray cats, coons,

or woodchucks that might be pass ing) had given the toddler a look of ancient

wisdom and mystery, like a child mummy discov ered in an Incan pyramid. Jake

supposed from the faded blue outfit it was wear ing that it had been a boy, but it was impossi ble to tell for sure. Eyeless, lipless, its skin faded to dusky gray, it

made a joke of genderwhy did the dead baby cross the road Because it was

stapled to the superflu.

Even so, the toddler seemed to have voyaged through Topekas empty post-plague months better than the adults around it. They were lit tle more than skeletons with

hair. In a scrawny bunch of skin-wrapped bones that had once been fingers, one of

the men clutched the handle of a suitcase that looked like the Samsonites Jakes

parents owned. As with the baby (as with all of them), his eyes were gone; huge

dark sockets stared at Jake. Below them, a ring of discolored teeth jutted in a

pugnacious grin. What took you so long, kid the dead man who was still

clutch ing his suitcase seemed to be asking. Been waiting for you, and its been a

long hot summer!

Where were you guys hoping to go Jake won dered. Just where in the crispy crap did you think might be safe enough Des Moines Sioux City Fargo The moon

They went down the stairs, Roland first, the others behind him, Jake still holding

Susannahs hand with Oy at his heels. The longbodied bumbler seemed to

descend each step in two stages, like a double trailer taking speed-bumps.

Slow down, Roland, Eddie said. I want to check the crip spaces before we go

on. We might get lucky.

Crip spaces Susannah said. Whatre those

Jake shrugged. He didnt know. Neither did Roland.

Susannah switched her attention to Eddie. I only ask, sugarpie, be cause it sounds a little on-pleasant. You know, like calling Ne groes blacks or gay folks fruits. I know Im just a poor ignorant pickaninny from the dark ages of 1964, but

There. Eddie pointed at a rank of signs marking the parking-row closest to the

station. There were actually two signs to a post, the top of each pair blue and

white, the bottom red and white. When they drew a lit tle closer, Jake saw the one

on top was a wheelchair symbol. The one on the bot tom was a warning: $200 fine

for improper use of handicapped PARKING

SPACE. STRICTLY ENFORCED

BY TOPEKA P.D.

See there! Susannah said triumphantly. They shoulda done that a long time

ago! Why, back in my when, youre lucky if you can get your damn wheelchair

through the doors of anything smaller than the Shop n Save. Hell, lucky if you can

get it up over the curbs! And special parking For get it, sugar!

The lot was jammed almost to capacity, but even with the end of the world at

hand, only two cars that didnt have little wheelchair symbols on their license

plates were parked in the row Eddie had called the crip spaces.

Jake guessed that respecting the crip spaces was just one of those things that got

a mysterious lifelong hold on people, like putting zip-codes on letters, parting your hair, or brushing your teeth before breakfast.

And there it is! Eddie cried. Hold your cards, folks, but I think we have a

Bingo!

Still carrying Susannah on his hipa thing he would have been inca pable of

doing for any extended period of time even a month agoEddie hurried over to a

boat of a Lincoln. Strapped on the roof was a com plicated-looking racing bicycle;

poking out of the halfopen trunk was a wheelchair.

Nor was this the only one;

scanning the row of crip spaces, Jake saw at least four more wheelchairs, most

strapped to roof-racks, some stuffed into the backs of vans or station wagons, one

(it looked ancient and fearsomely bulky) thrown in to the bed of a pickup truck.

Eddie set Susannah down and bent to examine the rig holding the chair in the

trunk. There were a lot of crisscrossing elastic cords, plus some sort of locking

bar. Eddie drew the Ruger Jake had taken from his fathers desk drawer. Fire in

the hole, he said cheerfully, and before any of them could even think of covering

their ears, he pulled the trigger and blew the lock off the security-bar. The sound

went rolling into the silence, then echoed back. The warbling sound of the thinny

returned with it, as if the gunshot had snapped it awake. Sounds Hawaiian, doesnt

it Jake thought, and grimaced with distaste. Half an hour ago, he wouldnt have

believed that a sound could be as physically up setting, as

well, the smell of

rotting meat, say, but he believed it now. He looked up at the turnpike signs. From

this angle he could see only their tops, but that was enough to confirm that they

were shimmering again. It throws some kind of field, Jake thought. The way mixers

and vacuum cleaners make static on the radio or TV, or the way that cyclotron

gadget made the hair on my arms stand up when Mr.

Kingery brought it to class

and then asked for volunteers to come up and stand next to it.

Eddie wrenched the locking bar aside, and used Rolands knife to cut the elastic

cords. Then he drew the wheelchair out of the trunk, examined it, unfolded it, and

engaged the support which ran across the back at seat-level. Voila! he said.

Susannah had propped herself on one hand

Jake thought she looked a little like the woman in this Andrew Wyeth painting he liked, Chris tina s Worldand was

examining the chair with some wonder.

God almighty, it looks so little n light!

Modem technology at its finest, darlin, Eddie said. Its what we fought Vietnam for. Hop in. He bent to help her. She didnt resist him, but her face was set and

frowning as he lowered her into the seat. Like she expected the chair to collapse

under her, Jake thought. As she ran her hands over the arms of her new ride, her

face gradually relaxed.

Jake wandered off a little, walking down another row of cars, running his fingers

over their hoods, leaving trails of dust. Oy padded af ter him, pausing once to lift

his leg and squirt a tire, as if he had been doing it all his life.

Make you homesick, honey Susannah asked from behind Jake. Probably

thought youd never see an honest-to-God Amer ican auto mobile again, am I

right

Jake considered this and decided she was not right. It had never crossed his mind that he would remain in Rolands world forever; that he might never see another

car. He didnt think that would bother him, actu ally, but he also didnt think it was

in the cards. Not yet, anyway. There was a certain vacant lot in the New York

when he had come from. It was on the comer of Sec ond Avenue and Fortysixth

Street. Once there had been a deli thereTom and Gerrys, Party Platters Our

Specialtybut now it was just rubble, and weeds, and broken glass, and

and a rose. Just a single wild rose growing in a vacant lot where a bunch of

condos were scheduled to go up at some point, but Jake had an idea that there was

nothing quite like it growing anywhere else on Earth. Maybe not on any of those

other worlds Roland had mentioned, either. There were roses as one approached

the Dark Tower; roses by the bil lion, according to Eddie, great bloody acres of

them. He had seen them in a dream. Still, Jake sus pected that his rose was

different even from those … and that until its fate was decided, one way or the

other, he was not done with the world of cars and TVs and policemen who wanted

to know if you had any identification and what your parents names were.

And speaking of parents, I may not be done with them, either, Jake thought. The

idea hurried his heartbeat with a mixture of hope and alarm.

They stopped halfway down the row of cars, Jake star ing blankly across a wide

street (Gage Boulevard, he assumed) as he con sidered these things. Now Roland

and Eddie caught up to them.

This babys gonna be great after a couple of months pushing the Iron Maiden,

Eddie said with a grin. Bet you could damn near puff it along. He blew a deep

breath at the back of the wheelchair to demonstrate.

Jake thought of telling Eddie

that there were probably others back there in the crip spaces with motors in

them, then realized what Eddie must have known right away: their batteries would

be dead.

Susannah ignored him for the time being; it was Jake she was inter ested in. You

didnt answer me, sug. All these cars get you home sick

Nah. But I was curious about whether or not they were all cars I knew. I thought

maybe … if this version of 1986 grew out of some other world than my 1977,

thered be a way to tell. But I cant tell. Because things change so dam fast. Even

in nine years… He shrugged, then looked at Eddie.

You might be able to,

though. I mean, you actually lived in 1986.

Eddie grunted. I lived through it, but I didnt exact ly observe it. I was fucked to

the sky most of the time. Still

I suppose…

Eddie started pushing Susannah along the smooth macadam of the parking lot

again, pointing to cars as they passed them. Ford Explorer

Chevrolet Caprice . .

. and that one theres an old Pontiac, you can tell be cause of the split grille

Pontiac Bonneville, Jake said. He was amused and a little touched by the

wonder in Susannahs eyesmost of these cars must look as futur istic to her as Buck Rogers scout-ships. That made him wonder how Roland felt about them, and

Jake looked around.

The gunslinger showed no interest in the cars at all. He was gazing across the

street, into the park, toward the turnpike … ex cept Jake didnt think he was

actually looking at any of those things. Jake had an idea that Roland was simply

looking into his own thoughts. If so, the expres sion on his face suggested that he wasnt finding anything good there.

Thats one of those little Chrysler Ks, Eddie said, pointing, and thats a Subaru.

Mercedes SEL 450, excellent, the car of champi ons … Mustang… Chrysler

Imperial, good shape but must be oldern God

Watch it, boy, Susannah said, with a touch of what Jake thought was real

asperity in her voice. I recognize that one. Looks new to me.

Sorry, Suze. Really. This ones a Cougar… an other Chevy… and one more

Topeka loves General Motors, big fuckin sur prise there … Honda Civic … VW

Rabbit

a Dodge

a Ford … a

Eddie stopped, looking at a little car near the end of the row, white with red trim.

A Takuro, he said, mostly to himself. He went around to look at the trunk. A

Takuro Spirit, to be exact. Ever hear of that make and model, Jake of New York

Jake shook his head.

Me, neither, he said. Me fucking neither.

Eddie began pushing Susannah toward Gage Boulevard (Roland with them but

still mostly off in his own private world, walking when they walked, stopping

where they stopped). Just shy of the lots automat ed en trance (stop TAKE

TICKET), Eddie halted.

At this rate, well be old before we get to yonder park and dead be fore we raise

the turnpike, Susannah said.

This time Eddie didnt apologize, didnt seem even to hear her. He was looking at

the bumper sticker on the front of a rusty old AMC

Pacer. The sticker was blue

and white, like the little wheelchair signs marking the crip spaces. Jake squatted

for a better look, and when Oy dropped his head on Jakes knee, the boy stroked

him absently. With his other hand he reached out and touched the sticker, as if to

verify its reality. kansas city monarchs, it said.

The 0 in Monarchs was a baseball

with speedlines drawn out behind it, as if it were leaving the park.

Eddie said: Check me if Im wrong on this, sport, because I know al most zilch

about baseball west of Yankee Stadium, but shouldnt that say Kansas City

Royals You know, George Brett and all that

Jake nodded. He knew the Royals, and he knew Brett, although he had been a

young player in Jakes when and must have been a fairly old one in Eddies.

Kansas City Athletics, you mean, Susannah said, sounding bewil dered. Roland ignored it all; he was still cruising in his own per sonal ozone layer.

Not by 86, darlin, Eddie said kindly. By 86 the Athletics were in Oakland. He

glanced from the bumper sticker to Jake. Minorleague team, maybe he asked.

Triple A

The Triple A Royals are still the Royals, Jake said.

They play in Omaha. Come

on, lets go.

And although he didnt know about the others, Jake himself went on with a lighter

heart. Maybe it was stupid, but he was relieved. He didnt believe that this terrible

plague was waiting up ahead for his world, be cause there were no Kansas City

Monarchs in his world. Maybe that wasnt enough in formation upon which to base

a conclusion, but it felt true. And it was an enor mous relief to be able to believe

that his mother and father werent slated to die of a germ people called Captain

Trips and be burned in a

a landfill, or something.

Except that wasnt quite a sure thing, even if this wasnt the 1986 ver sion of his

1977 world. Because even if this awful plague had happened in a world where

there were cars called Takuro Spirits and George Brett played for the K.C.

Monarchs, Roland said the trouble was spreading .

. .that things like the superflu

were eating through the fabric of existence like battery acid eating its way into a piece of cloth.

The gunslinger had spoken of times pool, a phrase which had at first struck Jake

as romantic and charming. But suppose the pool was growing stagnant and

swampy And suppose these Bermuda Triangletype things Roland called

thinnies, once great rarities, were becoming the rule rather than the exception

Supposeoh, and here was a hideous thought, one guaranteed to keep you lying

awake until way past threeall of reality was sag ging as the structural weaknesses

of the Dark Tower grew Sup pose there came a crash, one level falling down into the next

and the next

and the next

until

When Eddie grasped his shoulder and squeezed, Jake had to bite his tongue to

keep from screaming.

Youre giving yourself the hoodoos, Eddie said.

What do you know about it Jake asked. That sounded rude, but he was mad.

From being scared or being seen into He didnt know. Didnt much care, either.

When it comes to the hoodoos, Im an old hand, Ed die said. I dont know

exactly whats on your mind, but whatever it is, this would be an excellent time to stop thinking about it.

That, Jake decided, was probably good advice.

They walked across the street

together. Toward Gage Park and one of the great est shocks of Jakes life.

2

Passing under the wrought-iron arch with gage park written on it in old-fashioned, curlicued letters, they found themselves on a brick path lead ing through a garden

that was half English Formal and half Ecuadorian Jungle. With no one to tend it

through the hot Midwestern summer, it had run to riot; with no one to tend it this

fall, it had run to seed. A sign just in side the arch pro claimed this to be the

Reinisch Rose Garden, and there were roses, all right; roses everywhere. Most had

gone over, but some of the wild ones still throve, mak ing Jake think of the rose in

the vacant lot at Fortysixth and Second with a longing so deep it was an ache.

Off to one side as they entered the park was a beau tiful oldtime carousel, its

prancing steeds and racing stallions now still on their posts. The carousels very

silence, its flashing lights and steamy calliope mu sic stilled forever, gave Jake a

chill. Hung over the neck of one horse, dan gling from a rawhide strip, was some

kids baseball glove. Jake was barely able to look at it.

Beyond the carousel, the foliage grew even thick er, strangling the path until the

travellers edged along single-file, like lost chil dren in a fairytale wood. Thorns

from overgrown and unpruned rosebushes tore at Jakes clothes. He had somehow

gotten into the lead (probably because Roland was still deep inside his own

thoughts), and that was why he saw Charlie the ChooChoo first.

His only thought while approaching the narrowgauge train-tracks which crossed

the paththey were little more than toy tracks, real ly was of the gunslinger

saying that ka was like a wheel, always rolling around to the same place again. We re haunted by roses and trains, he thought. Why I dont know. I guess its just

another rid

Then he looked to his left, and Ohgood nesstoChrist fell out of his mouth, all in one word. The strength ran out of his legs and he sat down. His voice sounded

watery and distant to his own ears. He didnt quite faint, but the color drained out

of the world until the running-to-riot fo liage on the west side of the park looked

almost as gray as the autumn sky overhead.

Jake! Jake, whats wrong! It was Eddie, and Jake could hear the genuine concern

in his voice, but it seemed to be coming over a bad long-distance connection.

From Beirut, say, or maybe Uranus. And he could feel Rolands steadying hand on

his shoulder, but it was as distant as Ed dies voice.

Jake! Susannah. Whats wrong, honey What

Then she saw, and stopped talking at him. Eddie saw, and also stopped talking at

him. Rolands hand fell away. They all stood looking

except for Jake, who sat

looking. He supposed that strength and feeling would come back into his legs

eventually and he would get up, but right now they felt like limp macaroni.

The train was parked fifty feet up, by a toy station that mimicked the one across

the street. Hanging from its eaves was a sign which read topeka. The train was

Charlie the ChooChoo, cowcatcher and all; a 402 Big Boy Steam Locomotive.

And, Jake knew, if he found enough strength to get up on his feet and go over

there, he would find a family of mice nested in the seat where the engineer (whose

name had undoubtedly been Bob Something-orother) had once sat. There would

he another family, this one of swallows, nested in the smokestack.

And the dark, oily tears, Jake thought, looking at the tiny train wait ing in front of

its tiny station with his skin crawling all over his body and his balls hard and his

stomach in a knot. At night it cries those dark, oily tears, and theyre rusting the

hell out of his fine Stratham headlight. But in your time, Charlie-boy, you pulled

your share of kids, right Around and around Gage Park you went, and the kids

laughed, except some of them werent really laughing; some of them, the ones who were wise to you, were screaming. The way Id scream now, if I had the strength.

But his strength was coming back, and when Eddie put a hand under one of his

arms and Roland put one under the other, Jake was able to get up. He staggered

once, then stood steady.

Just for the record, I dont blame you, Eddie said.

His voice was grim; so was his

face. I feel a little like falling over myself. Thats the one in your book; thats it to

the life.

So now we know where Miss Beryl Evans got the idea for Charlie the ChooChoo Susannah said. Either she lived here, or sometime be fore 1942, when the

damned thing was published, she visited Topeka 

and saw the kids train that goes through Reinisch Rose Garden and around

Gage Park, Jake said. He was getting over his scare now, and henot just an

only child but for most of his life a lonely childfelt a burst of love and gratitude

for his friends. They had seen what he had seen, they had understood the source of

his fright. Of coursethey were ka-tet.

It wont answer silly questions, it wont play silly games, Roland said musingly.

Can you go on, Jake

Yes.

You sure Eddie asked, and when Jake nodded, Eddie pushed Su sannah across

the tracks. Roland went next. Jake paused a moment, re membering a dream hed

hadhe and Oy had been at a train-crossing, and the bumbler had suddenly leaped

onto the tracks, barking wildly at the oncoming headlight.

Now Jake bent and scooped Oy up. He looked at the rusting train standing silently

in its station, its dark headlamp like a dead eye. Im not afraid, he said in a low

voice. Not afraid of you.

The headlamp came to life and flashed at him once, brief but glare-bright,

emphatic: I know different; I know different, my dear little squint.

Then it went out.

None of the others had seen. Jake glanced once more at the train, ex pecting the

light to flash againmaybe expecting the cursed thing to ac tually start up and

make a run at himbut nothing happened.

Heart thumping hard in his chest, Jake hurried af ter his companions.

3

The Topeka Zoo (the World Famous Topeka Zoo, according to the signs) was full

of empty cages and dead animals. Some of the an imals that had been freed were

gone, but others had died near to hand. The big apes were still in the area marked

Gorilla Habitat, and they appeared to have died hand-in-hand. That made Eddie

feel like crying, somehow. Since the last of the heroin had washed out of his

system, his emotions always seemed on the verge of blowing up into a cyclone.

His old pals would have laughed.

Beyond Gorilla Habitat, a gray wolf lay dead on the path. Oy ap proached it

carefully, sniffed, then stretched out his long neck and began to howl.

Make him quit that, Jake, you hear me Eddie said gruffly. He sud denly

realized he could smell decaying animals. The aroma was faint, mostly boiled off over the hot days of the summer just passed, but what was left made him feel like

upchucking. Not that he could precisely re mem ber the last time hed eaten.

Oy! To me!

Oy howled one final time, then returned to Jake. He stood on the kids feet,

looking up at him with those spooky wedding-ring eyes of his. Jake picked him

up, took him in a circle around the wolf, and then set him down again on the brick

path.

The path led them to a steep set of steps (weeds had begun to push through the

stonework already), and at the top Roland looked back over the zoo and the

gardens. From here they could easily see the cir cuit the toy train-tracks made,

allowing Charlies riders to tour the entire per ime ter of Gage Park. Beyond it,

fallen leaves clattered down Gage Boulevard be fore a rush of cold wind.

So fell Lord Perth, murmured Roland.

And the countryside did shake with that thunder,

Jake finished.

Roland looked down at him with surprise, like a man awakening from a deep

sleep, then smiled and put an arm around Jakes shoulders. I have played Lord

Perth in my time, he said.

Have you

Yes. Very soon now you shall hear.

4

Beyond the steps was an aviary full of dead exotic birds; beyond the aviary was a

snackbar advertising (perhaps heartlessly, given the loca tion) topekas best buffaloburger; beyond the snackbar was anoth er wrought iron arch with a sign

reading come back to gage park real soon! Be yond this was the curving upslope of a limited-access-highway entrance ramp.

Above it, the green signs they had first spotted from across the way stood clear.

Tumpikin again, Eddie said in a voice almost too low to hear. Goddam. Then

he sighed.

Whats tumpikin, Eddie

Jake didnt think Eddie was going to answer; when Susannah craned around to

look at him as he stood with his fingers wrapped around the handles of the new

wheelchair, Eddie looked away. Then he looked back, first at Susannah, then at

Jake. Its not pretty. Not much about my life be fore Gary Cooper here yanked me

across the Great Divide was.

You dont have to

Its also no big deal. A bunch of us would get to getherme, my brother Henry,

Bum OHara, usually, cause he had a car, Sandra Corbitt, and maybe this friend of

Henrys we called Jimmie Polioand wed stick all our names in a hat. The one

we drew out was the

the trip-guide, Henry used to call him. Heshe, if it was

Sandihad to stay straight. Relatively, anyway.

Everyone else got seriously

goobered. Then wed all pile into Bums Chrysler and go up 1-95 into Connecticut

or maybe take the Taconic Parkway into upstate New York … only we called it

the Catatonic Parkway. Listen to Creedence or Marvin Gaye or maybe even Elvis

s Greatest Hits on the tape-player.

It was better at night, best when the moon was full.

Wed cruise for hours

sometimes with our heads stuck out the windows like dogs do when theyre riding,

looking up at the moon and watching for shooting stars. We called it tumpikin.

Eddie smiled. It looked like an effort. A charm ing life, folks.

It sounds sort of fun, Jake said. Not the drug part, I mean, but rid ing around

with your pals at night, looking at the moon and lis tening to the music … that

sounds excellent.

It was, actually, Eddie said. Even stuffed so full of reds we were as apt to pee

on our own shoes as in the bushes, it was excel lent. He paused. Thats the

horrible part, dont you get it

Tumpikin, the gunslinger said. Lets do some.

They left Gage Park and crossed the road to the en trance ramp.

5

Someone had spray-painted over both signs marking the ramps ascend ing curve.

On the one reading st. louis 215, someone had slashed

in black. On the one marked next rest area 10 mi., had been written in fat red letters. That scarlet was still bright enough to scream

even after an entire summer. Each had been dec orated with a symbol

Do you know what any of that truck means, Roland

Susannah asked. Roland

shook his head, but he looked troubled, and that in trospective look never left his

own eyes. They went on.

6

At the place where the ramp merged with the turn pike, the two men, the boy, and

the bumbler clustered around Susannah in her new wheelchair. All of them looked east.

Eddie didnt know what the traffic situation would be like once they cleared

Topeka, but here all the lanes, those headed west as well as the eastbound ones on

their side, were crammed with cars and trucks. Most of the vehicles were piled

high with possessions gone rusty with a seasons worth of rain.

But the traffic was the least of their concerns as they stood there, looking silently

eastward. For half a mile or so on either side of them, the city continuedthey

could see church steeples, a strip of fast food places (Arbys, Wendys, McDs,

Pizza Hut, and one Eddie had never heard of called Boing Boing Burgers), car

dealerships, the roof of a bowling alley called Heartland Lanes. They could see

another turnpike exit ahead, the sign by the ramp reading Topeka State Hospital

and S.W. 6th. Beyond the off-ramp there bulked a massive old red brick edifice

with tiny windows peering like desperate eyes out of the climbing ivy. Eddie

figured a place that looked so much like Attica had to be a hospital, probably the

kind of welfare purgatory where poor folks sat in shitty plastic chairs for hours on end, all so some doctor could look at them like they were dogshit.

Beyond the hospital, the city abruptly ended and the thinny began.

To Eddie, it looked like flat water standing in a vast marshland. It crowded up to

the raised barrel of 1-70 on both sides, silvery and shim mering, making the signs

and guardrails and stalled cars waver like mi rages; it gave off that liquidy

humming sound like a stench.

Susannah put her hands to her ears, her mouth drawn down. I dont know as I can stand it. Really. I dont mean to be spleeny, but al ready I feel like vomiting, and I

havent had anything to eat all day.

Eddie felt the same way. Yet, sick as he felt he could hardly take his eyes away

from the thinny. It was as if unreality had been given … what A face No. The

vast and humming silver shimmer ahead of them had no face, was the very

antithesis of a face, in fact, but it had a body

an as pect

a presence.

Yes; that last was best. It had a presence, as the de mon which had come to the

circle of stones while they were trying to draw Jake had had a presence.

Roland, meanwhile, was rummaging in the depths of his purse. He appeared to dig

all the way to the bottom before finding what he wanted: a fistful of bullets. He

plucked Susannahs right hand off the arm of her chair, and put two of the bullets

in her palm. Then he took two more and poked them, slug ends first, into his ears.

Susannah looked first amazed, then amused, then doubtful. In the end, she

followed his example. Almost at once an ex pression of blissful relief filled her face.

Eddie unshouldered the pack he wore and pulled out the half-full box of .44s that went with Jakes Ruger. The gunslinger shook his head and held out his hand.

There were still four bullets in it, two for Eddie and two for Jake.

Whats wrong with these Eddie shook a couple of shells from the box that had

come from behind the hanging files in Elmer Cham berss desk drawer.

Theyre from your world and they wont block out the sound. Dont ask me how I

know that; I just do. Try them if you want, but they wont work.Eddie pointed at the bullets Roland was offer ing. Those are from our world, too.

The gun-shop on Seventh and Forty-ninth.

Clements, wasnt that the name

These didnt come from there. These are mine, Ed die, reloaded often but

originally brought from the green land. From Gilead.

You mean the wets Eddie asked incredulously.

The last of the wet shells from

the beach The ones that really got soaked

Roland nodded.

You said those would never fire again! No matter how dry they got! That the

powder had been… what did you say Flattened. 

Roland nodded again.

So whyd you save them Why bring a bunch of use less bullets all this way

What did I teach you to say after a kill, Eddie In order to focus your mind

 Father, guide my hands and heart so that no part of the animal will be wasted. 

Roland nodded a third time. Jake took two shells and put them in his ears. Eddie

took the last two, but first he tried the ones hed shak en from the box. They

muffled the sound of the thinny, but it was still there, vi brating in the center of his

forehead, making his eyes water the way they did when he had a cold, making the

bridge of his nose feel like it was go ing to explode.

He picked them out, and put

the bigger slugsthe ones from Rolands ancient revolversin their place.

Putting bullets in my ears, he thought. Ma would shit.

But that didnt matter. The

sound of the thinny was goneor at least down to a distant droneand that was

what did. When he turned and spoke to Roland, he ex pected his own voice to

sound muffled, the way it did when you were wear ing earplugs, but he found he

could hear himself pretty well.

Is there anything you dont know he asked Roland.

Yes, Roland said. Quite a lot.

What about Oy Jake asked.

Oy will be fine, I think, Roland said. Come on, lets make some miles before

dark.

7

Oy didnt seem bothered by the warble of the thin ny, but he stuck close to Jake

Chambers all that afternoon, looking mistrust fully at the stalled cars which

clogged the eastbound lanes of 1-70. And yet, Su sannah saw, those cars did not

clog the highway completely. The congestion eased as the travellers left

downtown behind them, but even where the traffic had been heavy, some of the

dead vehicles had been pulled to one side or the other; a number had been pushed

right off the highway and onto the median strip, which was a concrete divider in

the metro area and grass outside of town.

Somebodys been at work with a wrecker, thats my guess, Susannah thought. The

idea made her happy. No one would have bothered clear ing a path down the

center of the highway while the plague was still rag ing, and if someone had done

it afterif someone had been around to do it after that meant the plague hadnt

gotten everyone; those crammed-together obituaries werent the whole story.

There were corpses in some of the cars, but they, like the ones at the foot of the

station steps, were dry, not runnymummies wearing seat-belts, for the most part.

The majority of the cars were empty. A lot of the drivers and passengers caught in

the traffic jams had probably tried to walk out of the plague-zone, she supposed,

but she guessed that wasnt the only reason they had taken to their feet.

Susannah knew that she herself would have to be chained to the steer ing wheel to

keep her inside a car once she felt the symptoms of some fa tal disease setting in;

if she was going to die, she would want to do it in Gods open air. A hill would be

best, someplace with a little elevation, but even a wheatfield would do, came it to

that. Anything but coughing your last while smelling the air-freshener dangling

from the rearview mirror.

At one time Susannah guessed they would have been able to see many of the

corpses of the fleeing dead, but not now. Because of the thinny. They approached

it steadily, and she knew exactly when they en tered it. A kind of tingling shudder ran through her body, making her draw her short ened legs up, and the wheelchair

stopped for a moment. When she turned around she saw Roland, Eddie, and Jake

holding their stomachs and grimacing. They looked as if they had all been stricken with the bellyache at the same time. Then Eddie and Roland straightened up. Jake

bent to stroke Oy, who had been staring at him anx iously.

You boys all right Susannah asked. The ques tion came out in the halfqueru

lous, half-humorous voice of Detta Walk er. Using that voice was nothing she planned; sometimes it just came out.

Yeah, Jake said. Feels like I got a bubble in my throat, though. He was staring

uneasily at the thinny. Its silvery blankness was all around them now, as if the

whole world had turned into a flat Norfolk fen at dawn. Nearby, trees poked out of

its silver surface, casting distorted re flections that never stayed quite still or quite in focus. A little farther away, Susannah could see a grain-storage tower, seeming to float. The words gaddish feeds were written on the side in pink letters which

might have been red under normal conditions.

Feels to me like I got a bubble in my mind, Eddie said. Man, look at that shit

shimmer.

Can you still hear it Susannah asked.

Yeah. But faint. I can live with it. Can you

Uh-huh. Lets go.

It was like riding in an open-cockpit plane through broken clouds, Su sannah

decided. Theyd go for what felt like miles through that humming brightness that

was not quite fog and not quite water, sometimes seeing shapes (a bam, a tractor, a Stuckeys billboard) loom out of it, then losing ev erything but the road, which ran

consistently above the thinnys bright but some how indistinct surface.

Then, all at once, they would run into the clear. The humming would fall away to

a faint drone; you could even unplug your ears and not be too bothered, at least

until you got near the other side of the break. Once again there were vistas

Well, no, that was too grand, Kansas didnt exactly have vistas, but there were

open fields and the occasional copse of autumnbright trees marking a spring or

cow-pond. No Grand Canyon or surf crashing on Portland Headlight, hut at least

you could see a by-God horizon off in the distance, and lose some of that

unpleasant feeling of entombment. Then, back into the goop you went. Jake came

closest to describing it, she thought, when he said that being in the thinny was like

finally reaching the shining water-mirage you could often see far up the highway on hot days.

Whatever it was and however you described it, being inside it was claustrophobic, purgatorial, all the world gone except for the twin barrels of the turnpike and the

hulks of the cars, like derelict ships abandoned on a frozen ocean.

Please help us get out of this, Susannah prayed to a God in whom she no longer

precisely believedshe still believed in some thing, but since awakening to

Rolands world on the beach of the Western Sea, her con cept of the invisible

world had changed considerably. Please help us find the Beam again. Please help

us escape this world of silence and death.

They ran into the biggest clear space they had yet come to near a roadsign which

read big springs 2 mi. Behind them, in the west, the set ting sun shone through a

brief rift in the clouds, skipping scarlet splinters across the top of the thinny and

lighting the windows and taillights of the stalled cars in tones of fire. On either

side of them empty fields stretched away. Full Earth come and gone, Susannah

thought. Reaping come and gone, too. This is what Roland calls closing the year.

The thought made her shiver.

Well camp here for the night, Roland said soon af ter they had passed the Big

Springs exit ramp. Up ahead they could see the thin ny en croaching on the

highway again, but that was miles farther onyou could see a damn long way in

eastern Kansas, Susannah was discovering.

We can get firewood without going too near the thinny, and the sound wont be too bad.

We may even be able to sleep

without bullets stuffed into our ears.

Eddie and Jake climbed over the guardrails, de scended the bank, and foraged for

wood along a dry creekbed, staying together as Roland ad monished them to do.

When they came back, the clouds had gulped the sun again, and an ashy,

uninteresting twilight had begun to creep over the world.

The gunslinger stripped twigs for kindling, then laid his fuel around them in his

usual fashion, building a kind of wooden chim ney in the breakdown lane. As he

did it, Eddie strolled across to the median strip and stood there, hands in pockets, looking east. After a few moments, Jake and Oy joined him.

Roland produced his flint and steel, scraped fire into the shaft of his chimney, and

soon the little campfire was burning.

Roland! Eddie called. Suze! Come over here!

Look at this!

Susannah started rolling her chair toward Eddie, then Rolandafter a final check

of his campfiretook hold of the handles and pushed her.

Look at what Susannah asked.

Eddie pointed. At first Susannah saw nothing, although the turnpike was perfectly visible even beyond the point where the thinny closed in again, perhaps three

miles ahead. Then

yes, she might see something.

Maybe. A kind of shape, at the

farthest edge of vision. If not for the fad ing day light

Is it a building Jake asked. Cripes, it looks like its built right across the

highway!

What about it, Roland Eddie asked. Youve got the best eyes in the universe.

For a time the gunslinger said nothing, only looked up the median strip with his

thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. At last he said, Well see it better when we get

closer.

Oh, come on! Eddie said. I mean, holy shit! Do you know what it is or not

Well see it better when we get closer, the gun slinger repeated

which was, of

course, no answer at all. He moseyed back across the eastbound lanes to check on

his campfire, bootheels clicking on the pave ment.

Susannah looked at Jake and

Eddie. She shrugged. They shrugged back … and then Jake burst into bright peals

of laughter. Usually, Susan nah thought, the kid acted more like an eighteen-yearold than a boy of eleven, but that laughter made him sound about nine-going-onten,

and she didnt mind a bit.

She looked down at Oy, who was looking at them earnestly and rolling his

shoulders in an effort to shrug.

8

They ate the leaf-wrapped delicacies Eddie called gunslinger burritos, drawing closer to the fire and feeding it more wood as the dark drew down. Somewhere

south a bird cried outit was just about the loneliest sound he had ever heard in

his life, Eddie reckoned. None of them talked much, and it occurred to him that, at

this time of their day, hardly anyone ever did. As if the time when the earth

swapped day for dark was special, a time that somehow closed them off from the

powerful fellowship Roland called ka-tet.

Jake fed Oy small scraps of dried deermeat from his last burrito; Su sannah sat on

her bedroll, legs crossed beneath her hide smock, looking dreamily into the fire;

Roland lay back on his elbows, looking up at the sky, where the clouds had begun

to melt away from the stars. Looking up himself, Eddie saw that Old Star and Old

Mother were gone, their places taken by Polaris and the Big Dipper. This might

not be his world Takuro automobiles, the Kansas City Monarchs, and a food

franchise called Boing Boing Burgers all sug gested it wasntbut Eddie thought it was too close for comfort. Maybe, he thought, the world next door.

When the bird cried in the distance again, he roused himself and looked at Roland.

You had something you were going to tell us, he said. A thrilling tale of your

youth, I believe. Susanthat was her name, wasnt it

For a moment longer the gunslinger continued to look up at the sky now it was

Roland who must find himself adrift in the constel lations, Eddie realizedand

then he shifted his gaze to his friends. He looked strangely apologetic, strangely

uneasy. Would you think I was cozen ing, he said, if I asked for one more day

to think of these things Or per haps its a night to dream of them that I really

want. They are old things, dead things, perhaps, but I.

. . He raised his hands in a

kind of distracted gesture. Some things dont rest easy even when theyre dead.

Their bones cry out from the ground.

There are ghosts, Jake said, and in his eyes Eddie saw a shadow of the horror he

must have felt inside the house in Dutch Hill. The hor ror he must have felt when

the Doorkeeper came out of the wall and reached for him. Sometimes there are

ghosts, and sometimes they come back.

Yes, Roland said. Sometimes there are, and sometimes they do.

Maybe its better not to brood, Susannah said.

Sometimesespe cially when

you know a things going to be hardits better just to get on your horse and ride.

Roland thought this over carefully, then raised his eyes to look at her. At

tomorrow nights fire I will tell you of Susan, he said. This I prom ise on my

fathers name.

Do we need to hear Eddie asked abruptly. He was almost as tounded to hear

this question coming out of his mouth; no one had been more curious about the

gunslingers past than Eddie himself. I mean, if it really hurts, Roland … hurts

big-time … maybe



Im not sure you need to hear, but I think I need to tell.

Our future is the Tower,

and to go toward it with a whole heart, I must put my past to rest as best I may.

Theres no way I could tell you all of itin my world even the past is in motion,

rearranging itself in many vital waysbut this one story may stand for all the

rest.

Is it a Western Jake asked suddenly.

Roland looked at him, puzzled. I dont take your meaning, Jake. Gilead is a

Barony of the Western World, yes, and Mejis as well, but

Itll be a Western, Eddie said. All Rolands sto ries are Westerns, when you get

right down to it. He lay back and pulled his blanket over him. Faintly, from both

east and west, he could hear the warble of the thin ny. He checked in his pocket for

the bullets Roland had given him, and nodded with satisfaction when he felt them.

He reckoned he could sleep without them tonight, but he would want them again

tomorrow. They werent done tumpikin just yet.

Susannah leaned over him, kissed the tip of his nose. Done for the day, sugar

Yep, Eddie said, and laced his hands together behind his head. Its not every

day that I hook a ride on the worlds fastest train, de stroy the worlds smartest

computer, and then discover that everyones been scragged by the flu. All before dinner, too. Shit like that makes a man tired. Eddie smiled and closed his eyes.

He was still smiling when sleep took him.

9 In his dream, they were all standing on the comer of Second Avenue and Fortysixth

Street, looking over the short board fence and into the weedy vacant lot

behind it. They were wearing their MidWorld clothesa mot ley combination of

deerskin and old shirts, mostly held together with spit and shoelacesbut none of

the pedestrians hurrying by on Second seemed to notice. No one noticed the billybum bler in Jakes arms or the artillery they were packing, either.

Because were ghosts. Eddie thought. Were ghosts and we dont rest easy.

On the fence there were handbillsone for the Sex Pistols (a reunion tour,

according to the poster, and Eddie thought that was pretty funny the Pistols was

one group that was never going to get back to gether), one for a comic, Adam

Sandier, that Eddie had never heard of, one for a movie called The Craft, about

teenage witches. Beyond that one, written in let ters the dusky pink of summer

roses, was this:

See the bear of fearsome size!

All the worlds within his eyes.

time grows thin, the pasts a riddle; The tower awaits you in the middle.

There,  Jake said, pointing. The rose. See how it awaits us, there in the middle

of the lot. 

Yes, its very beautiful,  Susannah said. Then she pointed to the sign standing

near the rose and facing Second Avenue. Her voice and her eyes were troubled.

But what about that 

According to the sign, two outfitsMills Con struction and Sombra Real

Estatewere going to combine on something called Turtle Bay Condominiums,

said condos to be erected on this very spot. When com ing soon was all the sign

had to say in that regard.

I wouldnt worry about that,  Jake said. That sign was here before. Its probably

old as the hi

At that moment the revving sound of an engine tore into the air. From beyond the

fence, on the Fortysixth Street side of the lot, chugs of dirty brown exhaust

ascended like bad-news smoke signals. Sud denly the boards on that side burst open, and a huge red bulldozer lunged through.

Even the blade was red, although

the words slashed across its scoopall hail the crim son kingwere written in a

yellow as bright as panic. Sit ting in the peak-seat, his rotting face leering at them

from above the con trols, was the man who had kid napped Jake from the bridge

over the River Sendtheir old pal Gasher. On the front of his cocked-back hardhat,

the words lamerk foundry stood out in black.

Above them, a single staring eye

had been painted.

Gasher lowered the dozers blade. It tore across the lot on a diagonal, smashing

brick, pulverizing beer and soda bottles to glit tering powder, striking sparks from the rocks. Directly in its path, the rose nodded its delicate head.

Lets see you ask some of yer silly questions now!

this unwelcome apparition

cried. Ask all yer wants, my dear little culls, why not Wery fond of riddles is yer

old pal Gasher! Just so you understand that, no mat ter what yer ask, Im gointer

run that nasty thing over, mash it flat, aye, so I will! Then back over it Ill go! Root

and branch, my dear little culls! Aye, root and branch!

Susannah shrieked as the scarlet bulldozer blade bore down on the rose, and Eddie grabbed for the fence. He would vault over it, throw him self on the rose, try to

protect it

except it was too late. And he knew it.

He looked back up at the cackling thing in the bull dozers peak-seat and saw that

Gasher was gone. Now the man at the controls was Engineer Bob, from Charlie

the ChooChoo.

Stop! Eddie screamed. For Christs sake, stop!

I cant, Eddie. The world has moved on, and I cant stop. I must move on with it. 

And as the shadow of the dozer fell over the rose, as the blade tore through one of

the posts holding up the sign (Eddie saw coming soon had changed to coming

now), he realized that the man at the controls wasnt Engineer Bob, either.

It was Roland.

10

Eddie sat up in the breakdown lane of the turnpike, gasping breath he could see in

the air and with sweat already chilling on his hot skin. He was sure he had

screamed, must have screamed, but Susannah still slept beside him with only the

top of her head poking out of the bedroll they shared, and Jake was snoring softly

off to the left, one arm out of his own blankets and curled around Oy. The bumbler

was also sleeping.

Roland wasnt. Roland sat calmly on the far side of the dead campfire, cleaning his

guns by starlight and looking at Eddie.

Bad dreams. Not a question.

Yeah.

A visit from your brother

Eddie shook his head.

The Tower, then The field of roses and the Tow er Rolands face remained

impassive, but Eddie could hear the subtle ea gerness which al ways came into his voice when the subject was the Dark Tower. Eddie had once called the gunslinger

a Tower junkie, and Roland hadnt denied it.

Not this time.

What, then

Eddie shivered. Cold.

Yes. Thank your gods theres no rain, at least. Au tumn rains an evil to be avoided

whenever one may. What was your dream

Still Eddie hesitated. Youd never betray us, would you, Roland

No man can say that for sure, Eddie, and I have al ready played the betrayer more

than once. To my shame. But

I think those days are over. We are one, ka-tet. If I

betray any one of youeven Jakes furry friend, perhapsI betray myself. Why

do you ask

And youd never betray your quest.

Renounce the Tower No, Eddie. Not that, not ev er. Tell me your dream.

Eddie did, omitting nothing. When he had fin ished, Roland looked down at his

guns, frowning. They seemed to have reassem bled them selves while Eddie was

talking.

So what does it mean, that I saw you driving that dozer at the end That I still

dont trust you That subconsciously

Is this ology-of-the-psyche The cabala I have heard you and Susan nah speak

of

Yes, I guess it is.

Its shit, Roland said dismissively. Mudpies of the mind. Dreams either mean

nothing or everythingand when they mean ev erything, they almost always come

as messages from … well, from other levels of the Tower. He gazed at Eddie

shrewdly. And not all messages are sent by friends.

Something or someone is fucking with my head Is that what you mean

I think it possible. But you must watch me all the same. I bear watching, as you

well know.

I trust you, Eddie said, and the very awkwardness with which he spoke lent his

words sincerity. Roland looked touched, almost shaken, and Eddie wondered how

he ever could have thought this man an emotion less robot. Roland might be a little short on imagination, but he had feelings, all right.

One thing about your dream concerns me very much, Eddie.

The bulldozer

The machine, yes. The threat to the rose.

Jake saw the rose, Roland. It was fine.

Roland nodded. In his when, the when of that par ticular day, the rose was

thriving. But that doesnt mean it will continue to do so. If the con struction the

sign spoke of comes … if the bulldozer comes



There are other worlds than these, Eddie said.

Remember

Some things may exist only in one. In one where, in one when. Roland lay down

and looked up at the stars. We must protect that rose, he said. We must protect

it at all costs.

You think its another door, dont you One that opens on the Dark Tower.

The gunslinger looked at him from eyes that ran with starshine. I think it may be

the Tower, he said. And if its destroyed

His eyes closed. He said no more.

Eddie lay awake late.

11

The new day dawned clear and bright and cold. In the strong morning sunlight, the

thing Eddie had spotted the evening before was more clearly visible… but he still couldnt tell what it was. Another riddle, and he was getting damned sick of them.

He stood squinting at it, shading his eyes from the sun, with Susannah on one side

of him and Jake on the other. Roland was back by the campfire, packing what he

called their gunna, a word which seemed to mean all their worldly goods. He

appeared not to be concerned with the thing up ahead, or to know what it was.

How far away Thirty miles Fifty The answer seemed to depend on how far

could you see in all this flat land, and Eddie didnt know the an swer. One thing he

felt quite sure of was that Jake had been right on at least two countsit was some

kind of building, and it sprawled across all four lanes of the highway. It must; how

else could they see it It would have been lost in the thinny

wouldnt it

Maybe its standing in one of those open patches

what Suze calls the holes in

the clouds. Or maybe the thinny ends before we get that far. Or maybe its a

goddam hallucination. In any case, you might as well put it out of your mind for

the time being. Got a little more turnpikin to do.

Still, the building held him. It looked like an airy Ara bian Nights con fection of

blue and gold … except Eddie had an idea that the blue was stolen from the sky

and the gold from the newly risen sun.

Roland, come here a second!

At first he didnt think the gunslinger would, but then Roland cinched a rawhide

lace on Susannahs pack, rose, put his hands in the small of his back, stretched, and

walked over to them.

Gods, one would think no one in this band has the wit to housekeep but me,

Roland said.

Well pitch in, Eddie said, we always do, dont we But look at that thing first.

Roland did, but only with a quick glance, as if he did not even want to

acknowledge it.

Its glass, isnt it Eddie asked.

Roland took another brief look. I wot, he said, a phrase which seemed to mean

Reckon so, partner.

Weve got lots of glass buildings where I come from, but most of them are office

buildings. That thing up ahead looks more like some thing from Disney World. Do

you know what it is

No.

Then why dont you want to look at it Susannah asked.

Roland did take another look at the distant blaze of light on glass, but once again it

was quicklittle more than a peek.

Because its trouble, Roland said, and its in our road. Well get there in time.

No need to live in trouble until trouble comes.

Will we get there today Jake asked.

Roland shrugged, his face still closed. Therell be wa ter if God wills it, he said.

Christ, you could have made a fortune writing for tune cookies, Eddie said. He

hoped for a smile, at least, but got none. Roland sim ply walked back across the

road, dropped to one knee, shouldered his purse and his pack, and waited for the

others. When they were ready, the pil grims re sumed their walk east along

Interstate 70. The gunslinger led, walking with his head down and his eyes on the

toes of his boots.

12

Roland was quiet all day, and as the building ahead of them neared (trouble, and

in our road, he had said), Susannah came to real ize it wasnt grumpiness they were seeing, or worry about anything which lay any far ther ahead of them than tonight.

It was the story hed promised to tell them that Roland was thinking about, and he

was a lot more than worried.

By the time they stopped for their noon meal, they could clearly see the building

aheada many-turreted palace which appeared to be made entirely of reflective

glass. The thinny lay close around it, but the palace rose serenely above all, its

turrets trying for the sky. Madly strange here in the flat countryside of eastern

Kansas, of course it was, but Susannah thought it the most beautiful building she

had ever seen in her life; even more beautiful than the Chrysler Building, and that

was going some.

As they drew closer, she found it more and more dif ficult to look else where.

Watching the reflections of the puffy clouds sail ing across the glass castles bluesky wains and walls was like watching some splen did illusion

yet there was a

solidity to it, as well. An inarguability. Some of that was probably just the shadow

it threwmirages did not, so far as she knew, cre ate shadowsbut not all. It just

was. She had no idea what such a fabulosity was doing out here in the land of

Stuckeys and Hardees (not to mention Boing Boing Burgers), but there it was.

She reckoned that time would tell the rest.

13

They made camp in silence, watched Roland build the wooden chimney that

would be their fire in silence, then sat before it in si lence, watching the sunset turn

the huge glass edifice ahead of them into a castle of fire. Its towers and

battlements glowed first a fierce red, then orange, then a gold which cooled

rapidly to ocher as Old Star appeared in the firma ment above them

No, she thought in Deltas voice. Aint dat one, girl. Not tall. Thats the North Star.

Same one you seen back home, sittin on yo dad dys lap.

But it was Old Star she wanted, she discovered; Old Star and Old Mother. She was

astounded to find herself homesick for Rolands world, and then wondered why

she should be so surprised. It was a world, after all, where no one had called her a

nigger bitch (at least not yet), a world where she had found someone to love …

and made good friends as well. That last made her feel a little bit like crying, and she hugged Jake to her. He let himself be hugged, smiling, his eyes half-closed. At

some dis tance, unpleasant but bearable even without bullet earplugs, the thinny warbled its moaning song.

When the last traces of yellow began to fade from the castle up the road, Roland

left them to sit in the turnpike travel lane and re turned to his fire. He cooked more leaf-wrapped deermeat, and handed the food around. They ate in silence (Roland actually ate almost nothing, Susannah ob served). By the time they were finished, they could see the Milky Way scattered across the walls of the castle ahead of

them, fierce points of re flection that burned like fire in still water.

Eddie was the one who finally broke the silence.

You dont have to, he said.

Youre excused. Or absolved. Or whatever the hell it is you need to take that look off your face.

Roland ignored him. He drank, tilting the water skin up on his elbow like some

hick drinking moonshine from a jug, head back, eyes on the stars. The last

mouthful he spat to the roadside.

Life for your crop, Eddie said. He did not smile.

Roland said nothing, but his cheek went pale, as if he had seen a ghost. Or heard

one.

14

The gunslinger turned to Jake, who looked back at him seriously. I went through

the trial of manhood at the age of fourteen, the youngest of my ka-telof my

class, you would sayand perhaps the youngest ev er. I told you some of that,

Jake. Do you remember

You told all of us some of that, Susannah thought, but kept her mouth shut, and

warned Eddie with her eyes to do the same. Roland hadnt been himself during that

telling; with Jake both dead and alive within his head, the man had been fighting

madness.

You mean when we were chasing Walter, Jake said. After the way station but

before I

I took my fall.

Thats right.

I remember a little, but thats all. The way you re member the stuff you dream

about.

Roland nodded. Listen, then. I would tell you more this time, Jake, because you

are older. I suppose we all are.

Susannah was no less fascinated with the sto ry the second time: how the boy

Roland had chanced to discover Marten, his fa thers advisor (his fathers wizard) in his mothers apartment. Only none of it had been by chance, of course; the boy

would have passed her door with no more than a glance had Marten not opened it

and invited him in. Marten had told Roland that his mother wanted to see him, but

one look at her rueful smile and downcast eyes as she sat in her low-back chair

told the boy he was the last person in the world Gabrielle Deschain wanted to see

just then.

The flush on her cheek and the love-bite on the side of her neck told him

everything else.

Thus had he been goaded by Marten into an early trial of manhood, and by

employing a weapon his teacher had not expect edhis hawk, DavidRoland had

defeated Cort, taken his stick

and made the enemy of his life in Marten

Broadcloak.

Beaten badly, face swelling into something that looked like a childs goblin mask, slipping toward a coma, Cort had fought back un conscious ness long enough to

offer his newest apprentice gunslinger counsel: stay away from Marten yet awhile,

Cort had said.

He told me to let the story of our battle grow into a legend, the gun slinger told

Eddie, Susannah, and Jake. To wait until my shadow had grown hair on its face

and haunted Marten in his dreams.

Did you take his advice Susannah asked.

I never got a chance, Roland said. His face cracked in a rueful, painful smile. I

meant to think about it, and seriously, but before I even got started on my

thinking, things

changed.

They have a way of doing that, dont they Eddie said. My good ness, yes.

I buried my hawk, the first weapon I ever wielded, and perhaps the finest.

Thenand this part Im sure I didnt tell you before, JakeI went into the lower

town. That summers heat broke in storms full of thun der and hail, and in a room

above one of the brothels where Cort had been wont to roister, I lay with a woman

for the first time.

He poked a stick thoughtfully into the fire, seemed to become aware of the

unconscious symbolism in what he was doing, and threw it away with a lopsided

grin. It landed, smoldering, near the tire of an abandoned Dodge Aspen and went

out.

It was good. The sex was good. Not the great thing I and my friends had thought

about and whispered about and wondered about, of course

I think store-bought pussy tends to be overrated by the young, sugar, Susannah

said.

I fell asleep listening to the sots downstairs singing along with the piano and to the sound of hail on the window. I awoke the next morning in

well… lets just

say I awoke in a way I never would have expected to awake in such a place.

Jake fed fresh fuel to the fire. It flared up, painting highlights on Rolands cheeks,

brushing crescents of shadow beneath his brows and be low his lower lip. And as

he talked, Susannah found she could almost see what had happened on that longago

morning that must have smelled of wet cobble stones and rain-sweetened

summer air; what had happened in a whores crib above a drinking-dive in the

lower town of Gilead, Barony seat of New Canaan, one small mote of land located

in the western re gions of MidWorld.

One boy, still aching from his battle of the day be fore and newly edu cated in the

mysteries of sex. One boy, now looking twelve in stead of fourteen, his lashes

dusting down thick upon his cheeks, the lids shut ter ing those extraordinary blue

eyes; one boy with his hand loosely cupping a whores breast, his hawk-scarred

wrist lying tanned upon the counter pane. One boy in the final instants of his lifes

last good sleep, one boy who will shortly be in mo tion, who will be falling as a

dislodged pebble falls on a steep and broken slope of scree; a falling pebble that strikes another, and another, and another, those pebbles striking yet more, until the whole slope is in motion and the earth shakes with the sound of the landslide.

One boy, one pebble on a slope loose and ready to slide.A knot exploded in the fire. Somewhere in this dream of Kansas, an animal

yipped. Susannah watched sparks swirl up past Rolands incredi bly ancient face

and saw in that face the sleeping boy of a summers mom, lying in a bawds bed.

And then she saw the door crash open, end ing Gileads last troubled dream.

15

The man who strode in, crossing the room to the bed before Roland could open his

eyes (and before the woman beside him had even begun to register the sound), was

tall, slim, dressed in faded jeans and a dusty shirt of blue chambray. On his head

was a dark gray hat with a snakeskin band. Lying low on his hips were two old

leather holsters. Jutting from them were the san dalwood grips of the pistols the

boy would someday bear to lands of which this scowling man with the furious

blue eyes would never dream.

Roland was in motion even before he was able to unseal his eyes, rolling to the

left, groping beneath the bed for what was there. He was fast, so fast it was scary,

butand Susannah saw this, too, saw it clearly

the man in the faded jeans was

faster yet. He grabbed the boys shoulder and yanked, turning him naked out of

bed and onto the floor. The boy sprawled there, reaching again for what was

beneath the bed, lightning-quick. The man in the jeans stamped down on his

fingers before they could grasp.

Bastard! the boy gasped. Oh, you bas

But now his eyes were open, he looked up, and saw that the invading bastard was

his father.

The whore was sitting up now, her eyes puffy, her face slack and petulant. Here!

she cried. Here, here! You cant just be a-comin in like that, so you cant! Why, if

I was to raise my voice

Ignoring her, the man reached beneath the bed and dragged out two gunbelts. Near the end of each was a bolstered revolver. They were large, and amazing in this

largely gunless world, but they were not so large as those worn by Rolands father,

and the grips were eroded metal plates rather than inlaid wood. When the whore

saw the guns on the invaders hips and the ones in his handsthe ones her young

customer of the night before had been wearing un til she had taken him upstairs

and divested him of all weapons save for the one with which she was most

familiar the expression of sleepy petulance left her face. What replaced it was the foxlike look of a born survivor. She was up, out of bed, across the floor, and

out the door before her bare bum had more than a brief moment to twinkle in the

morning sun.

Neither the father standing by the bed nor the son lying naked upon the floor at his

feet so much as looked at her. The man in the jeans held out the gunbelts which

Roland had taken from the fuzer beneath the ap prentices barracks on the previous afternoon, using Corts key to open the arsenal door. The man shook the belts

under Rolands very nose, as one might hold a torn garment beneath the nose of a

feckless puppy that has chewed. He shook them so hard that one of the guns

tumbled free. Despite his stupefaction, Roland caught it in midair.

I thought you were in the west, Roland said. In Cres sia. After Far-son and

his

Rolands father slapped him hard enough to send the boy tumbling across the room

and into a corner with blood pouring from one comer of his mouth. Rolands first, appalling instinct was to raise the gun he still held.

Steven Deschain looked at him, hands on hips, reading this thought even before it was fully formed. His lips pulled back in a singular ly mirth less grin, one that

showed all of his teeth and most of his gums.

Shoot me if you will. Why not Make this abortion complete. Ah, gods, Id

welcome it!

Roland laid the gun on the floor and pushed it away, using the back of his hand to

do it. All at once he wanted his fingers nowhere near the trig ger of a gun. They

were no longer fully under his control, those fin gers. He had discovered that

yesterday, right around the time he had broken Corts nose.

Father, I was tested yesterday. I took Corts stick. I won. Im a man.

Youre a fool, his father said. His grin was gone now; he looked haggard and

old. He sat down heavily on the whores bed, looked at the gunbelts he still held,

and dropped them between his feet. Youre a four teen-year-old fool, and thats the worst, most desperate kind. He looked up, angry all over again, but Roland didnt

mind; anger was better than that look of weariness.

That look of age. Ive known

since you toddled that you were no genius, but I never believed until yestereve that you were an idiot. To let him drive you like a cow in a chute! Gods! You have

forgotten the face of your father! Say it!

And that sparked the boys own anger. Everything he had done the day before he

had done with his fathers face firmly fixed in his mind.

Thats not true! he shouted from where he now sat with his bare butt on the

splintery boards of the whores crib and his back against the wall, the sun shining

through the window and touching the fuzz on his fair, unscarred cheek.

It is true, you whelp! Foolish whelp! Say your atone ment or Ill strip the hide

from your very

They were together! he burst out. Your wife and your minister your

magician! I saw the mark of his mouth on her neck!

On my mothers neck! He

reached for the gun and picked it up, but even in his shame and fury was still

careful not to let his fingers stray near the trigger; he held the apprentices revolver

only by the plain, undecorated metal of its bar rel. Today I end his treacherous, seducers life with this, and if you arent man enough to help me, at least you can

stand aside and let m

One of the revolvers on Stevens hip was out of its holster and in his hand before

Rolands eyes saw any move. There was a single shot, deaf ening as thunder in the little room; it was a full minute before Roland was able to hear the babble of

questions and commotion from below. The pren tice-gun, meanwhile, was long

gone, blown out of his hand and leav ing nothing be hind but a kind of buzzing

tingle. It flew out the window, down and gone, its grip a smashed ruin of metal

and its short turn in the gunslingers long tale at an end.

Roland looked at his father, shocked and amazed.

Steven looked back, saying

nothing for a long time. But now he wore the face Roland remem bered from

earliest childhood: calm and sure. The weariness and the look of half-distracted

fury had passed away like last nights thunder storms.

At last his father spoke. I was wrong in what I said, and I apologize. You did not

forget my face, Roland. But still you were foolish

you al lowed yourself to be

driven by one far slyer than you will ever be in your life. Its only by the grace of

the gods and the working of ka that you have not been sent west, one more true

gunslinger out of Martens road … out of John Far sons road … and out of the

road which leads to the creature that rules them. He stood and held out his arms.

If I had lost you, Roland, I should have died.

Roland got to his feet and went naked to his father, who embraced him fiercely.

When Steven Deschain kissed him first on one cheek and then the other, Roland

began to weep. Then, in Rolands ear, Steven Des chain whispered six words.

16

What Susannah asked. What six words

 I have known for two years,  Roland said. That was what he whispered.

Holy Christ, Eddie said.

He told me I couldnt go back to the palace. If I did, Id be dead by nightfall. He

said, You have been born to your destiny in spite of all Marten could do; yet he

has sworn to kill you before you can grow to be a problem to him. It seems that,

winner in the test or no, you must leave Gilead any way. For only awhile, though,

and youll go east instead of west. Id not send you alone, either, or without a

purpose. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: Or with a pair of sorry

prentice revolvers. 

What purpose Jake asked. He had clearly been captivated by the story; his eyes

shone nearly as bright as Oys. And which friends

These things you must now hear, Roland said, and how you judge me will

come in time.

He fetched a sighthe deep sigh of a man who con templates some arduous piece

of workand then tossed fresh wood on the fire. As the flames flared up, driving

the shadows back a little way, he began to talk. All that queerly long night he

talked, not finishing the story of Susan Delga do until the sun was rising in the east and painting the glass castle yon der with all the bright hues of a fresh day, and a

strange green cast of light which was its own true col or.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

PART TWO

SUSAN

CHAPTER I

..

BENEATH THE

KISSING MOON

1

A perfect disc of silverthe Kissing Moon, as it was called in Full Earthhung

above the ragged hill five miles east of Hambry and ten miles south of Eyebolt

Canyon. Below the hill the late summer heat still held, suffocating even two hours

after sundown, but atop the Coos, it was as if Reap had already come, with its

strong breezes and frost-pinched air. For the wom an who lived here with no

company but a snake and one old mutie cat, it was to be a long night.

Never mind, though; never mind, my dear. Busy hands are happy hands. So they

are.

She waited until the hoofbeats of her visitors

horses had faded, sit ting quietly by the window in the huts large room (there was only one other, a bedroom little

bigger than a closet). Musty, the six-legged cat, was on her shoulder. Her lap was

full of moonlight.

Three horses, bearing away three men. The Big Coffin Hunters, they called

themselves.

She snorted. Men were funny, aye, so they were, and the most amus ing thing

about them was how little they knew it. Men, with their swag gering, belt-hitching

names for themselves. Men, so proud of their mus cles, their drinking capacities,

their eating capacities; so everlastingly proud of their pricks. Yes, even in these times, when a good many of them could shoot noth ing but strange, bent seed that

produced children fit only to be drowned in the nearest well. Ah, but it was never their fault, was it, dear No, always it was the wom anher womb, her fault. Men

were such cow ards. Such grinning cowards. These three had been no different

from the general run. The old one with the limp might bear watchingaye, so he

might, a clear and overly curious pair of eyes had looked out at her from his

headbut she saw nothing in them she could not deal with, came it to that.

Men! She could not understand why so many wom en feared them. Hadnt the gods

made them with the most vulnerable part of their guts hanging right out of their

bodies, like a misplaced bit of bowel Kick them there and they curled up like

snails. Caress them there and their brains melted.

Anyone who doubted that

second bit of wisdom need only look at her nights second bit of business, the one

which still lay ahead. Thorin! Mayor of Hambry!

Chief Guard o Barony! No fool

like an old fool!

Yet none of these thoughts had any real power over her or any real malice to them,

at least not now; the three men who called them selves the Big Coffin Hunters had

brought her a marvel, and she would look at it; aye, fill up her eyes with it, so she

would.

The gimp, Jonas, had insisted she put it awayhe had been told she had a place

for such things, not that he wanted to see it himself, not any of her secret places,

gods forbid (at this sally Depape and Reynolds had laughed like trolls)and so

she had, but the hoofbeats of their horses had been swallowed by the wind now,

and she would do as she liked. The girl whose tits had stolen what little there was

of Hart Thorins mind would not be here for another hour, at least (the old woman

had insisted that the girl walk from town, citing the purification value of such a

moonlit heel-and-toe, actually just wanting to put a safe bumper of time between

her two appointments), and during that hour she would do as she liked.

Oh, its beautiful, Im sure tis, she whispered, and did she feel a certain heat in

that place where her ancient bowlegs came togeth er A certain moisture in the dry

creek which hid there Gods!

Aye, even through the box where they hid it I felt its glam. So beau tiful, Musty,

like you. She took the cat from her shoulder and held it in front of her eyes. The

old torn purred and stretched out its pug of a face to ward hers. She kissed its nose.

The cat closed its milky gray-green eyes in ecsta sy. So beautiful, like youso

yare, so yare! Hee!

She put the cat down. It walked slowly toward the hearth, where a late fire lazed,

desultorily eating at a single log. Mustys tail, split at the tip so it looked like the forked tail of a devil in an old drawing, switched back and forth in the rooms dim

orange air. Its extra legs, dangling from its sides, twitched dreamily. The shadow

which trailed across the floor and grew up the wall was a horror: a thing that

looked like a cat crossed with a spider.

The old woman rose and went into her sleeping closet, where she had taken the

thing Jonas had given her.

Lose that and youll lose your head, hed said.

Never fear me, my good friend, shed replied, di recting a cringing, servile smile

back over her shoulder, all the while thinking: Men!

Foolish strutting creatures

they were!

Now she went to the foot of her bed, knelt, and passed one hand over the earth

floor there. Lines appeared in the sour dirt as she did. They formed a square. She

pushed her fingers into one of these lines; it gave be fore her touch. She lifted the

hidden panel (hidden in such a way that no one without the touch would ever be

able to uncover it), revealing a com partment perhaps a foot square and two feet deep. Within it was an ironwood box. Curled atop the box was a slim green snake.

When she touched its back, its head came up. Its mouth yawned in a silent hiss,

displaying four pairs of fangstwo on top, two on the bottom.

She took the snake up, crooning to it. As she brought its flat face close to her own,

its mouth yawned wider and its hissing became audible. She opened her own

mouth; from between her wrinkled gray lips she poked the yellowish, badsmelling

mat of her tongue. Two drops of poison

enough to kill an entire dinnerpar ty, if mixed in the punchfell on it. She swal lowed, feeling her mouth and

throat and chest bum, as if with strong liquor. For a moment the room swam out of

focus, and she could hear voices murmuring in the stenchy air of the hutthe

voices of those she called the unseen friends. Her eyes ran sticky water down the

trenches time had drawn in her cheeks. Then she blew out a breath and the room

steadied. The voices faded.

She kissed Ermot between his lidless eyes (time o the Kissing Moon, all right, she thought) and then set him aside. The snake slipped beneath her bed, curled itself in

a circle, and watched as she passed her palms over the top of the ironwood box.

She could feel the muscles in her upper arms quiv ering, and that heat in her loins

was more pronounced. Years it had been since she had felt the call of her sex, but

she felt it now, so she did, and it was not the doing of the Kissing Moon, or not

much.

The box was locked and Jonas had given her no key, but that was nothing to her,

who had lived long and studied much and trafficked with creatures that most men,

for all their bold talk and strutting ways, would run from as if on fire had they

caught even the smallest glimpse of them. She stretched one hand toward the lock, on which was inlaid the shape of an eye and a motto in the High Speech (I see

who opens me), and then withdrew it. All at once she could smell what her nose

no longer noticed under ordinary circum stances: must and dust and a dirty mattress and the crumbs of food that had been con sumed in bed; the mingled

stench of ashes and ancient incense; the odor of an old woman with wet eyes and

(ordinarily, at least) a dry pussy. She would not open this box and look at the

wonder it contained in here; she would go outside, where the air was clean and the

only smells were sage and mesquite.

She would look by the light of the Kissing Moon.

Rhea of Coos Hill pulled the box from its hole with a grunt, rose to her feet with

another grunt (this one from her nether regions), tucked the box under her arm,

and left the room.

2

The hut was far enough below the brow of the hill to block off the bitter est gusts

of the winter wind which blew almost constantly in these high lands from Reaping

until the end of Wide Earth. A path led to the hills highest vantage; beneath the

full moon it was a ditch of silver. The old woman toiled up it, puffing, her white

hair standing out around her head in dirty clumps, her old dugs swaying from side

to side under her black dress. The cat followed in her shadow, still giving off its

rusty purr like a stink.

At the top of the hill, the wind lifted her hair away from her ravaged face and

brought her the moaning whisper of the thinny which had eaten its way into the far end of Eyebolt Canyon. It was a sound few cared for, she knew, but she herself

loved it; to Rhea of the Coos, it sounded like a lulla by. Overhead rode the moon,

the shadows on its bright skin sketch ing the faces of lovers kissing

if you

believed the ordinary fools be low, that was. The ordinary fools below saw a

different face or set of faces in each full moon, but the hag knew there was only

onethe face of the Demon. The face of death.

She herself, however, had never felt more alive.

Oh, my beauty, she whispered, and touched the lock with her gnarled fingers. A

faint glimmer of red light showed between her bunched knuckles, and there was a

click. Breathing hard, like a woman who has run a race, she put the box down and

opened it.

Rose-colored light, dimmer than that thrown by the Kissing Moon but infinitely

more beautiful, spilled out. It touched the ruined face hanging above the box, and

for a moment made it the face of a young girl again.

Musty sniffed, head stretched forward, ears laid back, old eyes rimmed with that

rose light. Rhea was instantly jealous.

Get away, foolish, tis not for the likes of you!

She swatted the cat. Musty shied back, hissing like a kettle, and stalked in

dudgeon to the hummock which marked the very tip of Coos Hill. There he sat,

affecting disdain and licking one paw as the wind combed ceaselessly through his

fur.

Within the box, peeping out of a velvet drawstring bag, was a glass globe. It was

filled with that rosy light; it flowed in gentle pulses, like the beat of a satisfied

heart. \

Oh, my lovely one, she murmured, lifting it out.

She held it up be fore her; let its pulsing radiance run down her wrinkled face like rain. Oh, ye live, so ye do!

Suddenly the color within the globe darkened toward scarlet. She felt it thrum in her hands like an immensely powerful motor, and again she felt that amazing

wetness between her legs, that tidal tug she be lieved had been left behind long

ago.

Then the thrumming died, and the light in the globe seemed to furl up like petals.

Where it had been there was now a pinkish gloom …

and three riders coming out

of it. At first she thought it was the men who had brought her the globeJonas

and the others. But no, these were younger, even younger than Depape, who was

about twentyfive. The one on the left of the trio ap peared to have a birds skull

mounted on the pommel of his saddlestrange but true.

Then that one and the one on the right were gone, darkened away somehow by the

power of the glass, leaving only the one in the mid dle. She took in the jeans and

boots he wore, the flat-brimmed hat that hid the up per half of his face, the easy

way he sat his horse, and her first alarmed thought was Gunslinger! Come east

from the Inner Baronies, aye, per haps from Gilead itself! But she did not have to

see the upper half of the riders face to know he was little more than a child, and

there were no guns on his hips. Yet she didnt think the youth came unarmed. If

only she could see a little better…

She brought the glass almost to the tip of her nose and whispered, Closer, lovie!

Closer still!

She didnt know what to expectnothing at all seemed most likelybut within

the dark circle of the glass, the figure did come closer. Swum closer, almost, like a horse and rider underwater, and she saw there was a quiver of arrows on his back.

Before him, on the pommel of his saddle, was not a skull but a shortbow. And to

the right side of the saddle, where a gunslinger might have carried a rifle in a

scabbard, there was the feather-fluffed shaft of a lance. He was not one of the Old

People, his face had none of that look

yet she did not think he was of the Outer

Arc, either.

But who are ye, cully she breathed. And how shall I know ye Yeve got yer

hat pulled down so far I cant see your Godpound ing eyes, so ye do! By yer horse,

mayhap

or praps by yer

get away, Musty! Why do yer trouble me so Arrrr!

The cat had come back from its lookout point and was twining back and forth

between her swollen old ankles, waowing up at her in a voice even more rusty

than its purr. When the old woman kicked out at him, Musty dodged agilely away

… then immediately came back and started in again, looking up at her with

moonstruck eyes and making those soft yowls.

Rhea kicked out at it again, this one just as ineffec tual as the first one, then looked into the glass once more. The horse and its inter esting young rider were gone. The

rose light was gone, as well. It was now just a dead glass ball she held, its only

light a reflection borrowed from the moon.

The wind gusted, pressing her dress against the ru ination that was her body.

Musty, undaunted by the feeble kicks of his mis tress, darted for ward and began to twine about her ankles again, crying up at her the whole time.

There, do ye see what youve done, ye nasty bag of fleas and dis ease The lights

gone out of it, gone out just when I

Then she heard a sound from the cart track which led up to her hut, and

understood why Musty had been acting out. It was singing she heard. It was the

girl she heard. The girl was early.

Grimacing horriblyshe loathed being caught by surprise, and the little miss

down there would pay for doing itshe bent and put the glass back in its box. The

inside was lined with padded silk, and the ball fit as neatly as the breakfast egg in

His Lordships cup. And still from down the hill (the cursed wind was wrong or

she would have heard it sooner), the sound of the girl singing, now closer than

ever:

Love, o love, o careless love.

Cant you see what careless love has done

Ill giveee careless love, ye virgin bitch, the old woman said. She could smell

the sour reek of sweat from under her arms, but that other moisture had dried up

again. Ill give ye payday for walking in early on old Rhea, so I will!

She passed her fingers over the lock on the front of the box, but it wouldnt fasten.

She supposed she had been overeager to have it open, and had broken something

inside it when she used the touch. The eye and the motto seemed to mock her: i

see who opens me. It could be put right, and in a jiffy, but right now even a jiffy

was more than she had.

Pestering cunt! She whined, lifting her head briefly toward the ap proaching

voice (almost here now, by the gods, and forty-five minutes be fore her time!).

Then she closed the lid of the box. It gave her a pang to do it, because the glass

was coming to life again, filling with that rosy glow, but there was no time for

looking or dreaming now. Later, perhaps, after the object of Thorins unseemly

late-life prickishness had gone.

And you must restrain yourself from doing any thing too awful to the girl, she

cautioned herself. Remember shes here be cause of him, and at least aint one of those green girls with a bun in the oven and a boyfriend acting reluctant about the cries o marriage. Its Thorin s doing, this ones what he thinks about after his

ugly old crow of a wife is asleep and he takes him self in his hand and commences

the evening milking; its Thorins doing, he has the old law on his side, and he has

power. Further more, whats in that box is his mans business, and if Jonas found

out ye looked at it

that ye used it…

Aye, but no fear of that. And in the meantime, pos session were nine-tenths of the

law, were it not

She hoisted the box under one arm, hoisted her skirts with her free hand, and ran back along the path to the hut. She could still run when she had to, aye, though

few there were whod believe it.

Musty ran at her heels, bounding along with his cloven tail held high and his extra

legs flopping up and down in the moonlight.

CHAPTER II

proving honesty

1

Rhea darted into her hut, crossed in front of the gut tering fire, then stood in the

doorway to her tiny bedroom, swiping a hand through her hair in a distracted

gesture. The bitch hadnt seen her outside the hut

she surely would have stopped

caterwauling, or at least faltered in it if she had

and that was good, but the

cursed hidey-hole had sealed itself up again, and that was bad. There was no time

to open it again, either. Rhea hurried to the bed, knelt, and pushed the box far back into the shadows beneath.

Ay, that would do; until Susy Greengown was gone, it would do very well.

Smiling on the right side of her mouth (the left was mostly frozen), Rhea got up,

brushed her dress, and went to meet her second ap pointment of the night.

2

Behind her, the unlocked lid of the box clicked open.

It came up less than an inch,

but that was enough to allow a sliver of pulsing rose-colored light to shine out.

3

Susan Delgado stopped about forty yards from the witchs hut, the sweat chilling

on her arms and the nape of her neck. Had she just spied an old woman (surely the

one she had come to see) dart down that last bit of path leading from the top of the

hill She thought she had.

Dont stop singingwhen an old lady hurries like that, she doesnt want to be

seen. If you stop singing, shell likely know she was.

For a moment Susan thought shed stop anyway

that her memory would close up

like a startled hand and deny her another verse of the old song which she had been

singing since youngest childhood. But the next verse came to her, and she

continued on (with feet as well as voice): Once my cares were far away,

Yes, once my cares were far away,

Now my love has gone from me

And misery is in my heart to stay.

A bad song for a night such as this, mayhap, but her heart went its own way

without much interest in what her head thought or wanted; al ways had^ She was

frightened to be out by moonlight, when were wolves were said to walk, she was

frightened of her errand, and she was fright ened by what that errand portended.

Yet when she had gained the Great Road out of Ham bry and her heart had

demanded she run, she had run under the light of the Kissing Moon and with

her skirt held above her knees she had galloped like a pony, with her shadow

galloping right be side her. For a mile or more she had run, until every muscle in

her body tingled and the air she pulled down her throat tasted like some sweet

heated liquid. And when she reached the upland track leading to this high sinister, she had sung. Because her heart demanded it.

And, she supposed, it really hadnt been such a bad idea; if nothing else, it had kept the worst of her megrims away.

Singing was good for that much, anyway.

Now she walked to the end of the path, singing the chorus of Care less Love. As

she stepped into the scant light which fell through the open door and onto the

stoop, a harsh raincrow voice spoke from the shad ows: Stop yer howling,

missyit catches in my brains like a fishhook!

Susan, who had been told all her life that she had a fair singing voice, a gift from

her gramma, no doubt, fell silent at once, abashed.

She stood on the stoop with her

hands clasped in front of her apron. Beneath the apron she wore her second-best

dress (she only had two). Beneath it, her heart was thumping very hard.

A cata hideous thing with two extra legs sticking out of its sides like toasting

forkscame into the doorway first. It looked up at her, seemed to measure her,

then screwed its face up in a look that was eerily hu man: contempt. It hissed at

her, then flashed away into the night.

Well, good evening to you, too, Susan thought.

The old woman she had been sent to see stepped into the doorway.

She looked Susan up and down with that same ex pression of flat-eyed contempt,

then stood back. Come in. And mind ye clap the door tight. The wind has a way

of blowin it open, as ye see!

Susan stepped inside. She didnt want to close her self into this badsmelling room

with the old woman, but when there was no choice, hesita tion was ever a fault. So

her father had said, whether the matter under dis cussion was sums and

subtractions or how to deal with boys at barndances when their hands became

overly adventurous. She pulled the door firmly to, and heard it latch.

And here yare, the old woman said, and offered a grotesque smile of welcome.

It was a smile guaranteed to make even a brave girl think of stories told in the

nurseryWinters tales of old women with snag gle teeth and bubbling cauldrons

full of toad-green liquid. There was no caul dron over the fire in this room (nor

was the fire itself much of a shake, in Susans opin ion), but the girl guessed there

had been, betimes, and things in it of which it might be better not to think. That

this woman was a real witch and not just an old la dy posing as one was something

Susan had felt sure of from the moment she had seen Rhea darting back inside her

hut with the malformed cat at her heels. It was some thing you could almost smell,

like the reeky aroma rising off the hags skin.

Yes, she said, smiling. She tried to make it a good one, bright and unafraid.

Here I am.

And its early yare, my little sweeting. Early yare! Hee!

I ran partway. The moon got into my blood, I sup pose. Thats what my da would

have said.

The old womans horrible smile widened into something that made Susan think of the way eels sometimes seemed to grin, after death and just before the pot. Aye,

but dead he is, dead these five years, Pat Delgado of the red hair and beard, the life mashed out of im by is own horse, aye, and went in to the clearing at the end of

the path with the music of his own snapping bones in his ears, so he did!

The nervous smile slipped from Susans face as if slapped away. She felt tears,

always close at the mere mention of her das name, bum at the back of her eyes.

But she would not let them fall. Not in this heartless old crows sight, she wouldnt.

Let our business be quick and be done, she said in a dry voice that was far from

her usual one; that voice was usually cheery and merry and ready for fun. But she

was Pat Delgados child, daughter of the best drover ever to work the Western

Drop, and she remembered his face very well; she could rise to a stronger nature if required, as it now clearly was. The old woman had meant to reach out and scratch as deep as she could, and the more she saw that her efforts were succeeding, the

more she would redouble them.

The hag, meanwhile, was watching Susan shrewdly, her bunch-knuckled hands planted on her hips while her cat twined around her an kles. Her eyes were

rheumy, but Susan saw enough of them to realize they were the same gray-green

shade as the cats eyes, and to wonder what sort of fell magic that might be. She

felt an urgea strong oneto drop her eyes, and would not. It was all right to feel fear, but sometimes a very bad idea to show it.

You look at me pert, missy, Rhea said at last. Her smile was dis solving slowly

into a petulant frown.

Nay, old mother, Susan replied evenly. Only as one who wishes to do the

business she came for and be gone. I have come here at the wish of My Lord

Mayor of Mejis, and at that of my Aunt Cordelia, sis ter of my father. My dear

father, of whom I would hear no ill spoken.

I speak as I do, the old woman said. The words were dismissive, yet there was a

trace of fawning servility in the hags voice. Susan set no im portance on that; it

was a tone such a thing as this had probably adopt ed her whole life, and came as

automatically as breath. Ive lived alone a long time, with no mistress but myself, and once it begins, my tongue goes where it will.

Then sometimes it might be best not to let it begin at all. The old womans eyes flashed uglily. Curb your own, stripling girl, lest you find

it dead in your mouth, where it will rot and make the Mayor think twice about

kissing you when he smells its stink, aye, even un der such a moon as this!

Susans heart filled with misery and bewilder ment. Shed come up here intent on only one thing: getting the business done as quickly as pos sible, a barely

explained rite that was apt to be painful and sure to be shameful. Now this old

woman was looking at her with flat and naked ha tred. How could things have gone

wrong with such suddenness Or was it always this way with witches

We have begun badly, mistresscan we start over Susan asked suddenly, and

held out her hand.

The hag looked startled, although she did reach out and make brief contact, the

wrinkled tips of her fingers touching the shortnailed lingers of the sixteen-yearold girl who stood before her with her clearskinned face shining and her long hair

braided down her back. Susan had to make a real effort not to grimace at the

touch, brief as it was. The old womans fingers were as chilly as those of a corpse,

but Susan had touched chilly fingers before (Cold hands, warm heart, Aunt Cord

sometimes said). The real unpleasantness was in the texture, the feel of cold flesh spongy and loose on the bones, as if the woman to whom they were attached had

drowned and lain long in some pool.

Nay, nay, theres no starting over, the old woman said, yet may-hap well go on

better than weve begun. Yeve a powerful friend in the Mayor, and Id not have

him for my enemy.

Shes honest, at least, Susan thought, then had to laugh at herself. This woman

would be honest only when she absolutely had to be; left to her own devices and desires, shed lie about everythingthe weather, the crops, the flights of birds

come Reaping.

Ye came before I expected ye, and its put me out of temper, so it has. Have ye

brought me something, missy Ye have, Ill war rant! Her eyes were glittering

once more, this time not with anger.

Susan reached beneath her apron (so stupid, wear ing an apron for an errand on the

backside of nowhere, but it was what custom de manded) and into her pocket.

There, tied to a string so it could not be easily lost (by young girls suddenly moved

to run in the moonlight, perchance), was a cloth bag.

Susan broke the binding

string and brought the bag out. She put it in the out stretched hand before her, the

palm so worn that the lines marking it were now little more than ghosts. She was

careful not to touch Rhea again

although the old woman would be touching her

again, and soon.

Is it the sound o the wind makes ye shiver Rhea asked, although Susan could

tell her mind was mostly fixed on the little bag; her fingers were busy tugging out

the knot in the drawstring.

Yes, the wind.

And so it should. Tis the voices of the dead you hear in the wind, and when they

scream so, tis because they regretah!

The knot gave. She loosened the drawstring and tumbled two gold coins into her

hand. They were unevenly milled and crudeno one had made such for

generationsbut they were heavy, and the eagles engraved upon them had a

certain power. Rhea lifted one to her mouth, pulled back her lips to reveal a few

gruesome teeth, and bit down. The hag looked at the faint indentations her teeth

had left in the gold. For several seconds she gazed, rapt, then closed her fingers over them tightly.

While Rheas attention was distracted by the coins, Susan happened to look

through the open door to her left and into what she assumed was the witchs

bedchamber. And here she saw an odd and dis quieting thing: a light under the bed.

A pink, pulsing light. It seemed to be coming from some kind of box, although she

could not quite

The witch looked up, and Susan hastily moved her eyes to a comer of the room,

where a net containing three or four strange white fruits hung from a hook. Then,

as the old woman moved and her huge shadow danced ponderously away from

that part of the wall, Susan saw they were not fruits at air, but skulls. She felt a

sickish drop in her stomach.

The fire needs building up, missy. Go round to the side of the house and bring

back an armload of wood. Good-sized sticks are whats wanted, and never mind

whining ye cant lug em. Yere of a strappin good size, so ye are!

Susan, who had quit whining about chores around the time she had quit pissing

into her clouts, said nothing … although it did cross her mind to ask Rhea if

everyone who brought her gold was invited to lug her wood. In truth, she didnt

mind; the air outside would taste like wine after the stench of the hut.

She had almost reached the door when her foot struck something hot and yielding.

The cat yowled. Susan stumbled and almost fell.

From be hind her, the old woman

issued a series of gasping, choking sounds which Susan eventually recognized as laughter.

Watch Musty, my little sweet one! Tricksy, he is! And tripsy as well, betimes, so

he is! Hee! And off she went, in another gale.

The cat looked up at Susan, its ears laid back, its gray-green eyes wide. It hissed at her. And Susan, unaware she was going to do it until it was done, hissed back.

Like its expression of contempt, Mustys look of surprise was eerilyand, in this

case, comicallyhuman. It turned and fled for Rheas bedroom, its split tail

lashing. Susan opened the door and went outside to get the wood. Already she felt

as if she had been here a thousand years, and that it might be a thousand more

before she could go home.

4

The air was as sweet as she had hoped, perhaps even sweeter, and for a moment

she only stood on the stoop, breathing it in, trying to cleanse her lungs … and her mind.

After five good breaths, she got herself in motion.

Around the side of the house

she went

but it was the wrong side, it seemed, for there was no woodpile here.

There was a narrow excuse for a window, how ever, half-buried in some tough and unlovely creeper. It was toward the back of the hut, and must look in on the old

womans sleeping closet.

Dont look in there, whatever shes got under her bed isnt your busi ness, and if

she were to catch you…

She went to the window despite these admoni tions, and peeked in.

It was unlikely that Rhea would have seen Susans face through the dense

overgrowth of pig ivy even if the old besom had been looking in that direction,

and she wasnt. She was on her knees, the draw string bag caught in her teeth,

reaching under the bed.

She brought out a box and opened its lid, which was already ajar. Her face was

flooded with soft pink radiance, and Susan gasped. For one mo ment it was the face of a young girlbut one filled with cruelty as well as youth, the face of a selfwilled child determined to learn all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

The face of the girl this hag once had been, mayhap.

The light appeared to be

coming from some sort of glass ball.

The old woman looked at it for several moments, her eyes wide and fascinated.

Her lips moved as if she were speaking to it or per haps even singing to it; the little bag Susan had brought from town, its string still clamped in the hags mouth,

bobbed up and down as she spoke. Then, with what appeared to be great effort of

will, she closed the box, cutting off the rosy light. Su san found herself

relievedthere was something about it she didnt like.

The old woman cupped one hand over the silver lock in the middle of the lid, and a brief scarlet light spiked out from between her fin gers. All this with the

drawstring bag still hanging from her mouth. Then she put the box on the bed,

knelt, and began running her hands over the dirt just beneath the beds edge.

Although she touched only with her palms, lines ap peared as if she had used a

drawing tool. These lines darkened, becom ing what looked like grooves.

The wood, Susan! Gel the wood before she wakes up to how long youve been

gone! For your fathers sake!

Susan pulled the skirt of her dress all the way up to her waistshe did not want

the old woman to see dirt or leaves on her clothing when she came back inside, did

not want to answer the questions the sight of such smuts might provokeand

crawled beneath the window with her white cotton drawers flashing in the

moonlight. Once she was past, she got to her feet again and hurried quietly around

to the far side of the hut. Here she found the woodpile under an old, moldysmelling

hide. She took half a dozen good-sized chunks and walked back toward

the front of the house with them in her arms.

When she entered, turning sideways to get her load through the door way without

dropping any, the old woman was back in the main room, staring moodily into the

fireplace, where there was now little more than em bers; Of the drawstring bag

there was no sign.

Took; you long enough, missy, Rhea said. She con tinued to look into the

fireplace, as if Susan were of no account

but one foot tapped below the dirty

hem of her dress, and her eyebrows were drawn to gether.

Susan crossed the room, peering over the load of wood in her arms as well as she

could while she walked. It wouldnt surprise her a bit to spy the cat lurking near,

hoping to trip her up. I saw a spider, she said. I flapped my apron at it to make

it run away. I hate the look of them, so I do.

Yell see something ye like the look of even less, soon enough, Rhea said,

grinning her peculiar one-sided grin. Out of old Thorins nightshirt itll come, stiff as a stick and as red as rhubarb! Hee! Hold a minute, girl; ye gods, yeve brought

enough for a FairDay bonfire.

Rhea took two fat logs from Susans pile and tossed them indiffer ently onto the

coals. Embers spiraled up the dark and faintly roaring shaft of the chimney. There, yeve scattered whats left of yer fire, ye silly old thing, and will likely have to

rekindle the whole mess, Susan thought. Then Rhea reached into the fireplace with

one splayed hand, spoke a gut tural word, and the logs blazed up as if soaked in

oil.

Put the rest over there, she said, pointing at the woodbox. And mind ye not be a

scatterbark, missy.

What, and dirty all this neat Susan thought. She bit the insides of her cheeks to

kill the smile that wanted to rise on her mouth.

Rhea might have sensed it, however; when Susan straightened again, the old

woman was looking at her with a dour, knowing expression.

All right, mistress, lets do our business and have it done. Do ye know why youre

here

I am here at Mayor Thorins wish, Susan repeat ed, knowing that was no real

answer. She was frightened nowmore frightened than when she had looked

through the window and seen the old woman croon ing to the glass ball. His wife

has come barren to the end of her courses. He wishes to have a son before he is

also unable to

Pish-tush, spare me the codswallop and pretty words. He wants tits and arse that dont squish in his hands and a box thatll grip what he pushes. If hes still man

enough to push it, that is. If a son come of it, aye, fine, hell give it over to ye to

keep and raise until its old enough to school, and af ter that yell see it no more. If

its a daughter, hell likely take it from ye and give it to his new man, the one with

the girls hair and the limp, to drown in the nearest cattle-wallow.

Susan stared at her, shocked out of all measure.

The old woman saw the look and laughed. Dont like the sound of the truth, do

yer Few do, missy. But thats neither here nor there; yer auntie was ever a trig

one, and shell have done all right out of Thorin and Thorins treasury. What gold

you see of its none o mine … and wont be none o

yours, either, if you dont

watch sharp! Hee! Take off that dress!

I wont was what rose to her lips, but what then To be turned out of this hut (and

to be turned out pretty much as she had come, and not as a lizard or a hopping toad

would probably be the best luck she could hope for) and sent west as she was now,

without even the two gold coins shed brought up here And that was only the

small half of it. The large was that she had given her word. At first she had

resisted, but when Aunt Cord had invoked her fa thers name, she had given in. As

she always did. Really, she had no choice. And when there was no choice,

hesitation was ever a fault.

She brushed the front of her apron, to which small bits of bark now clung, then

untied it and took it off. She folded it, laid it on a small, grimy hassock near the

hearth, and unbuttoned her dress to the waist. She shiv ered it from her shoulders,

and stepped out. She folded it and laid it atop the apron, trying not to mind the

greedy way Rhea of Coos was staring at her in the firelight. The cat came

sashaying across the floor, grotesque extra legs hobbling, and sat at Rheas feet.

Outside, the wind gusted. It was warm on the hearth but Susan was cold just the

same, as if that wind had gotten inside her, some how.

Hurry, girl, for yer fathers sake!

Susan pulled her shift over her head, folded it atop the dress, then stood in only

her drawers, with her arms folded over her bosom.

The fire painted warm orange

highlights along her thighs; black circles of shadow in the tender folds behind her

knees.

And still shes not nekkid! the old crow laughed. Aint we lah-di-dah! Aye, we

are, very fine! Take off those drawers, mistress, and stand as ye slid from yer

mother! Although ye had not so many goodies as to interest the likes of Hart

Thorin then, did ye Hee!

Feeling caught in a nightmare, Susan did as she was bid. With her mound and

bush uncovered, her crossed arms seemed fool ish. She low ered them to her sides.

Ah, no wonder he wants ye! the old woman said.

Tis beautiful ye are, and true!

Is she not, Musty

The cat waowed.

Theres dirt on yer knees, Rhea said suddenly.

How came it there \

Susan felt a moment of awful panic. She had lift ed her skirts to crawl beneath the hags window … and hung herself by doing it.

Then an answer rose to her lips, and she spoke it calmly enough. When I came in

sight of your hut, I grew fearful. I knelt to pray, and raised my skirt so as not to

soil it.

Im touchedto want a clean dress for the likes o

me! How good yare! Dont

you agree, Musty

The cat waowed, then began to lick one of its forepaws.

Get on with it, Susan said. Youve been paid and Ill obey, but stop teasing and

have done.

You know what it is I have to do, mistress.

I dont, Susan said. The tears were close again, burning the backs of her eyes,

but she would not let them fall. Would not. I have an idea, but when I asked Aunt

Cord if I was right, she said that youd take care of my education in that regard. 

Wouldnt dirty her mouth with the words, would she Well, thats all right. Yer

Aunt Rheas not too nice to say what yer Aunt Cordelia wont. Im to make sure

that yere physically and spiritually intact, mis sy.

Proving honesty is what the old ones called it, and its a good enough name. So it

is. Step to me.

Susan took two reluctant steps forward, so that her bare toes were al most

touching the old womans slippers and her bare breasts were almost touching the

old womans dress.

If a devil or demon has polluted yer spirit, such a thing as might taint the child

youll likely bear, it leaves a mark behind. Most of ten its a suck-mark or a lovers

bite, but theres others… open yer mouth!

Susan did, and when the old woman bent closer, the reek of her was so strong that the girls stomach clenched. She held her breath, praying this would be over soon.

Run out yer tongue.

Susan ran out her tongue.

Now send yer breezes into my face.

Susan exhaled her held breath. Rhea breathed it in and then, merci fully, pulled

her head away a little. She had been close enough for Susan to see the lice hopping

in her hair.

Sweet enough, the old woman said. Aye, goods a meal. Now turn around.

Susan did, and felt the old witchs fingers trail down her back and to her buttocks.

Their tips were cold as mud.

Bend over and spread yer cheeks, missy, be not shy, Rheas seen more than one

pultry in her time!

Face flushingshe could feel the beat of her heart in the center of her forehead

and in the hollows of her templesSusan did as told. And then she felt one of

those corpselike fingers prod its way into her anus.

Susan bit her lips to keep from

screaming.

The invasion was mercifully short

but there would be another, Su san feared.

Turn around.

She turned. The old woman passed her hands over Susans breasts, flicked lightly

at the nipples with her thumbs, then examined the under sides carefully. Rhea

slipped a finger into the cup of the girls navel, then hitched up her own skirt and

dropped to her knees with a grunt of effort. She passed her hands down Susans

legs, first front, then back. She seemed to take spe cial pains with the area just

below the calves, where the ten dons ran.

Lift yer right foot, girl.

Susan did, and uttered a nervous, screamy laugh as Rhea ran a thumb nail down

her instep to her heel. The old woman parted her toes, looking between each pair.

After this process had been repeated with the other foot, the old womanstill on her kneessaid: You know what comes next.

Aye. The word came out of her in a little trembling rush.

Hold ye still, missyall else is well, clean as a wil low-strip, ye are, but now

weve come to the cozy nook thats all Thorin cares for; weve come to where

honesty must really be proved. So hold ye still!

Susan closed her eyes and thought of horses run ning along the Dropnominally

they were the Baronys horse, overlooked by Rimer, Thorins Chancellor and the

Baronys Minister of Inventory, but the horses didnt know that; they thought they were free, and if you were free in your mind, what else mattered

Let me be free in my mind, as free as the horses along the Drop, and dont let her

hurt me. Please, dont let her hurt me. And if she does, please help me to bear it in

decent silence.

Cold fingers parted the downy hair below her navel; there was a pause, and then two cold fingers slipped inside her. There was pain, but only a moment of it, and

not bad; shed hurt herself worse stubbing her toe or barking her shin on the way to

the privy in the middle of the night. The humiliation was the bad part, and the

revulsion of Rheas ancient touch.

Caulked tight, ye are! Rhea cried. Good as ever was! But Thorinll see to that,

so he will! As for you, my girl, Ill tell yer a secret yer prissy aunt with her long

nose n tight purse n little goosebump tits never knew: even a girl whos intact

dont need to lack for a shiver now n then, if she knows how!

The hags withdrawing fingers closed gently around the little nubbin of flesh at the head of Susans cleft. For one terrible second Susan thought they would pinch that sensitive place, which sometimes made her draw in a breath if it rubbed just so

against the pommel of her saddle when she was riding, but instead the fingers

caressed … then pressed

and the girl was hor rified to feel a heat which was far from unpleasant kindle in her belly.

Like a little bud o silk, the old woman crooned, and her meddling fingers moved

faster. Susan felt her hips sway forward, as if with a mind and life of their own,

and then she thought of the old womans greedy, selfwilled face, pink as the face

of a whore by gaslight as it hung over the open box; she thought of the way the

drawstring bag with the gold pieces in it had hung from the wrinkled mouth like

some disgorged piece of flesh, and the heat she felt was gone. She drew back,

trembling, her arms and belly and breasts breaking out in gooseflesh.

Youve finished what you were paid to do, Susan said. Her voice was dry and

harsh.

Rheas face knotted. Yell not tell me aye, no, yes, or maybe, impu dent stripling

of a girl! I know when Im done, I, Rhea, the Weirding of Coos, and

Be still, and be on your feet before I kick you into the fire, unnatural thing.

The old womans lips wriggled back from her few remaining teeth in a doglike

sneer, and now, Susan realized, she and the witchwoman were back where they

had been at the start: ready to claw each others eyes out.

Raise hand or foot to me, you impudent cunt, and what leaves my house will

leave handless, footless, and blind of eye.

I do not much doubt you could do it, but Thorin should be vexed, Susan said. It

was the first time in her life she had ever invoked a mans name for protection.

Realizing this made her feel ashamed … small, somehow. She didnt know why

that should be, especially since she had agreed to sleep in his bed and bear his

child, but it was.

The old woman stared, her seamed face working until it folded into a parody of a smile that was worse than her snarl. Puffing and pulling at the, arm of her chair,

Rhea got to her feet. As she did, Susan quickly be gan to dress.

Aye, vexed he would be. Perhaps you know best af ter all, missy;

Ive had a strange night, and its wakened parts of me better left asleep. Anything

else that might have happened, take it as a compli ment to yer youthn purity …

and to yer beauty as well. Aye. Youre a beautiful thing, and theres no doubtin it.

Yer hair, now … when yer let it down, as ye will for Thorin, I wot, when ye lay

with him

it glows like the sun, doesnt it

Susan did not want to force the old hag out of her posturing, but she didnt want to

encourage these fawning compliments, either.

Not when she could still see the

hate in Rheas rheumy eyes, not when she could feel the old womans touch still

crawling like beetles on her skin. She said nothing, only stepped into her dress, set

it on her shoulders, and began to button up the front.

Rhea perhaps understood the run of her thoughts, for the smile dropped off her

mouth and her manner grew businesslike. Susan found this a great relief.

Well, never mind it. Yeve proved honest; ye may dress yerself and go. But not a

word of what passed between us to Thorin, mind ye!

Words between women need

trouble no mans ear, especially one as great as he. Yet at this Rhea could not

forbear a certain spasming sneer. Susan didnt know if the old woman was aware

of it or not. Are we agreed

Anything, anything, just as long as I can be out of here and away.

You declare me proved

Aye, Susan, daughter of Patrick. So I do. But its not what I say that matters. Now

wait

somewhere here



She scrabbled along the mantel, pushing stubs of candles stuck on cracked saucers

this way and that, lifting first a kerosene lantern and then a battery flashlight,

looking fixedly for a moment at a drawing of a young boy and then putting it

aside.

Where… where… arrrrr… here!

She snatched up a pad of paper with a sooty cover (citgo stamped on it in ancient

gold letters) and a stub of pencil. She paged al most to the end of the pad before

finding a blank sheet. On it she scrawled something, then tore the sheet off the

spiral of wire at the top of the pad. She held the sheet out to Susan, who took it

and looked at it. Scrawled there was a word she did not understand at first:

Below it was a symbol:

Whats this she asked, tapping the little draw ing. Rhea, her mark. Known for

six Baronies around, it is, and cant be copied. Show that paper to yer aunt. Then

to Thorin. If yer aunt wants to take it and show it to Thorin herselfI know her,

ysee, and her bossy waystell her no, Rhea says no, shes not to have the keeping

of it. And if Thorin wants it

Rhea shrugged dismissively. Let him keep it or bum it or wipe his bum with it,

for all of me. Its nothing to you, either, for you knew you were honest all along,

so you did. True

Susan nodded. Once, walking home after a dance, she had let a boy slip his hand inside her shirt for a moment or two, but what of that She was honest. And in

more ways than this nasty creature meant.

But dont lose that paper. Unless youd see me again, that is, and go through the same business a second time.

Gods perish even the thought, Susan thought, and managed not to shudder. She

put the paper in her pocket, where the drawstring bag had been.

Now, come to the door, missy. She looked as if she wanted to grasp Susans arm,

then thought better of it. The two of them walked side by side to the door, not

touching in such a careful way that it made them look awkward. Once there, Rhea

did grip Susans arm. Then, with her other hand, she pointed to the bright silver

disc hanging over the top of the Coos.

The Kissing Moon, Rhea said.  Tis midsum mer.

Yes.

Tell Thorin hes not to have you in his bedor in a haystack, or on the scullery

floor, or anywhere elseuntil Demon Moon rises full in the sky.

Not until Reaping That was three monthsa life time, it seemed to her. Susan

tried not to show her delight at this reprieve. Shed thought Thorin would put an

end to her virginity by moonrise the next night. She wasnt blind to the way he

looked at her.

Rhea, meanwhile, was looking at the moon, seem ing to calculate. Her hand went

to the long tail of Susans hair and stroked it. Susan bore this as well as she could,

and just when she felt she could bear it no longer, Rhea dropped her hand back to

her side and nodded. Aye, not just Reaping, but true fin de anoFair-Night, tell

him. Say that he may have you after the bonfire. You understand

True fin de ano, yes. She could barely contain her joy.

When the fire in Green Heart bums low and the last of the redhanded men are

ashes, Rhea said. Then and not until then. You must tell him so.

I will.

The hand came out and began to stroke her hair again. Susan bore it.

After such good news, she thought, it would have been mean-spirited to do

otherwise. The time between now and Reaping you will use to medi tate, and to

gather your forces to produce the male child the Mayor wants

or mayhap just to

ride along the Drop and gather the last flowers of your maidenhood. Do you

understand

Yes. She dropped a curtsey. Thankee-sai.

Rhea waved this off as if it were a flattery. Speak not of what passed between us,

mind. Tis no ones affair but our own.

I wont. And our business is done

Well

mayhap theres one more small thing



Rhea smiled to show it was

indeed small, then raised her left hand in front of Su sans eyes with three fingers

together and one apart. Glimmering in the fork be tween was a silver medallion,

seemingly produced from nowhere. The girls eyes fastened on it at once. Until

Rhea spoke a single guttural word, that was.

Then they closed.

5

Rhea looked at the girl who stood asleep on her stoop in the moonlight. As she

replaced the medallion within her sleeve (her fin gers were old and bunchy, but

they moved dexterously enough when it was re quired, oh, aye), the businesslike expression fell from her face, and was replaced by a look of squint-eyed fury. Kick

me into the fire, would you, you trull Tat tle to Thorin But her threats and

impudence werent the worst. The worst had been the expression of revulsion on

her face when she had pulled back from Rheas touch.

Too good for Rhea, she was! And thought herself too good for Thorin as well, no

doubt, she with sixteen years worth of fine blonde hair hang ing down from her

head, hair Thorin no doubt dreamed of plunging his hands into even as he plunged

and reared and plowed down below.

She couldnt hurt the girl, much as she wanted to and much as the girl deserved it;

if nothing else, Thorin might take the glass ball away from her, and Rhea couldnt

bear that. Not yet, anyway. So she could not hurt the girl, but she could do

something that would spoil his pleasure in her, at least for awhile.

Rhea leaned close to the girl, grasped the long braid which lay down her back, and

began to slip it through her fist, enjoying its silky smoothness.

Susan, she whispered. Doee hear me, Susan, daughter of Patrick

Yes. The eyes did not open.

Then listen. The light of the Kissing Moon fell on Rheas face and turned it into

a silver skull. Listen to me well, and remember.

Remember in the deep cave

where yer waking mind never goes.

She pulled the braid through her hand again and again. Silky and | smooth.

Like the little bud between her legs.

Remember, the girl in the doorway said.

Aye. Theres something yell do after he takes yer virginity. Yell do it right away, without even thinking about it. Now listen to me, Susan, daughter of Patrick, and

hear me very well.

Still stroking the girls hair, Rhea put her wrinkled lips to the smooth cup of

Susans ear and whispered in the moonlight.

C H A P T E R III

A MEETING ON

THE ROAD

1

She had never in her life had such a strange night, and it was probably not

surprising that she didnt hear the rider ap proaching from behind until he was almost upon her.

The thing that troubled her most as she made her way back toward town was her

new understanding of the compact she had made. It was good to have a

reprievemonths yet before she would have to live up to her end of the

bargainbut a reprieve didnt change the basic fact: when the Demon Moon was

full, she would lose her virginity to Mayor Thorin, a skinny, twitchy man with

fluffy white hair rising like a cloud around the bald spot on top of his head. A man

whose wife regarded him with a cer tain weary sad ness that was painful to look at.

Hart Thorin was a man who laughed uproariously when a company of players put

on an enter tainment involving head-knocking or pretend punching or rotten fruitthrow ing, but who only looked puzzled at a story which was pathetic or tragical. A

knuckle-cracker, a back-slapper, a dinner-ta ble belcher, a man who had a way of looking anxiously toward his Chancellor at al most every other word, as if to make sure he hadnt offended Rimer in some way.

Susan had observed all these things often; her fa ther had for years been in charge

of the Baronys horse and had gone to Seafront often on business. Many times he

had taken his much loved daughter with him. Oh, she had seen a lot of Hart Thorin

over the years, and he had seen a lot of her, as well.

Too much, mayhap! For what

now seemed the most im portant fact about him was that he was almost fifty years

older than the girl who would perhaps bear his son.

She had made the bargain lightly enough

No, not lightly, that was being unfair to herself

but she had lost little sleep over it, that much was true. She had thought, after listen ing to all Aunt Cords

arguments: Well, its little enough, really, to have the in denture off the lands; to

finally own our little piece of the Drop in fact as well as in tradition … to actually

have papers, one in our house and one in Rimers files, saying its ours. Aye, and

to have horses again. Only three, tis true, but thats three more than we have now.

And against that To lie with him a time or two, and to bear a child, which

millions of women have done before me with no harm. Tis not, after all, a mutant or a leper Im being asked to partner with but just an old man with noisy knuckles.

Tis not forever, and, as Aunt Cord says, I may still marry, if time and ka decree; I

should not be the first woman to come to her hus bands bed as a mother. And

does it make me a whore to do such The law says not, but never mind that; my

hearts law is what matters, and my heart says that if I may gain the land that was

my das and three horses to run on it by being such, then its a whore Ill be.

There was something else: Aunt Cord had capital izedrather ruth lessly, Susan

now sawon a childs innocence. It was the baby Aunt Cord had harped on, the

cunning little baby she would have. Aunt Cord had known that Susan, the dolls of

her childhood put aside not all that long ago, would love the idea of her own baby,

a little living doll to dress and feed and sleep with in the heat of the afternoon.

What Cordelia had ignored (perhaps shes too in nocent even to have considered it, Susan thought, but didnt quite believe) was what the hag-woman had made

brutally clear to her this evening: Thorin wanted more than a child.

He wants tits and arse that dont squish in his hands and a box that ll grip what he

pushes.

Just thinking of those words made her face throb as she walked through the postmoon

set dark toward town (no high-spirited running this time; no singing, either).

She had agreed with vague thoughts of how man aged livestock matedthey were

allowed to go at it until the seed took, then sep arated again. But now she knew

that Thorin might want her again and again, probably would want her again and

again, and com mon law going back like iron for two hundred generations said

that he could continue to lie with her until she who had proved the consort honest

should prove her honestly with child as well, and that child honest in and of itself .

. . not, that was, a mutant aberration. Susan had made discreet enquiries and knew

that this second proving usually came around the fourth month of pregnancy

around the time she would begin to show, even with her clothes on. It would be up

to Rhea to make the judgment

and Rhea didnt like her.

Now that it was too latenow that she had accept ed the compact for mally

tendered by the Chancellor, now that she had been proved honest by yon strange

bitchshe rued the bargain. Mostly what she thought of was how Thorin would

look with his pants off, his legs white and skinny, like the legs of a stork, and how,

as they lay together, she would hear his long bones crackling: knees and back and

elbows and neck.

And knuckles. Dont forget his knuckles.

Yes. Big old mans knuckles with hair growing out of them. Susan chuckled at the

thought, it was that comical, but at the same time a warm tear ran unnoticed from

the comer of one eye and tracked down her cheek.

She wiped it away without

knowing it, any more than she heard the clip-clip of approaching hoofs in the soft

road-dust. Her mind was still far away, returning to the odd thing she had seen

through the old womans bedroom windowthe soft but somehow unpleasant

light coming from the pink globe, the hypnotized way the hag had been looking

down at it

When Susan at last heard the approaching horse, her first alarmed thought was that she must get into the copse of trees she was cur rently passing and hide. The

chances of anyone aboveboard being on the road this late seemed small to her,

especially now that such bad times had come to MidWorldbut it was too late

for that.

The ditch, then, and sprawled flat. With the moon down, there was at least a

chance that whoever it was would pass without

But before she could even begin in that direction, the rider who had sneaked up

behind her while she was thinking her long and rue ful thoughts had hailed her.

Goodeven, lady, and may your days be long upon the earth.

She turned, thinking: What if its one of the new men always lounging about

Mayors House or in the Travellers Rest Not the oldest one, the voice isnt

wavery like his, but maybe one of the others … it could be the one they call

Depape

Goodeven, she heard herself saying to the man shape on the tall horse. May

yours be long also.

Her voice didnt tremble, not that she could hear. She didnt think it was Depape,

or the one named Reynolds, either. The only thing she could tell about the fellow

for sure was that he wore a flat-brimmed hat, the sort she associated with men of

the Inner Baronies, back when travel between east and west had been more

common than it was now. Back before John Far son camethe Good Manand

the bloodletting began.

As the stranger came up beside her, she forgave herself a little for not hearing him approachthere was no buckle or bell on his gear that she could see, and

everything was tied down so as not to snap or flap. It was almost the rig of an

outlaw or a harrier (she had the idea that Jonas, he of the wavery voice, and his

two friends might have been both, in other times and other climes) or even a

gunslinger. But this man bore no guns, unless they were hidden. A bow on the

pommel of his saddle and what looked like a lance in a scabbard, that was all. And

there had never, she reckoned, been a gunslinger as young as this.

He clucked sidemouth at the horse just as her da had always done (and she herself,

of course), and it stopped at once. As he swung one leg over his saddle, lifting it

high and with unconscious grace, Susan said: Nay, nay, dont trouble yerself, stranger, but go as ye would!

If he heard the alarm in her voice, he paid no heed to it.

He slipped off the horse,

not bothering with the tied-down stirrup, and landed neatly in front of her, the dust of the road puffing about his square-toed boots. By starlight she saw that he was

young indeed, close to her own age on one side or the other. His clothes were

those of a working cowboy, al though new.

Will Dearborn, at your service, he said, then doffed his hat, extended a foot on

one bootheel, and bowed as they did in the Inner Ba ronies.

Such absurd courtliness out here in the middle of nowhere, with the acrid smell of

the oil patch on the edge of town already in her nos trils, startled her out of her fear and into a laugh. She thought it would likely offend him, but he smiled instead. A

good smile, honest and artless, its inner part lined with even teeth.

She dropped him a little curtsey, holding out one side of her dress. Susan

Delgado, at yours.

He tapped his throat thrice with his right hand.

Thankee-sai, Susan Delgado.

Were well met, I hope. I didnt mean to startle you

Ye did, a little.

Yes, I thought I had. Im sorry.

Yes. Not aye but yes. A young man, from the Inner Baronies, by the sound. She

looked at him with new interest.

Nay, ye need not apologize, for I was deep in my own thoughts, she said. Id

been to see a

friend

and hadnt realized how much time had passed until I saw

the moon was down. If ye stopped out of concern, I thankee, stranger, but ye may

be on yer way as I would be on mine. Its only to the edge of the village I

goHambry. Its close, now.

Pretty speech and lovely sentiments, he an swered with a grin, but its late, youre alone, and I think we may as well pass on to gether. Do you ride, sai

Yes, but really

Step over and meet my friend Rusher, then. He shall carry you the last two miles.

Hes gelded, sai, and gentle.

She looked at Will Dearborn with a mixture of amusement and irrita tion. The

thought which crossed her mind was If he calls me sai again, as though I were a

schoolteacher or his doddery old great aunt, Im go ing to take off this stupid apron

and swat him with it. I never minded a bit of tem per in a horse docile enough to

wear a saddle. Until his death, my fa ther managed the Mayors horses

and the

Mayor in these parts is also Guard o Barony. Ive ridden my whole life.

She thought he might apologize, perhaps even stut ter, but he only nodded with a

calm thoughtfulness that she rather liked. Then step to the stirrup, my lady. Ill

walk beside and trouble you with no conversa tion, if youd rather not have it. Its late, and talk palls after moonset, some say.

She shook her head, softening her refusal with a smile. Nay. I thank ye for yer

kindness, but it would not be well, mayhap, for me to be seen riding a strange

young mans horse at eleven o the clock. Lemonjuice wont take the stain out of a ladys reputation the way it will out of a shirt waist, you know.

Theres no one out here to see you, the young man said in a mad deningly

reasonable voice. And that youre tired, I can tell.

Come, sai

Please dont call me that. It makes me feel as an cient as a … She hesitated for a brief moment, rethinking the word

(witch)

that first came to her mind. … as an old woman.

Miss Delgado, then. Are you sure you wont ride

Sure as can be. Id not ride cross-saddle in a dress in any case, Mr. Dearbornnot

even if you were my own brother. Twouldnt be prop er.

He stood in the stirrup himself, reached over to the far side of his sad dle (Rusher

stood docilely enough at this, only flicking his ears, which Susan would have been

happy to flick herself had she been Rusherthey were that beautiful), and stepped

back down with a rolled garment in his hands. It was tied with a rawhide hank.

She thought it was a poncho.

You may spread this over your lap and legs like a duster, he said. Theres quite

enough of it for decorums sakeit was my fathers, and hes taller than me. He

looked off toward the western hills for a moment, and she saw he was handsome,

in a hard sort of way that jagged against his youth. She felt a little shiver inside

her, and wished for the thousandth time that the foul old woman had kept her

hands strictly on her business, as unpleasant as that business had been. Susan

didnt want to look at this handsome stranger and re member Rheas touch.

Nay, she said gently. Thankee again, I recognize yer kindness, but I must

refuse.

Then Ill walk along beside, and Rusherll be our chaperone, he said cheerfully.

As far as the edge of town, at least, therell be no eyes to see and think ill of a

perfectly proper young woman and a more-orless proper young man. And once

there, Ill tip my hat and wish you a very good night.

I wish ye wouldnt. Really. She brushed a hand across her fore head. Easy for

you to say there are no eyes to see, but sometimes there are eyes even where there

shouldnt be. And my position is

a little del icate just now.

Ill walk with you, however, he repeated, and now his face was somber. These

are not good times. Miss Delgado. Here in Mejis you are far from the worst of the

troubles, but sometimes trouble reaches out.

She opened her mouthto protest again, she sup posed, perhaps to tell him that Pat Delgados daughter could take care of herself

and then she thought of the

Mayors new men, and the cold way they had run their eyes over her when

Thorins attention had been elsewhere. She had seen those three this very night as she left on her way to the witchs hut. Them she had heard approaching, and in

plenty of time for her to leave the road and rest be hind a handy pinon tree (she

refused to think of it as hiding, ex actly). Back to ward town they had gone, and

she supposed they were drinking at the Travellers

Rest right nowand would

continue to until Stanley Ruiz closed the barbut she had no way of knowing that

for sure. They could come back.

If I cant dissuade ye, very well, she said, sighing with a vexed res ignation she

didnt really feel. But only to the first mailbox

Mrs. Beechs. That marks the

edge of town.

He tapped his throat again, and made another of those absurd, en chanting

bowsfoot stuck out as if he would trip someone, heel planted in the dirt.

Thankee, Miss Delgado!

At least he didnt t call me sai, she thought. Thats a start.

2

She thought hed chatter away like a magpie in spite of his promise to be silent, because that was what boys did around hershe was not vain of her looks, but she thought she was goodlooking, if only because the boys could not shut up or stop shuffling their feet when they were around her. And this one would be full of

questions the town boys didnt need to askhow old was she, had she always

lived in Hambry, were her parents alive, half a hun dred others just as boringbut

they would all circle in on the same one: did she have a steady fellow

But Will Dearborn of the Inner Baronies didnt ask her about her schooling or

family or friends (the most common way of ap proaching any romantic rivals, she had found). Will Dearborn simply walked along be side her, one hand wrapped

around Rushers bridle, looking off east toward the Clean Sea. They were close

enough to it now so that the teary smell of salt min gled with the tarry stench of oil, even though the wind was from the south.

They were passing Citgo now, and she was glad for Will Dearborns presence,

even if his silence was a little irritating. She had always found the oil patch, with

its skeletal forest of gantries, a little spooky. Most of those steel towers had

stopped pumping long since, and there was nei ther the parts, the need, nor the

understanding to repair them. And those which did still labor alongnineteen out of about two hundredcould not be stopped. They just pumped and pumped, the

supplies of oil be neath them seemingly inex haustible. A little was still used, but a very littlemost simply ran back down into the wells beneath the dead pumping

stations. The world had moved on, and this place re minded her of a strange

mechanical graveyard where some of the corpses hadnt quite

Something cold and smooth nuzzled the small of her back, and she wasnt quite

able to stifle a little shriek. Will Dearborn wheeled toward her, his hands dropping

toward his belt. Then he relaxed and smiled.

Rushers way of saying he feels ignored. Im sor ry, Miss Delgado.

She looked at the horse. Rusher looked back mildly, then dipped his head as if to

say he was also sorry for having startled her.

Foolishness, girl, she thought, hearing the hearty, no-nonsense voice of her father.

He wants to know why you re being so standoffy, thats all. And so do I. Tisnt like you, so its not.

Mr. Dearborn, Ive changed my mind, she said. Id like to ride.

3

He turned his back and stood looking out at Citgo with his hands in his pockets

while Susan first laid the poncho over the cantle of the saddle (the plain black

saddle of a working cowboy, without a Barony brand or even a ranch brand to

mark it), and then mounted into the stirrup. She lift ed her skirt and glanced around

sharply, sure he would be stealing a peek, but his back was still to her. He seemed

fascinated with the rusty oil derricks.

Whats so interesting about them, cully she thought, a trifle crossly it was the lateness of the hour and the residue of her stirred-up emotions, she supposed.

Filthy old things have been there six centuries and more, and Ive been smelling

their stink my whole life.

Stand easy now, my boy, she said once she had her foot fixed in the stirrup. One

hand held the top of the saddles pommel, the oth er the reins. Rusher, meanwhile,

flicked his ears as if to say he would stand easy all night, were that what she

required.

She swung up, one long bare thigh flashing in the starlight, and felt the

exhilaration of being horsed that she always felt … only tonight it seemed a little stronger, a little sweeter, a little sharper. Per haps because the horse was such a

beauty, perhaps because the horse was a stranger…

Perhaps because the horses owner is a stranger, she thought, and fair.

That was nonsense, of course … and potentially dangerous nonsense. Yet it was

also true. He was fair.

As she opened the poncho and spread it over her legs, Dearborn be gan to whistle.

And she realized, with a mixture of surprise and supersti tious fear, what the tune was: Careless Love. The very lay she had been singing on her way up to Rheas

hut.

Mayhap its ka, girl, her fathers voice whispered.

No such thing, she thought right back at him. Ill not see ka in every passing wind

and shadow, like the old ladies who gather in Green Heart of a summers evening.

Its an old tune: everyone knows it.

Mayhap better if youre right. Pat Delgados voice returned. For if its ka, it II

come like a wind, and your plans will stand before it no more than my das barn

stood before the cyclone when it came.

Not ka; she would not be seduced by the dark and the shadows and the grim

shapes of the oil derricks into believing it was.

Not ka but only a chance meeting

with a nice young man on the lonely road back to town.

Ive made myself decent, she said in a dry voice that didnt sound much like her

own. Ye may turn back if you like, Mr. Dearborn.

He did turn and gazed at her. For a moment he said nothing, but she could see the

look in his eyes well enough to know that he found her fair as well. And although

this disquieted herperhaps because of what hed been whistlingshe was also

glad. Then he said, You look well up there. You sit well.

And I shall have horses of my own to sit before long, she said. Now the

questions will come, she thought.

But he only nodded, as though he had known this about her already, and began to

walk toward town again. Feeling a little disap pointed and not knowing exactly

why, she clucked sidemouth at Rusher and twitched her knees at him. He got

moving, catching up with his master, who gave Rushers muzzle a companionable

little caress.

What do they call that place yonder he asked, pointing at the derricks.

The oil patch Citgo.

Some of the derricks still pump

Aye, and no way to stop them. Not that anyone still knows.

Oh, he said, and that was alljust oh. But he left his place by Rushers head for

a moment when they came to the weedy track lead ing into Citgo, walking across

to look at the old disused guard-hut. In her child hood there had been a sign on it

reading authorized personnel only, but it had blown away in some windstorm or

other. Will Dearborn had his look and then came ambling back to the horse, boots

puffing up summer dust, easy in his new clothes.

They went toward town, a young walking man in a flatcrowned hat, a young

riding woman with a poncho spread over her lap and legs. The star light rained

down on them as it has on young men and women since times first hour, and once

she looked up and saw a meteor flash overhead

a brief and brilliant orange streak across the vault of heaven. Susan thought to wish on it, and then, with something

like panic, realized she had no idea what to wish for. None at all.

4

She kept her own silence until they were a mile or so from town, and then asked

the question which had been on her mind. She had planned to ask hers after he had

begun asking his, and it irked her to be the one to break the silence, but in the end

her curiosity was too much.

Where do ye come from, Mr. Dearborn, and what brings ye to our little bit o MidWorld

if ye dont mind me asking

Not at all, he said, looking up at her with a smile.

Im glad to talk and was only

trying to think how to begin. Talks not a specialty of mine. Then what is. Will

Dearborn she wondered. Yes, she wondered very much, for in adjusting her

position on the saddle, she had put her hand on the rolled blanket behind … and had touched something hidden inside that blan ket. Something that felt like a gun.

It didnt have to be, of course, but she remembered the way his hands had dropped

instinctively toward his belt when she had cried out in surprise.

I come from the InWorld. Ive an idea you probably guessed that much on your

own. We have our own way of talking.

Aye. Which Barony is yer home, might I ask

New Canaan.

She felt a flash of real excitement at that. New Canaan! Center of the Affiliation!

That did not mean all it once had, of course, but still

Not Gilead she asked, detesting the hint of a girl ish gush she heard in her voice.

And more than just a hint, mayhap.

No, he said with a laugh. Nothing so grand as Gilead. Only Hemphill, a village

forty or so wheels west of there. Smaller than Ham bry, I wot.

Wheels, she thought, marvelling at the archaism.

He said wheels.

And what brings ye to Hambry, then May ye tell

Why not Ive come with two of my friends, Mr.

Richard Stockworth of

Pennilton, New Canaan, and Mr. Arthur Heath, a hi larious young man who

actually does come from Gilead. Were here at the order of the Affiliation, and

have come as counters.

Counters of what

Counters of anything and everything which may aid the Affiliation in the coming

years, he said, and she heard no lightness in his voice now.  The business with

the Good Man has grown serious.

Has it We hear little real news this far to the south and east of the hub.

He nodded. The Baronys distance from the hub is the chief reason were here.

Mejis has been ever loyal to the Affiliation, and if supplies need to be drawn from

this part of the Outers, theyll be sent. The ques tion that needs answering is how

much the Affiliation can count on.

How much of what

Yes, he agreed, as if shed made a statement in stead of asking a question. And

how much of what.

Ye speak as though the Good Man were a real threat. Hes just a bandit, surely, frosting his thefts and murders with talk of democ racy and equality

Dearborn shrugged, and she thought for a moment that would be his only

comment on the matter, but then he said, reluc tantly:  Twas once so, perhaps.

Times have changed. At some point the bandit be came a general, and now the

general would become a ruler in the name of the people. He paused, then added

gravely, The Northern and Westrd Baronies are in flames, lady.

But those are thousands of miles away, surely!

This talk was upset ting, and yet

strangely exciting, too. Mostly it seemed exot ic, after the pokey all-days-the-same world of Hambry, where someones dry well was good for three days of animated

conversation.

Yes, he said. Not aye but yesthe sound was both strange and pleasing to her

ear. But the wind is blowing in this direction. He turned to her and smiled. Once

more it softened his hard good looks, and made him seem no more than a child, up

too late after his bedtime. But I dont think well see John Farson tonight, do

you

She smiled back. If we did, Mr. Dearborn, would ye protect me from him

No doubt, he said, still smiling, but I should do so with greater en thusiasm, I

wot, if you were to let me call you by the name your fa ther gave you.

Then, in the interests of my own safety, ye may do so. And I suppose I must call

ye Will, in those same interests.

 Tis both wise and prettily put, he said, the smile becoming a grin, wide and

engaging. I Then, walking as he was with his face turned back and up to her,

Susans new friend tripped over a rock Jutting out of the road and almost fell.

Rusher whinnied through his nose and reared a lit tle. Susan laughed merrily. The

poncho shifted, revealing one bare leg, and she took a moment before putting

matters right again. She liked him, aye, so she did.

And what harm could there be

in it He was only a boy, after all. When he smiled, she could see he was only a

year or two re moved from jumping in haystacks. (The thought that she had

recently graduated from haystack-jumping her self had somehow fled her mind.)

Im usually not clumsy, he said. I hope I didnt startle you.

Not at all. Will; boys have been stubbing their toes around me ever since I grew

my breasts.

Not at all, she said, and returned to the previous topic. It interested her greatly.

So ye and yer friends come at the behest of the Af filiation to count our goods, do

you

Yes. The reason I took particular note of yon oil patch is because one of us will

have to come back and count the working derricks 

I can spare ye that, Will. There are nineteen.

He nodded. Im in your debt. But well also need to make outif we canhow

much oil those nineteen pumps are bringing up.

Are there so many oil-fired machines still working in New Canaan that such news

matters And do ye have the alchemy to change the oil into the stuff yer machines

can use

Its called refinery rather than alchemy in this case at least I think soand I

believe there is one that still works. But no, we havent that many machines,

although there are still a few working filamentlights in the Great Hall at Gilead.

Fancy it! she said, delighted. She had seen pic tures of filamentlights and

electric flambeaux, but never the lights them selves. The last ones in Hambry (they had been called spark-lights in this part of the world, but she felt sure they were

the same) had burned out two genera tions ago.

You said your father managed the Mayors hors es until his death, Will Dearborn said. Was his name Patrick Delgado It was, wasnt it

She looked down at him, badly startled and brought back to reality in an instant.

How do ye know that

His name was in our lessons of calling. Were to count cattle, sheep, pigs, oxen . .

. and horses. Of all your livestock, horses are the most im portant. Patrick Delgado

was the man we were to see in that regard. Im sorry to hear hes come to the

clearing at the end of the path, Susan. Will you ac cept my condolence

Aye, and with thanks.

Was it an accident

Aye. Hoping her voice said what she wanted it to say, which was leave this

subject, ask no more.

Let me be honest with you, he said, and for the first time she thought she heard a

false note there. Perhaps it was only her imagina tion. Certainly she had little

experience of the world (Aunt Cord reminded her of this almost daily), but she had an idea that people who set on by saying Let me be honest with you were apt to go

on by telling you straight-faced that rain fell up, mon ey grew on trees, and babies

were brought by the Grand Featherex.

Aye, Will Dearborn, she said, her tone just the tini est bit dry. They say

honestys the best policy, so they do.

He looked at her a bit doubtfully, and then his smile shone out again. That smile

was dangerous, she thoughta quicksand smile if ever there was one. Easy to

wander in; perhaps more difficult to wander back out.

Theres not much Affiliation in the Affiliation these days. Thats part of the

reason Parsons gone on as long as he has; thats what has al lowed his ambitions

to grow. Hes come a far way from the harrier who began as a stagerobber in

Garlan and Desoy, and hell come farther yet if the Affiliation isnt revitalized.

Maybe all the way to Mejis.

She couldnt imagine what the Good Man could pos sibly want with her own sleepy

little town in the Barony which lay closest to the Clean Sea, but she kept silent.

In any case, it wasnt really the Affiliation that sent us, he said. Not all this way to count cows and oil derricks and hectares of land un der cultivation.

He paused a moment, looking down at the road (as if for more rocks in the way of

his boots) and stroking Rushers nose with absent minded gentleness. She thought

he was embarrassed, perhaps even shamed. We were sent by our fathers.

Yer Then she understood. Bad boys, they were, sent out on a makework

quest that wasnt quite exile. She guessed their real job in Hambry might be to

rehabilitate their reputations. Well, she thought, it certainly explains the quicksand smile, doesnt it Ware this one, Susan; hes the sort to burn bridges and upset

mail-carts, then go on his merry way without a sin gle look back. Not in meanness

but in plain old boy-carelessness.

That made her think of the old song again, the one shed been singing, the one hed

been whistling.

Our fathers, yes.

Susan Delgado had cut a caper or two (or per haps it was two dozen) other own in her time, and she felt sympathy for Will Dearborn as well as caution. And interest.

Bad boys could be amusing

up to a point. The question was, how bad had Will

and his cronies been

Helling she asked.

Helling, he agreed, still sounding glum but perhaps brightening just a bit about

the eyes and mouth. We were warned; yes, warned very well. There was

a

certain amount of drinking.

And a few girls to squeeze with the hand not busy squeezing the ale-pot It was a

question no nice girl could outright ask, but one that couldnt help occurring to her

mind.

Now the smile which had played briefly around the comers of his mouth dropped

away. We pushed it too far and the fun stopped. Fools have a way of doing that.

One night there was a race. One moonless night. Af ter midnight. All of us drunk.

One of the horses caught his hoof in a gopher-hole and snapped a foreleg. He had

to be put down.

Susan winced. It wasnt the worst thing she could think of, but bad enough. And

when he opened his mouth again, it got worse.

The horse was a thoroughbred, one of just three owned by my friend Richards

father, who is not well-to-do. There were scenes in our house holds which I

havent any desire to remember, let alone talk about. Ill make a long story short and say that, after much talk and many proposals for punishment, we were sent

here, on this errand. It was Arthurs fathers idea. I think Arthurs da has always

been a bit appalled by Arthur. Cer tainly Arthurs ructions didnt come from

George Heaths side.

Susan smiled to herself, thinking of Aunt Cordelia saying, She cer tainly doesnt

get it from our side of the family. Then the calcu lated pause, followed by: She

had a great-aunt on her mothers side who ran crazy … you didnt know Yes! Set

herself on fire and threw herself over the Drop. In the year of the comet, it was.

Anyway, Will resumed, Mr. Heath set us on with a saying from his own

fatherOne should meditate in purgatory. And here we are.

Hambrys far from purgatory.

He sketched his funny little how again. If it were, all should want to be bad

enough to come here and meet the pretty denizens.

Work on that one a bit, she said in her driest voice.

Its still rough, 1 fear.

Perhaps

She fell silent as a dismaying realization oc curred to her: she was go ing to have to hope this boy would enter into a limited conspir acy with her. Otherwise, she was

apt to be embarrassed.

Susan

I was just thinking. Are you here yet, Will Official ly, I mean

No, he said, taking her meaning at once. And like ly already seeing where this

was going. He seemed sharp enough, in his way.

We only ar rived in Barony this

afternoon, and youre the first person any of us has spoken to

unless, that is,

Richard and Arthur have met folks. I couldnt sleep, and so came out to ride and to

think things over a little. Were camped over there.

He pointed to the right. On

that long slope that runs toward the sea.

Aye, the Drop, its called. She realized that Will and his mates might even be

camped on what would be her own land by law before much more time had

passed. The thought was amusing and exciting and a little startling.

Tomorrow we ride into town and present our compliments to My Lord Mayor,

Hart Thorin. Hes a bit of a fool, according to what we were told before leaving

New Canaan.

Were ye indeed told so she asked, raising one eyebrow.

Yesapt to blabber, fond of strong drink, even more fond of young girls, Will

said. Is it true, would you say

I think ye must judge for yerself, said she, stifling a smile with some effort.

In any case, well also be presenting to the Hon orable Kimba Rimer, Thorins

Chancellor, and I understand he knows his beans.

And counts his beans, as well.

Thorin will have ye to dinner at Mayors House,

Susan said. Per haps not

tomorrow night, but surely the night after.

A dinner of state in Hambry, Will said, smiling and still stroking Rushers nose.

Gods, how shall I bear the agony of my anticipa tion

Never mind yer nettlesome mouth, she said, but only listen, ifyed be my friend.

This is important.

His smile dropped away, and she saw againas she had for a moment or two

beforethe man hed be before too many more years had passed. The hard face,

the concentrated eyes, the merciless mouth. It was a frightening face, in a waya frightening prospectand yet, still, the place the old hag had touched felt warm

and she found it difficult to take her eyes off him.

What, she wondered, was his

hair like under that stupid hat he wore Tell me, Susan.

If you and yer friends come to table at Thorins, ye may see me. If ye see me,

Will, see me for the first time. See Miss Delgado, as I shall see Mr. Dearborn.

Doee take my meaning

To the letter. He was looking at her thoughtfully.

Do you serve Surely, if your

father was the Baronys chief drover, you do not

Never mind what I do or dont do. Just promise that if we meet at Seafront, we

meet for the first time.

I promise. But

No more questions. Weve nearly come to the place where we must part ways,

and I want to give ye a warningfair payment for the ride on this nice mount of

yours, mayhap. If ye dine with Thorin and Rimer, yell not be the only new folk at

his table. Therell likely be three others, men Thorin has hired to serve as private

guards o the house.

Not as Sheriff s deputies

Nay, they answer to none but Thorin

or, mayhap, to Rimer. Their names are

Jonas, Depape, and Reynolds. They look like hard boys to me

although Jonass

boyhood is so long behind him that I imagine hes forgot he ever had one.

Jonas is the leader

Aye. He limps, has hair that falls to his shoulders pretty as any girls, and the

quavery voice of an old gaffer who spends his days polishing the chimneycom

er

but I think hes the most dangerous of the three all the same. Id guess

these three have forgot more about helling than you and yer friends will ever

learn.

Now why had she told him all that She didnt know, exactly. Grati tude, perhaps.

He had promised to keep the secret of this latenight meeting, and he had the look of a promise-keeper, in hack with his father or not.

Ill watch them. And I thank you for the advice. They were now climbing a long,

gentle slope. Overhead, Old Mother blazed re lentlessly. Bodyguards, he mused.

Bodyguards in sleepy little Hambry. Its strange times, Susan. Strange indeed.

Aye. She had wondered about Jonas, Depape, and Reynolds her self, and could

think of no good reason for them to be in town. Had they been Rimers doing.

Rimers decision It seemed likelyThorin wasnt the sort of man to even think

about bodyguards, she would have said; the High Sheriff had always done well

enough for himbut still

why

They breasted the hill. Below them lay a nestle of buildingsthe vil lage of

Hambry. Only a few lights still shone. The brightest cluster marked the Travellers

Rest. From here, on the warm breeze, she could hear the piano beating out Hey

Jude and a score of drunken voices gleefully murdering the chorus. Not the three men of whom she had warned Will Dearborn, though; they would be standing at

the bar, watching the room with their flat eyes. Not the singing type were those

three. Each had a small blue coffin-shape tattooed on his right hand, burned into

the web bing between thumb and forefinger. She thought to tell Will this, then

re alized hed see for himself soon enough. In stead, she pointed a little way down the slope, at a dark shape which overhung the road on a chain. Do ye see that

Yes. He heaved a large and rather comical sigh. Is it the object I fear beyond all

others Is it the dread shape of Mrs. Beechs mail box

Aye. And its there we must part.

If you say we must, we must. Yet I wish Just then the wind shifted, as it

sometimes did in the summer, and blew a strong gust out of the west. The smell of sea-salt was gone in an instant, and so was the sound of the drunken, singing

voices. What replaced them was a sound infinite ly more sinister, one that never

failed to produce a scutter of gooseflesh up her back: a low, atonal noise, like the warble of a siren be ing turned by a man without much longer to live.

Will took a step backward, eyes widening, and again she noticed his hands take a dip toward his belt, as if reaching for something not there.

What in gods name is that

Its a thinny, she said quietly. In Eyebolt Canyon. Have ye never heard of

such

Heard of, yes, but never heard until now. Gods, how do you stand it It sounds

alive!

She had never thought of it quite like that, but now, in a way listening with his

ears instead of her own, she thought he was right. It was as if some sick part of the

night had gained a voice and was actually trying to sing.

She shivered. Rusher felt the momentary in creased pressure of her knees and

whickered softly, craning his head around to look at her.

We dont often hear it so clearly at this time of year, she said. In the fall, the men bum it to quiet.

I dont understand.

Who did Who understood anything anymore Gods, they couldnt even turn off

the few oil-pumps in Citgo that still worked, al though half of them squealed like

pigs in a slaughtering chute. These days you were usually just grateful to find

things that still worked at all.

In the summer, when theres time, drovers and cow boys drag loads of brush to the

mouth of Eyebolt, she said. Dead brush is all right, but live is better, for its

smoke thats wanted, and the heavier the better.

Eyebolts a box canyon, very

short and steep-walled. Almost like a chimney ly ing on its side, you see

Yes.

The traditional time for burning is Reap Mom

the day after the fair and the feast and the fire.

The first day of winter.

Aye although in these parts it doesnt feel like win ter so soon. In any case its no

tradition; the brush is sometimes lit sooner, if the winds have been prankish or if

the sounds particularly strong. It upsets the live stock, you knowcows give

poorly when the noise of the thinnys strongand it makes sleep difficult.

I should think it would. Will was still looking north, and a stronger gust of wind

blew his hat off. It fell to his back, the rawhide tugstring pulling against the line of

his throat. The hair so revealed was a little long, and as black as a crows wing.

She felt a sudden, greedy desire to run her hands through it, to let her fingers tell its texturerough or smooth or silky And how would it smell At this she felt

another shiver of heat down low in her belly. He turned to her as though he had

read her mind, and she flushed, grateful that he wouldnt be able to see the

darkening of her cheek.

How long has it been there

Since before I was born, she said, but not before my da was born. He said that

the ground shook in an earthquake just before it came. Some say the earthquake

brought it, some say thats superstitious non sense. All I know is that its always been there. The smoke quiets it awhile, the way it will quiet a hive of bees or

wasps, but the sound always comes back. The brush piled at the mouth helps to

keep any wandering livestock out, toosome times theyre drawn to it, gods know why. But if a cow or sheep does happen to yet in

after the burning and before the

next years pile has started to grow, mayhapit doesnt come back out. Whatever

it is, its hungry.

She put his poncho aside, lifted her right leg over the saddle without so much as

touching the horn, and slipped off Rusherall this in a single liquid movement. It

was a stunt made for pants rather than a dress, and she knew from the further

widening of his eyes that hed seen a good lot of her .

. . but nothing she had to

wash with the bathroom door closed, so what of that And that quick dismount

had ever been a favorite trick of hers when she was in a showoffy mood.

Pretty! he exclaimed.

I learned it from my da, she said, responding to the more innocent interpretation

of his compliment. Her smile as she handed him the reins, however, suggested that she was willing to accept the compliment any way it was meant.

Susan Have you ever seen the thinny

Aye, once or twice. From above.

What does it look like

Ugly, she responded at once. Until tonight, when she had observed Rheas smile

up close and endured her twiddling, meddling fin gers, she would have said it was

the ugliest thing she had ever seen. It looks a lit tle like a slow-burning peat fire,

and a little like a swamp full of scummy green wa ter. Theres a mist that rises off it. Sometimes it looks like long, skinny arms. With hands at the end of em.

Is it growing

Aye, they say it is, that every thinny grows, but it grows slowly. Twont escape

Eyebolt Canyon in your time or mine.

She looked up at the sky, and saw that the constel lations had contin ued to tilt

along their tracks as they spoke. She felt she could talk to him all nightabout the

thinny, or Citgo, or her irritating aunt, or just about anythingand the idea

dismayed her. Why should this happen to her now, for the gods sake After three

years of dismissing the Hambry boys, why should she now meet a boy who

interested her so strangely Why was life so un fair

Her earlier thought, the one shed heard in her fa thers voice, recurred to her: If its ka, itll come like a wind, and your plans will stand be fore it no more than a barn

before a cyclone.

But no. And no. And no. So set she, with all her con siderable determi nation, her

mind against the idea. This was no bam; this was her life.

Susan reached out and touched the rusty tin of Mrs.

Beechs mailbox, as if to

steady herself in the world. Her little hopes and day dreams didnt mean so much,

perhaps, but her father had taught her to measure herself by her ability to do the

things shed said she would do, and she would not overthrow his teachings simply

because she happened to encounter a goodlooking boy at a time when her body and her emotions were in a stew.

Ill leave ye here to either rejoin yer friends or re sume yer ride, she said. The

gravity she heard in her voice made her feel a bit sad, for it was an adult gravity.

But remember yer promise, Willif ye see me at SeafrontMayors

Houseand ifyed be my friend, see me there for the first time. As Id see you.

He nodded, and she saw her seriousness now mirrored in his own face. And the

sadness, mayhap. Ive never asked a girl to ride out with me, or if shed accept a

visit of me. Id ask of you, Susan, daughter of PatrickId even bring you flowers to sweeten my chancesbut it would do no good, I think.She shook her head. Nay. Twouldnt.

Are you promised in marriage Its forward of me to ask, I know, but I mean no

harm.

Im sure ye dont, but Id as soon not answer. My po sition is a deli cate one just

now, as I told ye. Besides, its late. Heres where we part, Will. But stay … one

more moment …

She rummaged in the pocket of her apron and brought out half a cake wrapped in a piece of green leaf. The other half she had eaten on her way up to the Coos

in

what now felt like the other half of her life. She held what was left of her little

evening meal out to Rusher, who sniffed it, then ate it and nuzzled her hand. She

smiled, liking the velvet tickle in the cup of her palm. Aye, thees a good horse,

so ye are.

She looked at Will Dearborn, who stood in the road, shuffling his dusty boots and

gazing at her unhappily. The hard look was gone from his face, now; he looked

her age again, or younger. We were well met, werent we he asked.

She stepped forward, and before she could let her self think about what she was

doing, she put her hands on his shoulders, stood on her toes, and kissed him on the

mouth. The kiss was brief but not sisterly.

Aye, very well met. Will. But when he moved toward her (as thoughtlessly as a

flower turning its face to follow the sun), wishing to re peat the experience, she

pushed him back a step, gently but firmly.

Nay, that was only a thank-you, and one thank-you should be enough for a

gentleman. Go yer course in peace, Will.

He took up the reins like a man in a dream, looked at them for a mo ment as if he

didnt know what in the world they were, and then looked hack at her. She could

see him working to clear his mind and emotions of the impact her kiss had made.

She liked him for it. And she was very glad she had done it.

And you yours, he said, swinging into the saddle.

I look forward to meeting

you for the first time.

He smiled at her, and she saw both longing and wishes in that smile. Then he

gigged the horse, turned him, and started back the way theyd cometo have

another look at the oil patch, mayhap. She stood where she was, by Mrs. Beechs

mailbox, willing him to turn around and wave so she could see his face once more.

She felt sure he would … but he didnt. Then, just as she was about to turn away

and start down the hill to town, he did turn, and his hand lifted, fluttering for a

moment in the dark like a moth.

Susan lifted her own in return and then went her way, feeling happy and unhappy

at the same time. Yetand this was perhaps the most im portant thingshe no

longer felt soiled. When she had touched the boys lips, Rheas touch seemed to

have left her skin. A small magic, perhaps, but she welcomed it.

She walked on, smiling a little and looking up at the stars more fre quently than

was her habit when out after dark.

CHAPTER IV

LONG AFTER MOONSET

1

He rode restlessly for nearly two hours back and forth along what she called the

Drop, never pushing Rusher above a trot, al though what he wanted to do was

gallop the big gelding under the stars until his own blood began to cool a little.

Itll cool plenty if you draw attention to yourself, he thought, and likely you wont

even have to cool it yourself. Fools are the only folk on the earth who can

absolutely count on getting what they deserve.

That old saying made him think of

the scarred and bowlegged man who had been his lifes greatest teacher, and he

smiled.

At last he turned his horse down the slope to the trick le of brook which ran there,

and followed it a mile and a half upstream (past several gathers of horse; they

looked at Rusher with a kind of sleepy, wall-eyed surprise) to a grove of willows.

From the hollow within, a horse whick ered softly.

Rusher whickered in return,

stamping one hoof and nodding his head up and down. His rider ducked his own head as he passed through the willow fronds, and

suddenly there was a narrow and inhuman white face hanging before him, its

upper half all but swallowed by black, pupilless eyes. He dipped for his gunsthe third time tonight hed done that, and for the third

time there was nothing there. Not that it mattered; already he rec ognized what

was hanging before him on a string: that idiotic rooks skull.

The young man who was currently calling himself Arthur Heath had taken it off

his saddle (it amused him to call the skull so perched their lookout, ugly as an old

gammer, but perfect cheap to feed) and hung it here as a prank greeting. Him and

his jokes! Rushers master batted it aside hard enough to break the string and send the skull flying into the dark.

Fie, Roland, said a voice from the shadows. It was reproachful, but there was

laughter bubbling just beneath

as there always was. Cuthbert was his oldest

friendthe marks of their first teeth had been embed ded on many of the same

toysbut Roland had in some ways never under stood him. Nor was it just his

laughter; on the longago day when Hax, the palace cook, was to be hung for a

traitor on Gallows Hill, Cuthbert had been in an agony of terror and remorse. Hed

told Roland he couldnt stay, couldnt watch … but in the end he had done both.

Be cause neither the stupid jokes nor the easy sur face emotions were the truth of

Cuthbert Allgood.

As Roland entered the hollow at the center of the grove, a dark shape stepped out

from behind the tree where it had been keeping.

Halfway across the clearing, it

resolved itself into a tall, narrow-hipped boy who was barefooted below his jeans

and bare-chested above them. In one hand he held an enormous antique

revolvera kind which was sometimes called a beer-barrel because of the

cylinders size.

Fie, Cuthbert repeated, as if he liked the sound of this word, not ar chaic only in forgotten backwaters like Mejis. Thats a fine way to treat the guard o the watch, smacking the poor thin-faced fellow halfway to the nearest mountain-range!

If Id been wearing a gun, I likely would have blown it to smith ereens and woken

half the countryside.

I knew you wouldnt be going about strapped, Cuth bert answered mildly.

Youre remarkably ill-looking, Roland son of Steven, but no bodys fool even as you approach the ancient age of fifteen.

I thought we agreed wed use the names were trav elling under. Even among

ourselves.

Cuthbert stuck out his leg, bare heel planted in the turf, and bowed with his arms

outstretched and his hands strenuously bent at the wristan inspired imitation of

the sort of man for whom court has become career.

He also looked remarkably like

a heron standing in a marsh, and Roland snorted laughter in spite of himself. Then he touched the inside of his left wrist to his fore head, to see if he had a fever. He felt feverish enough in side his head, gods knew, but the skin above his eyes felt

cool.

I cry your pardon, gunslinger, Cuthbert said, his eyes and hands still turned

humbly down.

The smile on Rolands face died. And dont call me that again, Cuth bert. Please.

Not here, not anywhere. Not if you value me.

Cuthbert dropped his pose at once and came quick ly to where Roland sat his

horse. He looked honestly humbled.

RolandWillIm sorry.

Roland clapped him on the shoulder. No harm done.

Just remember from here on

out. Mejis may be at the end of the world … but it still is the world. Wheres

Alain

Dick, do you mean Where do you think Cuthbert pointed across the clearing,

to where a dark hulk was either snoring or slowly choking to death.

That one, Cuthbert said, would sleep through an earthquake.

But you heard me coming and woke.

Yes, Cuthbert said. His eyes were on Rolands face, searching it with an

intensity that made Roland feel a little uneasy.

Did something happen to you

You look different.

Do I

Yes. Excited. Aired out, somehow.

If he was going to tell Cuthbert about Susan, now was the time. He decided

without really thinking about it (most of his deci sions, certainly the best of them, were made in this same way) not to tell. If he met her at Mayors House, it would

be the first time as far as Cuthbert and Alain knew, as well. What harm in that

Ive been properly aired, all right, he said, dis mounting and bending to uncinch

the girths of his saddle. Ive seen some interest ing things, too.

Ah Speak, companion of my bosoms dearest tenant.

Ill wait until tomorrow, I think, when yon hiber nating bear is finally awake. Then I only have to tell once. Besides, Im tired. Ill share you one thing, though: there

are too many horses in these parts, even for a Barony renowned for its horseflesh.

Too many by far.

Before Cuthbert could ask any questions, Roland pulled the saddle from Rushers

back and set it down beside three small wicker cages which had been bound

together with rawhide, making them into a carri er which could be secured to a

horses back. Inside, three pigeons with white rings around their necks cooed

sleepily. One took his head out from be neath his wing, had a peek at Roland, and

then tucked himself away again.

These fellows all right Roland asked.

Fine. Pecking and shitting happily in their straw.

As far as theyre concerned,

theyre on vacation. What did you mean about

Tomorrow, Roland said, and Cuthbert, seeing that there would be no more, only

nodded and went to find his lean and bony lookout.

Twenty minutes later, Rusher unloaded and rubbed down and set to forage with Buckskin and Glue Boy (Cuthbert could not even name his horse as a normal

person would), Roland lay on his back in his bedroll, looking up at the late stars

overhead. Cuthbert had gone back to sleep as eas ily as he had awakened at the

sound of Rushers hoofs, but Roland had never felt less sleepy in his life.

His mind turned back a month, to the whores room, to his father sit ting on the

whores bed and watching him dress. The words his father had spokenI have

known for two yearshad reverberated like a struck gong in Rolands head. He

suspected they might continue to do so for the rest of his life.

But his father had had much more to say. About Marten. About Rolands mother,

who was, perhaps, more sinned against than sin ning. About harriers who called

themselves patriots. And about John Farson, who had indeed been in Cressia, and

who was gone from that place nowvanished, as he had a way of doing, like

smoke in a high wind. Be fore leaving, he and his men had burned Indrie, the

Barony seat, pretty much to the ground. The slaugh ter had been in the hundreds,

and perhaps it was no surprise that Cressia had since repudiated the Affiliation and spoken for the Good Man. The Barony Governor, the Mayor of Indrie, and the

High Sheriff had all ended the early summer day which concluded Farsons visit

with their heads on the wall guarding the towns en trance. That was, Steven

Deschain had said, pretty persuasive politics.

It was a game of Castles where both armies had come out from be hind their

Hillocks and the final moves had commenced, Rolands father had said, and as was so often the case with popular revolutions, that game was apt to be over before

many in the Baronies of MidWorld had begun to realize that John Farson was a

serious threat

or, if you were one of those who believed passionately in his

vision of democracy and an end to what he called class slavery and ancient fairytales,

a serious agent of change.

His father and his fathers small ka-tet of gun slingers, Roland was amazed to learn, cared little about Farson in either light; they looked upon him as small cheese.

Looked upon the Affiliation itself as small cheese; come to that.

Im going to send you away, Steven had said, sitting there on the bed and looking

somberly at his only son. the one who had lived.

There is no true safe place left in MidWorld, hut the Barony of Mejis on the Clean Sea is as close to true safety as

any place may be these days … so its there youll go, along with at least two of

your mates. Alain, I suppose, for one. Just not that laughing boy for the other, I

beg of you. You d be better off with a barking dog.

Roland, who on any other day in his life would have been overjoyed at the

prospect of seeing some of the wider world, had protested hotly. If the final battles against the Good Man were at hand, he wanted to fight them at his fathers side.

He was a gunslinger now, after all, if only a pren tice, and

His father had shaken his head, slowly and em phatically. No, Roland. You dont

understand. You shall, however; as well as pos sible, you shall.

Later, the two of them had walked the high battle ments above MidWorlds last

living citygreen and gorgeous Gilead in the morn ing sun, with its pennons

flapping and the vendors in the streets of the Old Quarter and horses trotting on

the bridle paths which radiated out from the palace standing at the heart of

everything. His father had told him more (not ev erything), and he had understood

more (far from everythingnor did his father un derstand everything). The Dark

Tower had not been men tioned by either of them, but already it hung in Rolands

mind, a possi bility like a storm cloud far away on the horizon.

Was the Tower what all of this was really about Not a jumped-up harrier with

dreams of ruling MidWorld, not the wizard who had en chanted his mother, not

the glass ball which Steven and his posse had hoped to find in Cressia … but the

Dark Tower

He hadnt asked.

He hadnt dared ask.

Now he shifted in his bedroll and closed his eyes. He saw the girls face at once;

he felt her lips pressed firmly against his own again, and smelled the scent of her

skin. He was instantly hot from the top of his head to the base of his spine, cold

from the base of his spine to the tips of his toes. Then he thought of the way her

legs had flashed as she slid from Rushers back (al so the glimmer of the

undergarments beneath her briefly raised dress), and his hot half and cold half

changed places.

The whore had taken his virginity but wouldnt kiss him; had turned her face aside

when he tried to kiss her. Shed allowed him to do whatever else he wanted, but

not that. At the time hed been bitterly disappoint ed. Now he was glad.

The eye of his adolescent mind, both restless and clear, considered (he braid which

fell down her back to her waist, the soft dimples which had formed at the comers

of her mouth when she smiled, the lilt of her voice, her old-fashioned way of

saying aye and nay, ye and yer and da. He thought of how her hands had felt on

his shoulders as she stretched up to kiss him, and thought he would give

everything he owned to feel her hands there again, so light and so firm. And her

mouth on his. It was a mouth that knew only a little about kissing, he guessed, but

that was a lit tle more than he knew himself.

Be careful, Rolanddont let your feeling for this girl tip anything over. Shes not

free, anywayshe said as much. Not married, but spoken for in some other way.

Roland was far from the relentless creature he would eventually be come, but the

seeds of that relentlessness were theresmall, stony things that would, in their

time, grow into trees with deep roots … and bitter fruit. Now one of these seeds

cracked open and sent up its first sharp blade.

Whats been spoken for may be unspoken, and whats done may be undone.

Nothings sure, but … I want her.

Yes. That was the one thing he did know, and he knew it as well as he knew the

face of his father: he wanted her. Not as he had wanted the whore when she lay

naked on her bed with her legs spread and her halflidded eyes looking up at him,

but in the way he wanted food when he was hungry or water when he was thirsty.

In the way, he supposed, that he wanted to drag Martens dusty body behind his

horse down Gileads High Road in payment for what the wizard had done to his

mother.

He wanted her; he wanted the girl Susan.

Roland turned over on his other side, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. His rest was

thin and lit by the crudely poetic dreams only adolescent boys have, dreams where sexual attraction and romantic love come to gether and resonate more powerfully than they ever will again. In these thirsty visions Su san Delgado put her hands on

Rolands shoulders over and over, kissed his mouth over and over, told him over

and over to come to her for the first time, to be with her for the first time, to see

her for the first time, to see her very well.

2

Five miles or so from where Roland slept and dreamed his dreams, Susan Delgado

lay in her bed and looked out her window and watched Old Star begin to grow

pale with the approaching dawn. Sleep was no closer now than it had been when

she lay down, and there was a throb between her legs where the old woman had

touched her. It was distracting but no longer un pleasant, because she now

associated it with the boy shed met on the road and impulsively kissed by

starlight. Every time she shifted her legs, that throb flared into a brief sweet ache.

When shed got home, Aunt Cord (who would have been in her own bed an hour

before on any ordinary night) had been sitting in her rocking chair by the

fireplacedead and cold and swept clean of ashes at this time of yearwith a

lapful of lace that looked like wave-froth against her dowdy black dress. She was

edging it with a speed that seemed almost super natural to Susan, and she hadnt

looked up when the door opened and her niece came in on a swirl of breeze.

I expected ye an hour ago, Aunt Cord said. And then, although she didnt sound

it: I was worried.

Aye Susan said, and said no more. She thought that on any other night she

would have offered one of her fumbling excuses which always sounded like a lie

to her own earsit was the effect Aunt Cord had had on her all her lifebut this

hadnt been an ordinary night. Never in her life had there been a night like this.

She found she could not get Will Dearborn out of her mind.Aunt Cord had looked up then, her close-set, rather beady eyes sharp and

inquisitive above her narrow blade of a nose.

Some things hadnt changed since

Susan had set out for the Coos; she had still been able to feel her aunts eyes

brushing across her face and down her body, like lit tle whisk-brooms with sharp

bristles.

What took ye so long Aunt Cord had asked. Was there trouble

No trouble, Susan had replied, but for a moment she thought of how the witch

had stood beside her in the doorway, pulling her braid through the gnarled tube of

one loosely clenched fist. She remembered want ing to go, and she remembered

asking Rhea if their business was done.

Mayhap theres one more little thing, the old wom an had said

or so Susan

thought. But what had that one more little thing been She couldnt remember.

And, really, what did it matter She was shut of Rhea until her belly began to rise with Thorins child … and if there could be no babymaking until ReapNight,

shed not be returning to the Coos un til late winter at the soonest. An age! And it

would be longer than that, were she slow to kindle …

I walked slowly coming home, Aunt. Thats all.

Then why look ye so Aunt Cord had asked, scant brows knitting toward the

vertical line which creased her brow.

How so Susan had asked, taking off her apron and knotting the strings and

hanging it on the hook just inside the kitchen door.

Flushy. Frothy. Like milk fresh out of the cow.

Shed almost laughed. Aunt Cord, who knew as little about men as Susan did

about the stars and planets, had struck it directly.

Flushy and frothy was exactly

how she felt. Only the night air, I suppose, she had said. I saw a meteor, Aunt.

And heard the thinny. The sounds strong tonight.

Aye her aunt asked without interest, then re turned to the subject which did

interest her. Did it hurt

A little.

Did ye cry

Susan shook her head.

Good. Better not. Always better. She likes it when they cry, Ive heard. Now,

Suedid she give you something Did the old pussy give you something

Aye. She reached into her pocket and brought out the paper with

written upon it. She held it out and her aunt snatched it away with a greedy look.

Cordelia had been quite the sugarplum over the last month or so, but now that she

had what she wanted (and now that Susan had come too far and promised too

much to have a change of heart), shed reverted to the sour, supercilious, often

suspicious woman Susan had grown up with; the one whod been driven into

almost weekly bouts of rage by her phlegmatic, life-goes-as-twill brother. In a

way, it was a relief. It had been nervewracking to have Aunt Cord playing Cybilla

Good-Sprite day after day.

Aye, aye, theres her mark, all right, her aunt had said, tracing her fingers over

the bottom of the sheet. A devils hoofs what it means, some say, but what do we

care, eh. Sue Nasty, horrid creature that she is, shes still made it possible for two women to get on in the world a little longer. And yell only have to see her once

more, probably around Years End, when yeve caught proper.

It will be later than that, Susan had told her. Im not to lie with him until the full

of the Demon Moon. After the Reaping Fair and the bonfire.

Aunt Cord had stared, eyes wide, mouth open. Said she so

Are you calling me a liar. Auntie she had thought with a sharpness that wasnt

much like her; usually her nature was more like her fathers.

Aye.

But why Why so long Aunt Cord was obviously upset, obviously

disappointed. There had so far been eight pieces of silver and four of gold out of

this; they were tucked up wherever it was that Aunt Cord squirreled her money

away (and Susan suspected there was a fair amount of it, al though Cordelia liked to plead poverty at every opportunity), and twice that much was still owed

or would be, once the bloodstained sheet went to the Mayors House laundress. That

same amount would be paid yet again when Rhea had confirmed the baby, and the

babys honesty. A lot of money, all told. A great lot, for a little place like this and

little folk like them. And now, to have the paying of it put back so far …

Then came a sin Susan had prayed over (although without much en thusiasm)

before getting into her bed: she had rather en joyed the cheated, frustrated look on Aunt Cords facethe look of the thwarted miser.

Why so long she repeated.

I suppose you could go up the Coos and ask her.

Cordelia Delgados lips, thin to begin with, had pressed together so tightly they

almost disappeared. Are you pert, missy Are you pert with me

No. Im much too tired to be pert with anyone. I want to washI can still feel her

hands on me, so I canand go to bed.

Then do so. Perhaps in the morning we can dis cuss this in more ladylike fashion.

And we must go and see Hart, of course. She folded the paper Rhea had given

Susan, looking pleased at the prospect of visiting Hart Thorin, and moved her

hand toward her dress pocket.

No, Susan said, and her voice had been unusu ally sharpenough so to freeze

her aunts hand in midair. Cordelia had looked at her, frankly startled. Susan had

felt a little embarrassed by that look, but she hadnt dropped her eyes, and when

she held out her own hand, it had been steady enough.

Im to have the keeping of that. Aunt.

Who tells ye to speak so Aunt Cord had asked, her voice almost whining with

outrageit was close to blasphemy, Susan sup posed, but for a moment Aunt

Cords voice had reminded her of the sound the thinny made. Who tells ye to

speak so to the woman who raised a motherless girl To the sister of that girls

poor dead father

You know who, Susan said. She still held her hand out. Im to keep it, and Im

to give it to Mayor Thorin. She said she didnt care what happened to it then, he

could wipe his bum with it for all of her, (the flush which suffused her aunts face

at that had been very enjoyable) but until then, it was to be in my keeping.

I never heard of such a thing, Aunt Cordelia had huffed … but she had handed

the grimy scrap of paper back. Giving the keep of such an important document to

a mere scrap of a girl.

Yet not too mere a scrap to be his gilly, am I To lie under him and listen to his

bones creak and take his seed and mayhap bear his child.

Shed dropped her eyes to her pocket as she put the paper away again, not wanting

Aunt Cord to see the resentment in them.

Go up, Aunt Cord had said, brushing the froth of lace off her lap and into her

workbasket, where it lay in an unaccustomed tangle. And when you wash, do

your mouth with especial care. Cleanse it of its im pu dence and disrespect toward

those who have given up much for love of its owner.

Susan had gone silently, biting back a thousand retorts, mounting the stairs as she had so often, throbbing with a mixture of shame and resentment.

And now here she was, in her bed and still awake as the stars paled away and the

first brighter shades began to color the sky. The events of the night just past

slipped through her mind in a kind of fantastical blur, like shuffled playing

cardsand the one which turned up with the most persistence was the face of Will

Dearborn. She thought of how that face could be hard at one moment and soften

so unexpectedly at the next. And was it a hand some face Aye, she thought so. For herself, she knew so.

Ive never asked a girl to ride out with me, or if she would accept a visit of me. I

would ask you, Susan, daughter of Patrick.

Why now Why should I meet him now, when no good can come of it

If its ka, it ll come like a wind. Like a cyclone.

She tossed from one side of the bed to the other, then at last rolled onto her back

again. There would be no sleep for her in what re mained of this night, she thought.

She might as well walk out on the Drop and watch the sun come up.

Yet she continued to lie in bed, feeling somehow sick and well at the same time,

looking into the shadows and listening to the first cries of the morning birds,

thinking of how his mouth had felt against hers, the tender grain of it and the

feeling of his teeth below his lips; the smell of his skin, the rough texture of his

shirt under her palms.

She now put those palms against the top of her shift and cupped her breasts with

her fingers. The nipples were hard, like little peb bles. And when she touched

them, the heat between her legs flared suddenly and urgently.

She could sleep, she thought. She could, if she took care of that heat. If she knew

how.

And she did. The old woman had shown her. Even a girl whos intact dont need to

lack for a shiver now n then

Like a little bud o

silk, so it is.

Susan shifted in bed and slipped a hand deep be neath the sheet. She forced the old womans bright eyes and hollow cheeks out of her mind it wasnt hard to do at

all once you set your mind to it, she discovered

and replaced it with the face of

the boy with the big gelding and the silly flatcrowned hat. For a moment the

vision of her mind became so clear and so sweet that it was real, and all the rest of her life only a drab dream. In this vision he kissed her over and over, their mouths

widening, their tongues touching; what he breathed out, she breathed in.

She burned. She burned in her bed like a torch. And when the sun fi nally came

over the horizon some short time later, she lay deeply asleep, with a faint smile on her lips and her unbraided hair lying across the side of her face and her pillow like loose gold.

3 In the last hour before dawn, the public room of the Travellers Rest was as quiet

as it ever became. The gaslights which turned the chandelier into a brilliant jewel

until two of the clock or so on most nights were now turned down to guttering

blue points, and the long, high room was shad owy and spectral.

In one corner lay a jumble of kindlingthe re mains of a couple of chairs smashed in a fight over a Watch Me game (the combatants were currently residing in the

High Sheriffs drunk-cell). In another comer was a fairly large puddle of

congealing puke. On the raised platform at the east end of the room stood a

battered piano; propped against its bench was the ironwood club which belonged

to Barkie, the saloons bouncer and all-around tough man. Barkie himself, the

naked mound of his scarred stom ach rising above the waistband of his corduroy

pants like a clot of bread dough, lay under the bench, snoring. In one hand he held

a playing card: the deuce of diamonds.

At the west end of the room were the card tables.

Two drunks lay with their heads

on one of these, snoring and drooling on the green felt, their outstretched hands

touching. Above them, on the wall, was a picture of Arthur, the Great King of Eld

astride his white stallion, and a sign which read (in a curious mixture of High and

Low Speech): ARGYOU NOT ABOUT THE HAND

YOU ARE DELT IN

CARDS OR LIFE.

Mounted behind the bar, which ran the length of the room, was a monstrous

trophy: a two-headed elk with a rack of antlers like a forest grove and four glaring

eyes. This beast was known to local habitués of the Travellers as The Romp.

None could have said why. Some wit had care fully drawn a pair of sow-titty

condoms over the prongs of two of its antlers. Lying on the bar itself and directly

beneath The Romps disap proving gaze was Pet tie the Trotter, one of the

Travellers dancers and gilly-girls … although Pet ties actual girlhood was well

behind her now, and soon she would be reduced to doing her business on her

knees behind the Travellers rather than upstairs in one of the tiny cribs. Her plump

legs were spread, one dangling over the bar on the inside, one on the outside, the

filthy tangle of her skirt frothed up between. She breathed in long snores,

occasionally twitching at the feet and fat fin gers. The only other sounds were the hot summer wind outside and the soft, regular snap of cards being turned one by

one.

A small table stood by itself near the batwing doors which gave upon the Hambry

High Street; it was here that Coral Thorin, owner of the Trav ellers Rest (and the

Mayors sister), sat on the nights when she de scended from her suite to be a part of the company. When she came down, she came down earlywhen there were

still more steaks than whiskey being served across the old scratched barand

went back up around the time that Sheb, the piano player, sat down and began to

pound his hideous instrument. The Mayor himself never came in lit nil, although it was well-known that he owned at least a half-inter est in the Travellers. Clan

Thorin enjoyed the money the place brought in; they just didnt en joy the look of

it after midnight, when the sawdust spread on the floor be gan to soak up the

spilled beer and the spilled blood. Yet there was a hard streak in Coral, who had

twenty years before been what was called a wild child. She was younger than

her political brother, not so thin, and goodlook ing in a large-eyed, weasel-headed way. No one sat at her table during the saloons operating hoursBarkie would

have put a stop to anyone who tried, and doublequickbut operating hours were

over now, the drunks mostly gone or passed out up stairs, Sheb curled up and fast

asleep in the comer behind his piano. The soft headed boy who cleaned the place

had been gone since two o the clock or so (chased out by jeers and insults and a

few flying beer-glasses, as he always was; Roy Depape in particular had no love in his heart for that particular lad). He would be back around nine or so, to begin

readying the old party-palace for another night of hilarity, but until then the man sitting at Mistress Thorins table had the place to himself.

A game of Patience was laid out before him: black on red, red on black, the

partially formed Square o Court above all, just as it was in the affairs of men. In

his left hand the player held the remains of the deck.

As he flipped the cards up,

one by one, the tattoo on his right hand moved. It was disconcerting somehow, as

if the coffin were breathing. The cardplayer was an oldish fellow, not as thin as

the Mayor or his sister, but thin. His long white hair straggled down his back. He

was deeply tanned, ex cept for his neck, where he al ways burned; the flesh there

hung in scant wattles. He wore a mustache so long the ragged white ends hung

nearly to his jawa sham gunslingers mustache, many thought it, but no one used

the word sham to Eldred Jonass face. He wore a white silk shirt, and a blackhan

dled revolver hung low on his hip. His large, redrimmed eyes looked sad on

first glance. A second, closer look showed them on ly to be watery. Of emotion

they were as dead as the eyes of The Romp.

He turned up the Ace of Wands. No place for it. Pah, you bugger, he said in an

odd, reedy voice. It quavered, as well, like the voice of a man on the verge of

tears. It fit perfectly with his damp and redrimmed eyes. He swept the cards

together.

Before he could reshuffle, a door opened and closed softly upstairs. Jonas put the cards aside and dropped his hand to the butt of his gun.

Then, as he recognized the sound of Reynoldss boots coming along the gallery, he let go of the gun and drew his tobacco-pouch from his belt in stead. The hem of

the cloak Reynolds always wore came into view, and then he was coming down

the stairs, his face freshly washed and his curly red hair hanging about his ears.

Vain of his looks was dear old Mr. Rey nolds, and why not Hed sent his cock on

its exploring way up more damp and cozy cracks than Jonas had ever seen in his

life, and Jonas was twice his age.

At the bottom of the stairs Reynolds walked along the bar, pausing to squeeze one

of Petties plump thighs, and then crossed to where Jonas sat with his makings and

his deck of cards.

Evening, Eldred.

Morning, Clay. Jonas opened the sack, took out a paper, and sprin kled tobacco

into it. His voice shook, but his hands were steady.

Like a smoke

I could do with one.

Reynolds pulled out a chair, turned it around, and sat with his fore arms crossed

on its back. When Jonas handed him the cigarette, Reynolds danced it along the

backs of his fingers, an old gunslinger trick. The Big Coffin Hunters were full of

old gunslinger tricks.

Wheres Roy With Her Nibs They had been in Hambry a little over a month

now, and in that time Depape had conceived a passion for a fifteen-year-old whore named Deborah. Her bowlegged clumping walk and her way of squinting off into

the distance led Jonas to suspect she was just an other cowgirl from a long line of

them, but she had high-hat ways. It was Clay who had started calling the girl Her

Nibs, or Her Majesty, or sometimes (when drunk) Roys Coronation Cunt.

Reynolds now nodded. Its like hes drunk on her.

Hell be all right. He aint throwing us over for some little snuggle-bunny with

pimples on her tits. Why, shes so ignorant she cant spell cat. Not so much as cat, no. I asked her.

Jonas made a second cigarette, drew a sulfur match from the sack, and popped it alight with his thumbnail. He lit Reynoldss first, then his own.

A small yellow cur came in under the batwing doors.

The men watched it in

silence, smoking. It crossed the room, first sniffed at the curdled vomit in the

comer, then began to eat it. Its stub of a tail wagged back and forth as it dined.

Reynolds nodded toward the admonition not to argue about the cards you were

dealt. That muttd understand that, Id say.

Not at all, not at all, Jonas demurred. Just a dog is all he is, a spew-eating dog. I

heard a horse twenty minutes ago. First on the come, then on the go. Would it

have been one of our hired watchmen

You dont miss a trick, do you

Dont pay to, no, dont pay a bit. Was it

Yep. Fellow who works for one of the small free holders out along the east end of

the Drop. He seen em come in. Three. Young. Ba bies. Reynolds pronounced this

last as they did in the Northrd Baronies: bab bies.

Nothing to worry of.

Now, now, we dont know that, Jonas said, his qua vering voice mak ing him

sound like a temporizing old man. Young eyes see far, they say.

Young eyes see what theyre pointed at, Reynolds replied. The dog trotted past

him, licking its chops. Reynolds helped it on its way with a kick the cur was not

quite quick enough to avoid. It scuttled back out un der the batwings, uttering little

yike-yike sounds that made Barkie snort thickly from his place of rest beneath the

piano bench. His hand opened and the playing card dropped out of it.

Maybe so, maybe not, Jonas said. In any case, theyre Affiliation brats, sons of big estates off in the Green Somewhere, if Rimer and that fool he works for have it straight. That means well be very, very careful. Walk easy, like on eggshells.

Why, weve got three more months here, at least! And those younguns may be

here that whole time, counting this n counting that and putting it all down on

paper. Folks counting things aint good for us right now. Not for men in the

resupply business.

Come on! Its makework, thats alla slap on the wrist for getting in trouble.

Their daddies

Their daddies know Farsons in charge of the whole Southwest Edge now, and

sitting on high ground. The brats may know the same that playtimes purt near

over for the Affiliation and all its pukesome roy alty. Cant know, Clay. With folks like these, you cant know which way theyll jump. At the very least, they may try

to do a half-decent job just to try and get on the good side o their parents again.

Well know better when we see em, but I tell you one thing: we cant just put guns

to the backs of their heads and drop them like brokeleg bosses if they see the

wrong thing. Their daddies might be mad at em alive, but I think theyd be very

tender of em deadthats just the way daddies are.

Well want to be trig, Clay; as

trig as we can be.

Better leave Depape out of it, then.

Roy will be fine, Jonas said in his quavery voice. He dropped the stub of his

cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his bootheel. He looked up at The

Romps glassy eyes and squinted, as if calculat ing. To night, your friend said

They arrived tonight, these brats

Yep.

Theyll be in to see Avery tomorrow, then, I reck on. This was Herk Avery, High

Sheriff of Mejis and Chief Constable of Hambry, a large man who was as loose as

a trundle of laundry.

Reckon so, Clay Reynolds said. To present their papers n all.

Yes, sir, yes indeedy. How-dyou-do, and howdyou-do, and how-dyou-do

again.

Reynolds said nothing. He often didnt under stand Jonas, but he had been riding with him since the age of fifteen, and knew it was usually bet ter not to ask for

enlightenment. If you did, you were apt to end up listen ing to a cult-manni lecture about the other worlds the old buzzard had visited through what he called the

special doors. As far as Reynolds was concerned, there were enough ordinary

doors in the world to keep him busy.

Ill speak to Rimer and Rimerll talk to the Sheriff about where they should stay,

Jonas said. I think the bunkhouse at the old Bar K

ranch. You know where I

mean

Reynolds did. In a Barony like Mejis, you got to know the few land marks in a

hurry. The Bar K was a deserted spread of land northwest of town, not too far

from that weird squalling canyon. They burned at the mouth of the canyon every

fall, and once, six or seven years ago, the wind had shifted and gone back wrong

and burned most of the Bar K to the groundbarns, stables, the home place. It

had spared the bunkhouse, however, and that would be a good spot for three

tenderfeet from the Inners. It was away from the Drop; it was also away from the

oil patch.

Ye like it, dont ye Jonas asked, putting on a hick Hambry accent. Aye, ye like

it very much, I can see ye do, my cully. Ye know what they say in Cressia Ifyed

steal the silver from the dining room, first put the dog in the pantry. 

Reynolds nodded. It was good advice. And those trucks Those what-do-youcal

lums, tankers

Fine where they are, Jonas said. Not that we could move em now without

attracting the wrong kind of attention, eh You and Roy want to go out there and

cover them with brush. Lay it on nice and thick. Day after tomorrow youll do it.

And where will you be while were flexing our mus cles out at Citgo

By daylight Preparing for dinner at Mayors House, you clodthe dinner Thorin

will be giving to introduce his guests from the Great World to the shitpicky

society of the smaller one. Jonas began mak ing another cigarette. He gazed up at The Romp rather than at what he was doing, and still spilled barely a scrap of

tobacco. A bath, a shave, a trim of these tangled old mans locks

I might even

wax my mustache, Clay, what do you say to that

Dont strain yourself, Eldred.

Jonas laughed, the sound shrill enough to make Barkie mutter and Pettie stir

uneasily on her makeshift bar-top bed. So Roy and I arent invited to this fancy do. Youll be invited, oh yes, youll be invited very warmly, Jonas said, and

handed Reynolds the fresh cigarette. He began making another for himself. Ill

offer your excuses. Ill do you boys proud, count on me. Strong men may weep.

All so we can spend the day out there in the dust and stink, covering those hulks.

Youre too kind, Jonas.

Ill be asking questions, as well, Jonas said dreamily. Drifting here and there …

looking spruce, smelling of baybemes … and ask ing my little questions. Ive

known folks in our line of trade wholl go to a fat, jolly fellow to find out the

gossipa saloon-keeper or bartender, per haps a livery stable owner or one of the chubby fellows who always hangs about the jail or the courthouse with his thumbs

tucked into his vest pock ets. As for myself. Clay, I find that a womans best, and

the narrower the betterone with more nose than tits sticking off her. I look for

one who dont paint her lips and keeps her hair scrooped back against her head.

You have someone in mind

Yar. Cordelia Delgados her name.

Delgado

You know the name, its on the lips of everyone in this town, I reckon. Susan

Delgado, our esteemed Mayors soon-to-be gilly. Cor delias her auntie. Now heres a fact of human nature Ive found: folk are more apt to talk to someone like

her, who plays them close, than they are to the local jolly types wholl buy you a

drink. And that lady plays them close. Im going to slip in next to her at that

dinner, and Im going to com pliment her on the perfume I doubt like hell shell be wearing, and Im going to keep her wineglass full.

Now, how sounds that for a

plan

A plan for what Thats what I want to know.

For the game of Castles we may have to play,

Jonas said, and all the lightness

dropped out of his voice. Were to believe that these boys have been sent here

more as punishment than to do any real job of work. It sounds plausible, too. Ive known rakes in my time, and it sounds plau sible, in deed. I believe it each day

until about three in the morning, and then a little doubt sets in. And do you know

what, Clay

Reynolds shook his head.

Im right to doubt. Just as I was right to go with Rimer to old man Thorin and

convince him that Farsons glass would be better with the witchwoman, for the

nonce. Shell keep it in a place where a gunslinger couldnt find it, let alone a nosy lad whos yet to have his first piece of arse. These are strange times. A storms

coming. And when you know the wind is going to blow, its best to keep your gear

battened down.

He looked at the cigarette he had made. He had been dancing it along the backs of

his knuckles, as Reynolds had done earlier. Jonas pushed back the fall of his hair

and tucked the cigarette behind his ear.

I dont want to smoke, he said, standing up and stretching. His back made small

crackling sounds. Im crazy to smoke at this hour of the morning. Too many

cigarettes are apt to keep an old man like me awake.

He walked toward the stairs, squeezing Petties bare leg as he went by, also as

Reynolds had done. At the foot of the stairs he looked back.

I dont want to kill them. Things are delicate enough without that. Ill smell quite

a little wrong on them and not lift a finger, no, not a single finger of my hand. But

…Id like to make them clear on their place in the great scheme o things.

Give them a sore paw.

Jonas brightened. Yessir, partner, maybe a sore paws just what Id like to give

them. Make them think twice about tangling with the Big Cof fin Hunters later on,

when it matters. Make them swing wide around us when they see us in their road.

Yessir, thats something to think about. It really is.

He started up the stairs, chuckling a little, his limp quite pronounced it got

worse late at night. It was a limp Rolands old teach er, Cort, might have

recognized, for Cort had seen the blow which caused it. Corts own father had

dealt it with an ironwood club, breaking Eldred Jonass leg in the yard behind the Great Hall of Gilead before taking the boys weapon and sending him west,

gunless, into exile.

Eventually, the man the boy had become had found a gun, of course; the exiles always did, if they looked hard enough. That such guns could never be quite the

same as the big ones with the sandalwood grips might haunt them for the rest of

their lives, but those who needed guns could still find them, even in this world.

Reynolds watched until he was gone, then took his seat at Coral Thorins desk,

shuffled the cards, and continued the game which Jonas had left half-finished.

Outside, the sun was coming up.

CHAPTER V

WELCOME TO TOWN

1

Two nights after arriving in the Barony of Mejis, Roland, Cuthbert, and Alain rode

their mounts beneath an adobe arch with the words come in peace inscribed above

it. Beyond was a cobblestone courtyard lit with torches. The resin which coated

these had been doctored somehow so that the torches glowed different colors:

green, orangey-red, a kind of sputtery pink that made Roland think of fireworks.

He could hear the sound of gui tars, the murmur of voices, the laughter of women.

The air was redolent of those smells which would al ways remind him of Mejis:

sea-salt, oil, and pine.

I dont know if I can do this, Alain muttered. He was a big boy with a mop of

unruly blond hair spilling out from under his stock mans hat. He had cleaned up

wellthey all hadbut Alain, no social butterfly under the best of circumstances,

looked scared to death. Cuthbert was doing bet ter, but Roland guessed his old

friends patina of insouciance didnt go very deep.

If there was to be leading done

here, he would have to do it.

Youll be fine, he told Alain. Just

Oh, he looks fine, Cuthbert said with a nervous laugh as they crossed the

courtyard. Beyond it was Mayors House, a sprawling, many-winged adobe

hacienda that seemed to spill light and laughter from every window. White as a

sheet, ugly as a

Shut up, Roland said curtly, and the teasing smile tumbled off Cuthberts face at

once. Roland noted this, then turned to Alain again.

Just dont drink anything with

alcohol in it. You know what to say on that account.

Remember the rest of our

story, too. Smile. Be pleasant. Use what social graces you have. Remember how

the Sheriff fell all over him self to make us feel wel come.

Alain nodded at that, looking a little more confi dent.

In the matter of social graces, Cuthbert said, they wont have many themselves,

so we should all be a step ahead.

Roland nodded, then saw that the birds skull was back on the horn of Cuthberts

saddle. And get rid of that!

Looking guilty, Cuthbert stuffed the lookout hur riedly into his saddle bag. Two

men wearing white jackets, white pants, and san dals were com ing forward,

bowing and smiling.

Keep your heads, Roland said, lowering his voice.

Both of you. Remember

why youre here. And remember the faces of your fathers. He clapped Alain, who

still looked doubtful, on the shoulder. Then he turned to the hostlers. Goodeven,

gents, he said. May your days be long upon the earth.

They both grinned, their teeth flashing in the extrav agant torchlight. The older one

bowed. And your own as well, young masters. Wel come to Mayors House.

2

The High Sheriff had welcomed them the day be fore every bit as happily as the

hostlers.

So far everyone had greeted them happily, even the carters they had passed on

their way into town, and that alone made Roland feel suspi cious and on his guard.

He told himself he was likely being foolishof course the locals were friendly

and helpful, that was why they had been sent here, because Mejis was both out-oftheway and loyal to the Affilia tionand it prob ably was foolish, but he thought

it best to be on close watch, just the same. To be a tri fle nervous. The three of

them were little more than children, after all, and if they fell into trouble here, it

was apt to be as a result of taking things at face value.

The combined Sheriffs office and jail o Barony was on Hill Street, overlooking

the bay. Roland didnt know for sure, but guessed that few if any hungover drunks

and wife-beaters anywhere else in MidWorld woke up to such picturesque views: a line of many-colored boathouses to the south, the docks directly below, with

boys and old men line-fishing while the women mended nets and sails; beyond

them, Hambrys small fleet moving back and forth on the sparkling blue water of

the bay, setting their nets in the morning, pulling them in the afternoon.

Most buildings on the High Street were adobe, but up here, overlook ing Hambrys

business section, they were as squat and bricky as any nar row lane in Gileads

Old Quarter. Well kept, too, with wrought-iron gates in front of most and treeshad

ed paths. The roofs were orange tile, the shut ters closed against the summer

sun. It was hard to believe, riding down this street with their horses hoofs

clocking on the swept cobbles, that the northwest ern side of the Affiliationthe

ancient land of Eld, Arthurs kingdomcould be on fire and in danger of falling.

The jailhouse was just a larger version of the post office and land of fice; a smaller version of the Town Gathering Hall. Except, of course, for the bars on the

windows facing down toward the small harbor.

Sheriff Herk Avery was a big-bellied man in a lawmans khaki pants and shirt. He must have been watching them approach through the spy hole in the center of the

jails iron-banded front door, because the door was thrown open before Roland

could even reach for the turn-bell in the center.

Sheriff Avery appeared on the

stoop, his belly preceding him as a bailiff may pre cede My Lord Judge into court.

His arms were thrown wide in the most amiable of greetings.

He bowed deeply to them (Cuthbert said later he was afraid the man might

overbalance and go rolling down the steps; per haps go rolling all the way down to the harbor) and wished them repeated good morns, tap ping away at the base of his throat like a madman the whole while. His smile was so wide it looked as if it

might cut his head clean in two. Three deputies with a distinctly farmerish look

about them, dressed in khaki like the Sheriff, crowded into the door behind Avery and gawked. That was what it was, all right, a gawk; there was just no other word

for that sort of openly curious and totally un selfconscious stare.

Avery shook each boy by the hand, continuing to bow as he did so, and nothing

Roland said could get him to stop until he was done.

When he finally was, he

showed them inside. The office was delightfully cool in spite of the beating

midsummer sun. That was the advantage of brick, of course. It was big as well, and cleaner than any High Sheriffs office Roland had ever been in before … and

he had been in at least half a dozen over the last three years, accompanying his

father on several short trips and one longer pa trol-swing.

There was a rolltop desk in the center, a noticeboard to the right of the door (the same sheets of foolscap had been scribbled on over and over; paper was a rare

commodity in MidWorld), and, in the far comer, two rifles in a padlocked case.

These were such ancient blunderbusses that Roland wondered if there was

ammunition for them. He wondered if they would fire, come to that. To the left of the gun-case, an open door gave on the jail itself

three cells on each side of a

short corridor, and a smell of strong lye soap drift ing out.

Theyve cleaned for our coming, Roland thought. He was amused, touched, and

uneasy. Cleaned it as though we were a troop of In ner Barony horsecareer

soldiers who might want to stage a hard inspection instead of three lads serving

punishment detail.

But was such nervous care on the part of their hosts really so strange They were

from New Canaan, after all, and folk in this tuckedaway cor ner of the world

might well see them as a species of visiting royal ty.

Sheriff Avery introduced his deputies. Roland shook hands with all of them, not

trying to memorize their names. It was Cuthbert who took care of names, and it

was a rare occasion when he dropped one. The third, a bald fellow with a monocle hanging around his neck on a ribbon, actually dropped to one knee before them.

Dont do that, ye great idiot! Avery cried, yanking him back up by the scruff of

his neck. What kind of a bumpkin will they think ye Be sides, youve

embarrassed them, so ye have!

Thats all right, Roland said (he was, in fact, very em barrassed, al though trying

not to show it). Were really nothing at all special, you know

Nothing special! Avery said, laughing. His bel ly, Roland noticed, did not shake

as one might have expected it to do; it was harder than it looked. The same might

be true of its owner. Nothing special, he says!

Five hundred mile or more from

the InWorld theyve come, our first offi cial visitors from the Affiliation since a

gunslinger passed through on the Great Road four year ago, and yet he says theyre

nothing special! Would ye sit, my boys Ive got graf, which ye wont want so

early in the day praps not at all, given your ages (and if youll forgive me for

statin so bald the obvious fact of yer youth, for youths not a thing to be ashamed

of, so its not, we were all young once), and I also have white iced tea, which I

recommend most hearty, as Daves wife makes it and shes a dab hand with most

any potable.

Roland looked at Cuthbert and Alain, who nodded and smiled (and tried not to

look all at sea), then back at Sheriff Avery. White tea would go down a treat in a

dusty throat, he said.

One of the deputies went to fetch it, chairs were pro duced and set in a row at one

side of Sheriff Averys rolltop, and the business of the day commenced.

You know who ye are and where ye hail from, and I know the same, Sheriff

Avery said, sitting down in his own chair (it uttered a fee ble groan beneath his

bulk but held steady). I can hear InWorld in yer voic es, but more important, I

can see it in yer faces.

Yet we hold to the old ways here in Hambry, sleepy and rural as we may be; aye,

we hold to our course and remember the faces of our fathers as wells we can. So,

although Id not keep yer long from yer duties, and if yell forgive me for the

impertinence, Id like a look at any papers and documents of passage ye might just happen tove brought into town with ye.

They just happened to have brought all of their pa pers into town with them, as

Roland was sure Sheriff Avery well knew they would.

He went through them

quite slowly for a man whod promised not to hold them from their duties, tracing

the well-folded sheets (the linen content so high that the documents were perhaps

closer to cloth than paper) with one pudgy finger, his lips moving. Every now and

then the finger would re verse as he reread a line.

The two other deputies stood

behind him, look ing sagely down over his large shoulders. Roland wondered if

either could actually read.

William Dearborn. Drovers son.

Richard Stockworth. Ranchers son.

Arthur Heath. Stockline breeders son.

The identification document belonging to each was signed by an at testorJames Reed (of Hemphill) in the case of Dearborn, Piet Raven-head (of Pennilton) in the

case of Stockworth, Lucas Rivers (of Gilead) in the case of Heath. All in order,

descriptions nicely matched. The papers were handed back with profuse thanks.

Roland next handed Avery a letter which he took from his wallet with some care.

Avery handled it in the same fashion, his eyes growing wide as he saw the frank at the bottom.  Pon my soul, boys! Twas a gunslinger wrote this!

Aye, so it was, Cuthbert agreed in a voice of won der. Roland kicked his

anklehardwithout taking his respectful eyes from Averys face.

The letter above the frank was from one Steven De schain of Gilead, a gunslinger

(which was to say a knight, squire, peacemaker, and Baron … the last title having almost no meaning in the modem day, despite all John Farsons ranting) of the

twenty-ninth generation descended from Arthur of Eld, on the side line of descent (the long-descended gel of one of Arthurs many gillies, in other words). To Mayor Hartwell Thorin, Chan cellor Kimba Rimer, and High Sheriff Herkimer Avery, it

sent greetings and recommended to their notice the three young men who

delivered this document, Masters Dearborn, Stockworth, and Heath. These had

been sent on special mission from the Affiliation to serve as counters of all

ma terials which might serve the Affiliation in time of need (the word war was

omitted from the document, but glowed between every line). Steven Deschain, on

behalf of the Affiliation of Baronies, exhorted Misters Thorin, Rimer, and Avery

to afford the Affiliations nominated counters every help in their service, and to be particularly careful in the enumera tions of all livestock, all supplies of food, and all forms of transport. Dear born, Stockworth, and Heath would be in Mejis for at

least three months, Deschain wrote, possibly as long as a year. The document

finished by inviting any or all of the addressed public officials to write us word of these young men and their deportment, in all detail as you shall imag ine of

interest to us. And, it begged, Do not stint in this matter, if you love us.

Tell us if they behaved themselves, in other words.

Tell us if theyve learned their

lesson.

The deputy with the monocle came back while the High Sheriff was perusing this

document. He carried a tray loaded with four glasses of white tea and bent down with it like a butler. Roland murmured thanks and handed the glasses around. He

took the last for himself, raised it to his lips, and saw Alain looking at him, his

blue eyes bright in his stolid face.

Alain shook his glass slightlyjust enough to make the ice tinkle and Roland

responded with the barest sliver of a nod. He had expected cool tea from a jug kept

in a nearby springhouse, but there were actual chunks of ice in the glasses. Ice in high summer. It was interesting.

And the tea was, as promised, delicious.

Avery finished the letter and handed it back to Roland with the air of one passing on a holy relic. Ye want to keep that safe about yer person, Will Dearbornaye,

very safe indeed!

Yes, sir. He tucked the letter and his identifica tion back into his purse. His

friends Richard and Arthur were doing the same.

This is excellent white tea, sir, Alain said. Ive never had better.

Aye, Avery said, sipping from his own glass.  Tis the honey that makes it so

fearsome. Eh, Dave

The deputy with (he monocle smiled from his place by the notice-hoard. 1

believe so, but Judy dont like to say. She had the recipe from her mother.

Aye, we must remember the faces of our mothers, too, so we must. Sheriff

Avery looked sentimental for a moment, but Roland had an idea that the face of his mother was the furthest thing from the big mans mind just then. He turned to

Alain, and sentiment was replaced by a surpris ing shrewdness.

Yere wondering about the ice, Master Stock worth.

Alain started. Well, I



Ye expected no such amenity in a backwater like Hambry, Ill war rant, Avery said, and although there was a joshing quality on top of his voice, Roland thought

there was something else entirely underneath.

He doesnt like us. He doesnt like what he thinks of as our city ways.  He hasnt

known us long enough to know what kind of ways we have, if any at all, but

already he doesnt like them. He thinks were a trio of snotnoses; that we see him

and everyone else here as country bumpkins.

Not just Hambry, Alain said quietly. Ice is as rare in the Inner Arc these days as

anywhere else, Sheriff Avery. When I grew up, I saw it mostly as a special treat at birthday parties and such.

There was always ice on Glowing Day, Cuthbert put in. He spoke with very unCuthbertian quiet. Except for the fireworks, thats what we liked about it most.

Is that so, is that so, Sheriff Avery said in an amazed, wonders-will-never-cease

tone. Avery perhaps didnt like them riding in like this, didnt like having to take

up what he would probably call half the damn morn ing with them; he didnt like

their clothes, their fancy identification pa pers, their accents, or their youth. Least of all their youth. Roland could understand all that, but wondered if it was the

whole story. If there was something else going on here, what was it

Theres a gas-fired refrigerator and stove in the Town Gathering Hall, Avery

said. Both work. Theres plenty of earth-gas out at Citgo thats the oil patch east

of town. Yer passed it on yer way in, I wot.

They nodded.

Stoves nobbut a curiosity these daysa histo ry lesson for the

schoolchildrenbut the refrigerator comes in handy, so it does. Avery held up

his glass and looked through the side.  Specially in summer.

He sipped some tea, smacked his lips, and smiled at Alain, You see No

mystery.

Im surprised you havent found use for the oil,

Roland said. No generators in

town, Sheriff

Aye, there be four or five, Avery said. The biggest is out at Francis Lengylls

Rocking B ranch, and I recall when it useter run. Its HONDA. Do ye kennit that

name, boys HONDA

Ive seen it once or twice, Roland said, on old mo tor-driven bicycles.

Aye In any case, none of the generators will run on the oil from the Citgo patch.

Tis too thick. Tarry goo, is all. We have no refiner ies here.

I see, Alain said. In any case, ice in summers a treat. However it comes to the

glass. He let one of the chunks slip into his mouth, and crunched it between his

teeth.

Avery looked at him a moment longer, as if to make sure the subject was closed,

then switched his gaze back to Roland. His fat face was once more radiant with his

broad, untrustworthy smile.

Mayor Thorin has asked me to extend ye his very best greetings, and convey his

regrets for not bein here todayvery busy is our Lord Mayor, very busy indeed.

But hes laid on a dinner-party at Mayors House to morrow eveningseven o the

clock for most folk, eight for you young fellows

so you can make a bit of an

entrance, I imagine, add a touch o drama, like.

And I need not tell such as

yourselves, whove probably at tended more such parties than Ive had hot dinners, that it would be best to arrive pretty much on the dot.

Is it fancy-dress Cuthbert asked uneasily.

Because weve come a long way,

almost four hundred wheels, and we didnt pack for mal wear and sashes, none of

us.

Avery was chucklingmore honestly this time, Roland thought, per haps because

he felt Arthur had displayed a streak of unsophis tication and insecurity. Nay,

young master, Thorin understands yeve come to do a jobnext door to workin

cowboys, ye be! Ware they dont have ye out drag gin nets in the bay next!

From the comer, Davethe deputy with the mon oclehonked unex pected

laughter. Perhaps it was the sort of joke you had to be local to understand, Roland

thought.

Wear the best ye have, and yell be fine. Therell be no one there in sashes, in any

casethats not how things are done in Hambry.

Again Roland was struck by the mans constant smiling denigration of his town ;iiul

Barony … and the resentment of the outsiders which lay just be neath it.

In any case, yell find yerselves working more than playing tomor row night, I

imagine. Harts invited all the large ranchers, stockliners, and livestock owners

from this part of the Barony

not that theres so many, you understand, bein as

how Mejis is next door to desert once you get west o

the Drop. But everyone

whose goods and chattel youve been sent to count will be there, and I think youll

find all of them loyal Affilia tion men, ready and ea ger to help. Theres Francis

Lengyll of the Rocking B

John Croydon of the Pi ano Ranch… Henry Wertner,

whos the Baronys stockliner as well as a horse breeder in his own right… Hash Renfrew, who owns the Lazy Susan, the biggest horse-ranch in Mejis (not that its much by the standards you fellows are used to, I wot) … and therell be others, as well. Rimerll introduce you, and get you about your business right smart.

Ronald nodded and turned to Cuthbert. Youll want to be on your mettle

tomorrow night.

Cuthbert nodded. Dont fear me, Will, Ill note em all.

Avery sipped more tea, eyeing them over his glass with a roguish ex pression so

false it made Roland want to squirm.

Most of ems got daughters of marriageable age, and theyll bring em. You boys

want to look out.

Roland decided hed had enough tea and hypocrisy for one morning. He nodded,

emptied his glass, smiled (hoping his looked more genuine than Averys now

looked to him), and got to his feet. Cuthbert and Alain took the cue and did

likewise.

Thank you for the tea, and for the welcome, Roland said. Please send a

message to Mayor Thorin, thanking him for his kindness and telling him that hell see us tomorrow, at eight o the clock, prompt.

Aye. So I will.

Roland then turned to Dave. That worthy was so sur prised to be no ticed again

that he recoiled, almost bumping his head on the noticeboard. And please thank

your wife for the tea. It was wonderful.

I will. Thankee-sai.

They went back outside, High Sheriff Avery herd ing them along like a genial,

overweight sheepdog.

As to where youll locate he began as they de scended the steps and started

down the walk. As soon as they hit the sunshine, he began to sweat.

Oh, land, I forgot to ask you about that, Roland said, knocking the heel of his

hand against his forehead. Weve camped out on that long slope, lots of horses as you go down the turf, Im sure you know where I mean 

The Drop, aye.

but without permission, because we dont yet know who to ask.

Thatd be John Croydons land, and Im sure he wouldnt begrudge ye, but we

mean to do ye better than that. Theres a spread northwest of here, the Bar K. Used to blong to the Garber family, but they gave it up and moved on after a fire. Now

it blongs to the Horsemens Associa tionthats a little local group of farmers and

ranchers. I spoke to Francis Lengyll about you fel lowshes the H.A. president

just currentand he said Well put em out to the old Garber place, why not 

Why not Cuthbert agreed in a gentle, musing voice. Roland shot him a sharp

glance, but Cuthbert was looking down at the har bor, where the small fishing

boats skittered to and fro like waterbugs.

Aye, just what I said, Why not, indeed I said. The home place burned to a

cinder, but the bunkhouse still stands; so does the stable and the cookshack next

door to it. On Mayor Thorins orders, Ive taken the liberty of stocking the larder

and having the bunkhouse swept out and spruced up a little. Ye may see the

occasional bug, but nothing thatll bite or sting …

and no snakes, unless theres a

few under the floor, and if there are, let em stay theres what I say. Hey, boys Let

em stay there!

Let em stay there, right under the floor where theyre happy, Cuth bert agreed,

still gazing down at the harbor with his arms folded over his chest.

Avery gave him a brief, uncertain glance, his smile flickering a bit at the comers.

Then he turned back to Roland, and the smile shone out strongly once more.

Theres no holes in the roof, lad, and if it rains, yell be dry. What think ye of

that Does it sound well to ye

Better than we deserve. I think that youve been very efficient and Mayor Thorins

been far too kind. And he did think that. The question was why. But we

appreciate his thoughtfulness. Dont we, boys

Cuthbert and Alain made vigorous assent.

And we accept with thanks.

Avery nodded. Ill tell him. Go safely, boys.

They had reached the hitching rail. Avery once more shook hands all around, this

time saving his keenest looks for their horses.

Until tomorrow night, then, young gents

Tomorrow night, Roland agreed.

Will ye be able to find the Bar K on your own, do yer think

Again Roland was struck by the mans unspoken contempt and un conscious

condescension. Yet perhaps it was to the good. If the High Sheriff thought they

were stupid, who knew what might come of it Well find it, Cuthbert said, mounting up. Avery was looking suspi ciously at the

rooks skull on the horn of Cuthberts saddle. Cuth bert saw him looking, but for

once managed to keep his mouth shut. Roland was both amazed and pleased by

this unexpected reticence. Fare you well, Sher iff.

And you, boy.

He stood there by the hitching post, a large man in a khaki shirt with sweat-stains

around the armpits and black boots that looked too shiny for a working sheriffs

feet. And wheres the horse that could support him through a day of rangeriding

Roland thought. Id like to see the cut of that Cayuse.

Avery waved to them as they went. The other deputies came down the walk,

Deputy Dave in the forefront. They waved, too.

3

The moment the Affiliation brats mounted on their fathers expensive horse flesh were around the comer and headed downhill to the High Street, the sheriff and the

deputies stopped waving. Avery turned to Dave Hollis, whose expression of

slightly stupid awe had been replaced by one mar ginally more intelligent.

What think ye, Dave

Dave lifted his monocle to his mouth and began to nibble nervously at its brass

edging, a habit about which Sheriff Avery had long since ceased to nag him. Even

Daves wife, Judy, had given up on that score, and Judy HollisJudy Wertner that

waswas a fair engine when it came to get ting her own way.

Soft, Dave said. Soft as eggs just dropped out of a chickens ass.

Mayhap, Avery said, putting his thumbs in his belt and rocking enormously back

and forth, but the one did most of the talking, him in the flathead hat, he doesnt

think hes soft.

Dont matter what he thinks, Dave said, still nib bling at his eye glass. Hes in

Hambry, now. He may have to change his way of thinking to ourn.

Behind him, the other deputies laughed. Even Av ery smiled. They would leave the

rich boys alone if the rich boys left them alonethose were orders, straight from

Mayors Housebut Avery had to admit that he wouldnt mind a little dust-up

with them, so he wouldnt. He would enjoy putting his boot into the balls of the

one with that idiotic birds skull on his saddle-horn standing there and mocking

him, hed been, thinking all the while that Herk Avery was too country-dumb to

know what he was up tobut the thing hed realty enjoy would be beating the

cool look from the eyes of the boy in the flathead preachers hat, seeing a hotter

ex pression of fear rise up in them as Mr. Will Dear born of Hemphill real ized that

New Canaan was far away and his rich father couldnt help him.

Aye, he said, clapping Dave on the shoulder.

Mayhap hell have to change his

way of thinking. He smiledone very different from any of those he had shown

the Affiliation counters. Mayhap they all will.

4

The three boys rode in single file until they were past the Travellers Rest (a young

and obviously retarded man with kinky black hair looked up from scrubbing the

brick stoop and waved to them; they waved back).

Then they moved up abreast,

Roland in the middle.

What did you think of our new friend, the High Sher iff Roland asked.

I have no opinion, Cuthbert said brightly. No, none at all. Opinion is politics,

and politics is an evil which has caused many a fel low to be hung while hes still

young and pretty. He leaned forward and tapped the rooks skull with his

knuckles. The lookout didnt care for him, though.

Im sorry to say that our

faithful lookout thought Sheriff Avery a fat bag of guts without a trustworthy bone

in his body.

Roland turned to Alain. And you, young Master Stockworth

Alain considered it for some time, as was his way, chewing a piece of grass hed

bent oversaddle to pluck from his side of the road.

At last he said: If he came

upon us burning in the street, I dont think hed piss on us to put us out.

Cuthbert laughed heartily at that. And you, Will How do you say, dear captain

He doesnt interest me much

but one thing he said does. Given that the horsemead ow they call the Drop has to be at least thirty wheels long and runs five or

more to the dusty desert, how do you suppose Sher iff Avery knew we were on the

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

part of it that belongs to Croydons Piano Ranch

They looked at him, first with surprise, then specula tion. After a mo ment

Cuthbert leaned forward and rapped once more on the rooks skull. Were being

watched, and you never reported it No supper for you, sir, and itll be the

stockade the next time it happens!

But before they had gone much farther, Rolands thoughts of Sheriff Avery gave

way to more pleasant ones of Susan Delgado.

He would see her the following

night, of that he was sure. He wondered if her hair would be down.

He couldnt wait to find out.

5

Now here they were, at Mayors House. Let the game begin, Roland thought, not

clear on what that meant even as the phrase went through his mind, surely not

thinking of Castles … not then.

The hostlers led their mounts away, and for a moment the three of them stood at

the foot of the stepshuddled, almost, as horses do in un friendly weathertheir

beardless faces washed by the light of the torches.

From inside, the guitars played

and voices were raised in a fresh eddy of laughter.

Do we knock Cuthbert asked. Or just open and march in

Roland was spared answering. The main door of the had was thrown open and two

women stepped out, both wearing long white-col lared dresses that reminded all

three boys of the dresses stockmens wives wore in their own part of the world.

Their hair was caught back in snoods that sparkled with some bright diamondy

stuff in the light of the torches.

The plumper of the two stepped forward, smiling, and dropped them a deep

curtsey. Her earrings, which looked like square-cut firedims, flashed and bobbed.

You are the young men from the Affiliation, so you are, and welcome you are, as

well. Goodeven, sirs, and may your days be long up on the earth!

They bowed in unison, boots forward, and thanked her in an unin tended chorus

that made her laugh and clap her hands. The tall wom an be side her offered them a

smile as spare as her frame.

I am Olive Thorin, the plump woman said, the May ors wife. This is my sisterinlaw, Coral.

Coral Thorin, still with that narrow smile (it barely creased her lips and touched

her eyes not at all), dipped them a token curtsey.

Roland, Cuthbert, and Alain

bowed again over their outstretched legs.

I welcome you to Seafront, Olive Thorin said, her dignity leavened and made

pleasant by her artless smile, her obvious daz zlement at the ap pearance of her

young visitors from InWorld. Come to our house with joy. I say so with all my

heart, so I do.

And so we will, madam, Roland said, for your greet ing has made us joyful. He

took her hand, and, with no calculation whatever, raised it to his lips and kissed it.

Her delighted laughter made him smile. He liked Olive Thorin on sight, and it was

perhaps well he met someone of that sort early on, for, with the problematic

exception of Susan Delgado, he met no one else he liked, no one else he trusted, all that night.

6 It was warm enough even with the seabreeze, and the cloak-and coat-collector in

the foyer looked as though hed had little or no cus tom. Roland wasnt entirely

surprised to see that it was Deputy Dave, his re maining bits of hair slicked back

with some sort of gleaming grease and his monocle now lying on the snow-white

breast of a housemans jacket. Roland gave him a nod. Dave, his hands clasped

behind his back, returned it.

Two menSheriff Avery and an elderly gent as gaunt as Old Doctor Death in a

cartooncame toward them. Beyond, through a pair of double doors now open

wide, a whole roomful of people stood about with crystal punch-cups in their

hands, talking and taking little bits of food from the trays which were circulating.

Roland had time for just one narrow-eyed glance to ward Cuthbert:

Everything. Every name, every face … every nuance. Especially those.

Cuthbert raised an eyebrowhis discreet ver sion of a nodand then Roland was

pulled, willy-nilly, into the evening, his first real evening of service as a working

gunslinger. And he had rarely worked harder.

Old Doctor Death turned out to be Kimba Rimer, Thorins Chancellor and Minister

of Inventory (Roland suspected the title had been made up special for their visit).

He was easily five inches taller than Roland, who was considered tall in Gilead,

and his skin was pale as candlewax. Not un healthy-looking; just pale. Wings of iron-gray hair floated away from either side of his head, gossamer as cobwebs.

The top of his skull was completely bald. Balanced on his whelk of a nose was a

pince-nez.

My boys! he said, when the introductions had been made. He had the smooth,

sadly sincere voice of a politician or an under taker. Welcome to Mejis! To

Hambry! And to Seafront, our humble Mayors House!

If this is humble, I should wonder at the palace your folk might build, Roland

said. It was a mild enough remark, more pleasantry than witticism (he ordinarily

left the wit to Bert), but Chancellor Rimer laughed hard. So did Sheriff Avery.

Come, boys! Rimer said, when he apparently felt he had expressed enough

amusement. The Mayor awaits you with impa tience, Im sure.

Aye, said a timid voice from behind them. The skin ny sisterin-law, Coral, had

disappeared, but Olive Thorin was still there, look ing up at the newcomers with

her hands decorously clasped before that area of her body which might once have

been her waist. She was still smiling her hopeful, pleasant smile. Very eager to

meet you, Hart is, very eager, in deed. Shall I con duct them, Kimba, or

Nay, nay, you mustnt trouble yourself with so many other guests to attend,

Rimer said.

I suppose youre right. She curtseyed to Roland and his compan ions a final

time, and although she still smiled and although the smile looked completely

genuine to Roland, he thought: Shes unhappy about something, all the same.

Desperately so, I think.

Gentlemen Rimer asked. The teeth in his smile were almost dis concertingly

huge. Will ye come

He led them past the grinning Sheriff and into the reception hall.

7

Roland was hardly overwhelmed by it; he had, after all, been in the Great Hall of

Gileadthe Hall of the Grandfathers, it was some times calledand had even

peeped down on the great party which was held there each year, the so-called

Dance of Easterling, which marked the end of Wide Earth and the advent of

Sowing. There were five chandeliers in the Great Hall instead of just one, and lit

with electric bulbs rather than oil lamps. The dress of the partygoers (many of

them expensive young men and women who had never done a hands turn of work

in their lives, a fact of which John Farson spoke at every opportunity) had been

richer, the music had been fuller, the company of older and nobler lines which

grew closer and closer together as they stretched back toward Arthur Eld, he of the

white horse and unifying sword.

Yet there was life here, and plenty of it. There was a robustness that had been

missing in Gilead, and not just at Easterling, ei ther. The texture he felt as he

stepped into the Mayors House reception room was the sort of thing, Roland

reflected, that you didnt entirely miss when it was gone, because it slipped away

quietly and painlessly. Like blood from a vein cut in a tub filled with hot water.

The roomalmost but not quite grand enough to be a hallwas cir cular, its

panelled walls decorated by paintings (most quite bad) of previ ous Mayors. On a

raised stand to the right of the doors leading into the dining area, four grinning

guitarists in tati jackets and sombreros were play ing something that sounded like a

waltz with pepper on it. In the cen ter of the floor was a table supporting two cutglass

punchbowls, one vast and grand, the other smaller and plainer. The whitejack eted fellow in charge of the dipping-out op erations was another of Averys

deputies.

Contrary to what the High Sheriff had told them the day before, sev eral of the

men were wearing sashes of various colors, but Roland didnt feel too out of place in his white silk shirt, black string tie, and one pair of stovepipe dress trousers. For

every man wearing a sash, he saw three wearing the sort of dowdy, boxtailed

coats that he associated with stock men at church, and he saw several others

(younger men, for the most part) who werent wearing coats at all. Some of the

women wore jewelry (though nothing so expen sive as sai Thorins firedim

earrings), and few looked as if theyd missed many meals, but they also wore

clothes Roland recognized: the long, round-col lared dresses, usually with the lace fringe of a colored underskirt showing below the hem, the dark shoes with low

heels, the snoods (most sparkling with gem-dust, as those of Olive and Coral

Thorin had been).

And then he saw one who was very different.

It was Susan Delgado, of course, shimmering and almost too beauti ful to look at in a blue silk dress with a high waist and a square-cut bodice which showed the

tops of her breasts. Around her neck was a sapphire pendant that made Olive

Thorins earrings look like paste. She stood next to a man wearing a sash the color

of coals in a hot woodfire. That deep orange-red was the Baronys color, and

Roland supposed that the man was their host, but for the moment Roland barely

saw him. His eye was held by Susan Delgado: the blue dress, the tanned skin, the

triangles of color, too pale and perfect to be makeup, which ran lightly up her

cheeks; most of all her hair, which was unbound tonight and fell to her waist like a shimmer of palest silk. He wanted her, suddenly and completely, with a desperate

depth of feeling that felt like sickness. Everything he was and everything he had

come for, it seemed, was secondary to her.

She turned a little, then, and spied him. Her eyes (they were gray, he saw) widened

the tiniest bit. He thought that the color in her cheeks deep ened a little. Her

lipslips that had touched his as they stood on a dark road, he thought with

wonderparted a little. Then the man standing next to Thorin (also tall, also

skinny, with a mustache and long white hair ly ing on the dark shoulders of his

coat) said something, and she turned back to him. A moment later the group

around Thorin was laughing, Susan in cluded. The man with the white hair didnt

join them, but smiled thinly.

Roland, hoping his face did not give away the fact that his heart was pounding like

a hammer, was led directly to this group, which stood close to the punchbowls.

Distantly, he could feel Rimers bony confeder ation of fingers clamped to his arm above the elbow. More clearly he could smell min gled perfumes, the oil from the

lamps on the walls, the aroma of the ocean. And thought, for no reason at all, Oh, I am dying. I am dying.

Take hold of yourself, Roland of Gilead. Stop this foolishness, for your fathers

sake. Take hold!

He tried

to some degree succeeded… and knew he would be lost the next time she looked at him. It was her eyes. The other night, in the dark, he hadnt been able

to see those fog-colored eyes. I didnt know how lucky I was, he thought wryly.

Mayor Thorin Rimer asked. May I present our guests from the Inner

Baronies

Thorin turned away from the man with the long white hair and the woman

standing next to him, his face brightening. He was shorter than his Chancellor but

just as thin, and his build was peculiar: a short and narrow-shouldered upper body

over impossibly long and skinny legs, He looked, Roland thought, like the sort of

bird you should glimpse in a marsh at dawn, bobbing for its breakfast.

Aye, you may! he cried in a strong, high voice. In deed you may, weve been

waiting with impatience, great impatience, for this moment! Well met we are,

very well met! Welcome, sirs! May your evening in this house of which I am the

fleeting proprietor be happy, and may your days be long upon the earth!

Roland took the bony outstretched hand, heard the knuckles crack be neath his

grip, looked for an expression of discomfort on the Mayors face, and was relieved to see none. He bowed low over his outstretched leg.

William Dearborn, Mayor Thorin, at your service.

Thank you for your welcome,

and may your own days be long upon the earth.

Arthur Heath made his manners next, then Richard Stockworth. Thorins smile

widened at each deep bow. Rimer did his best to beam, but looked unused to it.

The man with the long white hair took a glass of punch, passed it to his female

companion, and continued to smile thinly.

Roland was aware that everyone in the roomthe guests numbered per haps fifty in all

was looking at them, but what

he felt most upon his skin, beating like a soft wing, was her regard. He could see

the blue silk of her dress from the side of one eye, but did not dare look at her

more directly.

Was your trip difficult Thorin was asking. Did you have adven tures and

experience perils We would hear all the details at dinner, so we would, for we

have few guests from the Inner Arc these days. His eager, slightly fatuous smile

faded; his tufted brows drew together. Did ye en counter patrols of Farson

No, Excellency, Roland said. We

Nay, lad, nayno Excellency, I wont have it, and the fisherfolk and hossdrovers

I serve wouldnt, even if I would. Just Mayor Thorin, if you please.

Thank you. We saw many strange things on our jour ney, Mayor Thorin, but no

Good Men.

Good Men! Rimer jerked out, and his upper lip lift ed in a smile which made him

look doglike. Good Men, indeed!

We would hear it all, every word, Thorin said. But before I forget my manners

in my eagerness, young gentlemen, let me in troduce you to these close around me.

Kimba youve met; this formidable fellow to my left is Eldred Jonas, chief of my

newly installed security staff. Thorins smile looked momentarily embarrassed.

Im not convinced that I need extra security, Sheriff Averys always been quite

enough to keep the peace in our comer of the world, but Kimba insists. And when

Kimba in sists, the Mayor must bow.

Very wise, sir, Rimer said, and bowed himself. They all laughed, save for Jonas,

who simply held onto his narrow smile.

Jonas nodded. Pleased, gents, Im sure. The voice was a reedy qua ver. He then

wished them long days upon the earth, all three, coming to Roland last in his

round of handshaking. His grip was dry and firm, ut terly untouched by the tremor

in his voice. And now Roland noticed the queer blue shape tattooed on the back of

the mans right hand, in the web bing between thumb and first finger. It looked

like a coffin.

Long days, pleasant nights, Roland said with hard ly a thought. It was a greeting

from his childhood, and it was only later that he would realize it was one more apt

to be associated with Gilead than with any such rural place as Hemphill. Just a

small slip, but he was beginning to believe that their margin for such slips might

be a good deal less than his father had thought when he had sent Roland here to

get him out of Martens way.

And to you, Jonas said. His bright eyes measured Roland with a thoroughness

that was close to insolence, still holding his hand.

Then he released it and stepped

back.

Cordelia Delgado, Mayor Thorin said, next bow ing to the woman who had been

speaking to Jonas. As Roland also bowed in her direction, he saw the family

resemblance … except that what looked gener ous and lovely on Susans face

looked pinched and folded on the face before him now. Not the girls mother;

Roland guessed that Cordelia Delgado was a bit too young for that.

And our especial friend, Miss Susan Delgado,

Thorin finished, sounding

flustered (Roland supposed she would have that ef fect on any man, even an old

one like the Mayor). Thorin urged her forward, bob bing his head and grinning,

one of his knuckle-choked hands pressed against the small of her back, and

Roland felt an instant of poisonous jealousy.

Ridiculous, given this mans age and his plump, pleasant wife, but it was there, all right, and it was sharp. Sharp as a

bees ass, Cort would have said.

Then her face tilted up to his, and he was looking into her eyes again.

He had heard of drowning in a womans eyes in some poem or story, and thought

it ridiculous. He still thought it ridiculous, but under stood it was perfectly

possible, nonetheless. And she knew it. He saw concern in her eyes, perhaps even

fear.

Promise me that if we meet at Mayors House, we meet for the first time.

The memory of those words had a sobering, clar ifying effect, and seemed to widen his vision a little. Enough for him to be aware that the woman beside Jonas, the

one who shared some of Susans features, was looking at the girl with a mixture of curiosity and alarm.

He bowed low, but did little more than touch her ring less outstretched hand. Even

so, he felt something like a spark jump between their fingers. From the momentary

widening of those eyes, he thought that she felt it, too.

Pleased to meet you, sai, he said. His attempt to be casual sounded tinny and

false in his own ears. Still, he was begun, it felt like the whole world was watching

him (them), and there was nothing to do but go on with it. He tapped his throat

three times. May your days be long

Aye, and yours, Mr. Dearborn. Thankee-sai.

She turned to Alain with a rapidity that was almost rude, then to Cuthbert, who

bowed, tapped, then said gravely: Might I recline briefly at your feet, miss Your

beauty has loosened my knees. Im sure a few mo ments spent looking up at your

profile from below, with the back of my head on these cool tiles, would put me

right.

They all laughed at thateven Jonas and Miss Cordelia. Susan blushed prettily

and slapped the back of Cuthberts hand. For once Roland blessed his friends

relentless sense of foolery.

Another man joined the party by the punchbowl.

This newcomer was blocky and

blessedly un-thin in his boxtail coat. His cheeks burned with high color that

looked like windburn rather than drink, and his pale eyes lay in nets of wrinkles. A

rancher; Roland had ridden often enough with his father to know the look.

Therell be maids aplenty to meet you boys tonight, the newcomer said with a friendly enough smile. Yell find yselves drunk on perfume if yere not careful.

But Id like my crack at you before you meet em. Fran Lengyll, at your service.

His grip was strong and quick; no bowing or other nonsense went with it.

I own the Rocking B

or it owns me, whichever way ye want to look at it. Im

also boss of the Horsemens Association, at least until they fire me. The Bar K was my idea. Hope its all right.

Its perfect, sir, Alain said. Clean and dry and room for twenty. Thank you.

Youve been too kind.

Nonsense, Lengyll said, looking pleased all the same as he knocked back a glass

of punch. Were all in this together, boy. John Far sons but one bad straw in a

field of wrong-headedness these days. The worlds moved on, folks say. Huh! So it

has, aye, and a good piece down the road to hell is where its moved on to. Our job

is to hold the hay out of the fur nace as well as we can, as long as we can. For the

sake of our children even more than for that of our fa thers.

Hear, hear, Mayor Thorin said in a voice that strove for the high ground of

solemnity and fell with a splash into fatuity in stead. Roland no ticed the scrawny old fellow was gripping one of Susans hands (she seemed almost unaware of it;

was looking intently at Lengyll instead), and sud denly he understood: the Mayor

was either her uncle or perhaps a cousin of some close degree. Lengyll ignored

both, looking at the three newcomers instead, scrutinizing each in turn and

finishing with Roland.

Anything us in Mejis can do to help, lad, just ask

me, John Croydon, Hash

Renfrew, Jake White, Hank Wertner, any or all. Yell meet em tonight, aye, their

wives and sons and daughters as well, and ye need only ask. We may be a good

piece out from the hub of New Canaan here, but were strong for the Affiliation,

all the same. Aye, very strong.

Well spoken, Rimer said quietly.

And now, Lengyll said, well toast your arrival prop er. And yeve had to wait

too long already for a dip of punch. Its dry as dust ye must be.

He turned to the punchbowls and reached for the la dle in the larger and more

ornate of the two, waving off the attendant, clear ly wanting to honor them by

serving them himself.

Mr. Lengyll, Roland said quietly. Yet there was a force of com mand in that

voice; Fran Lengyll heard it and turned.

The smaller bowl is soft punch, is it not

Lengyll considered this, at first not understand ing. Then his eyebrow went up. For the first time he seemed to consider Roland and the others not as living symbols of

the Affiliation and the Inner Baronies, but as ac tual human beings. Young ones.

Only boys, when you got right down to it.

Aye

Draw ours from that, if youd be so kind. He felt all eyes upon them now. Her

eyes particularly. He kept his own firmly fixed on the rancher, but his peripheral

vision was good, and he was very aware that Jonass thin smile had resurfaced.

Jonas knew what this was about al ready. Roland sup posed Thorin and Rimer did,

as well. These country mice knew a lot. More than they should, and he would need

to think about that carefully later. It was the least of his concerns at the current

moment, however.

We have forgotten the faces of our fathers in a matter that has some bearing on

our posting to Hambry. Roland was uncomfort ably aware that he was now

making a speech, like it or not. It wasnt the whole room he was

addressingthank the gods for little blessings

but the circle of listeners had

grown well beyond the original group. Yet there was nothing for it but to finish;

the boat was launched. I neednt go into details

nor would you expect them, I

knowbut I should say that we promised not to in dulge in spirits during our time

here. As penance, you see.

Her gaze. He could still feel it on his skin, it seemed.

For a moment there was complete quiet in the lit tle group around the punchbowls,

and then Lengyll said: Your father would be proud to hear ye speak so frank,

Will Dearbornaye, so he would. And what boy worth his salt didnt get up to a

little noise n wind from time to time He clapped Roland on the shoulder, and

although the grip of his hand was firm and his smile looked genuine, his eyes were

hard to read, only gleams of speculation deep in those beds of wrinkles. In his

place, may I be proud for him

Yes, Roland said, smiling in return. And with my thanks.

And mine, Cuthbert said.

Mine as well, Alain said quietly, taking the of fered cup of soft punch and

bowing to Lengyll.

Lengyll filled more cups and handed them rapidly around. Those al ready holding

cups found them plucked away and replaced with fresh cups of the soft punch.

When each of the immediate group had one, Lengyll turned, apparently intending to offer the toast himself. Rimer tapped him on the shoulder, shook his head

slightly, and cut his eyes toward the Mayor. That worthy was looking at them with

his eyes rather popped and his jaw slightly dropped.

To Roland he looked like an

en thralled playgoer in a penny seat; all he need ed was a lapful of orange-peel.

Lengyll followed the Chancellors glance and then nodded.

Rimer next caught the eye of the guitar player standing at the center of the

musicians. He stopped playing; so did the others.

The guests looked that way, then

back to the center of the room when Thorin began speak ing. There was nothing

ridiculous about his voice when he put it to use as he now didit was carrying

and pleasant.

Ladies and gentlemen, my friends, he said. I would ask you to help me in

welcoming three new friendsyoung men from the Inner Bar onies, fine young

men who have dared great distances and many per ils on behalf of the Affiliation,

and in the service of order and peace.

Susan Delgado set her punch-cup aside, re trieved her hand (with some difficulty) from her uncles grip, and began to clap. Others joined in. The applause which

swept the room was brief but warm. Eldred Jonas did not, Roland noticed, put his

cup aside to join in.

Thorin turned to Roland, smiling. He raised his cup.

May I set you on with a

word, Will Dearborn

Aye, so you may, and with thanks, Roland said. There was laughter and fresh

applause at his usage.

Thorin raised his cup even higher. Everyone else in the room fol lowed suit;

crystal gleamed like starpoints in the light of the chandelier.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you William Dear born of Hemphill, Richard

Stockworth of Pennilton, and Arthur Heath of Gilead.

Gasps and murmurs at that last, as if their Mayor had announced Arthur Heath of

Heaven.

Take of them well, give to them well, make their days in Mejis sweet, and their

memories sweeter. Help them in their work and to ad vance the causes which are

so dear to all of us. May their days be long upon the earth. So says your Mayor.

SO SAY WE ALL! they thundered back.

Thorin drank; the rest followed his example. There was fresh ap plause. Roland

turned, helpless to stop himself, and found Susans eyes again at once. For a

moment she looked at him fully, and in her frank gaze he saw that she was nearly

as shaken by his presence as he was by hers. Then the older woman who looked

like her bent and murmured some thing into her ear.

Susan turned away, her face a

composed mask … but he had seen her regard in her eyes. And thought again that

what was done might be undone, and what was spo ken might be unspoken.

8

As they passed into the dining hall, which had tonight been set with four long

trestle tables (so close there was barely room to move between them), Cordelia

tugged her nieces hand, pulling her back from the Mayor and Jonas, who had

fallen into conversation with Fran Lengyll.

Why looked you at him so, miss Cordelia whis pered furiously. The vertical line had appeared on her forehead. Tonight it looked as deep as a trench. What ails

thy pretty, stupid head Thy. Just that was enough to tell Susan that her aunt was

in a fine rage.

Looked at who And how Her tone sounded right, she thought, but oh, her

heart

The hand over hers clamped down, hurting. Play no fiddle with me, Miss Oh So

Young and Pretty! Have ye ever seen that fineturned row of pins before Tell me

the truth!

No, how could I Aunt, youre hurting me.

Aunt Cord smiled balefully and clamped down hard er. Better a small hurt now

than a large one later. Curb your impudence. And curb your flirtatious eyes.

Aunt, I dont know what you

I think you do, Cordelia said grimly, pressing her niece close to the wood

panelling to allow the guests to stream past them.

When the rancher who owned

the boathouse next to theirs said hello, Aunt Cord smiled pleasantly at him and

wished him goodeven before turning back to Su san.

Mind me, missmind me well. If I saw yer cows eyes, ye may be sure that half

the company saw. Well, whats done is done, but it stops now. Your time for such

child-maid games is over. Do you understand

Susan was silent, her face setting in those stub born lines Cordelia hated most of

all; it was an expression that always made her feel like slap ping her headstrong

niece until her nose bled and her great gray does eyes gushed tears.

Yeve made a vow and a contract. Papers have been passed, the weird-woman has

been consulted, money has changed hands. And yeve given your promise. If that

means nothing to such as yerself, girl, remem ber what itd mean to yer father.

Tears rose in Susans eyes again, and Cordelia was glad to see them. Her brother

had been an improvident irritation, capable of producing only this far too pretty womanchild

but he had his uses, even dead.

Now promise yell keep yer eyes to yourself, and that if ye see that boy coming,

yell swing wideaye, wides you canto stay out of his way.

I promise. Aunt, Susan whispered. I do.

Cordelia smiled. She was really quite pretty when she smiled. Its well, then. Lets go in. Were being looked at. Hold my arm, child!

Susan clasped her aunts powdered arm. They en tered the room side by side, their dresses rustling, the sapphire pendant on the swell of Su sans breast flashing, and

many there were who remarked upon how alike they looked, and how well pleased

poor old Pat Delgado would have been with them.

9

Roland was seated near the head of the center ta ble, between Hash Ren frew (a

rancher even bigger and blockier than Lengyll) and Thorins rather morose sister,

Coral. Renfrew had been handy with the punch; now, as the soup was brought to

table, he set about proving himself equally adept with the ale.

He talked about the fishing trade (not what it useter be, boy, al though its less

muties they pull up in their nets these days, n thats a blessin), the farming trade

(folks round here can grow most anythin, longs its corn or beans), and finally

about those things clearly closest to his heart: horsin, coursin, and ranchin. Those businesses went on as al ways, aye, so they did, al though times had been hard in

the grass-and-seacoast Baronies for forty year or more.

Werent the bloodlines clarifying Roland asked.

For they had begun to do so

where he came from.

Aye, Renfrew agreed, ignoring his potato soup and gobbling barbe cued beefstrips instead. These he scooped up with a bare hand and washed down with more

ale. Aye, young master, bloodlines was clarify ing wonderful well, indeed they

were, three colts out of every five were threaded stockin thoroughbred as well

as common lines, kennitand the fourth could be kept and worked if not bred.

Only one in five these days born with extra legs or extra eyes or its guts on the

outside, and that was good. But the birthrates were way down, so they were; the

stallions had as much ram as ever in their ram rods, it seemed, but not as much

powder and ball.

Beggin your pardon, maam, Renfrew said, lean ing briefly across Roland to

Coral Thorin. She smiled her thin smile (it reminded Roland of Jonass), trudged

her spoon through her soup, and said nothing. Ren frew emptied his ale-cup,

smacked his lips heartily, and held the cup out again.

As it was recharged, he

turned back to Roland.

Things werent good, not as they once had been, but they could be worse. Would

be worse, if that bugger Farson had his way. (This time he didnt bother excusing

himself to sai Thorin.) They all had to pull to gether, that was the ticketrich and

poor, great and small, while pulling could still do some good. And then he

seconded Lengyll, telling Roland that whatever he and his friends wanted,

whatever they needed, they had only to name it.

Information should be enough, Roland said.

Numbers of things.

Aye, cant be a counter without numbers, Renfrew agreed, and sprayed beery

laughter. On Rolands left hand, Coral Thorin nibbled a bit of green (the beefstrips

she had not so much as touched), smiled her nar row smile, and went on

boating with her spoon. Roland guessed there was nothing wrong with her ears,

though, and that her brother might get a complete report of their conversation. Or

possibly it would be Rimer to get the report. For, while it was too early to say for

sure, Roland had an idea that Rimer might be the real force here. Along, perhaps,

with sai Jonas.

For instance, Roland said, how many riding hors es do you think we may be

able to report back to the Affiliation

Tithe or total

Total.

Renfrew put his cup down and appeared to calcu late. As he did, Roland looked

across the table and saw Lengyll and Henry Wert ner, the Baronys stockliner,

exchange a quick glance. They had heard. And he saw something else as well,

when he returned his attention to his seatmate: Hash Renfrew was drunk, but

likely not as drunk as he wanted young Will Dear born to believe.

Total, ye saynot just what we owe the Affilia tion, or might be able to send

along in a pinch.

Yes.

Well, lets see, young sai. Fran must run a hundredn forty head; John Croydons

got near a hundred. Hank Wertners got forty on his own hook, and must run sixty

more out along the Drop for the Barony. Govmint hossflesh, Mr. Dearborn.

Roland smiled. I know it well. Split hoofs, low necks, no speed, bot tomless

bellies.

Renfrew laughed hard at that, nodding… but Roland found himself wondering if

the man was really amused. In Hambry, the wa ters on top and the waters down

below seemed to run in different directions.

As for myself, Ive had a bad ten or twelve year

sand-eye, brain fever, cabbards.

At one time there was two hundred head of running horses out there on the Drop

with the Lazy Susan brand on em; now there cant be more than eighty.

Roland nodded. So were speaking of four hun dred and twenty head.

Oh, moren that, Renfrew said with a laugh. He went to pick up his ale-cup,

struck it with the side of one work-and weather-red dened hand, knocked it over,

cursed, picked it up, then cursed the aleboy who came slow to refill it.

More than that Roland prompted, when Renfrew was finally cocked and locked

and ready to resume action.

Ye have to remember, Mr. Dearborn, that this is hoss-country more than its

fisher-country. We josh each other, we and the fishers, but theres many a scalescrap er got a nag put away behind his house, or in the Barony stables if they have

no roof of their own to keep the rain off a bosss head.

Twas her poor da useter

keep the Barony stables.

Renfrew nodded toward Susan, who was seat ed across and three seats up from

Roland himselfjust a tables turn from the Mayor, who was, of course, seated at

the head. Roland found her placement there pass ing pe culiar, especially given the fact that the Mayors missus had been seated al most all the way at the far end of the table, with Cuthbert on one side of her and some rancher to whom they had not

yet been introduced on her other.

Roland supposed an old fellow like Thorin might like to have a pretty young

relation near at hand to help draw attention to him, or to cheer up his own eye, but it still seemed odd. Almost an insult to ones wife. If he was tired of her

conversation, why not put her at the head of an other table

They have their own customs, thats all, and the cus toms of the coun try arent

your concern. This mans crazy horsecount is your concern.

How many other running horses, would you say

he asked Ren frew. In all

Renfrew gazed at him shrewdly. An honest an swerll not come back to haunt me, will it, sonny Im an Affiliation manso I am, Af filiation to the core, theyll

carve Excalibur on my gravehead, like as notbut Id not see Hambry and Mejis

stripped of all its treasure.

That wont happen, sai. How could we force you to give up what you dont want

to in any case Such forces as we have are all com mitted in the north and west,

against the Good Man.

Renfrew considered this, then nodded.

And may I not be Will to you

Renfrew brightened, nodded, and offered his hand a second time. He grinned

broadly when Roland this time shook it in both of his, the over-and-under grip

preferred by drovers and cowboys.

Thesere bad times we live in, Will, and theyve bred bad manners. Id guess there

are probably another hundred and fifty head of horse in and about Mejis. Good

ones is what I mean.

Big-hat stock.

Renfrew nodded, clapped Roland on the back, in gested a goodly quaff of ale. Bighats, aye.

From the top of their table there came a burst of laughter. Jonas had apparently

said something funny. Susan laughed without reservation, her head tilted back and her hands clasped before the sapphire pendant.

Cordelia, who sat with the girl on her left and Jonas on her right, was also laughing.

Thorin was absolutely

convulsed, rocking back and forth in his chair, wip ing his eyes with a napkin.

Yons a lovely girl, Renfrew said. He spoke al most reverently. Roland could not

quite swear that a small sounda womanly hmmpf, per hapshad come from his

other side. He glanced in that direction and saw sai Thorin still sporting with her soup. He looked back toward the head of the table.

Is the Mayor her uncle, or perhaps her cousin

Roland asked.

What happened next had a heightened clarity in his memory, as if someone had

turned up all the colors and sounds of the world. The velvet swags behind Susan

suddenly seemed a brighter red; the caw of laugh ter which came from Coral

Thorin was the sound of a breaking branch. It was surely loud enough to make

everyone in the vicinity stop their conversa tions and look at her, Roland thought .

. . except only Renfrew and the two ranchers across the table did.

Her uncle! It was her first conversation of the evening. Her uncle, thats good.

Eh, Rennie

Renfrew said nothing, only pushed his ale-cup away and finally be gan to eat his soup.

Im surprised at ye, young man, so I am. Ye may be from the InWorld, but oh

goodness, whoever tended to your education of the real worldthe one outside of books n mapsstopped a mite short, Id say. Shes his And then a word so

thick with dialect that Roland had no idea what it was.

Seefin, it sounded, or

perhaps sheevin.

I beg pardon He was smiling, but the smile felt cold and false on his mouth.

There was a heaviness in his belly, as if the punch and the soup and the single beefstrip he had eaten for politeness sake had all lumped together in his stomach. Do you serve hed asked her, meaning did she serve at table. Mayhap she did serve,

but likely she did it in a room rather more private than this. Suddenly he wanted to

hear no more; had not the slightest interest in the meaning of the word the Mayors

sister had used.

Another burst of laughter rocked the top of the ta ble. Susan laughed with her head

back, her cheeks glowing, her eyes sparkling. One strap of her dress had slipped

down her arm, disclosing the tender hollow of her shoulder. As he watched, his

heart full of fear and longing, she brushed it absent ly back into place with the

palm of her hand.

It means quiet little woman,  Renfrew said, clearly uncomfort able. Its an old term, not used much these days

Stop it, Rennie, said Coral Thorin. Then, to Roland: Hes just an old cowboy,

and cant quit shovelling horseshit even when hes away from his beloved nags.

Sheevin means side-wife. In the time of my greatgrandmother, it meant whore …

but one of a certain kind. She looked with a pale eye at Susan, who was now

sipping ale, then turned back to Roland. There was a species of baleful amusement

in her gaze, an expres sion that Roland liked little.

The kind of whore you had to

pay for in coin, the kind too fine for the trade of simple folk.

Shes his gilly Roland asked through lips which felt as if they had been iced.

Aye, Coral said. Not consummated, not until the Reapand none too happy

about that is my brother, Ill warrantbut bought and paid for just as in the old

days. So she is. Coral paused, then said, Her father would die of shame if he

could see her. She spoke with a kind of melan choly satisfaction.

I hardly think we should judge the Mayor too harsh ly, Renfrew said in an

embarrassed, pontificating voice.

Coral ignored him. She studied the line of Susans jaw, the soft swell of her bosom

above the silken edge of her bodice, the fall of her hair.

The thin humor was gone

from Coral Thorins face. In it now was a somehow chilling species of contempt.

In spite of himself, Roland found himself imagin ing the Mayors knuckle-bunchy

hands pushing down the straps of Susans dress, crawl ing over her naked

shoulders, plunging like gray crabs into the cave be neath her hair. He looked

away, toward the tables lower end, and what he saw there was no better. It was

Olive Thorin that his eye foundOlive, who had been relegated to the foot of the

table, Olive, looking up at the laughing folk who sat at its head. Looking up at her

husband, who had re placed her with a beautiful young girl, and gifted that girl

with a pendant which made her own firedim ear rings look dowdy by comparison.

There was none of Corals hatred and angry con tempt on her face. Looking at her

might have been easier if that were so. She only gazed at her husband with eyes

that were humble, hopeful, and unhappy. Now Roland under stood why he had

thought her sad. She had every reason to be sad.

More laughter from the Mayors party; Rimer had leaned over from the next table,

where he was presiding, to contribute some witti cism. It must have been a good

one. This time even Jonas was laughing. Susan put a hand to her bosom, then took

her napkin and raised it to wipe a tear of laughter from the comer of her eye.

Thorin covered her other hand. She looked toward Roland and met his eyes, still

laughing. He thought of Olive Thorin, sitting down there at the foot of the table,

with the salt and spices, an untouched bowl of soup before her and that unhappy

smile on her face. Seated where the girl could see her, as well. And he thought

that, had he been wearing his guns, he might well have drawn one and put a bullet

in Susan Delgados cold and whoring little heart.

And thought: Who do you hope to fool Then one of the serving boys was there, putting a plate offish in front of him.

Roland thought he had never felt less like eating in his life… but he would eat,

just the same, just as he would turn his mind to the ques tions raised by his

conversation with Hash Renfrew of the Lazy Su san Ranch. He would remember

the face of his father.

Yes, Ill remember it very well, he thought. If only I could forget the one above yon

sapphire.

10

The dinner was interminable, and there was no escape afterward. The table at the center of the reception room had been removed, and when l lie guests came back

that waylike a tide which has surged as high as it can and now ebbsthey

formed two adjacent circles at the direction of a sprightly little redhaired man

whom Cuthbert later dubbed Mayor Thorins Min ister of Fun.

The boy-girl, boy-girl, boy-girl circling was ac complished with much laughter and

some difficulty (Roland guessed that about threequarters of (lie guests were now

fairly well shottered), and then the guitarists struck up a quesa. This proved to be a

simple sort of reel. The circles revolved in oppo site directions, all holding hands, until the music stopped for a mo ment. Then the couple created at the place where

the two circles touched danced at the center of the female partners circle, while

everyone else clapped and cheered.

The lead musician managed this old and clearly well-loved tradition with a keen

eye to the ridiculous, stopping his muchachos in order to cre ate the most amusing

couples: tall woman-short man, fat woman-skin ny man, old woman-young man

(Cuthbert ended up side-kicking with a woman as old as his great-granddame, to

the sais breathless cackles and the companys general roars of approval).

Then, just when Roland was thinking this stupid dance would never end, the music

stopped and he found himself facing Susan Del gado.

For a moment he could do nothing but stare at her, feeling that his eyes must burst

from their sockets, feeling that he could move nei ther of his stupid feet. Then she

raised her arms, the music began, the circle (this one included Mayor Thorin and

the watchful, narrowly smiling Eldred Jonas) ap plauded, and he led her into the

dance.

At first, as he spun her through a figure (his feet moved with all their usual grace

and precision, numb or not), he felt like a man made of glass. Then he became

aware of her body touching his, and the rustle of her dress, and he was all too

human again.

She moved closer for just a moment, and when she spoke, her breath tickled in his

ear. He wondered if a woman could drive you mad literally mad. He wouldnt

have believed so before tonight, but tonight every thing had changed.

Thank you for your discretion and your propriety,

she whispered.

He pulled back from her a little and at the same time twirled her, his hand against

the small of her backpalm resting on cool satin, fin gers touching warm skin. Her

feet followed his with never a pause or stutter; they moved with perfect grace,

unafraid of his great and booted clod-stompers even in their flimsy silk slippers.

I can be discreet, sai, he said. As for propriety Im amazed you even know the

word.

She looked up into his cold face, her smile fading.

He saw anger come in to fill it,

but before anger there was hurt, as if he had slapped her. He felt both glad and

sorry at the same time.

Why do you speak so she whispered.

The music stopped before he could answer

al though how he might have

answered, he had no idea. She curtseyed and he bowed, while those surrounding

them clapped and whistled. They went back to their places, to their separate

circles, and the guitars began again. Roland felt his hands grasped on either side

and began to turn with the circle once more.

Laughing. Kicking. Clapping on the beat. Feeling her somewhere be hind him,

doing the same. Wondering if she wanted as badly as he did to be out of here, to be in the dark, to be alone in the dark, where he could put his false face aside

before the real one beneath could grow hot enough to set it afire.

CHAPTER VI

sheemie

1

Around ten o the clock, the trio of young men from the Inner Baronies made their

manners to host and hostess, then slipped off into the fragrant summer night.

Cordelia Delgado, who happened to be standing near Henry Wertner, the Baronys

stockliner, remarked that they must be tired. Wert ner laughed at this and replied in an accent so thick it was almost comic: Nay, maam, byes that agere like rats

explorin en woodpile after hokkut rain, so they are.

Itll be hours yet before the

bunks outta Bar K sees em.

Olive Thorin left the public rooms shortly after the boys, pleading a headache. She

was pale enough to be almost believable.

By eleven, the Mayor, his Chancellor, and the chief of his newly in augurated

security staff were conversing in the Mayors study with the last few late-staying guests (all ranchers, all members of the Horse mens Association). The talk was

brief but intense. Several of the ranchers pres ent expressed relief that the

Affiliations emissaries were so young. Eldred Jonas said nothing to this, only

looked down at his pale, long-fingered hands and smiled his narrow smile.

By midnight, Susan was at home and undressing for bed. She didnt have the

sapphire to worry about, at least; that was a Barony jewel, and had been tucked

back into the strongbox at Mayors House before she left, despite what Mr. AintWe-Fine Will Dearborn might think about it and her.

Mayor Thorin (she couldnt

bring herself to call him Hart, al though he had asked her to do sonot even to

herself could she do it) had taken it back from her himself. In the hallway just off

from the reception room, that had been, by the tapestry showing Arthur Eld

carrying his sword out of the pyramid in which it had been entombed. And he

(Thorin, not the Eld) had taken the opportunity to kiss her mouth and have a quick

fumble at her breastsa part of her that had felt much too naked during that entire

interminable evening. 1 burn for Reaping, he had whispered melodramatically in

her ear. His breath had been redolent of brandy.

Each day of this summer seems

an age.

Now, in her room, brushing her hair with harsh, quick strokes and looking out at

the waning moon, she thought she had never been so angry in her life as she was

at this moment: angry at Thorin, angry at Aunt Cord, furious with that selfrigh

teous prig of a Will Dearborn. Most of all, how ever, she was angry at herself.

Theres three things ye can do in any situation, girl,

her father had told her once.

Ye can decide to do a thing, ye can decide not to do a thing

or ye can decide

not to decide. That last, her da had never quite come out and said (he hadnt

needed to) was the choice of weaklings and fools.

She had promised herself she

would never elect it herself… and yet she had al lowed herself to drift into this

ugly situation. Now all the choices seemed bad and honorless, all the roads either filled with rocks or hub-deep in mud.

In her room at Mayors House (she had not shared a chamber with Hart for ten

years, or a bed, even briefly, for five), Olive sat in a nightdress of undecorated

white cotton, also looking out at the waning moon.

After closing herself into this

safe and private place, she had wept… but not for long. Now she was dry-eyed,

and felt as hollow as a dead tree.

And what was the worst That Hart didnt under stand how humiliated she was, and

not just for herself. He was too busy strutting and preening (also too busy trying to

look down the front of sai Delgados dress at every opportunity) to know that

peoplehis own Chancellor among themwere laughing at him behind his back.

That might stop when the girl had returned to her aunts with a big belly, but that

wouldnt be for months yet. The witch had seen to that.

It would be even longer if

the girl kindled slowly. And what was the silliest, most humiliating thing of all

That she, John Havertys daughter Olive, still loved her husband. Hart was an

overweening, vainglorious, prancing loon of a man, but she still loved him.

There was something else, something quite apart from the matter of Harts turning

into George o Goats in his late middle age: she thought there was an intrigue of

some sort going on, something dangerous and quite likely dishonorable. Hart

knew a little about it, but she guessed he knew only what Kimba Rimer and that

hideous limping man wanted him to know.

There was a time, and not so long ago, when Hart wouldnt have al lowed himself

to be fobbed off in such fashion by the likes of Rimer, a time when he would have

taken one look at Eldred Jonas and his friends and sent them west ere they had so

much as a single hot dinner in them. But that was before Hart had become

besotted with sai Delgados gray eyes. high bo som, and flat belly.

Olive turned down the lamp, blew out the flame, and crept off to bed, where she

would lie wakeful until dawn.

By one o the clock, no one was left in the public rooms of Mayors House except

for a quartet of cleaning women, who performed their chores silently (and

nervously) beneath the eye of Eldred Jonas.

When one of them looked up and saw him gone from the window-seat where he had been sitting and smoking, she

murmured softly to her friends, and they all loos ened up a little. But there was no singing, no laughter. Il spec tra, the man with the blue coffin on his hand, might

only have stepped hack into the shadows. He might still be watching.

By two o the clock, even the cleaning women were gone. It was an hour at which

a party in Gilead would just have been reaching its apogee of glitter and gossip,

but Gilead was far away, not just in another Barony hut almost in another world.

This was the Outer Arc, and in the Outers, even gentry went to bed early.

There was no gentry on view at the Travellers Rest, however, and beneath the allen

compassing gaze of The Romp, the night was still fairly young.

2

At one end of the saloon, fishermen still wearing their rolled-down boots drank

and played Watch Me for small stakes. To their right was a poker table; to their

left, a knot of yelling, exhorting mencowpokes, mostly stood along Satans

Alley, watching the dice bounce down the velvet in cline. At the rooms other end,

Sheb McCurdy was pounding out jagged boogie, right hand flying, left hand

pumping, the sweat pouring down his neck and pale cheeks. Beside and above

him, standing drunk on a stool, Pettie the Trotter shook her enormous bottom and

bawled out the words to the song at the top of her voice: Come on over, baby, we

got chicken in the hum, what hum. whose barn, my burn! Come on over, baby,

baby got the bull by the horns



Sheemie stopped beside the piano, the camel bucket in one hand, grinning up at her and attempting to sing along. Pettie swatted him on his way, never missing a

word, bump, or grind, and Sheemie went with his pe culiar laugh, which was shrill

but somehow not unpleasant.

A game of darts was in progress; in a booth near the back, a whore who styled

herself Countess Jillian of Upard Killian (exiled royalty from distant Garlan, my

dears, oh how special we are) was managing to give two handjobs at the same

time while smoking a pipe. And at the bar, a whole line of assorted toughs,

drifters, cowpunchers, drovers, drivers, carters, wheelwrights, stagies, carpenters, conmen, stockmen, boatmen, and gunmen drank beneath The Romps double head.

The only real gunmen in the place were at the end of the bar, a pair drinking by

themselves. No one attempted to join them, and not just be cause they wore

shooting irons in holsters that were slung low and tied down gunslinger fashion.

Guns were uncommon but not unknown in Mejis at that time, and not necessarily

feared, but these two had the sullen look of men who have spent a long day doing

work they didnt want to dothe look of men who would pick a fight on no

account at all, and be glad to end their day by send ing some new widows husband

home in a hurry-up wagon.

Stanley the bartender served them whiskey after whiskey with no at tempt to make

conversation, not so much as a Hot day, gents, wan’t it They reeked of sweat,

and their hands were pitchy with pinegum. Not enough to keep Stanley from

being able to see the blue coffin-shapes tat tooed on them, though. Their friend,

the old limping buzzard with the girls hair and the gimp leg, wasnt here, at least.

In Stanleys view, Jonas was easily the worst of the Big Coffin Hunters, but these

two were bad enough, and he had no intention of getting aslant of them if he could help it. With luck, no one would; they looked tired enough to call it a night early.

Reynolds and Depape were tired, all rightthey had spent the day out at Citgo,

camouflaging a line of empty steel tankers with nonsense words (texaco, citgo,

sunoco, exxon) printed on their sides, a billion pine-boughs theyd hauled and

stacked, it seemedbut they had no con sequent plans to finish their drinking

early. Depape might have done so if Her Nibs had been available, but that young

beauty (actual name: Gert Moggins) had a ranchjob and wouldnt be back until

two nights hence. And itll be a week if theres hard cash on offer, Depape said

morosely. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose.

Fuck her, Reynolds said.

Thats just what Id do if I could, but I cant.

Im going to get me a plate of that free lunch,

Reynolds said, point ing down to

the other end of the bar, where a tin bucket of steamed clams had just come out of the kitchen. You want some

Them look like hocks of snot and go down the same way. Bring me a strip of

beef jerky.

All right, partner. Reynolds went off down the bar.

People gave him wide

passage; gave even his silk-lined cloak wide pas sage.Depape, more morose than ever now that he had thought of Her Nibs gobbling

cowboy spareribs out there at the Piano Ranch, downed his drink, winced at the

stench of pinegum on his hand, then held his glass out in Stanley Ruizs direction.

Fill this up, you dog! he shouted. A cowhand lean ing with his back, butt, and

elbows against the bar jerked forward at the sound of Depapes bellow, and that

was all it took to start trouble.

Sheemie was bustling toward the pass through from which the steam ers had just

appeared, now holding the camel bucket out be fore him in both hands. Later,

when the Travellers began to empty out, his job would he to clean up. For now,

however, it was simply to circulate with the camel bucket, dumping in every

unfinished drink he found. This com bined elixir ended up in a jug behind the bar.

The jug was labelled fairly enoughcamel piss

and a double shot could be

obtained for three pen nies. It was a drink only for the reckless or the

impecunious, but a fair number of both passed beneath the stem gaze of The Romp

each night; Stanley rarely had a problem empty ing the jug. And if it wasnt empty at the end of the night, why, there was always a fresh night coming along. Not to

mention a fresh supply of thirsty fools.

But on this occasion Sheemie never made it to the Camel Piss jug be hind the end

of the bar. He tripped over the boot of the cowboy who had jerked forward, and

went to his knees with a grunt of surprise. The con tents of the bucket sloshed out

ahead of him, and, following Satans First Law of Malignityto wit, if the worst

can happen, it usually willthey drenched Roy Depape from the knees down in

an eye watering mixture of beer, graf, and white lightning.

Conversation at the bar stopped, and that stopped the talk of the men gathered

around the dice-chute. Sheb turned, saw Sheemie kneeling be fore one of Jonass

men, and stopped playing. Pettie, her eyes squeezed shut as she poured her entire soul into her singing, continued on a capella for three or four bars before

registering the silence which was spreading out like a ripple. She stopped singing and opened her eyes. That sort of si lence usually meant that someone was going

to be killed. If so, she didnt intend to miss it.

Depape stood perfectly still, inhaling the raw stench of alcohol as it rose. He didnt mind the smell; on the whole, it had the stink of pinegum beat six ways to the

Peddler. He didnt mind the way his pants were stick ing to his knees, either. It

might have been a bit of an irritation if some of that joy-juice had gotten down

inside his boots, but none had.

His hand fell to the butt of his gun. Here, by god and by goddess, was something

to take his mind off his sticky hands and absent whore. And good entertainment

was ever worth a little wetting.

Silence blanketed the place now. Stanley stood as stiff as a soldier be hind the bar, nervously plucking at one of his arm-garters. At the bars other end, Reynolds

looked back toward his partner with bright inter est. He took a clam from the

steaming bucket and cracked it on the edge of the bar like a boiled egg. At

Depapes feet, Sheemie looked up, his eyes big and fearful beneath the wild snarl

of his black hair. He was trying his best to smile.

Well now, boy, Depape said. You have wet me considerable.

Sorry, big fella, I go trippy-trip. Sheemie jerked a hand back over his shoulder; a

little spray of camel piss flew from the tips of his fin gers. Somewhere someone

cleared his throat nervouslyraa-aach! The room was full of eyes, and quiet

enough so that they all could hear both the wind in the eaves and the waves

breaking on the rocks of Hambry Point, two miles away.

The hell you did, said the cowpoke who had jerked.

He was about twenty, and

suddenly afraid he might never see his mother again. Dont you go tryin to put

your trouble off on me, you damned feeb.

I dont care how it happened, Depape said. He was aware he was playing for an

audience, and knew that what an audience most ly wants is to be entertained. Sai R.

B. Depape, always a trouper, intended to oblige.

He pinched the corduroy of his pants above the knees and pulled the legs up,

revealing the toes of his boots. They were shiny and wet.

See there. Look at what you got on my boots.

Sheemie looked up at him, grinning and terrified.

Stanley Ruiz decided he couldnt let this happen without at least try ing to stop it.

He had known Dolores Sheemer, the boys mother; there was even a possibility

that he himself was the boys father. In any case, he liked Sheemie. The boy was

foolish, but his heart was good, he never took a drink, and he always did his work.

Also, he could find a smile for you even on the cold est, foggiest winters day. That

was a talent many people of normal intelli gence did not have.

Sai Depape, he said, taking a step forward and speaking in a low, respectful

tone. Im very sorry about that. Ill be happy to buy your drinks for the rest of the

evening if we can just forget this regrettable

Depapes movement was a blur almost too fast to see, but that wasnt what amazed

the people who were in the Rest that night; they would have expected a man

running with Jonas to be fast. What amazed them was the fact that he never looked

around to set his target. He located Stanley by his voice alone.

Depape drew his gun and swept it to the right in a rising arc. It struck Stanley Ruiz dead in the mouth, mashing his lips and shattering three of his teeth. Blood

splashed the backbar mirror; several high-fly ing drops decorated the tip of The Romps lefthand nose. Stanley screamed, clapped his hands to his face, and

staggered back against the shelf behind him. In the silence, the chattery clink of

the bottles was very loud.

Down the bar, Reynolds cracked another clam and watched, fasci nated. Good as a

play, it was.

Depape turned his attention back to the kneeling boy. Clean my boots, he said.

A look of muddled relief came onto Sheemies face. Clean his boots! Yes! You

bet! Right away! He pulled the rag he always kept in his back pocket. It wasnt

even dirty yet. Not very, at least.

No, Depape said patiently. Sheemie looked up at him, gaping and puzzled. Put

that nasty clout back where it come fromI dont even want to look at it.

Sheemie tucked it into his back pocket again.

Lick em, Depape said in that same patient voice.

Thats what I want. You lick

my boots until theyre dry again, and so clean you can see your stupid rabbits face

in em.

Sheemie hesitated, as if still not sure what was re quired of him. Or perhaps he was

only processing the information.

Id do it, boy, Barkie Callahan said from what he hoped was a safe place behind

Shebs piano. If you want to see the sun come up, Id surely do it.

Depape had already decided the mush-brain wasnt going to see an other sunrise, not in this world, but kept quiet. He had never had his boots licked. He wanted to

see what it felt like. If it was nicekind of sexy-like

he could maybe try Her

Nibs out on it.

Does I have to Sheemies eyes were filling with tears. Cant just I-sorry and

polish em real good

Lick, you feeble-minded donkey, Depape said.

Sheemies hair fell across his forehead. His tongue poked tentatively out between

his lips, and as he bent his head toward Depapes boots, the first of his tears fell.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, a voice said. It was shocking in the silence not because

it was sudden, and certainly not because it was angry. It was shocking because it

was amused. I simply cant allow that. Nope. I would if I could, but I cant.

Unsanitary, you see. Who knows what dis ease might be spread in such fashion

The mind quails! Ab-so-lutely cuh-wails!

Standing just inside the batwing doors was the pur veyor of this idiotic and

potentially fatal screed: a young man of middling height, his flatcrowned hat

pushed back to reveal a tumbled comma of brown hair. Ex cept young man didnt

really cover him, Depape realized; young man was drawing it heavy. He was only

a kid. Around his neck, gods knew why, he wore a birds skull like an enormous

comical pendant. It was hung on a chain that ran through the eyeholes. And in his

hands was not a gun (where would an unwhiskered dribble like him get a gun in

the first place Depape wondered) but a goddam slingshot. Depape burst out

laughing.

The kid laughed as well, nodding as if he under stood how ridiculous the whole

thing looked, how ridiculous the whole thing was. His laughter was infectious;

Pettie, still up on her stool, tittered herself before clapping her hands over her

mouth.

This is no place for a boy such as you, Depape said. His revolver, an old fiveshoot er, was still out; it lay in his fist on the bar, with Stanley Ruizs blood

dripping off the gunsight. Depape, without rais ing it from the ironwood, waggled

it slightly. Boys who come to places like this learn had habits, kid. Dying is apt to

be one of them. So I give you this one chance. Get out of here.

Thank you, sir, 1 appreciate my one chance, the boy said. He spoke with great

and winning sincerity … but didnt move. Still he stood just inside the batwing

doors, with the wide elastic strap of his sling pulled hack. Depape couldnt quite

make out what was in the cup, but it glittered in the gaslight. A metal ball of some

sort.

Well, then Depape snarled. This was getting old, and fast.

I know Im being a pain in the neck, sirnot to men tion an ache in (he ass and a

milky drip from the tip of a sore dickbut if its all the same to you, my dear

friend, Id like to give my chance to the young fellow on his knees before you. Let

him apologize, let him polish your boots with his clout until you are entirely

satisfied, and let him go on living his life.

There was an unfocused murmur of approval at this from the area where the cardplay ers were watching. Depape didnt like the sound of it at all, and he made a

sudden decision. The boy would die as well, exe cuted for the crime of

impertinence. The swabby who had spilled the bucket of dregs on him was clearly retarded. Yon brat had not even that excuse. He just thought he was funny.

From the comer of his eye, Depape saw Reynolds moving to flank the boy,

smooth as oiled silk. Depape appreciated the thought, but didnt be lieve hed need much help with the slingshot specialist.

Boy, I think youve made a mistake, he said in a kindly voice. I really

believe The cup of the slingshot dipped a little

or Depape fancied it did. He

made his move.

3

They talked about it in Hambry for years to come; three decades after the fall of

Gilead and the end of the Affiliation, they were still talking. By that time there

were better than five hundred old gaffers (and a few old gam mers) claiming that

they were drinking a beer in the Rest that night, and saw it all.

Depape was young, and had the speed of a snake.

Nevertheless, he never came

close to getting a shot off at Cuthbert Allgood.

There was a thip-TWANG! as the

elastic was released, a steel gleam that drew itself across the saloons smoky air

like a line on a slateboard, and then Depape screamed. His revolver tumbled to the floor, and a foot spun it away from him across the sawdust (no one would claim

that foot while the Big Cof fin Hunters were still in Hambry; hundreds claimed it

after they were gone). Still screaminghe could not bear painDepape raised his

bleed ing hand and looked at it with agonized, un believing eyes. Actually, he had

been lucky. Cuthberts ball had smashed the tip of the second finger and torn off

the nail. Lower, and Depape would have been able to blow smokerings through

his own palm.

Cuthbert, meanwhile, had already reloaded the cup of his slingshot and drawn the elastic back again. Now, he said, if I have your at ten tion, good sir

I cant speak for his, Reynolds said from behind him, but you got mine, partner.

I dont know if youre good with that thing or just shi tass lucky, but either way,

youre done with it now. Relax the draw on it and put it down. That table in front

of yous the place I want to see it.

Ive been blindsided, Cuthbert said sadly. Be trayed once more by my own

callow youth.

I dont know nothing about your callow youth, broth er, but youve been

blindsided, all right, Reynolds agreed. He stood behind and slightly to the left of Cuthbert, and now he moved his gun forward until the boy could feel the muzzle

against the back of his head. Reynolds thumbed the hammer. In the pool of silence

which the Travellers Rest had become, the sound was very loud. Now put that

twanger down.

I think, good sir, that I must offer my regrets and decline.

What

You see, Ive got my trusty sling aimed at your pleas ant friends head Cuthbert

began, and when Depape shifted uneasily against the bar, Cuthberts voice rose in a whipcrack that did not sound callow in the least.

Stand still! Move again and

you re a dead man!

Depape subsided, holding his bloody hand against his pine-tacky shirt. For the first time he looked frightened, and for the first time that nightfor the first time

since hooking up with Jonas, in factReynolds felt mastery of a situation on the

verge of slipping away

except how could it be How could it be when hed been

able to circle around this smart-talking squint and get the drop on him This

should be over.

Lowering his voice to its former conversation alnot to say play fulpitch,

Cuthbert said: If you shoot me, the ball flies and your friend dies, too.

I dont believe that, Reynolds said, but he didnt like what he heard in his own

voice. It sounded like doubt. No man could make a shot like that.

Why dont we let your friend decide Cuthbert raised his voice in a goodhu

mored hail. Hi-ho, there, Mr. Spectacles!

Would you like your pal to shoot

me

No! Depapes cry was shrill, verging on panic.

No, Clay! Dont

shoot!

So its a standoff, Reynolds said, bemused. And then bemusement changed to

horror as he felt the blade of a very large knife slip against his throat. It pressed the tender skin just over his adams apple.

No, its not, Alain said softly. Put the gun down, my friend, or Ill cut your

throat.

4

Standing outside the batwing doors, having ar rived by simple good for tune in

time for this Pinch and Jilly show, Jonas watched with amaze ment, contempt, and

something close to horror. First one of the Affilia tion brats gets the drop on

Depape, and when Reynolds covers that one, the big kid with the round face and

the plowboys shoulders puts a knife to Reynoldss throat. Neither of the brats a

day over fifteen, and neither with a gun. Marvelous.

He would have thought it

better than a travelling cir cus, if not for the prob lems that would follow if this

were not put right. What sort of work could they do in Hambry if it got around that

the boogeymen were afraid of the children, instead of vice-versa

Theres time to stop this before theres killing, may hap. If you want to. Do you

Jonas decided he did; that they could walk out win ners if they played it just right.

He also decided the Affiliation brats would not, unless they were very lucky

indeed, be leaving Mejis Barony alive.

Wheres the other one Dearborn

A good question. An important question. Em barrassment would be come outright humiliation if he found himself trumped in the same fash ion as Roy and Clay.

Dearborn wasnt in the bar, and that was sure. Jonas turned on his heels, scanning

the South High Street in both directions. It was al most day-bright under a Kissing

Moon only two nights past the full. No one there, not in the street, not on the far

side, where Hambrys mercantile store stood. The mercantile had a porch, but there

was nothing on it save for a line of carved totems il lustrating Guardians of the

Beam: Bear, Tur tle, Fish, Eagle, Lion, Bat, and Wolf. Seven of twelve, bright as

marble in the moonlight, and no doubt great fa vorites of the kiddies. No men over there, though. Good. Lovely.

Jonas peered hard into the thread of alley between the mercantile and the

butchers, glimpsed a shadow behind a tumble of cast-off boxes, tensed, then

relaxed as he saw a cats shining green eyes. He nodded and turned to the business

at hand, pushing back the lefthand batwing and stepping into the Travellers Rest.

Alain heard the squeak of a hinge, but Jonass gun was at his temple before he

could even begin to turn.

Sonny, unless youre a barber, I think youd bet ter put that pigsticker down. You

dont get a second warning.

No, Alain said.

Jonas, who had expected nothing but compli ance and had been pre pared for

nothing else, was thunderstruck. What 

You heard me, Alain said. I said no.

5

After making their manners and excusing them selves from Seafront, Roland had

left his friends to their own amusementsthey would finish up at the Travellers

Rest, he supposed, but wouldnt stay long or get into much trouble when they had

no money for cards and could drink nothing more exciting than cold tea. He had

ridden into town another way, teth ered his mount at a public post in the lower of

the two town squares (Rusher had offered a single puzzled nicker at this treatment,

but no more), and had since been tramping the emp ty, sleeping streets with his hat

yanked low over his eyes and his hands clasped into an aching knot at the small of

his back.

His mind was full of questionsthings were wrong here, very wrong. At first hed

thought that was just his imagination, the childish part of him finding makebe

lieve troubles and storybook intrigue be cause he had been removed from the heart of the real action. But after his talk with Ren nie Renfrew, he knew better.

There were questions, outright mys teries, and the most hellish thing of all was

that he couldnt concentrate on them, let alone go any distance toward making

sense of them. Every time he tried, Susan Delga dos face intruded

her face, or

the sweep of her hair, or even the pretty, fearless way her silk-slippered feet had

followed his boots in the dance, never lagging or hesitating. Again and again he

heard the last thing he had said to her, speaking in the stilted, priggish voice of a

boy preacher. He would have given almost any thing to take back both the tone and the words themselves. Shed be on Thorins pillow come Reaptide, and kindle him

a child before the first snow flew, per haps a male heir, and what of it Rich men,

famous men, and well-blooded men had taken gilly-girls since the beginning of time; Arthur Eld had had better than forty himself, according to the tales. So,

really, what was it to him

I think Ive gone and fallen in love with her. Thats what it is to me.

A dismaying idea, but not a dismissible one; he knew the landscape of his own

heart too well. He loved her, very likely it was so, but part of him also hated her,

and held to the shocking thought hed had at dinner: that he could have shot Susan

Delgado through the heart if hed come armed.

Some of this was jealousy, but not all; perhaps not even the greater part. He had made some indefinable but powerful

connection be tween Olive Thorinher sad but game little smile from the foot of the tableand his own mother. Hadnt some of that same woeful, rueful look been

in his mothers eyes on the day when he had come upon her and his fathers

advisor Marten in an open-throated shirt, Gabrielle Deschain in a sacque that had slipped off one shoulder, the whole room reeking of what they had been up to that

hot morning

His mind, tough as it already was, shrank from the image, horrified. It returned

instead to that of Susan Delgadoher gray eyes and shining hair. He saw her

laughing, chin uptilted, hands clasped before the sap phire Thorin had given her.

Roland could forgive her the gilly business, he sup posed. What he could not

forgive, in spite of his attraction to Susan, was that awful smile on Olive Thorins face as she watched the girl sitting in what should have been her place. Sitting in

her place and laughing.

These were the things that chased through his head as he paced off acres of

moonlight. He had no business with such thoughts, Susan Del gado was not the

reason he was here, nor was the ridiculous knuck le-cracking Mayor and his

pitiable country-Mary of a wife … yet he couldnt put them away and get to what

was his business. He had forgot ten the face of his father, and walked in the

moonlight, hoping to find it again.

In such fashion he came along the sleeping, silvergilded High Street, walking

north to south, thinking vaguely that he would per haps stand Cuthbert and Alain to

a taste of something wet and toss the dice down Sa tans Alley a time or two before

going back to get Rusher and call it a night. And so it was that he happened to spy

Jonasthe mans gaunt figure and fall of long white hair were impossible to

mistakestanding outside the batwings of the Travellers Rest and peering in.

Jonas did this with one hand on the butt of his gun and a tense set of body that put

everything else from Rolands mind at once. Some thing was going on, and if Bert

and Alain were in there, it might involve them. They were the strangers in town,

after all, and it was possibleeven likelythat not everyone in Hambry loved the

Affiliation with the fervor that had been pro fessed at tonights dinner. Or perhaps it was Jonass friends who were in trouble. Some thing was brewing, in any case.

With no clear thought as to why he was doing it, Roland went softly up the steps

to the mercantiles porch. There was a line of carved animals there (and probably

spiked firmly to the boards, so that drunken wags from the saloon across the street

couldnt carry them away, chanting the nursery rhymes of their childhood as they

went). Roland stepped behind the last one in lineit was the Bearand bent his

knees so that the crown of his hat wouldnt show. Then he went as still as the

carving. He could see Jonas turn, look across the street, then look to his left,

peering at something

Very low, a sound: Waow! Waow!

Its a cat. In the alley.

Jonas looked a moment longer, then stepped into the Rest. Roland was out from

behind the carved bear, down the steps, and into the street at once. He hadnt

Alains gift of the touch, but he had intuitions that were sometimes very strong.

This one was telling him he must hurry.

Overhead, the Kissing Moon drifted behind a cloud.

6

Pettie the Trotter still stood on her stool, but she no longer felt drunk and singing

was the last thing on her mind. She could hardly be lieve what she was seeing:

Jonas had the drop on a boy who had the drop on Reynolds who had the drop on

another boy (this last one wearing a birds skull around his neck on a chain) who

had the drop on Roy Depape. Who had, in fact, drawn some of Roy Depapes

blood. And when Jonas had told the big boy to put down the knife he was holding

to Reynoldss throat, the big boy had refused.

You can blow my lights out and send me to the clear ing at the end of the path,

thought Pettie, for now Ive seen it all, so I have. She supposed she should get off

the stoolthere was apt to be shooting any second now, and likely a great lot of

itbut sometimes you just had to take your chances.

Because some things were just too good to miss.

7 

Were in this town on Affiliation business, Alain said. He had one hand buried

deep in Reynoldss sweaty hair; the other main tained a steady pressure on the knife at Reynoldss throat. Not quite enough to break the skin. If you harm us, the

Affiliation will take note. So will our fathers. Youll be hunted like dogs and hung

upside down, like as not, when youre caught.

Sonny, theres not an Affiliation patrol within two hundred wheels of here,

probably three hundred, Jonas said, and I wouldnt care a fart in a windstorm if

there was one just over yon hill. Nor do your fathers mean a squitter to me. Put

that knife down or Ill blow your fucking brains out.

No.

Future developments in this matter should be quite wonderful, Cuthbert said

cheerily … although there was now a beat of nerves under his prattle. Not fear,

perhaps not even nervousness, just nerves. The good kind, more likely than not,

Jonas thought sourly. He had underestimated these boys at meat; if nothing else was clear, that was. You shoot Richard, and Richard cuts Mr. Cloaks throat just

as Mr. Cloak shoots me; my poor dying fingers re lease my slings elastic and put a steel ball in what passes for Mr. Spectacless brain. Youll walk away, at least, and I suppose that will be a great comfort to your dead friends.

Call it a draw, Alain said to the man with the gun at his temple.

We all stand back and walk away.

No, sonny, Jonas said. His voice was patient, and he didnt think his anger

showed, but it was rising. Gods, to be outfaced like this, even temporarily! No

one does like that to the Big Coffin Hunters. This is your last chance to

Something hard and cold and very much to the point pressed against the back of

Jonass shirt, dead center between the shoul derblades. He knew what it was and who held it at once, understood the game was lost, but couldnt understand how

such a ludicrous, maddening turn of events could have happened.

Holster the gun, the voice behind the sharp tip of metal said. It was empty,

somehownot just calm, but emotionless. Do it now, or this goes in your heart.

No more talk. Talkings done. Do it or die.

Jonas heard two things in that voice: youth and truth.

He bolstered his gun.

You with the black hair. Take your gun out of my friends ear and put it back in

your holster. Now.

Clay Reynolds didnt have to be invited twice, and he uttered a long, shaky sigh

when Alain took the blade off his throat and stood back. Cuthbert did not look

around, only stood with the elastic of his slingshot pulled and his elbow cocked.

You at the bar, Roland said. Holster up.

Depape did so, grimacing with pain as he bumped his hurt finger against his

gunbelt. Only when this gun was put away did Cuth bert re lax his hold on his

sling and drop the ball from the cup into the palm of his hand.

The cause of all this had been forgotten as the ef fects played them selves out. Now

Sheemie got to his feet and pelted across the room.

His cheeks were wet with

tears. He grasped one of Cuthberts hands, kissed it several times (loud smacking

noises that would have been comic under other circumstances), and held the hand

to his cheek for a moment. Then he dodged past Reynolds, pushed open the

righthand batwing, and flew right into the arms of a sleepy-eyed and still halfdrunk

Sheriff. Avery had been fetched by Sheb from the jailhouse, where the

Sheriff o Barony had been sleeping off the May ors ceremonial dinner in one of

his own cells.

8 

This is a nice mess, isnt it

Avery speaking. No one answering. He hadnt expected they would, not if they

knew what was good for them.

The office area of the jail was too small to hold three men, three strap ping notquitemen, and one extra-large Sheriff comfort ably, so Avery had herded them

into the nearby Town Gathering Hall, which echoed to the soft flutter of the

pigeons in the rafters and the steady beat-beatbeat of the grandfather clock behind the podium.

It was a plain room, but an inspired choice all the same. It was where the

townsfolk and Barony landowners had come for hundreds of years to make their

decisions, pass their laws, and occasionally send some espe cially troublesome

person west. There was a feeling of serious ness in its moon-glimmered darkness, and Roland thought even the old man, Jonas, felt a lit tle of it. Certainly it invested

Sheriff Herk Avery with an authority he might not otherwise have been able to

project.

The room was filled with what were in that place and time called bareback

benchesoaken pews with no cushions for ei ther butt or back. There were sixty in all, thirty on each side of a wide center aisle.

Jonas, Depape, and Reynolds sat

on the front bench to the left of the aisle. Roland, Cuth bert, and Alain sat across

from them on the right. Reynolds and Depape looked sullen and embarrassed;

Jonas looked remote and composed. Will Dear borns little crew was quiet. Roland had given Cuth bert a look which he hoped the boy could read: One smart remark

and Ill rip the tongue right out of your head. He thought the message had been

received. Bert had stowed his idiotic lookout

somewhere, which was a good

sign.

A nice mess, Avery repeated, and blew liquorscented wind at them in a deep

sigh. He was sitting on the edge of the stage with his short legs hanging down,

looking at them with a kind of disgusted wonder.

The side door opened and in came Deputy Dave, his white service jacket laid

aside, his monocle tucked into the pocket of his more usual khaki shirt. In one

hand he carried a mug; in the other a folded scrap of what looked to Roland like

birch-bark.

Did ye boil the first half, David Avery asked. He now wore a put-upon

expression.

Aye.

Boiled it twice

Aye, twice.

For that was the directions.

Aye, Dave repeated in a resigned voice. He handed Avery the cup and dumped

the remaining contents of the birch-bark scrap in when the Sheriff held the cup out

for them.

Avery swirled the liquid, peered in with a doubtful, resigned expres sion, then

drank. He grimaced. Oh, foul! he cried. Whats so nasty as this

What is it Jonas asked.

Headache powder. Hangover powder, ye might say. From the old witch. The one

who lives up the Coos. Know where I mean Avery gave Jonas a knowing look.

The old gunny pretended not to see it, but Roland thought he had. And what did it

mean Another mystery.

Depape looked up at the word Coos, then went back to sucking his wounded

finger. Beyond Depape, Reynolds sat with his cloak drawn about him, looking

grimly down at his lap.

Does it work Roland asked.

Aye, boy, but ye pay a price for witchs medicine. Re member that: ye always pay.

This un takes away the headache if ye drink too much of Mayor Thorins damned

punch, but it gripes the bowels somethin fierce, so it does. And the farts! He

waved a hand in front of his face to demonstrate, took another sip from the cup,

then set it aside. He returned to his former gravity, but the mood in the room had

lightened just a little; they all felt it. Now what are we to do about this business

Herk Avery swept them slowly with his eyes, from Reynolds on his far right to

AlainRichard Stockworthon his far left. Eh, boys Weve got the Mayors

men on one side and the Affiliations … men

on the other, six fellows at the

point of murder, and over what A halfwit and a spilled bucket of slops. He

pointed first at the Big Coffin Hunters, then to the Affiliations counters. Two

powderkegs and one fat sheriff in the middle. So whats yer thoughts ont Speak

up, dont be shy, you wasnt shy in Corals whoreden down the road, dont be shy

in here!

No one said anything. Avery sipped some more of his foul drink, then set it down

and looked at them decisively. What he said next didnt sur prise Roland much; it

was exactly what he would have expected of a man like Avery, right down to the

tone which implied that he considered him self a man who could make the hard

decisions when he had to, by the gods.

Ill tell yer what were going to do: Were going to forget it.

He now assumed the air of one who expects an up roar and is prepared to handle it.

When no one spoke or even shuffled a foot, he looked dis comfited. Yet he had a

job to do, and the night was growing old. He squared his shoulders and pushed on.

Ill not spend the next three or four months waiting to see who among yous killed

who. Nay! Nor will I be put in a position where I might have to take the

punishment for your stupid quarrel over that halfwit Sheemie.

I appeal to your practical natures, boys, when I point out that I may he either your friend or your enemy during your time here … but Id be wrong if 1 didnt also

appeal to your more noble natures, which I am sure are both large and sensitive.

The Sheriff now tried on an exalted expression, which was not, in Rolands

estimation, notably successful. Avery turned his attention to Jonas.

Sai, I cant believe yell want to be causin trouble for three young men from the

Affiliationthe Affiliation thats been like mothers milk and fathers shelterin hand since aye or oh fifty generations back; yed not be so disrespectful as all that,

would ye

Jonas shook his head, smiling his thin smile.

Avery nodded again. Things were going along well, that nod said. Yeve all yer own cakes to bake and oats to roll, and none of ye wants something like this to get

in the way of doin yer jobs, do yer

They all shook their heads this time.

So what I want you to do is to stand up, face each other, shake hands, and cry

each others pardon. If ye dont do that, ye can all ride west out of town by sunrise,

far as Im concerned.

He picked up the mug and took a bigger drink this time. Roland saw that the mans

hand was trembling the tiniest bit, and wasnt sur prised. It was all bluff and blow, of course. The Sheriff would have understood that Jonas, Reynolds, and Depape

were beyond his authority as soon as he saw the small blue coffins on their hands; after tonight, he must feel the same way about Dear born, Stockworth, and Heath.

He could only hope that all would see where their selfinterest lay. Roland did. So,

apparently, did Jonas, for even as Roland got up, Jonas did the same.

Avery recoiled a little bit, as if expecting Jonas to go for his gun and Dearborn for the knife in his belt, the one hed been holding against Jonass back when Avery

came puffing up to the saloon.

There was no gun or knife drawn, however. Jonas turned toward Roland and held

out his hand.

Hes right, lad, Jonas said in his reedy, quavering voice.

Yes.

Will you shake with an old man, and vow to start over

Yes. Roland held out his hand.

Jonas took it. I cry your pardon.

I cry your own, Mr. Jonas. Roland tapped lefthand at his throat, as was proper

when addressing an elder in such fashion.

As the two of them sat down, Alain and Reynolds rose, as neatly as men in a

prerehearsed ceremony. Last of all, Cuthbert and Depape rose. Roland was all but positive that Cuthberts foolishness would pop out like Jack from his boxthe

idiot would simply not be able to help himself, al though he must surely realize

that Depape was no man to make sport of tonight.

Cry your pardon, Bert said, with an admirable lack of laughter in his voice.

Cryerown, Depape mumbled, and held out his bloodstreaked hand. Roland had a

nightmare vision of Bert squeezing down on it as hard as he could, making the

redhead yowl like an owl on a hot stove, but Berts grip was as restrained as his

voice.

Avery sat on the edge of the stage with his pudgy legs hanging down, watching it

all with avuncular good cheer. Even Deputy Dave was smiling.

Now I propose to shake hands with yer all myself, n then send yer on yer ways,

for the hours late, so it is, and such as me needs my beauty rest. He chuckled,

and again looked uncomfortable when no one joined in. But he slipped off the

stage and began to shake hands, doing so with the enthusiasm of a minister who

has finally succeeded in marrying a head strong couple after a long and stormy courtship.

9

When they stepped outside, the moon was down and the first lightening in the sky

had begun to show at the far edge of the Clean Sea.

Mayhap well meet again,

sai, Jonas said. Mayhap we will, Roland said, and swung up into his saddle.

10

The Big Coffin Hunters were staying in the watch mans house about a mile south

of Seafrontfive miles out of town, this was.

Halfway there, Jonas stopped at a turnout beside the road. From here the land

made a steep, rocky descent to the brightening sea.

Get down, mister, he said. It was Depape he was looking at.

Jonas

Jonas, I



Get down.

Biting his lip nervously, Depape got down.

Take off your spectacles.

Jonas, whats this about I dont

Or if you want em broke, leave em on. Its all the same to me.

Biting his lip harder now, Depape took off his goldrimmed spec tacles. They

were barely in his hand before Jonas had fetched him a ter rific clip on the side of the head. Depape cried out and reeled toward the drop. Jonas drove forward,

moving as fast as he had struck, and seized him by the shirt just before he went

tumbling over the edge. Jonas twisted his hand in to the shirt material and yanked

Depape toward him. He breathed deep, inhaling the scent of pine-tar and Depapes sweat.

I ought to toss you right over the edge, he breathed.

Do you know how much

harm youve done

I

Jonas, I never meant

just a little fun is all I

how was we supposed to know

they



Slowly, Jonass hand relaxed. That last bit of bab ble had gone home. How was

they supposed to know, that was ungrammatical but right. And if not for tonight, they might not have known. If you looked at it that way, Depape had actually done

them a favor. The devil you knew was always preferable to the devil you didnt.

Still, word would get around, and peo ple would laugh.

Maybe even that was all

right, though. The laughter would stop in due time.

Jonas, I cry your pardon.

Shut up, Jonas said. In the east, the sun would short ly heave itself over the

horizon, casting its first gleams on a new day in this world of toil and sorrow. I

aint going to toss you over, because then Id have to toss Clay over and follow

along myself. They got the drop on us the same as you, right

Depape wanted to agree, but thought it might be dangerous to do so. He was

prudently silent.

Get down here, Clay.

Clay slid off his mount.

Now hunker.

The three of them hunkered on their bootsoles, heels up. Jonas plucked a shoot of grass and put it between his lips. Affiliation brats is what we were told, and we

had no reason not to believe it, he said. The bad boys are sent all the way to

Mejis, a sleepy Barony on the Clean Sea, on a makework detail thats two pans

penance and three parts punish ment. Aint that what we were told

They nodded.

Either of you believe it after tonight

Depape shook his head. So did Clay.

They may be rich boys, but thats not all they are, De pape said. The way they

were tonight … they were like … He trailed off, not quite willing to finish the

thought. It was too absurd.

Jonas was willing. They acted like gunslingers.

Neither Jonas nor Reynolds replied at first. Then Clay Reynolds said, Theyre too

young, Eldred. Too young by years.

Not too young to be prentices, mayhap. In any case, were going to find out. He turned to Depape. Youve got some riding to do, cully.

Aww, Jonas!

None of us exactly covered ourselves with glo ry, but you were the fool that

started the pot boiling. He looked at Depape, but Depape only looked down at the

ground between them. Youre going to ride their backtrail, Roy, and youre going

to ask questions until youve got the an swers you think will satisfy my curiosity.

Clay and I are mostly going to wait. And watch. Play Castles with em, if you like.

When I feel like enough times gone by for us to be able to do a little snooping

without be ing trigged, mayhap well do it.

He bit on the piece of grass in his mouth. The larger piece tumbled out and lay

between his boots.

Do you know why I shook his hand That boy Dear borns damned hand Because

we cant rock the boat, boys. Not just when its edging in toward harbor. Latigo

and the folks weve been waiting for will be mov ing toward us very soon, now.

Until they get into these parts, its in our interest to keep the peace. But I tell you

this: no one puts a knife to Eldred Jonass back and lives. Now listen, Roy. Dont

make me tell you any of this twice.

Jonas began to speak, leaning forward over his knees toward Depape as he did.

After awhile, Depape began to nod. He might like a little trip, actually. After the recent comedy in the Travellers Rest, a change of air might be just the ticket.

11

The boys were almost back to the Bar K and the sun was coming over the horizon

before Cuthbert broke the silence. Well! That was an amusing and instructive

evening, was it not Neither Roland nor Alain replied, so Cuthbert leaned over to the rooks skull, which he had returned to its for mer place on the horn of his

saddle. What say you, old friend Did we enjoy our evening Dinner, a circledance,

and almost killed to top things off. Did you en joy

The lookout only stared ahead of Cuthberts horse with its great dark eyes.

He says hes too tired for talk, Cuthbert said, then yawned. Som I, actually. He

looked at Roland. I got a good look into Mr. Jonass eyes after he shook hands

with you, Will. He means to kill you.

Roland nodded.

They mean to kill all of us, Alain said.

Roland nodded again. Well make it hard for them, but they know more about us

now than they did at dinner. Well not get behind them that way again.

He stopped, just as Jonas had stopped not three miles from where they now were.

Only instead of looking directly out over the Clean Sea, Roland and his friends

were looking down the long slope of the Drop. A herd of horses was moving from

west to east, barely more than shadows in this light.

What do you see, Roland Alain asked, almost timidly.

Trouble, Roland said, and in our road. Then he gigged his horse and rode on.

Before they got back to the Bar K bunkhouse, he was think ing about Susan again.

Five minutes after he dropped his head on his flat burlap pillow, he was dreaming

of her.

CHAPTER VII

ON THE DROP

1

Three weeks had passed since the welcoming din ner at Mayors House and the

incident at the Travellers Rest. There had been no more trouble between Rolands

ka-tet and Jonass. In the night sky, Kissing Moon had waned and Peddlers Moon

had made its first thin appearance. The days were bright and warm; even the

oldtimers admitted it was one of the most beauti ful summers in memory.

On a midmorning as beautiful as any that sum mer, Susan Delgado galloped a twoyearold rosillo named Pylon north along the Drop.

The wind dried the tears on

her cheeks and yanked her unbound hair out be hind her as she went. She urged

Pylon to go faster yet, lightly thumping his sides with her spurless boots. Pylon

turned it up a notch at once, ears flattening, tail flag ging. Susan, dressed in jeans

and the faded, oversized khaki shirt (one of her das) that had caused all the

trouble, leaned over the light practice saddle, holding to the horn with one hand

and rubbing the other down the side of the horses strong, silky neck.

More! she whispered. More and faster! Go on, boy!

Pylon let it out yet another notch. That he had at least one more in him she knew;

that he had even one more beyond that she sus pected.

They sped along the Drops highest ridge, and she barely saw the magnificent

slope of land below her, all green and gold, or the way it faded into the blue haze

of the Clean Sea. On any other day the view and the cool, salt-smelling breeze

would have uplifted her. Today she only wanted to hear the steady low thunder of

Pylons hoofs and feel the flex of his muscles be neath her; today she wanted to

outrun her own thoughts.

And all because she had come downstairs this morning dressed for riding in one of her fathers old shirts.

2

Aunt Cord had been at the stove, wrapped in her dressing gown and with her hair

still netted. She dished herself up a bowl of oat meal and brought it to the table.

Susan had known things werent good as soon as her aunt I timed toward her, bowl

in hand; she could see the discontented twitch of Aunt Cords lips, and the

disapproving glance she shot at the orange Su san was peeling. Her aunt was still rankled by the silver and gold she had expected to have in hand by now, coins

which would be withheld yet awhile due to the witchs prankish decree that Susan

should remain a vir gin until autumn.

But that wasnt the main thing, and Susan knew it.

Quite simply put, the two of

them had had enough of each other. The money was only one of Aunt Cords

disappointed expectations; she had counted on having the house at the edge of the Drop to herself this summer … except, perhaps, (or the occasional visit from Mr.

Eldred Jonas, with whom Cordelia seemed quite taken. Instead, here they still

were, one woman growing toward the end of her courses, thin, disapproving lips

in a thin, disapproving face, tiny apple-breasts under her high-necked dresses with their choker collars (The Neck, she frequently told Susan, is the First Thing to

Go), her hair losing its former chestnut shine and showing wire-threads of gray;

the other young, intelligent, agile, and rounding toward the peak of her physi cal

beauty. They grated against each other, each word seeming to produce a spark, and

that was not surprising. The man who had loved them both enough to make them

love each other was gone.

Are ye going out on that horse Aunt Cord had said, putting her bowl down and

sitting in a shaft of early sun. It was a bad loca tion, one she never would have

allowed herself to be caught in had Mr. Jonas been in attendance. The strong light

made her face look like a carved mask. There was a cold-sore growing at one

corner other mouth; she always got them when she was not sleeping well.

Aye, Susan said.

Ye should eat moren that, then. Twont keep ye til nine o the clock, girl.

Itll keep me fine, Susan had replied, eating the sections of orange faster. She

could see where this was tending, could see the look of dislike and disapproval in

her aunts eyes, and wanted to get away from the ta ble before trouble could begin.

Why not let me get ye a dish of this Aunt Cord asked, and plopped her spoon

into her oatmeal. To Susan it sounded like a horses hoof stamping down in

mudor shitand her stomach clenched. Itll hold ye to lunch, if ye plan to ride

so long. I suppose a fine young lady such as yer self cant be bothered with

chores

Theyre done. And you know they re done, she did not add. I did em while you

were sitting before your glass, poking at that sore on your mouth.

Aunt Cord dropped a chunk of creamery butter into her muckSusan had no idea

how the woman stayed so thin, really she didnt

and watched it begin to melt.

For a moment it seemed that breakfast might end on a reasonably civilized note,

after all.

Then the shirt business had begun.

Before ye go out, Susan, I want ye to take off that rag youre wear ing and put on

one of the new riding blouses Thorin sent ye week before last. Its the least ye can do to show yer

Anything her aunt might have said past that point would have been lost in anger

even if Susan hadnt interrupted. She passed a hand down the sleeve of her shirt, loving its textureit was almost velvety from so many washings. This rag

belonged to my father!

Aye, Pats. Aunt Cord sniffed. Its too big for ye, and worn out, and not proper,

in any case. When you were young it was mayhap all right to wear a mans buttonshirt, but now that ye have a womans bustline



The riding blouses were on hangers in the comer; they had come four days ago

and Susan hadnt even deigned to take them up to her room. There were three of

them, one red, one green, one blue, all silk, all un doubtedly worth a small fortune.

She loathed their pretension, and the overblown, blushy-frilly look of them: full

sleeves to flutter artistically in the wind, great floppy foolish collars … and, of course, the low-scooped fronts which were probably all Thorin would see if she

appeared before him dressed in one. As she wouldnt, if she could possibly help it.

My womans bustline, as you call it, is of no in terest to me and cant possibly be of any interest to anyone else when Im out rid ing, Su san said.

Perhaps, perhaps not. If one of the Baronys drovers should see youeven

Rennie, hes out that way all the time, as ye well know it wouldnt hurt for him to

mention to Hart that he saw yer wearing one of the camisas that he so kindly gave

to ye. Now would it Why do ye have lo he such a stiffkins, girl Why always so

unwilling, so unfair

What does it matter to ye, one way or tother Su san had asked. Ye have the

money, dont ye And yell have more yet. After he fucks me.

Aunt Cord, her face white and shocked and furious, had leaned across the table

and slapped her. How dare thee use that word in my house, ye malhablada How

dare ye

That was when her tears began to flowat hearing her call it her house. It was

my fathers house! His and mine! Ye were all on yer own with no real place to go,

except perhaps to the Quarters, and he took ye in!

He took ye in, Aunt!

The last two orange sections were still in her hand.

She threw them into her aunts

face, then pushed herself back from the table so vi olently that her chair tottered,

tipped, and spilled her to the floor. Her aunts shadow fell over her. Susan crawled

frantically out of it, her hair hanging, her slapped cheek throbbing, her eyes

burning with tears, her throat swelled and hot. At last she found her feet.

Ye ungrateful girl, her aunt said. Her voice was soft and so full of venom it was

almost caressing. After all I have done for thee, and all Hart Thorin has done for

thee. Why, the very nag ye mean to ride this morning was Harts gift of respect

to

PYLON WAS OURS! she shrieked, almost mad dened with fury at this deliberate blurring of the truth. ALL OF THEM WERE! THE

HORSES, THE LANDTHEY

WERE OURS! 

Lower thy voice, Aunt Cord said.

Susan took a deep breath and tried to find some control. She swept her hair back

from her face, revealing the red print of Aunt Cords hand on her cheek. Cordelia

flinched a little at the sight of it.

My father never would have allowed this, Susan said. He never would have

allowed me to go as Hart Thorins gilly. Whatever he might have felt about Hart as

the Mayor

or as his patrono

he never would have allowed this. And ye know

it. Thee knows it.

Aunt Cord rolled her eyes, then twirled a finger around her ear as if Susan had

gone mad. Thee agreed to it yerself, Miss Oh So Young and Pretty. Aye, so ye

did. And if yer girlish megrims now cause ye to want to cry off whats been

done

Aye, Susan agreed. I agreed to the bargain, so I did. After yed dunned me

about it day and night, after yed come to me in tears 

I never did! Cordelia cried, stung.

Have ye forgotten so quick. Aunt Aye, I suppose.

As by tonight yell have

forgotten slapping me at breakfast. Well, I havent forgotten. Thee cried, all right,

cried and told me ye feared we might be turned off the land, since we had no more

legal right to it, that wed be on the road, thee wept and said

Stop calling me that! Aunt Cord shouted. Nothing on earth mad dened her so

much as having her own thees and thous turned back at her. Thee has no more

right to the old tongue than thee has to thy stupid sheeps complaints! Go on! Get

out!

But Susan went on. Her rage was at the flood and would not be turned aside.

Thee wept and said wed be turned out, turned west, that wed never see my das

homestead or Hambry again … and then, when I was fright ened enough, ye

talked of the cunning little baby Id have. The land that was ours to begin with

given back again. The horses that were ours like wise given back. As a sign of the

Mayors honesty, I have a horse I myself helped to foal. And what have I done to

deserve these things that would have been mine in any case, but for the loss of a

single paper What have I done so that he should give ye money What have I

done save promise to fuck him while his wife of forty year sleeps down the hall

Is it the money ye want, then Aunt Cord asked, smiling furiously. Do ye and

do ye and aye Ye shall have it, then. Take it, keep it, lose it, feed it to the swine, I

care not!

She turned to her purse, which hung on a post by the stove. She began to fumble in

it, but her motions quickly lost speed and convic tion. There was an oval of mirror

mounted to the left of the kitchen doorway, and in it Susan caught sight other

aunts face. What she saw therea mixture of ha tred, dismay, and greedmade

her heart sink.

Never mind, Aunt. I see thees loath to give it up, and I wouldnt have it, anyway.

Its whores money.

Aunt Cord turned back to her, face shocked, her purse conveniently forgotten. 

Tis not whoring, ye stupid get! Why, some of the greatest women in history have

been gillys, and some of the greatest men have been born of gillys. Tis not

whoring!

Susan ripped the red silk blouse from where it hung and held it up. The shirt

moulded itself to her breasts as if it had been long ing all the while to touch them.

Then why does he send me these whores clothes

Susan! Tears stood in Aunt Cords eyes.

Susan flung the shirt at her as she had the orange slices. It landed on her shoes.

Pick it up and put it on yerself, if ye fancy. You spread yer legs for him, if ye

fancy.

She turned and hurled herself out the door. Her aunts half-hysterical shriek had

followed her: Dont thee go off thinking foolish thoughts, Su san! Foolish

thoughts lead to foolish deeds, and its too late for ei ther! Thees agreed!

She knew that. And however fast she rode Pylon along the Drop, she could not

outrace her knowing. She had agreed, and no mat ter how horri fied Pat Delgado

might have been at the fix she had gotten herself in to, he would have seen one

thing clearshe had made a promise, and promises must be kept. Hell awaited

those who would not do so.

3

She eased the rosillo back while he still had plenty of wind. She looked behind

her, saw that she had come nearly a mile, and brought him down furtherto a

canter, a trot, a fast walk. She took a deep breath and let it out. For the first time that morning she registered the days bright beau tygulls circling in the hazy air

off to the west, high grasses all around her, and flow ers in every shaded cranny:

cornflowers and lupin and phlox and her favorites, the delicate blue silkflowers.

From every where came the somnolent buzz of bees. The sound soothed her, and

with the high surge of her emotions subsiding a lit tle, she was able to admit

something to herself

admit it, and then voice it aloud.

Will Dearborn, she said, and shivered at the sound of his name on her lips, even

though there was no one to hear it but Pylon and the bees. So she said it again, and

when the words were out she abruptly turned her own wrist inward to her mouth

and kissed it where the blood beat close to the sur face. The action shocked her

because she hadnt known she was going to do it, and shocked her more because

the taste of her own skin and sweat aroused her im mediately. She felt an urge to

cool herself off as she had in her bed after meeting him. The way she felt, it would

be short work.

Instead, she growled her fathers favorite cuss Oh, bite it!and spat past her

boot. Will Dearborn had been responsible for all too much upset in her life these

last three weeks; Will Dearborn with his unsettling blue eyes, his dark tumble of

hair, and his stiff-necked. judgmental atti tude. I can be discreet, madam. As for

propriety Im amazed you even know the word.

Every time she thought of that, her blood sang with anger and shame. Mostly

anger. How dare he presume to make judgments He who had grown up

possessing every luxury, no doubt with servants to tend his every whim and so

much gold that he likely didnt even need ithe would be given the things he

wanted free, as a way of currying favor. What would a boy like thatfor that was all he was, really, just a boy know about the hard choices she had made For

that matter, how could such as Mr. Will Dearborn of Hemphill understand that she

hadnt really made those choices at all That she had been carried to them the way

a mother cat carries a wayward kitten back to the nesting-box, by the scruff of the

neck

Still, he wouldnt leave her mind; she knew, even if Aunt Cord didnt, that there

had been an unseen third present at their quarrel this morning.

She knew something else as well, something that would have upset her aunt to no

end.

Will Dearborn hadnt forgotten her, either.

4

About a week after the welcoming dinner and Dearborns disastrous, hurtful

remark to her, the retarded slops-fella from the Travellers Rest Sheemie, folks

called himhad appeared at the house Susan and her aunt shared. In his hands he

held a large bouquet, mostly made up of the wildflowers that grew out on the

Drop, but with a scattering of dusky wild roses, as well. They looked like pink

punctuation marks. On the boys face there had been a wide, sunny grin as he

swung the gate open, not waiting for an invitation.

Susan had been sweeping the front walk at the time; Aunt Cord had been out back,

in the garden. That was fortunate, but not very sur prising;

these days the two of them got on best when they kept apart as much as they

could.

Susan had watched Sheemie come up the walk, his grin beaming out from behind

his upheld freight of flowers, with a mixture of fas cination and horror.

Gday, Susan Delgado, daughter of Pat,

Sheemie said cheerfully. I come to you on an errand and cry yer pardon at any troubleation I be, oh aye, for I am a

problem for folks, and know it same as them. These be for you. Here.

He thrust them out, and she saw a small, folded en velope tucked amongst them.

Susan Aunt Cords voice, from around the side of the house … and getting

closer. Susan, did I hear the gate

Yes, Aunt! she called back. Curse the womans sharp ears! Susan nimbly

plucked the envelope from its place among the phlox and daisies. Into her dress

pocket it went.

They from my third-best friend, Sheemie said. I got three different friends now.

This many. He held up two fingers, frowned, added two more, and then grinned

splendidly. Arthur Heath my first-best friend, Dick Stockworth my second-best

friend. My third-best friend

Hush! Susan said in a low, fierce voice that made Sheemies smile fade. Not a

word about your three friends.

A funny little flush, almost like a pocket fever, raced across her skinit seemed to run down her neck from her cheeks, then slip all the way to her feet. There had

been a lot of talk in Hambry about Sheemies new friends during the past

weektalk about little else, it seemed. The stories she had heard were outlandish,

but if they werent true, why did the versions told by so many different witnesses

sound so much alike

Susan was still trying to get herself back under control when Aunt Cord swept

around the comer. Sheemie fell back a step at the sight of her, puzzlement

becoming outright dismay. Her aunt was aller gic to beestings, and was presently swaddled from the top of her straw brera to the hem of her faded garden dress in

gauzy stuff that made her look peculiar in strong light and downright eerie in

shade. Adding a final touch to her costume, she carried a pair of dirt-streaked

garden shears in one gloved hand.

She saw the bouquet and bore down on it, shears raised. When she reached her

niece, she slid the scissors into a loop on her belt (almost re luctantly, it seemed to the niece herself) and parted the veil on her face.

Who sent ye those

I dont know. Aunt, Susan said, much more calmly than she felt. This is the

young man from the inn

Inn! Aunt Cord snorted.

He doesnt seem to know who sent him, Susan car ried on. If only she could get

him out of here! Hes, well, I suppose youd say hes 

Hes a fool, yes, I know that. Aunt Cord cast Susan a brief, irritated look, then

bent her attention on Sheemie. Talking with her gloved hands upon her knees,

shouting directly into his face, she asked: WHO .

. . SENT … THESE …

FLOWERS … YOUNG

MAN 

The wings of her face-veil, which had been pushed aside, now fell back into place.

Sheemie took another step backward. He looked frightened.

WAS IT … PERHAPS … SOMEONE FROM

SEAFRONT … FROM …

MAYOR … THORIN … TELL

ME

AND … ILL

… GIVE

YOU … A

PENNY. 

Susans heart sank, sure he would tellhed not have the wit to understand hed be

getting her into trouble. Will, too, likely.

But Sheemie only shook his head. Dont member. I got a empty head, sai, so I do.

Stanley says I a bugwit.

His grin shone out again, a splendid thing full of white, even teeth. Aunt Cord

answered it with a grimace. Oh, foo! Be gone, then.

Straight back to town,

toodont be hanging around hoping for a goosefeather. For a boy who cant

remember deserves not so much as a penny!

And dont you come back here again, no matter who wants you to carry flow ers for the young sai. Do you hear me

Sheemie had nodded energetically. Then: Sai

Aunt Cord glowered at him. The vertical line on her forehead had been very

prominent that day.

Why you all wropped up in cobwebbies, sai

Get out of here, ye impudent cull! Aunt Cord cried.

She had a good loud voice

when she wanted to use it, and Sheemie jumped back from her in alarm. When she

was sure he was headed back down the High Street toward town and had no

intention of returning to their gate and hanging about in hopes of a tip, Aunt Cord had turned to Susan.

Get those in some water before they wilt, Miss Oh So Young and Pretty, and

dont go mooning about, wondering who yer se cret admirer might be.

Then Aunt Cord had smiled. A real smile. What hurt Susan the most, confused her

the most, was that her aunt was no cradle-story ogre, no witch like Rhea of the

Coos. There was no monster here, only a maiden lady with some few social

pretensions, a love of gold and silver, and a tear of being turned out, penniless,

into the world.

For folks such as us, Susie-pie, she said, speak ing with a terrible heavy

kindness,  tis best to stick to our housework and leave dreams to them as can

afford them.

5

She had been sure the flowers were from Will, and she was right. His note was

written in a hand which was clear and passing fair.

Dear Susan Delgado,

I spoke out of turn the other night, and cry your par don. May I see you and

speak to you It must be private. This is a matter of importance. If you will

see me, get a message to the boy who brings this.

He is safe.

Will Dearborn

A matter of importance. Underlined. She felt a strong desire to know what was so

important to him, and cautioned herself against doing anything foolish. Perhaps he was smitten with her

and if so, whose fault was that Who had talked to him,

ridden his horse, showed him her legs in a flashy carnival dismount Who had put

her hands on his shoulders and kissed him Her cheeks and forehead burned at the thought of that, and another hot ring

seemed to go slipping down her body. She wasnt sure she regret ted the kiss, but

it had been a mistake, regrets or no regrets. See ing him again now would be a

worse one.

Yet she wanted to see him, and knew in her deepest heart that she was ready to set

her anger at him aside. But there was the promise she had made.

The wretched promise.

That night she lay sleepless, tossing about in her bed, first thinking it would be

better, more dignified, just to keep her silence, then composing mental notes

anywaysome haughty, some cold, some with a lace-edge of flirtation.

When she heard the midnight bell ring, passing the old day out and calling the new

one in, she decided enough was enough. Shed thrown herself from her bed, gone

to her door, opened it, and thrust her head out into the hall. When she heard Aunt

Cords flutelike snores, she had closed her door again, crossed to her little desk by the window, and lit her lamp. She took one of her sheets of parchment paper from

the top drawer, tore it in half (in Hambry, the only crime greater than wasting

paper was wasting threaded stockline), and then wrote quickly, sensing that the

slightest hesitation might condemn her to more hours of indecision. With no

salu tation and no signature, her response took only a breath to write:

I may not see you. Twould not be proper.

She had folded it small, blew out her lamp, and re turned to bed with the note

safely tucked under her pillow. She was asleep in two minutes. The following day,

when the marketing took her to town, she had gone by the Travellers Rest, which,

at eleven in the morning, had all the charm of some thing which has died badly at

the side of the road.

The saloons dooryard was a beaten dirt square bisected by a long hitching rail

with a watering trough beneath. Sheemie was trundling a wheelbarrow along the

rail, picking up last nights horse-droppings with a shovel. He was wearing a

comical pink sombrero, and singing Golden Slip pers. Susan doubted if many of

the Rests patrons would wake up feeling as well as Sheemie obviously did this

morning

so who, when you came right down to it, was more soft-headed

She looked around to make sure no one was paying heed to her, then went over to

Sheemie and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked fright ened at first, and Susan

didnt blame himaccording to the stories shed been hearing, Jonass friend

Depape had almost killed the poor kid for spilling a drink on his boots.

Then Sheemie recognized her. Hello, Susan Delgado from out there by the edge of town, he said companionably. Its a good day I wish you, sai.

He bowedan amusing imitation of the Inner Baronies bow favored by his three

new friends. Smiling, she dropped him a bit of curt sey (wear ing jeans, she had to

pretend at the skirt-holding part, but women in Mejis got used to curtseying in

pretend skirts).

See my flowers, sai he asked, and pointed to ward the unpainted side of the

Rest. What she saw touched her deeply: a line of mixed blue and white silkflowers

growing along the base of the building. They looked both brave and pathetic,

flurrying there in the faint morning breeze with the bald, turd-littered yard before

them and the splintery public house be hind them.

Rid you grow those, Sheemie

Aye, so I did. And Mr. Arthur Heath of Gilead has promised me yel low ones.

Ive never seen yellow silkflowers.

Noey-no, me neither, but Mr. Arthur Heath says they have them in Gilead. He

looked at Susan solemnly, the shovel held in his hands as a soldier would hold a

gun or spear at port arms. Mr. Arthur Heath saved my life. Id do anything for

him.

Would you, Sheemie she asked, touched.

Also, he has a lookout! Its a birds head! And when he talks to it, tendy-pretend,

do I laugh Aye, fit to split!

She looked around again to make sure no one was watching (save for the carved

totems across the street), then removed her note, folded small, from her jeans

pocket.

Would you give this to Mr. Dearborn for me Hes also your friend, is he not

Will Aye! He took the note and put it carefully in to his own pocket.

And tell no one.

Shhhhh! he agreed, and put a finger to his lips. His eyes had been amusingly

round beneath the ridiculous pink ladys straw he wore. Like when I brought you

the flowers. Hushaboo!

Thats right, hushaboo. Fare ye well, Sheemie.

And you, Susan Delgado.

He went back to his cleanup operations. Susan had stood watching him for a

moment, feeling uneasy and out of sorts with her self. Now that the note was

successfully passed, she felt an urge to ask Sheemie to give it back, to scratch out what she had written, and promise to meet him. If on ly to see his steady blue eyes

again, looking into her face.

Then Jonass other friend, the one with the cloak, came sauntering out of the

mercantile. She was sure he didnt see herhis head was down and he was rolling

a cigarettebut she had no intention of pressing her luck. Reynolds talked to

Jonas, and Jonas talkedall too much!to Aunt Cord. If Aunt Cord heard she

had been passing the time of day with the boy who had brought her the flowers,

there were apt to be questions. Ones she didnt want to answer.

6

All thats history now, Susanwater under the bridge. Best to get your thoughts

out of the past.

She brought Pylon to a stop and looked down the length of the Drop at the horses

that moved and grazed there. Quite a surprising number of them this morning.

It wasnt working. Her mind kept turning back to Will Dearborn.

What bad luck meeting him had been! If not for that chance encounter on her way

back down from the Coos, she might well have made peace with her situation by

nowshe was a practical girl, after all, and a prom ise was a promise. She

certainly never would have expected herself to get all goosy-gushy over losing her maidenhead, and the prospect of carrying and bearing a child actually excited her.

But Will Dearborn had changed things; had gotten into her head and now lodged

there, a tenant who defied eviction. His remark to her as they danced stayed with

her like a song you cant stop humming, even though you hate it. It had been cruel

and stupidly self-righteous, that remark

but was there not also a grain of truth in it Rhea had been right about Hart Thorin, of that much Susan no longer had any

doubt. She supposed that witches were right about mens lusts even when they

were wrong about everything else. Not a happy thought, but likely a true one.

It was Will Be Damned to You Dearborn who had made it difficult for her to

accept what needed accepting, who had goad ed her into argu ments in which she could hardly recognize her own shrill and desper ate voice, who came to her in her

dreamsdreams where he put his arms around her waist and kissed her, kissed

her, kissed her.

She dismounted and walked downhill a little way with the reins looped in her fist.

Pylon followed willingly enough, and when she stopped to look off into the blue

haze to the southwest, he lowered his head and be gan to crop again.

She thought she needed to see Will Dearborn once more, if only to give her innate

practicality a chance to reassert itself. She needed to see him at his right size, instead of the one her mind had created for him in her warm thoughts and warmer

dreams. Once that was done, she could get on with her life and do what needed

doing. Perhaps that was why she had taken this paththe same one shed ridden

yesterday, and the day be fore yesterday, and the day before that. He rode this part of the Drop; that much she had heard in the lower market.

She turned away from the Drop, suddenly knowing he would be there, as if her

thought had called himor her ka.

She saw only blue sky and low ridgeline hills that curved gently like the line of a

womans thigh and hip and waist as she lies on her side in bed. Susan felt a bitter

disappointment fill her. She could almost taste it in her mouth, like wet tea leaves.

She started back to Pylon, meaning to return to the house and take care of the

apology she reckoned she must make. The sooner she did it, the sooner it would be done. She reached for her left stirrup, which was twisted a little, and as she did, a rider came over the horizon, break ing against the sky at the place which looked to

her like a womans hip. He sat there, only a silhou ette on horseback, but she knew

who it was at once.

Run! she told herself in a sudden panic. Mount and gallop! Get out of here!

Quickly! Before something terrible happens …

before it really is ka, come like a wind to take you and all your plans over the sky and far away!She didnt run. She stood with Pylons reins in one hand, and mur mured to him

when the rosillo looked up and nickered a greeting to the big bay-colored gelding

coming down the hill.

Then Will was there, first above her and looking down, then dis mounted in an

easy, liquid motion she didnt think she could have matched, for all her years of

horsemanship. This time there was no kicked-out leg and planted heel, no hat

swept over a comically solemn bow; this time the gaze he gave her was steady and

serious and disquietingly adult.

They looked at each other in the Drops big silence, Roland of Gilead and Susan of

Mejis, and in her heart she felt a wind begin to blow.

She feared it and welcomed

it in equal measure.

7 

Goodmorn, Susan, he said. 

Im glad to see you

again.

She said nothing, waiting and watching. Could he hear her heart beat ing as

clearly as she could Of course not; that was so much romantic twaddle. Yet it still

seemed to her that everything within a fifty-yard radius should be able to hear that thumping.

Will took a step forward. She took a step back, look ing at him mis trustfully. He

lowered his head for a moment, then looked up again, his lips set.

I cry your pardon, he said.

Do you Her voice was cool.

What I said that night was unwarranted.

At that she felt a spark of real anger. I care not that it was unwar ranted; I care

that it was unfair. That it hurt me.

A tear overbrimmed her left eye and slipped down her cheek. She wasnt all cried

out after all, it seemed.

She thought what she said would perhaps shame him, but although faint color

came into his cheeks, his eyes remained firmly on hers.

I fell in love with you, he said. Thats why I said it. It happened even before

you kissed me, I think.

She laughed at that … but the simplicity with which he had spoken made her

laughter sound false in her own ears. Tinny. Mr.

Dearborn

Will. Please.

Mr. Dearborn, she said, patiently as a teacher working with a dull student, the

idea is ridiculous. On the basis of one single meeting One single kiss A sisters kiss Now she was the one who was blush ing, but she hurried on. Such things

happen in stories, but in real life I think not.

But his eyes never left hers, and in them she saw some of Rolands truth: the deep

romance of his nature, buried like a fabulous streak of alien metal in the granite of his practicality. He accepted love as a fact rather than a flower, and it rendered her genial contempt powerless over both of them.

I cry your pardon, he repeated. There was a kind of brute stubborn ness in him.

It exasperated her, amused her, and appalled her, all at the same time. I dont ask you to return my love, thats not why I spoke. You told me your affairs were

complicated… Now his eyes did leave hers, and he looked off toward the Drop.

He even laughed a little. I called him a bit of a fool, didnt I To your face. So

whos the fool, after all

She smiled; couldnt help it. Ye also said yed heard he was fond of strong drink

and berry-girls.

Roland hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. If his friend Arthur Heath had

done that, she would have taken it as a deliber ate, comic ges ture. Not with Will.

She had an idea he wasnt much for comedy.

Silence between them again, this time not so un comfortable. The two horses,

Rusher and Pylon, cropping contentedly, side by side. If we were horses, all this would be much easier, she thought, and almost gig gled.

Mr. Dearborn, ye understand that I have agreed to an arrangement

Aye. He smiled when she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Its not mockery but

the dialect. It just… seeps in.

Who told ye of my business

The Mayors sister.

Coral. She wrinkled her nose and decided she wasnt surprised. And she

supposed there were others who could have ex plained her situa tion even more

crudely. Eldred Jonas, for one. Rhea of the Coos, for an other. Best to leave it. So if ye understand, and if ye dont ask me to return your … whatever it is ye think ye feel … why are we talking Why do ye seek me out I think it makes ye

passing uncomfortable

Yes, he said, and then, as if stating a simple fact: It makes me un comfortable,

all right. I can barely look at you and keep my head.

Then mayhap itd be best not to look, not to speak, not to think! Her voice was

both sharp and a little shaky. How could he have the courage to say such things, to

just state them straight out and starey-eyed like that Why did ye send me the

bouquet and that note Are ye not aware of the trou ble ye couldve gotten me into

If yknew my aunt… ! Shes already spoken to me about ye, and if she knew about

the note

or saw us to gether out here



She looked around, verifying that they were still un observed. They were, at least

as best she could tell. He reached out, touched her shoulder. She looked at him,

and he pulled his fingers back as if he had put them on something hot.

I said what I did so youd understand, he said.

Thats all. I feel how I feel, and youre not responsible for that.

But I am, she thought. I kissed you. I think Im more than a little re sponsible for

how we both feel. Will.

What I said while we were dancing I regret with all my heart. Wont you give me

your pardon

Aye, she said, and if he had taken her in his arms at that moment, she would

have let him, and damn the consequences. But he only took off his hat and made

her a charming little bow, and the wind died.

Thankee-sai.

Dont call me that. I hate it. My name is Susan.

Will you call me Will 

She nodded.

Good. Susan, I want to ask you somethingnot as the fellow who insulted you

and hurt you because he was jealous. This is some thing else entirely. May I

Aye, I suppose, she said warily.

Are you for the Affiliation

She looked at him, flabbergasted. It was the last question in the world she had

expected … but he was looking at her serious ly.

Id expected ye and yer friends to count cows and guns and spears and boats and

who knows what else, she said, but I didnt think thee would also count

Affiliation supporters.

She saw his look of surprise, and a little smile at the comers of his mouth. This

time the smile made him look older than he could possibly be. Susan thought back

across what shed just said, realized what must have struck him, and gave a small, embarrassed laugh. My aunt has a way of lapsing into thee and thou. My father

did, too. Its from a sect of the Old People who called themselves Friends.

I know. We have the Friendly Folk in my part of the world still.

Do you

Yes

or aye, if you like the sound of that better; Im coming to. And I like the

way the Friends talk. It has a lovely sound.

Not when my aunt uses it, Susan said, thinking back to the argu ment over the

shirt. To answer your question, ayeIm for the Af filiation, I suppose. Because

my da was. If ye ask am I strong for the Affiliation, I suppose not. We see and

hear little enough of them, these days. Mostly ru mors and stories carried by

drifters and far-travelling drummers. Now that theres no railway

 She

shrugged.

Most of the ordinary day-to-day folk Ive spoken to seem to feel the same. And

yet your Mayor Thorin

Hes not my Mayor Thorin, she said, more sharply than she had intended.

And yet the Baronys Mayor Thorin has given us every help weve asked for, and

some we havent. I have only to snap my fingers, and Kimba Rimer stands before

me.

Then dont snap them, she said, looking around in spite of herself. She tried to

smile and show it was a joke, but didnt make much success of it.

 The townsfolk, the fisherfolk, the farmers, the cowboys … they all speak well of the Affiliation, but distantly. Yet the Mayor, his Chancellor, and the members of

the Horsemens Association, Lengyll and Gar ber and that lot

I know them, she said shortly.

Theyre absolutely enthusiastic in their sup port. Mention the Affilia tion to

Sheriff Avery and he all but dances. In every ranch parlor were offered a drink

from an Eld commemorative cup, it seems.

A drink of what she asked, a trifle roguishly.

Beer Ale Graf

Also wine, whiskey, and pettibone, he said, not responding to her smile. Its

almost as if they wish us to break our vow. Does that strike you as strange

Aye, a little; or just as Hambry hospitality. In these parts, when

someoneespecially a young mansays hes taken the pledge, folks tend to think him coy, not serious.

And this joyful support of the Affiliation amongst the movers and the shakers

How does that strike you

Queer.

And it did. Pat Delgados work had brought him in almost daily con tact with these

landowners and horsebreeders, and so she, who had tagged after her da any time

he would let her, had seen plenty of them. She thought them a cold bunch, by and

large. She couldnt imagine John Croydon or Jake White waving an Arthur Eld

stein in a sentimental toast

es pecially not in the middle of the day, when there

was stock to be run and sold.

Wills eyes were full upon her, as if he were reading these thoughts.

But you probably dont see as much of the big fellas as you once did, he said.

Before your father passed, I mean.

Perhaps not… but do bumblers learn to speak backward

No cautious smile this time; this time he outright grinned. It lit his whole face.

Gods, how handsome he was! I suppose not. No more than cats change their

spots, as we say. And Mayor Thorin doesnt speak of such as usme and my

friendsto you when you two are alone Or is that question beyond what I have a

right to ask I suppose it is.

I care not about that, she said, tossing her head pertly enough to make her long

braid swing. I understand little of propriety, as some have been good enough to

point out. But she didnt care as much for his down cast look and flush of

embarrassment as she had expected. She knew girls who liked to tease as well as flirt and to tease hard, some of them-but it seemed she had no taste for it.

Certainly she had no desire to set her claws in him, and when she went on, she

spoke gently. Im not alone with him, in any case.

And oh how ye do lie, she thought mournfully, re membering how Thorin had

embraced her in the hall on the night of the party, groping at her breasts like a

child trying to get his hand into a candy-jar; telling her that he burned for her. Oh

ye great liar.

In any case, Will, Harts opinion of you and yer friends can hardly concern ye,

can it Ye have a job to do, thats all. If he helps ye, why not just accept and be

grateful

Because somethings wrong here, he said, and the serious, almost somber quality of his voice frightened her a little.

Wrong With the Mayor With the Horsemens As sociation What are ye talking

about

He looked at her steadily, then seemed to decide something. Im go ing to trust

you, Susan.

Im not sure I want thy trust any more than I want thy love, she said.

He nodded. And yet, to do the job I was sent to do, I have to trust someone. Can

you understand that

She looked into his eyes, then nodded.

He stepped next to her, so close she fancied she could feel the warmth of his skin.

Look down there. Tell me what you see.

She looked, then shrugged. The Drop. Same as al ways. She smiled a little. And

as beautiful. This has always been my favorite place in all the world.

Aye, its beautiful, all right. What else do you see

Horses, of courses. She smiled to show this was a joke (an old one of her das, in

fact), but he didnt smile back. Fair to look at, and coura geous, if the stories they

were already telling about town were true quick in both thought and movement,

too. Really not much sense of humor, though. Well, there were worse failings.

Grabbing a girls bosom when she wasnt expect ing it might be one of them.

Horses. Yes. But does it look like the right number of them Youve been seeing

horses on the Drop all your life, and surely no one whos not in the Horsemens

Association is better qualified to say.

And ye dont trust them

Theyve given us everything weve asked for, and theyre as friendly as dogs

under the dinner-table, but no1 dont think 1

do.

Yet yed trust me.

He looked at her steadily with his beautiful and frightening eyesa darker blue

than they would later be, not yet faded out by the suns of ten thousand drifting

days. I have to trust someone, he repeated.

She looked down, almost as though he had rebuked her. He reached out, put gentle

fingers beneath her chin, and tipped her face up again. Does it seem the right

number Think carefully!

But now that hed brought it to her attention, she hardly needed to think about it at all. She had been aware of the change for some time, she supposed, but it had been

gradual, easy to overlook.

No, she said at last. Its not right.

Too few or too many Which

She paused for a moment. Drew in breath. Let it out in a long sigh. Too many.

Far too many.

Will Dearborn raised his clenched fists to shoulder height and gave them a single

hard shake. His blue eyes blazed like the spark-lights of which her grandda had

told her. I knew it, he said. I knew it.

8 

How many horses are down there he asked.

Below us Or on the whole Drop

Just below us.

She looked carefully, making no attempt to ac tually count. That didnt work; it only confused you. She saw four good-sized groups of about twenty horses each, moving about on the green almost exactly as birds moved about in the blue above them. There were perhaps nine smaller groups, ranging from octets to quartets

several pairs (they reminded her of lovers, but everything did today, it seemed)

a few galloping lonersyoung stallions, mostly .

. .

A hundred and sixty he asked in a low, almost hesitant voice.

She looked at him, surprised. Aye. A hundred six tys the number I had in mind.

To a pin.

And how much of the Drop are we looking at A quarter A third

Much less. She tilted him a small smile. As I think thee knows. A sixth of the

total open graze, perhaps.

If there are a hundred and sixty horses freegrazing on each sixth, that comes to ..

.She waited for him to come up with nine hundred and sixty. When he did, she

nodded. He looked down a moment longer, and grunted with surprise when

Rusher nosed him in the small of the back. Susan put a curled hand to her mouth

to stifle a laugh. From the impatient way he pushed the horses muzzle away, she

guessed he still saw little that was funny.

How many more are stabled or training or work ing, do you reckon he asked.

One for every three down there. At a guess.

So wed be talking twelve hundred head of hors es. All threaded stock, no muties.

She looked at him with faint surprise. Aye. Theres almost no mutie stock here in

Mejis

in any of the Outer Baronies, for that mat ter.

You true-breed more than three out of every five

We breed em all! Of course every now and then we get a freak that has to be put

down, but

Not one freak out of every five livebirths One out of five born with How had

Renfrew put it With extra legs or its guts on the outside

Her shocked look was enough answer. Whos been telling ye such

Renfrew. He also told me that there was about five hundred and sev enty head of

threaded stock here in Mejis.

Thats just … She gave a bewildered little laugh.

Just crazy! If my da was

here

But hes not, Roland said, his tone as dry as a snap ping twig. Hes dead.

For a moment she seemed not to register the change in that tone. Then, as if an eclipse had begun to happen somewhere inside her head, her entire aspect

darkened. My da had an accident. Do you un derstand that, Will Dearborn An

accident. It was terribly sad, but the sort of thing that happens, sometimes. A horse

rolled on him. Ocean Foam. Fran says Foam saw a snake in the grass.

Fran Lengyll

Aye. Her skin was pale, except for two wild roses pink, like those in the

bouquet hed sent her by way of Sheemieglowing high up on her cheekbones.

Fran rode many miles with my father. They werent great friendsthey were of

different classes, for one thingbut they rode to gether. Ive a cap put away

somewhere that Frans first wife made for my chris tening. They rode the trail

together. 1 cant believe Fran Lengyll would lie about how my da died, let alone

that he had

anything to do with it.

Yet she looked doubtfully down at the running horses. So many. Too many. Her

da would have seen. And her da would have won dered what she was wondering

now: whose brands were on the extras It so happens Fran Lengyll and my friend Stock worth had a discus sion about

horses, Will said. His voice sounded almost ca sual, but there was nothing casual on his face. Over glasses of spring water, after beer had been offered and refused.

They spoke of them much as I did with Renfrew at Mayor Thorins welcoming

dinner. When Richard asked sai Lengyll to esti mate riding horses, he said perhaps four hundred.

Insane.

It would seem so, Will agreed.

Do they not kennit the horses are out here where ye can see em

They know weve barely gotten started, he said, and that weve begun with the

fisherfolk. Well be a month yet, Im sure they think, be fore we start to concern

ourselves with the horseflesh hereabouts. And in the meantime, they have an

attitude about us of

how shall I put it Well, never mind how Id put it. Im not

very good with words, but my friend Arthur calls it ge nial contempt. They leave

the horses out in front of our eyes, I think, because they dont believe well know

what were looking at. Or because they think we wont believe what were seeing.

Im very glad I found you out here.

Just so I could give you a more accurate horsecount Is that the only reason

But ye will get around to counting the horses. Even tually. I mean, that must

surely be one of the Affiliations main needs.

He gave her an odd look, as if she had missed some thing that should have been

obvious. It made her feel selfconscious.

What What is it

Perhaps they expect the extra horses to be gone by the time we get around to this

side of the Baronys business.

Gone where

I dont know. But I dont like this. Susan, you will keep this just be tween the two

of us, wont you

She nodded. Shed be insane to tell anyone she had been with Will Dearborn,

unchaperoned except by Rusher and Pylon, out on the Drop.

It may all turn out to be nothing, but if it doesnt, knowing could be dangerous.

Which led back to her da again. Lengyll had told her and Aunt Cord that Pat had

been thrown, and that Ocean Foam had then rolled upon him. Neither of them had

had any reason to doubt the mans story. But Fran Lengyll had also told Wills

friend that there were only four hundred head of rid ing stock in Mejis, and that

was a bald lie.

Will turned to his horse, and she was glad.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

Part of her wanted him to stayto

stand close to her while…

long shadows flying across the grasslandbut they had been to gether out here

too long already. There was no reason to think any one would come along and see

them, but instead of comforting her, that idea for some reason made her more

nervous than ever.

He straightened the stirrup hanging beside the scabbarded shaft of his lance

(Rusher whickered way back in his throat, as if to say About time we got going),

then turned to her again. She felt actually faint as his gaze fell upon her, and now

the idea of ka was almost too strong to deny. She tried to tell herself it was just the dimthat feeling of having lived a thing be fore

but it wasnt the dim; it was a

sense of finding a road one had been searching for all along.

Theres something else I want to say. I dont like re turning to where we started,

but I must.

No, she said faintly. Thats closed, surely.

I told you that I loved you, and that I was jealous, he said, and for the first time

his voice had come unanchored a little, wavering in his throat. She was alarmed to

see that there were tears standing in his eyes. There was more. Something more.

Will, I dont want to She turned blindly for her horse. He took her shoulder

and turned her back. It wasnt a harsh touch, but there was an inexorability to it

that was dreadful. She looked helplessly up into his face, saw that he was young

and far from home, and suddenly understood she could not stand against him for

long. She wanted him so badly that she ached with it. She would have given a year

of her life just to be able to put her palms on his cheeks and feel his skin.

You miss your father, Susan

Aye, she whispered. With all my heart I do.

I miss my mother the same way. He held her by both shoulders now. One eye

overbrimmed; one tear drew a silver line down his cheek.

Is she dead

No, but something happened. About her. To her.

Shit! How can I talk about it

when I dont even know how to think about it In a way, she did die. For me.

Will, thats terrible.

He nodded. The last time I saw her, she looked at me in a way that will haunt me

to my grave. Shame and love and hope, all of them bound up together. Shame at

what Id seen and knew about her, hope, maybe, that Id understand and forgive . .

. He took a deep breath. The night of the party, to ward the end of the meal,

Rimer said something funny. You all laughed

If I did, it was only because it would have looked strange if I was the only one

who didnt, Susan said. I dont like him. I think hes a schemer and a conniver.

You all laughed, and I happened to look down to ward the end of the table.

Toward Olive Thorin. And for a momentonly a momentI thought she was my

mother. The expression was the same, you see.

The same one I saw on the

morning when I opened the wrong door at the wrong time and came upon my

mother and her

Stop it! she cried, pulling back from his hands. In side her, every thing was

suddenly in motion, all the mooring-lines and buckles and clamps shed been using to hold herself together seeming to melt at once.

Stop it, just stop it, I cant listen to you talk about her!

She groped out for Pylon, but now the whole world was wet prisms. She began to

sob. She felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her again, and she did not resist

them.

Im so ashamed, she said. Im so ashamed and so frightened and Im sorry. Ive

forgotten my fathers face and … and



And Ill never be able to find it again, she wanted to say, but she didnt have to say

anything. He stopped her mouth with his kisses. At first she just let herself be

kissed … and then she was kissing him back, kiss ing him almost furiously. She

wiped the wetness from beneath his eyes with soft little sweeps of her thumbs,

then slipped her palms up his cheeks as she had longed to do. The feeling was

exquisite; even the soft rasp of the stubble close to the skin was exquisite. She slid

her arms around his neck, her open mouth on his, holding him and kissing him as

hard as she could, kissing him there between the horses, who simply looked at

each other and then went back to cropping grass.

9

They were the best kisses of his whole life, and nev er forgotten: the yield ing

pliancy of her lips and the strong shape of her teeth under them, ur gent and not

shy in the least; the fragrance of her breath, the sweet line of her body pressed

against his. He slipped a hand up to her left breast, squeezed it gently, and felt her

heart speeding under it. His other hand went to her hair and combed along the side

of it, silk at her temple. He never forgot its texture.

Then she was standing away from him, her face flaming with blush and passion,

one hand going to her lips, which he had kissed until they were swollen. A little

trickle of blood ran from the comer of the lower one. Her eyes, wide on his. Her

bosom rising and falling as if she had just run a race. And between them a current

that was like nothing he had ever felt in his life. It ran like a river and shook like a

fever.

No more, she said in a trembling voice. No more, please. If you really do love

me, dont let me dishonor myself. Ive made a promise. Anything might come

later, after that promise was fulfilled, I suppose…

if you still wanted me …

I would wait forever, he said calmly, and do any thing for you but stand away

and watch you go with another man.

Then if you love me, go away from me. Please, Will!

Another kiss.

She stepped forward at once, raising her face trust ingly up to his, and he

understood he could do whatever he wanted with her. She was, at least for the moment, no longer her own mistress; she might consequently be his. He could do

to her what Marten had done to his own mother, if that was his fancy.

The thought broke his passion apart, turned it to coals that fell in a bright shower, winking out one by one in a dark bewilderment.

His fa thers acceptance

(I have known for two years)

was in many ways the worst part of what had hap pened to him this year; how

could he fall in love with this girlany girlin a world where such evils of the

heart seemed necessary, and might even be re peated

Yet he did love her.

Instead of the passionate kiss he wanted, he placed his lips lightly on the corner of her mouth where the little rill of blood flowed. He kissed, tasting salt like the taste of his own tears. He closed his eyes and shivered when her hand stroked the hair at

the nape of his neck.

Id not hurt Olive Thorin for the world, she whispered in his ear. No more than

Id hurt thee, Will. I didnt understand, and now tis too late to be put right. But

thank you for not

not taking what you could. And Ill remember you always.

How it was to be kissed by you. Its the best thing that ever happened to me, I

think. Like heaven and earth all wrapped up togeth er, aye.

Ill remember, too. He watched her swing up into the saddle, and remembered

how her bare legs had flashed in the dark on the night he had met her. And

suddenly he couldnt let her go. He reached for ward, touched her boot.

Susan

No, she said. Please.

He stood back. Somehow.

This is our secret, she said. Yes

Aye.

She smiled at that

but it was a sad smile. Stay away from me from now on,

Will. Please. And Ill stay away from you.

He thought about it. If we can.

We must, Will. We must.

She rode away fast. Roland stood beside Rushers stirrup, watching her go. And

when she was out of sight over the horizon, still he watched.

10

Sheriff Avery, Deputy Dave, and Deputy George Riggins were sitting on the

porch in front of the Sheriffs office and jail when Mr.

Stockworth and Mr. Heath

(the latter with that idiotic birds skull still mounted on the horn of his saddle) went

past at a steady walk. The bell o noon had rung fif teen minutes before, and Sheriff

Avery reckoned they were on their way to lunch, perhaps at The Millbank, or

perhaps at the Rest, which put on a fair noon meal.

Popkins and such. Avery liked

something a little more filling; half a chicken or a haunch of beef suited him just

fine.

Mr. Heath gave them a wave and a grin. Good day, gents! Long life! Gentle

breezes! Happy siestas!

They waved and smiled back. When they were out of sight, Dave said: They

spent all mornin down there on the piers, countin nets.

Nets! Do you believe it

Yessir, Sheriff Avery said, lifting one massive cheek a bit out of his rocker and

letting off a noisy pre-luncheon fart. Yessir, I do.

Aye.

George said: If not for them facing off Jonass boys the way they done, Id think

they was a pack of fools.

Nor would they likely mind, Avery said. He looked at Dave, who was twirling

his monocle on the end of its ribbon and looking off in the direction the boys had

taken. There were folks in town who had begun call ing the Affiliation brats Little

Coffin Hunters. Avery wasnt sure what to make of that. Hed soothed it down

between them and Thorins hard boys, and had got ten both a commendation and a

piece of gold from Rimer for his efforts, but still…

what to make of them

The day they came in, he said to Dave, ye thought they were soft. How do ye

say now

Now Dave twirled his monocle a final time, then popped it in his eye and stared

at the Sheriff through it. Now I think they might have been a little harder than I

thought, after all.

Yes indeed, Avery thought. But hard dont mean smart, thank the gods. Aye, thank

the gods for that.

Im hungry as a bull, so I am, he said, getting up.

He bent, put his hands on his

knees, and ripped off another loud fart. Dave and George looked at each other.

George fanned a hand in front of his face. Sheriff Herkimer Avery, Barony

Sheriff, straightened up, looking both relieved and anticipatory. More room out

than there is in, he said. Come on, boys. Lets go downstreet and tuck into a

little.

11

Not even sunset could do much to improve the view from the porch of the Bar K

bunkhouse. The buildingexcept for the cookshack and the sta ble, the only one still standing on what had been the home acrewas L-shaped, and the porch was

built on the inside of the short arm. Left for them on it had been just the right

number of seats: two splintery rockers and a wooden crate to which an unstable

board back had been nailed.

On this evening. Alain sat in one of the rockers and Cuthbert sat on the box-seat,

which he seemed to fancy. On the rail, peering across the beaten dirt of the

dooryard and toward the burned-out hulk of the Garber home place, was the

lookout.

Alain was bone-tired, and although both of them had bathed in the stream near the

west end of the home acre, he thought he still smelled fish and seaweed on

himself. They had spent the day counting nets. He was not averse to hard work,

even when it was monotonous, but he didnt like point less work. Which this was.

Hambry came in two parts: the fishers and the horsebreeders. There was nothing

for them among the fishers, and after three weeks all three of them knew it. Their

answers were out on the Drop, at which they had so far done no more than look.

At Rolands order.

The wind gusted, and for a moment they could hear the low, grum bling,

squealing sound of the thinny.

I hate that sound, Alain said.

Cuthbert, unusually silent and introspective tonight, nodded and said only Aye.

They were all saying that now, not to mention So you do and So I am and So it is.

Alain suspected the three of them would have Ham bry on their tongues long after

they had wiped its dust from their boots.

From behind them, inside the bunkhouse door, came a less unpleasant soundthe

cooing of pigeons. And then, from around the side of the bunkhouse, a third, for

which he and Cuthbert had unconsciously been listening as they sat watching the sun go down: horses hoofs. Rushers.

Roland came around the comer, riding easy, and as he did, something happened

that struck Alain as oddly portentous

a kind of omen. There was a flurry-flutter

of wings, a dark shape in the air, and suddenly a bird was roosting on Rolands

shoulder.

He didnt jump; barely looked around. He rode up to the hitching rail and sat there,

holding out his hand. Hile, he said softly, and the pigeon stepped into his palm.

Bound to one of its legs was a capsule. Roland re moved it, opened it, and took

out a tiny strip of paper, which had been rolled tight. In his other hand he held the

pigeon out.

Hile, Alain said, holding out his own hand. The pi geon flew to it. As Roland

dismounted, Alain took the pigeon into the bunkhouse, where the cages had been placed beneath an open window. He ungated the cen ter one and held out his hand.

The pigeon which had just arrived hopped in; the pi geon in the cage hopped out

and into his palm. Alain shut the cage door, latched it, crossed the room, and

turned up the pillow of Berts bunk. Beneath it was a linen envelope containing a

number of blank paper strips and a tiny storagepen. He took one of the strips and the pen, which held its own small reservoir of ink and did not have to be dipped.

He went back out on the porch. Roland and Cuthbert were studying the unrolled

strip of paper the pigeon had delivered from Gilead. On it was a line of tiny

geometric shapes:

What does it say Alain asked. The code was sim ple enough, but he could not

get it by heart or read it on sight, as Roland and Bert had been able to, almost

immediately. Alains talentshis ability to track, his easy access to the touchlay in other directions.

 Farson moves east,  Cuthbert read.  Forces split, one big, one small. Do you

see anything unusual.  He looked at Roland, al most of fended. Anything

unusual, what does that mean

Roland shook his head. He didnt know. He doubted if the men who had sent the

messageof whom his own father was almost surely one did, either.

Alain handed Cuthbert the strip and the pen. With one finger Bert stroked the head

of the softly cooing pigeon. It ruffled its wings as if al ready anxious to be off to

the west.

What shall I write Cuthbert asked. The same

Roland nodded.

But we have seen things that are unusual! Alain said. And we know things are

wrong here! The horses

and at that small ranch way south

I cant remember

the name …

Cuthbert could. The Rocking H.

Aye, the Rocking H. There are oxen there. Oxen!

My gods, Ive never seen them,

except for pictures in a book!

Roland looked alarmed. Does anyone know you sawAlain shrugged impatiently. I dont think so. There were drovers aboutthree,

maybe four

Four, aye, Cuthbert said quietly.

but they paid no attention to us. Even when we see things, they think we

dont.

And thats the way it must stay. Rolands eyes swept them, but there was a kind

of absence in his face, as if his thoughts were far away. He turned to look toward

the sunset, and Alain saw something on the col lar of his shirt. He plucked it, a

move made so quickly and nimbly that not even Roland felt it. Bert couldnt have done that, Alain thought with some pride.

Aye, but

Same message, Roland said. He sat down on the top step and looked off toward

the evening redness in the west. Patience, Mr.

Richard Stockworth and Mr.

Arthur Heath. We know certain things and we be lieve cer tain other things. But

would John Farson come all this way simply to re supply horses I dont think so.

Im not sure, horses are valuable, aye, so they are . .

. but Im not sure. So we

wait.

All right, all right, same message. Cuthbert smoothed the scrap of paper flat on the porch rail, then made a small series of symbols on it. Alain could read this

message; he had seen the same sequence sever al times since they had come to

Hambry. Message received. We are fine. Noth ing to report at this time.

The message was put in the capsule and attached to the pigeons leg. Alain went

down the steps, stood beside Rusher (still waiting patiently to be unsaddled), and

held the bird up toward the fading sunset. Hile!

It was up and gone in a flutter of wings. For a mo ment only they saw it, a dark

shape against the deepening sky.

Roland sat looking after. The dreamy expression was still on his face. Alain found himself wondering if Roland had made the right decision this evening. He had

never in his life had such a thought. Nor expected to have one.

Roland

Hmmm Like a man half-awakened from some deep sleep.

Ill unsaddle him, if you want. He nodded at Rush er. And rub him down.

No answer for a long time. Alain was about to ask again when Roland said, No.

Ill do it. In a minute or two. And went back to looking at the sunset.

Alain climbed the porch steps and sat down in his rocker. Bert had resumed his

place on the box-seat. They were behind Roland now, and Cuthbert looked at

Alain with his eyebrows raised. He pointed to Roland and then looked at Alain

again.

Alain passed over what he had plucked from Rolands collar. Al though it was

almost too fine to be seen in this light, Cuthberts eyes were gunslingers eyes, and

he took it easily, with no fumbling.

It was a long strand of hair, the color of spun gold. He could see from Berts, face

that Bert knew whose head it had come from. Since arriving in Hambry, theyd

met only one girl with long blonde hair. The two boys

eyes met. In Berts Alain

saw dismay and laughter in equal measure.

Cuthbert Allgood raised his forefinger to his temple and mimed pulling the trigger.

Alain nodded.

Sitting on the steps with his back to them, Roland looked toward the dying sunset

with dreaming eyes.

CHAPTER VIII

BENEATH THE

PEDDLERS MOON

1

The town of Ritzy, nearly four hundred miles west of Mejis, was anything but.

Roy Depape reached it three nights before the Peddlers Moon called Latesum

mers Moon by somecame full, and left it a day later. Ritzy was, in fact, a miserable little mining vil lage on the eastern slope of the Vi Castis Mountains, about fifty miles from Vi Castis Cut. The town had but one

street; it was engraved with iron-hard wheelruts now, and would become a lake of

mud roughly three days after the storms of autumn set in. There was the Bear and

Turtle Mercantile & Sundrie Items, where miners were forbidden by the Vi Castis

Company to shop, and a company store where no one but grubbies would shop;

there was a com bined jailhouse and Town Gather ing Hall with a windmill-cumgal

lows out front; there were six roaring barrooms, each more sordid, desperate,

and dangerous than the last.

Ritzy was like an ugly lowered head between a pair of huge shrugged

shouldersthe foothills. Above town to the south were the clapped-out shacks

where the Company housed its miners; each puff of breeze brought the stench of

their unlimed communal privies. To the north were the mines themselves:

dangerous, undershored scratch drifts that went down fifty feet or so and then

spread like fingers clutching for gold and silver and copper and the occasional nest

of firedims. From the outside they were just holes punched into the bare and rocky

earth, holes like staring eyes, each with its own pile of till and scrapings beside the

adit.

Once there had been freehold mines up there, but they were all gone, regulated out

by the Vi Castis Company. Depape knew all about it, be cause the Big Coffin

Hunters had been a part of that little spin and raree.

Just after hed hooked up with

Jonas and Reynolds, that had been. Why, they had gotten those coffins tattooed on

their hands not fifty miles from here, in the town of Wind, a mudpen even less

ritzy than Ritzy. How long ago He couldnt rightly say, although it seemed to him

that he should be able to. But when it came to reck oning times past, Depape often

felt lost. It was hard even to remember how old he was. Because the world had

moved on, and time was different, now. Softer.

One thing he had no trouble remembering at all

his recollection was refreshed by

the miserable flare of pain he suffered each time he bumped his wounded finger.

That one thing was a promise to himself that he would see Dearborn, Stockworth,

and Heath laid out dead in a row, hand to out stretched hand like a little girls

paper dolls. He intended to unlimber the part of him which had longed so

bootlessly for Her Nibs these last three weeks and use it to hose down their dead

faces. The majority of his squirt would be saved for Arthur Heath of Gilead, New

Canaan. That laughing chatterbox motherfuck er had a serious hosing-down

coming.

Depape rode out the sunrise end of Ritzys only street, trotted his horse up the

flank of the first hill, and paused at the top for a single look back. Last night, when

hed been talking to the old bastard behind Hatti gans, Ritzy had been roaring. This morning at seven, it looked as ghostly as the Ped dlers Moon, which still hung in

the sky above the rim of the plundered hills. He could hear the mines tink-tonking

away, though. You bet. Those babies tink-tonked away seven days a week. No rest

for the wicked … and he supposed that included him. He dragged his horses head

around with his usual unthinking and ham-hand ed force, booted its flanks, and

headed east, thinking of the old bastard as he went. He had treated the old bastard passing fair, he reckoned. A reward had been promised, and had been paid for

information given.

Yar, Depape said, his glasses flashing in the new sun (it was a rare morning

when he had no hangover, and he felt quite cheer ful), I reckon the old bugger

cant complain.

Depape had had no trouble following the young culls backtrail; they had come

east on the Great Road the whole way from New Canaan, it ap peared, and at

every town where they had stopped, they had been marked. In most they were

marked if they did no more than pass through. And why not Young men on good

horses, no scars on their faces, no regulator tat toos on their hands, good clothes on their backs, expensive hats on their heads. They were remembered especially well

at the inns and saloons, where they had stopped to refresh themselves but had

drunk no hard liquor. No beer or graf, either, for that matter. Yes, they were

remem bered. Boys on the road, boys that seemed almost to shine. As if they had

come from an earlier, better time.

Piss in their faces, Depape thought as he rode. One by one. Mr. Arthur Ha-Ha 

Heath last. Ill save enough so it d drown you, were you not already at the end of

the path and into the clearing.

They had been noticed, all right, but that wasnt good enoughif he went back to

Hambry with no more than that, Jonas would likely shoot his nose off. And he

would deserve it. They may be rich boys, but thats not all they are. Depape had

said that himself. The question was, what else were they And finally, in the shitandsulfur stench of Ritzy, he had found out. Not ev erything, perhaps, but enough

to allow him to turn his horse around before he found himself all the way back in

fucking New Canaan.

He had hit two other saloons, sipping watered beer in each, before rolling into

Hattigans. He ordered yet another watered beer, and prepared to engage the

bartender in conversation. Before he even be gan to shake the tree, however, the apple he wanted fell off and dropped into his hand, neat as you please.

It was an old mans voice (an old bastards voice), speaking with the shrill, headhurt ing intensity which is the sole province of old bastards in their cups. He was

talking about the old days, as old bastards always did, and about how the world

had moved on, and how things had been ever so much better when he was a boy.

Then he had said something which caused De papes ears to prick up: something about how the old days might be coming again, for hadnt he seen three young

lords not two months a-gone, mayhap less, and even bought one of them a drink,

even if twas only sasparilly soda You wouldnt know a young lord from a young turd,

said a miss who appeared

to have all of four teeth left in her charming young head. There was general laughter at this. The old bas tard looked around, of fended. I

know, all right, he said. Ive forgot more than youll ever learn, so I have. One of

them at least came from the Eld line, for I saw his fa ther in his face … just as

clear as I see your saggy tits, Jolene. And then the old bastard had done

something Depape rather admiredyanked out the front of the saloon-whores

blouse and poured the remainder of his beer down it. Even the roars of laughter

and heavy applause which greeted this couldnt en tirely drown the girls caw of

rage, or the old mans cries when she began to slap and punch him about the head

and shoulders. These latter cries were only indig nant at first, but when the girl

grabbed the old bastards own beer-stein and shat tered it against the side of his

head, they became screams of pain. Bloodmixed with a few wa tery dregs of

beerbegan to run down the old bastards face.

Get out of here! she yelled, and gave him a shove to ward the door. Several

healthy kicks from the miners in attendance (who had changed sides as easily as

the wind changes directions) helped him along.

And dont come back! I can smell

the weed on your breath, you old cock-sucker! Get out and take your gods-cussed

stories of old days and young lords with you!

The old bastard was in such manner conveyed across the room, past the tootling trumpet-player who served as entertainment for the patrons of Hattigans (that young bowler-hatted worthy added his own kick in the seat of the old bastards

dusty trousers without ever missing so much as a single note of Play, Ladies,

Play), and out through the batwing doors, where he collapsed face-first into the

street.

Depape had sauntered after him and helped him up. As he did so, he smelled an

acrid odornot beeron the old mans breath, and saw the telltale greenish-gray

discolorations at the comers of his lips. Weed, all right. The old bastard was

probably just getting started on it (and for the usu al reason: devil-grass was free in the hills, unlike the beer and whiskey that was sold in town), but once they started,

the finish came quick.

They got no respect, the old bastard said thickly.

Nor understand ing, either.

Aye, so they dont, said Depape, who had not yet gotten the accents of the

seacoast and the Drop out of his speech.

The old bastard stood swaying, looking up at him, wiping ineffectu ally at the

blood which ran down his wrinkled cheeks from his lacerated scalp. Son, do you

have the price of a drink Remember the face of your father and give an old soul

the price of a drink!

Im not much for charity, oldtimer, Depape said, but mayhap you could earn

yourself the price of a drink. Step on over here, into my office, and lets us see.

Hed led the old bastard out of the street and back to the boardwalk, angling well

to the left of the black batwings with their golden shafts of light spilling out above and below. He waited for a trio of miners to go by, singing at the top of their lungs

(Woman I love

is long and tall

she moves her body

like a cannonball

),

and then, still holding the old bastard by the elbow, hail guided him into the alley

between Hatti gans and the undertaking es tablishment next door. For some

people, De pape mused, a visit to Ritzy could damn near amount to one-stop

shopping: get your drink, get your bullet, get laid out next door.

Yer office, the old bastard cackled as Depape led him down the al ley toward

the board fence and the heaps of rubbish at the far end. The wind blew, stinging

Depapes nose with odors of sulfur and carbolic from the mines. From their right,

the sounds of drunken revelry pounded through the side of Hattigans. Your

office, thats good.

Aye, my office.

The old man gazed at him in the light of the moon, which rode the slot of sky

above the alley. Are you from Mejis Or Tepachi

Maybe one, maybe tother, maybe neither.

Do I know you The old bastard was looking at him even more closely, standing

on tiptoe as if hoping for a kiss. Ugh.

Depape pushed him away. Not so close, dad. Yet he felt marginally encouraged.

He and Jonas and Reynolds had been here before, and if the old man remembered

his face, likely he wasnt talking through his hat about fellows hed seen much

more recently.

Tell me about the three young lords, old dad. De pape rapped on the wall of

Hattigans. Them in there may not be interest ed, but I am.

The old bastard looked at him with a bleary, calcu lating eye. Might there be a bit

o metal in it for me

Yar, Depape said. If you tell me what I want to hear, Ill give you metal.

Gold

Tell me, and well see.

No, sir. Dicker first, tell second.

Depape seized him by the arm, whirled him around, and yanked a wrist which felt

like a bundle of sticks up to the old bastards scrawny shoulderblades. Fuck with me, dad, and well start by breaking your arm.

Let go! the old bastard screamed breathlessly.

Let go, Ill trust to your

generosity, young sir, for you have a generous face! Yes! Yes indeed!

Depape let him go. The old bastard eyed him war ily, rubbing his shoulder. In the

moonlight the blood drying on his cheeks looked black.

Three of them, there were, he said. Fine-born lads.

Lads or lords Which is it, dad

The old bastard had taken the question thought fully. The whack on the head, the

night air, and having his arm twisted seemed to have sobered him up, at least

temporarily.

Both, I do believe, he said at last. One was a lord for sure, whether them in

there believe it or not. For I saw his father, and his father bore the guns. Not such

poor things such as you wearbeggin your pardon, I know theyre the best to be

had these daysbut real guns, such as were seen when my own dad was a boy.

The big ones with the sandalwood grips.

Depape had stared at the old man, feeling a rise of excitement … and a species of

reluctant awe, as well. They acted like gun slingers, Jonas had said. When

Reynolds protested they were too young, Jonas had said they might be

apprentices, and now it seemed the boss had like ly been right.

Sandalwood grips he had asked. Sandal wood grips, old dad

Yep. The old man saw his excitement, and his be lief. He expanded visibly.

A gunslinger, you mean. This one young fellows father carried the big irons.

Yep, a gunslinger. One of the last lords. Their line is passing, now, but my dad

knew him well enough. Steven Deschain, of Gilead.

Steven, son of Henry.

And this one you saw not long ago

His son. Henry the Tails grandson. The others looked well-born, as if they might also come from the line of lords, but the one I saw come down all the way from

Arthur Eld, by one line or another. Sure as you walk on two legs. Have I earned

my metal yet

Depape thought to say yes, then realized he didnt know which of the three culls

this old bastard was talking about.

Three young men, he mused. Three high-borns.

And did they have guns

Not out where the drift-diggers of this town could see em, the old bastard said,

and laughed nastily. But they had em, all right.

Probably hid in their bedrolls. Id set my watch and warrant on it.

Aye, Depape said. I suppose you would. Three young men, one the son of a

lord. Of a gunslinger, you think. Steven of Gilead.

And the name was familiar to

him, aye, it was.

Steven Deschain of Gilead, thats it.

And what name did he give, this young lord

The old bastard had screwed his face up alarming ly in an effort to re member.

Deerfield Deerstine I dont quite remember

Thats all right, I know it. And youve earned your met al.

Have I the old bastard had edged close again, his breath gagging-sweet with the

weed. Gold or silver Which is it, my friend

Lead, Depape replied, then hauled leather and shot the old man twice in the

chest. Doing him a favor, really.

Now he rode back toward Mejisit would be a faster trip without having to stop

in every dipshit little town and ask questions.

There was a flurry of wings close above his head. A pigeondark gray, it was,

with a white ring around its neckfluttered down on a rock just ahead of him, as

if to rest. An interesting-looking bird. Not, De pape thought, a wild pigeon.

Someones escaped pet He couldnt imagine anyone in this desolate quarter of the world keeping anything but a half-wild dog to bite the squash off any would-be

robber (although what these folks might have worth robbing was another question

he couldnt an swer), but he supposed anything was possible. In any case, roast

pigeon would go down a treat when he stopped for the night.

Depape drew his gun, but before he could cock the hammer, the pi geon was off

and flying east. Depape took a shot after it, any way. Some times you got lucky,

but apparently not this time; the pigeon dipped a little, then straightened out and

disappeared in the direction Depape him self was going. He sat astride his horse for a moment, not much put out of countenance; he thought Jonas was going to be

very pleased with what he had found out.

After a bit, he booted his horse in the sides and be gan to canter east along the

Barony Sea Road, back toward Mejis, where the boys who had embarrassed him

were waiting to be dealt with. Lords they might be, sons of gunslingers they might

be, but in these latter days, even such as those could die. As the old bastard

himself would undoubtedly have pointed out, the world had moved on.

2

On a late afternoon three days after Roy Depape left Ritzy and headed his horse

toward Hambry again, Roland, Cuthbert, and Alain rode north and west of town,

first down the long swell of the Drop, then into the freeland Hambry folk called

the Bad Grass, then into deserty waste lands.

Ahead of them and clearly visible

once they were back in the open were crum bled and eroded bluffs. In the center

of these was a dark, almost vaginal cleft; its edges so splintered it looked as if it

had been whacked into reality by an ill-tem pered god wielding a hatchet.

The distance between the end of the Drop and the bluffs was perhaps six miles.

Three quarters of the way across, they passed the flatlands only real geographic

feature: a jutting upthrust of rock that looked like a finger bent at the first knuckle.

Below it was a small, boomerang-shaped green sward, and when Cuthbert gave a

ululating yell to hear his voice bounce back at him from the bluffs ahead, a pack of

chattering billy-bumblers broke from this green place and went racing back

southeast, toward the Drop.

Thats Hanging Rock, Roland said. Theres a spring at the base of itonly one

in these parts, they say.

It was all the talk that passed between them on the ride out, but a look of

unmistakable relief passed between Cuthbert and Alain behind Rolands back. For the last three weeks they had pretty much marched in place as summer rolled

around them and past them. It was all well for Roland to say they must wait, they

must pay greatest attention to the things that didnt matter and count the things

which did from the comers of their eyes, but neither of them quite trusted the

dreamy, disconnected air which Roland wore these days like his own special

version of Clay Reynoldss cloak. They didnt talk about this between themselves;

they didnt have to. Both knew that if Roland began courting the pretty girl whom

Mayor Thorin meant for his gilly (and who else could that long blonde hair have

belonged to), they would be in very bad trouble.

But Roland showed no courting

plumage, neither of them spied any more blonde hairs on his shirt-collars, and

tonight he seemed more himself, as if he had put that cloak of abstraction aside.

Temporarily, mayhap. Permanently, if they were lucky. They could only wait and see. In the end, ka would tell, as it always did.

A mile or so from the bluffs, the strong sea breeze which had been at their backs

for the whole ride suddenly dropped, and they heard the low, atonal squalling from

the cleft that was Eyebolt Canyon. Alain pulled up, grimacing like a man who has

bitten into a fruit of extravagant sourness. All he could think of was a handful of

sharp pebbles, squeezed and ground together in a strong hand. Buzzards circled

above the canyon as if drawn to the sound.

The lookout dont like it. Will. Cuthbert said, knocking his knuck les on the

skull. I dont like it much, either. What are we out here for

To count, Roland said. We were sent to count ev erything and see everything,

and this is something to count and see.

Oh, aye, Cuthbert said. He held his horse in with some effort; the low, grinding

wail of the thinny had made it skittish. Sixteen hundred and fourteen fishing nets, seven hundred and ten boats small, two hundred and fourteen boats large, seventy

oxen that nobody will admit to, and, on the north of town, one thinny. Whatever

the hell that is.

Were going to find out, Roland said.

They rode into the sound, and although none of them liked it, no one suggested

they go back. They had come all the way out here, and Roland was rightthis was

their job. Besides, they were curious.

The mouth of the canyon had been pretty well stopped up with brush, as Susan

had told Roland it would be. Come fall, most of it would proba bly be dead, but

now the stacked branches still bore leaves and made it hard to see into the canyon.

A path led through the center of the brush-pile, but it was narrow for the horses

(who might have balked at going through, anyway), and in the failing light Roland

could make out hardly anything.

Are we going in Cuthbert asked. Let the Recording Angel note that Im

against, although Ill offer no mutiny.

Roland had no intention of taking them through the brush and toward the source of

that sound. Not when he had only the vaguest idea of what a thinny was. He had

asked a few questions about it over the last few weeks, and gotten little useful

response. Id stay away, was the extent of Sheriff Averys advice. So far his best

information was still what he had gotten from Su san on the night he met her.

Sit easy, Bert. Were not going in.

Good, Alain said softly, and Roland smiled.

There was a path up the canyons west side, steep and narrow, but passable if they

were careful. They went single file, stopping once to clear a rockfall, pitching

splintered chunks of shale and hornfels into the groan ing trench to their right.

When this was done and just as the three of them were preparing to mount up

again, a large bird of some sortperhaps a grouse, perhaps a prairie

chickenrose above the lip of the canyon in an ex plosive whir of feathers. Roland

dipped for his guns, and saw both Cuth bert and Alain doing the same. Quite

funny, considering that their firearms were wrapped in protective oilcloth and secreted beneath the floorboards of the Bar K

bunkhouse.

They looked at each other, said nothing (except with their eyes, which said

plenty), and went on. Roland found that the effect of being this close to the thinny

was cumulativeit wasnt a sound you could get used to. Quite the contrary, in

fact: the longer you were in the immediate vicinity of Eyebolt Canyon, the more

that sound scraped away at your brain. It got into your teeth as well as your ears; it

vibrated in the knot of nerves below the breast bone and seemed to eat at the damp and delicate tissue behind the eyes. Most of all, though, it got into your head,

telling you that everything you had ever been afraid of was just behind the next

curve of the trail or yonder pile of tumbled rock, waiting to snake out of its place

and get you.

Once they got to the flat and barren ground at the top of the path and the sky

opened out above them again it was a little better, but by then the light was almost

gone, and when they dismounted and walked to the canyons crumbling edge, they

could see little but shadows.

No good, Cuthbert said disgustedly. We should have left earlier, Roland …

Will, I mean. What dummies we are!

I can be Roland to you out here, if you like. And well see what we came to see

and count what we came to countone thinny, just as you said. Only wait.

They waited, and not twenty minutes later the Peddlers Moon rose above the

horizona perfect summer moon, huge and or ange. It loomed in the darkening

violet swim of the sky like a crashing planet. On its face, as clear as anyone had

ever seen it, was the Peddler, he who came out of Nones with his sackful of

squealing souls. A hunched figure made of smudged shadows with a pack clearly visible over one cringing shoulder. Behind it, the orange light seemed to flame like

hellfire.

Ugh, Cuthbert said. Thats an ill sight to see with that sound com ing up from

below.

Yet they held their ground (and their horses, which periodically yanked back on

their reins as if to tell them they should already be gone from this place), and the

moon rose in the sky, shrinking a little as it went and turning silver. Eventually it

rose enough to cast its bony light into Eyebolt Canyon. The three boys stood

looking down. None of them spoke. Roland didnt know about his friends, but he

didnt think he him self could have spoken even if called on to do so.

A box canyon, very short and steep-sided, Susan had said, and the de scription was perfectly accurate. Shed also said Eyebolt looked like a chimney lying on its side, and Roland supposed that was also true, if you al lowed that a falling chimney

might break up a little on impact, and lie with one crooked place in its middle.

Up to that crook, the canyon floor looked ordinary enough; even the litter of bones

the moon showed them was not extraordinary.

Many ani mals which wandered

into box canyons hadnt the wit to find their way hack out again, and with Eyebolt

the possibility of escape was further re duced by the choke of brush piled at the

canyons mouth. The sides were much too steep to climb except maybe for one

place, just before that crooked little jog. There Roland saw a kind of groove

running up the canyon wall, with enough jutting spurs inside it

tomaybe!provide handholds. There was no re al reason for him to note this; he just did, as he would go on noting potential es cape-routes his entire life.

Beyond the jag in the canyon floor was something none of them had ever seen

before

and when they got back to the bunkhouse several hours later, they all

agreed that they werent sure exactly what they had seen. The latter part of Eyebolt

Canyon was obscured by a sullen, silvery liques cence from which snakes of

smoke or mist were rising in streamers. The liquid seemed to move sluggishly,

lapping at the walls which held it in. Later, they would discover that both liquid

and mist were a light green; it was only the moon light that had made them look

silver.

As they watched, a dark flying shapeperhaps it was the same one that had

frightened them beforeskimmed down toward the surface of the thinny. It

snatched something out of the aira bug anoth er, smaller, birdand then

began to rise again. Before it could, a silvery arm of liq uid rose from the canyons

floor. For a moment that soupy, grinding grumble rose a notch, and became almost

a voice. It snatched the bird out of the air and dragged it down. Greenish light,

brief and unfocused, flashed across the surface of the thinny like electricity, and

was gone.

The three boys stared at each other with frightened eyes.Jump in, gunslinger, a voice suddenly called. It was the voice of the thinny; it was

the voice of his father; it was also the voice of Marten the enchanter, Marten the

seducer. Most terrible of all, it was his own voice.

Jump in and let all these cares cease. There is no love of girls to worry you here,

and no mourning of lost mothers to weigh your childs heart. Only the hum of the growing cavity at the center of the universe; only the punky sweetness of rotting

flesh.

Come, gunslinger. Be apart of the thinny.

Dreamy-faced and blank-eyed, Alain began walk ing along the edge of the drop,

his right boot so close to it that the heel puffed little clouds of dust over the chasm

and sent clusters of pebbles down into it. Before he could get more than five steps, Roland grabbed him by the belt and yanked him roughly back.

Where do you think youre going

Alain looked at him with sleepwalkers eyes. They began to clear, but slowly. I

dont … know, Roland.

Below them, the thinny hummed and growled and sang. There was a sound, as

well: an oozing, sludgy mutter.

I know, Cuthbert said. I know where were all go ing. Back to the Bar K. Come

on, lets get out of here. He looked pleadingly at Roland. Please. Its awful.

All right.

But before he led them back to the path, he stepped to the edge and looked down

at the smoky silver ooze below him. Counting, he said with a kind of clear

defiance. Counting one thinny. Then, lowering his voice: And be damned to

you.

3

Their composure returned as they rode backthe seabreeze in their faces was

wonderfully restorative after the dead and somehow baked smell of the canyon

and the thinny.

As they rode up the Drop (on a long diagonal, so as to save the horses a little),

Alain said: What do we do next, Roland Do you know

No. As a matter of fact, I dont.

Supper would be a start, Cuthbert said brightly, and tapped the lookouts hollow

skull for emphasis.

You know what I mean.

Yes, Cuthbert agreed. And Ill tell you something, Roland

Will, please. Now that were back on the Drop, let me be Will.

Aye, fine. Ill tell you something, Will: we cant go on counting nets and boats

and looms and wheel-irons much longer. Were run ning out of things that dont

matter. I believe that looking stupid will become a good deal harder once we move

to the horsebreeding side of life as its lived in Hambry.

Aye, Roland said. He stopped Rusher and looked back the way they had come.

He was momentarily enchanted by the sight of horses, appar ently infected with a kind of moon-madness, frolicking and racing across the silvery grass. But I tell you both again, this is not just about horses. Does Farson need them Aye,

mayhap. So does the Affiliation. Oxen as well.

But there are horses

everywhereperhaps not as good as these, Ill admit, but any port does in a storm, so they say. So, if its not horses, what is it Until we know, or decide well never

know, we go on as we are.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

Part of the answer was waiting for them back at the Bar…

hitching rail and flicking its tail saucily. When the pigeon hopped into Rolands

hand, he saw that one of its wings was oddly frayed.

Some animallikely a

cathad crept up on it close enough to pounce, he reckoned.

The note curled against the pigeons leg was short, but it explained a good deal of

what they hadnt understood.

Ill have to see her again, Roland thought after read ing it, and felt a surge of

gladness. His pulse quickened, and in the cold sil ver light of the Peddlers Moon,

he smiled.

CHAPTER IX

citgo

1

The Peddlers Moon began to wane; it would take the hottest, fairest part of the

summer with it when it went. On an afternoon four days past the full, the old mozo

from Mayors House (Miguel had been there long be fore Hart Thorins time and

would likely be there long after Thorin had gone back to his ranch) showed up at

the house Susan shared with her aunt. He was lead ing a beautiful chestnut mare by

a hack. It was the sec ond of the three promised hors es, and Susan recognized

Felicia at once. The mare had been one other childhoods favorites.

Susan embraced Miguel and covered his beard ed cheeks with kisses. The old

mans wide grin would have showed every tooth in his head, if hed had any left to

show. Gracias, gracias, a thousand thanks, old fa ther, she told him.

Da nada,  he replied, and handed her the bridle.

It is the Mayors earnest gift.

She watched him away, the smile slowly fading from her lips. Felicia stood

docilely beside her, her dark brown coat shining like a dream in the summer

sunlight. But this was no dream. It had seemed like one at first that sense of

unreality had been another inducement to walk into the trap, she now

understoodbut it was no dream. She had been proved honest; now she found

herself the recipient of earnest gifts from a rich man. The phrase was a sop to

conventionality, of course

or a bitter joke, de pend ing on ones mood and

outlook. Felicia was no more a gift than Pylon had beenthey were step-by-step

fulfillments of the contract into which she had en tered. Aunt Cord could express

shock, but Susan knew the truth: what lay directly ahead was whoring, pure and

simple.

Aunt Cord was in the kitchen window as Susan walked her gift (which was really

just returned property, in her view) to the stable.

She called out something passing

cheery about how the horse was a good thing, that caring for it would give Susan

less time for her megrims. Susan felt a hot reply rise to her lips and held it back.

There had been a wary truce between the two of them since the shouting match

about the shirts, and Susan didnt want to be the one to break it. There was too

much on her mind and heart. She thought that one more argument with her aunt

and she might simply snap like a dry twig under a boot. Because often silence is

best, her father had told her when, at age ten or so, she had asked him why he was

always so quiet. The answer had puzzled her then, but now she understood better.

She stabled Felicia next to Pylon, rubbed her down, fed her. While the mare

munched oats, Susan examined her hooves. She didnt care much for the look of

the iron the mare was wearingthat was Seafront for youand so she took her

fathers shoebag from its nail beside the sta ble door, slung the strap over her head and shoulder so the bag hung on her hip, and walked the two miles to Hockeys

Stable and Fancy Livery. Feeling the leather bag bang against her hip brought

back her father in a way so fresh and clear that grief pricked her again and made

her feel like crying. She thought he would have been appalled at her current

situation, perhaps even disgusted. And he would have liked Will Dearborn, of that she was sureliked him and approved of him for her.

It was the final mis erable

touch.

2

She had known how to shoe most of her life, and even enjoyed it, when her mood

was right; it was dusty, elemental work, with always the possi bility of a healthy

kick in the slats to relieve the boredom and bring a girl back to reality. But of

making shoes she knew nothing, nor wished to. Bri an Hookey made them at the

forge behind his barn and hostelry, how ever; Su san easily picked out four new

ones of the right size, enjoying the smell of horse flesh and fresh hay as she did.

Fresh paint, too. Hockeys Stable & Smithy looked very well, indeed. Glancing up,

she saw not so much as a single hole in the barn roof.

Times had been good for

Hookey, it seemed.

He wrote the new shoes up on a beam, still wearing his blacksmiths apron and

squinting horribly out of one eye at his own fig ures. When Su san began to speak

haltingly to him about payment, he laughed, told her he knew shed settle her

accounts as soon as she could, gods bless her, yes.

Sides, they werent any of them

going anywhere, were they Nawp, nawp. All the time gently propelling her

through the fragrant smells of hay and horses to ward the door. He would not have

treated even so small a matter as four iron shoes in such a carefree manner a year

ago, but now she was Mayor Thorins good friend, and things had changed.

The afternoon sunlight was dazzling after the dimness of Hockeys barn, and she

was momentarily blinded, groping forward to ward the street with the leather bag bouncing on her hip and the shoes clashing softly in side. She had just a moment

to register a shape looming in the brightness, and then it thumped into her hard

enough to rattle her teeth and make Fe licias new shoes clang. She would have

fallen, but for strong hands that quickly reached out and grasped her shoulders. By

then her eyes were ad justing and she saw with dis may and amusement that the

young man who had almost knocked her sprawling into the dirt was one of Wills

friends Richard Stockworth.

Oh, sai, your pardon! he said, brushing the arms of her dress as if he had

knocked her over. Are you well Are you quite well

Quite well, she said, smiling. Please dont apol ogize. She felt a sudden wild

impulse to stand on tiptoe and kiss his mouth and say, Give that to Will and tell

him to never mind what I said! Tell him there are a thousand more where that

came from! Tell him to come and get every one!

Instead, she fixed on a comic image: this Richard Stockworth smack ing Will full

on the mouth and saying it was from Susan Delga do. She be gan to giggle. She put

her hands to her mouth, but it did no good. Sai Stock worth smiled back at her …

tentatively, cautiously. He probably thinks Im mad … and I am! I am!

Good day, Mr. Stockworth, she said, and passed on before she could embarrass

herself further.

Good day, Susan Delgado, he called in return.

She looked back once, when she was fifty yards or so farther up the street, but he

was already gone. Not into Hockeys, though; of that she was quite sure. She

wondered what Mr. Stockworth had been doing at that end of town to begin with.

Half an hour later, as she took the new iron from her das shoebag, she found out.

There was a folded scrap of paper tucked be tween two of the shoes, and even

before she unfolded it, she understood that her colli sion with Mr. Stockworth

hadnt been an accident.

She recognized Wills handwriting at once from the note in the bouquet.

Susan,

Can you meet me at Citgo this evening or tomor row evening Very important. Has

to do with what we discussed before. Please.

W.

P.S. Best you bum this note.

She burned it at once, and as she watched the flames first flash up and then die

down, she murmured over and over the one word in it which had struck her the

hardest: Please.

3

She and Aunt Cord ate a simple, silent evening meal bread and soup and when

it was done, Susan rode Felicia out to the Drop and watched the sun go down. She

would not be meeting him this evening, no. She al ready owed too much sorrow to

impulsive, unthinking behavior. But tomor row

Why Citgo

Has to do with what we discussed before.

Yes, probably. She did not doubt his honor, al though she had much come to

wonder if he and his friends were who they said they were. He probably did want

to see her for some reason which bore on his mis sion (although how the oilpatch

could have anything to do with too many horses on the Drop she did not know),

but there was something between them now, some thing sweet and dangerous.

They might start off talking but would likely end up kissing

and kissing would

just be the start. Knowing didnt change feeling, though; she wanted to see him.

Needed to see him.

So she sat astride her new horseanother of Hart Thorins payments-in-advance

on her virginityand watched the sun swell and turn red in the west. She listened

to the faint grumble of the thinny, and for the first time in her sixteen years was

truly torn by indecision. All she wanted stood against all she believed of honor, and her mind roared with conflict. Around all, like a rising wind around an

unstable house, she felt the idea of ka growing. Yet to give over ones honor for

that reason was so easy, wasnt it To excuse the fall of virtue by invoking allpow

erful ka. It was soft thinking.

Susan felt as blind as shed been when leaving the darkness of Brian Hockeys bam

for the brightness of the street. At one point she cried silently in frustration

without even being aware of it, and pervading her every effort to think clearly and

rationally was her desire to kiss him again, and to feel his hand cupping her breast.

She had never been a religious girl, had little faith in the dim gods of MidWorld,

so at the last of it, with the sun gone and the sky above its point of exit going from

red to purple, she tried to pray to her father. And an answer came, although

whether from him or from her own heart she didnt know.

Let ka mind itself, the voice in her mind said. It will, anyway; it al ways does. If

ka. should overrule your honor, so it will be; in the mean time, Susan, theres no

one to mind it but yourself. Let ka go and mind the virtue of your promise, hard as

that may be.

All right, she said. In her current state she discov ered that any deci sioneven

one that would cost her another chance to see Will was a re lief. Ill honor my

promise. Ka can take care of itself.

In the gathering shadows, she clucked sidemouth to Felicia and turned for home.

4

The next day was Sanday, the traditional cow boys day of rest. Rolands little band took this day off as well. Its fair enough that we should, Cuthbert said, since

we dont know what the hell were doing in the first place.

On this particular Sandaytheir sixth since com ing to Hambry Cuthbert was in

the upper market (lower market was cheaper, by and large, but too fishy-smelling for his liking), looking at brightly colored scrapes and trying not to cry. For his

mother had a serape, it was a great favorite oth ers, and thinking of how she would ride out sometimes with it flowing back from her shoulders had filled him with

homesickness so strong it was savage. Arthur Heath, Rolands ka-mai, missing

his mama so badly his eyes were wet! It was a joke worthy of

well, worthy of

Cuthbert Allgood.

As he stood so, looking at the serapes and a hang ing rack of dolina blankets with

his hands clasped behind his back like a patron in an art gallery (and blinking back

tears all the while), there came a light tap on his shoul der. He turned, and there

was the girl with the blonde hair.

Cuthbert wasnt surprised that Roland was smitten with her. She was nothing short

of breathtaking, even dressed in jeans and a farmshirt. Her hair was tied back with a series of rough rawhide hanks, and she had eyes of the brightest gray Cuthbert

had ever seen. Cuthbert thought it was a wonder that Roland had been able to

continue with any other aspect of his life at all, even down to the washing of his

teeth. Certainly she came with a cure for Cuthbert; sentimental thoughts of his

mother disappeared in an instant.

Sai, he said. It was all he could manage, at least to start with.

She nodded and held out what the folk of Mejis called a corvette little packet

was the literal definition; little purse was the practical one. These small leather accessories, big enough for a few coins but not much more, were more often

carried by ladies than gentlemen, although that was not a hard-and-fast rule of

fashion.

Ye dropped this, cully, she said.

Nay, thankee-sai. This one well might have been the property of a manplain

black leather, and unadorned by foofrawsbut he had never seen it before. Never

carried a corvette, for that matter.

Its yours, she said, and her eyes were now so in tense that her gaze felt hot on his skin. He should have understood at once, but he had been blinded by her

unexpected appearance. Also, he admitted, by her clever ness. You somehow

didnt expect cleverness from a girl this beauti ful; beautiful girls did not, as a rule, have to be clever. So far as Bert could tell, all beauti ful girls had to do was wake

up in the morning. It is.

Oh, aye, he said, almost snatching the little purse from her. He could feel a

foolish grin overspreading his face. Now that you mention it, sai

Susan. Her eyes were grave and watchful above her smile. Let me be Susan to

you, I pray.

With pleasure. I cry your pardon, Susan, its just that my mind and memory,

realizing its Sanday, have joined hands and gone off on holiday togethereloped, you might sayand left me temporarily without a brain in my head.

He might well have rattled on like that for another hour (he had be fore; to that

both Roland and Alain could testify), but she stopped him with the easy briskness of an older sister. I can easily believe ye have no control over yer mind, Mr.

Heathor the tongue hung below it-but per haps yell take better care of yer

purse in the future. Good day. She was gone be fore he could get another word

out.

5

Bert found Roland where he so often was these days: out on the part of the Drop

that was called Town Lookout by many of the locals.

It gave a fair view of

Hambry, dreaming away its Sanday afternoon in a blue haze, but Cuthbert rather

doubted the Hambry view was what drew his old est friend back here time after

time. He thought that its view of the Delgado house was the more likely reason.

This day Roland was with Alain, neither of them say ing a word. Cuthbert had no

trouble accepting the idea that some people could go long periods of time without talking to each other, but he did not think he would ever understand it.

He came riding up to them at a gallop, reached in side his shirt, and pulled out the corvette. From Susan Delgado. She gave it to me in the upper market. Shes

beautiful, and shes also as wily as a snake. I say that with utmost admiration.

Rolands face filled with light and life. When Cuthbert tossed him the corvette, he

caught it one-handed and pulled the lace-tie with his teeth. In side, where a

travelling man would have kept his few scraps of money, there was a single folded

piece of paper. Roland read this quickly, the light going out of his eyes, the smile

fading off his mouth.

What does it say Alain asked.

Roland handed it to him and then went back to look ing out at the Drop. It wasnt

until he saw the very real desolation in his friends eyes that Cuthbert fully realized

how far into Rolands lifeand hence into all their livesSusan Delgado had

come.

Alain handed him the note. It was only a single line, two sentences:

Its best we dont meet. Im sorry.

Cuthbert read it twice, as if rereading might change it, then handed it back to

Roland. Roland put the note back into the corvette, tied the lace, and then tucked

the little purse into his own shirt.

Cuthbert hated silence worse than danger (it was danger, to his mind), but every

conversational opening he tried in his mind seemed callow and unfeeling, given the look on his friends face. It was as if Roland had been poisoned. Cuthbert was

disgusted at the thought of that lovely young girl bumping hips with the long and

bony Mayor of Hambry, but the look on Rolands face now called up stronger

emotions. For that he could hate her.

At last Alain spoke up, almost timidly. And now, Roland Shall we have a hunt

out there at the oilpatch without her

Cuthbert admired that. Upon first meeting him, many people dis missed Alain

Johns as something of a dullard. That was very far from the truth. Now, in a

diplomatic way Cuthbert could never have matched, he had pointed out that

Rolands unhappy first experience with love did not change their responsibilities.

And Roland responded, raising himself off the saddle-horn and sitting up straight.

The strong golden light of that summers after noon lit his face in harsh contrasts, and for a moment that face was haunted by the ghost of the man he would become.

Cuthbert saw that ghost and shiverednot know ing what he saw, only knowing

that it was awful.

The Big Coffin Hunters, he said. Did you see them in town

Jonas and Reynolds, Cuthbert answered. Still no sign of Depape. I think Jonas

must have choked him and thrown him over the sea cliffs in a fit of pique after that night in the bar.

Roland shook his head. Jonas needs the men he trusts too much to waste

themhes as far out on thin ice as we are. No, De papes just been sent off for

awhile.

Sent where Alain asked.

Where hell have to shit in the bushes and sleep in the rain if the weathers bad.

Roland laughed shortly, without much humor.

Jonas has got Depape running our

backtrail, more likely than not.

Alain grunted softly, in surprise that wasnt really surprise. Roland sat easily

astride Rusher, looking out over the dreamy depths of land, at the grazing horses.

With one hand he unconsciously rubbed the corvette he had tucked into his shirt.

At last he looked around at them again.

Well wait a bit longer, he said. Perhaps shell change her mind.

Roland Alain began, and his tone was deadly in its gentleness.

Roland raised his hands before Alain could go on.

Doubt me not, AlainI speak

as my fathers son.

All right. Alain reached out and briefly gripped Rolands shoulder. As for

Cuthbert, he reserved judgment. Roland might or might not be acting as his

fathers son; Cuthbert guessed that at this point Roland hardly knew his own mind

at all.

Do you remember what Cort used to say was the primary weakness of maggots

such as us Roland asked with a trace of a smile.

 You run without consideration and fall in a hole,

 Alain quoted in a gruff

imitation that made Cuthbert laugh aloud.

Rolands smile broadened a touch. Aye. Theyre words I mean to re member,

boys. Ill not upset this cart in order to see whats in it

not unless theres no other

choice. Susan may come around yet, given time to think. I believe she would have

agreed to meet me already, if not for

other mat ters between us.

He paused, and for a little while there was quiet among them.

I wish our fathers hadnt sent us, Alain said at last

although it was Rolands

father who had sent them, and all three knew it.

Were too young for matters such

as these. Too young by years.

We did all right that night in the Rest, Cuthbert said.

That was training, not guileand they didnt take us seriously. That wont happen

again.

They wouldnt have sent usnot my father, not yours if theyd known what

wed find, Roland said. But now weve found it, and now were for it. Yes

Alain and Cuthbert nodded. They were for it, all right there no longer seemed

any doubt of that.

In any case, its too late to worry about it now. Well wait and hope for Susan. Id

rather not go near Citgo without someone from Hambry who knows the lay of the

place

but if Depape comes back, well have to take our chance. God knows what

he may find out, or what stories he may invent to please Jonas, or what Jonas may

do after they palaver. There may be shooting.

After all this creeping around, Id almost wel come it, Cuthbert said.

Will you send her another note, Will Dearborn

Alain asked.

Roland thought about it. Cuthbert laid an interior bet with himself on which way

Roland would go. And lost.

No, he said at last. Well have to give her time, hard as that is. And hope her

curiosity will bring her around.

With that he turned Rusher toward the abandoned bunkhouse which now served

them as home. Cuthbert and Alain followed.

6

Susan, worked herself hard the rest of that San day, mucking out the sta bles,

carrying water, washing down all the steps. Aunt Cord watched all this in silence,

her expression one of mingled doubt and amaze ment. Su san cared not a bit for

how her aunt lookedshe wanted only to exhaust herself and avoid another

sleepless night. It was over. Will would know it as well now, and that was to the

good. Let done be done.

Are ye daft, girl was all Aunt Cord asked her as Su san dumped her last pail of

dirty rinse-water behind the kitchen. Its Sanday!

Not daft a bit, she replied shortly, without looking around.

She accomplished the first half of her aim, going to bed just after moonrise with

tired arms, aching legs, and a throbbing backbut sleep still did not come. She

lay in bed wide-eyed and unhappy. The hours passed, the moon set, and still Susan couldnt sleep. She looked into the dark and won dered if there was any possibility, even the slightest, that her father had been mur dered. To stop his mouth, to close his eyes.

Finally she reached the conclusion Roland had already come to: if there had been no attraction for her in those eyes of his, or the touch of his hands and lips, she

would have agreed in a flash to the meeting he want ed. If only to set her troubled

mind to rest.

At this realization, relief overspread her and she was able to sleep.

7L

ate the next afternoon, while Roland and his friends were at fives in the

Travellers Rest (cold beef sandwiches and gal lons of white iced teanot as good as that made by Deputy Daves wife, but not bad), Sheemie came in from outside,

where he had been watering his flowers. He was wearing his pink sombrero and a

wide grin. In one hand he held a little packet.

Hello, there, you Little Coffin Hunters! he cried cheerfully, and made a bow

which was an amusingly good imitation of their own. Cuthbert particularly

enjoyed seeing such a bow done in gardening sandals. How be you Well, Im

hoping, so I do!

Right as rainbarrels, Cuthbert said, but none of us enjoys being called Little

Coffin Hunters, so maybe you could just play soft on that, all right

Aye, Sheemie said, as cheerful as ever. Aye, Mr.

Arthur Heath, good fella who

saved my life! He paused and looked puzzled for a mo ment, as if unable to

remember why he had approached them in the first place. Then his eyes cleared,

his grin shone out, and he held the packet out to Roland. For you, Will

Dearborn!

Really What is it

Seeds! So they are!

From you, Sheemie

Oh, no.

Roland took the packetjust an envelope which had been folded over and sealed.

There was nothing written on the front or back, and the tips of his fingers felt no

seeds within.

Who from, then

Cant remember, said Sheemie, who then cast his eyes aside. His brains had been

stirred just enough, Roland reflected, so that he would never be unhappy for long,

and would never be able to lie at all. Then his eyes, hopeful and timid, came back

to Rolands. I remember what I was supposed to say to you, though.

Aye Then say it, Sheemie.

Speaking as one who recites a painfully mem orized line, both proud and nervous, he said: These are the seeds you scattered on the Drop.

Rolands eyes blazed so fiercely that Sheemie stum bled back a step. He gave his

sombrero a quick tug, turned, and hurried back to the safety of his flowers. He

liked Will Dearborn and Wills friends (especially Mr. Arthur Heath, who

sometimes said things that made Sheemie laugh fit to split), but in that moment he

saw something in Will-sais eyes that fright ened him badly. In that instant he

understood that Will was as much a killer as the one in the cloak, or the one who

had wanted Sheemie to lick his boots clean, or old white-haired Jonas with the

trembly voice.

As bad as them, or even worse.

8

Roland slipped the seed-packet into his shirt and didnt open it until the three of

them were back on the porch of the Bar K. In the dis tance, the thinny grumbled,

making their horses twitch their ears nervously.

Well Cuthbert asked at last, unable to restrain himself any longer. Roland took

the envelope from inside his shirt, and tore it open.

As he did, he reflected that

Susan had known exactly what to say. To a nice ty.

The others bent in, Alain (mm his left and Cuthbert from his right, as he unfolded

the single scrap of paper. Again he saw her sim ple, neatly made writing, the

message not much longer than the previous one.

Very different in content,

however.

There is an orange grove a mile off the road on the town side of Citgo. Meet me

there at moonrise. Come alone. S.

And below that, printed in emphatic little let ters: burn this.

Well keep a lookout, Alain said.

Roland nodded. Aye. But from a distance.

Then he burned the note.

9

The orange grove was a neatly kept rectangle of about a dozen rows at the end of a partly overgrown cart-track. Roland arrived there after dark but still a good half

hour before the rapidly thinning Peddler would haul him self over the horizon

once more.

As the boy wandered along one of the rows, listen ing to the somehow skeletal

sounds from the oilpatch to the north (squealing pis tons, grinding gears, thudding

driveshafts), he was struck by deep homesick ness. It was the fragile fragrance of orange-blossomsa bright runner laid over the darker stench of oilthat brought

it on. This toy grove was nothing like the great apple orchards of New Canaan …

except somehow it was. There was the same feel ing of dignity and civilization

here, of much time devoted to something not strictly necessary. And in this case, he sus pected, not very useful, either. Oranges grown this far north of the warm

latitudes were probably almost as sour as lemons.

Still, when the breeze stirred the trees, the smell made him think of Gilead with bitter longing, and for the first time

he considered the possibility that he might nev er see home againthat he had

become as much a wanderer as old Peddler Moon in the sky.

He heard her, but not until she was almost on top of himif shed been an enemy

instead of a friend, he might still have had time to draw and fire, but it would have

been close. He was filled with admiration, and as he saw her face in the starlight,

he felt his heart gladden.

She halted when he turned and merely looked at him, her hands linked before her

at her waist in a way that was sweetly and uncon sciously childlike. He took a step toward her and they came up in what he took for alarm. He stopped, confused. But

he had misread her gesture in the chancy light. She could have stopped then, but

chose not to. She stepped toward him deliber ately, a tall young woman in a split riding skirt and plain black boots. Her sombrero hung down on her back, against

the bound rope of her hair.

Will Dearborn, we are met both fair and ill, she said in a trembling voice, and

then he was kissing her; they burned against one an other as the Peddler rose in the

famine of its last quarter.

10

Inside her lonely hut high on the Coos, Rhea sat at her kitchen table, bent over the

glass the Big Coffin Hunters had brought her a month and a half ago. Her face was

bathed in its pink glow, and no one would have mis taken it for the face of a girl

any longer. She had extraordinary vitality, and it had carried her for many years

(only the longest-lived residents of Hambry had any idea of how old Rhea of the

Coos actually was, and they only the vaguest), but the glass was finally sapping

itsucking it out of her as a vampire sucks blood.

Behind her, the huts larger

room was even dingier and more cluttered than usual. These days she had no time

for even a pretense of cleaning; the glass ball took up all her time. When she

wasnt looking into it, she was thinking of looking into it

and, oh! Such things

she had seen!

Ermot twined around one of her scrawny legs, hiss ing with agitation, but she

barely noticed him. Instead she bent even closer into the balls poison pink glow,

enchanted by what she saw there.

It was the girl who had come to her to be proved hon est, and the young man she

had seen the first time shed looked into the ball. The one she had mistaken for a

gunslinger, until she had realized his youth.

The foolish girl, who had come to Rhea singing and left in a more proper silence,

had proved honest, and might well be honest yet (certainly she kissed and touched

the boy with a virgins mingled greed and ti midity), but she wouldnt be honest

much longer if they kept on the way they were going.

And wouldnt Hart Thorin

be in for a surprise when he took his supposedly pure young gilly to bed There

were ways to fool men about that (men practically begged to be fooled about that),

a thimble of pigs blood would serve nicely, but she wouldnt know that. Oh, this

was too good! And to think she could watch Miss Haughty brought low, right

here, in this wonderful glass! Oh, it was too good!

Too wonderful!

She leaned closer still, the deep sockets of her eyes filling with pink fire. Ermot,

sensing that she remained immune to his blan dishments, crawled disconsolately

away across the floor, in search of bugs. Musty pranced away from him, spitting

feline curses, his six-legged shadow huge and misshapen on the firestruck wall.

11

Roland sensed the moment rushing at them. Some how he managed to step away

from her, and she stepped back from him, her eyes wide and her cheeks

flushedhe could see that flush even in the light of the newly risen moon. His

balls were throbbing. His groin felt full of liquid lead.

She half-turned away from him, and Roland saw that her sombrero had gone

askew on her back. He reached out one trembling hand and straightened it. She

clasped his fingers in a brief but strong grip, then bent to pick up her riding gloves, which she had stripped off in her need to touch him skin to skin. When she stood

again, the wash of blood abruptly left her face, and she reeled. But for his hands

on her shoulders, steadying her, she might have fallen. She turned toward him,

eyes rueful.

What are we to do Oh, Will, what are we to do

The best we can, he said. As we both always have.

As our fathers taught us.

This is mad.

Roland, who had never felt anything so sane in his lifeeven the deep ache in his

groin felt sane and rightsaid nothing.

Do ye know how dangerous tis she asked, and went on before he could reply.

Aye, ye do. I can see ye do. If we were seen togeth er at all, twould be serious. To

be seen as we just were

She shivered. He reached for her and she stepped back. Best ye dont, Will. If ye

do, wont be nothing done between us but spoon ing. Un less that was your

intention

You know it wasnt.

She nodded. Have ye set your friends to watch

Aye, he said, and then his face opened in that un expected smile she loved so

well. But not where they can watch us.

Thank the gods for that, she said. and laughed rather distractedly. Then she

stepped closer to him, so close that he was hard put not to take her in his arms

again. She looked curiously up into his face.

Who are you, really. Will

Almost who I say I am. Thats the joke of this, Su san. My friends and I werent

sent here because we were drunk and belling, but we werent sent here to uncover

any fell plot or secret conspiracy, either. We were just boys to be put out of the

way in a time of danger. All thats hap pened since

He shook his head to show

how helpless he felt, and Su san thought again of her father saying ka was like a

windwhen it came it might take your chickens, your house, your bam. Even

your life.

And is Will Dearborn your real name

He shrugged. One names as good as another, I wot, if the heart that answers to it is true. Susan, you were at Mayors House today, for my friend Richard saw you

ride up

Aye, fittings, she said. For I am to be this years Reaping Girl its Harts

choice, nothing I ever would have had on my own, mark I say it. A lot of

foolishness, and hard on Olive as well, I warrant.

You will make the most beautiful Reap-Girl that ever was, he said, and the clear

sincerity in his voice made her tingle with plea sure; her cheeks grew warm again.

There were five changes of costume for the Reap ing Girl between the noon feast

and the bonfire at dusk, each more elaborate than the last (in Gilead there would

have been nine; in that way, Susan didnt know how lucky she was), and she

would have worn all five happily for Will, had he been the Reaping Lad. (This

years Lad was Jamie McCann, a pallid and wheyfaced standin for Hart Thorin,

who was approximately forty years too old and gray for the job.) Even more

happily would she have worn the sixtha silvery shift with wisp-thin straps and a

hem that stopped high on her thighs. This was a cos tume no one but Maria, her

maid, Conchetta, her seamstress, and Hart Thorin would ever see. It was the one

she would be wearing when she went to the old mans couch as his gilly, after the feast was over.

When you were up there, did you see the ones who call themselves the Big

Coffin Hunters

I saw Jonas and the one with the cloak, standing to gether in the courtyard and

talking, she said. Not Depape The redhead

She shook her head.

Do you know the game Castles. Susan

Aye. My father showed me when I was small.

Then you know how the red pieces stand at one end of the board and the white at

the other. How they come around the Hillocks and creep toward each other, setting

screens for cover. Whats going on here in HamDry is very like that. And, as in

the game, it has now become a question of who will break cover first. Do you

understand

She nodded at once. In the game, the first one around his Hillock is vulnerable.

In life, too. Always. But sometimes even staying in cover is difficult. My friends

and I have counted nearly everything we dare count. To count the rest

The horses on the Drop, for instance.

Aye, just so. To count them would be to break cover.

Or the oxen we know

about

Her eyebrows shot up. There are no oxen in Ham bry. Ye must be mistaken about

that.

No mistake.

Where

The Rocking H.

Now her eyebrows drew back down, and knitted in a thoughtful frown. Thats

Laslo Rimers place.

AyeKimbas brother. Nor are those the only treasures hidden away in Hambry

these days. There are extra wagons, extra tack hidden in barns belonging to

members of the Horsemens Association, ex tra caches of feed

Will, no!

Yes. All that and more. But to count themto be seen counting themis to

break cover. To risk being Castled. Our recent days have been pretty

nightmarishwe try to look profitably busy with out moving over to the Drop side

of Hambry, where most of the danger lies. Its hard er and harder to do. Then we

received a message

A message How From whom

Best you not know those things, I think. But its led us to believe that some of the

answers were looking for may be at Citgo.

Will, dye think that whats out here may help me to know more about what

happened to my da

I dont know. Its possible, I suppose, but not like ly. All I know for sure is that I

finally have a chance to count something that mat ters and not be seen doing it.

His blood had cooled enough for him to hold out his hand to her; Susans had

cooled enough for her to take it in good confi dence.

She had put her glove back

on again, however. Better safe than sorry.

Come on, she said. I know a path.

12

In the moons pale half-light, Susan led him out of the orange grove and toward

the thump and squeak of the oilpatch. Those sounds made Rolands back prickle;

made him wish for one of the guns hidden under the bunkhouse floorboards back

at the Bar K.

Ye can trust me, Will, but that doesnt mean Ill be much help to ye, she said in a

voice just a notch above a whisper. Ive been within hearing distance of Citgo my

whole life, but I could count the number of times Ive actually been in it on the

fingers of both hands, so I could. The first two or three were on dares from my

friends.

And then

With my da. He were always interested in the Old People, and my Aunt Cord

always said hed come to a bad end, meddling in their leav ings. She swallowed

hard. And he did come to a bad end, although I doubt it were the Old People

responsible. Poor Da.

They had reached a smoothwire fence. Beyond it, the gantries of the oil wells

stood against the sky like sentinels the size of Lord Perth. How many had she said

were still working Nineteen, he thought. The sound of them was ghastlythe

sound of monsters being choked to death. Of course it was the kind of place that kids dared each other to go into; a kind of open-air haunted house.

He held two of the wires apart so she could slip be tween them, and she did the

same for him. As he passed through, he saw a line of white porcelain cylinders

marching down the post closest to him. A fencewire went through each.

You understand what these are Were he asked Susan, tapping one of the

cylinders.

Aye. When there was electricity, some went through here. She paused, then

added shyly: Its how I feel when you touch me.

He kissed her cheek just below her ear. She shiv ered and pressed a hand briefly

against his check before drawing away. I hope your friends will watch well.

They will. Is there a signal

The whistle of the nighthawk. Lets hope we dont hear it. Aye, be it so. She

took his hand and drew him into the oilpatch.

13

The first time the gas-jet flared ahead of them, Will spat a curse under his breath

(an obscenely energetic one she hadnt heard since her father died) and dropped the hand not holding hers to his belt.

Be easy! Its only the candle! The gas-pipe!

He relaxed slowly. That they use, dont they

Aye. To run a few machineslittle more than toys, they are. To make ice,

mostly.

I had some the day we met the Sheriff.

When the flare licked out againbright yellow with a bluish core he didnt

jump. He glanced at the three gas-storage tanks behind what Hambry-folk called

the candle without much interest. Nearby was a stack of rusty canisters in which the gas could be bottled and carried.

Youve seen such before she asked.

He nodded.

The Inner Baronies must be very strange and won derful, Susan said. 

Im beginning to think theyre no stranger than those of the Outer Arc, he said,

turning slowly. He pointed. Whats yon building down there Left over from the

Old People

Aye.

To the east of Citgo, the ground dropped sharply down a thickly wooded slope

with a lane cut through the middle of itthis lane was as clear in the moonlight as

a part in hair. Not far from the bottom of the slope was a crumbling building

surrounded by rubble. The tumble-and-strew was the detritus of many fallen

smokestacksthat much could be extrapolated from the one which still stood.

Whatever else the Old People had done, they had made lots of smoke.

There were useful things in there when my da was a child, she said.

Paper and sucheven a few ink-writers that would still work

for a little while, at least. If you shook them hard. She pointed to the left of the building, where

there was a vast square of crumbled paving, and a few rusting hulks that had been

the Old Peoples weird, horseless mode of travel.

Once there were things over

there that looked like the gas-storage tanks, only much, much larger. Like huge

silver cans, they were. They didnt rust like those that are left. I cant think what

became of them, un less someone hauled them off for water storage. I never

would. Twould be unlucky, even if they werent con taminated.

She turned her face up to his, and he kissed her mouth in the moonlight.

Oh, Will. What a pity this is for you.

What a pity for both of us, he said, and then passed between them one of those

long and aching looks of which only teenagers are capable. They looked away at

last and walked on again, hand-in-hand.

She couldnt decide which frightened her morethe few derricks that were still

pumping or those dozens which had fallen silent.

One thing she knew for sure was

that no power on the face of the earth could have got ten her within the fence of

this place without a friend close beside her. The pumps wheezed; every now and

then a cylinder screamed like some one being stabbed; at periodic intervals the candle would fire off with a sound like dragons breath, throwing their shadows

out long in front of them. Susan kept her ears pitched for the nighthawks piercing

two-note whistle, and heard nothing.

They came to a wide lanewhat had once undoubt edly been a main tenance

roadthat split the oilpatch in two. Running down the center was a steel pipe with

rusting joints. It lay in a deep concrete trough, with the upper arc of its rusty

circumference protruding above ground level.

Whats this he asked.

The pipe that took the oil to yon building, I reckon. It means nothing, tis been

dry for years.

He dropped to one knee, slid his hand carefully in to the space be tween the

concrete sleeve and the pipes rusty side. She watched him ner vously, biting her lip to keep herself from saying something which would surely come out sounding

weak or womanish: What if there were biting spi ders down there in the forgotten

dark Or what if his hand got stuck What would they do then

Of that latter there had been no chance, she saw when he pulled his hand free. It

was slick and black with oil.

Dry for years he asked with a little smile.

She could only shake her head, bewildered.

14

They followed the pipe toward a place where a rot ten gate barred the road. The

pipe (she could now see oil bleeding out of its old joints, even in the weak

moonlight) ducked under the gate; they went over it.

She thought his hands rather

too intimate for polite company in their helping, and rejoiced at each touch. If he

doesnt stop, the top of my head will ex plode like the candle,  she thought, and

laughed.

Susan

 Tis nothing, Will, only nerves.

Another of those long glances passed between them as they stood on the far side of the gate, and then they went down the hill togeth er. As they walked, she noticed

an odd thing: many of the pines had been stripped of their lower branches. The

hatchet marks and scabs of pine resin were clear in the moonlight, and looked

new. She pointed this out to Will, who nodded but said nothing.

At the bottom of the hill, the pipe rose out of the ground and, sup ported on a

series of rusty steel cradles, ran about seventy yards toward the abandoned

building before stopping with the ragged sud denness of a battlefield amputation.

Below this stopping point was what looked like a shallow lake of drying, tacky oil.

That it had been there for awhile Susan could tell from the numerous corpses of

birds she could see scattered across itthey had come down to investigate,

become stuck, and stayed to die in what must have been an unpleasantly leisurely

fashion.

She stared at this with wide, uncomprehending eyes until Will tapped her on the

leg. He had hunkered down. She joined him kneeto-knee and followed the

sweeping movement of his finger with growing disbelief and confusion. There

were tracks here. Very big ones. Only one thing could have made them.

Oxen, she said.

Aye. They came from there. He pointed at the place where the pipe ended. And

they go He turned on the soles of his boots, still hun kered, and pointed back

toward the slope where the woods started. Now that he pointed them out, she

easily saw what she should have seen at once, horsemans daughter that she was. A perfunctory effort had been made to hide the tracks and the churned-up ground

where something heavy had been dragged or rolled.

Time had smoothed away

more of the mess, but the marks were still clear. She even thought she knew what

the oxen had been dragging, and she could see that Will knew, as well.

The tracks split off from the end of the pipe in two arcs.

Susan and Will

Dearborn followed the righthand one. She wasnt surprised to see ruts mingled in

with the tracks of the oxen. They were shallowit had been a dry summer, by and

large, and the ground was nearly as hard as con cretebut they were there. To still be able to see them at all meant that some goodly amount of weight had been

moved. And aye, of course; why else would oxen be needed

Look, Will said as they neared the hem of forest at the foot of the slope. She

finally saw what had caught his attention, but she had to get down on her hands

and knees to do ithow sharp his eyes were! Almost supernaturally so. There

were boot-tracks here. Not fresh, but they were a lot newer than the tracks of the

oxen and the wheelruts.

This was the one with the cape, he said, indicat ing a clear pair of tracks.

Reynolds.

Will! Thee cant know it!

He looked surprised, then laughed. Sure I can. He walks with one foot turned in a

littlethe left foot. And here it is. He stirred the air over the tracks with the tip of

his finger, then laughed again at the way she was look ing at him.  Tisnt sorcery, Susan daughter of Patrick; only trailcraft.

How do ye know so much, so young she asked.

Who are ye, Will

He stood up and looked down into her eyes. He didnt have to look far; she was

tall for a girl. My names not Will but Roland, he said.

And now Ive put my life

in your hands. That I dont mind, but mayhap Ive put your own life at risk, as

well. You must keep it a dead secret.

Roland, she said wonderingly. Tasting it.

Aye. Which do you like better

Your real one, she said at once.  Tis a noble name, so it is.

He grinned, relieved, and this was the grin that made him look young again.

She raised herself on her toes and put her lips on his.

The kiss, which was chaste

and close-mouthed to begin with, bloomed like a flower: became open and slow

and humid. She felt his tongue touch her lower lip and met it, shyly at first, with

her own. His hands covered her back, then slipped around to her front. He touched

her breasts, also shy to begin with, then slid his palms up their lower slopes to

their tips. He uttered a small, moaning sigh direct ly into her mouth. And as he

drew her closer and began to trail kisses down her neck, she felt the stone hardness

of him below the buckle of his belt, a slim, warm length which exactly matched

the melting she felt in the same place; those two places were meant for each other,

as she was for him and he for her. It was ka, after all ka like the wind, and she

would go with it willingly, leaving all honor and promises behind.

She opened her mouth to tell him so, and then a queer but utterly per suasive

sensation enfolded her: they were being watched. It was ridicu lous, but it was there; she even felt she knew who was watching. She stepped back from Roland,

her booted heels rocking unsteadily on the halferoded oxen tracks. Get out, ye

old bitch, she breathed. If ye be spying on us in some way, I know not how, get

thee gone!

15

On the hill of the Coos, Rhea drew back from the glass, spitting curses in a voice

so low and harsh that she sounded like her own snake. She didnt know what

Susan had saidno sound came through the glass, only sightbut she knew that

the girl had sensed her. And when she did, all sight had been wiped out. The glass

had flashed a brilliant pink, then had gone dark, and none of the passes she made

over it would serve to brighten it again.

Aye, fine, let it be so, she said at last, giving up. She remembered the wretched,

prissy girl (not so prissy with the young man, though, was she) standing

hypnotized in her doorway, remembered what she had told the girl to do after she had lost her maidenhead, and began to grin, all her good humor restored. For if she

lost her maidenhead to this wandering boy in stead of to Hart Thorin, Lord High Mayor of Mejis, the comedy would be even greater, would it not

Rhea sat in the shadows of her stinking hut and be gan to cackle.

16

Roland stared at her, wide-eyed, and as Susan ex plained about Rhea a lit tle more

fully (she left out the humiliating final exam inations which lay at the heart of proving honesty), his desire cooled just enough for him to reassert control. It had nothing to do with jeopardizing the position he and his friends were trying to

maintain in Hambry (or so he told himself) and ev erything to do with maintaining

Susansher position was important, her hon or even more so.

I imagine it was your imagination, he said when she had finished.

I think not. With a touch of coolness.

Or conscience, even

At that she lowered her eyes and said nothing.

Susan, I would not hurt you for the world.

And ye love me Still without looking up.

Aye, I do.

Then its best you kiss and touch me no morenot tonight. I cant stand it if ye

do.

He nodded without speaking and held out his hand. She took it, and they walked on in the direction they had been going when they had been so sweetly distracted.

While they were still ten yards from the hem of the for est, both saw the glimmer

of metal despite the dense foliagetoo dense, she thought. Too dense by far.

It was the pine-boughs, of course; the ones which had been whacked from the

trees on the slope. What they had been interlaced to camouflage were the big

silver cans now missing from the paved area. The silver stor age containers had

been dragged over hereby the oxen, presumably  and then concealed. But

why

Roland inspected along the line of tangled pine branches, then stopped and

plucked several aside. This created an opening like a door way, and he gestured

her to go through. Be sharp in your looks, he said. I doubt if theyve bothered to

set traps or tripwires, but tis always best to be careful.

Behind the camouflaging boughs, the tankers had been as neatly lined up as toy

soldiers at the end of the day, and Susan at once saw one reason why they had

been hidden: they had been re-equipped with wheels, well-made ones of solid oak which came as high as her chest. Each had been rimmed with a thin iron strip. The wheels were new, so were the strips, and the hubs had been custom-made. Susan

knew only one blacksmith in Barony capable of such fine work: Brian Hookey, to

whom she had gone for Felicias new shoes. Brian Hookey, who had smiled and

clapped her on the shoulder like a compadre when she had come in with her das

shoebag hanging on her hip. Brian Hookey, who had been one of Pat Delgados

best friends.

She recalled looking around and thinking that times had been good for sai

Hookey, and of course she had been right. Work in the blacksmithing line had

been plentiful. Hookey had been making lots of wheels and rims, for one thing,

and someone must have been paying him to do it.

Eldred Jonas was one

possibility; Kimba Rimer an even better one.

Hart She simply couldnt believe

that. Hart had his mindwhat little there was of it

fixed on other matters this

summer.

There was a kind of rough path behind the tankers.

Roland walked slowly along it,

pacing like a preacher with his hands clasped at the small of his back, reading the

incomprehensible words writ upon the tankers

rear decks: citgo. sunoco. exxon.

conoco. He paused once and read aloud, haltingly: Cleaner fuel for a better

tomorrow. He snorted softly. Rot! This is to morrow.

RolandWill, I meanwhat are they for 

He didnt answer at first, but turned and walked back down the line of bright steel

cans. Fourteen on this side of the mysteriously reactivated oil-supply pipe, and,

she assumed, a like number on the other. As he walked, he rapped his fist on the

side of each. The sound was dull and clunky. They were full of oil from the Citgo

oilpatch.

They were trigged quite some time ago, I imagine,

he said. I doubt if the Big

Coffin Hunters did it all themselves, but they no doubt oversaw it

first the

fitting of the new wheels to replace the old rotten rubber ones, then the filling.

They used the oxen to line them up here, at the base of the hill, because it was

convenient. As its convenient to let the extra horses run free out on the Drop.

Then, when we came, it seemed prudent to take the precaution of covering these

up. Stupid babies we might be, but perhaps smart enough to wonder about twentyeight loaded oil-carts with new wheels. So they came out here and covered them.

Jonas, Reynolds, and Depape.

Aye.

But why She took him by the arm and asked her question again. What are they

for 

For Parson, Roland said with a calm he didnt feel.

For the Good Man. The

Affiliation knows hes found a number of warmachines; they come either from

the Old People or from some other where. Yet the Affilia tion fears them not,

because they dont work. Theyre silent. Some feel Farson has gone mad to put his

trust in such broken things, but



But mayhap theyre not broken. Mayhap they only need this stuff. And mayhap

Farson knows it.

Roland nodded.

She touched the side of one of the tankers. Her fin gers came away oily. She

rubbed the tips together, smelled them, then bent and picked up a swatch of grass

to wipe her hands. This doesnt work in our ma chines. Its been tried. It clogs

them.

Roland nodded again. My famy folk in the Inner Crescent know that as well.

And count on it. But if Farson has gone to this trou bleand split aside a troop of

men to come and get these tankers, as we have word he has donehe either

knows a way to thin it to usefulness, or he thinks he does. If hes able to lure the

forces of the Affiliation into a battle in some close location where rapid retreat is impossible, and if he can use machineweapons like the ones that go on treads, he could win more than a battle. He could slaughter ten thousand horse-mounted

fighting men and win the war.

But surely yer fathers know this… 

Roland shook his head in frustration. How much their fathers knew was one

question. What they made of what they knew was an other. What forces drove

themnecessity, fear, the fantastic pride which had also been handed down, father

to son, along the line of Arthur Eldwas yet a third. He could only tell her his

clearest surmise.

I think they darent wait much longer to strike Farson a mortal blow. If they do,

the Affiliation will simply rot out from the inside.

And if that happens, a good deal

of MidWorld will go with it.

But … She paused, biting her lip, shaking her head. Surely even Farson must

know… understand

 She looked up at him with wide eyes. The ways of the

Old People are the ways of death. Everyone knows that, so they do.

Roland of Gilead found himself remembering a cook named Hax, dangling at the

end of a rope while the rooks pecked up scattered bread crumbs from beneath the

dead mans feet. Hax had died for Farson. But be fore that, he had poisoned

children for Farson.

Death, he said, is what John Parsons all about.

17

In the orchard again.

It seemed to the lovers (for so they now were, in all but the most physical sense)

that hours had passed, but it had been no more than forty-live minutes. Summers

last moon, diminished but still bright, continued to shine above them.

She led him down one of the lanes to where she had tied her horse. Pylon nodded

his head and whickered softly at Roland. He saw the horse had been rigged for

silenceevery buckle padded, and the stirrups them selves wrapped in felt.

Then he turned to Susan.

Who can remember the pangs and sweetness of those early years We remember

our first real love no more clearly than the illusions that caused us to rave during a

high fever. On that night and beneath that fading moon, Roland Deschain and

Susan Delgado were nearly torn apart by their desire for each other; they

floundered for what was right and ached with feel ings that were both desperate

and deep.

All of which is to say that they stepped toward each other, stepped back, looked

into each others eyes with a kind of helpless fas cination, stepped forward again,

and stopped. She remembered what he had said with a kind of horror: that he

would do anything for her but share her with anoth er man. She would

notperhaps could notbreak her promise to May or Thorin, and it seemed that

Roland would not (or could not) break it for her. And here was the most horrible

thing of all: strong as the wind of ka might be, it ap peared that honor and the

promises they had made would prove stronger.

What will ye do now she asked through dry lips.

I dont know. I must think, and I must speak with my friends. Will you have

trouble with your aunt when you go home Will she want to know where youve

been and what youve been doing

Is it me youre concerned about or yourself and yer plans, Willy

He didnt respond, only looked at her. After a mo ment, Susan dropped her eyes.

Im sorry, that was cruel. No, shell not tax me. I of ten ride at night, although not

often so far from the house.

She wont know how far youve ridden

Nay. And these days we tread carefully around each other. Its like having two

powder magazines in the same house. She reached out her hands. She had tucked her gloves into her belt, and the fingers which grasped his fingers were cold.

Thisll have no good end, she said in a whisper.

Dont say that, Susan.

Aye, I do. I must. But whatever comes, I love thee, Roland.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. When he re leased her lips, she put them to

his ear and whispered, If you love me, then love me.

Make me break my

promise.

For a long moment when her heart didnt beat, there was no response from him,

and she allowed herself to hope. Then he shook his headonly the one time, but

firmly. Susan, I cannot.

Is yer honor so much greater than yer professed love for me, then Aye Then let

it be so. She pulled out of his arms, beginning to cry, ig noring his hand on her

boot as she swung up into the saddlehis low call to wait, as well. She yanked

free the slipknot with which Pylon had been teth ered and turned him with one

spurless foot. Roland was still calling to her, louder now, but she flung Pylon into

a gallop and away from him be fore her brief flare of rage could go out. He would

not take her used, and her promise to Thorin had been made before she knew

Roland walked the face of the earth. That being so, how dare he insist that the loss

of honor and consequent shame be hers alone Later, lying in her sleepless bed, she would realize he had insisted nothing. And she was not even clear of the

orange grove before raising her left hand to the side of her face, feel ing the

wetness there, and realizing that he had been crying, too.

18

Roland rode the lanes outside town until well past moonset, trying to get his

roaring emotions under some kind of control. He would wonder for awhile what

he was going to do about their discovery at Cit go, and then his thoughts would

shift to Susan again. Was he a fool for not taking her when she wanted to be

taken For not sharing what she wanted to share If you love me, then love me.

Those words had nearly torn him open. Yet in the deep rooms of his heart rooms

where the clearest voice was that of his father he felt he had not been wrong. Nor

was it just a matter of honor, whatever she might think. But let her think that if she would; better she should hate him a little, perhaps, than realize how deep the

danger was for both of them.

Around three o the clock, as he was about to turn for the Bar K, he heard the rapid

drumming of hoofbeats on the main road, ap proaching from the west. Without

thinking about why it seemed so important to do so, Roland swung back in that

direction, then brought Rusher to a stop be hind a high line of run-to-riot hedges.

For nearly ten minutes the sound of the hoofbeats continued to swellsound

carried far in the deep quiet of early morning

and that was quite enough time for Roland to feel he knew who was riding toward Hambry hell-for-leather just two

hours be fore dawn. Nor was he mistaken. The moon was down, but he had no

trouble, even through the brambly interstices of the hedge, recognizing Roy

Depape. By dawn the Big Coffin Hunters would be three again.

Roland turned Rusher back the way he had been heading, and rode to rejoin his

own friends.

CHAPTER X

BIRD AND BEAR AND

HARE AND FISH

1

The most important day of Susan Delgados life the day upon which her life

turned like a stone upon a pivotcame about two weeks after her moonlit tour of

the oilpatch with Roland. Since then she had seen him only half a dozen times,

always at a distance, and they had raised their hands as passing acquaintances do

when their errands bring them briefly into sight of one another. Each time this

happened, she felt a pain as sharp as a knife twist ing in her

and though it was no

doubt cruel, she hoped he felt the same twist of the knife. If there was anything

good about those two miserable weeks, it was on ly that her great fearthat gossip might begin about herself and the young man who called himself Will

Dear bornsubsided, and she found herself ac tually sorry to feel it ebb. Gos sip There was nothing to gossip about.

Then, on a day between the passing of the Ped dlers Moon and the rise of the

Huntress, ka finally came and blew her away

house and barn and all. It began

with someone at the door.

2

She had been finishing the washinga light enough chore with only two women

to do it forwhen the knock came.

If its the ragman, send him away, ye mind! Aunt Cord called from the other

room, where she was turning bed linen.

But it wasnt the ragman. It was Maria, her maid from Seafront, look ing woeful.

The second dress Susan was to wear on Reaping Daythe silk meant for

luncheon at Mayors House and the Conversa tional afterwardwas ruined, Maria said, and she was in hack because of it. Would be sent back to Onnies Ford if she

wasnt lucky, and she the only support of her moth er and father oh, it was hard,

much too hard, so it was. Could Susan come Please

Susan was happy to comewas always happy to get out of the house these days,

and away from her aunts shrewish, nagging voice.

The closer Reaping came, the

less she and Aunt Cord could abide each other, it seemed.

They took Pylon, who was happy enough to carry two girls riding double through

the morning cool, and Marias story was quickly told. Su san understood almost at

once that Marias position at Seafront wasnt real ly in much jeopardy; the little

dark-haired maid had simply been using her in nate (and rather charming) penchant for creating drama out of what was really not very dramatic at all.

The second Reaping dress (which Susan thought of as Blue Dress With Beads; the

first, her breakfast dress, was White Dress With High Waist and Puffed Sleeves)

had been kept apart from the othersit needed a bit of work yetand something

had gotten into the first-floor sewing room and gnawed it pretty much to rags. If

this had been the costume she was to wear to the bonfire lighting, or the one she

was to wear to the ball room dance after the bonfire had been lit, the matter would

indeed have been serious. But Blue Dress With Beads was essentially just a

fancified day receiving dress, and could easily be replaced in the two months

be tween now and the Reap. Only two! Onceon the night the old witch had

granted her her reprieveit had seemed like eons before she would have to begin

her bed-service to Mayor Thorin. And now it was only two months! She twisted in

a kind of involuntary protest at the thought.

Mum Maria asked. Susan wouldnt allow the girl to call her sai, and Maria, who

seemed incapable of calling her mistress by her given name, had settled on this

compromise. Susan found the term amusing, given the fact that she was only

sixteen, and Maria herself probably just two or three years older. Mum, are you

all right

Just a crick in my back, Maria, thats all.

Aye, I get those. Fair bad, they are. Ive had three aunts whove died of the

wasting disease, and when I get those twinges, Im always afeard that

What kind of animal chewed up Blue Dress Do ye know

Maria leaned forward so she could speak confi dentially into her mis tresss ear, as if they were in a crowded marketplace alley in stead of on the road to Seafront. Its put about that a raccoon got in through a window that us opened during the heat

of the day and was then forgot at days end, but I had a good sniff of that room,

and Kimba Rimer did, too, when he came down to inspect. Just before he sent me

after you, that was.

What did you smell

Maria leaned close again, and this time she actual ly whispered, al though there

was no one on the road to overhear: Dog farts.

There was a moment of thunderstruck silence, and then Susan began to laugh. She laughed until her stomach hurt and tears went streaming down her cheeks.

Are ye saying that W-W-Wolf

the Mayors own d-d-dog

got into the

downstairs seamstresss closet and chewed up my Conversational d-d But she

couldnt finish. She was simply laughing too hard.

Aye, Maria said stoutly. She seemed to find noth ing unusual about Susans

laughter … which was one of the things Susan loved about her. But hes not to be blamed, so I say, for a dog will follow his natural in stincts, if the way is open for

him to do so. The downstairs maids She broke off.

Youd not tell the Mayor or

Kimba Rimer this, I suppose, Mum

Maria, Im shocked at youye play me cheap.

No, Mum, I play ye dear, so I do, but its always best to be safe. All I meant to

say was that, on hot days, the downstairs maids sometimes go into that sewing

closet for their fives. It lies directly in the shadow of the watchtower, ye know,

and is the coolest room in the houseeven cooler than the main receiving rooms.

Ill remember that, Susan said. She thought of holding the Lun cheon and

Conversational in the seamstresss beck be yond the kitchen when the great day came, and began to giggle again. Go on.

No more to say, Mum, Maria told her, as if all else were too obvi ous for

conversation. The maids eat their cakes and leave the crumbs. I reckon Wolf

smelled em and this time the door was left open. When the crumbs was gone, he

tried the dress. For a second course, like.

This time they laughed together.

3

But she wasnt laughing when she came home.

Cordelia Delgado, who thought the happiest day of her life would be the one when

she finally saw her troublesome niece out the door and the annoying business

other defloration finally over, bolted out other chair and hurried to the kitchen

window when she heard the gallop of ap proaching hoofs about two hours after

Susan had left with that little scrap of a maid to have one of her dresses refitted.

She never doubted that it was Susan returning, and she never doubted it was

trouble. In ordinary cir cumstances, the silly twist would never gallop one of her

beloved horses on a hot day.

She watched, nervously dry-washing her hands, as Susan pulled Py lon up in a

very unDelgado-like scrunch, then dismounted in an unlady like leap. Her braid

had come half undone, spraying that damned blonde hair that was her vanity (and her curse) in all directions. Her skin was pale, ex cept for twin patches of color

flaring high on her cheekbones. Cordelia didnt like the look of those at all. Pat had

always flared in that same place when he was scared or angry.

She stood at the sink, now biting her lips as well as working her hands. Oh,

twould be so good to see the back of that trouble some she. Ye havent made

trouble, have ye she whispered as Susan pulled the saddle from Pylons back and

then led him toward the barn. You better not have, Miss Oh So Young and Pretty.

Not at this late date. You better not have.

4

When Susan came in twenty minutes later, there was no sign of her aunts strain

and rage; Cordelia had put them away as one might store a danger ous weapona

gun, sayon a high closet shelf. She was back in her rocker, knitting, and the face

she turned to Susans entry had a surface se ren ity. She watched the girl go to the sink, pump cold water into the basin, and then splash it on her face. Instead of

reaching for a towel to pat her self dry, Susan only looked out the window with an

expression that fright ened Cordelia badly. The girl no doubt fancied that look

haunted and desperate; to Cordelia, it looked on ly childishly willful.

All right, Susan, she said in a calm, modulated voice. The girl would never

know what a strain it was to achieve that tone, let alone maintain it. Unless she

was faced with a willful teenager of her own one day, that was. Whats fashed

thee so

Susan turned to herCordelia Delgado, just sit ting there in her rocker, calm as a stone. In that moment Susan felt she could fly at her aunt and claw her thin, selfrigh

teous face to strings, screaming This is your fault! Yours! All yours! She felt

soiledno, that wasnt strong enough; she felt filthy, and nothing had really

happened. In a way, that was the horror of it. Noth ing had really happened yet.

It shows was all she said.

Of course it does, Cordelia replied. Now tell me, girl.

Has he been on thee

Yes

no

no.

Aunt Cord sat in her chair, knitting in her lap, eye brows raised, wait ing for more.

At last Susan told her what had happened, speak ing in a tone that was mostly

flata little tremble intruded toward the end, but that was all. Aunt Cord began to

feel a cautious sort of relief. Perhaps more goosegirl nerves was all it came down

to, after all!

The substitute gown, like all the substitutes, hadnt been finished off; there was too much else to do. Maria had therefore turned Susan over to blade-faced Conchetta

Morgenstem, the chief seamstress, who had led Susan into the downstairs sewing

room without saying anythingif saved words were gold, Susan had sometimes

reflected, Conchetta would be as rich as the May ors sister was reputed to be.

Blue Dress With Beads was draped over a headless dressmakers dummy crouched

beneath one low eave, and although Susan could see ragged places on the hem and

one small hole around to the back, it was by no means the tattered ruin she had

been expecting.

Can it not be saved she asked, rather timidly.

No, Conchetta said curtly. Get out of those trousers, girl. Shirt, too.

Susan did as she was bid, standing barefoot in the cool little room with her arms

crossed over her bosom… not that Conchetta had ever shown the slightest interest

in what she had, back or front, above or below.

Blue Dress With Beads was to be replaced by Pink Dress With Ap plique, it

seemed. Susan stepped into it, raised the straps, and stood pa tiently while

Conchetta bent and measured and muttered, sometimes using a bit of chalk to

write numbers on a wall-stone, sometimes grab bing a swag of material and pulling it tighter against Susans hip or waist, checking the look in the full-length mirror

on the far wall. As always dur ing this process, Su san slipped away mentally,

allowing her mind to go where it wanted. Where it wanted to go most frequently

these days was into a daydream of riding along the Drop with Roland, the two of

them side by side, finally stopping in a willow grove she knew that overlooked

Hambry Creek.

Stand there still as you can, Conchetta said curtly.

I be back.

Susan was hardly aware she was gone; was hardly aware she was in Mayors

House at all. The part of her that really mattered wasnt there. That part was in the willow grove with Roland. She could smell the faint half-sweet, half-acrid

perfume of the trees and hear the quiet gossip of the stream as they lay down

together forehead to forehead. He traced the shape of her face with the palm of his hand before taking her in his arms…

This daydream was so strong that at first Susan re sponded to the arms which

curled around her waist from behind, arching her back as they first caressed her

stomach and then rose to cup her breasts. Then she heard a kind of plowing,

snorting breath in her ear, smelled tobacco, and under stood what was happening.

Not Roland touching her breasts, but Hart Thorins long and skinny fingers. She

looked in the mirror and saw him looming over her left shoulder like an incubus.

His eyes were bulging, there were big drops of sweat on his forehead in spite of

the rooms cool ness, and his tongue was actually hanging out, like a dogs on a

hot day. Revulsion rose in her throat like the taste of rotten food. She tried to pull

away and his hands tightened their hold, pulling her against him. His knuckles

cracked obscenely, and now she could feel the hard lump at the center of him.

At times over the last few weeks, Susan had al lowed herself to hope that, when the time came, Thorin would be incapablethat he would be able to make no iron at

the forge. She had heard this often happened to men when they got older. The

hard, throbbing column which lay against her bot tom disabused her of that wistful

notion in a hurry.

She had managed at least a degree of diploma cy by simply putting her hands over his and attempting to draw them off her breasts in stead of pulling away from him

again (Cordelia, impassive, not showing the great relief she felt at this).

Mayor ThorinHartyou mustntthis is hardly the place and not yet the

timeRhea said

Balls to her and all witches! His cultured politi cians tones had been replaced by

an accent as thick as that in the voice of any backcountry farmhand from Onnies

Ford. I must have something, a bonbon, aye, so I must. Balls to the witch, I say!

Owlshit to er! The smell of tobacco a thick reek around her head. She thought

that she would vomit if she had to smell it much longer. Just stand still, girl.

Stand still, my temptation. Mind me well!

Somehow she did. There was even some distant part of her mind, a part totally

dedicated to self-preservation, that hoped he would mistake her shudders of

revulsion for maidenly excitement. He had drawn her tight against him, hands working energetically on her breasts, his res pira tion a stinky steam-engine in her ear. She stood back to him, her eyes closed, tears squeezing out from beneath the

lids and through the fringes of her lashes.

It didnt take him long. He rocked back and forth against her, moan ing like a man

with stomach cramps. At one point he licked the lobe of her ear, and Susan

thought her skin would crawl right off her body in its re vulsion. Finally,

thankfully, she felt him begin to spasm against her.

Oh, aye, get out, ye damned poison! he said in a voice that was almost a squeal.

He pushed so hard she had to brace her hands against the wall to keep from being driven face-first into it. Then he at last stepped back.For a moment Susan only stood as she was, with her palms against the rough cold

stone of the sewing room wall. She could see Thorin in the mirror, and in his

image she saw the ordinary doom that was rush ing at her, the ordinary doom of

which this was but a foretaste: the end of girl hood, the end of romance, the end of

dreams where she and Roland lay to gether in the willow grove with their

foreheads touching. The man in the mirror looked oddly like a boy himself, one

whos been up to something he wouldnt tell his mother about. Just a tall and

gangly lad with strange gray hair and narrow twitch ing shoulders and a wet spot

on the front of his trousers. Hart Thorin looked as if he didnt quite know where he

was. In that moment the lust was flushed out of his face, but what replaced it was

no betterthat vacant confusion. It was as if he were a bucket with a hole in the

bottom: no matter what you put in it, or how much, it always ran out before long.

He II do it again, she thought, and felt an immense tiredness creep over her. Now

that hes done it once, he II do it every chance he gets, likely. From now on

coming up here is going to be like … well …

Like Castles. Like playing at Castles.

Thorin looked at her a moment longer. Slowly, like a man in a dream, he pulled

the tail of his billowy white shirt out of his pants and let it drop around him like a

skirt, covering the wet spot. His chin gleamed; he had drooled in his excitement.

He seemed to feel this and wiped the wetness away with the heel of one hand,

looking at her with those empty eyes all the while.

Then some expression at last

came into them, and without an other word he turned and left the room.

There was a little scuffling thud in the hall as he col lided with someone out there.

Susan heard him mutter Sorry! Sorry! under his breath (it was more apology

than hed given her, muttered or not), and then Conchetta stepped back into the

room. The swatch of cloth shed gone af ter was draped around her shoulders like

a stole. She took in Susans pale face and tearstained cheeks at once. Shell say nothing, Susan thought. None of them will, just as none of them will lift a finger to help me off this stick Ive run myself on. Ye sharp ened it yourself, gilly, theyd

say if I called for help, and thatll be their excuse for leaving me to wriggle.

But Conchetta had surprised her. Lifes hard, mis sy, so it is. Best get used to it.

5

Susans voicedry, by now pretty much stripped of emotionat last ceased. Aunt

Cord put her knitting aside, got up, and put the kettle on for tea.

Ye dramatize, Susan. She spoke in a voice that strove to be both kind and wise,

and succeeded at neither. Its a trait ye get from your Manchester sidehalf of

them fancied themselves poets, tother half fan cied themselves painters, and

almost all of them spent their nights too drunk to tap dance. He grabbed yer titties

and gave yer a dry-hump, thats all. Nothing to be so upset over. Certainly nothing

to lose sleep over.

How would you know Susan asked. It was disre spectful, but she was beyond

caring. She thought shed reached a point where she could bear anything from her

aunt except that patronizing worldly-wise tone of voice. It stung like a fresh

scrape.

Cordelia raised an eyebrow and spoke without ran cor. How ye do love to throw

that up to me! Aunt Cord, the dry old stick. Aunt Cord the spinster. Aunt Cord the

graying virgin. Aye Well, Miss Oh So Young and Pretty, virgin I might be, but I

had a lover or two back when I was young … before the world moved on, ye

might say. Mayhap one was the great Fran Lengyll.

And mayhap not, Susan thought; Fran Lengyll was her aunts senior by at least

fifteen years, perhaps as many as twentyfive.

Ive felt old Toms goat on my backside a time or two, Susan. Aye, and on my

frontside as well.

And were any of these lovers sixty, with bad breath and knuckles that cracked

when they squeezed your titties, Aunt Did any of them try to push you through

the nearest wall when old Tom began to wag his beard and say baa-baa-baa

The rage she expected did not come. What did was worsean ex pression close to

the look of emptiness she had seen on Thorins face in the mirror. Deeds done,

Susan. A smile, short-lived and awful, nick ered like an eyelid on her aunts

narrow face. Deeds done, aye.

In a kind of terror Susan cried: My father would have hated this! Hated it! And

hated you for allowing it to happen! For encour aging it to happen!

Mayhap, Aunt Cord said, and the awful smile winked at her again. Mayhap so.

And the only thing hed hate more The dishonor of a bro ken promise, the shame

of a faithless child. He would want thee to go on with it, Susan. If thee would

remember his face, thee must go on with it.

Susan looked at her, mouth drawn down in a trem bling arc, eyes fill ing with tears again. Ive met someone I love! That was what she would have told her if she

could. Dont you understand how that changes things Ive met someone I love!

But if Aunt Cord had been the sort of person to whom she could have said such a

thing, Susan would likely never have been im paled on this stick to begin with. So she turned and stumbled from the house without saying anything, her streaming

eyes blurring her vision and filling the late sum mer world with rueful color.

6

She rode with no conscious idea of where she was going, yet some part of her

must have had a very specific destination in mind, because forty min utes after leaving her house, she found herself approaching the very grove of willows she

had been daydreaming about when Thorin had crept up be hind her like some bad elf out of a gammers story.

It was blessedly cool in the willows. Susan tied Felicia (whom she had ridden out

bareback) to a branch, then walked slowly across the little clearing which lay at

the heart of the grove. Here the stream passed, and here she sat on the springy

moss which carpeted the clearing. Of course she had come here; it was where she

had brought all her secret griefs and joys since she had discovered the clearing at

the age of eight or nine. It was here she had come, time and time again, in the

nearly endless days af ter her fathers death, when it had seemed to her that the

very worldher version of it, at leasthad ended with Pat Delgado. It was only

this clear ing that had heard the full and painful mea sure of her grief; to the stream

she had spoken it, and the stream had carried it away. Now a fresh spate of tears took her. She put her head on her knees and

sobbedloud, unladylike sounds like the caw of squabbling crows. In that

moment she thought she would have given any thingeverything to have her

father back for one minute, to ask him if she must go on with this.

She wept above the brook, and when she heard the sound of a snap ping branch,

she started and looked back over her shoulder in terror and chagrin. This was her

secret place and she didnt want to be found here, especially not when she was

bawling like a kiddie who has fallen and bumped her head. Another branch

snapped. Someone was here, all right, invading her secret place at the worst

possible time.

Go away! she screamed in a tear-clotted voice she barely recog nized. Go

away, whoever ye are, be decent and leave me alone!

But the figureshe could now see itkept coming.

When she saw who it was,

she at first thought that Will Dearborn (Roland, she thought, his real name is

Roland) must be a figment of her overstrained imagina tion. She wasnt entirely

sure he was real until he knelt and put his arms around her. Then she hugged him

with panicky tightness. How did you know I was

Saw you riding across the Drop. I was at a place where I go to think sometimes,

and I saw you. I wouldnt have followed, except I saw that you were riding

bareback. I thought something might be wrong.

Everythings wrong.

Deliberately, with his eyes wide open and seri ous, he began kissing her cheeks. He had done it several times on both sides of her face before she realized he was

kissing her tears away. Then he took her by the shoul ders and held her back from

him so he could look into her eyes.

Say it again and I will, Susan. I dont know if thats a promise or a warning or

both at the same time, but

say it again and I will.

There was no need to ask him what he meant. She seemed to feel the ground move

beneath her, and later she would think that for the first and only time in her life

she had actually felt ka, a wind that came not from the sky but from the earth. It

has come to me, after all, she thought. My ka, for good or ill.

Roland!

Yes, Susan.

She dropped her hand below his belt-buckle and grasped what was there, her eyes

never leaving his.

If you love me, then love me.

Aye, lady. I will.

He unbuttoned his shirt, made in a part of MidWorld she would never see, and

took her in his arms.

7

Ka:

They helped each other with their clothes; they lay naked in each others arms on

summer moss as soft as the finest goosedown.

They lay with their foreheads

touching, as in her daydream, and when he found his way into her, she felt pain

melt into sweetness like some wild and exotic herb that may only be tasted once in each lifetime. She held that taste as long as she could, until at last the sweetness overcame it and she gave in to that, moaning deep in her throat and rubbing her

forearms against the sides of his neck. They made love in the willow grove,

questions of honor put aside, promises broken without so much as a look back,

and at the end of it Susan discovered there was more than sweetness; there was a

kind of delirious clinching of the nerves that began in the part of her that had

opened before him like a flower; it began there and then filled her entire body. She cried out again and again, thinking there could not be so much pleasure in the

mortal world; she would die of it. Roland added his voice to hers, and the sound of

water rushing over stones wrapped around both. As she pulled him closer to her,

locking her ankles together behind his knees and covering his face with fierce

kisses, his going out rushed after hers as if trying to catch up. So were lovers

joined in the Barony of Mejis, near the end of the last great age, and the green

moss beneath the place where her thighs joined turned a pretty red as her virginity passed; so were they joined and so were they doomed.

Ka.

8

They lay together in each others arms, sharing afterglow kisses beneath Felicias mild gaze, and Roland felt himself drowsing. This was under standablethe

strain on him that summer had been enormous, and he had been sleeping badly.

Although he didnt know it then, he would sleep bad ly for the rest of his life.

Roland Her voice, distant. Sweet, as well.

Yes

Will thee take care of me

Yes.

I cant go to him when the time comes. I can bear his touching, and his little

theftsif I have you, I canbut I cant go to him on Reap Night. I dont know if

Ive forgotten the face of my father or not, but I can not go lo Hart Thorins bed.

There are ways the loss of a girls virginity can be concealed, I think, but I wont

use them. I simply cannot go to his bed.

All right, he said, good. And then, as her eyes widened in startlement, he

looked around. No one was there. He looked back at Susan, fully awake now.

What What is it

I might already be carrying your child, she said.

Has thee thought of that

He hadnt. Now he did. A child. Another link in the chain stretching hack into the

dimness where Arthur Eld had led his gunslingers into battle with the great sword

Excalibur raised above his head and the crown of All-World on his brow. But

never mind that; what would his father think Ur Gabrielle, to know she had

become a grandmother

A little smile had formed at the comers of his mouth, but the thought of his mother

drove it away. He thought of the mark on her neck.

When his mother came to his

mind these days, he always thought of the mark hed seen on her neck when he

came unexpected into her apartment. And the small, rueful smile on her face.

If you carry my child, such is my good fortune, he said.

And mine. It was her turn to smile, but it had a sad look to it all the same, that

smile. Were too young, I suppose. Little more than kiddies ourselves.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the blue sky.

What she said might be

true, but it didnt matter. Truth was sometimes not the same as realitythis was

one of the certainties that lived in the hollow, cavey place at the center of his

divided nature. That he could rise above both and willingly embrace the insanity

of romance was a gift from his mother. All else in his nature was humorless …

and, perhaps more important, without metaphor.

That they were too young to be

parents What of that If he had planted a seed, it would grow.

Whatever comes, well do as we must. And Ill al ways love you, no matter what

comes.

She smiled. He said it as a man would state any dry fact: sky is up, earth is down,

water flows south.

Roland, how old are you She was sometimes troubled by the idea that, young

as she herself was, Roland was even younger. When he was concentrating on

something, he could look so hard he frightened her.

When he smiled, he looked

not like a lover but a kid brother.

Older than I was when I came here, he said. Older by far. And if I have to stay

in sight of Jonas and his men another six months, Ill be hob bling and needing a

boost in the arse to get aboard my horse.

She grinned at that, and he kissed her nose.

And theell take care of me

Aye, he said, and grinned back at her. Susan nod ded, then also turned on her

back. They lay that way, hip to hip, looking up at the sky. She took his hand and

placed it on her breast. As he stroked the nipple with his thumb, it raised its head,

grew hard, and began to tingle. This sensation slipped quickly down her body to

the place that was still throb bing between her legs.

She squeezed her thighs

together and was both de lighted and dismayed to find that doing so only made

matters worse.

Ye must take care of me, she said in a low voice.

Ive pinned everything on you.

All else is cast aside.

Ill do my best, he said. Never doubt it. But for now, Susan, you must go on as

you have been. Theres more time yet to pass; I know that because Depape is back

and will have told his tale, but they still havent moved in any way against us.

Whatever he found out, Jonas still thinks its in his interest to wait. Thats apt to

make him more dangerous when he does move, but for now its still Castles.

But after the Reaping BonfireThorin

Youll never go to his bed. That you can count on. I set my warrant on it.

A little shocked at her own boldness, she reached below his waist. Heres a

warrant ye can set on me, if ye would, she said.

He would. Could. And did.

When it was over (for Roland it had been even sweet er than the first time, if that

was possible), he asked her: That feeling you had out at Citgo, Susanof being

watched. Did you have it this time

She looked at him long and thoughtfully. I dont know. My mind was in other

places, ye ken. She touched him gently, then laughed as he jumpedthe nerves

in the half-hard, half-soft place where her palm stroked were still very lively, it seemed.

She took her hand away and looked up at the circle of sky above the grove. So

beautiful here, she murmured, and her eyes drift ed closed.

Roland also felt himself drifting. It was ironic, he thought. This time she hadnt

had that sensation of being watched

but the second time, he had. Yet he would

have sworn there was no one near this grove.

No matter. The feeling, megrim or reality, was gone now. He took Susans hand,

and felt her fingers slip naturally through his, en twining.

He closed his eyes.

9

All of this Rhea saw in the glass, and wery interest ing viewing it made, aye, wery

interesting, indeed. But shed seen shagging beforesometimes with three or four or even more doing it all at the same time (some times with part ners who were not

precisely alive)and the hokeypokey wasnt very inter esting to her at her

advanced age. What she was interested in was what would come after the hokeypokey.

Is our business done the girl had asked.

Mayhap theres one more little thing, Rhea had re sponded, and then she told the

impudent trull what to do.

Aye, shed given the girl very clear instructions as the two of them stood in the hut

doorway, the Kissing Moon shining down on them as Susan Delgado slept the

strange sleep and Rhea stroked her braid and whis pered instructions in her ear.

Now would come the fulfillment of that interlude . .

. and that was what she

wanted to see, not two babbies shagging each other like they were the first two on earth to discover how twas done.

Twice they did it with hardly a pause to natter in be tween (she would have given a

good deal to hear that natter, too). Rhea wasnt sur prised; at his young age, she

supposed the brat had enough spunkum in his sack to give her a weeks worth of

doubles, and from the way the little slut acted, that might be to her taste. Some of

them discovered it and never wanted aught else; this was one, Rhea thought.

But lets see how sexy you feel in a few minutes, you snippy bitch, she thought, and

leaned deeper into the pulsing pink light thrown from the glass. She could

sometimes feel that light aching in the very bones of her face … but it was a good

ache. Aye, wery good indeed.

They were at last done

for the time being, at least.

They clasped hands and

drifted off to sleep.

Now, Rhea murmured. Now, my little one. Be a good girl and do as ye were

told.

As if hearing her, Susans eyes openedbut there was nothing in them. They

woke and slept at the same time. Rhea saw her gen tly pull her hand free of the

boys. She sat up, bare breasts against bare thighs, and looked around. She got to

her feet

That was when Musty, the six-legged cat, jumped in to Rheas lap, waowing for

either food or affection. The old woman shrieked with sur prise, and the wizards

glass at once went darkpuffed out like a candleflame in a gust of wind.

Rhea shrieked again, this time with rage, and seized the cat before it could flee.

She hurled it across the room, into the fireplace.

That was as dead a hole as only a

summer fireplace can be, but when Rhea cast a bony, misshapen hand at it, a

yellow gust of flame rose from the single halfcharred log lying in there. Musty

screamed and fled from the hearth with his eyes wide and his split tail smoking

like an indifferently butted cigar.

Run, aye! Rhea spat after him. Begone, ye vile cusk!She turned back to the glass and spread her hands over it, thumb to thumb. But

although she concentrated with all her might, willed until her heart was beating with a sick fury in her chest, she could do no more than bring back the balls

natural pink glow. No images appeared. This was bitterly disappointing, but there

was nothing to be done. And in time she would be able to see the results with her

own two natural eyes, if she cared to go to town and do so.

Everybody would be able to see.

Her good humor restored, Rhea returned the ball to its hiding place.

10

Only moments before he would have sunk too deep in sleep to have heard it, a

warning bell went off in Rolands mind. Perhaps it was the faint realization that

her hand was no longer entwined with his; perhaps it was raw intuition. He could

have ignored that faint bell, and almost did, but in the end his training was too

strong. He came up from the threshold of real sleep, fighting his way back to

clarity as a diver kicks for the surface of a quarry.

It was hard at first, but became

easier; as he neared wakefulness, his alarm grew.

He opened his eyes and looked to his left. Susan was no longer there. He sat up,

looked to his right, and saw nothing above the cut of the stream

yet he felt that

she was in that direction, all the same.

Susan

No response. He got up, looked at his pants, and Corta visitor he never would

have expected in such a romantic bower as this spoke up gruffly in his mind. No

time, maggot.

He walked naked to the bank and looked down. Su san was there, all right, also

naked, her back to him. She had unbraided her hair.

It hung, loose gold, almost all

the way to the lyre other hips. The chill air rising from the surface of the stream

shivered the tips of it like mist.

She was down on one knee at the edge of the run ning water. One arm was plunged

into it almost to the elbow; she searched for something, it seemed.

Susan!

No answer. And now a cold thought came to him: Shes been infested by a demon.

While I slept, heedless, beside her, shes been in fested by a demon. Yet he did not

think he really believed that. If there had been a de mon near this clearing, he

would have felt it. Likely both of them would have felt it; the horses, too. But

something was wrong with her.

She brought an object up from the streambed and held it before her eyes in her

dripping hand. A stone. She examined it, then tossed it back plunk. She reached in again, head bent, two sheafs of her hair now actu ally floating on the water, the

stream prankishly tugging them in the direction it flowed. Susan!

No response. She plucked another stone out of the stream. This one was a

triangular white quartz, shattered into a shape that was almost like the head of a spear. Susan tilted her head to the left and took a sheaf of her hair in her hand, like a woman who means to comb out a nest of tangles.

But there was no comb, only

the rock with its sharp edge, and for a mo ment longer Roland remained on the

bank, frozen with horror, sure that she meant to cut her own throat out of shame

and guilt over what theyd done. In the weeks to come, he was haunted by a clear

knowledge: if it had been her throat shed intend ed, he wouldnt have been in time

to stop her.

Then the paralysis broke and he hurled himself down the bank, un mindful of the

sharp stones that gouged the soles of his feet. Before he reached her, she had

already used the edge of the quartz to cut off part of the golden tress she held.

Roland seized her wrist and pulled it back. He could see her face clearly now.

What could have been mistaken for serenity from the top of the bank now looked

like what it really was: vacuity, emptiness.

When he took hold of her, the smoothness of her face was replaced by a dim and

fretful smile; her mouth quivered as if she felt dis tant pain, and an almost formless

sound of negation came from her mouth: Nnnnnnnnn

Some of the hair she had cut off lay on her thigh like gold wire; most had fallen

into the stream and been carried away. Susan pulled against Rolands hand, trying to get the sharp edge back to her hair, wanting to con tinue her mad barbering. The

two of them strove together like arm-wrestlers in a barroom contest. And Susan

was winning. He was physically the stronger, but not stronger than the

enchantment which held her. Little by lit tle the white triangle of quartz moved

back toward her hanging hair. That frightening soundNnnnnnnnnnkept

drifting from her mouth.

Susan! Stop it! Wake up!

Nnnnnnnn 

Her bare arm quivering visibly in the air, the mus cles bunched like hard little

rocks. And the quartz moving closer and closer to her hair, her cheek, the socket of her eye.

Without thinking about itit was the way he always acted most

suc cessfullyRoland moved his face close to the side others, giving up an other

four inches to the fist holding the stone in order to do it. He put his lips against the cup of her ear and then clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Clucked

sidemouth, in fact.

Susan jerked back from that sound, which must have gone through her head like a

spear. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, and the pres sure she was exerting against

Rolands grip eased a little. He took the chance and twisted her wrist.

Ow!Owwww!

The stone flew out of her opening hand and splashed into the water. Susan gazed

at him, now fully awake, her eyes filled with tears and bewil derment. She was

rubbing her wrist… which, Roland thought, was like ly to swell.

Ye hurt me, Roland! Why did ye hurt m



She trailed off, looking around. Now not just her face but the whole set other body

expressed bewilderment. She moved to cover herself with her hands, then realized they were still alone and dropped them to her sides.

She glanced over her shoulder

at the footprintsall of them bare leading down the bank.

How did I get down here she asked. Did thee car ry me, after I fell asleep And

why did thee hurt me Oh, Roland, I love theewhy did ye hurt me

He picked up the strands of hair that still lay on her thigh and held them in front of

her. You had a stone with a sharp edge. You were try ing to cut yourself with it,

and you didnt want to stop. I hurt you because I was scared. Im just glad I didnt

break your wrist

at least, I dont think I did.

Roland took it and rotated it gently in either di rection, listening for the grate of small bones.

He heard nothing, and the wrist turned freely. As Su san watched, stunned and

confused, he raised it to his lips and kissed the in ner part, above the delicate

tracery of veins.

11

Roland had tied Rusher just far enough into the wil lows so the big geld ing could

not be seen by anyone who happened to come rid ing along the Drop.

Be easy, Roland said, approaching. Be easy a little longer, good-heart.

Rusher stamped and whickered, as if to say he could be easy until the end of the age, if that was what were required.

Roland nipped open his saddlebag and took out the steel utensil that served as

either a pot or a frypan, depending on his needs.

He started away, then turned

back. His bedroll was tied behind Pushers saddle he had planned to spend the

night camped out on the Drop, thinking. There had been a lot to think about, and

now there was even more.

He pulled one of the rawhide ties, reached inside the blankets, and pulled out a

small metal box. This he opened with a tiny key he drew from around his neck.

Inside the box was a small square locket on a fine silver chain (inside the locket

was a line-drawing of his mother), and a handful of extra shellsnot quite a

dozen. He took one, closed it in his fist, and went back to Susan. She looked at

him with wide, frightened eyes.

I dont remember anything after we made love the second time, she said. Only

looking up at the sky and thinking how good I felt and going to sleep. Oh, Roland,

how bad does it look

Not bad, I should think, but youll know better than I.

Here. He dipped his cooker full of water and set it on the bank. Susan bent over it

apprehensively, laying the hair on the left side of her head across her forearm, then

moving the arm slowly outward, extending the tress in a band of bright gold. She saw the ragged cut at once. She examined it care fully, then let it drop with a sigh more relieved than rueful.

I can hide it, she said. When its braided, no one will know. And after all, tis

only hairno more than womans vanity. My aunt has told me so often enough,

certainly. But Roland, why Why did I do it

Roland had an idea. If hair was a womans vanity, then hair-chopping would likely

be a womans bit of nastinessa man would hardly think of it at all. The Mayors wife, had it been her He thought not. It seemed more likely that Rhea, up there on

her height of land looking north toward the Bad Grass, Hanging Rock, and

Eyebolt Canyon, had set this ugly trap. Mayor Thorin had been meant to wake up

on the morning after the Reap with a hangover and a bald-headed gilly.

Susan, can I try something

She gave him a smile. Something ye didnt try al ready up yonder Aye, what ye

will.

Nothing like that. He opened the hand he had held closed, showing the shell. I

want to try and find out who did this to you, and why.

And other things, too. He

just didnt know what they were yet.

She looked at the shell. Roland began to move it along the back of his hand,

dancing it back and forth in a dexterous weaving.

His knuckles rose and fell like

the heddles of a loom. She watched this with a childs fasci nated delight. Where

did ye learn that

At home. It doesnt matter.

Yed hypnotize me

Aye

and I dont think it would be for the first time.

He made the shell dance a

bit fasternow east along his rippling knuckles, now west. May I

Aye, she said. If you can.

12

He could, all right; the speed with which she went un der confirmed that this had

happened to Susan before, and recently. Yet he couldnt get what lie wanted from

her. She was perfectly cooperative (some sleep eager, fort would have said), but

beyond a certain point she would not go. It wasnt decorum or modesty, eitheras

she slept open-eyed before the stream, she told him in a far-off but calm voice

about the old womans examination, and the way Rhea had tried to fiddle her up.

(At this Polands fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.) But there

came a point where she could no longer remember.

She and Rhea had gone to the door of the hut, Susan said, and there they had stood

with the Kissing Moon shining down on their faces.

The old woman had been

touching her hair, Susan remembered that much.

The touch revolted her,

especially after the witchs previous touches, but Susan had been unable to do

anything about it. Arms too heavy to raise; tongue too heavy to speak. She could

only stand there while the witch whispered in her ear.

What Roland asked. What did she whisper

I dont know, Susan said. The rest is pink.

Pink What do you mean

Pink, she repeated. She sounded almost amused, as if she believed Roland was being deliberately dense. She says, Aye, love ly, just so, its a good girl yare,

then everythings pink. Pink and bright.

Bright.

Aye, like the moon. And then … She paused. Then I think it be comes the

moon. The Kissing Moon, mayhap. A bright pink Kissing Moon, as round and full

as a grapefruit.

He tried other ways into her memory with no suc cessevery path he tried ended

in that bright pinkness, first obscuring her recol lection and then coalescing into a full moon. It meant nothing to Roland; hed heard of blue moons, but never pink

ones. The only thing of which he was sure was that the old woman had given

Susan a powerful command to forget.

He considered taking her deepershe would go but didnt dare. Most of his

experience came from hypnotizing his friends classroom exercises that were

larky and occasionally spooky. Always there had been Cort or Vannay present to

make things right if they went off-track. Now there were no teachers to step in; for

better or worse, the students had been left in charge of the school. What if he took

her deep and couldnt get her back up again And he had been told there were

demons in the below-mind as well. If you went down to where they were, they

some times swam out of their caves to meet you …

All other considerations aside, it was getting late. It wouldnt be pru dent to stay here much longer.

Susan, do you hear me

Aye, Roland, I hear you very well.

Good. Im going to say a rhyme. Youll wake up as I say it. When Im done, youll

be wide awake and remember everything weve said. Do you understand

Aye.

Listen: Bird and bear and hare and fish, Give my love her fond est wish.

Her smile as she rose to consciousness was one of the most beautiful things he had

ever seen. She stretched, then put her arms around his neck and covered his face

with kisses. You, you, you, you, she said. Youre my fondest wish, Roland.

Youre my only wish. You and you, forever and ev er.

They made love again there on the bank, beside the babbling stream, holding each

other as tightly as they could, breathing into each others mouths and living on

each others breath. You, you, you, you.

13

Twenty minutes later, he boosted her onto Fe licias back. Susan leaned down, took his face in her hands, and kissed him soundly.

When will I see ye again she asked.

Soon. But we must be careful.

Aye. Careful as two lovers ever were, I think. Thank God thees clever.

We can use Sheemie, if we dont use him too often.

Aye. And, Rolanddo ye know the pavilion in Green Heart Close to where

they serve tea and cakes and things when the weath ers fair

Roland did. Fifty yards or so up Hill Street from the jail and the Town Gathering

Hall, Green Heart was one of the most pleasant places in town, with its quaint

paths, umbrella-shaded tables, grassy dancing pavilion, and menagerie.

Theres a rock wall at the back, she said. Between the pavilion and the

menagerie. If you need me badly

Ill always need you badly, he said.

She smiled at his gravity. Theres a stone on one of the lower coursesa reddish

one. Youll see it. My friend Amy and I used to leave messages there for each

other when we were little girls. Ill look there when I can. Ye do the same.

Aye. Sheemie would work for awhile, if they were careful. The red rock might

also work for awhile, if they were careful. But no matter how careful they were,

they would slip eventually, because the Big Cof fin Hunters now probably knew

more about Roland and his friends than Roland ever would have wished. But he

had to see her, no matter what the risks. If he didnt, he felt he might die. And he

only had to look at her to know she felt the same.

Watch special for Jonas and the other two, he said.

I will. Another kiss, if ye favor

He kissed her gladly, and would just as gladly have pulled her off the mares back

for a fourth go-round… but it was time to stop being deliri ous and start being

careful.

Fare you well, Susan. I love y He paused, then smiled. I love thee.

And I thee, Roland. What heart I have is yours.

She had a great heart, he thought as she slipped through the willows, and already

he felt its burden on his own. He waited until he felt sure she must be well away.

Then he went to Rusher and rode off in the oppo site direction, knowing that a new and dangerous phase of the game had begun.

14

Not too long after Susan and Roland had parted, Cordelia Delgado stepped out of

the Hambry Mercantile with a box of groceries and a troubled mind. The troubled

mind was caused by Susan, of course, always Su san, and Cordelias fear that the

girl would do something stupid before Reaping fi nally came around.

These thoughts were snatched out of her mind just as handsstrong

onessnatched the box of groceries from her arms.

Cordelia cawed in surprise,

shaded her eyes against the sun, and saw Eldred Jonas standing there between the

Bear and Turtle totems, smiling at her. His hair, long and white (and beautiful, in

her opinion), lay over his shoulders. Cordelia felt her heart beat a little faster. She

had always been partial to men like Jonas, who could smile and banter their way

to the edge of risqueness … but who carried their bodies like blades.

I startled you. I cry your pardon, Cordelia.

Nay, she said, sounding a little breathless to her own ears. Its just the sunso

bright at this time of day

Id help you a bit on your way, if you give me leave. Im only going up High as

far as the comer, then I turn up the Hill, but may I help you that far

With thanks, she said. They walked down the steps and up the board sidewalk,

Cordelia looking around in little pecking glances to see who was observing

themshe beside the handsome sai Jonas, who just happened to be carrying her

goods. There was a satisfying number of on lookers. She saw Millicent Ortega, for one, looking out of Anns Dresses with a satisfy ing 0 of surprise on her stupid

cows puss.

I hope you dont mind me calling you Cordelia.

Jonas shifted the box, which

shed needed two hands to carry, casually un der one arm. I feel, since the

welcoming dinner at Mayor Thorins house, that I know you.

Cordelias fine.

And may I be Eldred to you

I think Mr. Jonas will do a bit longer, she said, then favored him with what she

hoped was a coquettish smile. Her heart beat faster yet. (It did not occur to her that perhaps Susan was not the only silly goose in the Delgado family.)

So be it, Jonas said, with a look of disappoint ment so comic that she laughed.

And your niece Is she well

Quite well, thank ye for asking. A bit of a trial, sometimes

Was there ever a girl of sixteen who wasnt

I suppose not.

Yet you have additional burdens regarding her this fall. I doubt if \he realizes that, though.

Cordelia said nothingtwouldnt be discreetbut gave him a meaningful look

that said much.

Give her my best, please.

I will. But she wouldnt. Susan had conceived a great (and irra tional, in

Cordelias view) dislike for Mayor Thorins regula tors. Trying to talk her out of

these feelings would likely do no good; young girls thought they knew everything.

She glanced at the star peeking unobtru sively out from beneath the flap of Jonass vest. I understand yeve taken on an additional responsibility in our undeserving

town, sai Jonas.

Aye, Im helping out Sheriff Avery, he agreed. His voice had a reedy little

tremble which Cordelia found quite endearing, somehow. One of his

deputiesClaypool, his name is

Frank Claypool, aye.

fell out of his boat and broke his leg. How do you fall out of a boat and break

your leg, Cordelia

She laughed merrily (the idea that everyone in Hambry was watching them was

surely wrong

but it felt that way, and the feeling was not un pleasant) and said

she didnt know.

He stopped on the comer of High and Camino Ve ga, looking regret ful. Heres

where I turn. He handed the box back to her. Are you sure you can carry that I

suppose I could go on with you to your house

No need, no need. Thank you. Thank you, Eldred.

The blush which crept up her

neck and cheeks felt as hot as fire, but his smile was worth every degree of heat.

He tipped her a little salute with two fingers and sauntered up the hill toward the

Sheriffs office.

Cordelia walked on home. The box, which had seemed such a burden when she

stepped out of the mercantile, now seemed to weigh next to nothing. This feeling lasted for half a mile or so, but by the time her house came into view, she was

once again aware of the sweat trickling down her sides, and the ache in her arms.

Thank the gods summer was almost over

and wasnt that Susan, just leading her mare in through the gate

Susan! she called, now enough returned to earth for her former irritation with the girl to sound clear in her voice. Come and help me, fore I drop this and break the

eggs!

Susan came, leaving Felicia to crop grass in the front yard. Ten min utes earlier,

Cordelia would have noticed nothing of how the girl looked her thoughts had

been too wrapped up in Eldred Jonas to admit of much else. But the hot sun had

taken some of the romance out of her head and re turned her feet to earth. And as

Susan took the box from her (handling it almost as easily as Jonas had done),

Cordelia thought she didnt much care for the girls ap pearance. Her temper had

changed, for one thing from the half-hysterical confusion in which shed left to a pleasant and happy-eyed calmness. That was the Susan of previous years to the

sleeve and seam … but not this years moaning, moody breast-beater. There was

nothing else Cordelia could put her finger on, ex ceptBut there was, actually. One thing. She reached out and grasped the girls braid,

which looked uncharacteristically sloppy this afternoon. Of course Susan had been riding; that could explain the mess. But it didnt ex plain how dark her hair was, as

if that bright mass of gold had begun to tarnish. And she jumped, almost guiltily,

when she felt Cordelias touch. Why, pray tell, was that

Yer hairs damp, Susan, she said. Have ye been swimming some where

Nay! I stopped and ducked my head at the pump out side Hockeys barn. He

doesnt mindtis a deep well he has. Its so hot. Per haps therell be a shower later.

I hope so. I gave Felicia to drink as well.

The girls eyes were as direct and as candid as ev er, but Cordelia thought there was something off in them, just the same. She couldnt say what. The idea that Susan

might be hiding something large and serious did not immediately cross Cordelias

mind; she would have said her niece was incapable of keeping a secret any greater

than a birthday present or a surprise party … and not even such secrets as those

for more than a day or two. And yet something was off here. Cordelia dropped her

fingers to the collar of the girls riding shirt.

Yet this is dry.

I was careful, she said, looking at her aunt with a puzzled eye. Dirt sticks worse

to a wet shirt. You taught me that, Aunt.

Ye flinched when I touched yer hair, Susan.

Aye, Susan said, so I did. The weird-woman touched it just that same way. I

havent liked it since. Now may I take these groceries in and get my horse out of

the hot sun

Dont be pert, Susan. Yet the edginess in her nieces voice actually eased her in some strange way. That feeling that Susan had changed, somehowthat feeling of

offnessbegan to subside.

Then dont be tiresome.

Susan! Apologize to me!

Susan took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. Yes, Aunt. I do. But its hot.

Aye. Put those in the pantry. And thankee.

Susan went on toward the house with the box in her arms. When the girl had

enough of a lead so they wouldnt have to walk to gether, Cordelia followed. It was

all foolishness on her part, no doubtsuspicions brought on by her flirtation with

Eldredbut the girl was at a dangerous age, and much depended on her good

behavior over the next seven weeks. After that she would be Thorins problem, but until then she was Cordelias. Cordelia thought that, in the end, Susan would be

true to her promise, but until Reaping Fair she would bear close watching. About

such matters as a girls virginity, it was best to be vigilant.

INTERLUDE

KANSAS,

SOMEWHERE,

SOMEWHEN

Eddie stirred. Around them the thinny still whined like an unpleasant mother-inlaw;

above them the stars gleamed as bright as new hopes … or bad intentions.

He looked at Susannah, sitting with the stumps of her legs curled beneath her; he

looked at Jake, who was eating a burrito; he looked at Oy, whose snout rested on Jakes ankle and who was looking up at the boy with an expression of calm

adoration.

The fire was low, but still it burned. The same was true of Demon Moon, far in the

west.

Roland. His voice sounded old and rusty to his own ears.

The gunslinger, who had paused for a sip of water, looked at him with his

eyebrows raised.

How can you know every comer of this story

Roland seemed amused. I dont think thats what you really want to know, Eddie.

He was right about thatold long, tall, and ugly made a habit of be ing right. It

was, as far as Eddie was concerned, one of his most irritating characteristics. All right. How long have you been talking Thats what I really want to know.

Are you uncomfortable Want to go to bed

Hes making fun of me, Eddie thought … but even as the idea oc curred to him, he

knew it wasnt true. And no, he wasnt uncomfort able. There was no stiffness in

his joints, although he had been sitting crosslegged ever since Roland had begun by telling them about Rhea and the glass ball, and he didnt need to go to the toilet.

Nor was he hungry. Jake was munching the single leftover burrito, but probably

for the same rea son folks climbed Mount Everest

because it was there. And

why should he be hungry or sleepy or stiff Why, when the fire still burned and

the moon was not yet down

He looked at Rolands amused eyes and saw the gun slinger was read ing his

thoughts.

No, I dont want to go to bed. You know I dont. But, Roland … youve been

talking a long time. He paused, looked down at his hands, then looked up again,

smiling uneasily. Days, I would have said.

But time is different here. Ive told you that; now you see for your self. Not all

nights are the same length just recently. Days, ei ther … but we notice time more at night, dont we Yes, I think we do.

Is the thinny stretching time And now that he had mentioned it, Eddie could

hear it in all its creepy glorya sound like vibrating metal, or maybe the worlds

biggest mosquito.

It might be helping, but mostly its just how things are in my world.

Susannah stirred like a woman who rises part way from a dream that holds her like sweet quicksand. She gave Eddie a look that was both dis tant and impatient. Let

the man talk, Eddie.

Yeah, Jake said. Let the man talk.

And Oy, without raising his snout from Jakes an kle: An. Awk.

All right, Eddie said. No problem.

Roland swept them with his eyes. Are you sure The rest is … He didnt seem

able to finish, and Eddie realized that Roland was scared.

Go on, Eddie told him quietly. Let the rest be what it is. What it was. He

looked around. Kansas, they were in Kansas. Some where, somewhen. Except he

felt that Mejis and those people he had never seen  Cordelia and Jonas and Brian

Hookey and Sheemie and Pettie the Trotter and Cuthbert Allgoodwere very

close now. That Rolands lost Susan was very close now. Because reality was thin

hereas thin as the seat in an old pair of blue jeans

and the dark would hold for

as long as Roland needed it to hold. Eddie doubt ed if Roland even noticed the

dark, particu larly. Why would he Eddie thought it had been night inside of

Rolands mind for a long, long time … and dawn was still nowhere near.

He reached out and touched one of those callused killers hands. Gen tly he

touched it, and with love.

Go on, Roland. Tell your tale. All the way to the end.

All the way to the end, Susannah said dreamily.

Cut the vein. Her eyes were

full of moonlight.

All the way to the end, Jake said.

End, Oy whispered.

Roland held Eddies hand for a moment, then let it go. He looked into the guttering

fire without immediately speaking, and Eddie sensed him trying to find the way.

Trying doors, one after another, until he found one that opened. What he saw

behind it made him smile and look up at Eddie.

True love is boring, he said.

Say what

True love is boring, Roland repeated. As bor ing as any other strong and

addicting drug. And, as with any other strong drug .

. .

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

PART THREE

COME, REAP

CHAPTER 1

BENEATH THE

huntress moon

1

True love, like any other strong and addicting drug, is boringonce the tale of

encounter and discovery is told, kisses quickly grow stale and ca resses tiresome .

. . except, of course, to those who share the kisses, who give and take the caresses

while every sound and color of the world seems to deepen and brighten around

them. As with any other strong drug, true first love is really only interesting to

those who have become its prisoners.

And, as is true of any other strong and addicting drug, true first love is dangerous.

2

Some called Huntress the last moon of summer; some called it the first of fall.

Whichever it was, it signaled a change in the life of the Barony. Men put out into

the bay wearing sweaters beneath their oilskins as the winds began to turn more

and more firmly into autumns east-west alley, and to sharpen as they turned. In

the great Barony orchards north of Hambry (and in smaller orchards owned by

John Croydon, Henry Wertner, Jake White, and the morose but wealthy Coral

Thorin), the pickers began to appear in the rows, carrying their odd, off-kilter

ladders; they were fol lowed by horse-drawn carts full of empty barrels.

Downwind of the cider-housesespecially downwind of the great Barony ciderman sion a mile north of Seafrontthe breezy air was filled with the sweet tang of

blems being pressed by the basketload. Away from the shore of the Clean Sea, the days remained warm as the Huntress waxed, skies were clear day and night, but

summers real heat had departed with the Ped dler. The last cut ting of hay began and was finished in the run of a weekthat last one was always scant, and

ranchers and freeholders alike would curse it, scratching their heads and asking

themselves why they even bothered

but come rainy, blowsy old March, with the

bam lofts and bins rapidly emptying, they always knew. In the Baronys

gardensthe great ones of the ranch ers, the small er ones of the freeholders, and

the tiny backyard plots of the townsfolkmen and women and children appeared

in their old clothes and boots, their sombreros and sombreros. They came with the

legs of their pants tied down firmly at the ankles, for in the time of the Huntress,

snakes and scorpions in plentiful numbers wan dered east from the desert. By the time old Demon Moon began to fatten, a line of rattlers would hang from the

hitching posts of both the Travellers Rest and the mercan tile across the street.

Other businesses would similarly decorate their hitching posts, but when the prize for the most skins was given on Reap ing Day, it was always the inn or the market

that won it. In the fields and gardens, baskets to pick into were cast along the rows

by women with their hair tied up in kerchiefs and reapcharms hidden in their

bosoms. The last of the tomatoes were picked, the last of the cucumbers, the last

of the corn, the last of the parey and mingo. Waiting behind them, as the days

sharpened and the autumn storms began to near, would come squash, sharproot,

pumpkins, and potatoes. In Mejis the time of reap ing had be gun, while overhead,

clearer and clearer on each starry night, the Huntress pulled her bow and looked east over those strange, watery leagues no man or woman of MidWorld had ever

seen.

3

Those in the grip of a strong drugheroin, devil grass, true loveoften find

themselves trying to maintain a precarious bal ance between secrecy and ecstasy as they walk the tightrope of their lives. Keeping ones bal ance on a tightrope is

difficult under the soberest circumstances; do ing so while in a state of delirium is all but impossible. Completely impossible, in the long run.

Roland and Susan were delirious, but at least had the thin advantage of knowing it.

And the secret would not have to be kept forever, but only until Reaping Day Fair,

at the very longest. Things might end even sooner than that, if the Big Coffin

Hunters broke cover. The actual first move might be made by one of the other

players, Roland thought, but no matter who moved first, Jonas and his men would

be there, a part of it. The part apt to be most danger ous to the three boys.

Roland and Susan were carefulas careful as delirious people could be, at any

rate. They never met in the same place twice in a row, they never met at the same

time twice in a row, they never skulked on their way to their trysts. In Hambry,

riders were common but skulkers were no ticed.

Susan never tried to cover her

riding out by enlisting the help of a friend (al though she had friends who would

have done her this service); people who needed alibis were people keeping secrets.

She had a sense that Aunt Cord was growing in creasingly uneasy about her

rides particularly the ones she took in the early eveningsbut so far she

accepted Susans oft-repeated reason for them: she needed time to be solitary, to meditate on her promise and to accept her re sponsibility. Ironically, these

suggestions had originally come from the witch of the Coos.

They met in the willow grove, in several of the abandoned boathouses which stood

crumbling at the northern hook of the bay, in a herders hut far out in the

desolation of the Coos, in an abandoned squat ters shack hidden in the Bad Grass.

The settings were, by and large, as sordid as any of those in which addicts come

together to practice their vice, but Susan and Roland didnt see the rotting walls of the shack or the holes in the roof of the hut or smell the mouldering nets in the

comers of the old soaked boathouses. They were drugged, stone in love, and to

them, every scar on the face of the world was a beauty-mark.

Twice, early on in those delirious weeks, they used the red rock in the wall at the

back of the pavilion to arrange meetings, and then some deep voice spoke inside

Rolands head, telling him there must be no more of it the rock might have been

just the thing for children playing at secrets, but he and his love were no longer

children; if they were discovered, ban ishment would be the luckiest punishment

they could hope for. The red rock was too conspic uous, and writing things

downeven messages that were unsigned and de liberately vaguewas horribly

dangerous.

Using Sheemie felt safer to both of them. Beneath his smiling light-mindedness

there was a surprising depth of

well, discre tion. Roland had thought long and

hard before settling on that word, and it was the right word: an ability to keep

silent that was more dignified than mere cunning.

Cunning was out of Sheemies

reach in any case, and always would bea man who couldnt tell a lie without

shifting his eyes away from yours was a man who would never be considered

cunning.

They used Sheemie half a dozen times over the five weeks when their physical

love burned at its hottestthree of those times were to make meetings, two were

to change meeting-places, and one was to cancel a tryst when Susan spied riders

from the Piano Ranch sweeping for strays near the shack in the Bad Grass.

That deep, warning voice never spoke to Roland about Sheemie as it had about the

dangers of the red rock … but his conscience spoke to him, and when he finally

mentioned this to Susan (the two of them wrapped in a saddleblanket and lying

naked in each others arms), he found that her con science had been troubling her,

as well. It wasnt fair to put the boy in the way of their possible trouble. After

coming to that conclusion, Roland and Susan ar ranged their meetings strictly

between the two of them. If she could not meet him, Susan said, she would hang a

red shirt over the sill of her window, as if to dry. If he could not meet her, he was

to leave a white stone in the northeast comer of the yard, diagonally across the

road from Hockeys Livery, where the town pump stood. As a last resort, they

would use the red rock in the pavilion, risky or not, rather than bringing Sheemie

into their affairstheir affairagain.

Cuthbert and Alain watched Rolands descent into addiction first with disbelief,

envy, and uneasy amusement, then with a species of silent hor ror. They had been

sent to what was supposed to have been safety and had discovered a place of

conspiracy, instead; they had come to take cen sus in a Barony where most of the

aristocracy had apparently switched its al legiance to the Affiliations bitterest enemy; they had made personal ene mies of three hard men who had probably

killed enough folks to populate a fair-sized grave yard. Yet they had felt equal to

the situation, because they had come here under the leadership of their friend, who had at tained near-mythic status in their minds by besting Cortwith a hawk as

his weapon!and becoming a gunslinger at the unheard-of age of fourteen. That

they had been given guns themselves for this mis sion had meant a great deal to

them when they set out from Gilead, and nothing at all by the time they began to

realize the scope of what was going on in Ham brytown and the Barony of which

it was a part. When that realization came, Roland was the weapon they counted

on. And now

Hes like a revolver cast into water! Cuthbert exclaimed one eve ning, not long

after Roland had ridden away to meet Susan. Be yond the bunkhouse porch,

Huntress rose in her first quarter. Gods know if itll ever fire again, even if its

fished out and dried off.

Hush, wait, Alain said, and looked toward the porch rail. Hoping to jolly

Cuthbert out of his bad temper (a task that was quite easy under ordinary

circumstances), Alain said: Wheres the lookout Gone to bed early for once, has

he

This only irritated Cuthbert more. He hadnt seen the rooks skull in dayshe

couldnt exactly say how manyand he took its loss as an ill omen. Gone, but

not to bed, he replied, then looked balefully to the west, where Roland had

disappeared aboard his big old galoot of a horse.

Lost, I reckon. Like a certain

fellows mind and heart and good sense.

Hell be all right, Alain said awkwardly. You know him as well as I do,

Bertknown him our whole lives, we have. Hell be all right. Quietly, without even a trace of his normal good humor, Cuthbert said: I dont

feel I know him now.

They had both tried to talk to Roland in their different ways; both re ceived a

similar response, which was no real response at all. The dreamy (and perhaps

slightly troubled) look of abstraction in Rolands eyes dur ing these one-sided

discussions would have been familiar to anyone who has ever tried to talk sense to a drug addict. It was a look that said Ro lands mind was occupied by the shape of

Susans face, the smell of Su san-s skin, the feel of Susans body. And occupied

was a silly word for it, one that fell short. It wasnt an occupation but an obsession.

I hate her a little for what shes done, Cuthbert said, and there was a note in his

voice Alain had never heard beforea mixture of jealousy, frustration, and fear.

Perhaps more than a little.

You mustnt! Alain tried not to sound shocked, but couldnt help it. She isnt

responsible for

Is she not She went out to Citgo with him. She saw what he saw. God knows

how much else hes told her after theyve finished making the beast with two

backs. And shes all the way around the world from stupid. Just the way shes

managed her side of their affair shows that. Bert was thinking, Alain guessed, of

her tidy little trick with the corvette. She must know shes become part of the

problem herself. She must know that!

Now his bitterness was fiighteningly clear. Hes jealous of her for stealing his best friend, Alain thought, but it doesnt stop there. Hes jeal ous of his best friend, as

well, because his best friend has won the most beau tiful girl any of us have ever

seen.

Alain leaned over and grasped Cuthberts shoulder.

When Bert turned away from

his morose examination of the dooryard to look at his friend, he was startled by

the grimness on Alains face. Its ka, Alain said.

Cuthbert almost sneered. If I had a hot dinner for every time some one blamed

theft or lust or some other stupidity on ka

Alains grip tightened until it became painful. Cuth bert could have pulled away but

didnt. He watched Alain closely. The joker was, tem porarily, at least, gone.

Blame is exactly what we two cant afford, Alain said. Dont you see that And

if its ka thats swept them away, we neednt blame.

We cant blame. We must rise

above it. We need him. And we may need her, too.

Cuthbert looked into Alains eyes for what seemed to be a very long time. Alain

saw Berts anger at war with his good sense. At last (and per haps only for the time

being), good sense won out.

All right, fine. Its ka, everybodys favorite whip ping-boy. Thats what the great

unseen worlds for, after all, isnt it So we dont have to take the blame for our

acts of stupidity Now let go of me, Al, before you break my shoulder.

Alain let go and sat back in his chair, relieved. Now if we only knew what to do

about the Drop. If we dont start counting there soon 

Ive had an idea about that, actually, Cuthbert said. It just needs a little working out. Im sure Roland could help

if either of us can get his attention for a few

minutes, that is.

They sat for awhile without speaking, looking out at the dooryard. In side the

bunkhouse, the pigeonsanother bone of con tention between Roland and Bert

these dayscooed. Alain rolled himself a smoke. It was slow work, and the

finished product looked rather comical, but it held together when he lit it.

Your father would stripe you raw if he saw that in your hand, Cuth bert

remarked, but he spoke with a certain admira tion. By the time the following years Huntress came around, all three of them would be con firmed smokers, tanned

young men with most of the boyhood slapped out of their eyes.

Alain nodded. The strong Outer Crescent tobac co made him swimmy in the head

and raw in the throat, but a cigarette had a way of calming his nerves, and right

now his nerves could use some calming. He didnt know about Bert, but these days

he smelled blood on the wind. Possibly some of it would be their own. He wasnt

exactly frightenednot yet, at least but he was very, very worried.

4

Although they had been honed like hawks toward the guns since early childhood,

Cuthbert and Alain still carried an erroneous be lief common to many boys their

age: that their elders were also their betters, at least in such matters as planning

and wit; they actually believed that grownups knew what they were doing. Roland

knew better, even in his lovesickness, but his friends had forgotten that in the

game of Castles, both sides wear the blindfold.

They would have been surprised to

find that at least two of the Big Coffin Hunters had grown extremely nervous

about the three young men from InWorld, and ex tremely tired of the waiting

game both sides had been playing.

One early morning, as the Huntress neared the half, Reynolds and Depape came

downstairs together from the second floor of the Travellers Rest. The main public

room was silent except for various snores and phlegmy wheezings. In Hambrys

busiest bar, the party was over for an other night.

Jonas, accompanied by a silent guest, sat play ing Chancellors Pa tience at Corals table to the left of the batwing doors. Tonight he was wearing his duster, and his

breath smoked faintly as he bent over his cards. It wasnt cold enough to frostnot

quite yetbut the frost would come soon. The chill in the air left no doubt of that.

The breath of his guest also smoked. Kimba Rimers skeletal frame was all but buried in a gray serape lit with faint bands of or ange. The two of them had been on

the edge of getting down to business when Roy and Clay (Pinch and Jilly, Rimer

thought) showed up, their plowing and planting in the second-floor cribs also

apparently over for another night.

Eldred, Reynolds said, and then: Sai Rimer.

Rimer nodded back, looking from Reynolds to De pape with thin dis taste. Long

days and pleasant nights, gentlemen. Of course the world had moved on, he

thought. To find such low culls as these two in posi tions of importance proved it.

Jonas himself was only a little better.

Might we have a word with you, Eldred Clay Reynolds asked. Weve been

talking, Roy and I

Unwise, Jonas remarked in his wavery voice.

Rimer wouldnt be surprised to

find, at the end of his life, that the Death Angel had such a voice. Talking can

lead to thinking, and thinkings dangerous for such as you boys. Like picking your nose with bullet-heads.

Depape donkeyed his damned hee-haw laughter, as if he didnt real ize the joke

was on him.

Jonas, listen, Reynolds began, and then looked uncertainly at Rimer.

You can talk in front of sai Rimer, Jonas said, laying out a fresh line of cards.

He is, after all, our chief employer. I play at Chan cellors Patience in his honor,

so I do.

Reynolds looked surprised. I thought … that is to say, I believed that Mayor

Thorin was



Hart Thorin wants to know none of the details of our arrangement with the Good

Man, Rimer said. A share of the profits is all he re quires in that line, Mr.

Reynolds. The Mayors chief concern right now is that the Reaping Day Fair go

smoothly, and that his arrangements with the young lady be

smoothly

consummated.

Aye, thats a diplomatic turn o speech for ye,

Jonas said in a broad Mejis accent.

But since Roy looks a little perplexed, Ill translate.

Mayor Thorin spends most of

his time in the jakes these days, yanking his willypink and dreaming his fist is

Susan Delgados box. Im betting that when the shells finally opened and her pearl lies before him, hell never pluck ithis heartll ex plode from excitement, and hell

drop dead atop her, so he will. Yar!

More donkey laughter from Depape. He elbowed Reynolds. Hes got it down,

dont he, Clay Sounds just like em!

Reynolds grinned, but his eyes were still worried.

Rimer managed a smile as thin

as a scum of November ice, and pointed at the sev en which had just popped out of

the pack. Red on black, my dear Jonas.

I aint your dear anything, Jonas said, putting the seven of dia monds on an eight

of shadows, and youd do well to remember that.

Then, to Reynolds and Depape:

Now what do you boys want Rimer n me was just going to have us a little

palaver.

Perhaps we could all put our heads together,

Reynolds said, putting a hand on

the back of a chair. Kind of see if our thinking matches up.

I think not, Jonas said, sweeping his cards togeth er. He looked irri tated, and

Clay Reynolds took his hand off the back of the chair in a hurry. Say your say

and be done with it. Its late.

We was thinking its time to go on out there to the Bar K, Depape said. Have a

look around. See if theres anything to back up what the old fella in Ritzy said.

And see what else theyve got out there, Reynolds put in. Its getting close now,

Eldred, and we cant afford to take chances. They might have

Aye Guns Electric lights Fairy-women in bot tles Who knows Ill think

about it. Clay.

But

I said Ill think about it. Now go on upstairs, the both of you, back to your own

fairy-women.

Reynolds and Depape looked at him, looked at each other, then backed away from

the table. Rimer watched them with his thin smile.

At the foot of the stairs, Reynolds turned back. Jonas paused in the act of shuffling

his cards and looked at him, tufted eyebrows raised.

We underestimated em once and they made us look like monkeys. I dont want it to happen again. Thats all.

Your ass is still sore over that, isnt it Well, so is mine. And I tell you again,

theyll pay for what they did. I have the bill ready, and when the time comes, Ill

present it to them, with all interest duly noted. In the meantime, they arent going

to spook me into making the first move. Time is on our side, not theirs. Do you

understand that

Yes.

Will you try to remember it

Yes, Reynolds repeated. He seemed satisfied.

Roy Do you trust me

Aye, Eldred. To the end. Jonas had praised him for the work he had done in

Ritzy, and Depape had rolled in it the way a male dog rolls in the scent of a bitch.

Then go on up, the both of you, and let me palaver with the boss and be done

with it. Im too old for these late nights.

When they were gone, Jonas dealt out a fresh line of cards, then looked around the

room. There were perhaps a dozen folks, including Sheb the piano-player and

Barkie the bouncer, sleeping it off. No one was close enough to listen to the lowvoiced conversation of the two men by the door, even if one of the snoring

drunkards was for some reason only shamming sleep. Jonas put a red queen on a

black knight, then looked up at Rimer. Say your say.

Those two said it for me, actually. Sai Depape will never be embar rassed by a

surplus of brains, but Reynolds is fairly smart for a gunny, isnt he

Clays trig when the moons right and hes had a shave, Jonas agreed. Are you

saying you came all the way from Seafront to tell me those three babbies need a

closer looking at

Rimer shrugged.

Perhaps they do, and Im the man to do it, if so

right enough. But whats there to

find

Thats to be seen, Rimer said, and tapped one of Jonass cards. Theres a

Chancellor.

Aye. Near as ugly as the one Im sitting with. Jonas put the Chan cellorit was

Paulabove his run of cards. The next draw uncov ered Luke, whom he put next

to Paul. That left Peter and Matthew still lurking in the bush. Jonas looked at

Rimer shrewdly. You hide it better than my pals, but youre as nervous as they

are, underneath. You want to know whats out at that bunkhouse Ill tell you:

extra boots, pictures of their mommies, socks that stink to high heaven, stiff sheets from boys whove been taught its low-class to chase after the sheep … and guns

hidden somewhere. Under the floorboards, like enough.

You really think they have guns

Aye, Roy got the straight of that, all right. Theyre from Gilead, theyre likely

from the line of Eld or from folk who like to think theyre from it, and theyre

likely prentices to the trade whove been sent on with guns they havent earned

yet. I wonder a bit about the tall one with the I-dontgive-a-shit look in his

eyeshe might already be a gunslinger, I suppose but is it likely I dont think

so. Even if he is, I could take him in a fair go. I know it, and he does, too.

Then why have they been sent here

Not because those from the Inner Baronies sus pect your treason, sai Rimerbe

easy on that score.

Rimers head poked out of his serape as he sat up straight, and his face stiffened.

How dare you call me a traitor How dare you

Eldred Jonas favored Hambrys Minister of In ventory with an un pleasant smile. It made the white-haired man look like a wolverine.

Ive called things by their right names my whole life, and I wont stop now. All that needs matter to you is that

Ive never double-crossed an employer.

If I didnt believe in the cause of

To hell with what you believe! Its late and I want to go to bed. The folk in New

Canaan and Gilead havent the foggiest idea of what does or doesnt go on out here on the Crescent; there arent many of em whove ev er been here, Id wager. Them

are too busy trying to keep everything from falling down around their ears to do

much travelling these days. No, what they know is all from the picturebooks they

was read out of when they us babbies themselves: happy cowboys galloping after

stock, happy fishermen pulling whoppers into their boats, folks clogging at bamrais ings and drinking big pots o graf in Green Heart pavilion. For the sake of the

Man Jesus, Rimer, dont go dense on meI deal with that day in and day out.

They see Mejis as a place of quiet and safety.

Aye, bucolic splendor, just so, no doubt about it.

They know that their whole way

o lifeall that nobility and chivalry and ances tor-worshipis on fire. The final

battle may take place as much as two hundred wheels northwest of their borders, but when Farson uses his fire-carriages and robots to wipe out their army, trouble will come south fast. There are those from the Inner Baronies whove smelled this

coming for twenty years or more. They didnt send these brats here to discover

your secrets, Rimer; folks such as these dont send their babbies into danger on

pur pose. They sent em here to get em out of the way, thats all. That doesnt make

em blind or stupid, but for the sake of the gods, lets be sane. Theyre kiddies;

What else might you find, should you go out there

Some way of sending messages, mayhap. A he liographs the most likely. And out beyond Eyebolt, a shepherd or maybe a free holder suscep tible to a

bribesomeone theyve trained to catch the mes sage and either flash it on or carry it afoot. But before long itll be too late for messages to do any good, wont it

Perhaps, but its not too late yet. And youre right.

Kiddies or not, they worry

me.

Youve no cause, I tell you. Soon enough, Ill be wealthy and youll be downright

rich. Mayor yourself, if you want. Whod stand to stop you Thorin Hes a joke.

Coral Shed help you string him up, I wot. Or per haps youd like to be a Baron, if

such offices be revived He saw a mo mentary gleam in Rimers eyes and

laughed. Matthew came out of the deck, and Jonas put him up with the other

Chancellors. Yar, I see thats what youve got your heart set on. Gems is nice, and

for gold that goes twice, but theres nothing like hav ing folk bow and scrape before

ye, is there

Rimer said, They should have been on the cowboy side by now.

Jonass hands stopped above the layout of cards. It was a thought that had crossed

his own mind more than once, especially over the last two weeks or so.

How long do you think it takes to count our nets and boats and chart out the fishhauls

Rimer asked. They should be over on the Drop, count ing cows and

horses, looking through barns, studying the foalcharts. They should have been

there two weeks ago, in fact. Unless they already know what theyd find.

Jonas understood what Rimer was implying, but couldnt believe it. Wouldnt

believe it. Not such a depth of slyness from boys who only had to shave once a

week.

No, he said. Thats your own guilty heart talking to you. Theyre just so

determined to do it right that theyre creeping along like old folks with bad eyes.

Theyll be over on the Drop soon enough, and count ing their little hearts out.

And if theyre not

A good question. Get rid of them somehow, Jonas supposed. An am bush,

perhaps. Three shots from cover, no more bab bies. Thered be ill feeling

afterwardthe boys were well liked in townbut Rimer could handle that until

Fair Day, and after the Reap it wouldnt matter. Still 

Ill have a look around out at the Bar K, Jonas said at last. By my selfI wont

have Clay and Roy tramping along behind me.

That sounds fine.

Perhaps youd like to come and lend a hand.

Kimba Rimer smiled his icy smile. I think not.

Jonas nodded, and began to deal again. Going out to the Bar K would be a bit

risky, but he didnt expect any real problemes pecially if he went alone. They

were only boys, after all, and gone for much of each day.

When may I expect a report, sai Jonas

When Im ready to make it. Dont crowd me.

Rimer lifted his thin hands and held them, palms out, to Jonas. Cry your pardon,

sai, he said.

Jonas nodded, slightly mollified. He flipped up another card. It was Peter,

Chancellor of Keys. He put the card in the top row and then stared at it, combing

his fingers through his long white hair as he did. He looked from the card to

Rimer, who looked back, eyebrows raised.

You smile, Rimer said.

Yar! Jonas said, and began to deal again. Im hap py! All the Chan cellors are

out. 1 think Im going to win this game.

5

For Rhea, the time of the Huntress had been a time of frustration and unsatisfied

craving. Her plans had gone awry, and thanks to her cats hideously mistimed leap,

she didnt know how or why. The young cull whod tak en Susan Delgados cherry

had likely stopped her from chop ping her scurf… but how And who was he

really She wondered that more and more, but her curiosity was secondary to her

fury. Rhea of the Coos wasnt used to being balked.

She looked across the room to where Musty crouched and watched her carefully.

Ordinarily he would have relaxed in the fireplace (he seemed to like the cool drafts that swirled down the chimney), but since she had singed his fur. Musty preferred

the woodpile. Given Rheas mood, that was prob ably wise. Youre lucky I let ye

live, ye warlock, the old woman grumbled.

She turned back to the ball and began to make passes above it, but the glass only continued to swirl with bright pink lightnot a sin gle image appeared. Rhea got

up at last, went to the door, threw it open, and looked out on the night sky. Now

the moon had waxed a little past the half, and the Huntress was coming clear on its

bright face. Rhea directed the stream of foul lan guage she didnt quite dare to

direct at the glass (who knew what entity might lurk inside it, waiting to take

offense at such talk) up at the woman in the moon.

Twice she slammed her bony

old fist into the door-lintel as she cursed, dredg ing up every dirty word she could

think of, even the potty-mouth words children throw at each other in the dust of

the play yard. Never had she been so angry. She had given the girl a com mand,

and the girl, for whatever reasons, had dis obeyed. For standing against Rhea of the Coos, the bitch deserved to die.

But not right away, the old woman whispered.

First she should be rolled in the dirt, then pissed on until the dirts mud and her fine blonde hairs full of it.

Humiliated

hurt … spat on …

She slammed her fist against the doors side again, and this time blood flew from

the knuckles. It wasnt just the girls failure to obey the hypnotic command. There

was another matter, related but much more se rious: Rhea herself was now too

upset to use the glass, except for brief and unpre dictable periods of time. The handpass es she made over it and the incantations she muttered to it were, she knew, useless; the words and gestures were just the way she focused her will. That was

what the glass responded towill and concen trated thought. Now, thanks to the trollop of a girl and her boy lover, Rhea was too an gry to summon the smooth

concentration needed to part the pink fog which swirled inside the ball. She was,

in fact, too angry to see.

How can I make it like it was Rhea asked the halfglimpsed woman in the

moon. Tell me! Tell me! But the Huntress told her noth ing, and at last Rhea

went back inside, sucking at her bleeding knuck les.

Musty saw her coming and squeezed into the cob webby space be tween the

woodpile and the chimney.

CHAPTER II

THE GIRL AT

THE WINDOW

1

Now the Huntress filled her belly, as the oldtimers saideven at noon she

could be glimpsed in the sky, a pallid vampire woman caught in bright autumn

sunlight. In front of businesses such as the Trav ellers Rest and on the porches of such large ranch houses as Lengylls Rocking B and Renfrews Lazy Susan, stuffyguys

with heads full of straw above their old overalls began to appear. Each wore

his sombrero; each held a basket of produce cra dled in his arms; each looked out

at the emptying world with stitched white-cross eyes. Wagons filled with squashes clogged the roads; bright orange drifts of pumpkins

and bright magenta drifts of sharproot lay against the sides of barns. In the fields, the potato-carts rolled and the pickers followed be hind. In front of the Hambry

Mercantile, reapcharms appeared like magic, hanging from the carved Guardians

like wind-chimes.

All over Mejis, girls sewed their Reaping Night cos tumes (and some times wept

over them, if the work went badly) as they dreamed of the boys they would dance

with in the Green Heart pavilion. Their little brothers began to have trouble

sleeping as they thought of the rides and the games and the prizes they might win

at the carnival. Even their elders sometimes lay awake in spite of their sore hands and aching backs, think ing about the pleasures of the Reap.

Summer had slipped away with a final flirt of her greengown; harvest-time had

arrived.

2

Rhea cared not a fig for Reaping dances or carni val games, but she could no more

sleep than those who did. Most nights she lay on her stinking pallet until dawn, her

skull thudding with rage. On a night not long after Jonass conversation with

Chancellor Rimer, she determined to drink her self into oblivion. Her mood was

not improved when she found that her graf barrel was almost empty; she blistered

the air with her curses.

She was drawing in breath for a fresh string of them when an idea struck her. A

wonderful idea. A brilliant idea. She had wanted Susan Delgado to cut off her

hair. That hadnt worked, and she didnt know why…

but she did know something

about the girl, didnt she Something inter esting, aye, so it was, wery interesting,

indeed.

Rhea had no desire to go to Thorin with what she knew; she had a fond (and

foolish, likely) hope that the Mayor had forgotten about his wonderful glass ball.

But the girls aunt, now … suppose Cordelia Del gado were to discover that not

only was her nieces virginity lost, the girl was well on her way to becoming a

practiced trollop Rhea didnt think Cordelia would go to the Mayor, eitherthe

woman was a prig but not a foolyet it would set the cat among the pigeons just

the same, wouldnt it

Waow!

Thinking of cats, there was Musty, standing on the stoop in the moon light,

looking at her with a mixture of hope and mistrust.

Rhea, grinning hideously,

opened her arms. Come to me, my precious! Come, my sweet one!

Musty, understanding all was forgiven, rushed into his mistresss arms and began to purr loudly as Rhea licked along his sides with her old and yellowing tongue.

That night the Coos slept soundly for the first time in a week, and when she took

the glass ball into her arms the following morning, its mists cleared for her at

once. She spent the day in thrall to it, spying on peo ple she detested, drinking little

and eating nothing. Around sunset, she came out of her trance enough to realize

she had as yet done nothing about the saucy little jade. But that was all right; she

saw how it could be done… and she could watch all the results in the glass! All

the protests, all the shouting and recriminations!

She would see Susans tears. That

would be the best, to see her tears.

A little harvest of my own, she said to Ermot, who now came slith ering up her

leg toward the place where she liked him best. There werent many men who could

do you like Ermot could do you, no indeed. Sitting there with a lapful of snake,

Rhea began to laugh.

3 

Remember your promise, Alain said nervously as they heard the ap proaching

beat of Rushers hoofs. Keep your temper.

I will, Cuthbert said, but he had his doubts. As Roland rode around the long

wing of the bunkhouse and into the yard, his shadow trailing out in the sunset

light, Cuthbert clenched his hands nervously. He willed them to open, and they

did. Then, as he watched Roland dismount, they rolled themselves closed again,

the nails digging into his palms.

Another go-round, Cuthbert thought. Gods, but Im sick of them. Sick to death.

Last nights had been about the pigeonsagain.

Cuthbert wanted to use one to

send a message back west about the oil tankers; Roland still did not. So they had

argued. Except (here was another thing which in furiated him, that rubbed against

his nerves like the sound of the thinny) Roland did not argue. These days Roland

did not deign to argue. His eyes always kept that distant look, as if only his body

was here. The rest of him mind, soul, spirit, ka

was with Susan Delgado.

No, he had said simply. Its too late for such.

You cant know that, Cuthbert had argued. And even if its too late for help to

come from Gilead, its not too late for advice to come from Gilead. Are you so

blind you cant see that

What advice can they send us Roland hadnt seemed to hear the rawness in

Cuthberts voice. His own voice was calm. Reason able. And utterly disconnected,

Cuthbert thought, from the urgency of the situa tion.

If we knew that, he had replied, we wouldnt have to ask, Roland, would we

We can only wait and stop them when they make their move. Its comfort youre

looking for, Cuthbert, not advice.

You mean wait while you fuck her in as many ways and in as many places as you

can imagine, Cuthbert thought. Inside, outside, rightside up and upside down.

Youre not thinking clearly about this, Cuthbert had said coldly. Hed heard

Alains gasp. Neither of them had ever said such a thing to Roland in their lives,

and once it was out, hed waited uneasily for what ever explosion might follow.

None did. Yes, Roland replied, I am. And he had gone into the bunkhouse

without another word.

Now, watching Roland uncinch Rushers girths and pull the saddle from his back,

Cuthbert thought: You re not, you know. But you bet ter think clearly about this.

By all the gods, you d better.

Hile, he said as Roland carried the saddle over to the porch and set it on the step.

Busy afternoon He felt Alain kick his ankle and ig nored it.

Ive been with Susan, Roland said. No defense, no demur, no ex cuse. And for a

moment Cuthbert had a vision of shocking clar ity: he saw the two of them in a hut somewhere, the late afternoon sun shining through holes in the roof and dappling their bodies. She was on top, riding him. Cuthbert saw her knees on the old,

spongy boards, and the tension in her long thighs. He saw how tanned her arms

were, how white her belly. He saw how Rolands hands cupped the globes of her

breasts, squeezing them as she rocked back and forth above him, and he saw how

the sun lit her hair, turning it into a fine-spun net.

Why do you always have to be first he cried at Roland in his mind. Why does it

always have to be you Gods damn you, Roland!

Gods damn you!

We were on the docks, Cuthbert said, his tone a thin imitation of his usual

brightness. Counting boots and marine tools and what are called clam-drags.

What an amusing time of it weve had, eh, Al

Did you need me to help you do that Roland asked.

He went back to Rusher,

and took off the saddleblanket. Is that why you sound angry

If I sound angry, its because most of the fisher men are laughing at us behind our

backs. We keep coming back and coming back.

Roland, they think were fools.

Roland nodded. All to the good, he said.

Perhaps, Alain said quietly, but Rimer doesnt think were fools its in the

way he looks at us when we pass. Nor does Jonas.

And if they dont think were

fools, Roland, what do they think

Roland stood on the second step, the saddleblanket hanging forgot ten over his arm. For once they actually seemed to have his at tention, Cuthbert thought. Glory

be and will wonders never cease.

They think were avoiding the Drop because we al ready know whats there,

Roland said. And if they dont think it, they soon will.

Cuthbert has a plan.

Rolands gazemild, interested, already start ing to be not there againshifted to Cuthbert. Cuthbert the joker. Cuthbert the pren tice, who had in no way earned the gun hed carried east to the Outer Crescent. Cuth bert the virgin and eternal second.

Gods, I dont want to hate him. I dont, but now its so easy.

We two should go and see Sheriff Avery tomor row, Cuthbert said. We will

present it as a courtesy visit. We have already es tablished our selves as three

courteous, if slightly stupid, young fellows, have we not

To a fault, Roland agreed, smiling.

Well say that weve finally finished with the sea coast side of Hambry, and we

hope to be every bit as meticulous on the farm and cowboy side. But we certainly

dont want to cause trouble or be in anyones way. It is, after all, the busiest time of yearfor ranchers as well as farmers and even citified fools such as ourselves

will be aware of that. So well give the good Sheriff a list Rolands eyes lit up. He tossed the blanket over the porch rail, grabbed Cuthbert

around the shoulders, and gave him a rough hug.

Cuth bert could smell a lilac

scent around Rolands collar and felt an insane but powerful urge to clamp his

hands around Rolands throat and try to stran gle him.

Instead, he gave him a

perfunctory clap on the back in return.

Roland drew away, grinning widely. A list of the ranches well be visiting, he

said. Aye! And with forewarning, they can move any stock theyd like us not to

see on to the next ranch, or the last one. The same for tack, feed, equipment… its

masterful, Cuthbert! Youre a genius!

Far from that, Cuthbert said. Ive just spared a lit tle time to think about a

problem that concerns us all. That concerns the entire Affiliation, mayhap. We

need to think. Wouldnt you say

Alain winced, but Roland didnt seem to notice. He was still grinning. Even at

fourteen, such an expression on his face was trou bling. The truth was that when

Roland grinned, he looked slightly mad. Do you know, they may even move in a

fair number of muties for us to look at, just so well continue to believe the lies

theyve already told about the impurity of their stocklines. He paused, seeming to think, and then said: Why dont you and Alain go and see the Sheriff, Bert That

would do very well, I think.

At this point Cuthbert nearly threw himself at Roland, wanting to scream Yes, why not Then you could spend tomorrow morning pronging her as well as tomorrow

afternoon! You idiot! You thoughtless lovestruck idiot!

It was Al who saved himsaved them all, perhaps.

Dont be a fool, he said sharply, and Roland wheeled toward him, looking

surprised. He wasnt used to sharpness from that quarter. Youre our leader,

Rolandseen that way by Thorin, by Avery, by the towns folk. Seen that way by

us as well.

No one appointed me

No one needed to! Cuthbert shouted. You won your guns! These folk would

hardly believe itI hardly believe it myself just latelybut you are a gunslinger.

You have to go! Plain as the nose on your face! It doesnt matter which of us

accompanies you, but you have to go! He could say more, much more, but if he

did, where would it end With their fellowship bro ken beyond repair, likely. So he

clamped his mouth shut no need for Alain to kick him this timeand once

again waited for the explosion. Once again, none came.

All right, Roland said in his new waythat mild itdoesnt-much-matter way

that made Cuthbert feel like biting him to wake him up. To morrow morning.

You and I, Bert. Will eight suit you

Down to the ground, Cuthbert said. Now that the discussion was over and the

decision made, Berts heart was beating wildly and the muscles in his upper thighs felt like rubber. It was the way hed felt after their confrontation with the Big

Coffin Hunters.

Well be at our prettiest, Roland said. Nice boys from the Inners with good

intentions but not many brains. Fine. And he went inside, no longer grinning

(which was a relief) but smiling gently.

Cuthbert and Alain looked at each other and let out their breath in a mutual rush.

Cuthbert cocked his head toward the yard, and went down the steps. Alain

followed, and the two boys stood in the center of the dirt rectangle with the

bunkhouse at their backs. To the east, the rising full moon was hidden behind a

scrim of clouds. 

Shes tranced him, Cuthbert said. Whether she means to or not, shell kill us all in the end. Wait and see if she dont.

You shouldnt say such, even in jest.

All right, shell crown us with the jewels of Eld and well live forever.

You have to stop being angry at him, Bert. You have to.

Cuthbert looked at him bleakly. I cant.

4

The great storms of autumn were still a month or more distant, but the fol lowing

morning dawned drizzly and gray. Roland and Cuth bert wrapped themselves in

scrapes and headed for town, leaving Alain to the few home place chores. Tucked

in Rolands belt was the schedule of farms and ranchesbeginning with the three

small spreads owned by the Baronythe three of them had worked out the

previous evening. The pace this schedule sug gested was almost ludicrously

slowit would keep them on the Drop and in the or chards almost until Years End

Fairbut it conformed to the pace they had already set on the docks.

Now the two of them rode silently toward town, both lost in their own thoughts.

Their way took them past the Delgado house.

Roland looked up and saw Susan

sitting in her window, a bright vision in the gray light of that fall morning. His

heart leaped up and although he didnt know it then, it was how he would

remember her most clearly forever after

lovely Su san, the girl at the window.

So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by

the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the comers of our eyes,

if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if

ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather

up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and

catch ing up, little by little.

Roland raised a hand to her. It went toward his mouth at first, wanting to send her

a kiss, but that would be madness. He lifted the hand before it could touch his lips and ticked a finger off his forehead instead, of fering a saucy little salute.

Susan smiled and returned it in kind. None saw Cordelia, who had gone out in the

drizzle to check on the last of her squash and sharp root. That lady stood where she

was, a sombrero yanked down on her head al most to the eyeline, half-hidden by

the stuffyguy guarding the pumpkin patch. She watched Roland and Cuthbert

pass (Cuthbert she barely saw; her interest was in the other one). From the boy on horseback she looked up to Susan, sitting there in her window, humming as

blithely as a bird in a gilded cage.

A sharp splinter of suspicion whispered its way into Cordelias heart. Susans

change of temperamentfrom alternating bouts of sorrow and fearful anger to a

kind of dazed but mainly cheerful acceptance

had been so sudden. Mayhap it

wasnt acceptance at all.

Yere mad, she whispered to herself, but her hand remained tight on the haft of

the machete she held. She dropped to her knees in the muddy garden and abruptly

began chopping sharproot vines, tossing the roots themselves toward the side of the house with quick, accurate throws. Theres nothing between em. Id know.

Children of such an age have no more discretion than … than the drunks in the

Rest.

But the way they had smiled. The way they had smiled at each other.

Perfectly normal, she whispered, chopping and throwing. She cut a sharproot

nearly in half, ruining it, not noticing. The whis pering was a habit shed picked up only recently, as Reap Day neared and the stress es of coping with her brothers

troublesome daughter mounted. Folks smile at each other, thats all.

The same for the salute and Susans returning wave. Below, the hand some

cavalier, acknowledging the pretty maid; above, the maid herself, pleased to be

acknowledged by such as he. It was youth calling to youth, that was all. And yet

The look in his eyes … and the look in hers.

Nonsense, of course. But

But you saw something else.

Yes, perhaps. For a moment it had seemed to her that the young man was going to

blow Susan a kiss … then had remembered him self at the last moment and turned it into a salute, instead.

Even if ye did see such a thing, it means nothing.

Young cavaliers are saucy,

especially when out from beneath the gaze of their fathers. And these three

already have a history, as ye well know.

All true enough, but none of it removed that chilly splinter from her heart.

5J

onas answered Rolands knock and let the two boys into the Sheriffs of fice. He

was wearing a Deputys star on his shirt, and looked at them with expressionless

eyes. Boys, he said. Come in out of the wet.

He stepped back to allow them entrance. His limp was more pro nounced than

Roland had ever seen it; the wet weather was play ing it up, he supposed.

Roland and Cuthbert stepped in. There was a gas heater in the cor nertilled from

the candle at Citgo, no doubtand the big room, which had been cool on the

day they had first come here, was stuporously hot.

The three cells held five woefullook ing drunks, two pairs of men and a woman in the center cell by herself, sitting on the bunk with her legs spread wide, displaying a broad expanse of red drawers.

Roland feared that if she got her finger any farther up her nose, she might never

retrieve it. Clay Reynolds was leaning against the noticeboard, picking his teeth

with a broomstraw. Sitting at the rolltop desk was Deputy Dave, stroking his chin

and frowning through his monocle at the board which had been set up there.

Roland wasnt at all surprised to see that he and Bert had in terrupted a game of

Castles.

Well, look here, Eldred! Reynolds said. Its two of the InWorld boys! Do your

mommies know youre out, fellas

They do, Cuthbert said brightly. And youre look ing very well, sai Reynolds.

The wet weathers soothed your pox, has it

Without looking at Bert or losing his pleasant lit tle smile, Roland shot an elbow

into his friends shoulder. Pardon my friend, sai.

His humor regularly transgresses

the bounds of good taste; he doesnt seem able to help it. Theres no need for us to scratch at one anotherweve agreed to let by gones be bygones, havent we

Aye, certainly, all a misunderstanding, Jonas said. He limped back across to the desk and the game-board. As he sat down on his side of it, his smile turned to a

sour little grimace. Im worse than an old dog, he said. Someone ought to put

me down, so they should. Earths cold but painless, eh, boys

He looked back at the board and moved a man around to the side of his Hillock.

He had begun to Castle, and was thus vulnerable … although not very, in this

case, Roland thought; Deputy Dave didnt look like much in the way of

competition.

I see youre working for the Barony salt now, Roland said, nodding at the star on

Jonass shirt.

Salts what it amounts to, Jonas said, companion ably enough. A fellow went legbroke.

Im helping out, thats all.

And sai Reynolds Sai Depape Are they helping out as well

Yar, I reckon, Jonas said. How goes your work among the fisherfolk Slow, I

hear.

Done at last. The work wasnt so slow as we were.

But coming here in disgrace

was enough for uswe have no intention of leav ing that way. Slow and steady

wins the race, they say.

So they do, Jonas agreed. Whoever they are.

From somewhere deeper in the building there came the whoosh of a water-stool

flushing. All the comforts of home in the Hambry Sheriffs, Roland thought. The

flush was soon followed by heavy footsteps de scending a staircase, and a few

moments later, Herk Avery appeared. With one hand he was buckling his belt;

with the other he mopped his broad and sweaty fore head. Roland admired the

mans dexterity.

Whew! the Sheriff exclaimed. Them beans I ate last night took the shortcut, I

tell ye. He looked from Roland to Cuthbert and then back to Roland. Why, boys!

Too wet for net-counting, is it

Sai Dearborn was just saying that their net-count ing days are at an end, Jonas

said. He combed back his long hair with the tips of his fin gers. Beyond him, Clay

Reynolds had resumed his slouch against the no ticeboard, looking at Roland and

Cuthbert with open dislike.

Aye Well, thats fine, thats fine. Whats next, young sters And is there any way

we here can help ye For thats what we like to do best, lend a hand where a hands

needed. So it is.

Actually, you could help us, Roland said. He reached into his belt and pulled out the list. We have to move on to the Drop, but we dont want to inconvenience

anyone.

Grinning hugely, Deputy Dave slid his Squire all the way around his own Hillock.

Jonas Castled at once, ripping open Daves entire left flank. The grin faded from

Daves face, leaving a puzzled emptiness. Howd ye manage that

Easy. Jonas smiled, then pushed back from the desk to include the others in his

regard. You want to remember, Dave, that I play to win. I cant help it; its just

my nature. He turned his full attention to Roland.

His smile broadened. Like the

scorpion said to the maiden as she lay dy ing, You knowed I was poison when

you picked me up. 

6

When Susan came in from feeding the livestock, she went directly to the coldpantry for the juice, which was her habit. She didnt see her aunt standing in the

chimney comer and watching her, and when Cordelia spoke, Susan was startled badly. It wasnt just the unexpectedness of the voice; it was the coldness of it.

Do ye know him

The juice-jug slipped in her fingers, and Susan put a steadying hand beneath it.

Orange juice was too precious to waste, espe cially this late in the year. She turned and saw her aunt by the woodbox. Cordelia had hung her sombrero on a hook in

the entryway, but she still wore her serape and muddy boots. Her cuchillo lay on

top of the stacked wood, with green strands of sharp root vine still trailing from its

edge. Her tone was cold, but her eyes were hot with suspicion.

A sudden clarity filled Susans mind and all of her senses. If you say No,  youre

damned, she thought. If you even ask who, you may be damned. You must say

I know them both, she replied in offhand fashion. I met them at the party. So

did you. Ye frightened me, Aunt.

Why did he salute ye so

How can I know Perhaps he just felt like it.

Her aunt bolted forward, slipped in her muddy boots, regained her balance, and

seized Susan by the arms. Now her eyes were blaz ing. Ben’t insolent with me,

girl! Ben’t haughty with me, Miss Oh So Young and Pretty, or Ill

Susan pulled backward so hard that Cordelia stag gered and might have fallen

again, if the table had not been handy to grab. Be hind her, muddy foot-tracks

stood out on the clean kitchen floor like accusa tions. Call me that again and Ill . .

. Ill slap thee! Susan cried. So I will!

Cordelias lips drew back from her teeth in a dry, fe rocious smile. Yed slap your

fathers only living blood kin Would ye be so bad

Why not Do ye not slap me, Aunt

Some of the heat went out of her aunts eyes, and the smile left her mouth. Susan!

Hardly ever! Not half a dozen times since ye were a tod dler who would grab

anything her hands could reach, even a pot of boil ing water on the

Its with thy mouth thee mostly hits nowadays, Su san said. Ive put up with

itmore fool mebut am done with it now. Ill have no more. If Im old enough

to be sent to a mans bed for money, Im old enough for ye to keep a civil tongue

when ye speak to me.

Cordelia opened her mouth to defend herselfthe girls anger had startled her, and so had her accusationsand then she realized how clev erly she was being led

away from the subject of the boys. Of the boy.

Ye only know him from the party, Susan Its Dearborn I mean. As I think ye

well know.

Ive seen him about town, Susan said. She met her aunts eyes steadily, although

it cost her an effort; lies would follow half-truths as dark followed dusk. Ive seen

all three of them about town. Are ye satisfied No, Susan saw with mounting

dismay, she was not. Do ye swear to me, Susan

on your fathers namethat

yeve not been meeting this boy Dearborn

All the rides in the late afternoon, Susan thought.

All the excuses. All the care that no one should see us. And it all comes down to a careless wave on a rainy

morning. That easily alls put at risk. Did we think it could be otherwise Were we

that foolish

Yes

and no. The truth was they had been mad. And still were. Susan kept

remembering the look of her fathers eyes on the few oc casions when he had

caught her in a fib. That look of half-curious disap pointment. The sense that her

fibs, innocuous as they might be, had hurt him like the scratch of a thorn.

I will swear to nothing, she said. Yeve no right to ask it of me. Swear!

Cordelia cried shrilly. She groped out for the table again and grasped it, as if for

balance. Swear it! Swear it! This is no game of jacks or tag or Johnny-jump-mypony!

Thees not a child any longer! Swear to me!

Swear that theere still pure!

No, Susan said, and turned to leave. Her heart was beating madly, but still that

awful clarity informed the world. Roland would have known it for what it was: she

was seeing with gunslingers eyes. There was a glass window in the kitchen,

looking out toward the Drop, and in it she saw the ghostly reflection of Aunt Cord

coming toward her, one arm raised, the hand at the end of it knotted into a fist.

Without turning, Susan put up her own hand in a halting gesture. Raise that not to me, she said. Raise it not, ye bitch.

She saw the reflections ghost-eyes widen in shock and dismay. She saw the ghostfist relax, become a hand again, fall to the ghostwomans side.

Susan, Cordelia said in a small, hurt voice. How can ye call me so Whats so

coarsened your tongue and your regard for me

Susan went out without replying. She crossed the yard and entered the bam. Here

the smells she had known since childhoodhorses, lum ber, hayfilled her head

and drove the awful clarity away. She was tumbled back into childhood, lost in the

shadows of her confusion again. Pylon turned to look at her and whickered. Susan

put her head against his neck and cried.

7 

There! Sheriff Avery said when sais Dearborn and Heath were gone. Its as ye

saidjust slow is all they are; just creeping careful.

He held the meticulously

printed list up, studied it a moment, then cackled hap pily. And look at this! What

a beauty! Har! We can move anything we dont want em to see days in advance, so

we can.

Theyre fools, Reynolds said … but he pined for an other chance at them, just

the same. If Dearborn really thought bygones were bygones over that little

business in the Travellers Rest, he was way past foolish ness and dwelling in the

land of idiocy.

Deputy Dave said nothing. He was looking dis consolately through his monocle at the Castles board, where his white army had been laid waste in six quick moves.

Jonass forces had poured around Red Hillock like water, and Daves hopes had

been swept away in the flood.

Im tempted to wrap myself up dry and go over to Seafront with this, Avery said.

He was still gloating over the paper, with its neat list of farms and ranches and

proposed dates of inspection. Up to Years End and beyond it ran. Gods!

Why dont ye do that Jonas said, and got to his feet.

Pain ran up his leg like

bitter lightning.

Another game, sai Jonas Dave asked, begin ning to reset the pieces.

Id rather play a weed-eating dog, Jonas said, and took malicious pleasure at the

flush that crept up Daves neck and stained his guile less fools face. He limped

across to the door, opened it, and went out on the porch. The drizzle had become a

soft, steady rain. Hill Street was de serted, the cob bles gleaming wetly.

Reynolds had followed him out. Eldred

Get away, Jonas said without turning.

Clay hesitated a moment, then went back inside and closed the door.

What the hells wrong with you Jonas asked himself.

He should have been pleased at the two young pups and their listas pleased as

Avery was, as pleased as Rimer would be when he heard about this mornings

visit. After all, hadnt he told Rimer not three days ago that the boys would soon

be over on the Drop, counting their little hearts out Yes. So why did he feel so

unsettled So fucking jittery Because there ^Bt still hadnt been any contact

from Parsons man, Latigo Because Rey nolds came back empty from Hanging

Rock on one day and Depape came back empty the next Surely not. Latigo would

come, along with a goodly troop of men, but it was still too soon for them, and

Jonas knew it. Reap ing was still almost a month away.So is it just the bad weather working on your leg, stirring up that old wound and

making you ugly

No. The pain was bad, but it had been worse before.

The trouble was his head.

Jonas leaned against a post beneath the overhang, listened to the rain plinking on

the tiles, and thought how, sometimes in a game of Cas tles, a clever player would

peek around his Hillock for just a moment, then duck back. That was what this felt

likeit was so right it smelled wrong. Crazy idea, but somehow not crazy at all.

Are you trying to play Castles with me, sprat

Jonas murmured. If so, youll

soon wish youd stayed home with your mommy. So you will.

8

Roland and Cuthbert headed back to the Bar K

along the Dropthere would be no

counting done today. At first, in spite of the rain and the gray skies, Cuthberts

good humor was almost entirely restored.

Did you see them he asked with a laugh. Did you see them, Roland … Will, I

mean They bought it, didnt they Swallowed that honey whole, they did!

Yes.

What do we do next Whats our next move

Roland looked at him blankly for a moment, as if startled out of a doze. The next

move is theirs. We count. And we wait.

Cuthberts good cheer collapsed in a puff, and he once more found himself having

to restrain a flood of recrimination, all whirling around two basic ideas: that

Roland was shirking his duty so he could continue to wallow in the undeniable

charms of a certain young lady, andmore im por tantthat Roland had lost his

wits when all of MidWorld needed them the most.

Except what duty was Roland shirking And what made him so sure Roland was

wrong Logic Intuition Or just shitty old catbox jealousy Cuthbert found

himself thinking of the effortless way Jonas had ripped up Deputy Daves army

when Deputy Dave had moved too soon. But life was not like Castles

was it

He didnt know. But he thought he had at least one valid intuition: Roland was

heading for disaster. And so they all were.

Wake up, Cuthbert thought. Please, Roland, wake up before its too late.

CHAPTER III

playing castles

1

There followed a week of the sort of weather that makes folk apt to crawl back

into bed after lunch, take long naps, and wake feel ing stupid and dis oriented. It

was far from flood-weather, but it made the final phase of the apple-picking

dangerous (there were several broken legs, and in Seven-Mile Orchard a young

woman fell from the top of her ladder, breaking her back), and the potato-fields

became difficult to work; almost as much time was spent freeing wagons stuck in

the gluey rows as was spent actually picking. In Green Heart, what decorations

had been done for the Reaping Fair grew sodden and had to be pulled down. The

work volunteers waited with increasing ner vousness for the weather to break so they could begin again.

It was bad weather for young men whose job it was to take inventory, although

they were at least able to begin visiting barns and counting stock. It was good

weather for a young man and young woman who had discovered the joys of

physical love, you would have said, but Roland and Susan met only twice during

the run of gray weather. The danger of what they were doing was now almost

palpable.

The first time was in an abandoned boathouse on the Seacoast Road. The second

was in the far end of the crumbling building below and to the east of Citgothey

made love with furious intensity on one of Rolands saddleblankets, which was spread on the floor of what had once been the oil re finerys cafeteria. As Susan

climaxed, she shrieked his name over and over.

Startled pigeons filled the old,

shadowy rooms and crumbling hallways with their soft thunder.

2

Just as it seemed that the drizzle would never end and the grinding sound of the

thinny in the still air would drive everyone in Ham bry insane, a strong

windalmost a galeblew in off the ocean and puffed the clouds away. The

town awoke one day to a sky as bright as blue steel and a sun that turned the bay

to gold in the morning and white fire in the after noon. That sense of lethargy was

gone. In the potato fields the carts rolled with new vigor. In Green Heart an army

of women began once more to bedeck with flow ers the podium where Jamie

McCann and Susan Delgado would he ac claimed this years Reaping Lad and Girl.

Out on the part of the Drop closest to Mayors House, Roland, Cuthbert, and Alain rode with renewed purpose, counting the horses which ran with the Barony brand

on their flanks. The bright skies and brisk winds filled them with energy and good

cheer, and for a course of daysthree, or perhaps fourthey galloped together in

a whooping, shouting, laugh ing line, their old good fellowship restored.

On one of these brisk and sunny days, Eldred Jonas stepped out of the Sheriffs

office and walked up Hill Street toward Green Heart.

He was free of both Depape

and Reynolds this morningthey had ridden out to Hanging Rock together,

looking for Latigos outriders, who must come soon, nowand Jonass plan was

simple: to have a glass of beer in the pavilion, and watch the preparations that

were going on there: the dig ging of the roastingpits, the laying of faggots for the bonfire, the argu ments over how to set the mortars that would shoot off the

fireworks, the ladies flowering the stage where this years Lad and Girl would be

offered for the towns adulation. Perhaps, Jonas thought, he might take a likelylook ing flower-girl off for an hour or two of recre ation. The maintenance of the

saloon whores he left strictly to Roy and Clay, but a fresh young flower-girl of

seventeen or so was a different matter.

The pain in his hip had faded with the damp weath er; the painful, lurching stride

with which he had moved for the last week or so had be come a mere limp again.

Perhaps just a beer or two in the open air would be enough, but the thought of a

girl wouldnt quite leave his head. Young, clearskinned, high-breasted. Fresh,

sweet breath. Fresh, sweet lips

Mr. Jonas Eldred

He turned, smiling, to the owner of the voice. No dewy-complexioned flower-girl

with wide eyes and moist, parted lips stood there, but a skinny woman edging into

late middle ageflat chest, flat bum, tight pale lips, hair scrooped so tight against

her skull that it fair screamed. Only the wide eyes corresponded with his

daydream. I believe Ive made a con quest, Jonas thought sardonically.

Why, Cordelia! he said, reaching out and taking one of her hands in both of his.

How lovely you look this morning!

Thin color came up in her cheeks and she laughed a little. For a mo ment she

looked forty-five instead of sixty. And shes not six ty, Jonas thought. The lines

around her mouth and the shadows under her eyes .

. . those are new.

Youre very kind, she said, but I know better. I havent been sleep ing, and

when women my age dont sleep, they grow old rapidly.

Im sorry to hear youre sleeping badly, he said.

But now that the weathers

changed, perhaps

Its not the weather. Might I speak to you, Eldred Ive thought and thought, and

youre the only one I dare turn to for advice.

His smile widened. He placed her hand through his arm, then covered it with his

own. Now her blush was like fire. With all that blood in her head, she might talk

for hours. And Jonas had an idea that every word would be interesting.

3

With women of a certain age and temperament, tea was more effective than wine

when it came to loosening the tongue. Jonas gave up his plans for a lager (and,

perhaps, a flower-girl) without so much as a sec ond thought. He seated sai

Delgado in a sunny comer of the Green Heart pavilion (it was not far from a red rock Roland and Susan knew well), and ordered a large pot of tea; cakes, too.

They watched the Reaping Fair preparations go forward as they waited for the

food and drink. The sunswept park was full of ham mering and sawing and shouts

and bursts of laughter.

All FairDays are pleasant, but Reaping turns us all into children again, dont you find Cordelia asked.

Yes, indeed, said Jonas, who hadnt felt like a child even when he had been one.

What I still like best is the bonfire, she said, look ing toward the great pile of

sticks and boards that was being constructed at the far end of the park, eater-corner from the stage. It looked like a large wooden tepee.

I love it when the townsfolk

bring their stuffyguys and throw them on. Barbaric, but it always gives me such a

pleasant shiver.

Aye, Jonas said, and wondered if it would give her a pleasant shiver to know

that three of the stuffyguys thrown onto the Reap Night bonfire this year were apt

to smell like pork and scream like harpies as they burned. If his luck was in, the

one that screamed the longest would be the one with the pale blue eyes.

The tea and cakes came, and Jonas didnt so much as glance at the girls full bosom

when she bent to serve. He had eyes only for the fas ci nating sai Delgado, with her

nervous little shifting movements and odd, des perate look.

When the girl was gone, he poured out, put the teapot back on its trivet, then

covered her hand with his. Now, Cordelia, he said in his warmest tone. I can

see something troubles you. Out with it. Confide in your friend Eldred.

Her lips pressed so tightly together that they al most disappeared, but not even that effort could stop their trembling. Her eyes filled with tears; swam with them;

overspilled. He took his napkin and, leaning across the table, wiped the tears

away.

Tell me, he said tenderly.

I will. I must tell somebody or go mad. But you must make one promise, Eldred.

Of course, molly. He saw her blush more furious ly than ever at this harmless

endearment, and squeezed her hand. Anything.

You mustnt tell Hart. That disgusting spider of a Chancellor, either, but

especially not the Mayor. If Im right in what I sus pect and he found out, he could

send her west! She almost moaned this, as if com prehend ing it as a real fact for

the first time. He could send us both west!

Maintaining his sympathetic smile, he said: Not a word to Mayor Thorin, not a

word to Kimba Rimer. Promise.

For a moment he thought that she wouldnt take the plunge

or per haps couldnt.

Then, in a low, gaspy voice that sounded like ripping cloth, she said a single word.

Dearborn.

He felt his heart take a bump as the name that had been so much in his mind now

passed her lips, and although he continued to smile, he could not forbear a single hard squeeze of her fingers that made her wince.

Im sorry, he said. Its just that you startled me a little. Dearborn

a wellspo

ken enough lad, but 1 wonder if hes entirely trustworthy.

I fear hes been with my Susan. Now it was her turn to squeeze, but Jonas didnt

mind. He hardly felt it, in fact. He continued to smile, hoping he did not look as

flabbergasted as he felt. I fear hes been with her

as a man is with a woman. Oh, how horrible this is!

She wept with a silent bitterness, taking little pecking peeks around as she did to make sure they were not being observed. Jonas had seen coy otes and wild dogs

look around from their stinking dinners in just that fashion. He let her get as much

of it out of her system as he couldhe wanted her calm; incoherencies wouldnt

help himand when he saw her tears slackening, he held out a cup of tea. Drink

this.

Yes. Thank you. The tea was still hot enough to steam, but she drank it down

greedily. Her old throat must be lined with slate, Jonas thought. She set the cup

down, and while he poured out fresh, she used her frilly panuelo to scrub the tears

almost viciously from her face.

I dont like him, she said. Dont like him, dont trust him, none of those three

with their fancy InWorld bows and insolent eyes and strange ways of talking, but

him in particular. Yet if anythings gone on betwixt the two of em (and Im so

afraid it has), it comes back to her, doesnt it Its the woman, after all, who must

refuse the bestial impulses.

He leaned over the table, looking at her with warm sympathy. Tell me

everything, Cordelia.

She did.

4

Rhea loved everything about the glass ball, but what she especially loved was the

way it unfailingly showed her people at their vilest.

Never in its pink reaches did

she see one child comforting another after a fall at play, or a tired husband with his head in his wifes lap, or old people supping peacefully together at the end of the day; these things held no more inter est for the glass, it seemed, than they did for

her.

Instead she had seen acts of incest, mothers beating children, hus bands beating wives. She had seen a gang of boys out westrds of town (it would have amused

Rhea to know these swaggering eight-year-olds called themselves the Big Coffin

Hunters) go about enticing stray dogs with a bone and then cutting off their tails

for a lark. She had seen rob beries, and at least one murder: a wandering man who

had stabbed his companion with a pitchfork after some sort of trivial argument.

That had been on the first drizzly night. The body still lay mouldering in a ditch

be side the Great Road West, covered with a layer of straw and weeds. It might be

discovered before the autumn storms came to drown another year; it might not.

She also glimpsed Cordelia Delgado and that hard gun, Jonas, sitting in Green

Heart at one of the outside tables and talking about … well, of course she didnt know, did she But she could see the look in the spin ster bitchs eyes. Infatuated

with him, she was, all pink in the face. Gone all hot and sweet over a backshooter

and failed gunslinger. It was comical, aye, and Rhea thought she would keep an

eye on them, from time to time. Wery entertaining, it would likely be.

After showing her Cordelia and Jonas, the glass veiled itself once more. Rhea put

it back in the box with the eye on the lock. Seeing Cordelia in the glass had

reminded the old woman that she had unfin ished business regarding Cordelias sluttish niece. That Rhea still hadnt done that busi ness was ironic but

understandableas soon as she had seen how to fix the young sais wagon, Rheas

mind and emotions had settled again, the images in the ball had reappeared, and in her fascination with them Rhea had temporarily forgotten that Susan Delgado was

alive. Now, how ever, she remembered her plan.

Set the cat among the pigeons.

And speak ing of cats

Musty! Yoo-hoo, Musty, where are ye

The cat came oiling out of the woodpile, eyes glow ing in the dirty dimness of the

hut (when the weather turned fine again, Rhea had pulled her shutters to), forked

tail waving. He jumped into her lap.

Ive an errand for ye, she said, bending over to lick the cat. The en trancing taste

of Mustys fur filled her mouth and throat.

Musty purred and arched his back against her lips. For a six-legged mutie cat, life

was good.

5J

onas got rid of Cordelia as soon as he couldal though not as soon as he would

have liked, because he had to keep the scrawny bint sweetened up. She might

come in handy another time. In the end he had kissed her on the comer of her

mouth (which caused her to turn so violently red he feared she might have a brainstorm) and told her that he would check into the mat ter which so concerned her.

But discreetly! she said, alarmed.

Yes, he said, walking her home, he would be dis creet; discretion was his middle

name. He knew Cordelia wouldntcouldntbe eased until she knew for sure,

but he guessed it would turn out to be nothing but va por. Teenagers loved to

dramatize, didnt they And if the young lass saw that her aunt was afraid of

something, she might well feed aunties fears in stead of allaying them.

Cordelia had stopped by the white picket fence that divided her garden-plot from

the road, an expression of sublime relief coming over her face. Jonas thought she

looked like a mule having its back scratched with a stiff brush.

Why, I never thought of that

yet its likely, isnt it

Likely enough, Jonas had said, but Ill still check in to it most care fully. Better

safe than sorry. He kissed the comer of her mouth again. And not a word to the

fellows at Seafront. Not a hint.

Thankee, Eldred! Oh, thankee! And she had hugged him before hurrying in, her tiny breasts pressing like stones against the front of his shirt. Mayhap Ill sleep

tonight, after all!

She might, but Jonas wondered if he would.

He walked toward Hockeys stable, where he kept his horse, with his head down

and his hands locked behind his back. A gaggle of boys came racing up the other

side of the street; two of them were waving severed dogs tails with blood clotted

at the ends.

Coffin Hunters! Were Big Coffin Hunters just like you! one called impudently

across to him.

Jonas drew his gun and pointed it at themit was done in a flash, and for a

moment the terrified boys saw him as he really was: with his eyes blazing and his lips peeled back from his teeth, Jonas looked like a white-haired wolf in mans

clothes.

Get on, you little bastards! he snarled. Get on be fore I blow you loose of your

shoes and give your fathers cause to celebrate!

For a moment they were frozen, and then they fled in a howling pack. One had left

his trophy behind; the dogs tail lay on the board sidewalk like a grisly fan. Jonas

grimaced at the sight of it, bolstered his gun, locked his hands behind him again,

and walked on, looking like a parson meditating on the nature of the gods. And

what in gods name was he doing, pulling iron on a bunch of young hellions like

that

Being upset, he thought. Being worried.

He was worried, all right. The titless old biddys suspicions had upset him greatly.

Not on Thorins accountas far as Jonas was con cerned, Dearborn could fuck the

girl in the town square at high noon of Reaping Fair Daybut because it

suggested that Dearborn might have fooled him about other things.

Crept up behind you once, he did, and you swore it d never happen again. But if

hes been diddling that girl, it has happened again.

Hasnt it

Aye, as they said in these parts. If the boy had had the impertinence to begin an

affair with the Mayors gilly-in-waiting, and the incredible slyness to get away

with it, what did that do to Jonass picture of three InWorld brats who could

barely find their own behinds with both hands and a candle

We underestimated em once and they made us look like monkeys, Clay had said. I dont want it to happen again.

Had it happened again How much, really, did Dearborn and his friends know

How much had they found out And who had they told If Dearborn had been able

to get away with pronging the Mayors chosen

to put something that large over

on Eldred Jonas

on everyone …

Good day, sai Jonas, Brian Hookey said. He was grinning widely, all but

kowtowing before Jonas with his sombrero crushed against his broad blacksmiths chest. Would ye care for fresh graf, sai Ive just got ten the new pressing, and

All I want is my horse, Jonas said curtly. Bring it quick and stop your

quacking.

Aye, so I will, happy to oblige, thankee-sai. He hurried off on the errand, taking

one nervous, grinning look back over his shoulder to make sure he wasnt going to

be shot out of hand.

Ten minutes later Jonas was headed west on the Great Road. He felt a ridiculous

but nevertheless strong desire to simply kick his horse into a gallop and leave all

this foolishness behind him: Thorin the graying goat-boy, Roland and Susan with

their no-doubt mawkish teenage love, Roy and Clay with their fast hands and slow

wits. Rimer with his ambitions, Cordelia Delgado with her ghastly visions of the

two of them in some bosky dell, him likely reciting poetry while she wove a

garland of flowers for his brow.

He had ridden away from things before, when intu ition whispered; plenty of

things. But there would be no riding away this time.

He had vowed vengeance on

the brats, and while he had broken a bushel of promises made to others, hed never broken one made to himself.

And there was John Farson to consider. Jonas had never spoken to the Good Man

himself (and never wanted to; Farson was re puted to be whim sically, dangerously insane), but he had had dealings with George Lati go, who would probably be

leading the troop of Farsons men that would ar rive any day now. It was Latigo

who had hired the Big Coffin Hunters in the first place, paying a huge cash

advance (which Jonas hadnt yet shared with Reynolds and Depape) and promising an even larger piece of war-spoil if the Affilia tions major forces were wiped out in or around the Shaved Mountains.

Latigo was a good-sized bug, all right, but nothing to the size of the bug trundling

along behind him. And besides, no large reward was ever achieved without risk. If they delivered the horses, oxen, wagons of fresh vegetables, the tack, the oil, the glassmost of all the wizards glassall would be well. If they failed, it was very

likely that their heads would end up being whacked about by Farson and his aides

in their nightly polo games. It could happen, and Jonas knew it. No doubt someday

it would happen. But when his head finally parted company from his shoulders,

the divorce wouldnt be caused by any such smarms as Dearborn and his friends,

no matter whose bloodline they had descended from.

But if hes been having an affair with Thorin s au tumn treat … if hes been able to keep such a secret as that, what others has he been keeping Perhaps he is

playing Castles with you.

If so, he wouldnt play for long. The first time young Mr.

Dearborn poked his nose

around his Hillock, Jonas would be there to shoot it off for him.

The question for the present was where to go first.

Out to the Bar K, to take a long

overdue look at the boys living quarters He could; they would be counting

Barony horses on the Drop, all three of them. But it wasnt over horses that he

might lose his head, was it No, the horses were just a small added attraction, as

far as the Good Man was concerned.

Jonas rode for Citgo instead.

6

First he checked the tankers. They were just as had been and should be lined up

in a neat row with their new wheels ready to roll when the time came, and hidden

behind their new camouflage. Some of the screening pine branches were turning yellow at the tips, but the recent spell of rain had kept most admirably fresh. There

had been no tampering that Jonas could see.

Next he climbed the hill, walking beside the pipeline and pausing more and more

frequently to rest; by the time he reached the rot ting gate between the slope and

the oilpatch, his bad leg was paining him severely.

He studied the gate, frowning

over the smudges he saw on the top rung. They might mean nothing, but Jonas

thought someone might have climbed over the gate rather than risk opening it and

having it fall off its hinges.

He spent the next hour strolling around the derricks, paying espe cially close

attention to those that still worked, looking for sign.

He found plenty of tracks, but

it was impossible (especially after a week of wet weather) to read them with any degree of accuracy. The InWorld boys might have been out here; that ugly little band of brats from town might have been out here; Arthur Eld and the whole

company of his knights might have been out here.

The ambiguity put Jonas in a

foul temper, as ambiguity (other than on a Cas tles board) always did.

He started back the way hed come, meaning to descend the slope to his horse and ride back to town. His leg was aching like fury, and he wanted a stiff drink to quiet

it down. The bunkhouse at the Bar K could wait an other day.

He got halfway to the gate, saw the weedy spur track tying Citgo to the Great

Road, and sighed. There would be nothing on that lit tle strip of road to see, but

now that hed come all the way out here, he supposed he should finish the job.

Bugger finishing the job, I want a damned drink.

But Roland wasnt the only one who sometimes found his wishes overruled by

training. Jonas sighed, rubbed at his leg, then walked back to the weedy twin ruts.

Where, it seemed, there was something to find af ter all.

It lay in the grassy ditch less than a dozen paces from the place where the old road

joined the Great Road. At first he saw only a smooth white shape in the weeds and

thought it was a stone. Then he saw a black roundness that could only be an

eyehole. Not a stone, then; a skull.

Grunting, Jonas knelt and fished it out while the few living derricks continued to

squeal and thump behind him. A rooks skull. He had seen it before. Hell, he

suspected most of the town had. It belonged to the showoff, Arthur Heath

who,

like all showoffs, needed his little props.

He called it the lookout, Jonas murmured. Put it on the horn of his saddle

sometimes, didnt he And sometimes wore it around his neck like a pendant.

Yes. The youngster had been wearing it so that night in the Travellers Rest,

when

Jonas turned the birds skull. Something rattled in side like a last lonely thought.

Jonas tilted it, shook it over his open palm, and a fragment of gold chain dropped

out. That was how the boy had been wearing it. At some point the chain had

broken, the skull had fallen in the ditch, and sai Heath had never troubled to go

looking for it. The thought that someone might find it had probably never crossed

his mind. Boys were careless. It was a wonder any ever grew up to be men.

Jonass face remained calm as he knelt there ex amining the birds skull, but behind the unlined brow he was as furious as he had ev er been in his life. They had been out here, all rightit was another thing he would have scoffed at just yesterday.

He had to assume they had seen the tankers, cam ouflage or no camouflage, and if

not for the chance of finding this skull, he never would have known for sure, one

way or the other.

When I finish with em, their eyesocketsll be as empty as yours. Sir Rook. Ill

gouge em clean myself.

He started to throw the skull away, then changed his mind. It might come in

handy. Carrying it in one hand, he started back to where hed left his horse.

7

Coral Thorin walked down High Street toward the Travellers Rest, her head

thumping rustily and her heart sour in her breast.

She had been up only an hour,

but her hangover was so miserable it felt like a day already. She was drinking too

much of late and she knew italmost every night nowbut she was very careful

not to take more than one or two (and al ways light ones) where folks could see.

So far, she thought no one sus pected. And as long as no one suspected, she

supposed she would keep on. How else to bear her idiotic brother This idiotic

town And, of course, the knowledge that all of the ranchers in the Horsemens

Associa tion and at least half of the large landown ers were traitors Fuck the

Af filiation, she whispered. Better a bird in the hand.

But did she really have a bird in the hand Did any of them Would 1-arson keep

his promisespromises made by a man named Latigo and passed on by their own

inimitable Kimba Rimer Coral had her doubts; despots had such a convenient

way of forgetting their promises, and birds in the hand such an irritating way of

pecking your fingers, shitting in your palm, and then flying away. Not that it

mattered now; she had made her bed. Besides, folks would always want to drink

and gamble and rut, re gardless of who they bowed their knees to or in whose

name their taxes were collected.

Still, when the voice of old demon conscience whis pered, a few drinks helped to

still its lips.

She paused outside Cravens Undertaking Par lor, looking upstreet at the laughing boys on their ladders, hanging paper lanterns from high poles and building eaves.

These gay lamps would be lit on the night of the Reap Fair, filling Hambrys main

street with a hundred shades of soft, conflicting light.

For a moment Coral remembered the child she had been, looking at the colored

paper lanterns with wonder, listening to the shouts and the rattle of fireworks, listening to the dance-music coming from Green Heart as her father held her hand

… and, on his other side, her big brother Harts hand. In this memory, Hart was

proudly wearing his first pair of long trousers.

Nostalgia swept her, sweet at first, then bitter. The child had grown into a sallow

woman who owned a saloon and whorehouse (not to men tion a great deal of land

along the Drop), a woman whose only sexual part ner of late was her brothers

Chancellor, a woman whose chief goal upon arising these days was getting to the hair of the dog that bit her as soon as possible.

How, exactly, had things turned out so This woman whose eyes she used was the last woman the child she had been

would have expected to become.

Where did I go wrong she asked herself, and laughed. Oh dear Man Jesus,

where did this straying sinner-child go wrong Can you say hallelujah. She

sounded so much like the wandering preacherwoman that had come through town

the year beforePittston, her name had been, Sylvia Pittstonthat she laughed

again, this time almost naturally. She walked on toward the Rest with a better will.

Sheemie was outside, tending to the remains of his silkflowers. He waved to her

and called a greeting. She waved back and called something in return. A good

enough lad, Sheemie, and although she could have found an other easily enough,

she supposed she was glad Depape hadnt killed him.

The bar was almost empty but brilliantly lit, all the gas-jets flaring. It was clean, as well. Sheemie would have emptied the spittoons, but Coral guessed it was the

plump woman behind the bar who had done all the rest. The makeup couldnt hide

the sallowness of that womans cheeks, the hol lowness of her eyes, or the way her neck had started to go all crepey (seeing that sort of lizardy skin on a womans

neck always made Coral shiver inside).

It was Pettie the Trotter tending bar beneath The Romps stem glass gaze, and if

allowed to do so, she would continue until Stan ley appeared and banished her.

Pettie had said nothing out loud to Coralshe knew betterbut had made her

wants clear enough just the same. Her whoring days were almost at an end. She

desperately desired to go to work tending bar.

There was precedent for it, Coral

knewa female bartender at Forest Trees in Pass o the River, and there had been

another at Glencove, up the coast in Tavares, un til she had died of the pox. What

Pettie refused to see was that Stanley Ruiz was younger by fifteen years and in far better health. He would be pouring drinks under The Romp long after Pettie was

rotting (instead of Trotting) in a paupers grave.

Good even, sai Thorin, Pettie said. And before Coral could so much as open her

mouth, the whore had put a shot glass on the bar and filled it full of whiskey.

Coral looked at it with dismay. Did they all know, then I dont want that, she snapped. Why in Elds name would I Sun isnt even

down! Pour it back into the bottle, for yer fathers sake, and then get the hell out of here. Who dye think yer serving at five o the clock, anyway Ghosts

Petties face fell a foot; the heavy coat other make up actually seemed to crack

apart. She took the funnel from under the bar, stuck it in the neck of the bottle, and

poured the shot of whiskey back in. Some went onto the bar in spite of the funnel;

her plump hands (now ringless; her rings had been traded for food at the

mercantile across the street long since) were shak ing. Im sorry, sai. So I am. I

was only

I dont care what ye was only, Coral said, then turned a bloodshot eye on Sheb,

who had been sitting on his pianobench and leaf ing through old sheet-music.

Now he was staring toward the bar with his mouth hung open. And what are you

looking at, ye frog

Nothing, sai Thorin. I

Then go look at it somewhere else. Take this pig withee. Give her a bounce, why

dont ye Itll be good for her skin. It might even be good for yer own.

I-

Get out! Are ye deaf Both of ye!

Pettie and Sheb went away toward the kitchen in stead of the cribs up stairs, but it was all the same to Coral. They could go to hell as far as she was concerned.

Anywhere, as long as they were out of her aching face.

She went behind the bar and looked around. Two men playing cards over in the far

comer. That hardcase Reynolds was watching them and sipping a beer. There was another man at the far end of the bar, but he was staring off into space, lost in his own world. No one was paying any espe cial atten tion to sai Coral Thorin, and

what did it matter if they were If Pettie knew, they all knew.

She ran her finger through the puddle of whiskey on the bar, sucked it, ran it

through again, sucked it again. She grasped the bot tle, but before she could pour, a

spidery monstrosity with gray-green eyes leaped, hiss ing, onto the bar. Coral

shrieked and stepped back, dropping the whiskey bottle between her feet …

where, for a wonder, it didnt break. For a mo ment she thought her head would

break, insteadthat her swelling, throbbing brain would simply split her skull like

a rotten eggshell. There was a crash as the cardplayers overturned their table

getting up. Rey nolds had drawn his gun.

Nay, she said in a quavering voice she could hardly recognize. Her eyeballs

were pulsing and her heart was racing. People could die of fright, she realized that now. Nay, gentlemen, alls well.

The six-legged freak standing on the bar opened its mouth, bared its needle fangs,

and hissed again.

Coral bent down (and as her head passed below the level of her waist, she was

once more sure it was going to explode), picked up the bottle, saw that it was still

a quarter full, and drank directly from the neck, no longer caring who saw her do it

or what they thought.

As if hearing her thought, Musty hissed again. He was wearing a red collar this

afternoonon him it looked baleful rather than jaunty. Be neath it was tucked a

white scrap of paper.

Want me to shoot it a voice drawled. I will if you like. One slug and wont be

nothing left but claws. It was Jonas, standing just inside the batwings, and

although he looked not a whole lot better than she felt, Coral had no doubt he

could do it.

Nay. The old bitchll turn us all into locusts, or something like, if ye kill her

familiar.

What bitch Jonas asked, crossing the room.

Rhea Dubativo. Rhea of the Coos, shes called.

Ah! Not the bitch but the witch.

Shes both.

Jonas stroked the cats back. It allowed itself to be petted, even arch ing against his

hand, but he only gave it the single caress. Its fur had an unpleasant damp feel.

Would you consider sharing that he asked, nodding toward the bottle. Its

early, but my leg hurts like a devil sick of sin.

Your leg, my head, early or late. On the house.

Jonas raised his white eyebrows.

Count yer blessings and have at it, cully.

She reached toward Musty. He hissed again, but al lowed her to draw the note out

from under his collar. She opened it and read the five words that were printed

there:

Might I see Jonas asked. With the first drink down and warming his belly, the

world looked better.

Why not She handed him the note. Jonas looked, then handed it back. He had

almost forgotten Rhea, and that wouldnt have done at all. Ah, but it was hard to remember everything, wasnt it Just lately Jonas felt less like a hired gun than a cook trying to make all nine courses of a state din ner come out at the same time.

Luckily, the old hag had reminded him of her pres ence herself. Gods bless her

thirst. And his own, since it had landed him here at the right time.

Sheemie! Coral bawled. She could also feel the whiskey working; she felt

almost human again. She even wondered if El dred Jonas might be interested in a dirty evening with the Mayors sister

who knew what might speed the hours

Sheemie came in through the batwings, hands grimy, pink sombrera bouncing on

his back at the end of its cuerda. Aye, Coral Thorin!

Here I be!

She looked past him, calculating the sky. Not tonight, not even for Rhea; she

wouldnt send Sheemie up there after dark, and that was the end of it.

Nothing, she said in a voice that was gentler than usual. Go back to yer flowers,

and see that ye cover them well. It bids frosty.

She turned over Rheas note and scrawled a single word on it:

tomorrow

This she folded and handed to Jonas. Stick it un der that stinks collar for me, will ye I dont want to touch him.

Jonas did as he was asked. The cat favored them with a final wild green look, then leaped from the bar and vanished beneath the batwings.

Time is short, Coral said. She hadnt the slightest idea what she meant, but Jonas

nodded in what appeared to be perfect under standing. Would you care to go

upstairs with a closet drunk Im not much in the looks department, but I can still

spread em all the way to the edge of the bed, and I dont just lie there.

He considered, then nodded. His eyes were gleaming. This one was as thin as

Cordelia Delgado

but what a difference, eh What a differ ence! All right.

Ive been known to say some nasty thingsfair warn ing.

Dear lady, I shall be all ears.

She smiled. Her headache was gone. Aye. Ill just bet ye will.

Give me a minute. Dont move a step. He walked across to where Reynolds sat.

Drag up a chair, Eldred.

I think not. Theres a lady waiting.

Reynoldss gaze flicked briefly toward the bar.

Youre joking.

I never joke about women, Clay. Now mark me.

Reynolds sat forward, eyes intent. Jonas was grate ful this wasnt Depape. Roy

would do what you asked, and usually well enough, but only after youd explained

it to him half a dozen times.

Go to Lengyll, he said. Tell him we want to put about a dozen menno less

than tenout at yon oilpatch. Good men who can get their heads down and keep

them down and not snap the trap too soon on an am bush, if ambushings required.

Tell him Brian Hockeys to be in charge.Hes got a level head, which is more than

can be said for most of these poor things.

Reynoldss eyes were hot and happy. You expect the brats

Theyve been out there once, mayhap theyll be out again. If so, theyre to be

crossfired and knocked down dead. At once and with no warning. You

understand

Yar! And the tale after

Why, that the oil and the tankers must have been their business, Jonas said with

a crooked smile. To be taken to Farson, at their com mand and by confederates

unknown. Well be carried through the streets on the towns shoulders, come Reap.

Hailed as the men who rooted out the traitors.

Wheres Roy

Gone back to Hanging Rock. I saw him at noon. He says theyre coming, Eldred;

says when the wind swings into the east, he can hear ap proaching horse.

Maybe he only hears what he wants to hear. But he suspected Depape was right.

Jonass mood, at rock bottom when he stepped into the Travellers Rest, was now

very much on the rebound.

Well start moving the tankers soon, whether the brats come or not. At night, and

two by two, like the animals going on board Old Pas Ark. He laughed at this.

But well leave some, eh Like cheese in a trap.

Suppose the mice dont come

Jonas shrugged. If not one way, another. I intend to press them a lit tle more

tomorrow. I want them angry, and I want them con fused. Now go on about your

business. I have yon lady waiting.

Better you than me, Eldred.

Jonas nodded. He guessed that half an hour from now, he would have forgotten all

about his aching leg. Thats right, he said. You shed eat like fudge.

He walked back to the bar, where Coral stood with her arms folded. Now she

unfolded them and took his hands. The right she put on her left breast. The nipple

was hard and erect under his fingers. The forefin ger of his left hand she put in her mouth, and bit down lightly.

Shall we bring the bottle Jonas asked.

Why not said Coral Thorin.

8 If shed gone to sleep as drunk as had been her habit over the last few months, the

creak of the bedsprings wouldnt have awakened hera bomb-blast wouldnt have

awakened her. But although theyd brought the bot tle, it still stood on the nightta ble of the bedroom she maintained at the Rest (it was as big as any three of the

whores cribs put together), the level of the whiskey unchanged. She felt sore all

over her body, but her head was clear; sex was good for that much, anyway.

Jonas was at the window, looking out at the first gray traces of day light and

pulling his pants up. His bare back was covered with criss crossed scars. She

thought to ask him who had administered such a savage flogging and how hed

survived it, then decided shed do better to keep quiet.

Where are ye off to she asked.

I believe Im going to start by finding some paint

any shade will doand a

street-mutt still in possession of its tail. After that, sai, I dont think you want to

know.

Very well. She lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin. She felt she could

sleep for a week.

Jonas yanked on his boots and went to the door, buckling his gunbelt. He paused

with his hand on the knob. She looked at him, grayish eyes al ready half-filled

with sleep again.

Ive never had better, Jonas said.

Coral smiled. No, cully, she said. Nor I.

CHAPTER IV

Roland AND Cuthbert

1

Roland, Cuthbert, and Alain came out onto the porch of the Bar K bunkhouse

almost two hours after Jonas had left Corals room at the Trav ellers Rest. By then

the sun was well up over the horizon. They werent late risers by nature, but as

Cuthbert put it, We have a certain InWorld im age to maintain. Not laziness but

lounginess.

Roland stretched, arms spread toward the sky in a wide Y, then bent and grasped

the toes of his boots. This caused his back to crack le.

I hate that noise, Alain said. He sounded morose and sleepy. In fact, he had been

troubled by odd dreams and premonitions all nightthings which, of the three of them, only he was prey to. Because of the touch, perhapswith him it had always

been strong.

Thats why he does it, Cuthbert said, then clapped Alain on the shoulder. Cheer

up, old boy. Youre too handsome to be downheart ed.

Roland straightened, and they walked across the dusty yard toward the stables.

Halfway there, he came to a stop so sudden that Alain almost ran into his back.

Roland was looking east. Oh, he said in a funny, be mused voice. He even

smiled a little.

Oh Cuthbert echoed. Oh what, great leader Oh joy, I shall see the perfumed

lady anon, or oh rats, I must work with my smelly male companions all the

livelong day

Alain looked down at his boots, new and uncomfort able when they had left

Gilead, now sprung, trailworn, a little down at the heels, and as comfortable as

workboots ever got. Looking at them was better than look ing at his friends, for

the time being. There was always an edge to Cuth berts teasing these days; the old sense of fun had been replaced by something that was mean and unpleasant. Alain

kept expecting Roland to flash up at one of Cuth berts jibes, like steel that has

been struck by sharp flint, and knock Bert sprawling.

In a way, Alain almost

wished for it. It might clear the air.

But not the air of this morning.

Just oh, Roland said mildly, and walked on.

Cry your pardon, for I know youll not want to hear it, but Id speak a further

word about the pigeons, Cuthbert said as they saddled their mounts. I still

believe that a message

Ill make you a promise, Roland said, smiling.

Cuthbert looked at him with some mistrust. Aye

If you still want to send by flight tomorrow morning, well do so. The one you

choose shall be sent west to Gilead with a message of your devising banded to its

leg. What do you say, Arthur Heath Is it fair

Cuthbert looked at him for a moment with a suspi cion that hurt Alains heart. Then he also smiled. Fair, he said. Thank you.

And then Roland said something which struck Alain as odd and made that

prescient part of him quiver with disquiet. Dont thank me yet.

2 

I

dont want to go up there, sai Thorin, Sheemie said.

An unusual ex pression

had creased his normally smooth facea troubled and fearful frown. Shes a

scary lady. Scary as a beary, she is. Got a wart on her nose, right here. He

thumbed the tip of his own nose, which was small and smooth and well molded.

Coral, who might have bitten his head off for such hesitation only yesterday, was

unusually patient today. So true, she said. But Sheemie, she asked for ye

special, and she tips. Ye know she does, and well.

Wont help if she turns me into a beetle, Sheemie said morosely. Beetles cant

spend coppers.

Nevertheless, he let himself be led to where Caprichoso, the inns pack-mule, was tied. Barkie had loaded two small tuns over the mules back. One, filled with sand, was just there for balance. The other held a fresh pressing of the graf Rhea had a

taste for.

FairDays coming, Coral said brightly. Why, its not three weeks now.

Aye. Sheemie looked happier at this. He loved FairDays passion atelythe

lights, the firecrackers, the dancing, the games, the laughter. When FairDay came,

everyone was happy and no one spoke mean.

A young man with coppers in his pocket is sure to have a good time at the Fair,

Coral said.

Thats true, sai Thorin. Sheemie looked like some one who has just discovered

one of lifes great principles. Aye, truey-true, so it is.

Coral put Caprichosos rope halter into Sheemies palm and closed the fingers over

it. Have a nice trip, lad. Be polite to the old crow, bow yer best bow… and make

sure yere back down the hill before dark.

Long before, aye, Sheemie said, shivering at the very thought of still being up in

the Coos after nightfall. Long before, sure as loaves n fishes.

Good lad. Coral watched him off, his pink sombrero now clapped on his head,

leading the grumpy old pack-mule by its rope. And, as he dis appeared over the

brow of the first mild hill, she said it again: Good lad.

3J

onas waited on the flank of a ridge, belly-down in the tall grass, until the brats

were an hour gone from the Bar K. He then rode to the ridgetop and picked them

out, three dots four miles away on the brown slope. Off to do their daily duty. No

sign they suspected anything. They were smarter than he had at first given them

credit for

but nowhere near as smart as they thought they were.

He rode to within a quarter mile of the Bar Kex cept for the bunkhouse and

stable, a burned-out hulk in the bright sunlight of this early autumn dayand

tethered his horse in a copse of cottonwoods that grew around the ranch house

spring. Here the boys had left some washing to dry.

Jonas stripped the pants and

shirts off the low branches upon which they had been hung, made a pile of them,

pissed on them, and then went back to his horse.

The animal stamped the ground emphatically when Jonas pulled the dogs tail

from one of his saddlebags, as if saying he was glad to be rid of it. Jonas would be glad to be rid of it, too. It had begun giving off an un mistakable aroma. From the

other saddlebag he took a small glass jar of red paint, and a brush. These he had

obtained from Brian Hockeys eldest son, who was minding the livery stable

today. Sai Hookey himself would be out to Citgo by now, no doubt.

Jonas walked to the bunkhouse with no effort at con cealment … not that there

was much in the way of concealment to be had out here. And no one to hide from,

anyway, now that the boys were gone.

One of them had left an actual book Mercers Homilies and Medita tions-on the

seat of a rocking chair on the porch. Books were things of exquisite rarity in MidWorld, especially as one travelled out from the center. This was the first one,

except for the few kept in Seafront, that Jonas had seen since coming to Mejis. He

opened it. In a firm womans hand he read: To my dearest son, from his loving

MOTHER. Jonas tore j (Ins page out, opened his jar of paint, and dipped the tips

of his last two lingers inside. He blotted out the word MOTHER with the pad of

his third linger, then, using the nail of his pinky as a makeshift pen, printed CUNT

above MOTHER. He poked this sheet on a rusty nail head where it was sure to be

seen, then tore the book up and stamped on the pieces. Which boy had it belonged

to He hoped it was Dearborns, but it didnt really matter.

The first thing Jonas noticed when he went inside was the pigeons, cooing in their

cages. He had thought they might be using a helio to send (heir messages, but

pigeons! My! That was ever so much more trig!

Ill get to you in a few minutes, he said. Be patient, darlings; peck and shit

while you still can.

He looked around with some curiosity, the soft coo of the pigeons soothing in his

ears. Lads or lords Roy had asked the old man in Ritzy. The old man had said

maybe both. Neat lads, at the very least, from the way they kept their quarters,

Jonas thought. Well trained. Three bunks, all made.

Three piles of goods at the

foot of each, stacked up just as neat. In each pile he found a picture of a

motheroh, such good fellows they wereand in one he found a picture of both

parents. He had hoped for names, possibly doc uments of some kind (even love

letters from the girl, mayhap), but there was nothing like that. Lads or lords, they

were careful enough. Jonas removed the pictures from their frames and shredded

them. The goods he scattered to all points of the compass, destroying as much as

he could in the limited time he had. When he found a linen handkerchief in the

pocket of a pair of dress pants, he blew his nose on it and then spread it carefully

on the toes of the boys dress boots, so that the green splat would show to good

advantage. What could be more aggravating

more unsettlingthan to come

home after a hard day spent tallying stock and find some strangers snot on one of

your personals

The pigeons were upset now; they were inca pable of scolding like jays or rooks, but they tried to flutter away from him when he opened their cages. It did no good, of course. He caught them one by one and twisted their heads off. That much

accomplished, Jonas popped one bird beneath the strawtick pillow of each boy.

Beneath one of these pillows he found a small bonus: paper strips and a storagepen, undoubtedly kept for the composition of messages. He broke the pen and

flung it across the room. The strips he put in his own pocket. Paper always came

in handy.

With the pigeons seen to, he could hear better. He began walking slowly back and

forth on the board floor, head cocked, listening.

4

When Alain came riding up to him at a gallop, Roland ignored the boys strained

white face and burning, frightened eyes. I make it thirtyone on my side, he said,

all with the Barony brand, crown and shield. You

We have to go back, Alain said. Somethings wrong. Its the touch. Ive never

felt it so clear.

Your count Roland asked again. There were times, such as now, when he found

Alains ability to use the touch more annoying than helpful.

Forty. Or forty-one, I forget. And what does it mat ter Theyve moved what they

dont want us to count. Roland, didnt you hear me We have to go back!

Somethings wrong! Somethings wrong at our place /

Roland glanced toward Bert, riding peaceably some five hundred yards away.

Then he looked back at Alain, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Bert Hes numb to the touch and always has been you know it. Im not. You

know Im not! Roland, please! Whoever it is will see the pi geons! Maybe find our

guns! The normally phlegmatic Alain was nearly crying in his excitement and

dismay. If you wont go back with me, give me leave to go back by myself! Give

me leave, Roland, for your fathers sake!

For your fathers sake, I give you none, Roland said.

My count is thirtyone.

Yours is forty. Yes, well say forty. Fortys a good num ber good as any, I wot.

Now well change sides and count again.

Whats wrong with you Alain almost whispered.

He was looking at Roland as if

Roland had gone mad.

Nothing.

You knew! You knew when we left this morning!

Oh, I might have seen something, Roland said. A reflection, perhaps, but

do

you trust me, Al Thats what matters, I think. Do you trust me, or do you think I

lost my wits when I lost my heart As he does He jerked his head in Cuthberts

direction. Roland was looking at Alain with a faint smile on his lips, but his eyes

were ruthless and distant it was Rolands over-thehorizon look. Alain wondered if

Susan Delgado had seen that expression yet, and if she had, what she made of it.

I trust you. By now Alain was so confused that he didnt know for Mire if that

was a lie or the truth.

Good. Then switch sides with me. My count is thirtyone, mind.

Thirtyone, Alain agreed. He raised his hands, then dropped them hack to his

thighs with a slap so sharp his normally stolid mount laid his cars back and jigged a bit under him. Thirtyone.

I think we may go back early today, if thats any satisfaction to you, Roland said, and rode away. Alain watched him. Hed always wondered what went on in

Rolands head, but never more than now.

5

Creak. Creak-creak.

Here was what hed been listening for, and just as Jonas was about to give up the

hunt. He had expected to find their hidey-hole a lit tle closer to their beds, but they were trig, all right.

He went to one knee and used the blade of his knife to pry up the board which had

creaked. Under it were three bundles, each swad dled in dark strips of cotton cloth.

These strips were damp to the touch and smelled fra grantly of gun-oil. Jonas took

the bundles out and unwrapped each, curious to see what sort of calibers the

youngsters had brought. The answer turned out to be serviceable but

undistinguished. Two of the bun dles contained single five-shot revolvers of a

type then called (for no rea son I know) carvers. The third contained two guns,

six-shooters of higher quality than the carvers. In fact, for one heart-stopping

moment, Jonas thought he had found the big re volvers of a gunslingertrue-blue

steel barrels, sandalwood grips, bores like mine shafts. Such guns he could not

have left, no matter what the cost to his plans. See ing the plain grips was thus

something of a relief. Disappointment was nev er a thing you looked for, but it had a wonderful way of clearing the mind.

He rewrapped the guns and put them back, put the board back as well. A gang of

neer-do-well clots from town might possibly come out here, and might possibly

vandalize the unguarded bunkhouse, scatter ing what they didnt tear up, but find a hiding place such as this No, my son. Not likely.

Do you really think theyll believe it was hooligans from town that did this

They might; just because he had underestimat ed them to start with didnt mean he should turn about-face and begin overestimat ing them now. And he had the luxury of not needing to care. Either way, it would make them angry. Angry enough to

rush full-tilt around their Hillock, perhaps. To throw caution to the wind … and

reap the whirlwind.

Jonas poked the end of the severed dogs tail into one of the pigeon-cages, so it

stuck up like a huge, mocking feather. He used the paint to write such charmingly

boyish slogans as

and

on the walls. Then he left, standing on the porch for a moment to verify he still

had the Bar K to himself. Of course he did. Yet for a blink or two, there at the end,

hed felt uneasyalmost as though hed been scented. By some sort of InWorld

telepathy, mayhap.

There is such; you know it. The touch, its called.

Aye, but that was the tool of gunslingers, artists, and lunatics. Not of boys, be they

lords or just lads.

Jonas went back to his horse at a near-trot never theless, mounted, and rode toward

town. Things were reaching the boil, and there would be a lot to do before Demon

Moon rose full in the sky.

6

Rheas hut, its stone walls and the cracked guijarros of its roof slimed with moss,

huddled on the last hill of the Coos. Beyond it was a magnifi cent view

northwestthe Bad Grass, the desert, Hanging Rock, Eyebolt Canyonbut

scenic vistas were the last thing on Sheemies mind as he led Capriccioso

cautiously into Rheas yard not long after noon.

Hed been hungry for the last hour or so, but now the pangs were gone. He hated this place worse than any other in

Barony, even more than Citgo with its big towers al ways going creakedy-creak

and clangety-clang.

Sai he called, leading the mule into the yard.

Capi balked as they neared the

hut, planting his feet and lowering his neck, but when Sheemie tugged the halter,

he came on again. Sheemie was almost sorry.

Maam Nice old lady that wouldnt hurt a fly You therey-air Its good old

Sheemie with your graf. He smiled and held out his free hand, palm up, to

demonstrate his exquisite harmlessness, but from the hut there was still no

response. Sheemie felt his guts first coil, then cramp.

For a moment he thought he

was going to shit in his pants just like a babby; then he passed wind and felt a little

better. In his bowels, at least.

He walked on, liking this less at every step. The yard was rocky and the straggling

weeds yellowish, as if the huts resident had blighted the very earth with her touch.

There was a garden, and Sheemie saw that the veg etables still in itpumpkins and

sharproot, mostlywere muties. Then he noticed the gardens stuffyguy. It was

also a mutie, a nasty thing with two straw heads in stead of one and what appeared

to be a stuffed hand in a womans satin glove pok ing out of the chest area.

Sai Thorinll never talk me up here again, he thought.

Not for all the pennies in the

world.

The huts door stood open. To Sheemie it looked like a gaping mouth. A sickish

dank smell drifted out.

Sheemie stopped about fifteen paces from the house, and when Capi nuzzled his

bottom (as if to ask what was keeping them), the boy uttered a brief screech. The

sound of it almost set him running, and it was only by exercising all his willpower

that he was able to stand his ground. The day was bright, but up here on this hill,

the sun seemed meaningless. This wasnt his first trip up here, and Rheas hill had

never been pleasant, but it was somehow worse now. It made him feel the way the

sound of the thinny made him feel when he woke and heard it in the middle of the

night. As if something awful was sliding toward himsomething that was all

insane eyes and red, reaching claws.

S-S-Sai Is anyone here Is

Come closer. The voice drifted out of the open door. Come to where I can see

you, idiot boy.

Trying not to moan or cry, Sheemie did as the voice said. He had an idea that he

was never going back down the hill again. Capric cioso, per haps, but not him.

Poor old Sheemie was going to end up in the cookpothot dinner tonight, soup

tomorrow, cold snacks until Years End. Thats what he would be.

He made his reluctant way to Rheas stoop on rub bery legsif his knees had been

closer together, they would have knocked like cas tanets. She didnt even sound the

same.

S-Sai Im afraid. So I a-a-am.

So ye should be, the voice said. It drifted and drift ed, slipping out into the

sunlight like a sick puff of smoke. Never mind, thoughjust do as I say. Come

closer, Sheemie, son of Stanley.

Sheemie did so, although terror dragged at every step he took. The mule followed,

head down. Capi had honked like a goose all the way up herehonked

ceaselesslybut now he had fallen silent.

So here ye be, the voice buried in those shadows whispered. Here ye be,

indeed.

She stepped into the sunlight falling through the open door, wincing for a moment

as it dazzled her eyes. Clasped in her arms was the empty graf barrel. Coiled

around her throat like a necklace was Ermot.

Sheemie had seen the snake before, and on previ ous occasions had never failed to

wonder what sort of agonies he might suffer be fore he died if he happened to be

bitten by such. Today he had no such thoughts. Com pared to Rhea, Ermot looked

normal. The old womans face had sunken at the cheeks, giving the rest of her

head the look of a skull. Brown spots swarmed out of her thin hair and over her

bulging brow like an army of invading insects. Be low her left eye was an open

sore, and her grin showed only a few remaining teeth.

Dont like the way I look, doee she asked. Makes yer heart cold, dont it

N-No, Sheemie said, and then, because that didnt sound right: I mean yes! But

gods, that sounded even worse. Youre beautiful, sai! he blurted.

She chuffed nearly soundless laughter and thrust the empty tun into his arms

almost hard enough to knock him on his ass. The touch of her fingers was brief,

but long enough to make his flesh crawl.

Well-a-day. They say handsome is as handsome does, dont they

And that suits me. Aye, right down to the ground. Bring me my graf, idiot child.

Y-yes, sai! Right away, sai! He took the empty tun back to the mule, set it down,

then fumbled loose the cordage holding the little barrel of graf. He was very aware

of her watching him, and it made him clumsy, hut fi nally he got the barrel loose. It

almost slid through his grasp, and there was a night marish moment when he

thought it would fall to the stony ground and smash, but he caught his grip again at

the last second. He took it to her, had just a second to realize she was no longer

wearing the snake, then felt it crawling on his boots.

Ermot looked up at him,

hiss ing and baring a double set of fangs in an eerie grin.

Dont move too fast, my boy. Twouldnt be wiseEr mots grumpy today. Set the

barrel just inside the door, here. Its too heavy for me. Missed a few meals of late, I

have.

Sheemie bent from the waist (bow yer best bow, Sai Thorin had said, and here he

was, doing just that), grimacing, not daring to ease the pres sure on his back by

moving his feet because the snake was still on them. When he straightened, Rhea

was holding out an old and stained envelope. The flap had been sealed with a blob

of red wax. Sheemie dreaded to think what might have been rendered down to

make wax such as that.

Take this and give it to Cordelia Delgado. Do ye know her

A-Aye, Sheemie managed. Susan-sais aun tie.

Thats right. Sheemie reached tentatively for the envelope, but she held it back a

moment. Cant read, can ye, idiot boy

Nay. Words n letters go right out of my head.

Good. Mind ye show this to no one who can, or some night yell find Ermot

waiting under yer pillow. I see far, Sheemie, dye mark me I see far

It was just an envelope, but it felt heavy and some how dreadful in Sheemies

fingers, as if it were made out of human skin in stead of paper. And what sort of

letter could Rhea be sending Cordelia Delgado, any way Sheemie thought back

to the day hed seen sai Delgados face all cov ered with cobwebbies, and shivered.

The horrid creature lurking be fore him in the door way of her hut could have been

the very creature whod spun those webs.

Lose it and Ill know, Rhea whispered. Show my business to an other, and Ill

know. Remember, son of Stanley, I see far.

Ill be careful, sai. It might be better if he did lose the envelope, but he wouldnt.

Sheemie was dim in the head, everyone said so, but not so dim that he didnt

understand why he had been called up here: not to de liver a barrel of graf, but to

receive this letter and pass it on.

Would ye care to come in for a bit she whispered, and then pointed a ringer at

his crotch. If I give ye a little bit of mushroom to eat special to me, it isI can

look like anyone ye fancy.

Oh, I cant, he said, clutching his trousers and smil ing a huge broad smile that

felt like a scream trying to get out of his skin. That pesky thing fell off last week,

that did.

For a moment Rhea only gawped at him, gen uinely surprised for one of the few times in her life, and then she once more broke out in chuffing bursts of laughter.

She held her stomach in her waxy hands and rocked back and forth with glee.

Ermot, startled, streaked into the house on his lengthy green belly. From

somewhere in its depths, her cat hissed at it.

Go on, Rhea said, still laughing. She leaned for ward and dropped three or four

pennies into his shirt pocket. Get out of here, ye great galoophus! Dont ye linger,

either, looking at flowers!

No, sai

Before he could say more, the door clapped to so hard that dust puffed out of the

cracks between the boards.

7

Roland surprised Cuthbert by suggesting at two o the clock that they go back to

the Bar K. When Bert asked why, Roland only shrugged and would say nothing

more. Bert looked at Alain and saw a queer, musing expression on the boys face.

As they drew closer to the bunkhouse, a sense of foreboding filled Cuthbert. They

topped a rise, and looked down at the Bar K. The bunkhouse door stood open.

Roland! Alain cried. He was pointing to the cotton wood grove where the ranchs

spring was. Their clothes, neatly hung to dry when they left, were now scattered

hell-to-breakfast.

Cuthbert dismounted and ran to them. Picked up a shirt, sniffed it, flung it away.

Pissed on! he cried indignantly.

Come on, Roland said. Lets look at the damage.

8

There was a lot of damage to look at. As you ex pected, Cuthbert thought, gazing at Roland. Then he turned to Alain, who appeared gloomy but not really surprised.

As you both expected.

Roland bent toward one of the dead pigeons, and plucked at some thing so fine

Cuthbert at first couldnt see what it was. Then he straight ened up and held it out

to his friends. A single hair. Very long, very white. He opened the pinch of his

thumb and forefinger and let it waft to the floor.

There it lay amid the shredded

remains of Cuthbert Allgoods mother and fa ther.

If you knew that old corbie was here, why didnt we come back and end his

breath Cuthbert heard himself ask.

Because the time was wrong, Roland said mildly.

He would have done it, had it been one of us in his place, destroying his things.

Were not like him, Roland said mildly.

Im going to find him and blow his teeth out the back of his head.

Not at all, Roland said mildly.

If Bert had to listen to one more mild word from Rolands mouth, he would run

mad. All thoughts of fellowship and ka-tet left his mind, which sank back into his

body and was at once obliterated by simple red fury. Jonas had been here. Jonas

had pissed on their clothes, called Alains mother a cunt, torn up their most

treasured pictures, painted childish ob scenities on their walls, killed their pigeons.

Roland had known … done nothing … intended to continue doing nothing.

Except fuck his gilly-girl. He would do plenty of that, aye, because now that was

all he cared about.

But she wont like the look of your face the next time you climb into the saddle,

Cuthbert thought. Ill see to that.

He drew back his fist. Alain caught his wrist. Roland turned away and began

picking up scattered blankets, as if Cuthberts fu rious face and cocked fist were

simply of no account to him.

Cuthbert balled up his other fist, meaning to make Alain let go of him, one way or

the other, but the sight of his friends round and hon est face, so guileless and

dismayed, quieted his rage a little. His argu ment wasnt with Alain. Cuthbert was sure the other boy had known something bad was happening here, but he was also

sure that Roland had insisted Alain do nothing un til Jonas was gone.

Come with me, Alain muttered, slinging an arm around Berts shoulders.

Outside. For your fathers sake, come. You have to cool off. This is no time to be

fighting among ourselves.

Its no time for our leaders brains to drain down in to his prick, ei ther, Cuthbert

said, making no effort to lower his voice. But the second time Alain tugged him,

Bert allowed himself to be led toward the door.

Ill stay my rage at him this one last time, he thought, but I thinkI knowthat is

all I can manage. Ill have Alain tell him so.

The idea of using Alain as a go-between to his best friendof know ing that

things had come to such a passfilled Cuthbert with an angry, de spairing rage,

and at the door to the porch he turned back to Roland.

She has made you a

coward,  he said in the High Speech. Beside him, Alain drew in his breath

sharply.

Roland stopped as if suddenly turned to stone, his back to them, his arms full of

blankets. In that moment Cuthbert was sure Roland would turn and rush toward

him. They would fight, likely until one of them was dead or blind or unconscious.

Likely that one would be him, but he no longer cared.

But Roland never turned. Instead, in the same speech, he said: He came to steal our guile and our caution. With you, he has suc ceeded. 

No, Cuthbert said, lapsing back into the low speech. I know that part of you

really believes that, but its not so. The truth is, youve lost your compass. Youve

called your carelessness love and made a virtue of irresponsibility. I

For gods sake, come! Alain nearly snarled, and yanked him out the door.

9

With Roland out of sight, Cuthbert felt his rage veer ing toward Alain in spite of

himself; it turned like a weathervane when the wind shifts. The two of them stood

facing each other in the sunshiny dooryard, Alain look ing unhappy and distracted,

Cuthbert with his hands knotted into fists so tight they trembled at his sides.

Why do you always excuse him Why

Out on the Drop, he asked if I trusted him. I said I did.

And I do.

Then youre a fool.

And hes a gunslinger. It he says we must wait longer, we must.

Hes a gunslinger by accident! A freak! A mutie!

Alain stared at him in silent shock.

Come with me, Alain. Its time to end this mad game.

Well find Jonas and kill

him. Our ka-tet is broken. Well make a new one, you and I.

Its not broken. If it does break, itll be you respon sible. And for that Ill never

forgive you.

Now it was Cuthberts turn to be silent.

Go for a ride, why dont you A long one. Give your self time to cool off. So

much depends on our fellowship

Tell him that!

No, Im telling you. Jonas wrote a foul word about my mother. Dont you think Id

go with you just to avenge that, if I didnt think that Roland was right That its

what Jonas wants For us to lose our wits and come charging blindly around our

Hillock

Thats right, but its wrong, too, Cuthbert said. Yet his hands were slowly

unrolling, fists becoming fingers again. You dont see and I dont have the words

to explain. If I say that Susan has poisoned the well of our ka-tet, you would call

me jealous. Yet I think she has, all unknowing and unmeaning. Shes poisoned his

mind, and the door to hell has opened. Roland feels the heat from that open door

and thinks its only his feeling for her … but we must do better, Al. We must think

better. For him as well as for ourselves and our fa thers.

Are you calling her our enemy

No! It would be easier if she was. He took a deep breath, let it out, took another,

let it out, took a third and let it out. With each one he felt a little saner, a little

more himself. Never mind. Theres no more to say ont for now. Your advice is

goodI think I will take a ride. A long one.

Bert started toward his horse, then turned back.

Tell him hes wrong. Tell him that even if hes right about waiting, hes right for

the wrong reasons, and that makes him all the way wrong. He hesitated. Tell

him what I said about the door to hell. Say thats my piece of the touch. Will you

tell him

Yes. Stay away from Jonas, Bert.

Cuthbert mounted up. I promise nothing.

Youre not a man. Alain sounded sorrowful; on the point of tears, in fact. None

of us are men.

You better be wrong about that, Cuthbert said, because mens work is coming.

He turned his mount and rode away at a gallop.

10

He went far up the Seacoast Road, to begin with trying not to think at all. Hed

found that sometimes unexpected things wan dered into your head if you left the door open for them. Useful things, often.

This afternoon that didnt happen. Confused, miserable, and without a fresh idea in his head (or even the hope of one), Bert at last turned back to Hambry. He rode the

High Street from end to end, waving or speaking to people who hiled him. The

three of them had met a lot of good people here.

Some he counted as friends, and

he rather felt the common folk of Hambrytown had adopted themyoung fellows

who were far from their own homes and families. And the more Bert knew and

saw of these com mon folk, the less he suspected that they were a part of Rimers

and Jonass nasty little game. Why else had the Good Man chosen Hambry in the

first place, if not because it provided such excel lent cover

There were plenty of folk out today. The farmers

market was boom ing, the streetstalls were crowded, children were laughing at a Pinch and Jilly show (Jilly was

currently chasing Pinch back and forth and bash ing the poor old longsuffering

fellow with her broom), and the Reaping Fair dec orations were going forward at

speed. Yet Cuthbert felt only a little joy and antic ipation at the thought of the Fair.

Because it wasnt his own, wasnt Gilead Reaping Perhaps … but mostly just

because his mind and heart were so heavy. If this was what growing up was like,

he thought he could have skipped the experience.

He rode on out of town, the ocean now at his back, the sun full in his face, his

shadow growing ever longer behind him. He thought hed soon veer off the Great Road and ride across the Drop to the Bar K. But be fore he could, here came his

old friend, Sheemie, leading a mule. Sheemies head was down, his shoulders

slumped, his pink brera askew, his boots dusty. To Cuthbert he looked as though

he had walked all the way from the tip of the earth.

Sheemie! Cuthbert cried, already anticipating the boys cheery grin and loony

patter. Long days and pleasant nights! How are y 

Sheemie lifted his head, and as the brim of his som brero came up, Cuthbert fell

silent. He saw the dreadful fear on the boys face

the pale checks, the haunted

eyes, the trembling mouth.

11

Sheemie could have been at the Delgado place two hours ago, if hed wanted, but

he had trudged along at a turtles pace, the letter in side his shirt seeming to drag at

his every step. It was awful, so awful. He couldnt even think about it, because his

thinker was mostly broken, so it was.

Cuthbert was off his horse in a flash, and hurrying to Sheemie. He put his hands

on the boys shoulders. Whats wrong Tell your old pal. He wont laugh, not a

bit.

At the sound of Arthur Heaths kind voice and the sight of his con cerned face,

Sheemie began to weep. Rheas strict command that he should tell no one flew out of his head. Still sobbing, he recounted every thing that had happened since that morning. Twice Cuthbert had to ask him to slow down, and when Bert led the boy

to a tree in whose shade the two of them sat togeth er, Sheemie was finally able to

do so. Cuthbert lis tened with growing unease. At the end of his tale, Sheemie

produced an envelope from inside his shirt.

Cuthbert broke the seal and read what was inside, his eyes growing large.

12

Roy Depape was waiting for him at the Travellers

Rest when Jonas re turned in

good spirits from his trip to the Bar K. An outrider had finally shown up, Depape

announced, and Jonass spirits rose another notch. Only Roy didnt look as happy about it as Jonas would have expected. Not happy at all.

Fellows gone on to Seafront, where I guess hes ex pected, Depape said. He

wants you right away. I wouldnt linger here to eat, not even a popkin, if I were

you. I wouldnt take a drink, either. Youll want a clear head to deal with this one.

Free with your advice today, aint you, Roy Jonas said. He spoke in a heavily

sarcastic tone, but when Pettie brought him a tot of whiskey, he sent it back and

asked for water instead. Roy had a bit of a look to him, Jonas decided. Too pale by

half, was good old Roy. And when Sheb sat down at his pianobench and struck a

chord, Depape jerked in that direc tion, one hand dropping to the butt of his gun.

Interesting. And a little dis quieting.

Spill it, sonwhats got your back hair up

Roy shook his head sullenly. Dont rightly know.

Whats this fellows name

I didnt ask, he didnt say. He showed me Farsons sigul, though. You know.

Depape lowered his voice a little. The eye.

Jonas knew, all right. He hated that wide-open star ing eye, couldnt imagine what

had possessed Farson to pick it in the first place.

Why not a mailed fist Crossed

swords Or a bird A falcon, for instancea fal con would have made a fine sigul.

But that eye

All right, he said, finishing the glass of water. It went down better than whiskey

would have done, anywaydry as a bone, hed been.

Ill find out the rest for

myself, shall I

As he reached the batwing doors and pushed them open, Depape called his name.

Jonas turned back.

He looks like other people, Depape said. What do you mean

I dont hardly know. Depape looked embar rassed and bewildered

but dogged, too. Sticking to his guns. We only talked five min utes in all, but once I looked at

him and thought it was the old bastard from Ritzy

the one I shot. Little bit later I thow him a glance and think, Hellfire, its my old pa standin there. Then that

went by, too, and he looked like him self again.

And hows that

Youll see for yourself, I reckon. I dont know if youll like it much, though.

Jonas stood with one batwing pushed open, thinking.

Roy, twasnt Farson

himself, was it The Good Man in some sort of dis guise Depape hesitated,

frowning, and then shook his head. No. Are you sure We only saw him the

once, remember, and not close-to. Latigo had pointed him out. Sixteen months

ago that had been, give or take.

Im sure. You remember how big he was

Jonas nodded. Farson was no Lord Perth, but he was six feet or more, and broad

across at both brace and basket.

This mans Clays height, or less. And he stays the same height no matter who he

looks like. Depape hesitated a moment and said: He laughs like a dead person. 1

could barely stand to hear him do it.

What do you mean, like a dead person

Roy Depape shook his head. Cant rightly say.

13

Twenty minutes later, Eldred Jonas was riding beneath come in peace mid into the courtyard of Seafront, uneasy because he had ex pected Latigo … and unless Roy was very much mistaken, it wasnt Latigo he was getting.

Miguel shuffled forward, grinning his gummy old grin, and took the reins of

Jonass horse.

Reconocimiento.

Por nada, jefe.

Jonas went in, saw Olive Thorin sitting in the front parlor like a for lorn ghost, and

nodded to her. She nodded back, and managed a wan smile.

Sai Jonas, how well you look. If you see Hart

Cry your pardon, lady, but its the Chancellor Ive come to see, Jonas said. He

went on quickly upstairs toward the Chancellors suite of rooms, then down a

narrow stone hall lit (and not too well) with gas-jets.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he rapped on the door wait ing therea

massive thing of oak and brass set in its own arch.

Rimer didnt care for such as

Susan Delgado, but he loved the trappings of power; that was what took the curve out of his noodle and made it straight. Jonas rapped.

Come in, my friend, a voicenot Rimerscalled. It was followed by a tittery

laugh that made Jonass flesh creep. He laughs like a dead person, Roy had said.

Jonas pushed open the door and stepped in. Rimer cared for incense no more than

he cared for the hips and lips of women, but there was in cense burning in here

nowa woody smell that made Jonas think of court at Gilead, and functions of

state in the Great Hall. The gas-jets were turned high.

The draperiespurple

velvet, the color of royalty, Rimers absolute fa voritetrembled minutely in the

breath of sea breeze coming in through the open windows. Of Rimer there was no

sign. Or of anyone else, come to that. There was a little balcony, but the doors

giving on it were open, and no one was out there.

Jonas stepped a little farther into the room, glanc ing into a gilt-framed mirror on

the far side to check behind him without turning his head. No one there, either.

Ahead and to the left was a table with places set for two and a cold supper in

place, but no one in either chair. Yet someone had spoken to him. Someone whod

been directly on the other side of the door, from the sound. Jonas drew his gun.

Come, now, said the voice which had bid him enter.

It came from directly

behind Jonass left shoulder. No need for that, were all friends here. All on the same side, you know.

Jonas whirled on his heels, suddenly feeling old and slow. Standing there was a

man of medium height, powerfully built from the look of him, with bright blue

eyes and the rosy cheeks of either good health or good wine. His parted, smiling

lips revealed cunning little teeth which must have been filed to pointssurely

such points couldnt be natural. He wore a black robe, like the robe of a holy man,

with the hood pushed back. Jonass first thought, that the fellow was bald, had

been wrong, he saw. The hair was simply cropped so stringently that it was

nothing but fuzz.

Put the beanshooter away, the man in black said.

Were friends here, I tell

youabsolutely palsy-walsy. Well break bread and speak of many thingsoxen and oil-tankers and whether or not Frank Sinatra re ally was a better crooner than

Der Bingle.

Who A better what

No one you know; nothing that matters. The man in black tittered again. It was,

Jonas thought, the sort of sound one might expect to hear drifting through the

barred windows of a lunatic asylum.

He turned. Looked into the mirror again. This time he saw the man in black

standing there and smiling at him, big as life. Gods, had he been there all along

Yes, but you couldnt see him until he was ready to be seen. I dont know if hes a

wizard, but hes a glamor-man, all right. Mayhap even Farson s sorcerer.

He turned back. The man in the priests robe was still smiling. No pointed teeth

now. But they had been pointed. Jonas would lay his watch and warrant on it.

Wheres Rimer

I sent him away to work with young sai Delgado on her Reaping Day

catechisms, the man in black said. He slung a chummy arm around Jonass

shoulders and began leading him toward the ta ble. Best we palaver alone, I

think.

Jonas didnt want to offend Farsons man, but he couldnt bear the touch of that

arm. He couldnt say why, but it was unbearable.

Pestilen tial. He shrugged it off

and went on to one of the chairs, trying not to shiver.

No wonder Depape had

come back from Hanging Rock looking pale. No damned wonder.

Instead of being offended, the man in black tit tered again (Yes, Jonas thought, he does laugh like the dead, very like, so he does). For one mo ment Jonas thought it

was Fardo, Corts father, in this room with him

that it was the man who had sent

him west all those years agoand he reached for his gun again. Then it was just

the man in black, smiling at him in an unpleasant ly knowing way, those blue eyes

dancing like the flame from the gas-jets.

See something interesting, sai Jonas

Aye, Jonas said, sitting down. Eats. He took a piece of bread and popped it

into his mouth. The bread stuck to his dry tongue, but he chewed determinedly all

the same.

Good boy. The other also sat, and poured wine, filling Jonass glass first. Now, my friend, tell me everything youve done since the three troublesome boys

arrived, and everything you know, and every thing you have planned. I would not have you leave out a single jot.

First show me your sigul.

Of course. How prudent you are.

The man in black reached inside his robe and brought out a square of

metalsilver, Jonas guessed. He tossed it onto the table, and it clattered across to Jonass plate. Engraved on it was what he had ex pectedthat hideous staring eye.

Satisfied

Jonas nodded.

Slide it back to me.

Jonas reached for it, but for once his normally steady hand resembled his reedy,

unstable voice. He watched the fingers tremble for a moment, then lowered the

hand quickly to the table.

I

I dont want to.

No. He didnt want to. Suddenly he knew that if he touched it, the en graved silver

eye would roll

and look directly at him.

The man in black tittered and made a come-along gesture with the fin gers of his

right hand. The silver buckle (that was what it looked like to Jonas) slid back to

him … and up the sleeve of his homespun robe.

Abracadabra! Bool! The end! Now, the man in black went on, sipping his wine

delicately, if we have finished the tiresome for malities



One more, Jonas said. You know my name; I would know yours.

Call me Walter, the man in black said, and the smile suddenly fell off his lips.

Good old Walter, thats me. Now let us see where we are, and where were going.

Let us, in short, palaver.

14

When Cuthbert came back into the bunkhouse, night had fallen. Roland and Alain

were playing cards. They had cleaned the place up so that it looked almost as it

had (thanks to turpentine found in a closet of the old foremans office, even the

slogans written on the walls were just pink ghosts of their former selves), and now

were deeply involved in a game of Casa Fuerte, or Hotpatch, as it was known in

their own part of the world. Either way, it was basi cally a two-man version of

Watch Me, the card-game which had been played in barrooms and bunkhouses

and around campfires since the world was young.

Roland looked up at once, trying to read Berts emo tional weather. Outwardly,

Roland was as impassive as ever, had even played Alain to a draw across four difficult hands, but inwardly he was in a turmoil of pain and indecision. Alain had

told him what Cuthbert had said while the two of them stood talking in the yard,

and they were terrible things to hear from a friend, even when they came at second

hand. Yet what haunted him more was what Bert had said just before leaving:

Youve called your carelessness love and made a virtue of irresponsibility. Was

there even a chance he had done such a thing Over and over he told himself

nothat the course he had ordered them to follow was hard but sensible, the only

course that made sense. Cuthberts shouting was just so much angry wind, brought

on by nerves… and his fury at having their private place defiled so outrageously.

Still…

Tell him hes right for the -wrong reasons, and that makes him all the way wrong.

That couldnt be.

Could it

Cuthbert was smiling and his color was high, as if he had galloped most of the

way back. He looked young, handsome, and vital.

He looked happy, in fact,

almost like the Cuthbert of oldthe one whod been capable of babbling happy

nonsense to a rooks skull until someone told him lo please, please shut up.

But Roland didnt trust what he saw. There was some thing wrong with the smile,

the color in Berts cheeks could have been anger rather than good health, and the

sparkle in his eyes looked like fever instead of hu mor. Roland showed nothing on

his own face, but his heart sank. Hed hoped the storm would blow itself out, given

a little time, but he didnt think it had. He shot a glance at Alain, and saw that

Alain felt the same.

Cuthbert, it will be over in three weeks. If only I could tell you that.

The thought which returned was stunning in its sim plicity: Why cant you

He realized he didnt know. Why had he been hold ing back, keeping his own

counsel For what purpose Had he been blind Gods, had he

Hello, Bert, he said, did you have a nice r

Yes, very nice, a very nice ride, an instructive ride.

Come outside. I want to show

you something.

Roland liked the thin glaze of hilarity in Berts eyes less and less, but he laid his

cards in a neat facedown fan on the table and got up.

Alain pulled at his sleeve. No! His voice was low and panicky. Do you not see

how he looks

I see, Roland said. And felt dismay in his heart.

For the first time, as he walked slowly toward the friend who no longer looked

like a friend, it occurred to Roland that he had been making decisions in a state

close akin to drunkenness. Or had he been making de cisions at all He was no

longer sure.

What is it youd show me, Bert

Something wonderful, Bert said, and laughed.

There was hate in the sound.

Perhaps murder. Youll want a good close look at this. I know you will.

Bert, whats wrong with you Alain asked.

Wrong with me Nothing wrong with me, AlIm as happy as a dart at sunrise, a

bee in a flower, a fish in the ocean. And as he turned away to go back through the

door, he laughed again.

Dont go out there, Alain said. Hes lost his wits.

If our fellowship is broken, any chance we might have of getting out of Mejis

alive is gone, Roland said. That being the case, Id rather die at the hands of a

friend than an enemy.

He went out. After a moment of hesitation, Alain followed. On his face was a look

of purest misery.

15

Huntress had gone and Demon had not yet begun to show his face, but the sky was

powdered with stars, and they threw enough light to see by. Cuthberts horse, still

saddled, was tied to the hitching rail. Beyond it, the square of dusty dooryard

gleamed like a canopy of tarnished silver.

What is it Roland asked. They werent wearing guns, any of them. That was to

be grateful for, at least. What would you show me

Its here. Cuthbert stopped at a point midway be tween the bunkhouse and the

charred remains of the home place. He pointed with great assurance, but Roland

could see nothing out of the ordinary. He walked over to Cuthbert and looked

down.

I dont see

Brilliant lightstarshine times a thousandex ploded in his head as Cuthberts fist drove against the point of his chin. It was the first time, ex cept in play (and as

very small boys), that Bert had ever struck him.

Roland didnt lose consciousness,

but he did lose control over his arms and legs. They were there, but seemingly in

another country, flailing like the limbs of a rag doll.

He went down on his back.

Dust puffed up around him. The stars seemed strangely in motion, running in arcs and leaving milky trails behind them. There was a high ringing in his ears.

From a great distance he heard Alain scream: Oh, you fool! You stupid fool!

By making a tremendous effort, Roland was able to turn his head. He saw Alain

start toward him and saw Cuthbert, no longer smil ing, push him away. This is

between us, Al. You stay out of it.

You sucker-punched him, you bastard! Alain, slow to anger, was now building

toward a rage Cuthbert might well regret. I have to get up, Roland thought. I have

to get between them before something even worse happens. His arms and legs

began to swim weakly in the dust.

Yesthats how hes played us, Cuthbert said. I only returned the favor. He

looked down. Thats what I wanted to show you, Roland.

That particular piece of ground. That particular puff of dust in which you are now

lying. Get a good taste of it. Mayhap itll wake you up.

Now Rolands own anger began to rise. He felt the coldness that was seeping into

his thoughts, fought it, and realized he was losing.

Jonas ceased to matter; the

tankers at Citgo ceased to matter; the supply con spiracy they had uncovered

ceased to matter. Soon the Affiliation and the katet he had been at such pains to

preserve would cease to matter as well.

The surface numbness was leaving his feet and legs, and he pushed himself to a

sitting position. He looked up calmly at Bert, his tented hands on the ground, his

face set. Starshine swam in his eyes.

I love you, Cuthbert, but Ill have no more insubor dination and jeal ous tantrums.

If I paid you back for all, I reckon youd finish in pieces, so Im only going to pay

you for hitting me when I didnt know it was coming.

And Ive no doubt ye can, cully, Cuthbert said, falling effortlessly into the

Hambry patois. But first ye might want to have a peek at this. Almost

contemptuously, he tossed a folded sheet of paper. It hit Rolands chest and

bounced into his lap.

Roland picked it up, feeling the fine point of his de veloping rage lose its edge.

What is it

Open and see. Theres enough starlight to read by.

Slowly, with reluctant fingers, Roland unfolded the sheet of paper and read what

was printed there.

He read it twice. The second time was actually harder, because his hands had

begun to tremble. He saw every place he and Su san had met the boathouse, the

hut, the shack-and now he saw them in a new light, knowing someone else had

seen them, too. How clever he had believed they were being. How confident of

their secrecy and their discretion. And yet some one had been watching all the

time. Susan had been right. Some one had seen.

Ive put everything at risk. Her life as well as our lives.

Tell him what I said about the doorway to hell.

And Susans voice, too: Ka like a wind … if you love me, then love me.

So he had done, believing in his youthful arro gance that everything would turn out all right for no other reasonyes, at bottom he had be lieved thisthan that he

was he, and ka must serve his love.

Ive been a fool, he said. His voice trembled like his hands.

Yes, indeed, Cuthbert said. So you have. He dropped to his knees in the dust,

facing Roland. Now if you want to hit me, hit away.

Hard as you want and as

many as you can manage. Ill not hit back. Ive done all I can to wake you up to

your responsibilities. If you still sleep, so be it. Ei ther way, I still love you. Bert

put his hands on Rolands shoulders and briefly kissed his friends cheek.

Roland began to cry. They were partly tears of grat itude, but mostly those of

mingled shame and confusion; there was even a small, dark part of him that hated Cuthbert and always would. That part hated Cuth bert more on account of the kiss

than because of the unexpected punch on the jaw; more for the forgiveness than the awakening.

He got to his feet, still holding the letter in one dusty hand, the other ineffectually

brushing his cheeks and leaving damp smears there. When he staggered and

Cuthbert put out a hand to steady him, Roland pushed him so hard that Cuthbert

himself would have fallen, if Alain hadnt caught hold of his shoulders.

Then, slowly, Roland went back down againthis time in front of Cuthbert with

his hands up and his head down.

Roland, no! Cuthbert cried.

Yes, Roland said. I have forgotten the face of my father, and cry your pardon.

Yes, all right, for gods sake, yes! Cuthbert now sounded as if he were crying

himself. Just

please get up! It breaks my heart to see you so!

And mine to be so, Roland thought. To be humbled so. But I brought it on myself,

didnt I This dark yard, with my head throbbing and my heart full of shame and

fear. This is mine, bought and paid for.

They helped him up and Roland let himself be helped.

Thats quite a left, Bert,

he said in a voice that almost passed for normal.

Only when its going toward someone who doesnt know its com ing, Cuthbert replied.

This letterhow did you come by it

Cuthbert told of meeting Sheemie, who had been dithering along in his own

misery, as if waiting for ka to intervene

and, in the person of Arthur Heath, ka

had.

From the witch, Roland mused. Yes, but how did she know For she never

leaves the Coos, or so Susan has told me.

I cant say. Nor do I much care. What Im most con cerned about right now is

making sure that Sheemie isnt hurt because of what he told me and gave me. After that, Im concerned that what old witch Rhea has tried to tell once she doesnt try

to tell again.

Ive made at least one terrible mistake, Roland said, but I dont count loving

Susan as another. That was beyond me to change. As it was beyond her. Do you believe that

Yes, Alain said at once, and after a moment, al most reluctantly, Cuthbert said,

Aye, Roland.

Ive been arrogant and stupid. If this note had reached her aunt, she could have

been sent into exile.

And we to the devil, by way of hangropes, Cuthbert added dryly. Although I

know thats a minor matter to you by compar ison.

What about the witch Alain asked. What do we do about her Roland smiled

a little, and turned toward the northwest. Rhea, he said. Whatever else she is,

shes a firstclass troublemaker, is she not And troublemakers must be put on

notice.

He started back toward the bunkhouse, trudging with his head down. Cuthbert

looked at Alain, and saw that Al was also a little teary-eyed. Bert put out his hand.

For a moment Alain only looked at it. Then he nod dedto himself rather than to

Cuthbert, it seemedand shook it.

You did what you had to, Alain said. I had my doubts at first, but not now.

Cuthbert let out his breath. And I did it the way I had to. If I hadnt surprised

him

he would have beaten you black and blue.

So many more colors than that, Cuthbert said. I would have looked like a

rainbow.

The Wizards Rainbow, even, Alain said. Extra colors for your penny.

That made Cuthbert laugh. The two of them walked back toward the bunkhouse,

where Roland was unsaddling Berts horse.

Cuthbert turned in that direction to help, but Alain held him back. Leave him

alone for a little while, he said. Its best you do.

They went on ahead, and when Roland came in ten minutes later, he found

Cuthbert playing his hand. And winning with it.

Bert, he said.

Cuthbert looked up.

We have a spot of business tomorrow, you and I.

Up on the Coos. Are we

going to kill her

Roland thought, and thought hard. At last he looked up, biting his lip. We

should.

Aye. We should. But are we going to

Not unless we have to, I reckon. Later he would regret this deci sionif it was a

decisionbitterly, but there never came a time when he did not understand it. He

had been a boy not much older than Jake Cham bers during that Mejis fall, and the

decision to kill does not come easily or naturally to most boys. Not unless she

makes us.

Perhaps it would be best if she did, Cuthbert said.

It was hard gunslinger talk,

but he looked troubled as he said it.

Yes. Perhaps it would. Its not likely, though, not in one as sly as her. Be ready to

get up early.

All right. Do you want your hand back

When youre on the verge of knocking him out Not at all. Roland went past them to his bunk. There he sat, look ing at his folded hands in his

lap. He might have been praying; he might only have been thinking hard. Cuthbert

looked at him for a moment, then turned back to his cards.

16

The sun was just over the horizon when Roland and Cuthbert left the next

morning. The Drop, still drenched with morning dew, seemed to bum with orange

fire in the early light. Their breath and that of their horses puffed frosty in the air.

It was a morning neither of them ever forgot. For the first time in their lives they went forth wearing bolstered revolvers; for the first time in their lives they went

into the world as gunslingers.

Cuthbert said not a wordhe knew that if he start ed, hed do nothing but babble

great streams of his usual nonsenseand Roland was quiet by nature. There was

only one exchange between them, and it was brief.

I said I made at least one very bad mistake, Roland told him. One that this

notehe touched his breast pocketbrought home to me. Do you know what

that mistake was

Not loving hernot that, Cuthbert said. You called that ka, and I call it the

same. It was a relief to be able to say this, and a greater one to believe it. Cuthbert thought he could even accept Susan herself now, not us his best friends lover, a

girl he had wanted himself the first time he saw her, but as a part of their entwined

fate.

No, Roland said. Not loving her, but thinking that love could somehow be apart

from everything else. That I could live two livesone with you and Al and our

job here, one with her. I thought that love could lilt me above ka, the way a birds

wings can take it above all the things that would kill it and eat it, otherwise. Do

you understand

It made you blind. Cuthbert spoke with a gentle ness quite foreign to the young

man who had suffered through the last two months.

Yes, Roland said sadly. It made me blind … but now I see. Come on, a little

faster, if you please. I want to get this over.

17

They rode up the rutty cart-track along which Susan (a Susan who had known a

good deal less about the ways of the world) had come singing Careless Love

beneath the light of the Kissing Moon. Where the track opened into Rheas yard,

they stopped.

Wonderful view, Roland murmured. You can see the whole sweep of the desert

from here.

Not much to say about the view right here in front of us, though.

That was true. The garden was full of unpicked mu tie vegetables, the stuffyguy

presiding over them either a bad joke or a bad omen. The yard supported just one

tree, now moulting sickly-looking fall leaves like an old vulture shedding its

feathers. Beyond the tree was the hut itself, made of rough stone and topped by a

single sooty pot of a chimney with a hex-sign painted on it in sneering yellow. At the rear comer, beyond one over grown window, was a woodpile.

Roland had seen plenty of huts like itthe three of them had passed any number

on their way here from Gileadbut never one that felt as powerfully wrong as

this. He saw nothing untoward, yet there was a feel ing, too strong to be denied, of

a presence. One that watched and waited.

Cuthbert felt it, too. Do we have to go closer lie swallowed. Do we have to go

in Because … Roland, the door is open. Do you see He saw. As if she expected them. As if she was inviting them in, wanting them to

sit down with her to some unspeakable breakfast.

Stay here. Roland gigged Rusher forward.

No! Im coming!

No, cover my back. If I need to go inside, Ill call you to join me

but if I need

to go inside, the old woman who lives here will breathe no more. As you said, that might be for the best.

At every slow step Rusher took, the feeling of wrongness grew in Rolands heart

and mind. There was a stench to the place, a smell like rot ten meat and hot

putrefied tomatoes. It came from the hut, he sup posed, but it also seemed to come

wafting out of the very ground. And at every step, the whine of the thinny seemed

louder, as if the atmosphere of this place some how magnified it.

Susan came up here alone, and in the dark, he thought. Gods, Im not sure I could have come up here in the dark with my friends for company.

He stopped beneath the tree, looking through the open door twenty paces away.

He saw what could have been a kitchen; the legs of a table, the back of a chair, a

filthy hearthstone. No sign of the lady of the house.

But she was there. Roland

could feel her eyes crawling on him like loath some bugs.

I cant see her because shes used her art to make herself dim

but shes there.

And just perhaps he did see her. The air had a strange shimmer just inside the door to the right, as if it had been heated. Roland had been told that you could see

someone who was dim by turning your head and look ing from the comer of your

eye. He did that now.

Roland Cuthbert called from behind him.

Fine so far, Bert. Barely paying attention to the words he was say ing, because

yes! That shimmer was clearer now, and it had almost the shape of a woman. It

could be his imagination, of course, but

But at that moment, as if understanding hed seen her, the shimmer moved farther

back into the shadows. Roland glimpsed the swing ing hem of an old black dress,

there and then gone.

No matter. He had not come to see her but only to give her her single warning …

which was one more than any of their fathers would have given her, no doubt.

Rhea! His voice rolled in the harsh tones of old, stem and commanding. Two

yellow leaves fell from the tree, as if shivered loose by that voice, and one fell in

his black hair. From the hut came only a waiting, lis ten ing silence … and then

the discordant, jeering yowl of a cat.

Rhea, daughter of none! Ive brought something back to you, woman! Something

you must have lost! From his shirt he took the folded letter and tossed it to the

stony ground. Today Ive been your friend, Rheaif this had gone where you had

intended it to go, you would have paid with your life.

He paused. Another leaf drifted down from the tree. This one landed in Pushers

mane.

Hear me well, Rhea, daughter of none, and under stand me well. I have come here

under the name of Will Dearborn, but Dearborn is not my name and it is the

Affiliation I serve. More, tis all which lies behind the Affiliationtis the power

of the White. You have crossed the way of our ka, and I warn you only this once:

do not cross it again. Do you understand

Only that waiting silence.

Do not touch a single hair on the head of the boy who carried your had-natured

mischief hence, or youll die. Speak not another word of those things you know or

think you know to anyonenot to Cordelia Delga do, nor to Jonas, nor to Rimer,

nor to Thorinor youll die. Keep your peace and we will keep ours. Break it, and

well still you. Do you understand

More silence. Dirty windows peering at him like eyes. A puff of breeze sent more

leaves showering down around him, and caused the stuffyguy to creak nastily on

his pole. Roland thought briefly of the cook, Hax, twist ing at the end of his rope.

Do you understand

No reply. Not even a shimmer could he see through the open door now.

Very well, Roland said. Silence gives consent.

He gigged his horse around. As

he did, his head came up a little, and he saw some thing green shift above him

among the yellow leaves. There was a low hissing sound.

Roland look out! Snake! Cuthbert screamed, but before the second word had left

his mouth, Roland had drawn one of his guns.

He fell sideways in the saddle, holding with his left leg and heel as Rusher jigged

and pranced. He fired three times, the thunder of the big gun smashing through the

still air and then rolling back from the nearby hills.

With each shot the snake

flipped upward again, its blood dotting red across a background of blue sky and

yellow leaves. The last bullet tore off its head, and when the snake fell for good, it

hit the ground in two pieces. From within the hut came a wail of grief and rage so

awful that Rolands spine turned to a cord of ice.

You bastard! screamed a womans voice from the shadows. Oh, you murdering

cull! My friend! My friend! 

If it was your friend, you oughtnt to have set it on me,

Roland said. Remember,

Rhea, daughter of none.

The voice uttered one more shriek and fell silent.

Roland rode back to Cuthbert,

bolstering his gun. Berts eyes were round and amazed. Roland, what shooting!

Gods, what shooting! Lets get out of here.

But we still dont know how she knew!

Do you think shed tell There was a small but minute shake in Rolands voice.

The way the snake had come out of the tree like that, right at him

he could still

barely believe he wasnt dead. Thank gods for his hand, which had taken matters

over.

We could make her talk, Cuthbert said, but Roland could tell from his voice that

Bert had no taste for such. Maybe later, maybe after years of trail-riding and

gunslinging, but now he had no more stomach for tor ture than for killing outright.

Even if we could, we couldnt make her tell the truth.

Such as her lies as other

folks breathe. If weve convinced her to keep quiet, weve done enough for today.

Come on. I hate this place.

18

As they rode back toward town, Roland said: Weve got to meet.

The four of us. Thats what you mean, isnt it

Yes. I want to tell everything I know and surmise. I want to tell you my plan,

such as it is. What weve been waiting for.

That would be very good indeed.

Susan can help us. Roland seemed to be speak ing to himself. Cuth bert was

amused to see that the lone, crown like leaf was still caught in his dark hair.

Susan was meant to help us. Why didnt I see that

Because love is blind, Cuthbert said. He snorted laughter and clapped Roland on

the shoulder. Love is blind, old son.

19

When she was sure the boys were gone, Rhea crept out of her door and into the

hateful sunshine. She hobbled across to the tree and fell on her knees by the

tattered length of her snake, weeping loudly.

Ermot, Ermot! she cried. See whats become of ye!

There was his head, the mouth frozen open, the dou ble fangs still dripping

poisonclear drops that shone like prisms in the days strength ening light. The

glazing eyes glared. She picked Ermot up, kissed the scaly mouth, licked the last

of the venom from the exposed needles, crooning and weeping all the while.

Next she picked up the long and tattered body with her other hand, moaning at the

holes which had been torn into Ermots satiny hide; the holes and the ripped red

flesh beneath. Twice she put the head against the body and spoke incantations, but

nothing happened. Of course not. Ermot had gone beyond the aid of her spells.

Poor Ermot.

She held his head to one flattened old dug, and his body to the other. Then, with

the last of his blood wetting the bodice of her dress, she looked in the direction the

hateful boys had gone.

Ill pay ye back, she whispered. By all the gods that ever were, Ill pay ye back.

When ye least expect it, there Rhea will be, and your screams will break your

throats. Do you hear me Your screams will break your throats!

She knelt a moment longer, then got up and shuffled back toward her hut, holding

Ermot to her bosom.

CHAPTER V

wizards rainbow

1

On an afternoon three days after Rolands and Cuthberts visit to the Coos, Roy

Depape and Clay Reynolds walked along the up stairs hallway of the Travellers

Rest to the spacious bedroom Coral Thorin kept there. Clay knocked. Jonas called

for them to come in, it was open.

The first thing Depape saw upon entering was sai Thorin herself, in a rocker by the window. She wore a foamy nightdress of white silk and a red bufanda on her head.

She had a lapful of knitting. Depape looked at her in surprise. She offered him and

Reynolds an enigmatic smile, said Hello, gents,

and returned to her needlework.

Outside there was a rattle of firecrackers (young folks could never wait until the

big day; if they had crackers in their hands, they had to set match to them), the

nervous whinny of a horse, and the raucous laugh ter of boys.

Depape turned to Reynolds, who shrugged and then crossed his arms to hold the

sides of his cloak. In this way he expressed doubt or disap proval or both.

Problem

Jonas was standing in the doorway to the bath room, wiping shaving soap from his face with the end of the towel laid over his shoulder.

He was bare to the waist.

Depape had seen him that way plenty of times, but the old white crisscrossings of

scars always made him feel a little sick to his stom ach.

Well

I knew we was using the ladys room, I just didnt know the lady came

with it.

She does. Jonas tossed the towel into the bath room, crossed to the bed, and took his shirt from where it hung on one of the footposts.

Be yond him, Coral glanced

up, gave his naked back a single greedy look, then went back to her work once

more. Jonas slipped into his shirt. How arc things at Citgo, Clay

Quiet. But itll get noisy if certain young vagabun dos poke their nosy noses in.

How many are out there, and how do they set Ten in the days. A dozen at

night. Roy or I are out once every shift, but like I say, its been quiet.

Jonas nodded, but he wasnt happy. Hed hoped to draw the boys out to Citgo

before now, just as hed hoped to draw them into a confrontation by vandalizing

their place and killing their pigeons. Yet so far they still hid behind their damned

Hillock. He felt like a man in a field with three young bulls. Hes got a red rag, this

would-be torero, and hes napping it for all hes worth, and still the toros refuse to charge. Why The moving operation How goes that

Like clockwork, Reynolds said. Four tankers a night, in pairs, the last four

nights. Renfrews in charge, him of the Lazy Susan.

Do you still want to leave half

a dozen as bait

Yar, Jonas said, and there was a knock at the door.

Depape jumped. Is that

No, Jonas said. Our friend in the black robe has de camped. Per haps he goes to

offer comfort to the Good Mans troops before battle.

Depape barked laughter at that. By the window, the woman in the nightgown

looked down at her knitting and said nothing. Its open! Jonas called.

The man who stepped in was wearing the som brero, scrape, and sandalias of a

farmer or vaquero, but the face was pale and the lock of hair peeking out from

beneath the sombreros brim was blond. It was Latigo. A hard man and no

mistake, but a great improvement over the laugh ing man in the black robe, just the same.

Good to see you, gentlemen, he said, coming in and closing the door. His

facedour, frowningwas that of a man who hasnt seen any thing good in

years. Maybe since birth. Jonas Are you well Do things march

I am and they do, Jonas said. He offered his hand.

Latigo gave it a quick, dry

shake. He didnt do the same for Depape or Reynolds, but glanced at Coral instead.

Long days and pleasant nights, lady.

And may you have twice the number, sai Latigo,

she said without looking up

from her knitting.

Latigo sat on the end of the bed, produced a sack of tobacco from be neath his

scrape, and began rolling a cigarette.

I wont stay long, he said. He spoke in the abrupt, clipped tones of northern InWorld, whereor so Depape had heardreindeerfucking was still considered the

chief sport. If you ran slower than your sister, that was. It wouldnt be wise. I

dont quite fit in, if one looks closely.

No, Reynolds said, sounding amused. You dont.

Latigo gave him a sharp glance, then returned his attention to Jonas. Most of my

party is camped thirty wheels from here, in the for est west of Eyebolt Canyon …

what is that wretched noise inside the canyon, by the way It frightens the horses.

A thinny, Jonas said.

It scares the men, too, if they get too close, Reynolds said. Best to stay away,

capn.

How many are you Jonas asked.

A hundred. And well armed.

So, its said, were Lord Perths men.

Dont be an ass.

Have they seen any fighting

Enough to know what it is, Latigo said, and Jonas knew he was ly ing. Farson

had kept his veterans in their mountain boltholes.

Here was a little expeditionary

force where no doubt only the sergeants were able to do more with their cocks

than run water through them.

There are a dozen at Hanging Rock, guarding the tankers your men have brought

so far, Latigo said.

More than needed, likely.

I didnt risk coming into this godforsaken shit splat of a town in order to discuss my arrangements with you, Jonas.

Cry your pardon, sai, Jonas replied, but perfunc torily. He sat on the floor next to Corals rocker and began to roll a smoke of his own.

She put her knitting aside and

began to stroke his hair. Depape didnt know what there was about her that Eldred

found so fascinatingwhen he himself looked he saw only an ugly bitch with a

big nose and mosquito-bump tittles.

As to the three young men, Latigo said with the air of a fellow go ing directly to

the heart of the matter. The Good Man was ex tremely disturbed to learn there

were visitors from InWorld in Mejis. And now you tell me they arent what they

claim to be. So, just what are they

Jonas brushed Corals hand away from his hair as though it were ii troublesome

insect. Undisturbed, she returned to her knitting.

Theyre not young men but mere

boys, and if their coming here is kaabout which I know Farson concerns himself

deeplythen it may be our ka rather than the Affil iations.

Unfortunately, well have to forgo enlighten ing the Good Man with your

theological conclusions, Latigo said. Weve brought radios, but theyre either broken or cant work at this distance. No one knows which. I hate all such toys,

anyway. The gods laugh at them. Were on our own, my friend. For good or ill.

No need for Farson to worry unnecessarily,

Jonas said. The Good Man wants

these lads treated as a threat to his plans. I ex pect Walter told you the same

thing.

Aye. And I havent forgotten a word. Sai Walter is an unforgettable sort of man.

Yes, Latigo agreed. Hes the Good Mans under liner. The chief reason he came

to you was to underline these boys.

And so he did. Roy, tell sai Latigo about your visit to the Sheriff day before

yesterday.

Depape cleared his throat nervously. The sheriff … Avery

I know him, fat as a pig in Full Earth, he is, Latigo said. Go on. One of

Averys deputies carried a message to the three boys as they counted horse on the

Drop. What message

Stay out of town on Reaping Day; stay off the Drop on Reaping Day; best to stay

close to your quarters on Reaping Day, as Barony folk dont enjoy seeing

outlanders, even those they like, when they keep their festivals.

And how did they take it

They agreed straight away to keep to themselves on Reaping, De pape said.

Thats been their habit all along, to be just as agree able as pie when somethings

asked of em. They know better, course they do

theres no more a custom here

against outlanders on Reaping than there is any place else. In fact, its quite usual to make strangers a part of the merry making, as Im sure the boys know. The

idea

is to make them believe we plan to move on FairDay itself, yes, yes, Latigo

finished impatiently. What I want to know is are they con vinced Can you take

them on the day before Reaping, as youve promised, or will they be waiting

Depape and Reynolds looked at Jonas. Jonas reached behind him and put his hand on Corals narrow but not uninteresting thigh.

Here it was, he thought. He would

be held to what he said next, and without grace. If he was right, the Big Coffin

Hunters would be thanked and paid

perhaps bonused, as well. If he was wrong, they would likely be hung so high and hard that their heads would pop off when

they hit the end of the rope.

Well take them easy as birds on the ground, Jonas said. Treason the charge.

Three young men, all high-bom, in the pay of John Parson. Shocking stuff. What

could be more indicative of the evil days we live in

One cry of treason and the mob appears

Jonas favored Latigo with a wintry smile. As a concept, treason might be a bit of a reach for the common folk, even when the mobs drunk and the cores been

bought and paid for by the Horsemens Associ ation. Murder, though… especially that of a much loved Mayor

Depapes startled eyes flew to the Mayors sister.

What a pity it will be, that lady said, and sighed. I may be moved to lead the

rabble myself.

Depape thought he finally understood Eldreds attraction: here was a woman every bit as cold-blooded as Jonas himself.

One other matter, Latigo said. A piece of the Good Mans prop erty was sent

with you for safekeeping. A certain glass ball

Jonas nodded. Yes, indeed. A pretty trifle.

I understand you left it with the local bruja.

Yes.

You should take it back. Soon.

Dont teach your grandpa to suck eggs, Jonas said, a bit testily. Im waiting until

the brats are jugged.

Reynolds murmured curiously, Have you seen it yourself, sai Latigo

Not close up, but Ive seen men who have. Latigo paused. One such ran mad

and had to be shot. The only other time I saw any one in such condition was thirty

years ago, on the edge of the big desert. Twas a hutdweller whod been bitten by

a rabid coyote.

Bless the Turtle, Reynolds muttered, and tapped his throat three times. He was

terrified of rabies.

You wont bless anything if the Wizards Rainbow gets hold of you, Latigo said

grimly, and swung his attention back to Jonas.

Youll want to be even more

careful taking it back than you were in giving it over. The old witchwomans

likely under its glam by now.

I intend to send Rimer and Avery. Avery aint much of a shake, but Rimers a trig

boy.

Im afraid that wont do, Latigo said.

Wont it Jonas said. His hand tightened on Corals leg and he smiled

unpleasantly at Latigo. Perhaps you could tell your umble ser vant why it wont

do

It was Coral who answered. Because, said she, when the piece of the Wizards

Rainbow Rhea holds is taken back into custody, the Chan cellor will be busy

accompanying my brother to his final resting place.

Whats she talking about, Eldred Depape asked.

That Rimer dies, too, Jonas said. He began to grin.

Another foul crime to lay at

the feet of John Farsons filthy spyboys.

Coral smiled in sweet agreement, put her hands over Jonass, moved it higher on

her thigh, and then picked up her knitting again.

2

The girl, although young, was married.

The boy, although fair, was unstable.

She met him one night in a remote place to tell him their affair, sweet as it had

been, must end. He replied that it would never end, it was written in the stars. She

told him that might be, but at some point the constel la tions had changed. Perhaps

he began to weep. Perhaps she laughedout of nervousness, very likely.

Whatever the cause, such laughter was disas trously timed. He picked up a stone and dashed out her brains with it. Then, coming to his senses and realizing what he

had done, he sat down with his back against a gran ite slab, drew her poor battered

head into his lap, and cut his own throat as an owl looked on from a nearby tree.

He died covering her face with kisses, and when they were found, their lips were

sealed together with his lifes blood and with hers.

An old story. Every town has its version. The site is usually the local lovers lane,

or a secluded stretch of riverbank, or the town graveyard. Once the details of what actually happened have been distorted enough to please the morbidly romantic,

songs are made. These are usually sung by yearn ing virgins who play guitar or

mando badly and cannot quite stay on key. Cho ruses tend to include such

lachrymose refrains as My-di-I-de-I-de-o, There they died together-o.

The Hambry version of this quaint tale featured lovers named Robert and

Francesca, and had happened in the old days, be fore the world had moved on. The

site of the supposed murder-suicide was the Hambry cemetery, the stone with

which Francescas brains had been dashed out was a slate marker, and the granite

wall against which Robert had been leaning when he clipped his blowpipe had

been the Thorin mausoleum. (It was doubtful there had been any Thorins in

Hambry or Mejis five genera tions back, but folktales are, at best, generally no

more than lies set in rhyme.)

True or untrue, the graveyard was considered haunted by the ghosts of the lovers, who could be seen (it was said) walking hand-inhand among the markers, covered

with blood and looking wistful. It was thus seldom visited at night, and was a

logical spot for Roland, Cuthbert, Alain, and Susan to meet.

By the time the meeting took place, Roland had be gun to feel increas ingly

worried … even desperate. Susan was the problemor, more prop erly put,

Susans aunt. Even without Rheas poisonous let ter to help the process along,

Cordelias suspicions of Susan and Roland had hardened into a near certainty. On a day less than a week before the meeting in the cemetery, Cordelia had begun

shrieking at Susan almost as soon as she stepped through the house door with her

basket over her arm.

Yeve been with him! Ye have, ye bad girl, its written all over yer face!

Susan, who had that day been nowhere near Roland, could at first only gape at her

aunt. Been with who

Oh, be not coy with me, Miss Oh So Young and Pret ty! Be not coy, I pray! Who

does all but wiggle his tongue at ye when he passes our door Dearborn, thats

who! Dearborn! Dearborn! Ill say it a thousand times! Oh, shame on ye! Shame!

Look at yer trousers! Green from the grass the two of ye have been rolling in, they

are! Im surprised theyre not torn open at the crutch as well! By then Aunt Cord

had been nearly shrieking. The veins in her neck stood out like rope.

Susan, bemused, had looked down at the old kha ki pants she was wearing.

Aunt, its paintdont you see it is Chetta and Ive been making FairDay

decorations up at Mayors House. Whats on my bottom got there when Hart

Thorin-not Dearborn but Thorincame upon me in the shed where the

decorations and fireworks are stored. He decid ed it was as good a time and place as any to have another little wrestle. He got on top of me, shot his squirt into his

pants again, and went off happy. Humming, he was.

She wrinkled her nose,

although the most she felt for Thorin these days was a kind of sad distaste. Her

fear of him had passed.

Aunt Cord, meanwhile, had been looking at her with glittery eyes. For the first

time, Susan found herself wondering con sciously about Cor delias sanity.

A likely story, Cordelia whispered at last. There were little beads of perspiration

above her eyebrows, and the nestles of blue veins at her temples ticked like clocks.

She even had a smell, these days, no matter if she bathed or nota rancid, acrid

one. Did ye work it out together as ye cuddled af terward, thee and him

Susan had stepped forward, grabbed her aunts bony wrist, and clapped it to the

stain on one of her knees. Cordelia cried out and tried to pull away, but Susan held

fast. She then raised the hand to her aunts face, hold ing it there until she knew

Cordelia had smelled what was on her palm.

Does thee smell it. Aunt Paint! We used it on ricepaper for colored lanterns!

The tension had slowly gone out of the wrist in Su sans hand. The eyes looking

into hers regained a measure of clarity. Aye,

she had said at last. Paint. A

pause. This time.

Since then, Susan had all too often turned her head to see a narrow-hipped figure

gliding after her in the street, or one of her aunts many friends marking her course

with suspicious eyes. When she rode on the Drop, she now always had the

sensation of being watched. Twice before the four of them came together in the

graveyard, she had agreed to meet Roland and his friends. Both times she had

been forced to break off, the second at the very last moment. On that occasion she

had seen Brian Hockeys eldest son watching her in an odd, intent way. It had only been intuition

but strong intuition.

What made matters worse for her was that she was as frantic for a meeting as

Roland himself, and not just for palaver. She needed to see his face, and to clasp

one of his hands between both of hers. The rest, sweet as it was, could wait, but

she needed to see him and touch him; needed to make sure he wasnt Just a dream

spun by a lonely, frightened girl to com fort herself.

In the end, Maria had helped hergods bless the lit tle maid, who per haps

understood more than Susan could ever guess. It was Maria who had gone to

Cordelia with a note saying that Susan would be spending the night in the guest

wing at Seafront. The note was from Olive Thorin, and in spite of all her

suspicions, Cordelia could not quite believe it a forgery. As it was not. Olive had

written it, listlessly and without questions, when Susan asked.

Whats wrong with my niece Cordelia had snapped.

She tired, sai. And with

the dolor de garganta.

Sore throat So close before FairDay Ridicu lous! I dont believe it! Susans

never sick!

Dolor de garganta, Maria repeated, impas sive as only a peasant woman can be in the face of disbelief, and with that Cordelia had to be satisfied. Maria herself

had no idea what Susan was up to, and that was just the way Susan liked it.

Shed gone over the balcony, moving nimbly down the fifteen feet of tangled vines

growing up the north side of the building, and through the rear servants door in the wall. There Roland had been waiting, and after two warm minutes with which

we need not concern ourselves, they rode double on Rusher to the graveyard,

where Cuthbert and Alain waited, full of expecta tion and nervous hope.

3

Susan looked first at the placid blond one with the round face, whose name was

not Richard Stockworth but Alain Johns. Then at the other onehe from whom

she had sensed such doubt of her and perhaps even anger at her. Cuthbert Allgood

was his name.

They sat side by side on a fallen gravestone which had been overrun with ivy,

their feet in a little brook of mist. Susan slid from Rushers back and approached

them slowly. They stood up. Alain made an InWorld bow, leg out, knee locked,

heel stiffly planted. Lady, he said. Long days

Now the other was beside himthin and dark, with a face that would have been

handsome had it not seemed so restless. His dark eyes were really quite beautiful.

- and pleasant nights, Cuthbert finished, dou bling Alains bow. I he two of them looked so like comic courtiers in a FairDay sketch that Susan laughed. She

couldnt help herself. Then she curtseyed to them deeply, spreading her arms to

mime the skirts she wasnt wearing. And may you have twice the number,

gentlemen.

Then they simply looked at each other, three young people who were uncertain

exactly how to proceed. Roland didnt help; he sat astride K usher and only

watched carefully.

Susan took a tentative step forward, not laugh ing now. There were still dimples at the comers of her lips, but her eyes were anxious.

I hope you dont hate me, she said. Id understand it if you did Ive come into

your plans

and between the three of you, as well

but I couldnt help it. Her

hands were still out at her sides. Now she raised them to Alain and Cuthbert,

palms up. I love him.

We dont hate you, Alain said. Do we, Bert

For a terrible moment Cuthbert was silent, look ing over Susans shoulder, seeming to study the waxing Demon Moon. She felt her heart stop. Then his gaze returned

to her and he gave a smile of such sweetness that a confused but brilliant thought

(If Id met this one first, it began) shot through her mind like a comet.

Rolands love is my love, Cuthbert said. He reached out, took her hands, and

drew her forward so she stood between him and Alain like a sister with her two

brothers. For we have been friends since we wore cradle-clothes, and well

continue as friends until one of us leaves the path and enters the clearing. Then he

grinned like a kid. Mayhap well all find the end of the path together, the way

things are going.

And soon, Alain added.

Just so long, Susan Delgado finished, as my Aunt Cordelia doesnt come along

as our chaperone.

4 

We are ka-tet, Roland said. 

We are one from

many.

He looked at each in turn, and saw no disagreement in their eyes. They had

repaired to the mausoleum, and their breath smoked from their mouths and noses.

Roland squatted on his hunkers, looking at the other three, who sat in a line on a stone meditation bench flanked by skeletal bou quets in stone pots. The floor was scattered with the petals of dead roses. Cuthbert and Alain, on either side of Susan, had their arms around her in quite unselfconscious fashion. Again Roland thought

of one sister and two protective brothers.

Were greater than we were, Alain said. I feel that very strongly.

I do, too, Cuthbert said. He looked around. And a fine meeting-place, as well.

Especially for such a ka-tet as ours.

Roland didnt smile; repartee had never been his strong suit. Lets talk about

whats going on in Hambry, he said, and then well talk about the immediate

future.

We werent sent here on a mission, you know, Alain said to Susan. We were

sent by our fathers to get us out of the way, thats all.

Roland excited the enmity of

a man who is likely a cohort of John Parsons

 Excited the enmity of,  Cuthbert said. Thats a good phrase. Round. I intend to

remember it and use it at every opportunity.

Control yourself, Roland said. Ive no desire to be here all night.

Cry your pardon, O great one, Cuthbert said, but his eyes danced in a decidedly

unrepentant way.

We came with carrier pigeons for the sending and receiving of mes sages, Alain went on, but I think the pigeons were laid on so our parents could be sure we

were all right.

Yes, Cuthbert said. What Alains trying to say is that weve been caught by

surprise. Roland and I have had

disagreements

about how to go on. He

wanted to wait. I didnt. I now believe he was right.

But for the wrong reasons, Roland said in a dry tone. In any case, weve settled

our differences.

Susan was looking back and forth between them with something like alarm. What

her gaze settled upon was the bruise on Rolands lower left jaw, clearly visible

even in the faint light which crept through the halfopen sepultura door. Settled

them how

It doesnt matter, Roland said. Farson intends a battle, or perhaps a series of

them, in the Shaved Mountains, to the northwest of Gilead. To the forces of the

Affiliation moving toward him, he will seem trapped. In a more ordinary course of things, that might even have been true. Farson in tends to engage them, trap them,

and destroy them with the weapons of the Old Peo ple. These he will drive with oil

from Citgo. The oil in the tankers we saw, Susan.

Where will it be refined so Farson can use it

Someplace west of here along his route, Cuthbert said. We think very likely the

Vi Castis. Do you know it Its mining country.

Ive heard of it, but Ive never actually been out of Hambry in my life. She

looked levelly at Roland. I think thats to change soon.

Theres a good deal of machinery left over from the days of the Old People in

those mountains, Alain said. Most is up in the draws and canyons, they say.

Robots and killer lightsrazor-beams, such are called, because theyll cut you

clean in half if you run into them. The gods know what else. Some of its

undoubtedly just legend, but where theres smoke, theres often fire. In any case, it seems the most likely spot for refining.

And then theyd take it on to where Farsons wait ing, Cuthbert said. Not that

that part matters to us; weve got all we can handle right here in Mejis.

Ive been waiting in order to get it all, Roland said.

Every bit of their damned

plunder.

In case you havent noticed, our friend is just a wee nubbin ambi tious, Cuthbert

said, and winked.

Roland paid no attention. He was looking in the di rection of Eyebolt Canyon.

There was no noise from there this night; the wind had shifted onto its autumn

course and away from town. If we can fire the oil, the rest will go up with it

and

the oil is the most important thing, anyway. I want to destroy it, then I want to get

the hell out of here. The four of us.

They mean to move on Reaping Day, dont they

Susan asked.

Oh yes, it seems so, Cuthbert said, then laughed. It was a rich, in fectious

soundthe laughter of a childand as he did it, he rocked back and forth and

held his stomach as a child would.

Susan looked puzzled. What What is it

I cant tell, he said, chortling. Its too rich for me. Ill laugh all the way through

it, and Roland will be annoyed. You do it, Al. Tell Su san about our visit from

Deputy Dave.

He came out to see us at the Bar K, Alain said, smil ing himself. Talked to us

like an uncle. Told us Hambry-folk dont care for outsiders at their Fairs, and wed best keep right to our place on the day of the full moon.

Thats insane! Susan spoke indignantly, as one is apt to when one hears ones hometown unjustly maligned. We welcome strangers to our fairs, so we do, and always have! Were not a bunch of

of savages!

Soft, soft, Cuthbert said, giggling. We know that, but Deputy Dave dont know

we know, do he He knows his wife makes the best white tea for miles around,

and after that Daves pretty much at sea. Sher iff Herk knows a leetle more, I shd

judge, but not much.

The pains theyve taken to warn us off means two things, Roland said. The first

is that they intend to move on Reaping FairDay, just as you said, Susan. The

second is that they think they can steal Parsons goods right out from under our

noses.

And then perhaps blame us for it afterward, Alain said.

She looked curiously from one to the other, then said: What have you planned,

then

To destroy what theyve left at Citgo as bait of our own and then to strike them

where they gather, Roland said quietly. Thats Hanging Rock. At least half the

tankers they mean to take west are there already.

Theyll have a force of men. As

many as two hundred, perhaps, although I think it will turn out to be less. I intend that all these men should die.

If they dont, we will, Alain said.

How can the four of us kill two hundred soldiers

We cant. But if we can start one or two of the clus tered tankers burning, we think

therell be an explosionmayhap a fearful one.

The surviving soldiers will be

terrified, and the surviving leaders infuriat ed. Theyll see us, because well let ourselves be seen



Alain and Cuthbert were watching him breathless ly. The rest they had either been

told or had guessed, but this part was the counsel Roland had, until now, kept to

himself.

What then she asked, frightened. What then 

I think we can lead them into Eyebolt Canyon,

Roland said. I think we can lead

them into the thinny.

5

Thunderstruck silence greeted this. Then, not without respect, Susan said:

Youre mad.

No, Cuthbert said thoughtfully. Hes not. Youre thinking about that little cut in

the canyon wall, arent you, Roland The one just be fore the jog in the canyon

floor.

Roland nodded. Four could scramble up that way without too much trouble. At

the top, well pile a fair amount of rock. Enough to start a landslide down on any

that should try following us.

Thats horrible, Susan said.

Its survival, Alain replied. If theyre allowed to have the oil and put it to use,

theyll slaughter every Affiliation man that gets in range of their weapons. The

Good Man takes no prisoners.

I didnt say wrong, only horrible.

They were silent for a moment, four children con templating the mur ders of two

hundred men. Except they wouldnt all be men; many (per haps even most) would

be boys roughly their own ages.

At last she said, Those not caught in your rockslide will only ride back out of the

canyon again.

No, they wont. Alain had seen the lay of the land and now under stood the

matter almost completely. Roland was nodding, and there was a trace of a smile

on his mouth.

Why not

The brush at the front of the canyon. Were going to set it on fire, arent we,

Roland And if the prevailing winds are prevailing that day

the smoke



Itll drive them the rest of the way in, Roland agreed.

Into the thinny.

How will you set the brush-pile alight Susan asked. I know its dry, but surely you wont have time to use a sulfur match or your flint and steel.

You can help us there, Roland said, just as you can help us set the tankers

alight. We cant count on touching off the oil with just our guns, you know; crude

oil is a lot less volatile than people might think. And Sheemies going to help you,

I hope.

Tell me what you want.

6

They talked another twenty minutes, refining the plan surprisingly little all of them seemed to understand that if they planned too much and things changed

suddenly, they might freeze. Ka had swept them in to this; it was perhaps best that

they count on kaand their own courageto sweep them back out again.

Cuthbert was reluctant to involve Sheemie, but fi nally went along the boys part

would be minimal, if not exactly low-risk, and Roland agreed that they could take him with them when they left Mejis for good. A party of rive was as fine as a party

of four, he said.

All right, Cuthbert said at last, then turned to Su san. It ought to be you or me

who talks to him.

I will.

Make sure he understands not to tell Coral Thorin so much as a word, Cuthbert

said. It isnt that the Mayors her brother; I just dont trust that bitch.

I can give ye a better reason than Hart not to trust her, Susan said. My aunt says

shes taken up with Eldred Jonas. Poor Aunt Cord!

Shes had the worst summer of

her life. Nor will the fall be much better, I wot. Folk will call her the aunt of a

traitor.

Some will know better, Alain said. Some always do.

Mayhap, but my Aunt Cordelias the sort of woman who never hears good gossip.

No more does she speak it. She fancied Jonas her self, ye ken.

Cuthbert was thunderstruck. Fancied Jonas! By all the fiddling gods! Can you

imagine it! Why, if they hung folk for bad taste in love, your auntie would go

early, wouldnt she

Susan giggled, hugged her knees, and nodded.

Its time we left, Roland said. If something chances that Susan needs to know

right away, well use the red stone in the rock wall at Green Heart.

Good, Cuthbert said. Lets get out of here. The cold in this place eats into the

bones.

Roland stirred, stretching life back into his legs.

The important thing is that

theyve decided to leave us free while they round up and run. Thats our edge, and

its a good one. And now

Alains quiet voice stopped him. Theres another matter. Very important.

Roland sank back down on his hunkers, looking at Alain curiously.

The witch.

Susan started, but Roland only barked an impa tient laugh. She doesnt figure in our business, AlI cant see how she could. I dont believe shes a part of Jonass

conspiracy

Neither do I, Alain said.

and Cuthbert and I persuaded her to keep her mouth shut about Susan and me.

If we hadnt, her aunt would have raised the roof by now. But dont you see Alain asked. Who Rhea might have told isnt really the

question. The question is how she knew in the first place.

Its pink, Susan said abruptly. Her hand was on her hair, fingers touching the

place where the cut ends had begun to grow out.

Whats pink Alain asked.

The moon, she said, and then shook her head. I dont know. I dont know what

Im talking about. Brainless as Pinch and Jilly, I am

Roland Whats wrong

What ails thee

For Roland was no longer hunkering; he had col lapsed into a loose sitting position on the petal-strewn stone floor. He looked like a young man trying not to faint.

Outside the mausoleum there was a bony rattle of fall leaves and the cry of a

nightjar.

Dear gods, he said in a low voice. It cant be. It cant be true. His eyes met

Cuthberts.

All the humor had washed out of the latter young mans face, leaving a ruthless

and calculating bedrock his own mother might not have recog nized

or might

not have wanted to.

Pink, Cuthbert said. Isnt that interestingthe same word your father happened

to mention just before we left, Roland, wasnt it He warned us about the pink one.

We thought it was a joke. Almost.

Oh! Alains eyes flew wide open. Oh, fuck! he blurt ed. He real ized what he

had said while sitting leg-to-leg with his best friends lover and clapped his hands over his mouth. His cheeks flamed red.

Susan barely noticed. She was staring at Roland in growing fear and confusion.

What she asked. What is it ye know Tell me! Tell me!

Id like to hypnotize you again, as I did that day in the willow grove, Roland

said. I want to do it right now, before we talk of this more and drag mud across

what you remember.

Roland had reached into his pocket while she was speaking. Now he took out a

shell, and it began to dance across the back of his hand once more. Her eyes went

to it at once, like steel drawn to a magnet.

May I he asked. By your leave, dear.

Aye, as ye will. Her eyes were widening and grow ing glassy. I dont know why

ye think this time should be any different, but…

She stopped talking, her eyes

continuing to follow the dance of the shell across Rolands hand. When he stopped

moving it and clasped it in his fist, her eyes closed.

Her breath was soft and

regular.

Gods, she went like a stone, Cuthbert whispered, amazed. Shes been

hypnotized before. By Rhea, I think. Roland paused. Then: Susan, do you hear

me

Aye, Roland, I hear ye very well. I want you to hear another voice, too.

Whose

Roland beckoned to Alain. If anyone could break through the block in Susans

mind (or find a way around it), it would be him.

Mine, Susan, Alain said, coming to Rolands side.

Do you know it She smiled

with her eyes closed. Aye, youre Alain. Richard Stockworth that was.

Thats right. He looked at Roland with nervous, questioning eyes What shall I

ask herbut for a moment Roland didnt reply. He was in two other places, both

at the same time, and hearing two different voic es.

Susan, by the stream in the willow grove: She says, Aye, lovely, just so, its a

good girl yare,  then everythings pink.

His father, in the yard behind the Great Hall: Its the grapefruit. By which I mean

its the pink one.

The pink one.

7

Their horses were saddled and loaded; the three boys stood before them,

outwardly stolid, inwardly feverish to be gone.

The road, and the myster ies that

lie along it, calls out to none as it calls to the young.

They were in the courtyard which lay east of the Great Hall, not far from where

Roland had bested Cort, setting all these things in motion. It was early morning,

the sun not yet risen, the mist lying over the green fields in gray ribbons. At a

distance of about twenty paces, Cuthberts and Alains fathers stood sentry with

their legs apart and their hands on the butts of their guns. It was unlikely that

Marten (who had for the time be ing absented him self from the palace, and, so far

as any knew, from Gilead itself) would mount any sort of attack on themnot

herebut it wasnt entirely out of the question, ei ther.

So it was that only Rolands father spoke to them as they mounted up to begin

their ride east to Mejis and the Outer Arc.

One last thing, he said as they adjusted their sad dle girths. I doubt youll see

anything that (ouches on our interestsnot in Mejisbut Id have you keep an

eye out for a color of the rainbow. The Wizards Rain-how, that is. He chuckled,

then added: Its the grapefruit. By which I mean its the pink one.

Wizards Rainbow is just a fairytale, Cuthbert said, smiling in response to

Stevens smile. Thenperhaps it was something in Steven Deschains

eyesCuthberts smile faltered. Isnt it

Not all the old stories are true, but I think that of Maerlyns Rainbow is, Steven

replied. Its said that once there were thirteen glass balls in itone for each of the

Twelve Guardians, and one representing the nexus-point of the Beams.

One for the Tower, Roland said in a low voice, feel ing gooseflesh. One for the

Dark Tower.

Aye, Thirteen it was called when I was a boy. Wed tell stories about the black

ball around the fire sometimes, and scare ourselves silly … un less our fathers

caught us at it. My own da said it wasnt wise to talk about Thirteen, for it might

hear its name called and roll your way. But Black Thir teen doesnt matter to you

three

not now, at least. No, its the pink one. Maer lyns Grapefruit.

It was impossible to tell how serious he was

or if he was serious at all.

If the other balls in the Wizards Rainbow did ex ist, most are broken now. Such

things never stay in one place or one pair of hands for long, you know, and even

enchanted glass has a way of breaking. Yet at least three or four bends o the

Rainbow may still be rolling around this sad world of ours. The blue, almost

certainly. A desert tribe of slow mu tantsthe Total Hogs, they called

themselveshad that one less than fifty years ago, although its slipped from sight

again since. The green and the orange are reput ed to be in Lud and Dis,

respectively. And, just maybe, the pink one.

What exactly do they do Roland asked. What are they good for

For seeing. Some colors of the Wizards Rain bow are reputed to look into the

future. Others look into the other worldsthose where the demons live, those

where the Old People are supposed to have gone when they left our world. These

may also show the location of the secret doors which pass between the worlds.

Other colors, they say, can look far in our own world, and see things people would

as soon keep secret. They never see the good; on ly the ill. How much of this is

true and how much is myth no one knows for sure.

He looked at them, his smile fading.

But this we do know: John Farson is said to have a talisman, some thing that

glows in his tent late at night

sometimes before battles, sometimes before large

movements of troop and horse, sometimes before momentous decisions are

announced. And it glows pink.

Maybe he has an electric light and puts a pink scarf over it when he prays,

Cuthbert said. He looked around at his friends, a lit tle defensively. Im not joking;

there are people who do that.

Perhaps, Rolands father said. Perhaps thats all it is, or something like. But

perhaps its a good deal more. All I can say of my own knowl edge is that he keeps

beating us, he keeps slipping away from us, and he keeps turning up where hes

least expected. If the magic is in him and not in some talisman he owns, gods help

the Affiliation.

Well keep an eye out, if you like, Roland said, but Parsons in the north or

west. Were going east. As if his father did not know this.

If its a bend o the Rainbow, Steven replied, it could be any whereeast or

souths as likely as west. He cant keep it with him all the time, you see. No matter

how much it would ease his mind and heart to do so.

No one can.

Why not

Because theyre alive, and hungry, Steven said.

One begins using em; one ends

being used by em. If Farson has a piece of the Rainbow, hell send it away and call it back only when he needs it. He understands the risk of losing it, but he also

understands the risk of keeping it too long.

There was a question which the other two, con strained by politeness, couldnt ask.

Roland could, and did. You are serious about this.

Dad Its not just a leg-pull, is

it

Im sending you away at an age when many boys still dont sleep well if their

mothers dont kiss them goodnight, Steven said. I expect to see all three of you

again, alive and wellMejis is a lovely, quiet place, or was when I was a

boybut I cant be sure of it. As things are these days, no one can be sure of

anything. I wouldnt send you away with a joke and a laugh. Im surprised you

think it.

Cry your pardon, Roland said. An uneasy peace had descended between him and

his father, and he would not rupture it. Still, he was wild to be off. Pusher jigged

beneath him, as if seconding that.

I dont expect you boys to see Maerlyns glass …

but I didnt expect to be seeing

you off at fourteen with revolvers tucked in your bed rolls, either. Kas at work

here, and where ka works, anything is possible.

Slowly, slowly, Steven took off his hat, stepped back, and swept them a bow. Go

in peace, boys. And return in health.

Long days and pleasant nights, sai, Alain said.

Good fortune, Cuthbert said.

I love you, Roland said.

Steven nodded. Thankee-saiI love you, too. My blessings, boys. He said this

last in a loud voice, and the other two menRobert Allgood and Christopher

Johns, who had been known in the days of his sav age youth as Burning

Chrisadded their own blessings.

So the three of them rode toward their end of the Great Road, while summer lay

all about them, breathless as a gasp. Roland looked up and saw something that

made him forget all about the Wizards Rainbow. It was his mother, leaning out of

her apartments bedroom window: the oval of her face surrounded by the timeless

gray stone of the castles west wing. There were tears coursing down her cheeks,

but she smiled and lifted one hand in a wide wave. Of the three of them, only

Roland saw her.

He didnt wave back.

8 Roland! An elbow struck him in the ribs, hard enough to dispel these memories,

brilliant as they were, and return him to the present.

It was Cuthbert. Do

something, if you mean to! Get us out of this dead house before I shiver the skin

right off my bones!

Roland put his mouth close by Alains ear. Be ready to help me.

Alain nodded.

Roland turned to Susan. After the first time we were together an-tet, you went to

the stream in the grove.

Aye.

You cut some of your hair.

Aye. That same dreaming voice. So I did.

Would you have cut it all

Aye, every lick and lock.

Do you know who told you to cut it

A long pause. Roland was about to turn to Alain when she said, Rhea. Another

pause. She wanted to fiddle me up.

Yes, but what happened later What happened while you stood in the doorway

Oh, and something else happened before.

What

I fetched her wood, said she, and said no more.

Roland looked at Cuthbert, who shrugged. Alain spread his hands. Roland thought

of asking the latter boy to step forward, and judged it still wasnt quite time.

Never mind the wood for now, he said, or all that came before. Well talk of

that later, mayhap, but not just yet. What happened as you were leaving What did

she say to you about your hair

Whispered in my ear. And she had a Jesus-man.

Whispered what

I dont know. That part is pink.

Here it was. He nodded to Alain. Alain bit his lip and stepped for ward. He looked

frightened, but as he took Susans hands in his own and spoke to her, his voice was

calm and soothing.

Susan Its Alain Johns. Do you know me

AyeRichard Stockworth that was.

What did Rhea whisper in your ear

A frown, faint as a shadow on an overcast day, creased her brow. I cant see. Its pink.

You dont need to see, Alain said. Seeings not what we want right now. Close

your eyes so you cant do it at all.

They are closed, she said, a trifle pettishly. Shes frightened, Roland thought. He

felt an urge to tell Alain to stop, to wake her up, and re strained it.

The ones inside, Alain said. The ones that look out from memory. Close those,

Susan. Close them for your fathers sake, and tell me not what you see but what

you hear. Tell me what she said.

Chillingly, unexpectedly, the eyes in her face opened as she closed those in her

mind. She stared at Roland, and through him, with the eyes of an ancient statue.

Roland bit back a scream.

You were in the doorway, Susan Alain asked.

Aye. So we both were.

Be there again.

Aye. A dreaming voice. Faint but clear. Even with my eyes closed I can see-the

moons light. Tis as big as a grapefruit.

Its the grapefruit, Roland thought. By which I mean, its the pink one.

And what do you hear What does she say

No, I say. The faintly petulant voice of a little girl.

First I say, Alain. I say And

is our business done and she says Mayhap theres one more little thing, and then

then



Alain squeezed gently down on her hands, using whatever it was he had in his

own, his touch, sending it into her. She tried feebly to pull back, but he wouldnt

let her. Then what What next

She has a little silver medal.

Yes

She leans close and asks if I hear her. I can smell her breath. It reeks o garlic.

And other things, even worse. Susans face wrin kled in dis taste. I say I hear her.

Now I can see. I see the medal she has.

Very well, Susan, Alain said. What else do you see

Rhea. She looks like a skull in the moonlight. A skull with hair.

Gods, Cuthbert muttered, and crossed his arms over his chest.

She says I should listen. I say I will listen. She says I should obey. I say I will

obey. She says Aye, lovely, just so, its a good girl yare. Shes stroking my hair.

All the time. My braid. Susan raised a dreaming, drowning hand, pale in the

shadows of the crypt, to her blonde hair. And then she says theres something Im

to do when my virginitys over. Wait, she says, un til hes asleep beside ye, then

cut yer hair off yer head. Every strand. Right down to yer very skull. 

The boys looked at her in mounting horror as her voice became Rheasthe

growling, whining cadences of the old woman of the Coos. Even the faceexcept

for the coldly dreaming eyeshad become a hags face.

 Cut it all, girl, every whores strand of it, aye, and go back to him as bald as ye

came from yer mother! See how he likes ye then! 

She fell silent. Alain turned his pallid face to Roland.

His lips were trembling, but

still he held her hands.

Why is the moon pink Roland asked. Why is the moon pink when you try to

remember

Its her glam. Susan seemed almost surprised, almost gay. Confid ing. She

keeps it under her bed, so she does. She doesnt know I saw it.

Are you sure

Aye, Susan said, then added simply: She would have killed me if she knew.

She giggled, shocking them all. Rhea has the moon in a box under her bed. She

lilted this in the singsong voice of a small child.

A pink moon, Roland said.

Aye.

Under her bed.

Aye. This time she did pull her hands free of Alains.

She made a circle with

them in the air, and as she looked up at it, a dreadful expres sion of greed passed

over her face like a cramp. I should like to have it, Roland. So I should. Lovely

moon! I saw it when she sent me for the wood. Through her window. She looked

young. Then, once again: I shd like to have such a thing.

Noyou wouldnt. But its under her bed

Aye, in a magic place she makes with passes.

She has a piece of Maerlyns Rainbow, Cuthbert said in a wonder ing voice.

The old bitch has what your da told us aboutno wonder she knows all she

does!

Is there more we need Alain asked. Her hands have gotten very cold. I dont

like having her this deep. Shes done well, but…

I think were done.

Shall I tell her to forget

Roland shook his head at oncethey were ka-tet, for good or ill. He took hold of

her fingers, and yes, they were cold.

Susan

Aye, dear.

Im going to say a rhyme. When I finish, youll re member every thing, as you did

before. All right

She smiled and closed her eyes again. Bird and bear and hare and fish…

Smiling, Roland finished, Give my love her fondest wish. Her eyes opened. She smiled. You, she said again, and kissed him. Still you,

Roland. Still you, my love.

Unable to help himself, Roland put his arms around her.

Cuthbert looked away. Alain looked down at his boots and cleared his throat.

9

As they rode back toward Seafront, Susan with her arms around Rolands waist,

she asked: Will you take the glass from her

Best leave it where it is for now. It was left in her safe keeping by Jonas, on behalf

of Parson, I have no doubt. Its to be sent west with the rest of the plunder; Ive no

doubt of that, either. Well deal with it when we deal with the tankers and Parsons

men.

Yed take it with us

Take it or break it. I suppose Id rather take it back to my father, but that has its

own risks. Well have to be careful. Its a powerful glam.

Suppose she sees our plans Suppose she warns Jonas or Kimba Rimer

If she doesnt see us coming to take away her pre cious toy, I dont think shell

mind our plans one way or the other. I think weve put a scare into her, and if the

ball has really gotten a hold on her, watching in its what shell mostly want to do with her time now.

And hold onto it. Shell want to do that, too.

Aye.

Rusher was walking along a path through the sea cliff woods. Through the thinning

branches they could glimpse the ivied gray wall sur rounding Mayors House and

hear the rhythmic roar of waves breaking on the shingle below.

You can get in safe, Susan

No fear.

And you know what you and Sheemie are to do

Aye. I feel better than I have in ages. Its as if my mind is finally clear of some

old shadow.

If so, its Alain you have to thank. I couldnt have done it on my own.

Theres magic in his hands.

Yes. They had reached the servants door. Susan dismounted with fluid ease. He

stepped down himself and stood beside her with an arm around her waist. She was

looking up at the moon.

Look, its fattened enough so you can see the be ginning of the De mons face.

Does thee see it

A blade of nose, a bone of grin. No eye yet, but yes, he saw it.

It used to terrify me when I was little. Susan was whispering now, mindful of

the house behind the wall. Id pull the blind when the Demon was full. I was

afraid that if he could see me, hed reach down and take me up to where he was

and eat me. Her lips were trembling. Children are silly, arent they

Sometimes. He hadnt been afraid of Demon Moon himself as a small child, but he was afraid of this one. The future seemed so dark, and the way through to the

light so slim. I love thee, Susan. With all my heart, I do.

I know. And I love thee. She kissed his mouth with gentle open lips. Put his

hand on her breast for a moment, then kissed the warm palm. He held her, and she

looked past him at the ripening moon.

A week until the Reap, she said. Fin de ano is what the vaqueros and

labradoros call it. Do they call it so in your land

Near enough, Roland said. Its called closing the year. Women go about giving

preserves and kisses.

She laughed softly against his shoulder. Perhaps Ill not find things so different, after all.

You must save all your best kisses for me.

I will.

Whatever comes, well be together, he said, but above them, De mon Moon

grinned into the starry dark above the Clean Sea, as if he knew a different future.

CHAPTER VI

CLOSING THE YEAR

1

So now comes to Mejis fin de ano, known in toward the center of MidWorld as

closing the year. It comes as it has a thousand times before

or ten thousand, or a

hundred thousand. No one can tell for sure; the world has moved on and time has

grown strange. In Mejis their saying is Time is a face on the water.

In the fields, the last of the potatoes are being picked by men and women who

wear gloves and their heaviest scrapes, for now the wind has turned firmly,

blowing east to west, blowing hard, and always theres the smell of salt in the

chilly aira smell like tears. Los campesinos harvest the final rows cheerfully

enough, talking of the things theyll do and the ca pers theyll cut at Reaping Fair,

but they feel all of autumns old sad ness in the wind; the going of the year. It runs

away from them like water in a stream, and although none speak of it, all know it

very well.

In the orchards, the last and highest of the apples are picked by laugh ing young

men (in these notquite-gales, the final days of picking belong only to them) who

bob up and down like crows nest lookouts. Above them, in skies which hold a

brilliant, cloudless blue, squadrons of geese fly south, calling their rusty adieux.

The small fishing boats are pulled from the water; their hulls are scraped and

painted by singing owners who mostly work stripped to the waist in spite of the chill in the air. They sing the old songs as they work

I am a man of the bright blue sea, All I see, all I see,

I am a man of the Barony,

All I see is mine-o!

I am a man of the bright blue hay, All I say, all I say,

Until my nets are full I stay

All I say is fine-o!

and sometimes a little cask of graf is tossed from dock to dock. On the bay itself

only the large boats now remain, pacing about the big circles which mark their

dropped nets as a working dog may pace around a flock of sheep. At noon the bay

is a rippling sheet of autumn fire and the men on the boats sit crosslegged, eating

their lunches, and know that all they see is theirs-o

at least until the gray gales

of autumn come swarming over the horizon, coughing out their gusts of sleet and snow.

Closing, closing the year.

Along the streets of Hambry, the Reap-lights now bum at night, and the hands of

the stuffyguys are painted red. Reapcharms hang every where, and although

women often kiss and are kissed in the streets and in both marketplacesoften by

men they do not knowsexual intercourse has come to an almost complete halt. It will resume (with a bang, you might say) on ReapNight. There will be the usual

crop of Full Earth ba bies the following year as a re sult.

On the Drop, the horses gallop wildly, as if under standing (very likely they do)

that their time of freedom is coming to an end. They swoop and then stand with

their faces pointing west when the wind gusts, show ing their asses to winter. On

the ranches, porch-nets are taken down and shut ters rehung. In the huge ranch

kitchens and smaller farmhouse kitchens, no one is stealing Reap-kisses, and no

one is even thinking about sex. This is the time of putting up and laying by, and

the kitchens fume with steam and pulse with heat from before dawn until long

after dark. There is the smell of apples and beets and beans and sharproot and

curing strips of meat. Women work ceaselessly all day and then sleep walk to bed, where they lie like corpses until the next dark morn ing calls them back to their

kitchens.

Leaves are burned in town yards, and as the week goes on and Old Demons face

shows ever more clearly, redhanded stuffyguys are thrown on the pyres more

and more frequently. In the fields, cornshucks flare like torches, and often stuffies

bum with them, their red hands and white-cross eyes rippling in the heat. Men

stand around these fires, not speaking, their faces solemn. No one will say what

terrible old ways and unspeakable old gods are being propitiated by the burning of the stuffyguys, but they all know well enough. From time to time one of these

men will whisper two words under his breath: chary ou tree.

They are closing, closing, closing the year.

The streets rattle with firecrackers-and some times with a heftier big-hang that makes even placid carthorses rear in their traces

and echo with the laughter of

children. On the porch of the mercantile and across the street at the Travellers

Rest, kissessometimes humidly open and with much sweet lashing of

tonguesare exchanged, but Coral Thorins whores (cotton-gillies is what the

airy-fairy ones like Gert Moggins like to call them selves) are bored. They will

have little custom this week.

This is not Years End, when the winterlogs will bum and Mejis will be bamdances

from one end to the other … and yet it is.

This is the real years end,

charyou tree, and everyone, from Stanley Ruiz standing at the bar beneath The

Romp to the farthest of Fran Lengylls vaqueros out on the edge of the Bad Grass,

knows it. There is a kind of echo in the bright air, a yearning for other places in

the blood, a loneliness in the heart that sings like the wind.

But this year theres something else, as well: a sense of wrongness that no one can

quite voice. Folks who never had a nightmare in their lives will awake screaming

with them during the week of fin de ano; men who consider themselves peaceful

will find themselves not only in fistfights but insti gating them; discontented boys

who would only have dreamed of running away in other years will this year

actually do it, and most will not come back after the first night spent sleeping raw.

There is a senseinarticulate but very much there that things have gone amiss

this season. It is the closing of the year; it is also the closing of the peace. For it is here, in the sleepy Out-World Barony of Mejis, that MidWorlds last great

conflict will shortly begin; it is from here that the blood will begin to flow. In two

years, no more, the world as it has been will be swept away. It starts here. From its

field of roses, the Dark Tower cries out in its beasts voice. Time is a face on the

water.

2

Coral Thorin was coming down the High Street from the Bayview Hotel when she

spied Sheemie, leading Caprichoso and heading in the opposite direction. The boy was singing Careless Love in a voice both high and sweet. His progress was

slow; the barrels slung over Capis back were half again as large as the ones he had

carried up to the Coos not long before.

Coral hailed her boy-of-all-work cheerily enough.

She had reason to be cheery;

Eldred Jonas had no use for fin de ano absti nence. And for a man with a bad leg, he could be very inventive.

Sheemie! she called. Where go ye Seafront

Aye, Sheemie said. Ive got the graf them asked for.

All parties come Reaping

Fair, aye, tons of em. Dance a lot, get hot a lot, drink graf to cool off a lot! How

pretty you look, sai Thorin, cheeks all pinky-pink, so they are.

Oh, law! How kind of you to say, Sheemie! She fa vored him with a dazzling

smile. Go on, now, you flattererdont linger.

Noey-no, off I go.

Coral stood watching after him and smiling. Dance a lot, get hot a lot, Sheemie

had said. About the dancing Coral didnt know, but she was sure this years

Reaping would be hot, all right. Very hot indeed.

3

Miguel met Sheemie at Seafronts archway, gave him the look of lofty contempt

he reserved for the lower orders, then pulled the cork from first one barrel and then the other. With the first, he only sniffed from the bung; at the second, he stuck his

thumb in and then sucked it thoughtfully. With his wrinkled cheeks hollowed

inward and his toothless old mouth working, he looked like an ancient bearded

baby.

Tasty, aint it Sheemie asked. Tasty as a pasty, aint it, good old Miguel, been

here a thousand years

Miguel, still sucking his thumb, favored Sheemie with a sour look. Andale.

Andale, simplon. 

Sheemie led his mule around the house to the kitchen.

Here the breeze off the

ocean was sharp and shiversome. He waved to the women in the kitchen, but not a

one waved back; likely they didnt even see him. A pot boiled on every trink of the

enormous stove, and the women working in loose long-sleeved cotton garments like shifts and wearing their hair tied up in brightly colored cloutsmoved about

like phantoms glimpsed in fog.

Sheemie took first one barrel from Capis back, then the other. Grunt ing, he

carried them to the huge oak tank by the back door.

He opened the tanks lid, bent

over it, and then backed away from the eye-water ingly strong smell of elderly

graf.

Whew! he said, hoisting the first barrel. Ye could get drunk just on

the smell o that lot!

He emptied in the fresh graf, careful not to spill.

When he was fin ished, the tank

was pretty well topped up. That was good, for on Reaping Night, apple-beer

would flow out of the kitchen taps like water.

He slipped the empty barrels into their carriers, looked into the kitchen once more

to be sure he wasnt being observed (he wasnt; Corals simple-minded tavern-boy

was the last thing on anyones minds that morning), and then led Capi not back the

way theyd come but along a path which led to Seafronts storage sheds.

There were three of them in a row, each with its own redhanded stuffyguy sitting

in front. The guys appeared to be watching Sheemie, and that gave him the

shivers. Then he remembered his trip to crazy old bitch-lady Rheas house. She

had been scary. These were just old duds stuffed full of straw.

Susan he called, low. Are ye here

The door of the center shed was ajar. Now it trun dled open a little. Come in! she called, also low. Bring the mule! Hurry!

He led Capi into a shed which smelled of straw and beans and tack

and

something else. Something sharper. Fireworks, he thought. Shooting-powder, too.

Susan, who had spent the morning enduring fi nal fittings, was dressed in a thin silk wrapper and large leather boots. Her hair was done up in curling papers of

bright blue and red.

Sheemie tittered. You look quite amusing, Susan, daughter of Pat. Quite a

chuckle for me, I think.

Yes, Im a picture for an artist to paint, all right, Su san said, look ing distracted.

We have to hurry. I have twenty minutes before Im missed. Ill be missed before, if that randy old goat is looking for me

lets be quick!

They lifted the barrels from Capis back. Susan took a broken horse-bit from the

pocket of her wrapper and used the sharp end to pry off one of the tops. She tossed the bit to Sheemie, who pried off the other. The ap ple-tart smell of graf filled the

shed.

Here! She tossed Sheemie a soft cloth. Dry it out as well as you can. Doesnt

have to be perfect, theyre wrapped, but its best to be safe.

They wiped the insides of the barrels, Susan stealing nervous glances at the door every few seconds. All right, she said. Good. Now

theres two kinds. Im sure

they wont be missed; theres enough stuff back there to blow up half the world.

She hurried back into the dimness of the shed, holding the hem of her wrapper up

with one hand, her boots clomping. When she came back, her arms were full of

wrapped packages.

These are the bigger ones, she said.

He stored them in one of the casks. There were a dozen packages in all, and

Sheemie could feel round things inside, each about the size of a childs fist. Bigbangers.

By the time he had finished packing and putting the top back on the

barrel, she had returned with an armload of small er packages. These he stored in

the other barrel. They were the little uns, from the feel, the ones that not only

banged but flashed colored fire.

She helped him resling the barrels on Capis back, still shooting those little glances at the shed door. When the barrels were secured to Caprichosos sides, Susan

sighed with relief and brushed her sweaty forehead with the backs of her hands.

Thank the gods that parts over, she said. Now ye know where yere to take

them

Aye, Susan daughter of Pat. To the Bar K. My friend Arthur Heath will put em

safe.

And if anyone asks what yere doing out that way

Taking sweet graf to the InWorld boys, cause theyve decided not to come to town for the Fair … why wont

they, Susan Dont they like Fairs

Yell know soon enough. Dont mind it now, Sheemie.

Go onbest be on your

way.

Yet he lingered.

What she asked, trying not to be impatient.

Sheemie, what is it

Id like to take a fin de ano kiss from ye, so I would.

Sheemies face had gone an

alarming shade of red.

Susan laughed in spite of herself, then stood on her toes and kissed the comer of

his mouth. With that, Sheemie floated out to the Bar K

with his load of fire.

4

Reynolds rode out to Citgo the following day, gal loping with a scarf wrapped

around his face so only his eyes peered out. He would be very glad to get out of

this damned place that couldnt decide if it was ranch-land or seacoast. The

temperature wasnt all that low, but after coming in over the water, the wind cut

like a razor. Nor was that allthere was a brooding quality to Hambry and all of

Mejis as the days wound down toward the Reap; a haunted feeling he didnt care

for a bit. Roy felt it, too. Reynolds could see it in his eyes. No, hed be glad to have those three baby knights so much ash in the wind and this

place just a memory.

He dismounted in the crumbling refinery park ing lot, tied his horse to the bumper of a rusty old hulk with the mystery-word chevrolet barely readable on its

tailboard, then walked toward the oilpatch. The wind blew hard, chilling him even

through the ranch-style sheepskin coat he wore, and twice he had to yank his hat

down around his ears to keep it from blowing off. On the whole, he was glad he

couldnt see himself; he proba bly looked like a fucking farmer.

The place seemed fine, though … which was to say, deserted. The wind made a

lonely soughing sound as it combed through the firs on ei ther side of the pipe.

Youd never guess that there were a dozen pairs of eyes looking out at you as you

strolled.

Hai! he called. Come on out here, pard, and lets have some palaver.

For a moment there was no response; then Hiram Quint of the Piano Ranch and

Barkie Callahan of the Travellers Rest came duck ing their way out through the

trees. Holy shit, Reynolds thought, somewhere be tween awe and amusement.

There aint that much beef in a butcher shop.

There was a wretched old musketoon stuck into the waistband of Quints pants;

Reynolds hadnt seen one in years. He thought that if Quint was lucky, it would

only misfire when he pulled the trigger. If he was un lucky, it would blow up in

his face and blind him.

All quiet he asked.

Quint replied in Mejis bibble-babble. Barkie lis tened, then said: All well, sai. He say he and his men grow impatient. Smiling cheerfully, his face giving no

indication of what he was saying, Barkie added: If brains was blackpowder, this

ijit couldnt blow his nose.

But hes a trustworthy idiot

Barkie shrugged. It might have been assent.

They went through the trees. Where Roland and Su san had seen al most thirty

tankers, there were now only half a dozen, and of those six, only two actually had

oil in them. Men sat on the ground or snoozed with their sombreros over their

faces. Most had guns that looked about as trust wor thy as the one in Quints

waistband. A few of the poorer vaqs had bolas. On the whole, Reynolds guessed

they would be more effective.

Tell Lord Perth here that if the boys come, its got to be an ambush, and theyll

only have one chance to do the job right, Reynolds said to Barkie.

Barkie spoke to Quint. Quints lips parted in a grin, revealing a scari fying picket

of black and yellow fangs. He spoke briefly, then put his hands out in front of

them and closed them into huge, scarred fists, one above the other, as if wringing

the neck of an invisible enemy. When Barkie be gan to translate, Clay Reynolds

waved it away. He had caught only one word, but it was enough: muerto.

5

All that pre-Fair week, Rhea sat in front of the glass, peering into its depths. She

had taken time to sew Ermots head back onto his body with clumsy stitches of

black thread, and she sat with the decaying snake around her neck as she watched

and dreamed, not noticing the stench that began to arise from the reptile as time

passed. Twice Musty came nigh, mewing for food, and each time Rhea batted the

troublesome thing away without so much as a glance. She herself grew more and

more gaunt, her eyes now looking like the sockets of the skulls stored in the net by the door to her bedroom. She dozed occasional ly as she sat with the ball in her lap and the stinking snakeskin looped about her throat, her head down, the sharp point

of her chin digging at her chest, runners of drool hanging from the loose puckers

of her lips, but she never really slept. There was too much to see, far too much to

see.

And it was hers for the seeing. These days she didnt even have to pass her hands

above the glass to open its pink mists. All the Baronys meanness, all its petty (and

not so petty) cruelties, all its cozening and ly ing lay before her. Most of what she

saw was small and demeaning stuffmasturbat ing boys peeking through

knotholes at their undressed sisters, wives going through husbands pockets,

looking for extra money or tobacco, Sheb the piano-player licking the seat of the chair where his favorite whore had sat for awhile, a maid at Seafront spitting into

Kimba Rimers pillowcase after the Chancellor had kicked her for being slow in

getting out of his way.

These were all things which confirmed her opinion of the society she had left

behind. Sometimes she laughed wildly; some times she spoke to the people she

saw in the glass ball, as if they could hear her. By the third day of the week before

Reaping, she had ceased her trips to the privy, even though she could carry the ball

with her when she went, and the sour stench of urine began to rise from her.

By the fourth day, Musty had ceased coming near her. Rhea dreamed in the ball

and lost herself in her dreams, as others had done before her; deep in the petty

pleasures of far seeing, she was un aware that the pink ball was stealing the

wrinkled remains of her anima. She likely would have considered it a fair trade if she had known. She saw all the things people did in the shadows, and they were

the only things she cared for, and for them she al most certainly would have

considered her lifes force a fair trade.

6

Here, the boy said, let me light it, gods damn you.

Jonas would have

recognized the speaker; he was the lad who had waved a severed dogs tail across

the street at Jonas and called, Were Big Coffin Hunters just like you!

The boy to whom this charming child had spoken tried to hold onto the piece of

liver they had copped from the knackers behind the Low Market. The first boy

seized his ear and twisted. The second boy howled and held the chunk of liver out,

dark blood running down his grimy knuckles as he did.

Thats better, the first boy said, taking it. You want to remember who the

capataz is, round here.

They were behind a bakery stall in the Low Market.

Nearby, drawn by the smell of

hot fresh bread, was a mangy mutt with one blind eye.

He stared at them with

hungry hope.

There was a slit in the chunk of raw meat. Poking out of it was a green big-bang

fuse. Below the fuse, the liver bulged like the stom ach of a pregnant woman. The

first boy took a sulfur match, stuck it between his protruding front teeth, and lit it.

He wont never! said a third boy, in an agony of hope and anticipation.

Thin as he is the first boy said. Oh yes he will. Bet ye my deck of cards

against yer hosstail.

The third boy thought it over and shook his head.

The first boy grinned. Its a wise child ye are, he said, and lit the big-bangs fuse.

Hey, cully! he called to the dog. Want a bite o

sumpin good Here ye go!

He threw the chunk of raw liver. The scrawny dog never hesitated at the hissing

fuse, but lunged forward with its one good eye fixed on the first decent food it had

seen in days. As it snatched the liver out of the air, the big-bang the boys had

slipped into it went off. There was a roar and a flash.

The dogs head disintegrated

from the jaws down. For a moment it continued to stand there, dripping, staring at

them with its one good eye, and then it collapsed.

Toadjer! the first boy jeered. Toadjer hed take it!

Happy Reap to us, eh

What are you boys doing a womans voice called sharply. Get out of there, ye

ravens!

The boys fled, cackling, into the bright afternoon.

They did sound like ravens.

7

Cuthbert and Alain sat their horses at the mouth of Eyebolt. Even with the wind

blowing the sound of the thinny away from them, it got inside your head and

buzzed there, rattling your teeth.

I hate it, Cuthbert said through clenched teeth.

Gods, lets be quick.

Aye, Alain said. They dismounted, bulky in their ranchcoats, and tied their

horses to the brush which lay across the front of the canyon. Or dinarily, tethering

wouldnt have been necessary, but both boys could see the horses hated the

whining, grinding sound as much as they did. Cuth bert seemed to hear the thinny

in his mind, speaking words of invitation in a groaning, horribly persuasive voice.

Come on, Bert. Leave all this foolishness behind: the drums, the pride, the fear of

death, the loneliness you laugh at because laugh ings all you can think to do. And the girl, leave her, too. You love her, dont you And even if you dont, you want

her. Its sad that she loves your friend in stead of you, but if you come to me, all

that will stop bothering you very soon. So come on.

What are you waiting for

What am I waiting for he muttered.

Huh

I said, what are we waiting for Lets get this done and get the holy hell out of

here.

From their saddlebags they each took a small cot ton bag. These con tained

gunpowder extracted from the smaller fire crackers Sheemie had brought them two days before. Alain dropped to his knees, pulled his knife, and began to crawl

backward, digging a trench as far under the roll of brush as he could.

Dig it deep, Cuthbert said. We dont want the wind to blow it away.

Alain gave him a look which was remarkably hot.

Do you want to do it Just so

you can make sure its done right

Its the thinny, Cuthbert thought. Its working on him, too.

No, Al, he said humbly. Youre doing fine for some one whos both blind and

soft in the head. Go on.

Alain looked at him fiercely a moment longer, then grinned and re sumed the

trench under the brush. Youll die young, Bert.

Aye, likely. Cuthbert dropped to his own knees and began to crawl after Alain,

sprinkling gunpowder into the trench and trying to ignore the buzzy, cajoling

voice of the thinny. No, the gunpowder probably wouldnt blow away, not unless

there was a full gale. But if it rained, even the rolls of brush wouldnt be much

protection. If it rained

Dont think of that, he told himself. Thats ka.

They finished loading gunpowder trenches un der both sides of the brush barrier in only ten minutes, but it felt longer. To the horses as well, it seemed; they were

stamping impatiently at the far end of their teth ers, their ears laid back and their eyes rolling. Cuthbert and Alain untied them and mounted up. Cuthberts horse

actually bucked twice … except it felt more to Cuthbert as if the poor old thing

were shuddering.

In the middle distance, bright sunshine twanged of bright steel. The tankers at

Hanging Rock. They had been pulled in as light to the sandstone outcrop as

possible, but when the sun was high, most of the shadow disap peared, and

concealment disappeared with it.

I really cant believe it, Alain said as they started back. It would be a long ride,

including a wide swing around Hanging Rock to make sure they werent seen.

They must think were blind.

Its stupid they think we are, Cuthbert said, but I suppose it comes to the same.

Now that Eyebolt Canyon was falling behind them, he felt almost giddy with

relief. Were they going in there a few days from now Actually going in, riding to

within mere yards of where that cursed puddle start ed He couldnt believe it

and he made himself stop thinking about it before he could start believing it.

More riders heading out to Hanging Rock, Alain said, pointing back toward the

woods beyond the canyon. Do you see them

They were small as ants from this distance, but Bert saw them very well.

Changing the guard. The important thing is that they dont see us you dont

think they can, do you

Over here Not likely.

Cuthbert didnt think so, either.

Theyll all be down come Reap, wont they Alain asked. It wont do us much

good to only catch a few.

YesIm pretty sure they all will.

Jonas and his pals

Them, too.

Ahead of them, the Bad Grass grew closer. The wind blew hard in their faces,

making their eyes water, but Cuthbert didnt mind.

The sound of the thinny was

down to a faint drone behind him, and would soon be gone completely. Right now

that was all he needed to make him happy.

Do you think well get away with it, Bert

Dunno, Cuthbert said. Then he thought of the gun powder trenches lying beneath

the dry rolls of brush, and grinned. But Ill tell you one thing, Al: theyll know we

were here.

8 In Mejis, as in every other Barony of MidWorld, the week before a FairDay was

a political week. Important people came in from the farther cor ners of the Barony, and there were a good many Conversationals leading up to the main

Conversational on Reaping Day. Susan was expected to be present at

thesemostly as a decorative testimony to the Mayors con tinuing puissance.

Olive was also present, and, in a cruelly comic dumb-show that only the women

truly appreciated, they sat on either side of the aging cockatoo, Susan pouring the

coffee, Olive passing the cake, both of them grace fully accepting compliments on

food and drink theyd had no hand in preparing.

Susan found it almost impossible to look at Olives smiling, unhappy face. Her husband would never lie with Pat Delgados daughter … but sai Thorin didnt know that, and Susan couldnt tell her. She had only to glimpse the Mayors wife

from the comer other eye to remember what Roland had said that day on the Drop: For a moment I thought she was my mother. But that was the problem, wasnt it

Olive Thorin was nobodys mother. That was what had opened the door to this

horrible situation in the first place.

There had been something much on Susans mind to do, but with the round of

activities at Mayors House, it was but three days to Reaping be fore she got the

chance. Finally, following this latest Conver sational, she was able to slip out of Pink Dress with Applique (how she hated it! how she hated them all!) and jump

back into jeans, a plain riding shirt, and a ranchcoat. There was no time to braid

her hair, as she was expected back for Mayors Tea, but Maria tied it back for her and off she had gone to the house she would shortly be leaving forever.

Her business was in the back room of the stable

the room her father had used as

an officebut she went into the house first and heard what shed hoped to hear:

her aunts ladylike, whistling snores. Lovely.

Susan got a slice of bread and honey and took it out to the barn-stable, protecting

it as best she could from the clouds of dust that blew across the yard in the wind.

Her aunts stuffyguy rattled on his post in the gar den.

She ducked into the sweet-smelling shadows of the barn. Pylon and Felicia

nickered hello, and she divided what she hadnt eaten between them. They seemed

pleased enough to get it. She made especially of Feli cia, whom she would soon

be leaving behind.

She had avoided the little office since her father died, afraid of exactly the sort of pang that struck her when she lifted the latch and went in. The narrow windows

were now covered with cobwebs, but they still let in autumns bright light, more

than enough for her to be able to see the pipe in the ashtraythe red one, his

favorite, the one he called his thinking-pipe and a bit of tack laid over the back

of his desk chair. He had probably been mending it by gaslight, had put it by

thinking to finish the next day

then the snake had done its dance under Foams

hoofs and there had never been a next day. Not for Pat Delgado.

Oh, Da, she said in a small and broken voice. How I do miss thee.

She crossed to the desk and ran her fingers along its surface, leaving trails of dust.

She sat down in his chair, listened to it creak under her as it had always creaked

under him, and that pushed her over the edge. For the next five minutes she sat

there and wept, screwing her fists into her eyes as she had as a wee shim. Only

now, of course, there was no Big Pat to come upon her and jolly her out of it,

taking her on his lap and kissing her in that sensi tive place under her chin

(especially sensitive to the bristles on his up per lip, it had been) until her tears turned to giggles. Time was a face on the water, and this time it was the face of her father.

At last her tears tapered to sniffles. She opened the desk drawers, one after

another, finding more pipes (many rendered use less by his constant stemchew

ing), a hat, one of her own dolls (it had a bro ken arm Pat had apparently

never gotten around to putting right), quill-pens, a little flask empty but with a

faint smell of whiskey still present around its neck. The only item of interest was

in the bottom drawer: a pair of spurs. One still had its star rowel, but the other had

been broken off. These were, she was almost pos itive, the spurs he had been

wearing on the day he died.

If my da was here, she had begun that day on the Drop. But hes not, Roland had

said. Hes dead.

A pair of spurs, a broken-off rowel.

She bounced them in her hand, in her minds eye see ing Ocean Foam rear, spilling

her father (one spur catches in a stirrup; the rowel breaks free), then stumbling

sideways and falling atop him. She saw this clearly, but she didnt see the snake

Fran Lengyll had told them about. That she didnt see at all.

She put the spurs back where she had found them, got up, and looked at the shelf

to the right of the desk, handy to Pat Delgados smart hand. Here was a line of

leather-bound ledgers, a priceless trove of books in a society that had forgotten

how to make paper. Her father had been the man in charge of the Baronys horse

for almost thirty years, and here were his stockline books to prove it.

Susan took down the last one and began to page through it. This time she almost

welcomed the pang that struck her as she saw her fathers fa miliar handthe

labored script, the steep and somehow more con fident numbers.

Born of HENRIETTA, (2) foals both well Stillborn of DELIA, a roan (MUTANT) Born of YOLANDA, a THOROUGHBRED, a GOOD MALE COLT

And, following each, the date. So neat, he had been.

So thorough. So

She stopped suddenly, aware that she had found what she was look ing for even

without any clear knowledge of what she was do ing in here. I he last dozen pages of her das final stockline book had been torn out.

Who had done it Not her father; a largely selftaught man, he revered paper the

way some people revered gods or gold.

And why had it been done

That she thought she knew: horses, of courses.

There were too many on the Drop.

And the ranchersLengyll, Croydon, Renfrew

were lying about the threaded

quality of the stockline. So was Henry Wertner, the man who had succeeded to her

fathers job.

If my da was here

But hes not. Hes dead.

She had told Roland she couldnt believe Fran Lengyll would lie about her fathers death … but she could believe it now.

Gods help her, she could believe it now.

What are ye doing in here

She gave a little scream, dropped the book, and whirled around. Cordelia stood

there in one of her rusty black dresses. The top three but tons were undone, and

Susan could see her aunts collarbones sticking out above the plain white cotton of her shift. It was only on seeing those pro truding bones that Susan realized how

much weight Aunt Cord had lost over the last three months or so. She could see

the red imprint of the pil low on her aunts left cheek, like the mark of a slap. Her

eyes glittered from dark, bruised-looking hollows of flesh.

Aunt Cord! You startled me! You

What are ye doing in here Aunt Cord repeated.

Susan bent and picked up the book. I came to re member my father, she said, and

put the book back on the shelf. Who had torn those pages out Lengyll Rimer

She doubted it. She thought it more likely that the woman standing before her

right now had done it. Perhaps for as little as a sin gle piece of red gold. Nothing

asked, nothing told, so all is well, she would have thought, popping the coin into

her money-box, after first bit ing its edge to make sure it was true.

Remember him Its ask his forgiveness, ye should do. For yeve forgotten his face, so ye have. Most grievous have ye forgotten it, Sue.

Susan only looked at her.

Have ye been with him today Cordelia asked in a brittle, laughing voice. Her

hand went to the red pillow-mark on her cheek and began rub bing it. She had

been getting bad by degrees, Susan realized, but had be come ever so much worse since the gossip about Jonas and Coral Thorin had started. Have ye been with sai

Dearborn Is yer crack still dewy from his spend Here, let me see for myself!

Her aunt glided forwardspectral in her black dress, her bodice open, her

slippered feet peepingand Susan pushed her back. In her fright and disgust, she pushed hard. Cordelia struck the wall beside the cobwebbed window.

Ye should ask forgiveness yerself, Susan said.

To speak to his daughter so in

this place. In this place. She let her eyes turn to the shelf of ledgers, then return to

her aunt. The look of frightened calculation she saw on Cordelia Delgados face

told her all she wanted or needed to know. She hadnt been a party to her brothers murder, that Susan could not believe, but she had known something of it. Yes,

something.

Ye faithless bitch, Cordelia whispered.

No, Susan said, I have been true.

And so, she realized, she had been. A great weight seemed to slip off her shoulders

at the thought. She walked to the door of the office and turned back to her aunt.

Ive slept my last night here, she said. Ill not listen to more such as this. Nor

look at ye as ye are now. It hurts my heart and steals the love Ive kept for ye since

I was little, when ye did the best ye could to be my ma.

Cordelia clapped her hands over her face, as if look ing at Susan hurt her.

Get out, then! she screamed. Go back to Seafront or wherever it is thee rolls

with that boy! If I never see thy trollops face again, Ill count my life good!

Susan led Pylon from the stable. When she got him into the yard, she was sobbing

almost too hard to mount up. Yet mount she did, and she couldnt deny that there

was relief in her heart as well as sorrow. When she turned onto the High Street and

booted Pylon into a gallop, she didnt look back.

9 In a

dark hour of the following morning, Olive Thorin crept from the room where

she now slept to the one she had shared for almost forty years with her husband.

The floor was cold under her bare feet and she was shivering by the time she

reached the bed

but the chilly floor wasnt the only reason she was shivering.

She slid in beside the gaunt, snoring man in the nightcap, and when he turned

away from her (his knees and back crackling loudly as he did), she pressed against

him and hugged him tightly. There was no passion in this, but only a need to share

a bit of his warmth. His chestnarrow but almost as well-known to her as her

own plump onerose and fell under her hands, and she began to quiet a little. He

stirred, and she thought for a moment he would wake and find her sharing his bed

for the first time in gods knew how long.

Yes, wake, she thought, do. She didnt dare wake him of her ownall her courage

had been exhausted just getting here, creeping through the dark following one of

the worst dreams she had ever had in her lifebut if he woke, she would take it as

a sign and tell him she had dreamed of a vast bird, a cruel golden-eyed roc that

flew above the Barony on wings that dripped blood.

Wherever its shadow fell, there was blood, she would tell him, and its shadow fell everywhere. The Barony ran with it, from Hambry all the way out to Eyebolt. And

I swelled big fire in the wind. I ran to tell you and you were dead in your study,

sitting by the hearth with your eyes gouged out and a skull in your lap.

But instead of waking, in his sleep he took her hand, as he had used to, do before

he had begun to look at the young girls-even the serving-wencheswhen they

passed, and Olive decided she would only lie here, and be still and let him hold

her hand. Let it be like the old days for a bit, when ev erything had been right

between them.

She slept a little herself. When she woke, dawns first gray light was creeping in

through the windows. He had dropped her hand-had, in fact, scooted away from

her entirely, to his edge of the bed. It wouldnt do for him to wake and find her

here, she decided, and the urgency of her night mare was gone. She turned back

the covers, swung her feet out, then looked at him once more. His nightcap had

come askew. She put it right, her hands smoothing the cloth and the bony brow

beneath. He stirred again. Olive waited until he had quieted, then got up. She

slipped back to her own room like a phantom.

10

The midway booths opened in Green Heart two days before Reaping-Fair, and the

first folks came to try their luck at the spinning wheel and the bottle-toss and the

basket-ring. There was also a pony-traina cart filled with laughing children,

pulled along a figure eight of narrowgauge rails.

(Was the pony named Charlie Eddie Dean asked Roland.

(I think not, Roland said. We have a rather un pleasant word that sounds like

that in the High Speech.

(What word Jake asked.

(The one, said the gunslinger, that means death.) Roy Depape stood watching the pony plod its ap pointed rounds for a couple of

turns, remembering with some nostalgia his own rides in such a cart as a child. Of course, most of his had been stolen.

When he had looked his fill, Depape sauntered on down to the Sher iffs office and

went in. Herk Avery, Dave, and Frank Claypool were cleaning an odd and

fantastical assortment of guns. Avery nodded at De pape and went back to what he was doing. There was something strange about the man, and after a moment or

two Depape realized what it was: the Sheriff wasnt eating. It was the first time hed ever come in here that the Sheriff didnt have a plate of grub close at hand.

All ready for tomorrow Depape asked.

Avery gave him a half-irritated, half-smiling look. What the hell kind of question is that

One that Jonas sent me to ask, Depape said, and at that Averys queer, nervy

smile faltered a little.

Aye, were ready. Avery swept a meaty arm over the guns. Dont ye see we

are

Depape could have quoted the old saying about how the proof of the pudding was

in the eating, but what was the point Things would work out if the three boys

were as fooled as Jonas thought they were; if they werent fooled, they would

likely carve Herk Averys fat butt off the top of his legs and feed it to the handiest

pack of wolverines. It didnt make much never mind to Roy Depape one way or

the other.

Jonas also ast me to remind you its early.

Aye, aye, well be there early, Avery agreed.

These two and six more good

men. Fran Lengylls asked to go along, and hes got a machine-gun. Avery spoke

this last with ringing pride, as if he himself had in vented the machine-gun. Then

he looked at Depape slyly. What about you, coffinhand Want to go along

Wont take me moren an eyeblink to deputize ye.

I have another chore. Reynolds, too. Depape smiled. Theres plenty of work for all of us. Sheriffafter all, its Reaping.

11

That afternoon, Susan and Roland met at the hut in the Bad Grass. She told him

about the book with the torn-out pages, and Roland showed her what hed left in

the huts north corner, secreted beneath a moul dering pile of skins.

She looked first at this, then at him with wide and frightened eyes. Whats wrong

What does thee suspect is wrong

He shook his head. Nothing was wrong

not that he could tell, any way. And yet

he had felt a strong need to do what hed done, to leave what hed left. It wasnt the touch, nothing like it, but only intuition.

I think everything is all right

or as right as things can be when the odds may

turn out fifty of them for each of us. Susan, our only chance is to take them by

surprise. Youre not going to risk that, are you Not planning to go to Lengyll,

waving your fathers stockline book around

She shook her head. If Lengyll had done what she now suspected, hed get his

payback two days from now. There would be reap ing, all right. Reaping aplenty.

But this

this frightened her, and she said so.

Listen. Roland took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. Im only

trying to be careful. If things go badlyand they could youre the one most

likely to get away clean. You and Sheemie. If that happens, Susan,

youtheemust come here and take my guns. Take them west to Gilead. Find

my father. Hell know thee are who thee says by what thee shows. Tell him what

happened here. Thats all.

If anything happens to thee, Roland, I wont be able to do anything. Except die.

His hands were still on her face. Now he used them to make her head shake

slowly, from side to side. You wont die, he said.

There was a coldness in his

voice and eyes that struck her not with fear but awe.

She thought of his bloodof

how old it must be, and how cold it must some times flow. Not with this job

undone. Promise me.

I

I promise, Roland. I do.

Tell me aloud what you promise.

Ill come here. Get yer guns. Take them to yer da. Tell him what happened.

He nodded and let go of her face. The shapes of his hands were printed faintly on

her cheeks.

Ye frightened me, Susan said, and then shook her head. That wasnt right. Ye

do frighten me.

I cant help what I am.

And I wouldnt change it. She kissed his left cheek, his right cheek, his mouth.

She put her hand inside his shirt and caressed his nipple. It grew instantly hard

beneath the tip of her finger. Bird and bear and hare and fish, she said, now

making soft butterfly kisses all over his face.

Give your love her fondest wish.

After, they lay beneath a bearskin Roland had brought along and lis tened to the wind sough through the grass.

I love that sound, she said. It always makes me wish I could be part of the wind

go where it goes, see what it sees.

This year, if ka allows, you will.

Aye. And with thee. She turned to him, up on one el bow. Light fell through the

ruined roof and dappled her face. Roland, I love thee. She kissed him … and

then began to cry.

He held her, concerned. What is it Sue, what trou bles thee

I dont know, she said, crying harder. All I know is that theres a shadow on my

heart. She looked at him with tears still flowing from her eyes. Theed not leave

me, would ye, dear Theed not go without Sue, would ye

No.

For Ive given all I have to ye, so I have. And my vir ginitys the very least of it,

thee knows.

Id never leave you. But he felt cold in spite of the bearskin, and the wind

outsideso comforting a moment agosound ed like beasts breath. Never, I

swear.

Im frightened, though. Indeed I am.

You neednt be, he said, speaking slowly and carefully

for sud denly all the

wrong words wanted to come tumbling out of his mouth. We II leave this,

Susannot day after tomorrow, on Reaping, but now, this minute. Dress and well

go crosswise to the wind; its south well ride and never look back. Well be

haunted.

Thats what they would be. Haunted by the faces of Alain and Cuthbert; haunted

by the faces of all the men who might die in the Shaved Mountains, massacred by

weapons torn from the armory-crypts where they should have been left. Haunted

most of all by the faces of their fathers, for all the rest of their lives. Not even the

South Pole would be far enough to escape those faces.

All you need do day after tomorrow is claim in disposition at lunch. They had

gone over all this before, but now, in his sudden, pointless fright, it was all he

could think of to say. Go to your room, then leave as you did on the night we met

in the graveyard. Hide up a little. Then, when its three o the clock, ride here, and look under the skins in yon comer. If my guns are goneand they will be, I swear

they willthen everythings all right. Youll ride to meet us. Come to the place

above the canyon, the one we told you of. Well

Aye, I know all that, but somethings wrong. She looked at him, touched the side

of his face. I fear for thee and me, Roland, and know not why.

All will work out, he said. Ka

Speak not to me of ka! she cried. Oh please dont!

Ka like a wind, my father

said, it takes what it will and minds the plea of no man or woman. Greedy old ka,

how I hate it!

Susan

No, say no more. She lay back and pushed the bearskin down to her knees,

exposing a body that far greater men than Hart Thorin might have given away

kingdoms for. Beads of sunlight ran over her bare skin like rain. She held her arms

out to him. Never had she looked more beautiful to Roland than she did then, with

her hair spread about her and that haunted look on her face. He would think later:

She knew. Some part of her knew.

No more talking, she said. Talkings done. If you love me, then love me.

And for the last time, Roland did. They rocked to gether, skin to skin and breath to breath, and outside the wind roared into the west like a tidal wave.

12

That evening, as the grinning Demon rose in the sky, Cordelia left her house and

walked slowly across the lawn to her garden, de touring around the pile of leaves

she had raked that afternoon. In her arms was a bundle of clothes. She dropped

them in front of the pole to which her stuffyguy was bound, then looked raptly up

at the rising moon: the knowing wink of the eye, the ghouls grin; silver as bone

was that moon, a white button against violet silk.

It grinned at Cordelia; Cordelia grinned back. Final ly, with the air of a woman

awakening from a trance, she stepped forward and pulled the stuffyguy off its

pole. His head lolled limply against her shoulder, like the head of a man who has

found himself too drunk to dance. His red hands dan gled.

She stripped off the guys clothes, uncovering a bulging, vaguely humanoid shape

in a pair of her dead brothers longhandles. She took one of the things she had

brought from the house and held it up to the moon light. A red silk riding shirt, one of Mayor Thorins presents to Miss Oh So Young and Pretty. One of those she

wouldnt wear. Whores clothes, she had called them.

And what did that make

Cordelia Delgado, who had taken care of her even after her bullheaded da had

decided he must stand against the likes of Fran Lengyll and John Croydon It

made her a whore house madam, she supposed.

This thought led to an image of Eldred Jonas and Coral Thorin, naked and striving

while a honky-tonk piano planked out Red Dirt Boogie be low them, and

Cordelia moaned like a dog.

She yanked the silk shirt over the stuffys head. Next came one of Susans split

riding skirts. After the skirt, a pair of her slippers.

And last, replacing the

sombrero, one of Susans spring bonnets.

Presto! The stuffyguy was now a stuffygal.

And caught redhanded ye are, she whispered. I know. Oh yes, I know. I wasnt

born yesterday.

She carried the stuffy from the garden to the pile of leaves on the lawn. She laid it

close by the leaves, then scooped some up and pushed them into the bodice of the riding shirt, making rudimentary breasts. That done, she took a match from her

pocket and struck it alight.

The wind, as if eager to cooperate, dropped.

Cordelia touched the match to the dry leaves. Soon the whole pile was blazing. She picked the stuffygal up in her arms

and stood with it in front of the fire. She didnt hear the rattling firecrackers from

town, or the wheeze of the steam-organ in Green Heart, or the mariachi band

playing in the Low Market; when a burning leaf rose and swirled past her hair,

threatening to set it alight, she didnt seem to no tice. Her eyes were wide and

blank.

When the fire was at its height, she stepped to its edge and threw the stuffy on.

Flame whumped up around it in bright orange gusts; sparks and burning leaves

swirled skyward in a funnel.

So let it be done! Cordelia cried. The firelight on her face turned her tears to

blood. Charyou tree! Aye, just so!

The thing in the riding clothes caught fire, its face charring, its red hands blazing,

its white-cross eyes turning black. Its bonnet flared; the face began to bum.

Cordelia stood and watched, fists clenching and un clenching, heed less of the

sparks that lit on her skin, heedless of the blazing leaves that swirled toward the

house. Had the house caught tire, she would likely have ignored that as well.

She watched until the stuffy dressed in her nieces clothes was noth ing but ashes

lying atop more ashes. Then, as slowly as a robot with rust in its works, she

walked back to the house, lay down on the sofa, and slept like the dead.

13

It was three-thirty in the morning of the day before Reaping, and Stanley Ruiz

thought he was finally done for the night. The last music had quit twenty minutes

agoSheb had outlasted the mariachis by an hour or so, and now lay snoring with

his face in the sawdust. Sai Thorin was upstairs, and there had been no sign of the

Big Coffin Hunters; Stanley had an idea those were up to Seafront tonight. He also

had an idea there was black work on offer, although he didnt know that for sure.

He looked up at the glassy, two-headed gaze of The Romp. Nor want to, old pal,

he said. All I want is about nine hours of sleepto morrow comes the real party,

and they wont leave till dawn. So

A shrill scream rose from somewhere behind the building. Stanley jerked

backward, thumping into the bar. Beside the pi ano, Sheb raised his head briefly, muttered Wuzzat and dropped it back with a thump.

Stanley had absolutely no urge to investigate the source of the scream, but he

supposed he would, just the same. It had sounded like that sad old bitch Pettie the Trotter. Id like to trot your saggy old ass right out of town, he muttered, then

bent down to look under the bar. There were two stout ashwood clubs here, The

Calmer and The Killer. The Calmer was smooth buried wood, guaranteed to put

out the lights for two hours any time you tapped some boisterous culls head in the

right place with it.

Stanley consulted his feelings and took the other club. It was shorter than The

Calmer, wider at the top. And the business end of The Killer was studded with

nails.

Stanley went down to the end of the bar, through the door, and across a dim

supply-room stacked with barrels smelling of graf and whiskey. At the rear was a

door giving on the back yard. Stanley approached it, took a deep breath, and

unlocked it. He kept expecting Pettie to voice an other head-bursting scream, but

none came. There was only the sound of the wind.

Maybe you got lucky and shes kilt, Stanley thought.

He opened the door, stepping

back and raising the nail-studded club at the same time.

Pettie wasnt kilt. Dressed in a stained shift (a Pet tie-skirt, one might say), the

whore was standing on the path which led to the back privy, her hands clutched

together above the swell of her bosom and below the drooping turkey-wattles of

her neck. She was looking up at the sky.

What is it Stanley asked, hurrying down to her.

Near scared ten years off my

life, ye did.

The moon, Stanley! she whispered. Oh, look at the moon, would ye!

He looked up, and what he saw set his heart thump ing, but he tried to speak

reasonably and calmly. Come now, Pettie, its dust, thats all. Be reasonable, dear, ye know how the winds blown these last few days, and no rain to knock down

what it carries; its dust, thats all.

Yet it didnt look like dust.

I know what I see, whispered Pettie.

Above them, Demon Moon grinned and winked one eye through what appeared to

be a shifting scrim of blood.

CHAPTER VII

TAKING THE BALL

1

While a certain whore and certain bartender were still gaping up at the bloody

moon, Kimba Rimer awoke sneezing.

Damn, a cold for Reaping, he thought. As much as I have to be out over the next

two days, Ill be lucky if it doesnt turn into

Something fluffed the end of his nose, and he sneezed again. Coming out of his

narrow chest and dry slot of a mouth, it sounded like a small-caliber pistolshot in

the black room.

Whos there he cried.

No answer. Rimer suddenly imagined a bird, something nasty and bad-tempered,

that had gotten in here in daylight and was now fly ing around in the dark,

fluttering against his face as he slept. His skin crawledbirds, bugs, bats, he hated them alland he fumbled so ener getically for the gas-lamp on the table by his

bed that he almost knocked it off onto the floor.

As he drew it toward him, that flutter came again.

This time puffing at his cheek.

Rimer screamed and recoiled against the pillows, clutching the lamp to his chest.

He turned the switch on the side, heard the hiss of gas, then pushed the spark. The

lamp lit, and in the thin circle of its radiance, he saw not a fluttering bird but Clay Reynolds sitting on the edge of the bed. In one hand Reynolds held the feather

with which he had been tick ling Mejias Chancellor.

His other was hidden in his

cloak, which lay in his lap.

Reynolds had disliked Rimer from their first meeting in the woods far west of

townthose same woods, beyond Eyebolt Canyon, where Far-sons man Latigo

now quartered the main contingent of his troops. It had been a windy night, and as

he and the other Coffin Hunters entered the lit tle glade where Rimer,

accompanied by Lengyll and Croydon, were sit ting by a small fire, Reynoldss

cloak swirled around him. Sai Manto, Rimer had said, and the other two had

laughed. It had been meant as a harmless joke, but it hadnt seemed harmless to

Reynolds. In many of the lands where he had trav elled, manto meant not cloak

but leaner or bender. It was, in fact, a slang term for homosexual. That Rimer

(a provincial man under his veneer of cynical so phistication) didnt know this

never crossed Reynoldss mind. He knew when peo ple were making small of him,

and if he could make such a person pay, he did so.

For Kimba Rimer, payday had come.

Reynolds What are you doing How did you get in h

You got to be thinking of the wrong cowboy, the man sitting on the bed replied.

No Reynolds here. Just Senor Manto. He took out the hand which had been

under his cloak. In it was a keenly honed cuchillo.

Reynolds had purchased it in

Low Market with this chore in mind. He raised it now and drove the twelve-inch

blade into Rimers chest. It went all the way through, pinning him like a bug. A

bedbug, Reynolds thought.

The lamp fell out of Rimers hands and rolled off the bed. It landed on the footrun

ner, but did not break. On the far wall was Kimba Rimers distorted, struggling

shadow. The shadow of the other man bent over it like a hungry vulture.

Reynolds lifted the hand which had held the knife. He turned it so the small blue

tattooed coffin between thumb and forefinger was in front of Rimers eyes. He

wanted it to be the last thing Rimer saw on this side of the clearing.

Lets hear you make fun of me now, Reynolds said.

He smiled. Come on. Lets

just hear you.

2

Shortly before five oclock, Mayor Thorin woke from a terrible dream. In it, a bird with pink eyes had been cruising slowly back and forth above the Barony.

Wherever its shadow fell, the grass turned yellow, the leaves fell shocked from the

trees, and the crops died. The shadow was turning his green and pleasant Barony

into a waste land. It may be my Barony, but its my bird, too, he thought just before

awakening, huddled into a shuddery ball on one side of his bed. My bird, I brought it here, I let it out of its cage. There would be no more sleep for him this night, and Thorin knew it. He poured himself a glass of

water, drank it, then walked into his study, absent ly picking his nightgown from

the cleft of his bony old ass as he went. The puff on the end of his nightcap

bobbed between his shoulder blades; his knees cracked at every step.

As for the guilty feelings expressed by the dream …

well, what was done was

done. Jonas and his friends would have what theyd come for (and paid so

handsomely for) in another day; a day after that, theyd be gone. Fly away, bird

with the pink eyes and pestilent shadow; fly away to wherever you came from and

take the Big Coffin Boys with you. He had an idea that by Years End hed be too

busy dipping his wick to think much about such things. Or to dream such dreams.

Besides, dreams without visible sign were just dreams, not omens.

The visible sign might have been the boots beneath the study drapes just the

scuffed tips of them showingbut Thorin never looked in that direction. His eyes were fixed on the bottle beside his favorite chair.

Drinking claret at five in the

morning was no sort of habit to get into, but this once wouldnt hurt. Hed had a

terrible dream, for gods sake, and after all

Tomorrows Reaping, he said, sitting in the wing-chair on the edge of the hearth.

I guess a man can jump a fence or two, come Reap.

He poured himself a drink, the last hed ever take in this world, and coughed as the

fire hit his belly and then climbed back up his throat, warming it. Better, aye,

much. No giant birds now, no plaguey shadows. He stretched out his arms, laced

his long and bony fingers together, and cracked them viciously.

I hate it when you do that, you scrawny git, spoke a voice directly into Thorins

left ear.

Thorin jumped. His heart took its own tremendous leap in his chest. The empty

glass flew from his hand, and there was no footrun ner to cushion its landing. It

smashed on the hearth.

Before Thorin could scream, Roy Depape brushed off the mayoral nightcap,

seized the gauzy remains of the mayoral mane, and yanked the mayoral head back.

The knife Depape held in his other hand was much humbler than the one Reynolds

had used, but it cut the old mans throat efficiently enough. Blood sprayed scarlet

in the dim room. Depape let go of Thorins hair, went back to the drapes he had

been hiding behind, and picked something up off the floor. It was Cuthberts

lookout. Depape brought it back to the chair and put it in the dying Mayors lap.

Bird… Thorin gargled through a mouthful of blood.

Bird!

Yar, old fella, and trig o you to notice at a time like this, I will say. Depape

pulled Thorins head back again and took the old mans eyes out with two quick

flips of his knife. One went into the dead fireplace; the other hit the wall and slid

down behind the fire-tools. Thorins right foot trem bled briefly and was still.

One more job to do.

Depape looked around, saw Thorins nightcap, and decided the ball on the end

would serve. He picked it up, dipped it in the puddle of blood in the Mayors lap,

and drew the Good Mans sigul

on the wall.

There, he murmured, standing back. If that dont finish em, noth ing on earth

will.

True enough. The only question left unanswered was whether or not Rolands katet

could be taken alive.

3J

onas had told Fran Lengyll exactly where to place his men, two inside the stable

and six more out, three of these latter gents hidden behind rusty old implements,

two hidden in the burnt-out remains of the home place, oneDave

Holliscrouched on top of the stable itself, spy ing over the roofpeak. Lengyll was glad to see that the men in the posse took their job se riously. They were only boys,

it was true, but boys who had on one oc casion come off ahead of the Big Coffin

Hunters.

Sheriff Avery gave a fair impression of being in charge of things until they got

within a good shout of the Bar K. Then Lengyll, ma chine-gun slung over one

shoulder (and as straight-hacked in the saddle as he had been at twenty), took

command. Avery, who looked nervous and sound ed out of breath, seemed relieved

rather than offended.

Ill tell ye where to go as was (old to me, for its a good plan, and Ive no quarrel

with it, Lengyll had told his posse. In the dark, their faces were little more than

dim blurs. Only one thing Ill say to ye on my own hook. We dont need em alive,

but its best we have em soits the Barony we want to put paid to em, the

common folk, and so put paid to this whole busi ness, as well. Shut the door on it, if ye will. So I say this: if theres cause to shoot, shoot.

But Ill flay the skin off the

face of any man who shoots without cause. Do ye un derstand

No response. It seemed they did.

All right, Lengyll had said. His face was stony. Ill give ye a minute to make

sure your gears muffled, and then on we go. Not an other word from here on out.

4

Roland, Cuthbert, and Alain came out of the bunkhouse at quarter past six that morning, and stood a-row on the porch. Alain was finishing his coffee. Cuthbert

was yawning and stretching. Roland was button ing his shirt and looking

southwest, toward the Bad Grass. He was thinking not of ambushes but of Susan.

Her tears. Greedy old ka, how I hate it, she had said.

His instincts did not awake; Alains touch, which had sensed Jonas on the day

Jonas had killed the pigeons, did not so much as quiver. As for Cuthbert

One more day of quiet! that worthy exclaimed to the dawning sky. One more

day of grace! One more day of silence, broken on ly by the lovers sigh and the

tattoo of horses hoofs!

One more day of your bullshit, Alain said. Come on.

They set off across the dooryard, sensing the eight pairs of eyes on them not at all.

They walked into the stable past the two men flank ing the door, one hidden behind

an ancient harrow, the other tucked behind an untidy stack of hay, both with guns drawn.

Only Rusher sensed something was wrong. He stamped his feet, rolled his eyes, and, as Roland backed him out of his stall, tried to rear.

Hey, boy, he said, and looked around. Spiders, I reckon. He hates them.

Outside, Lengyll stood up and waved both hands for ward. Men moved silently

toward the front of the stable. On the roof, Dave Hollis stood with his gun drawn.

His monocle was tucked away in his vest pocket, so it should blink no badly timed

reflection.

Cuthbert led his mount out of the stable. Alain fol lowed. Roland came last, shortlead ing the nervous, prancy gelding.

Look, Cuthbert said cheerily, still unaware of the men standing di rectly behind

him and his friends. He was pointing north. A cloud in the shape of a bear! Good

luck for

Dont move, cullies, Fran Lengyll called. Dont so much as shuf fle yer godpound

ing feet.

Alain did begin to turnin startlement more than anything elseand there was a

ripple of small clicking sounds, like many dry twigs all snap ping at once. The

sound of cocking pistols and musketoons.

No, Al! Roland said. Dont move! Dont! In his throat despair rose like poison,

and tears of rage stung at the comers of his eyes

yet he stood quiet. Cuthbert and

Alain must stand quiet, too. If they moved, theyd be killed. Dont move! he

called again. Either of you!

Wise, cully. Lengylls voice was closer now, and accompanied by several pairs

of footfalls. Put yer hands behind ye.

Two shadows flanked Roland, long in the first light.

Judging by the bulk of the

one on his left, he guessed it was being thrown by Sheriff Avery. He probably

wouldnt be offering them any white tea this day.

Lengyll would belong to the

other shadow.

Hurry up, Dearborn, or whatever yer name may be. Get em behind ye. Small of

yer back. Theres guns pointed at your pards, and if we end up taking in only two

of yer instead of three, lifell go on.

Not taking any chances with us, Roland thought, and felt a moment of perverse

pride. With it came a taste of something that was al most amuse ment. Bitter,

though; that taste continued very bitter.

Roland! It was Cuthbert, and there was agony in his voice. Ro land, dont!

But there was no choice. Roland put his hands be hind his back. Rusher uttered a

small, reproving whinny as if to say all this was highly improperand trotted

away to stand beside the bunkhouse porch.

Youre going to feel metal on your wrists, Lengyll said. Esposas. 

Two cold circles slipped over Rolands hands. I here was a click and suddenly the

arcs of the handcuffs were tight against his wrists.

All right, said another voice. Now you, son,

Be damned if I will! Cuthberts voice wavered on the edge of hysteria

There was a thud and a muffled cry of pain. Roland turned around and saw Alain

down on one knee, the heel of his left hand pressed against his forehead. Blood ran

down his face.

Ye want me to deal him another un Jake White asked. He had an old pistol in

his hand, reversed so the butt was forward. I can, you know; my arm is feeling

wery limber for this early in the day.

No! Cuthbert was twitching with horror and something like grief. Ranged

behind him were three armed men, looking on with nervous avidity.

Then be a good boy an get yer hands behind yer.

Cuthbert, still fighting tears, did as he was told. Es posas were put on him by

Deputy Bridger. The other two men yanked Alain to his feet. He reeled a little,

then stood firm as he was handcuffed. His eyes met Ro lands, and Al tried to

smile. In some ways it was the worst moment of that terrible ambush morning.

Roland nodded back and made himself a promise: he would never be taken like

this again, not if he lived to be a thousand years old.

Lengyll was wearing a trailscarf instead of a string tie this morning, but Roland

thought he was inside the same boxtail coat hed worn to the Mayors welcoming

party, all those weeks ago. Standing beside him, puff ing with excitement, anxiety, and self-importance, was Sheriff Avery.

Boys, the Sheriff said, yere arrested for trans gressing the Barony. The specific

charges are treason and murder.

Who did we murder Alain asked mildly, and one of the posse ut tered a laugh

either shocked or cynical, Roland couldnt tell which.

The Mayor and his Chancellor, as ye know quite well, Avery said. Now

How can you do this Roland asked curiously. It was Lengyll to whom he

spoke. Mejis is your home place; Ive seen the line of your fa thers in the town

cemetery. How can you do this to your home place, sai Lengyll

Ive no intention of standing out here and making palaver with ye, Lengyll said.

He glanced over Rolands shoulder. Alvarez! Get his horse! Boys as trig as this

bunch should have no problem riding with their hands behind their

No, tell me, Roland interposed. Dont hold back, sai Lengyll these are your

friends youve come with, and not a one who isnt in side your circle. How can you

do it Would you rape your own mother if you came upon her sleeping with her

dress up

Lengylls mouth twitchednot with shame or embar rassment but momentary

prudish distaste, and then the old rancher looked at Avery. They teach em to talk

pretty in Gilead, dont they

Avery had a rifle. Now he stepped toward the handcuffed gunslinger with the butt raised. Ill teach im how to talk proper to a man of the gen try, so I will! Knock

the teef straight out of his head, if you say aye, Fran!

Lengyll held him back, looking tired. Dont be a fool. I dont want to bring him

back laying over a saddle unless hes dead.

Avery lowered his gun. Lengyll turned to Roland.

Yere not going to live long enough to profit from advice, Dear born, he said,

but Ill giveee some, anyway: stick with the winners in this world. And know

how the wind blows, so ye can tell when it changes di rection.

Youve forgotten the face of your father, you scur rying little mag got, Cuthbert

said clearly.

This got to Lengyll in a way Rolands remark about his mother had notit showed

in the sudden bloom of color in his weathered cheeks.

Get em mounted! he said. I want em locked up tight within the hour!

5

Roland was boosted into Rushers saddle so hard he almost flew off on the other sidewould have, if Dave Hollis had not been there to steady him and then to

wedge Rolands boot into the stirrup. Dave offered the gunslinger a nervous, halfem

barrassed smile.

Im sorry to see you here, Roland said gravely.

Its sorry I am to be here, the deputy said. If mur der was your busi ness, I wish

youd gotten to it sooner. And your friend shouldnt have been so arrogant as to

leave his calling-card. He nodded toward Cuth bert.

Roland hadnt the slightest idea what Deputy Dave was referring to, but it didnt

matter. It was just part of the frame, and none of these men believed much of it,

Dave likely included. Although, Roland sup posed, they would come to believe it in later years and tell it to their children and grand children as gospel. The glorious

day theyd ridden with the posse and taken down the traitors.

The gunslinger used his knees to turn Rusher …

and there, standing by the gate

between the Bar Ks dooryard and the lane leading to the Great Road, was Jonas

himself. He sat astride a deep-chested bay, wear ing a green felt drovers hat and

an old gray duster. There was a rifle in the scabbard beside his right knee. The left

side of the duster was pulled back to expose the butt of his revolver. Jonass white

hair, untied today, lay over his shoulders.

He doffed his hat and held it out to Roland in courtly greeting. A good game, he

said. You played very well for someone who was taking his milk out of a tit not

so long ago.

Old man, Roland said, youve lived too long.

Jonas smiled. Youd remedy that if you could, wouldnt you Yar, I reckon. He

flicked his eyes at Lengyll. Get their toys, Fran. Look spe cially sharp for knives.

Theyve got guns, but not with em. Yet I know a bit more about those shooting

irons than they might think. And funny boys sling shot. Dont forget that, for gods

sake. He like to take Roys head off with it not so long ago.

Are you talking about the carrot-top Cuthbert asked. His horse was dancing

under him; Bert swayed back and forth and from side to side like a circus rider to

keep from tumbling off. He never would have missed his head. His balls, maybe, but not his head.

Probably true, Jonas agreed, watching as the spears and Rolands shortbow were

taken into custody. The slingshot was on the back of Cuth berts belt, tucked into a holster he had made for it himself. It was very well for Roy Depape that he hadnt

tried Bert, Roland knewBert could take a bird on the wing at sixty yards. A

pouch holding steel shot hung at the boys left side.

Bridger took it, as well.

While this was going on, Jonas fixed Roland with an amiable smile. Whats your

real name, brat Fess upno harm in telling now; youre going to ride the

handsome, and we both know it.

Roland said nothing. Lengyll looked at Jonas, eye brows raised. Jonas shrugged,

then jerked his head in the direction of town. Lengyll nod ded and poked Roland

with one hard, chapped finger. Come on, boy. Lets ride.

Roland squeezed Rushers sides; the horse trotted toward Jonas. And suddenly

Roland knew something. As with all his best and truest intu itions, it came from

nowhere and everywhereabsent at one sec ond, all there and fully dressed at the next.

Who sent you west, maggot he asked as he passed Jonas. Couldnt have been

Cortyoure too old. Was it his father

The look of slightly bored amusement left Jonass faceflew from his face, as if

slapped away. For one amazing moment the man with the white hair was a child

again: shocked, shamed, and hurt.

Yes, Corts daI see it in your eyes. And now youre here, on the Clean Sea

except youre really in the west. The soul of a man such as you can never leave the

west.

Jonass gun was out and cocked in his hand with such speed that only Rolands

extraordinary eyes were capable of marking the movement. There was a murmur

from the men behind thempartly shock, mostly awe.

Jonas, dont be a fool! Lengyll snarled. You aint killin em after we took the

time and risk to hood em and tie their hooks, are ye

Jonas seemed to take no notice. His eyes were wide; the comers of his seamed

mouth were trembling. Watch your words, Will Dear born, he said in a low,

hoarse voice. You want to watch em ever so close. I got two pounds of pressure

on a three-pound trigger right this second.

Fine, shoot me, Roland said. He lifted his head and looked down at Jonas.

Shoot, exile. Shoot, worm. Shoot, you failure. Youll still live in exile and die as

you lived.

For a moment he was sure Jonas would shoot, and in that moment Roland felt

death would be enough, an acceptable end after the shame of being caught so

easily. In that moment Susan was absent from his mind. Nothing breathed in that

moment, nothing called, nothing moved. The shad ows of the men watching this

confrontation, both on foot and on horseback, were printed depthless on the dirt.

Then Jonas dropped the hammer of his gun and slipped it back into its holster.

Take em to town and jug em, he said to Lengyll. And when I show up, I dont

want to see one hair harmed on one head. If I could keep from killing this one, you

can keep from hurting the rest. Now go on.

Move, Lengyll said. His voice had lost some of its bluff authority. It was now

the voice of a man who realizes (too late) that he has bought chips in a game

where the stakes are likely much too high.

They rode. As they did, Roland turned one last time.

The contempt Jonas saw in

those cool young eyes stung him worse than the whips that had scarred his back in

Garlan years ago.

6

When they were out of sight, Jonas went into the bunkhouse, pulled up the board

which concealed their little armory, and found only two guns. The matched set of

six-shooters with the dark handlesDearborns guns, surelywere gone.

You re in the west. The soul of a man such as you can never leave the west. Youll

live in exile and die as you lived.

Jonass hands went to work, disassembling the revolvers Cuthbert and Alain had

brought west. Alains had never even been worn, save on the practice-range.

Outside, Jonas threw the pieces, scattering them every which way. He threw as

hard as he could, trying to rid himself of that cool blue gaze and the shock of

hearing what hed believed no man had known. Roy and Clay suspected, but even

they hadnt known for sure.

Before the sun went down, everyone in Mejis would know that Eldred Jonas, the

white-haired regulator with the tattooed coffin on his hand, was nothing but a

failed gunslinger.

Youll live in exile and die as you lived.

Praps, he said, looking at the burned-out ranch house without really seeing it.

But Ill live longer than you, young Dearborn, and die long after your bones are

rusting in the ground.

He mounted up and swung his horse around, saw ing viciously at the reins. He rode for Citgo, where Roy and Clay would be waiting, and he rode hard, but Rolands

eyes rode with him.

7 

Wake up! Wake up, sai! Wake up! Wake up!

At first the words seemed to be coming from far away, drifting down by some

magical means to the dark place where she lay. Even when the voice was joined

by a rudely shaking hand and Susan knew she must wake up, it was a long, hard

struggle.

It had been weeks since shed gotten a decent nights sleep, and she had expected more of the same last night… especially last night.

She had lain awake in her

luxurious bedchamber at Seafront, tossing from side to side, possibilitiesnone

goodcrowding her mind. The nightgown she wore crept up to her hips and

bunched at the small of her back. When she got up to use the commode, she took

the hateful thing off, hurled it into a comer, and crawled back into bed naked.

Being out of the heavy silk nightgown had done the trick. She dropped off almost

at once … and in this case, dropped off was, exact ly right: it was less like falling asleep than falling into some thoughtless, dream less crack in the earth.

Now this intruding voice. This intruding arm, shaking her so hard that her head

rolled from side to side on the pillow. Susan tried to slide away from it, pulling her

knees up to her chest and mouthing fuzzy protests, but the arm followed. The

shaking recommenced; the nagging, calling voice never stopped.

Wake up, sai! Wake up! In the name of the Turtle and the Bear, wake up!

Marias voice. Susan hadnt recognized it at first because Maria was so upset.

Susan had never heard her so, or expected to.

Yet it was so; the maid sounded on the verge of hysteria.

Susan sat up. For a moment so much inputall of it wrongcrashed in on her

that she was incapable of moving. The duvet be neath which she had slept tumbled

into her lap, exposing her breasts, and she could do no more than pluck weakly at

it with the tips of her fingers.

The first wrong thing was the light. It flooded through the windows more strongly

than it ever had before … because, she real ized, she had never been in this room so late before. Gods, it had to be ten o the clock, perhaps later.

The second wrong thing was the sounds from be low. Mayors House was

ordinarily a peaceful place in the morning; until noon one heard little but casa

vaqueros leading the horses out for their morn ing exercise, the whicker-whickerwhick of Miguel sweeping the courtyard, and the con stant boom and shush of the

waves. This morning there were shouts, curses, galloping horses, the occasional

burst of strange, jagged laughter. Somewhere out side her roomperhaps not in

this wing, but close Susan heard the running thud of booted feet.

The wrongest thing of all was Maria herself, cheeks ashy beneath her olive skintone,

and her usually neat hair tangled and un bound. Susan would have guessed

only an earthquake could make her look so, if that.

Maria, what is it

You have to go, sai. Seafront maybe not safe for you just now. Your own house

maybe better. When I dont see you earlier, I think you gone there already. You

chose a bad day to sleep late.

Go Susan asked. Slowly, she pulled the duvet all the way up to her nose and

stared at Maria over it with wide, puffy eyes. What do you mean, go

Out the back. Maria plucked the duvet from Su sans sleep-numbed hands again

and this time stripped it all the way down to her an kles. Like you did before.

Now, missy, now! Dress and go! Those boys put away, aye, but what if they have

friends What if they come back, kill you, too

Susan had been getting up. Now all the strength ran out of her legs and she sat

back down on the bed again. Boys she whispered.

Boys kill who Boys kill

who

This was a good distance from grammatical, but Maria took her meaning.

Dearborn and his pinboys, she said.

Who are they supposed to have killed

The Mayor and the Chancellor. She looked at Susan with a kind of distracted

sympathy. Now get up, I tell you. And get gone. This place gone loco.

They didnt do any such thing, Susan said, and on ly just restrained herself from

adding, It wasnt in the plan.

Sai Thorin and sai Rimer jus as dead, whoever did it. There were more shouts

below, and a sharp little explosion that didnt sound like a firecracker. Maria

looked in that direction, then began to throw Su san her clothes. The Mayors

eyes, they gouged right out of his head.

They couldnt have! Maria, I know them

Me, I dont know nothing about them and care less

but I care about you. Get

dressed and get out, I tell you. Quick as you can.

Whats happened to them A terrible thought came to Susan and she leaped to

her feet, clothes falling all around her. She seized Maria by the shoulders. They

havent been killed Susan shook her. Say they havent been killed!

I dont think so. Theres been a tousan shouts and ten tousan ru mors go the

rounds, but I think jus jailed. Only…

There was no need for her to finish; her eyes slipped from Susans, and that

involuntary shift (along with the confused shouts from below) told all the rest. Not killed yet, but Hart Thorin had been greatly liked, and from an old family. Roland,

Cuthbert, and Alain were strangers.

Not killed yet

but tomorrow was Reaping, and tomorrow night was Reaping

Bonfire.

Susan began to dress as fast as she could.

8

Reynolds, who had been with Jonas longer than De pape, took one look at the

figure cantering toward them through the skele tal oil derricks, and turned to his partner. Dont ask him any questionshes not in any mood for silly questions

this morning.

How do you know

Never mind. Just keep your everfucking gob shut.

Jonas reined up before them. He sat slumped in his saddle, pale and thoughtful.

His look prompted one question from Roy Depape in spite of Reynoldss caution.

Eldred, are you all right

Is anyone Jonas responded, then fell silent again. Behind them, Citgos few

remaining pumpers squalled tiredly.

At last Jonas roused himself and sat a little straighter in the saddle. The cubsll be stored supplies by now. I told Lengyll and Avery to fire a double set of pistolshots

if anything went wrong, and there hasnt been any shooting like that.

We didnt hear none, either, Eldred, Depape said eagerly. Nothing atall like

that.

Jonas grimaced. You wouldnt, would you Not out in this noise.

Fool!

Depape bit his lip, saw something in the neighbor hood of his left stir rup that

needed adjusting, and bent to it.

Were you boys seen at your business Jonas asked. This morning, I mean,

when you sent Rimer and Thorin off. Even a chance either of you was seen

Reynolds shook his head for both of them.  Twas clean as could be.

Jonas nodded as if the subject had been of only passing interest to him, then turned to regard the oilpatch and the rusty derricks. May hap folks are right, he said in a voice almost too low to hear. Mayhap the Old Peo ple were devils. He turned

back to them. Well, were the devils now. Aint we.

Clay

Whatever you think, Eldred, Reynolds said.

I said what I think. Were the devils now, and by God, thats how well behave.

What about Quint and that lot down there He cocked his head toward the

forested slope where the ambush had been laid.

Still there, pending your word, Reynolds said.

No need of em now. He favored Reynolds with a dark look. That Dearborns a

coozey brat. I wish I was going to be in Hambry to morrow night just so I could lay

a torch between his feet. I almost left him cold and dead at the Bar K. Wouldve if

not for Lengyll. Coozey little brat is what he is.

Slumping as he spoke. Face growing blacker and blacker, like storm clouds

drifting across the sun. Depape, his stirrup fixed, tossed Reynolds a nervous

glance. Reynolds didnt answer it. What point If El dred went crazy now (and

Reynolds had seen it happen before), there was no way they could get out of his

killingzone in time.

Eldred, we got quite a spot more to do.

Reynolds spoke quietly, but it got through. Jonas straightened. He took off his hat, hung it on his saddle as if the horn were a coathook, and brushed absently through

his hair with his fingers.

Yarquite a spot is right. Ride down there. Tell Quint to send for oxen to pull

those last two full tankers out to Hanging Rock. He shd keep four men with him

to hook em up and take em on to Latigo. The rest can go on ahead.

Reynolds now judged it safe to ask a question.

When do the rest of Latigos men

get there

Men Jonas snorted. Dont we wish, cully! The rest of Latigos boysll ride out

to Hanging Rock by moonlight, pennons no doubt flying for all the coyotes and

other assorted desert-dogs to see and be awed by. Theyll be ready to do escort

duty by ten tomorrow, I shd think

al though if theyre the sort of lads Im

expecting, fuck-ups are apt to be the rule of the day. The good news is that we

dont much need em, anyway. Things look well in hand. Now go down there, get

them about their busi ness, and then ride back to me, just as fasts you can.

Jonas turned and looked toward the lumpy swell of hills to the northwest.

We have business of our own, he said. Soonest begun, boys, soon est done. I

want to shake the dust of fucking Mejis off my hat and boots as soon as I can. I

dont like the way it feels anymore. Not at all.

9

The woman, Theresa Maria Dolores OShyven, was forty years old, plump, pretty, mother of four, husband of Peter, a vaquero of laughing tempera ment. She was

also a seller of rugs and draperies in the Upper Market; many of the prettier and

more delicate appointments at Seafront had passed through Theresa OShyvens

hands, and her family was quite well-to-do. Al though her husband was a rangerid

er, the OShyven clan was what would have been called middle-class in another

place and time. Her two oldest children were grown and gone, one right out o

Barony. The third eldest was sparking and hoping to marry his hearts delight at

Years End. Only the youngest suspected some thing was wrong with Ma, and this

one had no idea how close Theresa was to com plete obsessional madness.

Soon, Rhea thought, watching Theresa avidly in the ball. She II start doing it

soon, but first shes got to get rid of the brat.

There was no school at Reaptide, and the stalls opened only for a few hours in the afternoon, so Theresa sent her youngest daugh ter off with a pie. A Reaptide gift to a neighbor, Rhea surmised, although she couldnt hear the soundless instructions

the woman gave her daughter as she pulled a knit ted cap down over the girls ears.

And twouldnt be a neighbor too close, either; shed want time, would Theresa

Maria Dolores OShyven, time to be a-choring. It was a good-sized house, and

there were a lot of corners in it that needed clean ing.

Rhea chuckled; the chuckle turned into a hollow gust of coughing. In the corner,

Musty looked at the old woman hauntedly. Al though far from the emaciated

skeleton that his mistress had become, Musty didnt look good at all.

The girl was shown out with the pie under her arm; she paused to give her mother

a single troubled look, and then the door was shut in her face.

Now! Rhea croaked. Them comers is waitin!

Down on yer knees, woman, and

get to business!

First Theresa went to the window. When she was satisfied with what she sawher

daughter out the gate and down the High Street, like lyshe turned back to her

kitchen. She walked to the table and stood there, look ing dreamy-eyed into space.

No, none o that, now! Rhea cried impatiently.

She no longer saw her own filthy

hut, she no longer smelled either its rank aromas or her own. She had gone into the

Wizards Rainbow. She was with Theresa OShyven, whose cottage had the

cleanest comers in all Mejis. Mayhap in all MidWorld.

Hurry, woman! Rhea half-screamed. Get to yer housework!

As if hearing, Theresa unbuttoned her house dress, stepped out of it, and laid it neatly over a chair. She pulled the hem of her clean, mended shift up over her

knees, went to the comer, and got down on all fours.

Thats it, my corazon! Rhea

cried, nearly choking on a phlegmy mixture of coughing and laughter. Do yer

chores, now, and do em wery pert!

Theresa OShyven poked her head forward to the full length of her neck, opened

her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and began to lick the cor ner. She lapped it as

Musty lapped his milk. Rhea watched this, slapping her knee and whooping, her

face growing redder and redder as she rocked from side to side. Oh, Theresa was her favorite, aye! No doubt! For hours now she would crawl about on her hands

and knees with her ass in the air, licking into the comers, praying to some obscure

godnot even the Man-Jesus Godfor forgive ness of who knew what as she did

this, her penance. Sometimes she got splinters in her tongue and had to pause to

spit blood into the kitchen basin. Up until now some sixth sense had always gotten

her to her feet and back into her dress before any of her family returned, but Rhea

knew that sooner or later the womans obses sion would take her too far, and she

would be surprised. Perhaps today would be the daythe little girl would come

back early, perhaps for a coin to spend in town, and discover her mother down on

her knees and licking the comers. Oh, what a spin and raree! How Rhea wanted to

see it! How she longed to

Suddenly Theresa OShyven was gone. The inte rior of her neat little cottage was gone. Everything was gone, lost in curtains of shifting pink light. For the first time in weeks, the wizards glass had gone blank.

Rhea picked the ball up in her scrawny, long-nailed fingers and shook it. Whats

wrong with you, plaguey thing Whats wrong

The ball was heavy, and Rheas strength was fading.

After two or three hard

shakes, it slipped in her grip. She cradled it against the deflated remains of her

breasts, trembling.

No, no, lovey, she crooned. Come back when yere ready, aye, Rhea lost her

temper a bit but shes got it back now, she never meant to shake ye and shed never

ever drop ye, so ye just

She broke off and cocked her head, listening. Hors es approaching. No, not

approaching; here. Three riders, by the sound.

They had crept up on her while she was distracted.

The boys Those plaguey boys

Rhea held the ball against her bosom, eyes wide, lips wet. Her hands were now so

thin that the balls pink glow shone through them, faint ly il luminating the dark

spokes that were her bones.

Rhea! Rhea of the Coos!

No, not the boys.

Come out here, and bring what you were given!

Worse.

Farson wants his property! Weve come to take it!

Not the boys but the Big Coffin Hunters.

Never, ye dirty old white-haired prick, she whis pered. Yell never take it. Her

eyes moved from side to side in small, shooting peeks. Scraggle-headed and

tremble-mouthed, she looked like a diseased coy ote driven into its final arroyo.

She looked down at the ball and a whining noise be gan to escape her. Now even

the pink glow was gone. The sphere was as dark as a corpses eyeball.

10

A shriek came from the hut.

Depape turned to Jonas with wide eyes, his skin prickling. The thing which had

uttered that cry hardly sounded human.

Rhea! Jonas called again. Bring it out here now, woman, and hand it over! Ive

no time to play games with you!

The door of the hut swung open. Depape and Reynolds drew their guns as the old crone stepped out, blinking against the sunlight like some thing thats spent its

whole life in a cave. She was holding John Farsons favorite toy high over her

head. There were plenty of rocks in the dooryard she could throw it against, and

even if her aim was bad and she missed them all, it might smash anyway.

This could be bad, and Jonas knew itthere were some people you just couldnt

threaten. He had focused so much of his attention on the brats (who, ironically,

had been taken as easy as milk) that it had never occurred to him to worry much

about this part of it. And Kimba Rimer, the man who had suggested Rhea as the

perfect custodian for Maerlyns Rainbow, was dead. Couldnt lay it at Rimers

doorstep if things went wrong up here, could he Then, just to make things a little worse when hed have thought theyd gone as far

west as they could without dropping off the cold end of the earth, he heard the

cocking sound of Depape drawing the hammer of his gun.

Put that away, you idiot! he snarled.

But look at her! Depape almost moaned. Look at her, Eldred!

He was. The thing inside the black dress appeared to be wearing the corpse of a

putrefying snake around its throat for a necklace.

She was so scrawny that she

resembled nothing so much as a walking skele ton. Her peeling skull was only

tufted with hair; the rest had fallen out. Sores clus tered on her cheeks and brow,

and there was a mark like a spider-bite on the left side of her mouth. Jonas thought

that last might be a scurvy-bloom, but he didnt real ly care one way or another.

What he cared about was the ball upraised in the dy ing womans long and

shivering claws.

11

The sunlight so dazzled Rheas eyes that she didnt see the gun pointed at her, and

when her vision cleared, Depape had put it away again. She looked at the men

lined up across from herthe bespectacled red head, the one in the cloak, and Old White-Hair Jonasand uttered a dusty croak of laughter. Had she been afraid of

them, these mighty Coffin Hunters She supposed she had, but for gods sake,

why They were men, that was all, just more men, and she had been beating such

all her life. Oh, they thought they ruled the roost, all right nobody in MidWorld

ac cused anyone of forgetting the face of his motherbut they were poor things, at bottom, moved to tears by a sad song, utterly un done by the sight of a bare breast, and all the more capable of being manipulated sim ply because they were so sure

they were strong and tough and wise.

The glass was dark, and as much as she hated that darkness, it had cleared her

mind.

Jonas! she cried. Eldred Jonas!

Im here, old mother, he said. Long days and pleasant nights.

Never mind yer sops, times too short for em. She came four steps farther and

stopped with the ball still held over her head. Near her, a gray chunk of stone

jutted from the weedy ground. She looked at it, then back at Jonas. The

implication was unspoken but unmistakable.

What do you want Jonas asked.

The balls gone dark, she said, answering from the side. All the time I had it in

my keeping, it was livelyaye, even when it showed nothing I could make out, it

was passing lively, bright and pinkbut it fell dark almost at the sound of yer

voice. It doesnt want to go with ye.

Nevertheless, Im under orders to take it.

Jonass voice became soft and

conciliating. It wasnt the tone he used when he was in bed with Coral, but it was

close. Think a minute, and youll see my situation.

Far-son wants it, and who am I

to stand against the wants of a man wholl be the most powerful in MidWorld

when Demon Moon rises next year If I come back without it and say Rhea of the

Coos refused me it, Ill be killed.

If ye come back and tell him I broke it in yer ugly old face, yell be killed, too,

Rhea said. She was close enough for Jonas to see how far her sickness had eaten

into her. Above the few remaining tufts of her hair, the wretched ball was

trembling back and forth. She wouldnt be able to hold it much longer. A minute at

most. Jonas felt a dew of sweat spring out on his fore head.

Aye, mother. But dyou know, given a choice of deaths, Id choose to take the

cause of my problem with me. Thats you, darling.

She croaked againthat dusty replica of laughter

and nodded ap preciatively. 

Twont do Farson any good without me in any case, she said. Its found its

mistress, I wotthats why it went dark at the sound of yer voice.

Jonas wondered how many others had believed the ball was just for them. He

wanted to wipe the sweat from his brow before it ran in his eyes, but kept his

hands in front of him, folded neatly on the horn of his saddle.

He didnt dare look at either Reynolds or Depape.

and could only hope they would

leave the play to him. She was balanced on both a physical and mental knife-edge;

the smallest movement would send her tumbling off in one direction or the other.

Found the one it wants, has it He thought he saw a way out of this. If he was

lucky. And it might be lucky for her, as well. What should we do about that

Take me with ye. Her face twisted into an ex pression of gruesome greed; she

looked like a corpse that is trying to sneeze. She doesnt realize shes dying, Jonas thought. Thank the gods for that. Take the ball, but take me, as well. Ill go with

ye to Farson. Ill become his soothsayer, and nothing will stand before us, not with me to read the ball for him. Take me with ye!

All right, Jonas said. It was what he had hoped for.

Although what Farson

decides is none o mine. You know that

Aye.

Good. Now give me the ball. Ill give it back into your keeping, if you like, but I

need to make sure its whole.

She slowly lowered it. Jonas didnt think it was en tirely safe even cradled in her

arms, but he breathed a little easier when it was, all the same. She shuffled toward

him, and he had to control an urge to gig his horse back from her.

He bent over in the saddle, holding his hands out for the glass. She looked up at

him, her old eyes still shrewd behind their crusted lids. One of them actually drew

down in a conspirators wink. I know yer mind, Jonas. Ye think, Ill take the ball, then draw my gun and kill her, what harm Isnt that true Yet there would be

harm, and all to you and yours. Kill me and the ball will never shine for Farson

again. For someone, aye, someday, mayhap; but not for him … and will he let ye live if ye bring his toy back and he discovers its broken

Jonas had already considered this. We have a bargain, old mother. You go west

with the glass

unless you die beside the trail some night. Youll pardon me for

saying so, but you dont look well.

She cackled. Im bettern I look, oh yar! Years left fore this clock o mine runs

down!

I think you may be wrong about that, old mother, Jonas thought. But he kept his

peace and only held his hands out for the ball.

For a moment longer she held it. Their arrange ment was made and agreed to on

both sides, but in the end she could barely bring her self to ungrasp the ball. Greed

shone in her eyes like moonlight through fog.

He held his hands out patiently, saying nothing, waiting for her mind to accept

realityif she let go, there was some chance. If she held on, very likely everyone

in this stony, weedy yard would end up riding the handsome before long.

With a sigh of regret, she finally put the ball in his hands. At the in stant it passed

from her to him, an ember of pink light pulsed deep in the depths of the glass. A

throb of pain drove into Jonass head … and a shiv er of lust coiled in his balls.

As from a great distance, he heard Depape and Reynolds cocking their pistols.

Put those away, Jonas said. But Reynolds looked confused.

They thoughtee was going to double-cross Rhea, the old woman said, cackling.

Good thing yere in charge rather than them, Jonas

mayhap you know summat

they dont.

He knew something, all righthow dangerous the smooth, glassy thing in his

hands was. It could take him in a blink, if it wanted.

And in a month, he would be

like the witch: scrawny, raddled with sores, and too obsessed to know or care.

Put them away! he shouted.

Reynolds and Depape exchanged a glance, then reholstered their guns. There was a bag for this thing, Jonas said. A drawstring bag laid inside the box. Get it.

Aye, Rhea said, grinning unpleasantly at him.

But it wont keep the ball from

takin ye if it wants to. Ye neednt think it will. She sur veyed the other two, and

her eye fixed on Reynolds. Theres a cart in my shed, and a pair of good gray

goats to pull it. She spoke to Reynolds, but her eyes kept turning back to the ball,

Jonas noticed… and now his damned eyes wanted to go there, too.

You dont give me orders, Reynolds said.

No, but I do, Jonas said. His eyes dropped to the ball, both wanting and fearing

to see that pink spark of life deep inside. Nothing.

Cold and dark. He dragged his

gaze back up to Reynolds again. Get the cart.

12

Reynolds heard the buzzing of flies even before he slipped through the sheds

sagging door, and knew at once that Rheas goats had finished their days of

pulling. They lay bloated and dead in their pen, legs sticking up and the sockets of

their eyes squirming with maggots. It was impos si ble to know when Rhea had

last fed and watered them, but Reynolds guessed at least a week, from the smell.

Too busy watching what goes on in that glass ball to bother, he thought. And

whats she wearing that dead snake around her neck for

I dont want to know, he muttered from behind his pulled-up neck erchief. The

only thing he did want right now was to get the hell out of here.

He spied the cart, which was painted black and over laid with cabalis tic designs in

gold. It looked like a medicine-show wagon to Reynolds; it also looked a bit like a hearse. He seized it by the handles and dragged it out of the shed as fast as he

could. Depape could do the rest, by gods. Hitch his horse to the cart and haul the

old womans stinking freight to

where Who knew Eldred, maybe.

Rhea came tottering out of her hut with the draw string bag theyd brought the ball in, but she stopped, head cocked, listening, when Rey nolds asked his question.

Jonas thought it over, then said: Seafront to begin, I guess. Yar, thatll do for her,

and this glass bauble as well, I reckon, until the par tys over tomorrow.

Aye, Seafront, Ive never been there, Rhea said, moving forward again. When

she reached Jonass horse (which tried to shy away from her), she opened the bag.

After a moments further consideration, Jonas dropped the ball in. It bulged round at the bottom, making a shape like a teardrop.

Rhea wore a sly smile. Mayhap well meet Thorin. If so, I might have something

to show him in the Good Mans toy thatd interest him ever so much.

If you meet him, Jonas said, getting down to help hitch Depapes horse to the

black cart, itll be in a place where no magic is needed to see far.

She looked at him, frowning, and then the sly smile slowly resur faced. Why, I

blieve our Mayors met wiv a accident!

Could be, Jonas agreed.

She giggled, and soon the giggle turned into a fullthroated cackle. She was still

cackling as they drew out of the yard, cackling and sitting in the little black cart

with its cabalistic decorations like the Queen of Black Places on her throne.

CHAPTER VIII

the ashes

1

Panic is highly contagious, especially in sit uations when nothing is known and

everything is in flux. It was the sight of Miguel, the old mozo, that started Susan

down its greased slope. He was in the middle of Seafronts courtyard, clutching his broom of twigs against his chest and looking at the riders who passed to and fro

with an expression of perplexed misery. His sombrero was twisted around on his back, and Susan observed with something like horror that Miguelusually

brushed and clean and neat as a pinwas wearing his serape inside out. There

were tears on his cheeks, and as he turned this way and that, following the passing

riders, trying to hile those he recognized, she thought of a child she had once seen toddle out in front of an oncoming stage. The child had been pulled back in time

by his father; who would pull Miguel back She started for him, and a vaquero aboard a wildeyed spotted roan galloped so

close by her that one stirrup ticked off her hip and the horses tail flicked her

forearm. She voiced a strange-sounding little chuckle. She had been worried about Miguel and had almost been run down herself! Fun ny!

She looked both ways this time, started forward, then drew back again as a loaded

wagon came careering around the comer, tot tering on two wheels at first. What it was loaded with she couldnt seethe goods in the wagonbed were covered with a

tarp -but she saw Miguel move toward it, still clutch ing his broom. Susan thought

of the child in front of the stage again and shrieked an inarticulate cry of alarm.

Miguel cringed back at the last moment and the cart flew by him, bounded and

swayed across the courtyard, and disappeared out through the arch.

Miguel dropped his broom, clapped both hands to his cheeks, fell to his knees, and

began to pray in a loud, lamenting voice. Susan watched him for a moment, her

mouth working, and then sprinted for the stables, no longer taking care to keep

against the side of the building. She had caught the disease that would grip almost

all of Hambry by noon, and al though she managed to do a fairly apt job of

saddling Pylon (on any other day there would have been three stable-boys vying

for the chance to help the pretty sai), any ability to think had left her by the time

she heel-kicked the startled horse into a run out side the stable door.

When she rode past Miguel, still on his knees and praying to the bright sky with

his hands upraised, she saw him no more than any other rider had before her.

2

She rode straight down the High Street, thumping her spurless heels at Pylons

sides until the big horse was fairly flying. Thoughts, questions, possible plans of

action

none of those had a place in her head as she rode. She was but vaguely

aware of the people milling in the street, allow ing Pylon to weave his own path

through them. The only thing she was aware of was his nameRoland, Roland,

Roland!ringing in her head like a scream. Every thing had gone upside down.

The brave little ka-tet they had made that night at the graveyard was broken, three

of its mem bers jailed and with not long to live (if they even were still alive), the

last member lost and confused, as crazy with terror as a bird in a barn.

If her panic had held, things might have turned out in a much differ ent fashion.

But as she rode through the center of town and out the other side, her way took her

toward the house she had shared with her father and her aunt. That lady had been

watching for the very rider who now approached.

As Susan neared, the door flew open and Cordelia, dressed in black from throat to

toe, rushed down the front walk to the street, shriek ing with either horror or

laughter. Perhaps both. The sight of her cut through the foreground haze of panic

in Susans mind… but not because she recog nized her aunt.

Rhea! she cried, and drew back on the reins so vi olently that the horse skidded,

reared, and almost tilted them over backward. That would likely have crushed the

life out of his mistress, but Pylon managed to keep at least his back feet, pawing at

the sky with his front ones and whinnying loudly.

Susan slung an arm around his

neck and hung on for dear life.

Cordelia Delgado, wearing her best black dress and a lace mantilla over her hair, stood in front of the horse as if in her own parlor, tak ing no notice of the hooves

cutting the air less than two feet in front other nose.

In one gloved hand she held a

wooden box.

Susan belatedly realized that this wasnt Rhea, but the mistake really wasnt that odd. Aunt Cord wasnt as thin as Rhea (not yet, any way), and more neatly dressed

(except for her dirty gloveswhy her aunt was wear ing gloves in the first place

Susan didnt know, let alone why they looked so smudged), but the mad look in

her eyes was horribly similar.

Good day tye, Miss Oh So Young and Pretty! Aunt Cord greeted her in a

cracked, vivacious voice that made Susans heart tremble. Aunt Cord curtseyed

one-handed, holding the little box curled against her chest with the other. Where

go ye on this fine autumn day Where go ye so speedy To no lovers arms, that

seems sure, for ones dead and the other taen!

Cordelia laughed again, thin lips drawing back from big white teeth. Horse teeth,

almost. Her eyes glared in the sunlight.

Her minds broken, Susan thought. Poor thing. Poor old thing.

Did thee put Dearborn up to it Aunt Cord asked.

She crept to Py lons side

and looked up at Susan with luminous, liquid eyes. Thee did, didnt thee Aye!

Perhaps thee even gave him the knife he used, after runnin yer lips oer it for good

luck. Yere in it togetherwhy not admit it At least admit thees lain with that

boy, for I know its true. I saw the way he looked at ye the day ye were sitting in

the window, and the way ye looked back at him!

Susan said, If yell have truth, Ill give it to ye. Were lovers. And well be man

and wife ere Years End.

Cordelia raised one dirty glove to the blue sky and waved it as if say ing hello to

the gods. She screamed with mingled triumph and laughter as she waved. And

tbe wed, she thinks! Ooooo! Yed no doubt drink the blood of your victims on the

marriage altar, too, would ye not Oh, wicked! It makes me weep! But instead of

weeping she laughed again, a howl of mirth into the blind blue face of the sky.

We planned no murders, Susan said, drawingif only in her own minda line

of difference between the killings at Mayors House and the trap they had hoped to spring on Parsons soldiers. And he did no mur ders. No, this is the business of

your friend Jonas, I wot. His plan, his filthy work.

Cordelia plunged her hand into the box she held, and Susan under stood at once

why the gloves she wore were dirty: she had been grubbing in the stove.

I curse thee with the ashes! Cordelia cried, flinging a black and gritty cloud of

them at Susans leg and the hand which held Py lons reins. I curse thee to

darkness, both of thee! Be ye happy together, ye faith less! Ye murderers! Ye

cozeners! Ye liars! Ye fornicators! Ye lost and renounced!

With each cry, Cordelia Delgado threw another handful of ashes. And with each

cry, Susans mind grew clearer, colder. She held fast and al lowed her aunt to pelt her; in fact, when Pylon, feeling the gritty rain against his side, attempted to pull away, Susan gigged him set. There were specta tors now, avidly watching this old ritual of renunciation (Sheemie was among them, eyes wide and mouth quivering),

but Susan barely noticed. Her mind was her own again, she had an idea of what to

do, and for that alone she supposed she owed her aunt some sort of thanks.

I forgive ye, Aunt, she said.

The box of stove-ashes, now almost empty, tum bled from Cordelias hands as if

Susan had slapped her. What she whispered.

What does thee say

For what ye did to yer brother and my father, Su san said. For what ye were a

part of.

She rubbed a hand on her leg and bent with the hand held out before her. Before

her aunt could pull away, Susan had wiped ashes down one of her cheeks. The

smudge stood out there like a wide, dark scar. But wear that, all the same, she

said. Wash it off if ye like, but I think yell wear it in yer heart yet awhile. She

paused. I think ye already do. Goodbye.

Where does thee think thees going Aunt Cord was pawing at the soot-mark on

her face with one gloved hand, and when she lunged for ward in an attempt to

grasp Pylons reins, she stumbled over the box and almost fell. It was Susan, still

bent over to her aunts side, who grasped her shoul der and held her up. Cordelia

pulled back as if from the touch of an adder. Not to him! Yell not go to him now,

ye mad goose!

Susan turned her horse away. None of yer busi ness. Aunt. This is the end

between us. But mark what I say: well be married by Years End. Our firstborn is

already conceived.

Theell be married tomorrow night if thee goes nigh him Joined in smoke,

wedded in fire, bedded in the ashes! Bedded in the ashes, do ye hear me

The madwoman advanced on her, railing, but Susan had no more time to listen.

The day was fleeting. There would be time to do the things that needed doing, but

only if she moved at speed.

Goodbye, she said again, and then galloped away. Her aunts last words

followed her: In the ashes, do ye hear me 3

On her way out of town along the Great Road, Susan saw riders coming toward

her, and got off the highway. This would not, she felt, be a good time to meet

pilgrims. There was an old granary nearby; she rode Pylon behind it, stroked his

neck, murmured for him to be quiet.

It took the riders longer to reach her position than she would have ex pected, and

when they finally got there, she saw why. Rhea was with them, sitting in a black

cart covered with magical symbols. The witch had been scary when Susan had

seen her on the night of the Kissing Moon, but still recognizably human; what the

girl saw passing before her now, rocking from side to side in the black cart and

clutching a bag in her lap, was an unsexed, soreraddled creature that looked more

like a troll than a human being. With her were the Big Coffin Hunters.

To Seafront! the thing in the cart screamed. Hie you on, and at full speed! Ill

sleep in Thorins bed tonight or know the reason why!

Sleep in it and piss in it, if I

take a notion! Hie you on, I say!

Depapeit was to his horse that the cart had been harnessedturned around and

looked at her with distaste and fear. Still your mouth.

Her answer was a fresh burst of laughter. She rocked from side to side, holding a bag on her lap with one hand and pointing at De pape with the twisted, long-nailed index finger of the other. Looking at her made Susan feel weak with terror, and

she felt the panic around her again, like some dark fluid that would happily drown

her brain if given half a chance.

She worked against the feeling as best she could, holding onto her mind, refusing

to let it turn into what it had been before and would be again if she let ita

brainless bird trapped in a barn, bashing into the walls and ignoring the open

window through which it had entered.

Even when the cart was gone below the next hill and there was noth ing left of

them but dust hanging in the air, she could hear Rheas wild cackling.

4

She reached the hut in the Bad Grass at one o the clock. For a moment she just sat

astride Pylon, looking at it. Had she and Roland been here hardly twenty-four

hours ago Making love and making plans It was hard to believe, but when she

dismounted and went in, the wicker basket in which she had brought them a cold

meal confirmed it. It still sat upon the rickety table.

Looking at the hamper, she realized she hadnt eaten since the previ ous

eveninga miserable supper with Hart Thorin that shed only picked at, too aware

of his eyes on her body. Well, theyd done their last crawl, hadnt they And shed

never have to walk down another Seafront hall way wondering what door he was

going to come bursting out of like Jack out of his box, all grabbing hands and stiff, randy prick.

Ashes, she thought. Ashes and ashes. But not us, Roland. I swear, my darling, not

us.

She was frightened and tense, trying to put every thing she now must do in

ordera process to be followed just as there was a process to be fol lowed when

saddling a horsebut she was also sixteen and healthy. One look at the hamper

and she was ravenous.

She opened it, saw there were ants on the two re maining cold beef sandwiches,

brushed them off, and gobbled the sandwiches down. The bread had gotten rather

stiff, but she hardly noticed. There was a half jar of sweet cider and part of a cake,

as well.

When she had finished everything, she went to the north comer of the hut and

moved the hides someone had begun to cure and then lost interest in. There was a hollow beneath. Within it, wrapped in soft leather, were Rolands guns.

If things go badly, thee must come here and take them west to Gilead. Find my

father.

With faint but genuine curiosity, Susan won dered if Roland had really expected she would ride blithely off to Gilead with his unborn child in her belly while he

and his friends were roasted, screaming and redhanded, on the ReapNight

bonfire.

She pulled one of the guns out of its holster. It took her a moment or two to sec

how to get the revolver open, hut then the cylinder rolled out and she saw that

each chamber was loaded. She snapped it back into place and checked the other

one.

She concealed them in the blanket-roll behind her saddle, just as Roland had, then

mounted up and headed east again. But not to ward town. Not yet. She had one

more stop to make first.

5

At around two o the clock, word that Fran Lengyll would be speaking at the Town

Gathering Hall began to sweep through the town of Mejis. No one could have said

where this news (it was too firm and specific to be a rumor) began, and no one

much cared; they simply passed it on.

By three o the clock, the Gathering Hall was full, and two hundred or more stood

outside, listening as Lengylls brief address was relayed back to them in whispers.

Coral Thorin, who had begun passing the news of Lengylls impending appearance

at the Travellers Rest, was not there. She knew what Lengyll was going to say;

had, in fact, supported Jonass argument that it should be as simple and direct as

possible. There was no need for rabble-rousing; the townsfolk would be a mob by

sundown of

Reaping Day, a mob always picked its own lead ers, and it always picked the right ones.

Lengyll spoke with his hat held in one hand and a sil ver reapcharm hanging from

the front of his vest. He was brief, he was rough, and he was convincing. Most

folks in the crowd had known him all their lives, and didnt doubt a word he said.

Hart Thorin and Kimba Rimer had been murdered by Dearborn, Heath, and

Stockworth, Lengyll told the crowd of men in denim and women in faded

gingham. The crime had come home to them be cause of a certain itema birds

skullleft in Mayor Thorins lap.

Murmurs greeted this. Many of Lengylls listeners had seen the skull, either

mounted on the horn of Cuthberts saddle or worn jauntily around his neck. They

had laughed at his prankishness. Now they thought of how he had laughed back at

them, and realized he must have been laughing at a different joke all along. Their

faces darkened.

The weapon used to slit the Chancellors throat, Lengyll continued, had belonged

to Dearborn. The three young men had been taken that morning as they prepared

to flee Mejis. Their motivations were not en tirely clear, but they were likely after

horses. If so, they would be for John Farson, who was known to pay well for good

nags, and in cash. They were, in other words, traitors to their own lands and to the

cause of the Affiliation.

Lengyll had planted Brian Hockeys son Rufus three rows back. Now, exactly on

time, Rufus Hookey shouted out: Has they con fessed

Aye, Lengyll said. Confessed both murders, and spoke it most proud, so they

did.

A louder murmur at this, almost a rumble. It ran backward like a wave to the

outside, where it went from mouth to mouth: most proud, most proud, they had

murdered in the dark of night and spoke it most proud. Mouths were tucked down. Fists clenched.

Dearborn said that Jonas and his friends had caught on to what they were doing,

and took the word to Rimer. They killed Chancellor Rimer to shut him up while

they finished their chores, and Thorin in case Rimer had passed word on.

This made little sense, Latigo had argued. Jonas had smiled and nod ded. No, he

had said, not a mite of sense, but it doesnt matter.

Lengyll was prepared to answer questions, but none were asked. There was only

the murmur, the dark looks, the muted click and clink of reapcharms as people

shifted on their feet.

The boys were in jail. Lengyll made no statement concerning what would happen

to them next, and once again he was not asked. He said that some of the activities

scheduled for the next daythe games, the rides, the turkey-run, the pumpkincarv

ing contest, the pig-scramble, the rid dling competition, and the dancehad

been cancelled out of respect for the tragedy. The things that really mattered

would go on, of course, as they always had and must: the cattle and livestock

judging, the horse-pull, the sheep-shearing, the stockline meetings, and the

auctions: horse, pig, cow, sheep. And the bonfire at moonrise. The bonfire and the

burning of the guys. Charyou tree was the end of Reaping FairDay, and had been

since time out of mind. Nothing would stop it save the end of the world.

The bonfire will bum and the stuffyguys will bum on it, Eldred Jonas had told

Lengyll. Thats all youre to say. Its all you need to say.

And hed been right, Lengyll saw. It was on every face. Not just the determination

to do right, but a kind of dirty eagerness. There were old ways, old rites of which

the redhanded stuffyguys were one surviving remnant. There were los

ceremoniosos: Charyou tree. It had been gen era tions since they had been

practiced (except, every once and again, in se cret places out in the hills), but

sometimes when the world moved on, it came back to where it had been.

Keep it brief, Jonas had said, and it had been fine ad vice, fine advice indeed. He

wasnt a man Lengyll would have wanted around in more peaceful times, but a

useful one in times such as these.

Gods give you peace, he said now, stepping back and folding his arms with his

hands on his shoulders to show he had finished.

Gods give us all peace.

Long days and peaceful nights, they returned in a low, automatic chorus. And

then they simply turned and left, to go wherever folks went on the afternoon

before Reaping. For a good many of them, Lengyll knew, it would be the

Travellers Rest or the Bayview Hotel. He raised a hand and mopped his brow. He

hated to be out in front of people, and never so much as today, but he thought it

had gone well. Very well, indeed.

6

The crowd streamed away without speaking. Most, as Lengyll had fore seen,

headed for the saloons. Their way took them past the jail, but few looked at it

and those few who did, did so in tiny, furtive glances.

The porch was empty (save

for a plump redhanded stuffy sprawled in Sheriff Averys rocker), and the door

stood ajar, as it usually did on warm and sunny af ternoons. The boys were inside,

no doubt about that, but there was no sign that they were being guarded with any

particular zeal.

If the men passing on their way downhill to the Rest and the Bayview had banded

together into one group, they could have taken Roland and his friends with no

trouble whatsoever. Instead, they went by with their heads down, walking stolidly and with no conversation to where the drinks were waiting. Today was not the

day. Nor tonight.

Tomorrow, however

7

Not too far from the Bar K, Susan saw something on the Baronys long slope of

grazing-land that made her rein up and simply sit in the saddle with her mouth

open. Below her and much farther east of her po sition, at least three miles away, a band of a dozen cowboys had rounded up the biggest herd of Drop-runners she

had ever seen: perhaps four hundred head in all.

They ran lazily, going where the

vaqs pointed them with no trouble.

Probably think theyre going in for the winter, Su san thought. But they werent

headed in toward the ranches running along the crest of the Drop; the herd, so

large it flowed on the grass like a cloud-shadow, was headed west, toward

Hanging Rock.

Susan had believed everything Roland said, but this made it true in a personal

way, one she could relate directly to her dead fa ther. Horses, of courses.

You bastards, she murmured. You horse-thiev ing bastards. She turned Pylon

and rode for the burned-out ranch. To her right, her shadow was growing long.

Overhead, the Demon Moon glimmered ghostly in the daylight sky.

8

She had worried that Jonas might have left men at the Bar Kalthough why he

wouldve she didnt really know, and the fear turned out to be groundless in any

case. The ranch was as empty as it had been for the five or six years between the

fire that had put paid to it and the arrival of the boys from InWorld. She could see

signs of that mornings confrontation, however, and when she went into the

bunkhouse where the three of them had slept, she at once saw the gaping hole in

the floorboards. Jonas had neglected to close it up again after taking Alains and

Cuthberts guns.

She went down the aisle between the bunks, dropped to one knee, and looked into

the hole. Nothing. Yet she doubted if what she had come for had been there in the

first placethe hole wasnt big enough.

She paused, looking at the three cots. Which was Rolands She sup posed she

could find outher nose would tell her, she knew the smell of his hair and skin

very wellbut she thought she would do better to put such soft impulses behind

her. What she needed now was to be hard and quick to move without pausing or

looking back.

Ashes, Aunt Cord whispered in her head, almost too faintly to hear. Susan shook

her head impatiently, as if to clear that voice away, and walked out back.

There was nothing behind the bunkhouse, nothing behind the privy or to either

side of it. She went around to the back of the old cookshack next, and there she

found what shed come looking for, placed casual ly and with no attempt at

concealment: the two small barrels she had last seen slung over Caprichosos back.

The thought of the mule summoned the thought of Sheemie, looking down at her

from his mans height and with his hopeful boys face.

Id like to take a fin de ano

kiss from ye, so I would.

Sheemie, whose life had been saved by Mr. Arthur Heath. Sheemie, who had

risked the wrath of the witch by giving Cuthbert the note meant for her aunt.

Sheemie, who had brought these barrels up here.

They had been smeared with soot

to partially camouflage them, and Susan got some on her hands and the sleeves of her shirt as she took off the tops more ashes. But the firecrackers were still

inside: the round, fist-sized big-bangers and the smaller ladyfingers.

She took plenty of both, stuffing her pockets until they bulged and carrying more

in her arms. She stowed them in her saddlebags, then looked up at the sky. Threethir ty. She wanted to get back to Hambry no ear lier than twilight, and that meant at least an hour to wait. There was a little time to be soft, after all.

Susan went back into the bunkhouse and found the bed which had been Rolands

easily enough. She knelt beside it like a child say ing bed time prayers, put her face against his pillow, and inhaled deeply.

Roland, she said, her voice muffled. How I love thee. How I love thee, dear.

She lay on his bed and looked toward the window, watching the light drain away.

Once she raised her hands in front of her eyes, ex amining the barrel-soot on her

fingers. She thought of going to the pump in front of the cookhouse and washing,

but decided not to. Let it stay. They were ka-tet, one from manystrong in

purpose and strong in love.

Let the ashes stay, and do their worst.

9

My Susie haser faults, but shes always on time. Pat Delgado used to say. Fearful

punctual, that girl.

It was true on the night before Reap. She skirted her own house and rode up to the

Travellers Rest not ten minutes after the sun had finally gone behind the hills,

filling the High Street with thick mauve shadows.

The street was eerily deserted, considering it was the night before Reap; the band which had played in Green Heart every night for the last week was silent; there

were periodic rattles of firecrackers, but no yelling, laughing children; only a few of the many colored lamps had been lit.

Stuffyguys seemed to peer from every shadowthickened porch. Susan shivered at the sight of their blank white-cross eyes.

Doings at the Rest were similarly odd. The hitch ing-rails were crowded (even

more horses had been tied at the rails of the mer cantile across the street) and light shone from every windowso many windows and so many lights that the inn

looked like a vast ship on a darkened seabut there was none of the usual riot and

jubilation, all set to the jagtime tunes pouring out of Shebs piano.

She found she could imagine the customers inside all too well a hundred men,

maybe moresimply standing around and drink ing. Not talking, not laughing, not chucking the dice down Satans Alley and cheer ing or groaning at the result. No

bottoms stroked or pinched; no Reap-kisses stolen; no arguments started out of loose mouths and finished with hard fists. Just men drinking, not three hundred

yards from where her love and his friends were locked up. The men who were here

wouldnt do anything tonight but drink, though. And if she was lucky … brave

and lucky

As she drew Pylon up in front of the saloon with a murmured word, a shape rose

out of the shadows. She tensed, and then the first or angey light of the rising moon

caught Sheemies face. She relaxed againeven laughed a little, mostly at herself.

He was a part of their ka-tet; she knew he was. Was it surprising that he should

know, as well

Susan, he murmured, taking off his sombrero and holding it against his chest. I been waiting foree.

Why she asked.

 Cause I knew yed come. He looked back over his shoulder at the Rest, a black

bulk spraying crazy light toward every point of the compass. Were going to let

Arthur and them free, aint we

I hope so, she said.

We have to. The folks in there, they dont talk, but they dont have to talk. I

knows, Susan, daughter of Pat. I knows.

She supposed he did. Is Coral inside

Sheemie shook his head. Gone up to Mayors House. She told Stan ley she was

going to help lay out the bodies for the funeral day after to morrow, but I dont

think shell be here for the funeral. I think the Big Coffin Hunters is going and

shell go with em. He raised a hand and swiped at his leaking eyes. Your mule,

Sheemie All saddled, and I got the long halter.

She looked at him, openmouthed.

How did ye know Same way I knew yed be coming, Susan-sai. I

just knew. He shrugged, then pointed vaguely.

Capis around the back. I tied him to the cooks pump.

Thats good. She fumbled in the saddlebag where she had put the smaller

firecrackers. Here. Take some of these. Doee have a sulfur or two

Aye. He asked no questions, simply stuffed the firecrackers into his front

pocket. She, however, who had never been through the batwing doors of the

Travellers Rest in her whole life, had another question for him.

What do they do with their coats and hats and scrapes when they come in,

Sheemie They must take em off; drinkings warm work.

Oh, aye. They puts em on a long table just inside the door. Some fights about

whose is whose when theyre ready to go home.

She nodded, thinking hard and fast. He stood be fore her, still holding his sombrero against his chest, letting her do what he could not

at least not in the

conventionally understood way. At last she raised her head again.

Sheemie, if you help me, youre done in Hambry

done in Mejis… done in the

Outer Arc. You go with us if we get away. You have to under stand that. Do you

She saw he did; his face fairly shone with the idea.

Aye, Susan! Go with you and

Will Dearborn and Richard Stockworth and my best friend, Mr. Arthur Heath! Go

to InWorld! Well see buildings and statues and women in gowns like fairy

princesses and

If were caught, well be killed.

He stopped smiling, but his eyes didnt waver. Aye, killed well be if taen, most

like.

Will you still help me

Capis all saddled, he repeated. Susan reck oned that was answer enough. She

took hold of the hand pressing the sombrero to Sheemies chest (the hats crown

was pretty well crushed, and not for the first time).

She bent, holding Sheemies

fingers with one hand and the horn of her saddle with the other, and kissed his

cheek. He smiled up at her.

Well do our best, wont we she asked him.

Aye, Susan daughter of Pat. Well do our best for our friends. Our very best.

Yes. Now listen, Sheemie. Very carefully.

She began to talk, and Sheemie listened.

10

Twenty minutes later, as the bloated orange moon struggled above the buildings of the town like a pregnant woman climbing a steep hill, a lone vaquero led a mule

along Hill Street in the direction of the Sheriffs of fice. This end of Hill Street

was a pit of shadows. There was a little light around Green Heart, but even the

park (which would have been thronged, noisy, and bril liantly lit in any other year)

was mostly empty. Nearly all the booths were closed, and of those few that

remained open, only the fortune-teller was doing any business. Tonight all

fortunes were bad, but still they camedont they al ways

The vaquero was wearing a heavy serape; if this particular cowboy had the breasts

of a woman, they were concealed. The vaq wore a large, sweat-stained sombrero;

if this cowboy had the face of a woman, it was like wise concealed. Low, from

beneath that hats broad brim, came a voice singing Careless Love.

The mules small saddle was buried under the large bundle which had been roped

to itcloth or clothes of some kind, it might have been, al though the deepening

shadows made it impossible to say for sure.

Most amusing of all was what hung

around the mules neck like some peculiar reapcharm: two sombreros and a

drovers hat strung on a length of rope.

As the vaq neared the Sheriffs office, the singing ceased. The place might have

been deserted if not for the single dim light shin ing through one window. In the

porch rocker was a comical stuffyguy wearing one of Herk Averys embroidered

vests and a tin star. There were no guards; ab so lutely no sign that the three most hated men in Mejis were sequestered within. And now, very faintly, the vaquero

could hear the strum of a guitar.

It was blotted out by a thin rattle of firecrackers.

The vaq looked over one shoulder

and saw a dim figure. It waved. The vaquero nod ded, waved back, then tied the

mule to the hitching-postthe same one where Roland and his friends had tied

their horses when they had come to introduce themselves to the Sheriff, on a

summer day so long ago.

11

The door openedno one had bothered to lock it

while Dave Hollis was trying,

for about the two hundredth time, to play the bridge of Cap tain Mills, You

Bastard. Across from him, Sheriff Avery sat rocked back in his desk chair with his hands laced together on his paunch. The room flickered with mild orange

lamplight.

You keep it up, Deputy Dave, and there wont have to be any execu tion,

Cuthbert Allgood said. He was standing at the door of one of the cells with his

hands wrapped around the bars. Well kill ourselves.

In self-defense.

Shut up, maggot, Sheriff Avery said. He was halfdozing in the wake of a fourchop

dinner, thinking of how he would tell his broth er (and his brothers wife, who

was killing pretty) in the next Barony about this hero ic day. He would be modest,

but he would still get it across to them that hed played a central role; that if not for

him, these three young ladrones might have

Just dont sing, Cuthbert said to Dave. Ill confess to the murder of Arthur Eld

himself if you just dont sing.

To Berts left, Alain was sitting crosslegged on his bunk. Roland was lying on his

with his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. But at the moment the

doors latch clicked, he swung to a sitting position.

As if hed only been waiting.

Thatll be Bridger, Deputy Dave said, gladly putting his guitar aside. He hated

this duty and couldnt wait to be relieved. Heaths jokes were the worst. That he

could continue to joke in the face of what was go ing to happen to them tomorrow.

I think its likely one of them, Sheriff Avery said, meaning the Big Coffin

Hunters.

In fact, it was neither. It was a cowboy all but buried in a serape that looked much

too big for him (the ends actually dragged on the boards as he clumped in and shut

the door behind him), and wearing a hat that came way down over his eyes. To

Herk Avery, the fellow looked like some bodys idea of a cowboy stuffy.

Say, stranger! he said, beginning to smile

for this was surely someones joke,

and Herk Avery could take a joke as well as any man.

Especially after four chops

and a mountain of mashed. Howdy! What business do ye

The hand which hadnt closed the door had been un der the scrape. When it came

out, it was clumsily holding a gun all three of the prisoners recognized at once.

Avery stared at it, his smile slowly fading. His hands unlaced themselves. His feet, which had been propped up on his desk, came down to the floor.

Whoa, partner, he said slowly. Lets talk about it.

Get the keys off the wall and unlock the cells, the vaq said in a hoarse,

artificially deep voice. Outside, unnoticed by all save Roland, more firecrackers rattled in a dry, popping string.

I cant hardly do that, Avery said, easing open the bottom drawer of his desk

with his foot. There were several guns, left over from that morning, inside. Now,

I dont know if that things loaded, but I dont hardly think a traildog like you

The newcomer pointed the gun at the desk and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening in the little room, but Roland thought

hopedthat with the door shut,

it would sound like just another firecracker. Big ger than some, smaller than others.

Good girl, he thought. Oh, good girlbut be careful.

For gods sake, Sue, be

careful.

All three of them standing in a line at the cell doors now, eyes wide and mouths

tight.

The bullet struck the comer of the Sheriffs rolltop and tore off a huge splinter.

Avery screamed, tilted back in his chair again, and went sprawl ing. His foot

remained hooked under the drawer-pull; the drawer shot out and overturned,

spilling three ancient firearms across the board floor.

Susan, look out! Cuthbert shouted, and then: No, Dave!

At the end of his life, it was duty and not fear of the Big Coffin Hunters which

propelled Dave Hollis, who had hoped to be Sher iff of Mejis himself when Avery

retired (and, he sometimes told his wife, Judy, a better one than Fatso had ever

dreamed of being). He forgot that he had serious questions about the way the boys

had been taken as well as about what they might or might not have done. All he

thought of then was that they were prisoners o the Barony, and such would not be

taken if he could help it.

He lunged for the cowboy in the too-big clothes, meaning to tear the gun out of his hands. And shoot him with it, if necessary.

12

Susan was staring at the yellow blaze of fresh wood on the comer of the Sheriffs desk, forgetting everything in her amazement

so much dam age inflicted by the

single twitch of a finger!when Cuthberts des perate shout awakened her to her

position.

She shrank back against the wall, avoiding Daves first swipe at the oversized

serape, and, without thinking, pulled the trigger again. There was another loud

explosion, and Dave Hollisa young man only two years older than she

herselfwas flung backward with a smoking hole in his shirt between two points

of the star he wore. His eyes were wide and unbe lieving. His monocle lay by one

outstretched hand on its length of black silk ribbon.

One of his feet struck his

guitar and knocked it to the floor with a thrum nearly as musical as the chords he

had been trying to make.

Dave, she whispered. Oh Dave, Im sorry, what did I do

Dave tried once to get up, then collapsed forward on his face. The hole going into

the front of him was small, but the one she was look ing at now, the one coming

out the back, was huge and hideous, all black and red and charred edges of cloth

as if she had run him through with a blazing hot pok er instead of shooting him

with a gun, which was sup posed to be merciful and civilized and was clearly

neither one.

Dave, she whispered. Dave, I



Susan look out! Roland shouted.

It was Avery. He scuttled forward on his hands and knees, seized her around the

calves, and yanked her feet out from under her. She came down on her bottom

with a tooth-rattling crash and was face to face with himhis frog-eyed, largepored

face, his garlic-smelling hole of a mouth.

Gods, yere a girl, he whispered, and reached for her. She pulled the trigger of

Rolands gun again, setting the front of her serape on fire and blowing a hole in

the ceiling. Plaster dust drifted down. Averys ham sized hands settled around her throat, cutting off her wind. Somewhere far away, Roland shrieked her name.

She had one more chance.

Maybe.

Ones enough, Sue, her father spoke inside of her head. Ones all ye need, my dear.

She cocked Rolands pistol with the side of her thumb, socked the muzzle deep

into the flab hanging from the underside of Sher iff Herk Averys head, and pulled

the trigger.

The mess was considerable.

13

Averys head dropped into her lap, as heavy and wet as a raw roast. Above it, she

could feel growing heat. At the bottom edge of her vision was the yellow flicker of

fire.

On the desk! Roland shouted, yanking the door of his cell so hard it rattled in its frame. Susan, the water-pitcher! For your fa thers sake!

She rolled Averys head out of her lap, got to her feet, and staggered to the desk

with the front of the serape burning. She could smell its charred stench and was

grateful in some far comer of her mind that shed had time, while waiting for dusk,

to tie her hair behind her.

The pitcher was almost full, but not with water; she could smell the sweet-sour

tang of graf. She doused herself with it, and there was a brisk hissing as the liquid

hit the flames. She stripped the serape off (the over sized sombrero came with it)

and threw it on the floor. She looked at Dave again, a boy she had grown up with,

one she might even have kissed behind the door of Hockeys, once upon an antique

time.

Susan! It was Rolands voice, harsh and urgent.

The keys! Hurry!

Susan grabbed the keyring from the nail on the wall.

She went to Rolands cell

first and thrust the ring blindly through the bars. The air was thick with smells of

gunsmoke, burned wool, blood. Her stomach clenched helplessly at every breath.

Roland picked the right key, reached back through the bars with it, and plunged it

into the lockbox. A moment later he was out, and hugging her roughly as her tears

broke. A moment after that, Cuthbert and Alain were out, as well.

Youre an angel! Alain said, hugging her himself.

Not I, she said, and began to cry harder. She thrust the gun at Roland. It felt

filthy in her hand; she never wanted to touch one again. Him and me played

together when we were berries. He was one of the good onesnever a braid-puller

or a bullyand he grew up a good one. Now Ive ended him, and wholl tell his

wife

Roland took her back into his arms and held her there for a moment. You did

what you had to. If not him, then us. Does thee not know it

She nodded against his chest. Avery, him I dont mind so much, but Dave …

Come on, Roland said. Someone might recog nize the gunshots for what they

were. Was it Sheemie throwing firecrackers

She nodded. Ive got clothes for you. Hats and scrapes.

Susan hurried back to the door, opened it, peeked out in either direc tion, then

slipped into the growing dark.

Cuthbert took the charred serape and put it over Deputy Daves face. Tough luck,

partner, he said. You got caught in between, didnt you I reckon you wasnt so

bad.

Susan came back in, burdened with the stolen gear which had been tied to Capis

saddle. Sheemie was already off on his next er rand without having to be told. If the inn-boy was a halfwit, shed known a lot of folks in her time who were running

on quarters and eighths.

Whered you get this stuff Alain asked.

The Travellers Rest. And I didnt. Sheemie did. She held the hats out. Come

on, hurry.

Cuthbert took the headgear and passed it out.

Roland and Alain had already

slipped into the scrapes; with the hats added and pulled well down over their

faces, they could have been any Drop-vaqs in Barony.

Where are we going Alain asked as they stepped out onto the porch. The street

was still dark and deserted at this end; the gun shots had attracted no attention.

Hockeys, to start with, Susan said. Thats where your horses are.

They went down the street together in a little group of four. Capi was gone;

Sheemie had taken the mule along. Susans heart was thudding rapidly and she

could feel sweat standing out on her brow, but she still felt cold. Whether or no

what she had done was murder, she had ended two lives this evening, and crossed

a line that could never be recrossed in the other direction. She had done it for

Roland, for her love, and simply knowing she could have done no different now

offered some consolation.

Be happy together, ye faithless, ye cozeners, ye murderers. I curse thee with the ashes.

Susan seized Rolands hand, and when he squeezed, she squeezed back. And as she looked up at Demon Moon, its wicked face now drain ing from choleric redor

ange to silver, she thought that when she had pulled the trigger on poor, earnest Dave Hollis, she had paid for her love with the dear est currency of allhad paid

with her soul. If he left her now, her aunts curse would be fulfilled, for only ashes

would remain.

CHAPTER IX

REAPING

1

As they stepped into the stable, which was lit by one dim gas lamp, a shadow

moved out of one of the stalls. Roland, who had belt ed on both guns, now drew

them. Sheemie looked at him with an uncertain smile, holding a stirrup in one

hand. Then the smile broadened, his eyes flashed with happiness, and he ran

toward them.

Roland bolstered his guns and made ready to em brace the boy, but Sheemie ran

past him and threw himself into Cuthberts arms.

Whoa, whoa, Cuthbert said, first staggering back comically and then lifting

Sheemie off his feet. You like to knock me over, boy!

She got ye out! Sheemie cried. Knew she would, so I did! Good old Susan!

Sheemie looked around at Susan, who stood be side Roland. She was still pale, but now seemed composed. Sheemie turned back to Cuthbert and planted a kiss

directly in the center of Berts forehead.

Whoa! Bert said again. Whats that for

 Cause I love you, good old Arthur Heath! You saved my life!

Well, maybe I did, Cuthbert said, laughing in an embarrassed way (his borrowed

sombrero, too large to begin with, now sat com ically askew on his head), but if we dont get a move on, I wont have saved it for long.

Horses are all saddled, Sheemie said. Susan told me to do it and I did. I did it just right. I just have to put this stirrup on Mr. Richard Stockworths horse,

because the one on theres bout worn through.

Thats a job for later, Alain said, taking the stirrup.

He put it aside, then turned to

Roland. Where do we go

Rolands first thought was that they should return to the Thorin mausoleum.

Sheemie reacted with instant horror. The bone yard And with De mon Moon at

the full He shook his head so violently that his sombrero came off and his hair

flew from side to side. Theyre dead in there, sai Dearborn, but if ye tease em

during the time of the Demon, theys apt to get up and walk!

Its no good, anyway, Susan said. The women of the townll be lining the way

from Seafront with flowers, and filling the mau soleum, too. Olive will be in

charge, if shes able, but my aunt and Coral are apt to be in the company. Those

arent ladies we want to meet.

All right, Roland said. Lets mount up and ride. Think about it, Susan. You too,

Sheemie. We want a place where we can hide up un til dawn, at least, and it should

be a place we can get to in less than an hour. Off the Great Road, and in any

direction from Hambry but northwest.

Why not northwest Alain asked.

Because thats where were going now. Weve got a job to do

and were going

to let them know were doing it. Eldred Jonas most of all. He offered a thin blade

of smile. I want him to know the game is over. No more Castles. The real

gunslingers are here. Lets see if he can deal with them.

2

An hour later, with the moon well above the trees, Rolands ka-tet arrived at the

Citgo oilpatch. They rode out parallel to the Great Road for safetys sake, but, as it happened, the caution was wasted: they saw not one rider on the road, going in

either direction. Its as if Reapings been can celled this year, Susan thought…

then she thought of the redhanded stuffies, and shivered. They would have

painted Rolands hands red tomorrow night, and still would, if they were caught.

Not just him, either. All of us.

Sheemie, too.

They left the horses (and Caprichoso, who had trot ted ill-temperedly but nimbly

behind them on a tether) tied to some long-dead pumping equipment in the

southeastern comer of the patch, and then walked slowly toward the working

derricks, which were clustered in the same area.

They spoke in whispers when

they spoke at all. Roland doubted if that was nec es sary, but whispers here seemed

natural enough. To Roland, Citgo was far spookier than the graveyard, and while

he doubted that the dead in that latter place awoke even when Old Demon was

full, there were some very unquiet corpses here, squalling zombies that stood rustyweird in the moonlight with their pistons going up and down like marching feet.

Roland led them into the active part of the patch, nevertheless, past a sign which

read hows your hardhat and another reading we produce oil, we refine safety.

They stopped at the foot of a derrick grinding so loudly that Roland had to shout

in order to be heard.

Sheemie! Give me a couple of those big-bangers!

Sheemie had taken a pocketful from Susans saddlebag and now handed a pair of them over. Roland took Bert by the arm and pulled him forward. There was a

square of rusty fencing around the derrick, and when the boys tried to climb it, the

horizontals snapped like old bones. They looked at each other in the running

shadows combined of machinery and moon light, nervous and amused.

Susan twitched Rolands arm. Be careful! she shouted over the rhythmic

whumpa-whumpa-whumpa of the derrick ma chinery. She didnt look frightened, he saw, only excited and alert.

He grinned, pulled her forward, and kissed the lobe of her ear. Be ready to run,

he whispered. If we do this right, theres going to be a new candle here at Citgo.

A hellacious big one.

He and Cuthbert ducked under the lowest strut of the rusty derrick tower and stood

next to the equipment, wincing at the cacophony.

Roland wondered that it hadnt

torn itself apart years ago. Most of the works were housed in rusty metal blocks,

but he could see a gigantic turning shaft of some kind, gleaming with oil that must

be supplied by automated jets. Up this close, there was a gassy smell that

reminded him of the jet that flared rhythmically on the other side of the oilpatch.

Giant-farts! Cuthbert shouted.

What

I said it smells like … aw, never mind! Lets do it ifwe can

can we 

Roland didnt know. He walked toward the machin ery crying out be neath metal

cowls which were painted a faded, rusting green.

Bert fol lowed with some

reluctance. The two of them slid into a short aisle, smelly and baking hot, that took

them almost directly beneath the derrick. Ahead of them, the shaft at the end of the piston turned steadily, shedding oily teardrops down its smooth sides. Beside it

was a curved pipe almost surely an overflow pipe, Roland thought. An

occasional drop of crude oil fell from its lip, and there was a black puddle on the

ground beneath. He pointed at it, and Cuthbert nodded.

Shouting would do no good in here; the world was a roaring, squeal ing din.

Roland curled one hand around his friends neck and pulled Cuth berts ear to his

lips; he held a big-bang up in front of Berts eyes with the other.

Light it and run, he said. Ill hold it, give you as much time as I can. Thats for

my benefit as much as for yours. I want a clear path back through that machinery,

do you understand

Cuthbert nodded against Rolands lips, then turned the gunslingers head so he

could speak in the same fashion. What if theres enough gas here to bum the air

when I make a spark

Roland stepped back. Raised his palms in a Howdo-I-know ges ture. Cuthbert

laughed and drew out a box of sulfur matches which he had scooped off Averys

desk before leaving. He asked with his eyebrows if Roland was ready. Roland

nodded.

The wind was blowing hard, but under the derrick the surrounding machinery cut

it off and the flame from the sulfur rose straight.

Roland held out the big-banger,

and had a momentary, painful memory of his mother: how she had hated these

things, how she had always been sure that he would lose an eye or a finger to one.

Cuthbert tapped his chest above his heart and kissed his palm in the universal

gesture of good luck. Then he touched the flame to the fuse. It began to sputter.

Bert turned, pretended to bang off a covered block of machinerythat was Bert,

Roland thought; he would joke on the gallowsand then dashed back down the

short corridor theyd used to get here.

Roland held the round firework as long as he dared, then lobbed it into the

overflow pipe. He winced as he turned away, halfexpecting what Bert was afraid

of: that the very air would explode. It didnt. He ran down the short aisle, came

into the clear, and saw Cuthbert standing just out side the broken bit of fencing.

Roland flapped both hands at himGo, you idiot, go!

and then the world blew

up behind him.

The sound was a deep, belching thud that seemed to shove his eardrums inward

and suck the breath out of his throat. The ground rolled under his feet like a wave

under a boat, and a large, warm hand planted it self in the center of his back and

shoved him forward. He thought he ran with it for a stepmaybe even two or

three stepsand then he was lifted off his feet and hurled at the fence, where

Cuthbert was no longer stand ing; Cuthbert was sprawled on his back, staring up

at something behind Roland. The boys eyes were wide and wondering; his mouth

hung open. Roland could see all this very well, be cause Citgo was now as bright

as in full daylight. They had lit their own Reaping bonfire, it seemed, a night early

and much brighter than the one in town could ever hope to be.

He went skidding on his knees to where Cuthbert lay, and grabbed him under one

arm. From behind them came a vast, ripping roar, and now chunks of metal began

to fall around them. They got up and ran toward where Alain stood in front of

Susan and Sheemie, trying to protect them.

Roland took a quick look back over his shoulder and saw that the re mains of the

derrickabout half of it still stoodwere glowing blackish red, like a heated

horseshoe, around a flaring yellow torch that ran per haps a hundred and fifty feet

into the sky. It was a start. He didnt know how many other derricks they could fire

before folk began arriving from town, but he was determined to do as many as

possible, no matter what the risks might be. Blow ing up the tankers at Hanging

Rock was only half the job. Farsons source had to be wiped out.

Further firecrackers dropped down further over flow pipes turned out not to be

necessary. There was a network of intercon nected pipes under the oilpatch, most filled with natural gas that had leaked in through an cient, decaying seals. Roland

and Cuthbert had no more than reached the others when there was a fresh

explosion, and a fresh tower of flame erupted from a derrick to the right of the one they had set afire. A moment later, a third derrick this one sixty full yards away

from the first two exploded with a dragons roar.

The ironwork tore free of its

anchoring concrete pillars like a tooth pulled from a decayed gum. It rose on a

cush ion of blazing blue and yellow, attained a height of perhaps seventy feet, then heeled over and came crashing back down, spew ing sparks in every direction.

Another. Another. And yet another.

The five young people stood in their comer, stunned, holding their hands up to

shield their eyes from the glare. Now the oilpatch flared like a birthday cake, and

the heat baking toward them was enormous.

Gods be kind, Alain whispered.

If they lingered here much longer, Roland realized, they would be popped like

corn. There were the horses to consider, too; they were well away from the main

focus of the explosions, but there was no guaran tee that the focus would stay

where it was; already he saw two derricks that hadnt even been working engulfed

in flames. The horses would be terrified.

Hell, he was terrified.

Come on! he shouted.

They ran for the horses through shifting yellow-or ange brilliance.

3

At first Jonas thought it was going on in his own head that the explo sions were

part of their lovemaking.

Lovemaking, yar. Lovemaking, horseshit. He and Coral made love no more than

donkeys did sums. But it was something. Oh yes in deed it was.

Hed been with passionate women before, ones who took you into a kind of ovenplace and then held you there, staring with greedy in tensity as they pumped their

hips, but until Coral hed never been with a woman that sparked such a powerfully

harmonic chord in himself. With sex, he had al ways been the kind of man who

took it when it came and forgot it when it didnt. But with Coral he only wanted to

take it, take it, and take it some more. When they were together they made love

like cats or ferrets, twisting and hissing and claw ing; they bit at each other and

cursed at each other, and so far none of it was even close to enough. When he was

with her, Jonas sometimes felt as if he were being fried in sweet oil.

Tonight there had been a meeting with the Horse mens Association, which had

pretty much become the Farson Association in these latter days. Jonas had brought them up to date, had answered their idiotic ques tions, and had made sure they

understood what theyd be doing the next day. With that done, he had checked on

Rhea, who had been installed in Kimba Rimers old suite. She hadnt even noticed

Jonas peering in at her. She sat in Rimers highceilinged, book-lined

studybehind Rimers ironwood desk, in Rimers upholstered chair, looking as

out of place as a whores bloomers on a church altar.

On Rimers desk was the

Wizards Rainbow. She was passing her hands back and forth above it and

mutter ing rapidly under her breath, but the ball re mained dark.

Jonas had locked her in and had gone to Coral. She had been waiting for him in

the parlor where tomorrows Conversational would have been held. There were

plenty of bedrooms in that wing, but it was to her dead brothers that she had led

him

and not by accident, either, Jonas was sure. There they made love in the

canopied bed Hart Thorin would never share with his gilly.

It was fierce, as it had always been, and Jonas was approaching his or gasm when

the first oil derrick blew. Christ, shes something, he thought. Theres never in the

whole damned world been a woman like

Then two more explosions, in rapid succession, and Coral froze for a moment

beneath him before beginning to thrust her hips again. Citgo, she said in a

hoarse, panting voice.

Yar, he growled, and began to thrust with her. He had lost all inter est in making

love, but they had reached the point where it was im possi ble to stop, even under

threat of death or dismemberment.

Two minutes later he was striding, naked, toward Thorins little lick of a balcony, his halferect penis wagging from side to side ahead of him like some halfwits

idea of a magic wand. Coral was a step behind him, as naked as he was.

Why now she burst out as Jonas thrust open the balcony door. I could have

come three more times!

Jonas ignored her. The countryside looking northwest was a moon-gilded darkness … except where the oilpatch was. There he saw a fierce yellow core of light. It

was spreading and brightening even as he watched; one thudding explosion after another hammered across the intervening miles. He felt a curious darkening in his mindthat feeling had been there ever since the brat, Dearborn, by the some febrile leap of intu ition, had recognized him for who

and what he was. Making love to the energetic Coral melted that feeling a little, but now, looking at the burning tangle of fire which had five minutes ago been the

Good Mans oil reserves, it came back with debil itating intensity, like a swampfever that sometimes quits the flesh but hides in the bones and never really leaves.

You re in the west, Dearborn had said. The soul of a man such as you can never

leave the west. Of course it was true, and he hadnt needed any such titmonkey as

Will Dearborn to tell him

but now that it had been said, there was a part of his

mind that couldnt stop thinking about it.

Fucking Will Dearborn. Where, exactly, was he now, him and his pair of goodman

nered mates In Averys culabozo Jonas didnt think so. Not anymore.

Fresh explosions ripped the night. Down below, men who had run and shouted in

the wake of the early mornings assassinations were run ning and shouting again.

Its the biggest Reaping firework that ever was,

Coral said in a low voice.

Before Jonas could reply, there was a hard ham mering on the bed room door. It

was thrown open a second later, and Clay Reynolds came clumping across the

room, wearing a pair of blue jeans and nothing else.

His hair was wild; his eyes

were wilder.

Bad news from town, Eldred, he said. Dearborn and the other two InWorld

brats

Three more explosions, falling almost on top of each other. From the blazing

Citgo oilpatch a great red-orange fireball rose lazily into the black of night, faded, disappeared. Reynolds walked out onto the bal cony and stood between them at the railing, unmindful of their nakedness. He stared at the fireball with wide,

wondering eyes until it was gone. As gone as the brats. Jonas felt that curious,

debilitating gloom trying to steal over him again.

How did they get away he asked. Do you know Does Avery

Averys dead. The deputy who was with him, too.

Twas another deputy found

em, Todd Bridger … Eldred, whats going on out there What happened

Oh, thats your boys, Coral said. Didnt take em long to start their own Reaping

party, did it

How much heart do they have Jonas asked himself.

It was a good

questionmaybe the only one that mattered. Were they now done mak ing

trouble

or just getting started

He once more wanted to be out of hereout of Seafront, out of Hambry, out of

Mejis. Suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to be miles and wheels and

leagues away. He had bounded around his Hillock, it was too late to go back, and

now he felt horribly exposed.

Clay.

Yes, Eldred

But the mans eyesand his mindwere still on the conflagration at Citgo. Jonas

took his shoulder and turned Reynolds toward him.

Jonas felt his own mind

starting to pick up speed, ticking past points and details, and welcomed the

feeling. That queer, dark sense of fatalism faded and disappeared.

How many men are here he asked.

Reynolds frowned, thought about it. Thirty-five. he said. Maybe.

How many armed

With guns

No, with pea-blowers, you damned fool.

Probably … Reynolds pulled his lower lip, frown ing more fiercely than ever.

Probably a dozen. Thats guns likely to work, you ken.

The big boys from the Horsemens Association Still all here

I think so.

Get Lengyll and Renfrew. At least you wont have to wake em up; theyll all be

up, and most of em right down there. Jonas jerked a thumb at the courtyard. Tell

Renfrew to put together an advance party.

Armed men. Id like eight or ten, but Ill take five. Have that old womans cart harnessed to the strongest, hardiest pony this

place has got. Tell that old fuck Miguel that if the pony he chooses dies in the

traces between here and Hanging Rock, hell be using his wrinkled old balls for

earplugs.

Coral Thorin barked brief, harsh laughter. Reynolds glanced at her, did a doubletake

at her breasts, then looked back at Jonas with an effort.

Wheres Roy Jonas asked.

Reynolds looked up. Third floor. With some little serving maid.

Kick him out, Jonas said. Its his job to get the old bitch ready to ride.

Were going

Soon as we can. You and me first, with Renfrews boys, and Lengyll behind, with

the rest of the men. You just make sure Hash Ren frews with us, Clay; that mans

got sand in his craw.

What about the horses out on the Drop

Never mind the everfucking horses. There was another explosion at Citgo;

another fireball floated into the sky. Jonas couldnt see the dark clouds of smoke which must be rushing up, or smell the oil; the wind, out of the east and into the

west, would be carrying both away from town.

But

Just do as I say. Jonas now saw his priorities in clear, ascending or der. The

horses were on the bottomFarson could find horses damned near anywhere.

Above them were the tankers gathered at Hanging Rock. They were more

important than ever now, because the source was gone. Lose the tankers, and the

Big Coffin Hunters could forget going home.

Yet most important of all was Parsons little piece of the Wizards Rainbow. It was

the one truly irreplaceable item. If it was broken, let it be broken in the care of

George Latigo, not that of Eldred Jonas.

Get moving, he told Reynolds. Depape rides af ter, with Lengylls men. You

with me. Go on. Make it happen.

And me Coral asked.

He reached out and tugged her toward him. I aint forgot you, darlin, he said.

Coral nodded and reached between his legs, obliv ious of the staring Clay

Reynolds. Aye, she said. And I aint forgot you.

4

They escaped Citgo with ringing ears and slightly singed around the edges but not

really hurt, Sheemie riding double behind Cuth bert and Caprichoso clattering

after, at the end of his long lead.

It was Susan who came up with the place they should go, and like most solutions,

it seemed completely obvious … once some one had thought of it. And so, not long after Reaping Eve had become Reaping Mom, the five of them came to the

hut in the Bad Grass where Susan and Roland had on several occasions met to

make love.

Cuthbert and Alain unrolled blankets, then sat on them to examine the guns they

had liberated from the Sheriffs office. They had also found Berts slingshot.

Thesere hard calibers, Alain said, holding one up with the cylinder sprung and

peering one-eyed down the barrel. If they dont throw too high or wide, Roland, I

think we can do some business with them.

I wish we had that ranchers machine-gun, Cuth bert said wistfully.

You know what Cort would say about a gun like that

Roland asked, and

Cuthbert burst out laughing. So did Alain.

Whos Cort Susan asked.

The tough man Eldred Jonas only thinks he is,

Alain said. He was our teacher.

Roland suggested that they catch an hour or two of sleepthe next day was apt to

be difficult. That it might also be their last was something he didnt feel he had to say.

Alain, are you listening

Alain, who knew perfectly well that Roland wasnt speaking of his ears or his

attention-span, nodded.

Do you hear anything

Not yet.

Keep at it.

I will … but I cant promise anything. The touch is flukey. You know that as

well as I do.

Just keep trying.

Sheemie had carefully spread two blankets in the comer next to his proclaimed

best friend. Hes Roland … and hes Alain … who are you, good old Arthur

Heath Who are you really

Cuthberts my name. He stuck out his hand. Cuth bert Allgood. How do ydo,

and how do ydo, and how do ydo again

Sheemie shook the offered hand, then began gig gling. It was a cheer ful,

unexpected sound, and made them all smile.

Smiling hurt Roland a little, and he guessed that if he could see his own face, hed ob serve a pretty good bum from

being so close to the exploding derricks.

Keyyouth-bert, Sheemie said, giggling. Oh my!

Keyyouth-bert, thats a funny

name, no wonder youre such a funny fellow. Keyyouth-bert, oh-aha-ha-ha, thats

a pip, a real pip!

Cuthbert smiled and nodded. Can I kill him now, Roland, if we dont need him

any longer

Save him a bit, why dont you Roland said, then turned to Susan, his own smile

fading. Will thee walk out with me a bit, Sue Id talk to thee.

She looked up at him, trying to read his face. All right. She held out her hand.

Roland took it, they walked into the moonlight to gether, and be neath its light,

Susan felt dread take hold of her heart.

5

They walked out in silence, through sweet-smelling grass that tasted good to cows

and horses even as it was expanding in their bel lies, first bloating and then killing them. It was highat least a foot taller than Rolands headand still green as

summer. Children sometimes got lost in the Bad Grass and died there, but Susan

had never feared to be here with Roland, even when there were no sky-markers to

steer by; his sense of direction was uncannily perfect.

Sue, thee disobeyed me in the matter of the guns,

he said at last.

She looked at him, smiling, half-amused and halfangry. Does thee wish to be

back in thy cell, then Thee and thy friends

No, of course not. Such bravery! He held her close and kissed her. When he

drew back, they were both breathing hard. He took her by the arms and looked

into her eyes. But thee mustnt disobey me this time.She looked at him steadily, saying nothing.

Thee knows, he said. Thee knows what Id tell thee.

Aye, perhaps.

Say. Better you than me, maybe.

Im to stay at the hut while you and the others go.

Sheemie and I are to stay.

He nodded. Will you Will thee

She thought of how unfamiliar and wretched Rolands gun had felt in her hand as she held it beneath the serape; of the wide, unbe lieving look in Daves eyes as the bullet shed fired into his chest flung him backward; of how the first time shed

tried to shoot Sheriff Avery, the bullet had only succeeded in setting her own

clothing afire, although he had been right there in front of her. They didnt have a

gun for her (unless she took one of Rolands), she couldnt use one very well in

any case

and, more im portant, she didnt want to use one. Under those

circumstances, and with Sheemie to think about, too, it was best she just stay out of the way.

Roland was waiting patiently. She nodded.

Sheemie and Ill wait for thee. Its my promise.

He smiled, relieved.

Now pay me back with honesty, Roland.

If I can.

She looked up at the moon, shuddered at the illomened face she saw, and looked

back at Roland. What chance theell come back to me

He thought about this very carefully, still holding to her arms. Far better than

Jonas thinks, he said at last. Well wait at the edge of the Bad Grass and should

be able to mark his coming well enough.

Aye, the herd o horses I saw

He may come without the horses, Roland said, not knowing how well he had

matched Jonass thinking, but his folk will make noise even if they come without

the herd. If theres enough of them, well see them, as welltheyll cut a line

through the grass like a part in hair.

Susan nodded. She had seen this many times from the Dropthe mysterious

parting of the Bad Grass as groups of men rode through it.

If theyre looking for thee, Roland If Jonas sends scouts ahead

I doubt hell bother. Roland shrugged. If they do, why, well kill them. Silent, if

we can. Killings what we were trained to do; well do it.

She turned her hands over, and now she was grip ping his arms instead of the other way around. She looked impatient and afraid. Thee hasnt answered my question.

What chance Ill see thee back

He thought it over. Even toss, he said at last.

She closed her eyes as if struck, drew in a breath, let it out, opened her eyes again.

Bad, she said, yet maybe not as bad as I thought.

And if thee doesnt come

back Sheemie and I go west, as thee said before

Aye, to Gilead. Therell be a place of safety and re spect for you there, dear, no

matter what … but its especially important that you go if you dont hear the

tankers explode. Thee knows that, doesnt thee

To warn yer peoplethy ka-tet.

Roland nodded.

Ill warn them, no fear. And keep Sheemie safe, too.

Hes as much the reason

weve got this far as anything Ive done.

Roland was counting on Sheemie for more than she knew. If he and Bert and

Alain were killed, it was Sheemie who would stabi lize her, give her reason to go

on.

When does thee leave Susan asked. Do we have time to make love

We have time, but perhaps its best we dont, he said. Its going to be hard

enough to leave thee again without. Unless you re ally want to … His eyes halfplead ed with her to say yes.

Lets just go back and lie down a bit, she said, and took his hand. For a moment

it trembled on her lips to tell him that she was kin dled with his child, but at the last moment she kept silent. There was enough for him to think about without that

added, mayhap

and she didnt want to pass such happy news beneath such an

ugly moon. It would surely be bad luck.

They walked back through high grass that was al ready springing to gether along

their path. Outside the hut, he turned her toward him, put his hands on her cheeks,

and softly kissed her again.

I will love thee forever, Susan, he said. Come whatever storms.

She smiled. The upward movement of her cheeks spilled a pair of tears from her

eyes. Come whatever storms, she agreed. She kissed him again, and they went

inside.

6

The moon had begun to descend when a party of eight rode out beneath the arch

with come in peace writ upon it in the Great Letters.

Jonas and Reynolds were in

the lead. Behind them came Rheas black wagon, drawn by a trotting pony that

looked strong enough to go all night and half the next day. Jonas had wanted to

give her a driver, but Rhea re fusedNever was an animal I didnt get on with

better than any man ever could, shed told him, and that seemed to be true. The

reins lay limp in her lap; the pony worked smart with out them. The other five men

consisted of Hash Renfrew, Quint, and three of Renfrews best vaqueros.

Coral had wanted to come as well, but Jonas had different ideas. If were killed, you can go on more or less as before, hed said.

Therell be nothing to tie you to us.

Without ye, Im not sure thered be any reason to go on, she said.

Ar, quit that schoolgirl shit, it dont become you.

Youd find plenty of reasons to

keep staggerin down the path, if you had to put your mind to it. If all goes

wellas I expect it willand you still want to be with me, ride out of here as

soon as you get word of our success. Theres a town west of here in the Vi Castis

Mountains. Ritzy. Go there on the fastest horse you can swing a leg over. Youll

be there ahead of us by days, no matter how smart were able to push along. Find a

respectable inn thatll take a woman on her own …

if there is such a thing in

Ritzy. Wait. When we get there with the tankers, you just fall into the column at

my right hand. Have you got it

She had it. One woman in a thousand was Coral Thorinsharp as Lord Satan, and

able to fuck like Satans favorite harlot. Now if things only turned out to be as

simple as hed made them sound.

Jonas fell back until his horse was pacing along side the black cart. The ball was

out of its bag and lay in Rheas lap. Anything he asked. He both hoped and

dreaded to see that deep pink pulse inside it again.

Nay. Itll speak when it needs to, thoughcount on it.

Then what good are you, old woman

Yell know when the time comes, Rhea said, looking at him with arrogance (and

some fear as well, he was happy to see).

Jonas spurred his horse back to the head of the little column. He had decided to

take the ball from Rhea at the slightest sign of trou ble. In truth, it had already

inserted its strange, addicting sweetness into his head; he thought about that single pink pulse of light hed seen far too much.

Balls, he told himself. Battlesweats all Ive got.

Once this business is over, Ill be my old self again.

Nice if true, but

but he had, in truth, begun to wonder.

Renfrew was now riding with Clay. Jonas nudged his horse in be tween them. His

dicky leg was aching like a bastard; another bad sign.

Lengyll he asked Renfrew.

Putting together a good bunch, Renfrew said, dont you fear Fran Lengyll.

Thirty men.

Thirty! God Harrys body, I told you I wanted forty!

Forty at least!

Renfrew measured him with a pale-eyed glance, then winced at a par ticularly

vicious gust of the freshening wind. He pulled his neckerchief up over his mouth

and nose. The vaqs riding behind had already done so. How afraid of these three boys are you, Jonas

Afraid for both of us, I guess, since youre too stupid to know who they are or

what theyre capable of. He raised his own neck erchief, then forced his voice into a more reasonable timbre. It was best he do so; he needed these bumpkins yet

awhile longer. Once the ball was turned over to Lati go, that might change.

Though mayhap well never see them.

Its likely theyre already thirty miles from here and riding west as fast as their

horsesll take em, Renfrew agreed. Id give a crown to know how they got

loose.

What does it matter, you idiot Jonas thought, but said nothing.

As for Lengylls men, theyll be the hardest boys he can lay hands onif it comes

to a fight, those thirty will fight like sixty.

Jonass eyes briefly met Clays. Ill believe it when I see it, Clays brief glance said,

and Jonas knew again why he had always liked this one better than Roy Depape.

How many armed

With guns Maybe half. Theyll be no more than an hour behind us.

Good. At least their back door was covered. It would have to do. And he

couldnt wait to be rid of that thrice-cursed ball.

Oh whispered a sly, half-mad voice from a place much deeper than his heart. Oh,

cant you

Jonas ignored the voice until it stilled. Half an hour later, they turned off the road

and onto the Drop. Several miles ahead, moving in the wind like a silver sea, was the Bad Grass.

7

Around the time that Jonas and his party were riding down the Drop, Roland,

Cuthbert, and Alain were swinging up into their saddles. Susan and Sheemie stood

by the doorway to the hut, holding hands and watch ing them solemnly.

Theell hear the explosions when the tankers go, and smell the smoke, Roland

said. Even with the wind the wrong way, I think theell smell it. Then, no more

than an hour later, more smoke. There. He pointed.

Thatll be the brush piled in

front of the canyons mouth.

And if we dont see those things

Into the west. But thee will, Sue. I swear thee will.

She stepped forward, put her hands on his thigh, and looked up at him in the

latening moonlight. He bent; put his hand lightly against the back of her head; put

his mouth on her mouth.

Go thy course in safety, Susan said as she drew back from him.

Aye, Sheemie added suddenly. Stand and be true, all three. He came forward

himself and shyly touched Cuthberts boot.

Cuthbert reached down, took Sheemies hand, and shook it. Take care of her, old

boy.

Sheemie nodded seriously. I will.

Come on, Roland said. He felt that if he looked at her solemn, up turned face

again, he would cry. Lets go.

They rode slowly away from the hut. Before the grass closed behind them, hiding

it from view, he looked back a final time.

Sue, I love thee.

She smiled. It was a beautiful smile. Bird and bear and hare and fish, she said.

The next time Roland saw her, she was caught inside the Wizards glass.

8

What Roland and his friends saw west of the Bad Grass had a harsh, lonely

beauty. The wind was lifting great sheets of sand across the stony desert floor; the moonlight turned these into foot racing phantoms.

At mo ments Hanging Rock

was visible some two wheels distant, and the mouth of Eyebolt Canyon two

wheels farther on. Sometimes both were gone, hid den by the dust. Behind them,

the tall grass made a soughing, singing sound.

How do you boys feel Roland asked. Alls well

They nodded.

Theres going to be a lot of shooting, I think.

Well remember the faces of our fathers, Cuth bert said.

Yes, Roland agreed, almost absently. Well re member them very well. He

stretched in the saddle. The winds in our favor, not theirs thats one good

thing. Well hear them coming. We must judge the size of the group. All right

They both nodded.

If Jonas has still got his confidence, hell come soon, in a small partywhatever

gunnies he can put together on short noticeand hell have the ball. In that case, well ambush them, kill them all, and take the Wiz ards Rainbow.

Alain and Cuthbert sat quiet, listening intently.

The wind gusted, and Roland

clapped a hand to his hat to keep it from flying off. If he fears more trouble from

us, I think hes apt to come later on, and with a big ger party of riders. If that

happens, well let them pass … then, if the wind is our friend and keeps up, well

fall in behind them.

Cuthbert began to grin. Oh Roland, he said. Your father would be proud. Only

fourteen, but cozy as the devil!

Fifteen come next moonrise, Roland said seri ously. If we do it this way, we

may have to kill their drogue riders. Watch my sig nals, all right

Were going to cross to Hanging Rock as part of their party Alain asked. He

had always been a step or two behind Cuthbert, but Roland didnt mind;

sometimes reliability was better than quick ness. Is that it

If the cards fall that way, yes.

If theyve got the pink ball with em, youd better hope it doesnt give us away,

Alain said.

Cuthbert looked surprised. Roland bit his lip, think ing that sometimes Alain was

plenty quick. Certainly he had come up with this unpleasant lit tle idea ahead of

Bert … ahead of Roland, too.

Weve got a lot to hope for this morning, but well play our cards as they come off

the top of the pack.

They dismounted and sat by their horses there on the edge of the grass, saying

little. Roland watched the silver clouds of dust rac ing each other across the desert

floor and thought of Susan. He imagined them mar ried, living in a freehold

somewhere south of Gilead. By then Farson would have been defeated, the worlds

strange decline reversed (the childish part of him simply assumed that making an

end to John Farson would somehow see to that), and his gunslinging days would

be over. Less than a year it had been since he had won the right to carry the sixshoot ers he wore on his hipsand to carry his fa thers great revolvers when

Steven Deschain decided to pass them onand already he was tired of them.

Susans kisses had softened his heart and quick ened him, some how; had made

another life possible. A better one, perhaps.

One with a house, and kiddies, and

Theyre coming, Alain said, snapping Roland out of his reverie.

The gunslinger stood up, Rushers reins in one fist.

Cuthbert stood tensely nearby.

Large party or small Does thee

do you know

Alain stood facing southeast, hands held out with the palms up. Be yond his

shoulder, Roland saw Old Star just about to slip be low the hori zon. Only an hour

until dawn, then.

I cant tell yet, Alain said.

Can you at least tell if the ball

No. Shut up, Roland, let me listen!

Roland and Cuthbert stood and watched Alain anx iously, at the same time

straining their ears to hear the hooves of horses, the creak of wheels, or the

murmur of men on the passing wind. Time spun out.

The wind, rather than

dropping as Old Star disappeared and dawn ap proached, blew more fiercely than

ever. Roland looked at Cuthbert, who had taken out his slingshot and was playing

nervously with the pull. Bert raised one shoul der in a shrug.

Its a small party, Alain said suddenly. Can ei ther of you touch them

They shook their heads.

No more than ten, maybe only six.

Gods! Roland murmured, and pumped a fist at the sky. He couldnt help it. And

the ball

I cant touch it, Alain said. He sounded almost as though he were sleeping

himself. But its with them, dont you think

Roland did. A small party of six or eight, probably travelling with the ball. It was

perfect.

Be ready, boys, he said. Were going to take them.

9

Jonass party made good time down the Drop and into the Bad Grass. The guidestars were brilliant in the autumn sky, and Renfrew knew them all. He had a clickline

to measure between the two he called The Twins, and he stopped the group

briefly every twenty minutes or so to use it. Jonas hadnt the slightest doubt the old cowboy would bring them out of the tall grass point ed straight at Hanging Rock.

Then, about an hour after theyd entered the Bad Grass, Quint rode up beside him.

That old lady, she want to see you, sai. She say its important.

Do she, now Jonas asked.

Aye. Quint lowered his voice. That ball she got on her lap all glowy.

Is that so I tell you what. Quintkeep my old trailbuddies com pany while I

see whats what. He dropped back until he was pac ing be side the black cart.

Rhea raised her face to him, and for a moment, washed as it was in the pink light, he thought it the face of a young girl.

So, she said. Here yare, big boy. I thought yed show up pretty smart. She

cackled, and as her face broke into its sour lines of laughter, Jonas again saw her

as she really wasall but sucked dry by the thing in her lap. Then he looked down

at it himself … and was lost. He could feel that pink glow radiating into all the

deepest passages and hollows of his mind, light ing them up in a way theyd never

been lit up before. Even Coral, at her dirty busiest, couldnt light him up that way.

Ye like it, dont ye she half-laughed, half-crooned.

Aye, so ye do, so would

anyone, such a pretty glam it is! But what do ye see, sai Jonas

Leaning over, holding to the saddle-horn with one hand, his long hair hanging

down in a sheaf, Jonas looked deeply into the ball. At first he saw only that

luscious, labial pink, and then it began to draw apart. Now he saw a hut

surrounded by tall grass. The sort of hut only a her mit could love. The doorit

was painted a peeling but still bright redstood open. And sitting there on the

stone stoop with her hands in her lap, her blankets on the ground at her feet, and

her unbound hair around her shoulders was

Ill be damned! Jonas whispered. He had now leaned so far out of the saddle that he looked like a trick rider in a circus show, and his eyes seemed to have

disappeared; there were only sockets of pink light where they had been.

Rhea cackled delightedly. Aye, its Thorins gilly that never was! Dearborns

lovergirl! Her cackling stopped abruptly. Lover girl of the young proddy who

killed my Ermot. And hell pay for it, aye, so he will.

Look closer, sai Jonas! Look

closer!

He did. Everything was clear now, and he thought he should have seen it earlier.

Everything this girls aunt had feared had been true.

Rhea had known, although

why she hadnt told anyone the girl had been screw ing one of the InWorld boys,

Jonas didnt know. And Susan had done more than just screw Will Dearborn; shed

helped him escape, him and his trail-mates, and she might well have killed two

lawmen for him, into the bargain.

The figure in the ball swam closer. Watching that made him feel a lit tle dizzy, but it was a pleasant dizziness. Beyond the girl was the hut, faintly lit by a lamp which had been turned down to the barest core of flame. At first Jonas thought someone

was sleeping in one comer, but on second glance he decided it was only a heap of

hides that looked vaguely human.

Doee spy the boys Rhea asked, seemingly from a great distance. Doee spy

em, mlord sai

No, he said, his own voice seeming to come from that same distant place. His

eyes were pinned to the ball. He could feel its light baking deeper and deeper into

his brain. It was a good feeling, like a hot fire on a cold night. Shes alone. Looks

as if shes waiting.

Aye. Rhea gestured above the balla curt dust ing-off movement of the

handsand the pink light was gone. Jonas gave a low, protesting cry, but no

matter; the ball was dark again. He wanted to stretch his hands out and tell her to make the light returnto beg her, if necessary

and held himself back by pure

force of will. He was rewarded by a slow return of his wits. It helped to remind

himself that Rheas gestures were as meaning less as the puppets in a Pinch and Jilly show. The ball did what it wanted, not what she wanted.

Meanwhile, the ugly old woman was looking at him with eyes that were

perversely shrewd and clear. Waiting for what, doee suppose she asked.

There was only one thing she could be waiting for.

Jonas thought with rising

alarm. The boys. The three beardless sons of bitch es from InWorld. And if they

werent with her, they might well be up ahead, doing their own waiting.

Waiting for him. Possibly even waiting for

Listen to me, he said. Ill only speak once, and you best answer true. Do they

know about that thing Do those three boys know about the Rainbow

Her eyes shifted away from his. It was answer enough in one way, but not in

another. She had had things her way all too long up there on her hill; she had to

know who was boss down here. He leaned over again and grabbed her shoulder. It

was horriblelike grabbing a bare bone that somehow still livedbut he made

himself hold on all the same. And squeeze. She moaned and wriggled, but he held

on.

Tell me, you old bitch! Run your fucking gob!

They might know of it, she whined. The girl mightve seen some thing the night

she came to beam-, let go, yere killing me!

If I wanted to kill you, youd be dead. He took an other longing glance at the ball,

then sat up straight in the saddle, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called:

Clay! Hold up! As Reynolds and Ren frew reined back, Jonas raised a hand to

halt the vaqs behind him.

The wind whispered through the grass, bending it, rippling it, whip ping up eddies

of sweet smell. Jonas stared ahead into the dark, even though he knew it was

fruitless to look for them. They could be any where, and Jonas didnt like the odds

in an ambush. Not one bit.

He rode to where Clay and Renfrew were waiting.

Renfrew looked impatient.

Whats the problem Dawnll be breaking soon.

We ought to get a move-on.

Do you know the huts in the Bad Grass

Aye, most. Why

Do you know one with a red door

Renfrew nodded and pointed northish. Old Soonys place. He had some sort of religious conversiona dream or a vision or something. Thats when he painted

the door of his hut red. Hes gone to the Manni-folk these last five years. He no

longer asked why, at least; he had seen something on Jonass face that had shut up

his questions.

Jonas raised his hand, looked at the blue coffin tat tooed there for a second, then

turned and called for Quint. Youre in charge, Jonas told him.

Quints shaggy eyebrows shot up. Me

Yar. But youre not going ontheres been a change of plan.

What

Listen and dont open your mouth again unless theres something you dont

understand. Get that damned black cart turned around. Put your men around it and hie on back the way we came. Join up with Lengyll and his men. Tell them Jonas

says wait where you find em until he and Rey nolds and Renfrew come. Clear

Quint nodded. He looked bewildered but said nothing.

Good. Get about it. And tell the witch to put her toy back in its bag. Jonas

passed a hand over his brow. Fingers which had rarely shaken before had now

picked up a minute tremble. Its distracting.

Quint started away, then looked back when Jonas called his name.

I think those InWorld boys are out here, Quint. Prob ably ahead of where we are

now, but if theyre back the way youre going, theyll probably set on you.

Quint looked nervously around at the grass, which rose higher than his head. Then

his lips tightened and he returned his attention to Jonas.

If they attack, theyll try to take the ball, Jonas con tinued. And sai, mark me

well: any man who doesnt die protecting it will wish he had. He lifted his chin at

the vaqs, who sat astride their horses in a line be hind the black cart. Tell them

that.

Aye, boss, Quint said.

When you reach Lengylls party, youll be safe.

How long should we wait for yer if ye dont come

Til hell freezes over. Now go. As Quint left, Jonas turned to Reynolds and

Renfrew. Were going to make a little side-trip, boys, he said.

10

Roland. Alains voice was low and urgent. Theyve turned around.

Are you sure

Yes. Theres another group coming along behind them. A much larger one. Thats

where theyre headed.

Safety in numbers, thats all, Cuthbert said.

Do they have the ball Roland asked. Can you touch it yet

Yes, they have it. It makes them easy to touch even though theyre going the

other way now. Once you find it, it glows like a lamp in a mineshaft.

Does Rhea still have the keeping of it

I think so. Its awful to touch her.

Jonas is afraid of us, Roland said. He wants more men around him when he

comes. Thats what it is, what it must be. Unaware that he was both right and

badly out in his reckoning. Unaware that for one of the few times since they had

left Gilead, he had lapsed into a teenagers disas trous certainty.

What do we do Alain asked.

Sit here. Listen. Wait. Theyll bring the ball this way again if theyre going to

Hanging Rock. Theyll have to.

Susan Cuthbert asked. Susan and Sheemie What about them How do we

know theyre all right

I suppose that we dont. Roland sat down, crosslegged, with Pushers trailing

reins in his lap. But Jonas and his men will be back soon enough. And when they

come, well do what we must.

11

Susan hadnt wanted to sleep insidethe hut felt wrong to her without Roland.

She had left Sheemie huddled under the old hides in the comer and taken her own

blankets outside. She sat in the huts doorway for a lit tle while, looking up at the

stars and praying for Roland in her own fash ion.

When she began to feel a little

better, she lay down on one blanket and pulled the other over her. It seemed an

eternity since Maria had shaken her out of her heavy sleep, and the openmouthed, glottal snores drifting out of the hut didnt bother her much. She slept with her

head pil lowed on one arm, and didnt wake when, twenty minutes later, Sheemie

came to the doorway, blinked at her sleepily, and then walked off into the grass to

urinate. The only one to notice him was Capri choso, who stuck out his long

muzzle and took a nip at Sheemies butt as the boy passed him. Sheemie, still

mostly asleep, reached back and pushed the muz zle away. He knew Capis tricks

well enough, so he did.

Susan dreamed of the willow grovebird and bear and hare and fishand what

woke her wasnt Sheemies return from his neces sary but a cold circle of steel

pressing into her neck. There was a loud click that she recognized at once from the

Sheriffs office: a pistol being cocked. The wil low grove faded from the eye of her mind.

Shine, little sunbeam, said a voice. For a mo ment her bewildered, half-waking

mind tried to believe it was yesterday, and Maria wanted her to get up and out of

Seafront before whoever had killed Mayor Thorin and Chancellor Rimer could

come back and kill her, as well.

No good. It wasnt the strong light of midmorning that her eyes opened upon, but

the ash-pallid glow of five oclock. Not a womans voice but a mans. And not a

hand shaking her shoulder but the barrel of a gun against her neck.

She looked up and saw a lined, narrow face framed by white hair. Lips no more

than a scar. Eyes the same faded blue as Rolands.

Eldred Jonas. The man standing

behind him had bought her own da drinks once up on a happier time: Hash

Renfrew. A third man, one of Jonass ka-tet, ducked into the hut. Freezing terror

filled her midsectionsome for her, some for Sheemie. She wasnt sure the boy

would even understand what was happening to them. These are two of the three

men who tried to kill him, she thought. Hell under stand that much.

Here you are, Sunbeam, here you come, Jonas said companionably, watching

her blink away the sleepfog. Good! You shouldnt be napping all the way out here

on your own, not a pretty sai such as yourself. But dont worry, Ill see you get

back to where you belong.

His eyes flicked up as the redhead with the cloak stepped out of the hut. Alone.

Whats she got in there. Clay Anything

Reynolds shook his head. All still on the hoss, I reck on.

Sheemie, Susan thought. Where are you, Sheemie Jonas reached out and caressed one of her breasts briefly. Nice, he said. Tender

and sweet. No wonder Dearborn likes you.

Get yer filthy blue-marked hand off me, you bas tard.

Smiling, Jonas did as she bid. He turned his head and regarded the mule. I know

this one; it belongs to my good friend Coral. Along with everything else, youve

turned livestock thief! Shameful, shameful, this younger generation. Dont you

agree, sai Renfrew

But her fathers old associate said nothing. His face was carefully blank, and Susan thought he might be just the tiniest tad ashamed of his presence here.

Jonas turned back to her, his thin lips curved in the semblance of a benevolent

smile. Well, after murder I suppose stealing a mule comes easy, dont it

She said nothing, only watched as Jonas stroked Capis muzzle.

What all were they hauling, those boys, that it took a mule to put it on

Shrouds, she said through numb lips. For you and all yer friends. A fearful

heavy load it made, toonear broke the poor an imals back.

Theres a saying in the land I come from, Jonas said, still smil ing. Clever girls go to hell. Ever heard it He went on stroking Capis nose. The mule liked it; his

neck was thrust out to its full length, his stupid little eyes half-closed with

pleasure. Has it crossed your mind that fellows who unload their pack animal,

split up what it was carrying, and take the goods away usually aint coming back

Susan said nothing.

Youve been left high and dry, Sunbeam. Fast fucked is usually fast forgot, sad to

say. Do you know where they went

Yes, she said. Her voice was low, barely a whis per.

Jonas looked pleased. If you was to tell, things might go easier for you. Would

you agree, Renfrew

Aye, Renfrew said. Theyre traitors, Susanfor the Good Man. If you know

where they are or what theyre up to, tell us.

Keeping her eyes fixed on Jonas, Susan said: Come closer. Her numbed lips

didnt want to move and it came out sounding like Cung gloser, but Jonas

understood and leaned forward, stretching his neck in a way that made him look

absurdly like Caprichoso. When he did, Susan spat in his face.

Jonas recoiled, lips twisting in surprise and re vulsion. Arrr! BITCH! he cried,

and launched a full-swung, open-handed blow that drove her to the ground. She

landed at full length on her side with black stars ex ploding across her field of

vision. She could already feel her right cheek swelling like a balloon and thought, If hed hit an inch or two lower, he mightve broken my neck. Mayhap that

wouldve been best. She raised her hand to her nose and wiped blood from the

right nostril.

Jonas turned to Renfrew, who had taken a single step forward and then stopped

himself. Put her on her horse and tie her hands in front of her. Tight. He looked

down at Susan, then kicked her in the shoulder hard enough to send her rolling

toward the hut. Spit on me, would you Spit on El dred Jonas, would you, you

bitch

Reynolds was holding out his neckerchief. Jonas took it, wiped the spittle from his face with it, then dropped into a hunker beside her.

He took a handful of her hair

and carefully wiped the neckerchief with it. Then he hauled her to her feet. Tears

of pain now peeped from the comers of her eyes, but she kept silent.

I may never see your friend again, sweet Sue with the tender little titties, but Ive got you, aint I Yar. And if Dearborn gives us trou ble, Ill give you double. And

make sure Dearborn knows. You may count on it.

His smile faded, and he gave her a sudden, bitter shove that almost sent her

sprawling again.

Now get mounted, and do it before I decide to change your face a lit tle with my knife.

12

Sheemie watched from the grass, terrified and silently crying, as Susan spit in the bad Coffin Hunters face and was knocked to the ground, hit so hard the blow

might have killed her. He almost rushed out then, but some thingit could have

been his friend Arthurs voice in his headtold him that would only get him

killed.

He watched as Susan mounted. One of the other mennot a Coffin Hunter but a

big rancher Sheemie had seen in the Rest from time to timetried to help, but

Susan pushed him away with the sole of her boot.

The man stood back with a red

face.

Dont make em mad, Susan, Sheemie thought. Oh gods, dont do that, theyll hit ye some more! Oh, yer poor face! And ye got a nose bleed, so you do!

Last chance, Jonas told her. Where are they, and what do they mean to do

Go to hell, she said.

He smileda thin, hurty smile. Likely Ill find you there when I ar rive, he said.

Then, to the other Coffin Hunter: You checked the place careful

Whatever they had, they took it, the redhead an swered. Only thing they left was

Dearborns punch-bunny.

That made Jonas laugh meany-mean as he climbed on board his own horse.

Come on, he said, lets ride.

They went back into the Bad Grass. It closed around them, and it was as if they

had never been there … except that Susan was gone, and so was Capi. The big

rancher riding beside Susan had been leading the mule.

When he was sure they werent going to return, Sheemie walked slowly back into

the clearing, doing up the button on top of his pants as he came. He looked from

the way Roland and his friends had gone to the one in which Susan had been

taken. Which

A moments thought made him realize there was no choice. The grass out here was

tough and springy. The path Roland and Alain and good old Arthur Heath (so

Sheemie still thought of him, and always would) had taken was gone. The one

made by Susan and her captors, on the other hand, was still clear. And perhaps, if he followed her, he could do some thing for her. Help her.

Walking at first, then jogging as his fear that they might double back and catch

him dissipated, Sheemie went in the direction Susan had been taken. He would

follow her most of that day.

13

Cuthbertnot the most sanguine of personal ities in any situationgrew more and more impatient as the day brightened toward true dawn. Its Reaping, he thought.

Finally Reaping, and here we sit with our knives sharpened and not a thing in the

world to cut.

Twice he asked Alain what he heard. The first time Alain only grunted. The

second time he asked what Bert expected him to hear, with someone yapping away

in his ear like that.

Cuthbert, who did not consider two enquiries fif teen minutes apart as yapping

away, wandered off and sat morosely in front of his horse. Af ter a bit, Roland

came over and sat down beside him.

Waiting, Cuthbert said. Thats what most of our time in Mejis has been about,

and its the thing I do worst.

You wont have to do it much longer, Roland said.

14

Jonass company reached the place where Fran Lengylls party had made a

temporary camp about an hour after the sun had topped the horizon. Quint, Rhea,

and Renfrews vaqs were already there and drink ing coffee, Jonas was glad to see.

Lengyll started forward, saw Susan riding with her hands tied, and ac tually drew

back a step, as if he wanted to find a comer to hide in. There were no comers out

here, however, so he stood fast. He did not look happy about it, however.

Susan nudged her horse forward with her knees, and when Reynolds tried to grab

her shoulder, she dipped it to the side, temporarily elud ing him.

Why, Francis Lengyll! Imagine meeting you here!

Susan, Im sorry to see ye so, Lengyll said. His flush crept closer and closer to

his brow, like a tide approaching a seawall. Its bad com pany yeve fallen in

with, girl … and in the end, bad company always leaves ye to face the music

alone.

Susan actually laughed. Bad company! she said. Aye, yed know about that,

wouldnt ye, Fran

He turned, awkward and stiff in his embarrass ment. She raised one booted foot

and, before anyone could stop her, kicked him squarely be tween the

shoulderblades. He went down on his stomach, his whole face widening in

shocked surprise.

No ye dont, ye bold cunt! Renfrew shouted, and fetched her a wal lop to the

side of the headit was on the left, and at least evened things up a bit, she would

think later when her mind cleared and she was ca pable of thinking. She swayed in

the saddle, but kept her seat. And she never looked at Renfrew, only at Lengyll,

who had now managed to get to his hands and knees. He wore a deeply dazed

expression.

You killed my father! she screamed at him. You killed my father, you cowardly,

sneaking excuse for a man! She looked at the par ty of ranchers and vaqs, all of

them staring at her now. There he is, Fran Lengyll, head of the Horsemens

Association, as low a sneak as ever walked! Low as coyote shit! Low as 

Thats enough, Jonas said, watching with some in terest as Lengyll scuttled back

to his menand yes, Susan was bitterly delight ed to see, it was a full-fledged

scuttlewith his shoulders hunched. Rhea was cack ling, rocking from side to

side and making a sound like fingernails on a piece of slate. The sound shocked

Susan, but she wasnt a bit surprised by Rheas presence in this company.

It could never be enough, she said, looking from Jonas to Lengyll with an

expression of contempt so deep it seemed bot tomless. For him it could never be enough.

Well, perhaps, but you did quite well in the time you had, lady-sai. Few could

have done better. And listen to the witch cackle!

Like salt in his wounds, I wot …

but well shut her up soon enough. Then, turning his head: Clay!

Reynolds rode up.

Think you can get Sunbeam back to Seafront all right

I think so. Reynolds tried not to show the relief he felt at being sent back east

instead of west. He had begun to have a bad feel ing about Hang ing Rock, Latigo,

the tankers … about the whole show, really. God knew why. Now

Give it another minute, Jonas said. Mayhap theres going to be a spot of killing right here. Who knows But its the unanswered questions that makes it

worthwhile getting up in the morning, even when a mans leg aches like a tooth

with a hole in it. Wouldnt you say so

I dont know, Eldred.

Sai Renfrew, watch our pretty Sunbeam a minute.

I have a piece of property to

take back.

His voice carried wellhe had meant that it should

and Rheas cackles cut off

suddenly, as if severed out of her throat with a hooking-knife. Smiling, Jonas

walked his horse toward the black cart with its jost ling show of gold symbols.

Reynolds rode on his left, and Jonas sensed rather than saw Depape fall in on his

right. Roy was a good enough boy, really; his head was a little soft, but his heart

was in the right place, and you didnt have to tell him everything.

For every step forward Jonass horse took, Rhea shrank back a little in the cart.

Her eyes shifted from side to side in their deep sockets, look ing for a way out that wasnt there.

Keep away from me, ye charry man! she cried, raising a hand toward him. With

the other she clutched the sack with the ball in it ever more tightly. Keep away, or

Ill bring the lightning and strike ye dead where ye sit yer horse! Yer harrier

friends, too!

Jonas thought Roy hesitated briefly at that, but Clay never did, nor did Jonas

himself. He guessed there was a great lot she could do

or that there had been, at

one time. But that was before the hungry glass had en tered her life.

Give it up to me, he said. He reached the side of her wagon and held his hand

out for the bag. Its not yours and never was. One day youll doubtless have the

Good Mans thanks for keeping it so well as you have, but now you must give it

up.

She screameda sound of such piercing intensi ty that several of the vaqueros

dropped their tin coffee-cups and clapped their hands over their ears. At the same time she knotted her hand through the drawstring and raised the bag over her head.

The curved shape of the ball swung back and forth at the bottom of it like a

pendulum.

Ill not! she howled. Ill smash it on the ground be fore I give it up to the likes o

you!

Jonas doubted if the ball would break, not hurled by her weak arms onto the

trampled, springy mat of the Bad Grass, but he didnt think he would have

occasion to find out, one way or the other.

Clay, he said. Draw your gun.

He didnt need to look at Clay to see that hed done it; he saw the frantic way her

eyes shifted to the left, where Clay sat his horse.

Im going to have a count, Jonas said. Just a short one; if I get to three and she

hasnt passed that bag over, blow her ugly head off.

Aye.

One, Jonas said, watching the ball pendulum back and forth at the bottom of the upheld bag. It was glowing; he could see dull pink even through the cloth. Two.

Enjoy hell, Rhea, goodbye. Thr

Here! she screamed, thrusting it out toward him and shielding her face with the

crooked hook of her free hand. Here, take it! And may it damn you the way its

damned me!

Thankee-sai.

He grabbed the bag just below the draw top and yanked. Rhea screamed again as

the string skinned her knuckles and tore off one of her nails. Jonas hardly heard.

His mind was a white explosion of exultation.

For the first time in his long

professional life he forgot his job, his sur round ings, and the six thousand things

that could get him killed on any day. He had it; he had it; by all the graves of all

the gods, he had the fuck ing thing!

Mine! he thought, and that was all. He somehow re strained the urge to open the

bag and stick his head inside it, like a horse stick ing its head into a bag of oats,

and looped the drawstring over the pommel of his saddle twice instead. He took in

a breath as deep as his lungs would allow, then ex pelled it. Better. A little.

Roy.

Aye, Jonas.

It would be good to get out of this place, Jonas thought, and not for the first time.

To get away from these hicks. He was sick of aye and ye and so it is, sick to his

bones.

Roy, well give the bitch a ten-count this time. If she isnt out of my sight by then,

you have my permission to blow her ass off. Now, lets see if you can do the

counting. Ill be listening close, so mind you dont skip any!

One, Depape said eagerly. Two. Three. Four.

Spitting curses, Rhea snatched up the reins of the cart and spanked the ponys back

with them. The pony laid its ears back and jerked the cart forward so vigorously

that Rhea went tumbling backward off the cantboard, her feet up, her white and

bony shins showing above her ankle-high black shoes and mismatched wool

stockings. The vaqueros laughed. Jonas laughed himself. It was pretty funny, all

right, seeing her on her back with her pins in the air.

Fuh-fuh-five, Depape said, laughing so hard he was hiccupping. Sih-sih-six!

Rhea climbed back up, flopped onto the cantboard again with all the grace of a

dying fish, and peered around at them, wall-eyed and sneering.

I curse ye all! she screamed. It cut through them, still ing their laughter even as

the cart bounced toward the edge of the trampled clear ing. Every last one of ye!

Ye

and ye

and ye! Her crooked finger pointed last at Jonas. Thief! Miserable

thief!

As though it was yours, Jonas marveled (although Mine! was the first word to

occur to him, once he had taken possession of it). As though such a wonder could ever belong to a backcountry reader of roost er-guts such as you.

The cart bounced its way into the Bad Grass, the pony pulling hard with its ears

laid back; the old womans screams served to drive it better than any whip could

have done. The black slipped into the green. They saw the cart flicker like a

conjurers trick, and then it was gone. For a long time yet, however, they heard her

shrieking her curses, calling death down upon them beneath the Demon Moon.

15

Go on, Jonas told Clay Reynolds. Take our Sun beam back. And if you want to

stop on the way and make some use of her, why, be my guest. He glanced at

Susan as he said this, to see what effect it might be having, but he was

disappointedshe looked dazed, as if the last blow Renfrew had dealt her had

scrambled her brains, at least temporarily. Just make sure she gets to Coral at the end of all the fun. I will. Any message for sai Thorin

Tell her to keep the wench someplace safe until she hears from me. And … why

dont you stay with her. Clay Coral, I meancome to mor row, I dont think well

have to worry about this un anymore, but Coral …

ride with her to Ritzy when

she goes. Be her escort, like.

Reynolds nodded. Better and better. Seafront it would be, and that was fine. He

might like a little taste of the girl once he got her there, but not on the way. Not

under the ghostly-full daytime Demon Moon. Go on, then. Get started.

Reynolds led her across the clearing, aiming for a point well away from the bent

swath of grass where Rhea had made her exit. Su san rode silently, downcast eyes

fixed on her bound wrists.

Jonas turned to face his men. The three young fel lows from InWorld have

broken their way out of jail, with that haughty young bitchs help, he said,

pointing at Susans departing back.

There was a low, growling murmur from the men.

That Will Dear born and his

friends were free they had known; that sai Delgado had helped them escape they

had not … and it was perhaps just as well for her that Reynolds was at that

moment leading her into the Bad Grass and out of sight.

Never mind! Jonas shouted, pulling their atten tion back to him. He reached out a stealthy hand and caressed the curve at the bottom of the drawstring bag. Just

touching the ball made him feel as if he could do any thing, and with one hand tied

behind his back, at that.

Never mind her, and never mind them! His eyes moved from Lengyll to Wertner

to Croydon to Brian Hookey to Roy Depape.

Were close to forty men, going to join another hundred and fifty. Theyre three, and not one a day over sixteen. Are

you afraid of three little boys

No! they cried.

If we run on em, my cullies, what will we do

KILL THEM! The shout so loud that it sent rooks ris ing up into the morning sun,

cawing their displeasure as they commenced the hunt for more peaceful

surroundings.

Jonas was satisfied. His hand was still on the sweet curve of the ball, and he could

feel it pouring strength into him. Pink strength, he thought, and grinned.

Come on, boys. I want those tankers in the woods west of Eyebolt before the

home folks light their ReapNight Bonfire.

16

Sheemie, crouched down in the grass and peering into the clearing, was nearly run

over by Rheas black wagon; the screaming, gib bering witch passed so close to

him that he could smell her sour skin and dirty hair. If she had looked down, she

couldnt have missed seeing him and undoubt edly would have turned him into a

bird or a bumbler or maybe even a mosquito.

The boy saw Jonas pass custody of Susan to the one in the cloak, and began

working his way around the edge of the clearing. He heard Jonas haranguing the

men (many of whom Sheemie knew; it shamed him to know how many Mejis

cowboys were doing that bad Coffin Hunters bid ding), but paid no attention to

what he was saying. Sheemie froze in place as they mounted up, momentarily

scared they would come in his direc tion, but they rode the other way, west. The

clearing emptied almost as if by magic … ex cept it wasnt entirely empty.

Caprichoso had been left behind, his lead trailing on the beaten grass. Capi looked

after the depart ing riders, brayed onceas if to tell them they could all go to

hellthen turned and made eye-contact with Sheemie, who was peering out into

the clearing. The mule flicked his ears at the boy, then tried to graze. He lipped the

Bad Grass a single time, raised his head, and brayed at Sheemie, as if to say this was all the inn-boys fault.

Sheemie stared thoughtfully at Caprichoso, think ing of how much easier it was to

ride than to walk. Gods, yes

but that second bray de cided him against it. The

mule might give one of his disgusted cries at the wrong time and alert the man

who had Susan.

Youll find your way home, I reckon, Sheemie said.

So long, pal. So long, good

old Capi. See you farther down the path.

He found the path made by Susan and Reynolds, and began to trot af ter them

once more.

17

Theyre coming again, Alain said a moment be fore Roland sensed it himselfa

brief flicker in his head like pink lightning. All of them. Roland hunkered in front of Cuthbert. Cuthbert looked back at him without even a

suggestion of his usual foolish good humor.

Much of its on you, Roland said, then tapped the slingshot. And on that.

I know.

How much have you got in the armory

Almost four dozen steel balls. Bert held up a cotton bag which had, in more

settled times, held his fathers tobacco. Plus as sorted fireworks in my saddlebag.

How many big-bangers

Enough, Roland. Unsmiling. With the laughter gone from them, he had the

hollow eyes of just one more killer. Enough.

Roland ran a hand down the front of the serape he wore, letting his palm

reacquaint itself with the rough weave. He looked at Cuthberts, then at Alains,

telling himself again that it could work, yes, as long as they held their nerve and

didnt let themselves think of it in terms of three against forty or fifty, it could

work.

The ones out at Hanging Rock will hear the shoot ing once it starts, wont they

Al asked.

Roland nodded. With the wind blowing from us to them, theres no doubt of that.

Well have to move fast, then.

Well go as best we can. Roland thought of standing between the tangled green

hedges behind the Great Hall, David the hawk on his arm and a sweat of terror

trickling down his back. I think you die today, he had told the hawk, and he had

told it true. Yet he himself had lived, and passed his test, and walked out of the

testing corridor facing east. Today it was Cuth bert and Alains turn to be

testednot in Gilead, in the tradi tional place of proving behind the Great Hall,

but here in Mejis, on the edge of the Bad Grass, in the desert, and in the canyon.

Eyebolt Canyon.

Prove or die, Alain said, as if reading the run of the gunslingers thoughts.

Thats what it comes down to.

Yes. Thats what it always comes down to, in the end. How long be fore they get

here, do you think

An hour at least, Id say. Likely two.

Theyll be running a watch-and-go. 

Alain nodded. I think so, yes.

Thats not good, Cuthbert said.

Jonas is afraid of being ambushed in the grass,

Roland said. Maybe of us

setting fire to it around him. Theyll loosen up when they get into the clear.

You hope, Cuthbert said.

Roland nodded gravely. Yes. I hope.

18

At first Reynolds was content to lead the girl along the broken backtrail at a fast

walk, but about thirty minutes after leaving Jonas, Lengyll, and the rest, he broke

into a trot. Pylon matched Reynoldss horse easily, and just as easily when, ten

minutes later, he upped their speed to a light but steady run.

Susan held to the horn of her saddle with her bound hands and rode easily at

Reynoldss right, her hair streaming out behind her.

She thought her face must be

quite colorful; the skin of her cheeks felt raised at least two inches higher than

usual, welted and tender. Even the passing wind stung a little.

At the place where the Bad Grass gave way to the Drop, Reynolds stopped to give

the horses a blow. He dismounted himself, turned his back to her, and took a piss.

As he did, Susan looked up along the rise of land and saw the great herd, now

untended and unravelling at the edges. They had done that much, perhaps. It

wasnt much, but it was something.

Do you need to do the necessary Reynolds asked. Ill help you down if you do, but dont say no now and whine about it later.

Yere afraid. Big brave regulator that ye are, yere scared, aint ye Aye, coffin

tattoo and all.

Reynolds tried a contemptuous grin. It didnt fit his face very well this morning.

You ort to leave the fortune-telling to those that are good at it, missy. Now do

you need a necessary stop or not

No. And ye are afraid. Of what

Reynolds, who only knew that his bad feeling hadnt left him when he left Jonas,

as hed hoped it would, bared his tobacco-stained teeth at her. If you cant talk

sensible, just shut up.

Why dont ye let me go Perhaps my friends will do the same for you, when they

catch us up.

This time Reynolds grunted laughter which was al most genuine. He swung

himself into his saddle, hawked, spat. Overhead, Demon Moon was a pale and

bloated ball in the sky. You can dream, misssai, he said, dreamings free. But

you aint never going to see those three again.

Theyre for the worms, they are.

Now lets ride.

They rode.

19

Cordelia hadnt gone to bed at all on Reaping Eve.

She sat the night through in her

parlor chair, and although there was sewing on her lap, she had put not a single

stitch in nor picked one out. Now, as mornings light brightened toward ten o the

clock, she sat in the same chair, looking out at noth ing. What was there to look at,

anyway Everything had come down with a smash all her hopes of the fortune

Thorin would settle on Susan and Susans child, perhaps while he still lived,

certainly in his dead-letter; all her hopes of as cending to her proper place in the commu nity; all her plans for the future. Swept away by two wilful young people

who couldnt keep their pants up.

She sat in her old chair with her knitting on her lap and the ashes Su san had

smeared on her cheek standing out like a brand, and thought:

Theyll find me dead in this chair, somedayold, poor, and forgotten. That

ungrateful child! After all I did for her!

What roused her was a weak scratching at the win dow. She had no idea how long

it had been going on before it finally intruded on her con sciousness, but when it did, she laid her needlework aside and got up to see.

A bird, perhaps. Or children

playing Reaping jokes, unaware that the world had come to an end. Whatever it

was, she would shoo it away.

Cordelia saw nothing at first. Then, as she was about to turn away, she spied a

pony and cart at the edge of the yard. The cart was a little dis quietingblack,

with gold symbols overpaintedand the pony in the shafts stood with its head

lowered, not grazing, looking as if it had been run half to death.

She was still frowning out at this when a twisted, filthy hand rose in the air

directly in front of her and began to scratch at the glass again. Cordelia gasped and

clapped both hands to her bosom as her heart took a startled leap in her chest. She

backed up a step, and gave a little shriek as her calf brushed the tender of the

stove.

The long, dirty nails scratched twice more, then fell away.Cordelia stood where she was for a moment, irres olute, then went to the door,

stopping at the woodbox to pick up a chunk of ash which fitted her hand. Just in

case. Then she jerked the door open, went to the comer of the house, drew in a

deep, steadying breath, and went around to the gar den side, raising the ash-chunk

as she did.

Get out, whoever ye are! Scat before I

Her voice was stilled by what she saw: an incredibly old woman crawling through

the frost-killed flowerbed next to the housecrawl ing toward her. The crones

stringy white hair (what remained of it) hung in her face. Sores festered on her

cheeks and brow; her lips had split and drizzled blood down her pointed, warty

chin. The corneas of her eyes had gone a filthy grayyellow, and she panted like a

cracked bellows as she moved.

Good woman, help me, this specter gasped. Help me if ye will, for Im about

done up.

The hand holding the chunk of ash sagged. Cordelia could hardly be lieve what

she was seeing. Rhea she whispered. Is it Rhea

Aye, Rhea whispered, crawling relentlessly through the dead silkflowers,

dragging her hands through the cold earth. Help me.

Cordelia retreated a step, her makeshift bludgeon now hanging at her knee. No,

I

I cant have such as thee in my house

Im sorry to see ye so, but … but I

have a reputation, ye ken … folk watch me close, so they do



She glanced at the High Street as she said this, as if expecting to see a line of

townspeople outside her gate, watching eager ly, avid to fleet their wretched gossip on its lying way, but there was no one there. Hambry was quiet, its walks and

byways empty, the customary joyous noise of Reap ing FairDay stilled. She

looked back at the thing which had fetched up in her dead flowers.

Yer niece

did this … the thing in the dirt whis pered. All … her fault …

Cordelia dropped the chunk of wood. It clipped the side of her ankle, but she

hardly noticed. Her hands curled into fists before her.

Help me, Rhea whispered. I know

where she is

we

we have work, us

two

womens … work



Cordelia hesitated a moment, then went to the woman, knelt, got an arm around

her, and somehow got her to her feet. The smell coming off her was reeky and

nauseatingthe smell of decomposing flesh.

Bony fingers caressed Cordelias cheek and the side of her neck as she helped the hag into the house. Cordelias flesh crawled, but she didnt pull away until Rhea

collapsed into a chair, gasping from one end and farting from the other.

Listen to me, the old woman hissed.

I am. Cordelia drew a chair over and sat beside her.

At deaths door she might

be, but once her eye fell on you, it was strangely hard to look away. Now Rheas

fingers dipped inside the bodice of her dirty dress, brought out a silver charm of

some kind, and began to move it back and forth rapidly, as if telling beads.

Cordelia, who hadnt felt sleepy all night, began to feel that way now.

The others are beyond us, Rhea said, and the ball has slipped my grasp. But

she! Back to Mayors House shes been taen, and mayhap we could see to

herwe could do that much, aye.

You cant see to anything, Cordelia said distantly.

Youre dying.

Rhea wheezed laughter and a trickle of yellowish drool. Dying Nay! Just done

up and in need of a refreshment. Now listen to me, Cordelia daughter of Hiram

and sister of Pat!

She hooked a bony (and surprisingly strong) arm around Cordelias neck and drew

her close. At the same time she raised her other hand, twirling the silver medallion in front of Cordelias wide eyes. The crone whis pered, and after a bit Cordelia

began to nod her understanding.

Do it, then, the old woman said, letting go. She slumped back in her chair,

exhausted. Now, for I cant last much longer as I am. And Ill need a bit o time

after, mind ye. To revive, like.

Cordelia moved across the room to the kitchen area.

There, on the counter beside

the hand-pump, was a wooden block in which were sheathed the two sharp knives

of the house. She took one and came back. Her eyes were distant and far, as

Susans had been when she and Rhea stood in the open doorway of Rheas hut in

the light of the Kissing Moon.

Would ye pay her back Rhea asked. For thats why Ive come to ye.

Miss Oh So Young and Pretty, Cordelia murmured in a barely audi ble voice.

The hand not holding the knife floated up to her face and touched her ash-smeared

cheek. Yes. Id be repaid of her, so I would.

To the death

Aye. Hers or mine.

 Twill be hers, Rhea said, never fear it. Now re fresh me, Cordelia. Give me

what I need!

Cordelia unbuttoned her dress down the front, pushing it open to re veal an

ungenerous bosom and a middle which had be gun to curve out in the last year or so, making a tidy little potbelly. Yet she still had the ves tige of a waist, and it was here she used the knife, cutting through her shift and the top layers of flesh

beneath. The white cotton began to bloom red at once along the slit.

Aye, Rhea whispered. Like roses. I dream of them often enough, roses in

bloom, and what stands black among em at the end of the world. Come closer!

She put her hand on the small of Cordelias back, urg ing her forward. She raised

her eyes to Cordelias face, then grinned and licked her lips. Good. Good

enough.

Cordelia looked blankly over the top of the old wom ans head as Rhea of the Coos

buried her face against the red cut in the shift and be gan to drink.

20

Roland was at first pleased as the muted jingle of harness and buckle drew closer

to the place where the three of them were hunkered down in the high grass, but as

the sounds drew closer stillclose enough to hear mur muring voices as well as

soft-thudding hooveshe began to be afraid. For the riders to pass close was one

thing, but if they were, through foul luck, to come right upon them, the three boys

would likely die like a nest of moles uncovered by the blade of a passing plow.

Ka surely hadnt brought them all this way to end in such fashion, had it In all

these miles of Bad Grass, how could that party of on coming rid ers possibly strike

the one point where Roland and his friends had pulled up But still they closed in,

the sound of tack and buckle and mens voices growing ever sharper.

Alain looked at Roland with dismayed eyes and pointed to the left. Roland shook

his head and patted his hands toward the ground, indicating they would stay put.

They had to stay put; it was too late to move without being heard.

Roland drew his guns.

Cuthbert and Alain did the same.

In the end, the plow missed the moles by sixty feet.

The boys could actually see

the horses and riders flashing through the thick grass; Roland easily made out that the party was led by Jonas, Depape, and Lengyll, rid ing three abreast. They were

followed by at least three dozen others, glimpsed as roan flashes and the bright red

and green of serapes through the grass. They were strung out pretty well, and

Roland thought he and his friends could reasonably hope theyd string out even

more once they reached open desert.

The boys waited for the party to pass, holding their horses heads in case one of

them took it in mind to whicker a greeting to the nags so close by. When they

were gone, Roland turned his pale and unsmiling face to his friends.

Mount up, he said. Reapings come.

21

They walked their horses to the edge of the Bad Grass, meeting the path of Jonass party where the grass gave way first to a zone of stunted bushes and then to the

desert itself.

The wind howled high and lonesome, carrying big drifts of gritty dust under a

cloudless dark blue sky. Demon Moon stared down from it like the filmed eye of a

corpse. Two hundred yards ahead, the drogue rid ers backing Jonass party were

spread out in a line of three, their sombreros jammed down tight on their heads,

their shoulders hunched, their scrapes blowing.

Roland moved so that Cuthbert rode in the middle of their trio. Bert had his

slingshot in his hand. Now he handed Alain half a dozen steel balls, and Roland

another half-dozen. Then he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Roland nodded

and they began to ride.

Dust blew past them in rattling sheets, sometimes turning the drogue riders into

ghosts, sometimes obscuring them completely, but the boys closed in steadily.

Roland rode tense, waiting for one of the drogues to turn in his saddle and see

them, but none didnone of them wanted to put his face into that cutting, gritfilled wind. Nor was there sound to warn them; there was sandy hardpack under

the horses hooves now, and it didnt give away much. When they were just twenty yards behind the drogues, Cuthbert noddedthey

were close enough for him to work. Alain handed him a ball. Bert, sitting ramrod

straight in the saddle, dropped it into the cup of his slingshot, pulled, waited for

the wind to drop, then released. The rider ahead on the left jerked as if stung,

raised one hand a little, then toppled out of his sad dle. Incredibly, neither of his

two companeros seemed to no tice. Roland saw what he thought was the

beginning of a reaction from the one on the right when Bert drew again, and the

rider in the middle col lapsed forward onto his horses neck. The horse, startled, reared up. The rider flopped bonelessly back ward, his sombrero tumbling off, and fell. The wind dropped enough for Roland to hear his knee snap as his foot caught

in one of his stirrups.

The third rider now began to turn. Roland caught a glimpse of a bearded facea

dangling cigarette, unlit because of the wind, one aston ished eyeand then

Cuthberts sling thupped again. The astonished eye was replaced by a red socket.

The rider slid from his saddle, groping for the horn and missing it.

Three gone, Roland thought.

He kicked Rusher into a gallop. The others did the same, and the boys rode

forward into the dust a stirrups width apart. The horses of the am bushed drogue

riders veered off to the south in a group, and that was good. Riderless horses

ordinarily didnt raise eyebrows in Mejis, but when they were saddled

More riders up ahead: a single, then two side by side, then another single.

Roland drew his knife, and rode up beside the fel low who was now drogue and

didnt know it.

What news he asked conversationally, and when the man turned, Roland buried his knife in his chest. The vaqs brown eyes widened above the bandanna hed

pulled up outlaw-style over his mouth and nose, and then he tumbled from his

saddle.

Cuthbert and Alain spurred past him, and Bert, not slowing, took the two riding

ahead with his slingshot. The fellow beyond them heard some thing in spite of the

wind, and swivelled in his saddle. Alain had drawn his own knife and now held it

by the tip of the blade. He threw hard, in the exag gerated full-arm motion they had

been taught, and although the range was long for such worktwenty feet at least,

and in windy airhis aim was true. The hilt came to rest protruding from the

center of the mans bandanna. The vaq groped for it, making choked gargling

sounds around the knife in his throat, and then he too dropped from the saddle.

Seven now.

Like the story of the shoemaker and the flies, Roland thought. His heart was

beating slow and hard in his chest as he caught up with Alain and Cuthbert. The

wind gusted a lonely whine. Dust flew, swirled, then dropped with the wind.

Ahead of them were three more riders, and ahead of them the main party.

Roland pointed at the next three, then mimed the slingshot. Pointed beyond them

and mimed firing a revolver. Cuthbert and Alain nodded. They rode forward, once

again stirrup-to-stirrup, closing in.

22

Bert got two of the three ahead of them clean, but the third jerked at the wrong

moment, and the steel ball meant for the back of his head only clipped his earlobe

on the way by. Roland had drawn his gun by then, however, and put a bullet in the

mans temple as he turned. That made ten, a full quarter of Jonass company before

the riders even realized trouble had begun.

Roland had no idea if it would be

enough of an advan tage, but he knew that the first part of the job was done. No

more stealth; now it was a matter of raw killing.

Hile! Hile! he screamed in a ringing, carrying voice. To me, gunslingers! To

me! Ride them down! No prisoners!

They spurred toward the main party, riding into battle for the first time, closing like wolves on sheep, shooting before the men ahead of them had any slight idea

of who had gotten in behind them or what was hap pening. The three boys had

been trained as gunslingers, and what they lacked in experience they made up for

with the keen eyes and reflexes of the young. Un der their guns, the desert east of Hanging Rock became a killing-floor.

Screaming, not a single thought among them above the wrists of their deadly

hands, they sliced into the unprepared Mejis party like a three-sided blade,

shooting as they went. Not every shot killed, but not a one went entirely wild,

either. Men flew out of their saddles and were dragged by boots caught in stirrups as their horses bolted; other men, some dead, some only wounded, were trampled

beneath the feet of their panicky, rearing mounts.

Roland rode with both guns drawn and tiring, Rush ers reins gripped in his teeth so they wouldnt fall overside and trip the horse up. Two men dropped beneath his

fire on his left, two more on the right. Ahead of them, Brian Hookey turned in his

saddle, his beard-stubbly face long with amaze ment. Around his neck, a reapcharm in the shape of a bell swung and tinkled as he grabbed for the shotgun

which hung in a scabbard over one burly black smiths shoulder. Before he could

do more than get a hand on the gunstock, Roland blew the silver bell off his chest and exploded the heart which lay beneath it.

Hookey pitched out of his saddle with a grunt.

Cuthbert caught up with Roland on the right side and shot two more men off their

horses. He gave Roland a fierce and blazing grin.

Al was right! he shouted.

These are hard calibers!

Rolands talented fingers did their work, rolling the cylinders of the guns he held

and reloading at a full gallopdoing it with a ghastly, super natural speedand

then beginning to fire again. Now they had come al most all the way through the

group, riding hard, laying men low on both sides and straight ahead as well. Alain

dropped back a little and turned his horse, cover ing Roland and Cuthbert from

behind.

Roland saw Jonas, Depape, and Lengyll reining around to face their attackers.

Lengyll was clawing at his machine-gun, but the strap had got ten tangled in the

wide collar of the duster he wore, and every time he grabbed for the stock, it

bobbed out of his reach. Beneath his heavy grayblond mustache, Lengylls mouth

was twisted with fury.

Now, riding between Roland and Cuthbert and these three, holding a huge bluedsteel five-shot in one hand, came Hash Renfrew.

Gods damn you! Renfrew cried. Oh, you rotten sister-fuckers! He dropped his

reins and laid the five-shot in the crook of one elbow to steady it. The wind gusted

viciously, wrapping him in an envelope of swirling brown grit.

Roland had no thought of retreating, or perhaps jigging to one side or the other. He had, in fact, no thoughts at all. The fever had de scended over his mind and he

burned with it like a torch inside a glass sleeve.

Screaming through the reins

caught in his teeth, he galloped toward Hash Ren frew and the three men behind

him.

23

Jonas had no clear idea of what was happening un til he heard Will Dear born

screaming

(Hile! To me! No prisoners!)

a battle-cry he knew of old. Then it fell into place and the rattle of gunfire made

sense. He reined around, aware of Roy doing the same be side him … but most

aware of the ball in its bag, a thing both powerful and fragile, swinging back and

forth against the neck of his horse.

Its those kids! Roy exclaimed. His total surprise made him look more stupid

than ever.

Dearborn, you bastard! Hash Renfrew spat, and the gun in his hand thundered a

single time.

Jonas saw Dearborns sombrero rise from his head, its brim chewed away. Then

the kid was firing, and he was goodbetter than anyone Jonas had ever seen in

his life. Renfrew was hammered back out of his saddle with both legs kicking, still holding onto his monster gun, firing it twice at the dusty-blue sky before hitting

the ground on his back and rolling, dead, on his side.

Lengylls hand dropped away from the elusive wire stock of his speed-shooter and

he only stared, unable to believe the apparition bearing down on him out of the

dust. Get back! he cried. In the name of the Horse mens Association, I tell

you Then a large black hole appeared in the cen ter of his forehead, just above

the place where his eyebrows tangled together.

His hands flew up to his shoulders, palms out, as if he were declaring surrender. That was how he died.

Son of a bitch, oh you little sister-fucking son of a bitch! Depape howled. He

tried to draw and his revolver got caught in his scrape. He was still trying to pull it free when a bullet from Rolands gun opened his mouth in a red scream almost all

the way down to his adams apple.

This cant be happening, Jonas thought stupidly. It cant, there are too many of us.

But it was happening. The InWorld boys had struck unerringly at the fractureline; were performing what amounted to a text book example of how gunslingers

were supposed to attack when the odds were bad.

And Jonass coalition of

ranchers, cowboys, and town tough-boys had shat tered. Those not dead were

fleeing to every point of the compass, spurring their horses as if a hundred devils paroled from hell were in pursuit. They were far from a hundred, but they fought

like a hundred. Bodies were scattered in the dust everywhere, and as Jonas

watched, he saw the one serving as their back door Stockworthride down

another man, bump him out of his saddle, and put a bullet in his head as he fell.

Gods of the earth, he thought, that was Croydon, him that owns the Piano Ranch!

Except he didnt own it anymore.

And now Dearborn was bearing down on Jonas with his gun drawn.

Jonas snatched the drawstring looped around the horn of his saddle and unwound

it with two fast, hard snaps of the wrist. He held the bag up in the windy air, his

teeth bared and his long white hair streaming.

Come any closer and Ill smash it! I mean it, you damned puppy! Stay where you

are!

Roland never hesitated in his headlong gallop, never paused to think; his hands did his thinking for him now, and when he remembered all this later, it was distant and silent and queerly warped, like something seen in a flawed mirror

or a wizards

glass.

Jonas thought: Gods, its him! Its Arthur Eld himself come to take me!

And as the barrel of Rolands gun opened in his eye like the entrance to a tunnel or

a mineshaft, Jonas remembered what the brat had said to him in the dusty

dooryard of that burned-out ranch: The soul of a man such as you can never leave

the west.

I knew, Jonas thought. Even then I knew my ka had pretty well run out. But surely

he wont risk the ball … he cant risk the ball, hes the dinh of this ka-tet and he

cant risk it

To me! Jonas screamed. To me, boys! Theyre on ly three, for gods sake! To me,

you cowards!

But he was aloneLengyll killed with his idiotic ma chine-gun lying by his side,

Roy a corpse glaring up at the bitter sky, Quint fled, Hookey dead, the ranchers

who had ridden with them gone. Only Clay still lived, and he was miles from here.

Ill smash it! he shrieked at the cold-eyed boy bear ing down on him like deaths

sleekest engine. Before all the gods, Ill

Roland thumbed back the hammer of his revolver and fired. The bul let struck the

center of the tattooed hand holding the drawstring cord and vaporized the palm,

leaving only fingers that twitched their random way out of a spongy red mass. For

just a moment Roland saw the blue coffin, and then it was covered by

downspilling blood.

The bag dropped. And, as Rusher collided with Jonass horse and slewed it to the side. Roland caught the bag deftly in the crook of one arm. Jonas, screaming in

dismay as the prize left him, grabbed at Roland, caught his shoulder, and almost

succeeded in turning the gunslinger out of his saddle. Jonass blood rained across Rolands face in hot drops.

Give it back, you brat! Jonas clawed under his ser ape and brought out another

gun. Give it back, its mine!

Not anymore, Roland said. And, as Rusher danced around, quick and delicate

for such a large animal, Roland fired two point-blank rounds into Jonass face.

Jonass horse bolted out from under him and the man with the white hair landed

spreadeagled on his back with a thump. His arms and legs spasmed, jerked,

trembled, then stilled.

Roland looped the bags drawstring over his shoul der and rode back toward Alain

and Cuthbert, ready to give aid

but there was no need. They sat their horses side

by side in the blowing dust, at the end of a scat tered road of dead bodies, their

eyes wide and dazedeyes of boys who have passed through fire for the first time

and can hardly believe they have not been burned.

Only Alain had been wounded;

a bullet had opened his left cheek, a wound that healed clean but left a scar he bore until his dying day. He could not remember who had shot him, he said later on, or at what point of the battle. He had been lost to him self during the shoot ing, and

had only vague memories of what had happened after the charge began. Cuthbert

said much the same.

Roland, Cuthbert said now. He passed a shaky hand down his face. Hile,

gunslinger.

Hile.

Cuthberts eyes were red and irritated from the sand, as if he had been crying. He took back the unspent silver slingshot balls when Roland handed them to him

without seeming to know what they were. Roland, were alive.

Yes.

Alain was looking around dazedly. Where did the others go

Id say at least twentyfive of them are back there,

Roland said, ges turing at the

road of dead bodies. The rest He waved his hand, still with a revolver in it, in a wide half-circle. Theyve gone. Had their fill of MidWorlds wars, I wot.

Roland slipped the drawstring bag off his shoulder, held it before him on the

bridge of his saddle for a moment, and then opened it. For a moment the bags

mouth was black, and then it filled with the irregular pulse of a lovely pink light.

It crept up the gunslingers smooth cheeks like fin gers and swam in his eyes.

Roland, Cuthbert said, suddenly nervous, I dont think you should play with

that. Especially not now. Theyll have heard the shooting out at Hanging Rock. If

were going to finish what we started, we dont have time for

Roland ignored him. He slipped both hands into the bag and lifted the wizards

glass out. He held it up to his eyes, unaware that he had smeared it with droplets of

Jonass blood. The ball did not mind; this was not the first time it had been bloodtouched.

It flashed and swirled formlessly for a mo ment, and then its pink vapors

opened like curtains. Roland saw what was there, and lost himself within it.

CHAPTER X

BENEATH THE

DEMON MOON (II)

1

Corals grip on Susans arm was firm but not painful.

There was nothing

particularly cruel about the way she was moving Susan along the down stairs

corridor, but there was a relentlessness about it that was dishearten ing. Susan

didnt try to protest; it would have been useless. Be hind the two women were a

pair of vaqueros (armed with knives and bolas rather than guns; the available guns had all gone west with Jonas). Behind the vaqs, skulking along like a sullen ghost which lacks the necessary psychic energy to ful ly materialize itself, came the late Chancellors older brother, Laslo. Reynolds, his taste for a spot of journeys-end

rape blunted by his growing sense of disquiet, had either remained above or gone

off to town.

Im going to put ye in the cold pantry until I know better what to do withee,

dear, Coral said. Yell be quite safe there

and warm. How fortunate ye wore a

serape. Then … when Jonas gets back



Yell never see sai Jonas again, Susan said. He wont ever

Fresh pain exploded in her sensitive face. For a moment it seemed the entire world

had blown up. Susan reeled back against the dressed stone wall of the lower

corridor, her vision first blurred, then slowly clear ing. She could feel blood

flowing down her cheek from a wound opened by the stone in Corals ring when

Coral had backhanded her. And her nose. That cussed thing was bleeding again,

too.

Coral was looking at her in a chilly this-is-allbusiness-to-me fashion, but Susan

believed she saw something different in the womans eyes. Fear, mayhap.

Dont talk to me about Eldred, missy. Hes sent to catch the boys who killed my

brother. The boys you set loose.

Get off it. Susan wiped her nose, grimaced at the blood pooled in her palm, and

wiped it on the leg of her pants. I know who killed Hart as well as ye do yerself,

so dont pull mine and I wont yank yer own. She watched Corals hand rise, ready

to slap, and managed a dry laugh. Go on. Cut my face open on the other side, if

ye like. Will that change how ye sleep tonight with no man to warm the other side

of the bed

Corals hand came down fast and hard, but instead of slapping, it seized Susans

arm again. Hard enough to hurt, this time, but Susan barely felt it. She had been

hurt by experts this day, and would suffer more hurt gladly, if that would hasten

the moment when she and Roland could be togeth er again.

Coral hauled her the rest of the way down the corri dor, through the kitchen (that

great room, which would have been all steam and bustle on any other Reaping

Day, now stood uncannily deserted), and to the iron-bound door on the far side.

This she opened. A smell of potatoes and gourds and sharproot drifted out.

Get in there. Go smart, before I decide to kick yer winsome ass square.

Susan looked her in the eye, smiling.

Id damn ye for a murderers bed-bitch, sai Thorin, but yeve already damned

yerself. Ye know it, tootis written in yer face, to be sure. So Ill just drop ye a

curtseystill smiling, she suited action to the words and wish ye a very good

day.

Get in and shut up yer saucy mouth! Coral cried, and pushed Susan into the cold

pantry. She slammed the door, ran the bolt, and turned her blazing eyes upon the

vaqs, who stood prudently away from her.

Keep her well, muchachos. Mind ye do.

She brushed between them, not listening to their assurances, and went up to her

late brothers suite to wait for Jonas, or word of Jonas. The wheyfaced bitch

sitting down there amongst the carrots and pota toes knew nothing, but her words

(yell never see sai Jonas again)

were in Corals head now; they echoed and would not leave.

2

Twelve o the clock sounded from the squat belltower atop the Town Gathering

Hall. And if the unaccustomed silence which hung over the rest of Hambry

seemed strange as that Reap morning passed into afternoon, the silence in the

Travellers Rest was downright eerie. Better than two hundred souls were packed

together beneath the dead gaze of The Romp,, all of them drinking hard, yet there

was hardly a sound among them save for the shuffle of feet and the impatient rap

of glasses on the bar, indicat ing that another drink was wanted.

Sheb had tried a hesitant tune on the pianoBig Bottle Boogie, everyone liked

that oneand a cowboy with a mutie-mark on one cheek had put the tip of a knife

in his ear and told him to shut up that noise if he want ed to keep what passed for

his brains on the starboard side of his eardrum.

Sheb, who would be happy to go

on drawing breath for another thousand years if the gods so allowed, quit his pianobench at once, and went to the bar to help Stanley and Pettie the Trotter serve up

the booze.

The mood of the drinkers was confused and sullen.

Reaping Fair had been stolen

from them, and they didnt know what to do about it.

There would still be a

bonfire, and plenty of stuffyguys to bum on it, but there were no Reap-kisses

today and would be no dancing tonight; no riddles, no races, no pig-wrestle, no

jokes

no good cheer, dammit! No hearty farewell to the end of the year! Instead

of joviality there had been murder in the dark, and the escape of the guilty, and

now only the hope of retribu tion instead of the cer tainty of it. These folk, sullendrunk and as poten tially dangerous as storm clouds filled with lightning, wanted someone to focus on, someone to tell them what to do.

And, of course, someone to toss on the fire, as in the days of Eld.

It was at this point, not long after the last toll of noon had faded into the cold air,

that the batwing doors opened and two women came in. A good many knew the

crone in the lead, and several of them crossed their eyes with their thumbs as a

ward against her evil look. A murmur ran through the room. It was the Coos, the

old witchwoman, and although her face was pocked with sores and her eyes sunk so deep in their sockets they could barely be seen, she gave off a peculiar sense of

vitality. Her lips were red, as if she had been eat ing winterberries.

The woman behind her walked slowly and stiffly, with one hand pressed against

her midsection. Her face was as white as the witchwomans mouth was red.

Rhea advanced to the middle of the floor, passing the gawking trailhands at the

Watch Me tables without so much as a glance.

When she reached the center of the bar and stood directly beneath The Romps glare, she turned to look at the silent

drovers and townsfolk.

Most of ye know me! she cried in a rusty voice which stopped just short of

stridency. Those of ye who dont have never want ed a love-potion or needed the

ram put back in yer rod or gotten tired of a nagging mother-in-laws tongue. Im

Rhea, the wise-woman of the Coos, and this lady beside me is aunt to the girl who

freed three murderers last night

this same girl who murdered yer towns Sheriff

and a good young man married, he was, and with a kid on the way. He stood

before her with is defenseless hands raised, pleadin for his life on behalf of his wife and his babby to come, and still she shot im!

Cruel, she is! Cruel and

heartless!

A mutter ran through the crowd. Rhea raised her twisted old claws and it stilled at once. She turned in a slow circle to see them all, hands still raised, looking like the worlds oldest, ugliest prizefighter.

Strangers came and ye welcomed em in! she cried in her rusty crows voice.

Welcomed em and gave em bread to eat, and its ruin theyve fed ye in return!

The deaths of those ye loved and depended on, spoilage to the time of the harvest, and gods know what curses upon the time to follow fin de ano!

More murmurs, now louder. She had touched their deepest fear: that this years

evil would spread, might even snarl the newly thread ed stock which had so slowly

and hopefully begun to emerge along the Outer Arc.

But theyve gone and likely wont be back! Rhea continued. Mayhap just as

wellwhy should their strange blood taint our ground But theres this other

one

raised among us

a young woman gone traitor to her town and rogue among her

own kind.

Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper on this last phrase; her listen ers strained

forward to hear, faces grim, eyes big. And now Rhea pulled the pallid, skinny

woman in the rusty black dress forward. She stood Cordelia in front other like a

doll or a ventriloquists dummy, and whis pered in her ear

but the whisper

travelled, somehow; they all heard it.

Come, dear. Tell em what ye told me.

In a dead, carrying voice, Cordelia said: She said she wouldnt be the Mayors

gilly. He wasnt good enough for such as her, she said.

And then she seduced Will

Dearborn. The price of her body was a fine posi tion in Gilead as his consort …

and the murder of Hart Thorin. Dearborn paid her price. Lusty as he was for her,

he paid gladly. His friends helped; they may have had the use of er as well, for all

I know. Chancellor Rimer must have gotten in their way. Or prhaps they just saw

him, and felt like doing him, too.

Bastards! Pettie cried. Sneaking young culls!

Now tell cm whats needed to clarify the new sea son before its spiled, dearie,

Rhea said in a crooning voice.

Cordelia Delgado raised her head and looked around at the men. She took a breath, pulling the sour, intermingled smells of gray and beer and smoke and whiskey

deep into her spinsters lungs.

Take her. Ye must take her. I say it in love and sor row, so I do.

Silent. Their eyes.

Paint her hands.

The glass gaze of the thing on the wall, looking its stuffed judgment over the

waiting room.

Charyou tree,  Cordelia whispered.

They did not cry their agreement but sighed it, like autumn wind through stripped

trees.

3

Sheemie ran after the bad Coffin Hunter and Su san-sai until he could lit erally run no morehis lungs were afire and the stitch which had formed in his side turned

into a cramp. He pitched forward onto the grass of the Drop, his left hand

clutching his right armpit, grimacing with pain.

He lay there for some time with his face deep in the fragrant grass, knowing they

were getting farther and farther ahead but also knowing it would do him no good

to get up and start running again until the stitch was good and gone. If he tried to

hurry the process, the stitch would sim ply come back and lay him low again. So

he lay where he was, lifting his head to look at the tracks left by Susan-sai and the

bad Coffin Hunter, and he was just about ready to try his feet when Caprichoso bit

him. Not a nip, mind you, but a good healthy chomp.

Capi had had a difficult

twenty-four hours, and he hadnt much liked to see the author of all his misery

lying on the grass, apparently taking a nap.

Yeee-OWWWW-by-damn! Sheemie cried, and rocketed to his feet. There was

nothing so magical as a good bite on the ass, a man of more philosophic bent

might have reflected; it made all other concerns, no mat ter how heavy or

sorrowful, disappear like smoke.

He whirled about. Why did you do that, you mean old sneak of a Capi Sheemie

was rubbing his bottom vigorously, and large tears of pain stood out in his eyes.

That hurts like … like a big old sonovabitch!

Caprichoso extended his neck to its maximum length, bared his teeth in the satanic grin which only mules and dromedaries can com mand, and brayed. To Sheemie

that bray sounded very like laughter.

The mules lead still trailed back between his sharp little hoofs. Sheemie reached

for it, and when Capi dipped his head to inflict an other bite, the boy gave him a

good hard whack across the side of his narrow head.

Capi snorted and blinked.

You had that coming, mean old Capi, Sheemie said. Ill have to shit from a

squat for a week, so I will. Wont be able to sit on the damned jakes. He doubled

the lead over his fist and climbed aboard the mule.

Capi made no attempt to buck

him off, but Sheemie winced as his wounded part settled atop the ridge of the

mules spine. This was good luck just the same, though, he thought as he kicked

the animal into mo tion. His ass hurt, but at least he wouldnt have to walk

or try

to run with a stitch in his side.

Go on, stupid! he said. Hurry up! Fast as you can, you old sonovabitch!

In the course of the next hour, Sheemie called Capi you old sonovabitch as often

as possiblehe had discovered, as many oth ers had before him, that only the first cussword is really hard; after that, theres noth ing quite like them for relieving

ones feelings.

4

Susans trail cut diagonally across the Drop to ward the coast and the grand old

adobe that rose there. When Sheemie reached Seafront, he dis mounted outside the arch and only stood, wondering what to do next.

That they had come here, he had

no doubtSusans horse, Pylon, and the bad Cof fin Hunters horse were tethered

side by side in the shade, occa sionally dropping their heads and blowing in the

pink stone trough that ran along the courtyards ocean side.

What to do now The riders who came and went be neath the arch (mostly whitehead

ed vaqs whod been considered too old to form a part of Lengylls party) paid no attention to the inn-boy and his mule, but Miguel might be a different story.

The old mozo had never liked him, acted as if he thought Sheemie would turn

thief, given half a chance, and if he saw Corals slopand-carry-boy skulking in the

courtyard, Miguel would very likely drive him away.

No, he wont, he thought grimly. Not today, today I cant let him boss me. I wont

go even if he hollers.

But if the old man did holler and raised an alarm, what then The bad Coffin

Hunter might come and kill him. Sheemie had reached a point where he was

willing to die for his friends, but not unless it served a purpose.

So he stood in the cold sunlight, shifting from foot to foot, irresolute, wishing he

was smarter than he was, that he could think of a plan.

An hour passed this way,

then two. It was slow time, each passing moment an exercise in frustration. He

sensed any opportunity to help Susan-sai slip ping away, but didnt know what to do about it. Once he heard what sounded like thun der from the west … although a bright fall day like this didnt seem right for thunder.

He had about decided to chance the courtyard anywayit was tem porarily

deserted, and he might be able to make it across to the main housewhen the man

he had feared came staggering out of the stables.

Miguel Torres was festooned with reapcharms and was very drunk. He

approached the center of the courtyard in rolling side-to-side loops, the tugstring

of his sombrero twisted against his scrawny throat, his long white hair flying. The

front of his chibosa was wet, as if he had tried to take a leak without remembering

that you had to unlimber your dingus first. He had a small ceramic jug in one

hand. His eyes were fierce and bewildered.

Who done this Miguel cried. He looked up at the af ternoon sky and the Demon

Moon which floated there. Little as Sheemie liked the old man, his heart cringed.

It was bad luck to look directly at old Demon, so it was. Who done this thing I

ask that you tell me, senor! Por favor! A pause, then a scream so powerful that

Miguel reeled on his feet and al most fell. He raised his fists, as if he would box

an answer out of the winking face in the moon, then dropped them wearily. Corn

liquor slopped from the neck of the jug and wet him further. Maricon,  he

muttered. He staggered to the wall (almost trip ping over the rear legs of the bad Coffin Hunters horse as he went), then sat down with his back against the adobe

wall. He drank deeply from the jug, then pulled his sombrero up and settled it over

his eyes. His arm twitched the jug, then settled it back, as if in the end it had

proved too heavy. Sheemie waited until the old mans thumb came unhooked from

the jughandle and the hand flopped onto the cob bles. He started forward, then

decided to wait even a little longer. Miguel was old and Miguel was mean. but

Sheemie guessed Miguel might also be tricky. Lots of folks were, especially the

mean ones.

He waited until he heard Miguels dusty snores, then led Capi into the courtyard,

wincing at every clop of the mules hooves. Miguel never stirred, however.

Sheemie tied Capi to the end of the hitching rail (winc ing again as Caprichoso

brayed a tuneless greeting to the horses tied there), then walked quickly across to the main door, through which he had never in his life expected to pass. He put his

hand on the great iron latch, looked back once more at the old man sleeping

against the wall, then opened the door and tiptoed in.

He stood for a moment in the oblong of sun the open door admitted, his shoulders

hunched all the way up to his ears, expecting a hand to settle on the scruff of his

neck (which bad-natured folk always seemed able to find, no matter how high you

hunched your shoulders) at any moment; an angry voice would follow, asking

what he thought he was doing here.

The foyer stood empty and silent. On the far wall was a tapestry de picting

vaqueros herding horses along the Drop; against it leaned a guitar with a broken

string. Sheemies feet sent back echoes no matter how lightly he walked. He

shivered. This was a house of murder now, a bad place. There were likely ghosts.

Still, Susan was here. Somewhere.

He passed through the double doors on the far side of the foyer and entered the

reception hall. Beneath its high ceiling, his foot falls echoed more loudly than ever.

Long-dead mayors looked down at him from the walls; most had spooky eyes that

seemed to follow him as he walked, marking him as an intruder. He knew their

eyes were only paint, but still …

One in particular troubled him: a fat man with clouds of red hair, a bulldog mouth, and a mean glare in his eye, as if he wanted to ask what some halfwit inn-boy was

doing in the Great Hall at Mayors House.

Quit looking at me that way, you big old sonuvabitch, Sheemie whispered, and felt a little better. For the moment, at least.

Next came the dining hall, also empty, with the long trestle tables pushed back

against the wall. There was the remains of a meal on onea single plate of cold

chicken and sliced bread, half a mug of ale. Looking at those few bits of food on a

table that had served dozens at various fairs and festivalsthat should have served

dozens this very daybrought the enormity of what had happened home to

Sheemie. And the sadness of it, too. Things had changed in Hambry, and would

likely never be the same again.

These long thoughts did not keep him from gobbling the leftover chicken and

bread, or from chasing it with what remained in the alepot. It had been a long,

foodless day.

He belched, clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes making quick and guilty sidetoside darts above his dirty fingers, and then walked on.

The door at the far end of the room was latched but unlocked. Sheemie opened it

and poked his head out into the corridor which ran the length of Mayors House.

The way was lit with gas chandeliers, and was as broad as an avenue. It was

emptyat least for the momentbut he could hear whispering voices from other

rooms, and perhaps other floors, as well. He sup posed they belonged to the maids

and any other servants that might be about this af ternoon, but they sounded very

ghostly to him, just the same. Perhaps one be longed to Mayor Thorin, wandering

the cor ridor right in front of him (if Sheemie could but see him … which he was

glad he couldnt). Mayor Thorin wandering and wondering what had hap pened to

him, what this cold jellylike stuff soaking into his nightshirt might be, who

A hand gripped Sheemies arm just above the elbow.

He almost shrieked.

Dont! a woman whispered. For your fathers sake!

Sheemie somehow managed to keep the scream in. He turned. And there, wearing

jeans and a plain checked ranch-shirt, her hair tied back, her pale face set, her dark

eyes blazing, stood the Mayors widow.

S-S-Sai Thorin

I

I

I



There was nothing else he could think of to say. Now shell call for the guards o

the watch, if there be any left, he thought. In a way, it would be a relief

Have ye come for the girl The Delgado girl

Grief had been good to Olive, in a terrible wayhad made her face seem less

plump, and oddly young. Her dark eyes never left his, and for bade any attempt at

a lie. Sheemie nodded.

Good. I can use your help, boy. Shes down below, in the pantry, and shes

guarded.

Sheemie gaped, not believing what he was hear ing.

Do you think I believe she had anything to do with Harts murder Olive asked,

as if Sheemie had objected to her idea. I may be fat and not so speedy on my pins

anymore, but Im not a complete idiot. Come on, now. Seafronts not a good place

for sai Delgado just nowtoo many people from town know where she is.

5 

Roland.

He will hear this voice in uneasy dreams for the rest of his life, never quite

remembering what he has dreamed, only know ing that the dreams leave him

feeling ill somehowwalking restlessly, straightening pictures in loveless rooms, listening to the call to muzzein in alien town squares.

Roland of Gilead.

This voice, which he almost recognizes; a voice so like his own that a psychiatrist

from Eddies or Susannahs or Jakes when-andwhere would say it is his voice,

the voice of his subconscious, but Roland knows better; Roland knows that often

the voices that sound the most like our own when they speak in our heads are

those of the most terrible outsiders, the most dan gerous intruders.

Roland, son of Steven.

The ball has taken him first to Hambry and to May ors House, and he would see

more of what is happening there, but then it takes him away calls him away in

that strangely familiar voice, and he has to go.

There is no choice because, unlike Rhea or Jonas, he is not watching the ball and the creatures who speak

soundlessly within it; he is inside the ball, a part of its endless pink storm.

Roland, come. Roland, see.

And so the storm whirls him first up and then away. He flies across the Drop,

rising and rising through stacks of air first warm and then cold, and he is not

alone in the pink storm which bears him west along the Path of the Beam. Sheb

flies past him, his hat cocked back on his head; he is singing Hey Jude  at the

top of his lungs as his nicotine-stained fingers plink keys that are not

theretransported by his tune, Sheb doesnt seem to realize that the storm has

ripped his piano away.

Roland, come,

the voice saysthe voice of the storm, the voice of the glassand Roland comes.

The Romp flies by him, glassy eyes blazing with pink light. A scrawny man in

farmers overalls goes flying past, his long red hair streaming out behind him.

Life for you, and for your crop,  he sayssomething like that, anywayand then

hes gone. Next, spinning like a weird windmill, comes an iron chair (to Roland it

looks like a torture de vice) equipped with wheels, and the boy gunslinger thinks

The Lady of Shadows without knowing why he thinks it, or what it means.

Now the pink storm is carrying him over blasted mountains, now over a fertile

green delta where a broad river runs its oxbow squiggles like a vein, reflecting a placid blue sky that turns to the pink of wild roses as the storm passes above.

Ahead, Roland sees an uprushing column of dark ness and his heart quails, but

this is where the pink storm is taking him, and this is where he must go.

I want to get out, he thinks, but hes not stupid, he re alizes the truth: he may never

get out. The wizards glass has swallowed him. He may re main in its stormy,

muddled eye forever.

Ill shoot my way out, if I have to, he thinks, but nohe has no guns. He is naked

in the storm, rushing bareass toward that virulent blue-black infection that has

buried all the landscape beneath it.

And yet he hears singing.

Faint but beautifula sweet harmonic sound that makes him shiver and think of

Susan: bird and bear and hare and fish.

Suddenly Sheemies mule (Caprichoso, Roland thinks, a beautiful name) goes past, galloping on thin air with his eyes as bright as fired ims in the storms lumbre

fuego. Following him, wearing a sombrera and rid ing a broom festooned with

fluttering reapcharms, comes Rhea of the Coos.

Ill get you, my pretty! she

screams at the fleeing mule, and then, cackling, she is gone, zooming and

brooming.

Roland plunges into the black, and suddenly his breath is gone. The world around

him is noxious darkness; the air seems to creep on his skin like a layer of bugs. He

is buffeted, boxed to and fro by invisible fists, then driven downward in a dive so

violent he fears he will be smashed against the ground: so fell Lord Perth.

Dead fields and deserted villages roll up out of the gloom; he sees blasted trees

that will give no shadeoh, but all is shade here, all is death here, this is the edge

of End-World, where some dark day he will come, and all is death here.

Gunslinger, this is Thunderclap.

Thunderclap, he says.

Here are the unbreathing; the white faces.

The unbreathing. The white faces. 

Yes. He knows that, somehow. This is the place of slaughtered sol diers, the cloven

helm, the rusty halberd; from here come the pale warriors. This is Thunderclap,

where clocks run backward and the grave yards vomit out their dead.

Ahead is a tree like a crooked, clutching hand; on its topmost branch a billybum

bler has been impaled. It should be dead, but as the pink storm carries Roland

past, it raises its head and looks at him with inex pressible pain and weariness.

Oy! it cries, and then it, too, is gone and not to be re membered for many years.

Look ahead, Rolandsee your destiny.

Now, suddenly, he knows that voiceit is the voice of the Turtle. He looks and

sees a brilliant blue-gold glow piercing the dirty dark ness of Thunderclap. Before

he can do more than register it, he breaks out of the darkness and into the light

like something coming out of an egg, a creature at last being born.

Light! Let there be light!

the voice of the Turtle cries, and Roland has to put his hands to his eyes and peek

through his fingers to keep from being blinded.

Below him is a field of bloodor

so he thinks then, a boy of fourteen who has that day done his first real killing.

This is the blood that has flowed out of Thun derclap and threatens to drown our

side of the world, he thinks, and it will not be for untold years that he will finally

rediscover his time inside the ball and put this memory together with Eddies

dream and tell his compadres, as they sit in the turn pike breakdown lane at the

end of the night, that he was wrong, that he had been fooled by the brilliance,

coming as it did, so hard on the heels of Thunder clap s shadows. It wasnt blood

but roses,  he tells Eddie, Susannah, and Jake.

Gunslinger, looklook there.

Yes, there it is, a dusty gray-black pillar rearing on the horizon: the Dark Tower,

the place where all Beams, all lines of force, con verge. In its spiraling windows he sees fitful electric blue fire and hears the cries of all those pent within; he senses

both the strength of the place and the wrongness of it; he can feel how it is

spooling error across everything, softening the divisions between the worlds, how

its potential for mischief is growing stronger even as disease weakens its truth and

coherence, like a body af flicted with cancer; this jutting arm of dark gray stone is

the worlds great mystery and last awful riddle.

It is the Tower, the Dark Tower rearing to the sky, and as Roland rushes toward it

in the pink storm, he thinks: I will enter you, me and my friends, if ka wills it so;

we will enter you and we will conquer the wrongness within you. It may be years

yet, but I swear by bird and bear and hare and fish, by all I love that

But now the sky fills with flaggy clouds which flow out of Thunder clap, and the

world begins to go dark; the blue light from the Tow ers ris ing windows shines

like mad eyes, and Roland hears thousands of screaming, wailing voices.

You will kill everything and everyone you love,

says the voice of the Turtle, and now it is a cruel voice, cruel and hard.

and still the Tower will be pent shut against you.

The gunslinger draws in all his breath and draws to gether all his force; when he

cries his answer to the Turtle, he does so for all the gen erations of his blood:

NO! IT WILL NOT STAND! WHEN I COME HERE IN

MY BODY, IT WILL NOT

STAND! I SWEAR ON MY FA THER S NAME. IT

WILL NOT STAND/

Then die,

the voice says, and Roland is hurled at the gray-black stone flank of the Tower, to

be smashed there like a bug against a rock. But be fore that can happen

6

Cuthbert and Alain stood watching Roland with in creasing concern. He had the

piece of Maerlyns Rainbow raised to his face, cupped in his hands as a man might cup a ceremonial goblet before making a toast. The drawstring bag lay crumpled on the dusty toes of his boots; his cheeks and fore head were washed in a pink

glow that neither boy liked. It seemed alive, some how, and hungry.

They thought, as if with one mind: I cant see his eyes.

Where are his eyes

Roland Cuthbert repeated. If were going to get out to Hanging Rock before

theyre ready for us, you have to put that thing away.

Roland made no move to lower the ball. He mut tered something un der his breath; later, when Cuthbert and Alain had a chance to compare notes, they both agreed it had been thunderclap.

Roland Alain asked, stepping forward. As gin gerly as a surgeon slipping a

scalpel into the body of a patient, he slipped his right hand be tween the curve of

the ball and Rolands bent, studious face. There was no response. Alain pulled

back and turned to Cuthbert.

Can you touch him Bert asked.

Alain shook his head. Not at all. Its like hes gone somewhere far away.

We have to wake him up. Cuthberts voice was dust-dry and shaky at the edges.

Vannay told us that if you wake a person from a deep hypnotic trance too

suddenly, he can go mad, Alain said. Remem ber I dont know if I dare

Roland stirred. The pink sockets where his eyes had been seemed to grow. His

mouth flattened into the line of bitter determi nation they both knew well.

No! It will not stand! he cried in a voice that made gooseflesh rip ple the skin of

the other two boys; that was not Rolands voice at all, at least not as he was now;

that was the voice of a man.

No, Alain said much later, when Roland slept and he and Cuthbert , sat up

before the campfire. That was the voice of a king.

Now, however, the two of them only looked at their absent, roaring friend,

paralyzed with fright.

When I come here in my body, it will not stand! I swear on my fa ther s name, IT

WILL NOT STAND!

Then, as Rolands unnaturally pink face contort ed, like the face of a man who

confronts some unimaginable horror, Cuthbert and Alain lunged forward. It was

no longer a question of perhaps destroying him in an ef fort to save him; if they

didnt do something, the glass would kill him as they watched.

In the dooryard of the Bar K, it had been Cuthbert who clipped Roland; this time

Alain did the honors, administering a hard right to the center of the gunslingers

forehead. Roland tumbled backward, the ball spilling out of his loosening hands and the terrible pink light leaving his face. Cuth bert caught the boy and Alain

caught the ball. Its heavy pink glow was weirdly in sistent, beating at his eyes and

pulling at his mind, but Alain stuffed it resolutely in to the drawstring bag again

without look ing at it

and as he pulled the cord, yanking the bags mouth shut, he

saw the pink light wink out, as if it knew it had lost. For the time being, at least.

He turned back, and winced at the sight of the bruise puffing up from the middle

of Rolands brow. Is he

Out cold, Cuthbert said.

He better come to soon.

Cuthbert looked at him grimly, with not a trace of his usual amia bility. Yes, he

said, youre certainly right about that.

7

Sheemie waited at the foot of the stairs which led down to the kitchen area,

shifting uneasily from foot to foot and waiting for sai Thorin to come back, or to

call him. He didnt know how long shed been in the kitchen, but it felt like

forever. He wanted her to come back, and more than thatmore than

anythinghe wanted her to bring Susan-sai with her. Sheemie had a terrible

feeling about this place and this day; a feeling that darkened like the sky, which

was now all obscured with smoke in the west. What was happening out there, or if

it had anything to do with the thundery sounds hed heard earlier, Sheemie didnt

know, but he wanted to be out of here before the smoke-hazed sun went down and

the real De mon Moon, not its pallid day-ghost, rose in the sky.

One of the swinging doors between the corridor and the kitchen pushed open and

Olive came hurrying out.. She was alone.

Shes in the pantry, all right, Olive said. She raked her fingers through her

graying hair. I got that much out of those two pupuras, but no more. I knew it

was going to be that way as soon as they started talking that stupid crunk of

theirs.

There was no proper word for the dialect of the Mejis vaqueros, but crunk

served well enough among the Baronys higher-born citizens. Olive knew both of

the vaqs guarding the pantry, in the vague way of a person who has once ridden a

lot and passed gossip and weather with other Drop-riders, and she knew damned

well these old boys could do better than crunk. They had spoken it so they could

pretend to misunder stand her, and save both them and her the embarrassment of

an outright refusal. She had gone along with the de ception for much the same

reason, although she could have responded with crunk of her own perfectly

welland called them some names their mothers never usedhad she wanted.

I told them there were men upstairs, she said, and I thought maybe they meant

to steal the silver. I said I wanted the maloficios turned out. And still they played

dumb. No habla, sai. Shit. Shit!

Sheemie thought of calling them a couple of big old sonuvabitches, and decided to

keep silent. She was pacing back and forth in front of him and throwing an

occasional burning look at the closed kitchen doors. At last she stopped in front of Sheemie again.

Turn out your pockets, she said. Lets see what you have for hopes and

garlands.

Sheemie did as she asked, producing a little pocketknife (a gift from Stanley Ruiz) and a half-eaten cookie from one. From the other he brought out three ladyfinger

firecrackers, a big-banger, and a few sulfur matches.

Olives eyes gleamed when she saw these. Listen to me, Sheemie, she said.

8

Cuthbert patted Rolands face with no result. Alain pushed him aside, knelt, and

took the gunslingers hands. He had never used the touch this way, but had been

told it was possiblethat one could reach anoth ers mind, in at least some cases.

Roland! Roland, wake up! Please! We need you!

At first there was nothing. Then Roland stirred, mut tered, and pulled his hands out

of Alains. In the moment before his eyes opened, both of the other two boys were

struck by the same fear of what they might see: no eyes at all, only raving pink

light.

But they were Rolands eyes, all rightthose cool blue shooters eyes.

He struggled to gain his feet, and failed the first time.

He held out his hands.

Cuthbert took one, Alain the other. As they pulled him up, Bert saw a strange and

frightening thing: there were threads of white in Ro lands hair. There had been

none that morning; he would have sworn to it. The morning had been a long time

ago, however.

How long was I out Roland touched the bruise in the center of his forehead

with the tips of his fingers and winced.

Not long, Alain said. Five minutes, maybe. Roland, Im sorry I hit you, but I

had to. It was

I thought it was killing you.

Mayhap twas. Is it safe

Alain pointed wordlessly to the drawstring bag.

Good. Its best one of you carry it for now. I might be .

. . He searched for the

right word, and when he found it, a small, wintry smile touched the comers of his

mouthtempted, he finished. Lets ride for Hang ing Rock. Weve got work yet

to finish.

Roland… Cuthbert began.

Roland turned, one hand on the horn of his horses saddle.

Cuthbert licked his lips, and for a moment Alain didnt think he would be able to

ask. If you dont, I will, Alain thought … but Bert man aged, bringing the words

out in a rush.

What did you see

Much, Roland said. I saw much, but most of it is al ready fading out of my

mind, the way dreams do when you wake up. What I do re member Ill tell you as

we ride. You must know, because it changes every thing. Were going back to

Gilead, but not for long.

Where after that Alain asked, mounting.

West. In search of the Dark Tower. If we survive to day, that is. Come on. Lets

take those tankers.

9

The two vaqs were rolling smokes when there was a loud bang from up stairs.

They both jumped and looked at each other, the to bacco from their works-inprogress

sifting down to the floor in small brown flur ries. A woman shrieked. The

doors burst open. It was the Mayors widow again, this time accompanied by a

maid. The vaqs knew her wellMaria Tomas, the daughter of an old compadre

from the Piano Ranch.

The thieving bastards have set the place on fire!

Maria cried, speak ing to them

in crunk. Come and help!

Maria, sai, we have orders to guard

A putina locked in the pantry Maria shouted, her eyes blazing. Come, ye

stupid old donkey, before the whole place catches!

Then ye can explain to Senor

Lengyll why ye stood here using yer thumbs for fartcorks while Seafront burned

down around yer ears!

Go on! Olive snapped. Are you cowards

There were several smaller bangs as, above them in the great parlor, Sheemie set

off the ladyfingers. He used the same match to light the drapes.

The two viejos exchanged a glance. Andelay, 

said the older of the two, then

looked back at Maria. He no longer bothered with the crunk. Watch this door, he

said.

Like a hawk, she agreed.

The two old men bustled out, one gripping the cords of his bolas, the other pulling

a long knife from the scabbard on his belt.

As soon as the women heard their footsteps on the stairs at the end of the hall,

Olive nodded to Maria and they crossed the room.

Maria threw the bolts; Olive

pulled the door open. Susan came out at once, look ing from one to the other, then

smiling tentatively. Maria gasped at the sight of her mistresss swelled face and the blood crusted around her nose.

Susan took Marias hand before the maid could touch her face and squeezed her

fingers gently. Do ye think Thorin would want me now she asked, and then

seemed to realize who her other rescuer was.

Olive

sai Thorin

Im sorry. I didnt mean to be cruel. But ye must believe that Roland, him ye know as Will

Dearborn, would never

I know it well, Olive said, and theres no time for this now. Come on.

She and Maria led Susan out of the kitchen, away from the stairs as cending to the

main house and toward the storage rooms at the far north end of the lower level. In

the drygoods storage room, Olive told the two of them to wait. She was gone for

perhaps five minutes, but to Susan and Maria it seemed an eternity.

When she came back, Olive was wearing a wildly colored scrape much too big for

herit might have been her husbands, but Susan thought it looked too big for the

late Mayor, as well. Olive had tucked a piece of it in to the side of her jeans to keep

from stumbling over it. Slung over her arm like blan kets, she had two more, both

smaller and lighter. Put these on, she said. Its go ing to be cold.

Leaving the drygoods store, they went down a nar row servants passageway

toward the back courtyard. There, if they were for tunate (and if Miguel was still

unconscious), Sheemie would be waiting for them with mounts. Olive hoped with

all her heart that they would be fortunate. She want ed Susan safely away from

Hambry before the sun went down.

And before the moon rose.

10

Susans been taken prisoner, Roland told the others as they rode west toward

Hanging Rock. Thats the first thing I saw in the glass.

He spoke with such an air of absence that Cuthbert almost reined up. This wasnt

the ardent lover of the last few months. It was as if Roland had found a dream to

ride through the pink air within the ball, and part of him rode it still. Or is it riding him Cuthbert wondered.

What Alain asked. Susan taken How By whom Is she all right

Taken by Jonas. He hurt her some, but not too bad ly. Shell heal … and shell

live. Id turn around in a second if I thought her life was in any real danger.

Ahead of them, appearing and disappearing in the dust like a mirage, was Hanging Rock. Cuthbert could see the sunlight pricking hazy sun-stars on the tankers, and

he could see men. A lot of them. A lot of horses, as well. He patted the neck of his

own mount, then glanced across to make sure Alain had Lengylls machine-gun.

He did. Cuthbert reached around to the small of his back, making sure of the

slingshot. It was there. Also his deerskin ammu nition bag, which now contained a

number of the big-bangers Sheemie had stolen as well as steel shot.

Hes using every ounce of his will to keep from go ing back, anyway, Cuthbert

thought. He found the realization comforting

sometimes Roland scared him.

There was something in him that went beyond steel.

Some thing like madness. If it

was there, you were glad to have it on your side

but often enough you wished it

wasnt there at all. On anybodys side.

Where is she Alain asked.

Reynolds took her back to Seafront. Shes locked in the pantry

or was locked

there. I cant say which, exactly, because …

Roland paused, thinking. The ball sees far, but sometimes it sees more. Sometimes it sees a future thats already

happening.

How can the future already be happening Alain asked. I dont know, and I

dont think it was always that way. I think its more to do with the world than

Maerlyns Rainbow. Time is strange now. We know that, dont we How things

sometimes seem to

slip. Its almost as if theres a thinny everywhere, breaking

things down. But Su sans safe. I know that, and thats enough for me. Sheemie is

going to help her

or is helping her. Somehow Jonas missed Sheemie, and he

followed Susan all the way back.

Good for Sheemie! Alain said, and pumped his fist into the air. Hurrah! Then:

What about us Did you see us in this future

No. This part was all quickI hardly snatched more than a glance before the ball

took me away. Flew me away, it seemed. But

I saw smoke on the horizon. I

remember that. It could have been the smoke of burning tankers, or the brush piled in front of Eyebolt, or both. I think were going to succeed.

Cuthbert was looking at his old friend in a queerly distraught way. The young man

so deeply in love that Bert had needed to knock him into the dust of the courtyard

in order to wake him up to his responsibilities . .

. where was that young man,

exactly What had changed him, given him those disturbing strands of white hair

If we survive whats ahead, Cuthbert said, watch ing the gunslinger closely,

shell meet us on the road. Wont she, Roland

He saw the pain on Rolands face, and now under stood: the lover was here, but the ball had taken away his joy and left only grief. That, and some new purposeyes,

Cuthbert felt it very wellwhich had yet to be stated.

I dont know, Roland said. I almost hope not, be cause we can never be as we

were.

What  This time Cuthbert did rein up.

Roland looked at him calmly enough, but now there were tears in

his eyes.

We are fools of ka the gunslinger said. Ka like a wind, Susan calls it. He

looked first at Cuthbert on his left, then at Alain on his right. The Tower is our

ka; mine especially. But it isnt hers, nor she mine.

No more is John Parson our ka.

Were not going toward his men to defeat him, but only because theyre in our

way. He raised his hands, then dropped them again, as if to say, What more do

you need me to tell you

There is no Tower, Roland, Cuthbert said pa tiently. I dont know what you saw in that glass ball, but there is no Tower. Well, as a symbol, I supposelike

Arthurs Cup, or the Cross of the man-Jesusbut not as a real thing, a real

building

Yes, Roland said. Its real.

They looked at him uncertainly, and saw no doubt on his face. Its real, and our

fathers know. Beyond the dark landI cant re member its name now, its one of

the things Ive lostis End-World, and in End-World stands the Dark Tower. Its

existence is the great secret our fathers keep; its what has held them together as katet across all the years of the worlds decline. When we return to Gileadif we

return, and I now think we willIll tell them what Ive seen, and theyll confirm

what I say.

You saw all that in the glass Alain asked in an awehushed voice.

I saw much.

But not Susan Delgado, Cuthbert said.

No. When we finish with yonder men and she fin ishes with Mejis, her part in our

ka-tet ends. Inside the ball, I was given a choice: Susan, and my life as her

husband and father of the child she now carries

or the Tower. Roland wiped his

face with a shaking hand. I would choose Susan in an instant, if not for one thing:

the Tower is crumbling, and if it falls, everything we know will be swept away.

There will be chaos be yond our imagining. We must go

and we will go.

Above his young and unlined cheeks, below his young and unlined brow, were the

ancient killers eyes that Eddie Dean would first glimpse in the mirror of an

air liners bathroom. But now they swam with child ish tears.

There was nothing childish in his voice, however.

I choose the Tower. I must. Let her live a good life and long with someone

elseshe will, in time. As for me, I choose the Tow er.

11

Susan mounted on Pylon, which Sheemie had hastened to bring around to the rear courtyard after lighting the draperies of the great parlor on fire. Olive Thorin rode

one of the Barony geldings with Sheemie doublemounted behind her and holding

onto Capis lead. Maria opened the back gate, wished them good luck, and the

three trotted out. The sun was west ering now, but the wind had pulled away most

of the smoke that had risen earlier. Whatever had happened in the desert, it was

over now

or hap pening on some other layer of the same present time.

Roland, be thee well, Susan thought. Ill see thee soon, dear … as soon as I can.

Why are we going north she asked after half an hours silent riding.

Because Seacoast Roads best.

But

Hush! Theyll find you gone and search the house first … if tasnt burned flat,

that is. Not finding you there, theyll send west, along the Great Road. She cast an

eye on Susan that was not much like the dithery, slightly confabulated Olive

Thorin that folks in Hambry knew

or thought they knew. If I know thats the

direction youd choose, so will others wed do well to avoid.

Susan was silent. She was too confused to speak, but Olive seemed to know what

she was about, and Susan was grateful for that.

By the time they get around to sniffing west, itll be dark. Tonight well stay in

one of the sea-cliff caves five miles or so from here. I grew up a fishermans

daughter, and I know all those caves, none better.

The thought of the caves shed

played in as a girl seemed to cheer her. To morrow well cut west, as you like. Im

afraid youre going to have a plump old widow as a chaperone for a bit. Better get

used to the idea.

Thees too good, Susan said. Ye should send Sheemie and I on alone, sai.

And go back to what Why, I cant even get two old trailhands on kitchen-duty to

follow my orders. Fran Lengylls boss of the shoot ing-match now, and Ive no urge

to wait and see how he does at it. Nor if he decides hed be better off with me

adjudged mad and put up safe in a haci with bars on the windows. Or shall I stay

to see how Hash Renfrew does as Mayor, with his boots up on my tables Olive

actually laughed.

Sai, Im sorry.

We shall all be sorry later on, Olive said, sound ing remarkably cheery about it.

For now, the most important thing is to reach those caves unobserved. It must

seem that we vanished into thin air. Hold up.

Olive checked her horse, stood in the stirrups, looked around to make sure of her

position, nodded, then twisted in the saddle so she could speak to Sheemie.

Young man, its time for ye to mount yer trusty mule and go back to Seafront. If

there are riders coming after us, ye must turn em aside with a few wellchosen

words. Willee do that

Sheemie looked stricken. I dont have any wellchosen words, sai Thorin, so I

dont. I hardly have any words at all.

Nonsense, Olive said, and kissed Sheemies fore head. Go back at a goodish

trot. Ifee spy no one coming after us by the time the sun touches the hills, then

turn north again and follow. We shall wait for ye by the signpost. Do ye know

where I mean

Sheemie thought he did, although it marked the out most northern boundary of his

little patch of geography. The red un With the som brero on it, and the arrow

pointing back for town

The very one. Ye wont get that far until after dark, but therell be plenty of

moonlight tonight. If ye dont come right away, well wait. But ye must go back,

and shift any men that might be chasing us off our track. Do ye understand

Sheemie did. He slid off Olives horse, clucked Capri choso forward, and climbed

on board, wincing as the place the mule had bitten came down. So itll be, Olivesai.

Good, Sheemie. Good. Offee go, then.

Sheemie Susan said. Come to me a moment, please.

He did, holding his hat in front of him and looking up at her worship-fully. Susan

bent and kissed him not on the forehead but firmly on the mouth. Sheemie came

close to fainting.

Thankee-sai, Susan said. For everything.

Sheemie nodded. When he spoke, he could man age nothing above a whisper. 

Twas only ka, he said. I know that

but I love you, Susan-sai. Go well. Ill see

you soon.

I look forward to it.

But there was no soon, and no later for them, either.

Sheemie took one look back

as he rode his mule south, and waved. Susan lifted her own hand in return. It was

the last Sheemie ever saw of her, and in many ways, that was a blessing.

12

Latigo had set pickets a mile out from Hanging Rock, but the blond boy Roland,

Cuthbert, and Alain encountered as they closed in on the tankers looked confused

and unsure of himself, no danger to anyone. He had scurvy-blossoms around his

mouth and nose, suggesting that the men Farson had sent on this duty had ridden

hard and fast, with little in the way of fresh supplies.

When Cuthbert gave the Good Mans sigulhands clasped to the chest, left above

right, then both held out to the person being greet edthe blond picket did the

same, and with a grateful smile.

What spin and raree back there he asked, speak ing with a strong InWorld

accentto Roland, the boy sounded like a Nordite.

Three boys who killed a couple of big bugs and then hied for the hills. Cuthbert

replied. He was an eerily good mimic, and gave the boy back his own accent

faultlessly. I here were a tight. It be over now, but they did fight fearful.

What

No time, Roland said brusquely. We have dis patches. He crossed his hands on

his chest, then held them out. Hile! Farson!

Good Man! the blond returned smartly. He gave back the salute with a smile that

said he would have asked Cuthbert where he was from and who he was related to,

if there had been more time. Then they were past him and inside Latigos

perimeter. As easy as that.

Remember that its hit-and-run, Roland said.

Slow down for noth ing. What we

dont get must be lefttherell be no second pass.

Gods, dont even suggest such a thing, Cuthbert said, but he was smiling. He

pulled his sling out of its rudimentary holster and tested its elastic draw with a

thumb. Then he licked the thumb and hoisted it to the wind. Not much problem

there, if they came in as they were; the wind was strong, but at their backs.

Alain unslung Lengylls machine-gun, looked at it doubtfully, then yanked back

the slide-cock. I dont know about this, Roland. Its loaded, and I think I see how

to use it, but

Then use it, Roland said. The three of them were picking up speed now, the

hooves of their horses drumming against the hard pan. The wind gusted, belling the

fronts of their scrapes. This is the sort of work it was meant for. If it jams, drop it

and use your revolver. Are you ready

Yes, Roland.

Bert

Aye, Cuthbert said in a wildly exaggerated Hambry accent, so I am, so I am.

Ahead of them, dust puffed as groups of riders passed before and be hind the

tankers, readying the column for departure. Men on foot looked around at the

oncomers curiously but with a fatal lack of alarm. Roland drew both revolvers. Gilead! he cried. Hile!

Gilead!

He spurred Rusher to a gallop. The other two boys did the same. Cuthbert was in

the middle again, sitting on his reins, slingshot in hand, lucifer matches radiating

out of his tightly pressed lips.

The gunslingers rode down on Hanging Rock like furies.

13

Twenty minutes after sending Sheemie back south, Susan and Olive came around a sharp bend and found themselves face to face with three mounted men in the

road. In the late-slanting sun, she saw that the one in the middle had a blue coffin

tattooed on his hand. It was Reynolds. Su sans heart sank. The one on Reynoldss lefthe wore a stained white drovers hat and had a lazily

cocked eyeshe didnt know, but the one on the right, who looked like a stonyheart

ed preacher, was Laslo Rimer. It was Rimer that Reynolds glanced at, after

smiling at Susan.

Why, Las and I couldnt even get us a drink to send his late brother, the

Chancellor of Whatever You Want and the Min ister of Thank You Very Much, on

with a word, Reynolds said. We hadnt hardly hit town before we got persuaded

out here. I wasnt going to go, but … damn! That old ladys something. Could talk

a corpse into giving a blowjob, if youll pardon the crudity. I think your aunt may

have lost a wheel or two off her cart, though, sai Del gado. She

Your friends are dead, Susan told him.

Reynolds paused, shrugged. Well now. Maybe si and maybe no. Me, I think Ive

decided to travel on without em even if they aint.

But I might hang around here

one more night. This Reaping business … Ive heard so much about the way folks

do it in the Outers. Specially the bonfire part.

The man with the cocked eye laughed phlegmily.

Let us pass, Olive said. This girl has done nothing, and neither have I.

She helped Dearborn escape, Rimer said, him who murdered your own husband

and my brother. I wouldnt call that nothing.

The gods may restore Kimba Rimer in the clear ing, Olive said, but the truth is he looted half of this towns treasury, and what he didnt give over to John Farson,

he kept for himself.

Rimer recoiled as if slapped.

Ye didnt know I knew Laslo, Id be angry at how lit tle any of ye thought of me

except why would I want to be thought of by the likes of you, anyway I knew

enough to make me sick, leave it at that. I know that the man youre sitting

beside

Shut up, Rimer muttered.

was likely the one who cut yer brothers black heart open; sai Reynolds was

seen that early morning in that wing, so Ive been told

Shut up, you cunt!

and so I believe.

Better do as he says, sai, and hold your tongue,

Reynolds said. Some of the lazy

good humor had left his face. Susan thought: He doesnt like people knowing what

he did. Not even when hes the one on top and what they know cant hurt him. And

hes less without Jonas. A lot less. He knows it, too.

Let us pass, Olive said.

No, sai, I cant do that.

Ill help ye, then, shall I

Her hand had crept beneath the outrageously large serape during the palaver, and now she brought out a huge and ancient pistola, its handles of yellowed ivory, its

filigreed barrel of old tarnished silver. On top was a brass powder-and-spark.

Olive had no business even drawing the thingit caught on her serape, and she

had to fight it free. She had no business cocking it, either, a process that took both

thumbs and two tries. But the three men were ut terly flummoxed by the sight of

the elderly blunderbuss in her hands, Reynolds as much as the other two; he sat his

horse with his jaw hanging slack. Jonas would have wept.

Get her! a cracked old voice shrieked from behind the men block ing the road.

Whats wrong with ye, ye stupid culls GET HER!

Reynolds started at that and went for his gun. He was fast, but he had given Olive

too much of a headstart and was beaten, beaten cold. Even as he cleared leather

with the barrel of his revolver, the Mayors widow held the old gun out in both

hands, and, squinching her eyes shut like a little girl who is forced to eat

something nasty, pulled the trigger.

The spark flashed, but the damp powder only made a weary floop sound and

disappeared in a puff of blue smoke. The ballbig enough to have taken Clay

Reynoldss head off from the nose on up, had it fired

stayed in the barrel.

In the next instant his own gun roared in his fist.

Olives horse reared, whinnying.

Olive went off the gelding head over boots, with a black hole in the orange stripe

of her serapethe stripe which lay above her heart.

Susan heard herself screaming. The sound seemed to come from very far away.

She might have gone on for some time, but then she heard the clop of approaching

pony hooves from behind the men in the road

and knew. Even before the man

with the lazy eye moved aside to show her, she knew, and her screams stopped.

The galloped-out pony that had brought the witch back to Hambry had been

replaced by a fresh one, but it was the same black cart, the same golden cabalistic

symbols, the same driver. Rhea sat with the reins in her claws, her head ticking

from side to side like the head of a rusty old robot, grinning at Susan without

humor. Grinning as a corpse grins.

Hello, my little sweeting, she said, calling her as she had all those months ago,

on the night Susan had come to her hut to be proved honest. On the night Susan

had come running most of the way, out of simple high spirits. Beneath the light of the Kissing Moon she had come, her blood high from the exercise, her skin

flushed; she had been singing Care less Love.

Yer pallies and screw-buddies have taken my ball, ye ken, Rhea said, clucking the pony to a stop a few paces ahead of the riders.

Even Reynolds looked down on

her with uneasiness. Took my lovely glam, thats what those bad boys did. Those

bad, bad boys. But it showed me much while yet I had it, aye. It sees far, and in

more ways than one. Much of it Ive forgot

but not which way yed come, my

sweeting. Not which way that precious old dead bitch laying yonder on the road

would bring ye. And now ye must go to town. Her grin widened, became

some thing unspeakable. Its time for the fair, ye ken.

Let me go, Susan said. Let me go, if yed not an swer to Roland of Gilead.

Rhea ignored her and spoke to Reynolds. Bind her hands before her and stand her

in the back of the cart. Theres people thatll want to see her. A good look is what

theyll want, and a good look is just what theyll have. If her aunts done a proper

job, therell be a lot of them in town. Get her up, now, and be smart about it.

14

Alain had time for one clear thought: We could have gone around them if what

Roland said is true, then only the wizards glass matters, and we have that. We

could have gone around them.

Except, of course, that was impossible. A hun dred generations of gunslinger blood argued against it. Tower or no Tower, the thieves must not be allowed to have

their prize. Not if they could be stopped.

Alain leaned forward and spoke directly into his horses ear. Jig or rear when I

start shooting, and Ill knock your fucking brains out.

Roland led them in, outracing the other two on his stronger horse. The clot of men

nearest byfive or six mounted, a dozen or more on foot and examining a pair of

the oxen which had dragged the tankers out here

gazed at him stupidly until he

began to fire, and then they scattered like quail. He got every one of the riders;

their horses fled in a widening fan, trailing their reins (and, in one case, a dead

soldier). Somewhere someone was shouting, Harriers! Harriers! Mount up, you fools!

Alain! Roland screamed as they bore down. In front of the tankers, a double

handful of riders and armed men were coming to gethermilling togetherin a

clumsy defensive line. Now! Now!

Alain raised the machine-gun, seated its rusty wire stock in the hol low of his

shoulder, and remembered what little he knew about rapid-fire weapons: aim low, swing fast and smooth.

He touched the trigger and the speed-shooter bel lowed into the dusty air, recoiling against his shoulder in a series of rapid thuds, shooting bright fire from the end of its perforated barrel. Alain raked it from left to right, running the sight above the scattering, shouting defenders and across the high steel hides of the tankers.

The third tanker actually blew up on its own. The sound it made was like no

explosion Alain had ever heard: a guttural, mus cular ripping sound accompanied

by a brilliant flash of orange-red fire. The steel shell rose in two halves. One of

these spun thirty yards through the air and landed on the desert floor in a furiously

burning hulk; the other rose straight up into a col umn of greasy black smoke. A

burning wooden wheel spun across the sky like a plate and came back down

trailing sparks and burning splinters.

Men fled, screamingsome on foot, others laid flat along the necks of their nags,

their eyes wide and panicky.

When Alain reached the end of the line of tankers, he reversed the track of the

muzzle. The machine-gun was hot in his hands now, but he kept his finger pressed to the trigger. In this world, you had to use what you could while it still worked.

Beneath him, his horse ran on as if it had under stood every word Alain had

whispered in its ear.

Another! I want another!

But before he could blow another tanker, the gun ceased its chatter perhaps

jammed, probably empty. Alain threw it aside and drew his re volver. From beside

him there came the thuppp of Cuthberts slingshot, audible even over the cries of

the men, the hoofbeats of the horses, the whoosh of the burning tanker. Alain saw

a sputtering big-bang arc into the sky and come down exactly where Cuthbert had

aimed: in the oil pud dling around the wooden wheels of a tanker marked sunoco.

For a mo ment Alain could clearly see the line of nine or a dozen holes in the

tankers bright sideholes he had put there with sai Lengylls speed-shooterand

then there was a crack and a flash as the big-bang exploded. A moment later, the

holes running along the bright flank of the tanker be gan to shimmer. The oil

beneath them was on fire.

Get out! a man in a faded campaign hat yelled.

Shes gointer blow! They re all

going to b 

Alain shot him, exploding the side of his face and knocking him out of one old,

sprung boot. A moment later the second tanker blew up. One burning steel panel

shot out sidewards, landed in the growing puddle of crude oil beneath a third

tanker, and then that one exploded, as well. Black smoke rose in the air like the

fumes of a funeral pyre; it darkened the day and drew an oily veil across the sun.

15

All six of Parsons chief lieutenants had been care fully described to Rolandto all

fourteen gunslingers in trainingand he recog nized the man running for the

remuda at once: George Latigo. Roland could have shot him as he ran, but that, ironically, would have made possible a get away that was cleaner than he wanted.

Instead, he shot the man who ran to meet him.

Latigo wheeled on the heels of his boots and stared at Roland with blazing, hatefilled eyes. Then he ran again, hiling another man, shouting for the riders who

were huddled together beyond the burning zone.

Two more tankers exploded, whamming at Rolands eardrums with dull iron fists, seeming to suck the air back from his lungs like a riptide. The plan had been for

Alain to perforate the tankers and for Cuthbert to then shoot in a steady, arcing

stream of big-bangers, lighting the spilling oil. The one big-banger he actually

shot seemed to confirm that the plan had been fea sible, but it was the last slingshotwork Cuthbert did that day.

The ease with which the gunslingers had gotten in side the enemys perimeter and

the confusion which greeted their original charge could have been chalked up to

inexperience and exhaustion, but the placing of the tankers had been Latigos

mistake, and his alone. He had drawn them tight without even thinking about it,

and now they blew tight, one after another. Once the conflagration began, there

was no chance of stopping it. Even before Roland raised his left arm and circled it in the air, signalling for Alain and Cuthbert to break off, the work was done.

Latigos encamp ment was an oily inferno, and John Farsons plans for a

motorized assault were so much black smoke be ing tattered apart by the fin de ano wind.

Ride! Roland screamed. Ride, ride, ride!

They spurred west, toward Eyebolt Canyon. As they went, Roland felt a single

bullet drone past his left ear. It was, so far as he knew, the only shot fired at any of them during the assault on the tankers.

16

Latigo was in an ecstasy of fury, a perfect brainbursting rage, and that was

probably mercifulit kept him from thinking of what the Good Man would do

when he learned of this fiasco. For the time being, all Latigo cared about was

catching the men who had ambushed him

if an am bush in desert country was

even possible.

Men No.

The boys who had done this.

Latigo knew who they were, all right; he didnt know how they had gotten out

here, but he knew who they were, and their run would stop right here, east of the

woods and rising hills.

Hendricks! he bawled. Hendricks had at least managed to hold his menhalf a

dozen of them, all mountednear the remuda.

Hendricks, to me!

As Hendricks rode toward him, Latigo spun the other way and saw a huddle of

men standing and watching the burning tankers.

Their gaping mouths and stupid

young sheep faces made him feel like screaming and dancing up and down, but he

refused to give in to that. He held a narrow beam of concentration, one aimed

directly at the raiders, who must not under any cir cumstances be allowed to

escape.

You! he shouted at the men. One of them turned; the others did not. Latigo

strode to them, drawing his pistol as he went. He slapped it into the hand of the

man who had turned toward the sound of his voice, and pointed at random to one

of those who had not. Shoot that fool.

Dazed, his face that of a man who believes he is dreaming, the soldier raised the

pistol and shot the man to whom Latigo had point ed. That un lucky fellow went

down in a heap of knees and elbows and twitching hands. The others turned.

Good, Latigo said, taking his gun back.

Sir! Hendricks cried. I see them, sir! I have the en emy in clear view!

Two more tankers exploded. A few whickering shards of steel flew in their

direction. Some of the men ducked; Latigo did not so much as twitch. Nor did

Hendricks. A good man. Thank God for at least one such in this nightmare.

Shall I hie after them, sir 

Ill take your men and hie after them myself, Hen dricks. Mount these hoss-guts

before us. He swept an arm at the standing men, whose doltish attention had been

diverted from the burning tankers to their dead comrade. Pull in as many others

as you can. Do you have a bugler

Yes, sir, Raines, sir! Hendricks looked around, beckoned, and a pimply, scaredlook ing boy rode forward. A dented bugle on a frayed strap hung askew on the

front of his shirt.

Raines, Latigo said, youre with Hendricks.

Yes, sir.

Get as many men as you can, Hendricks, but dont linger over the job. Theyre

headed for that canyon, and I believe someone told me its a box. If so, were going to turn it into a shooting gallery.

Hendrickss lips spread in a twisted grin. Yes, sir.

Behind them, the tankers continued to explode.

17

Roland glanced back and was astonished by the size of the black, smoky column

rising into the air. Ahead he could clearly see the brush blocking most of the

canyons mouth. And although the wind was blowing the wrong way, he could

now hear the maddening mosquito-whine of the thinny.

He patted the air with his outstretched hands, sig nalling for Cuthbert and Alain to

slow down. While they were both still looking at him, he took off his bandanna,

whipped it into a rope, and tied it so it would cover his ears. They copied him. It

was better than nothing.

The gunslingers continued west, their shadows now running out be hind them as

long as gantries on the desert floor. Looking back, Roland could see two groups of

riders streaming in pursuit. Latigo was at the head of the first, Roland thought, and he was deliberately holding his rid ers back a little, so that the two groups could merge and attack together.

Good, he thought.

The three of them rode toward Eyebolt in a tight line, continuing to hold their own

horses in, allowing their pursuers to close the distance. Every now and then

another thud smote the air and shivered through the ground as one of the

remaining tankers blew up. Roland was amazed at how easy it had beeneven

after the battle with Jonas and Lengyll, which should have put the men out here on

their mettle, it had been easy. It made him think of a Reaptide long ago, he and

Cuthbert surely no more than seven years old, run ning along a line of stuffyguys

with sticks, knocking them over one after the other, bang-bang-bangety-bang.

The sound of the thinny was warbling its way into his brain in spite of the

bandanna over his ears, making his eyes water.

Behind him, he could hear the

whoops and shouts of the pursuing men. It delight ed him. Latigos men had

counted the oddstwo dozen against three, with many more of their own force

riding hard to join the battleand their peckers were up once more.

Roland faced front and pointed Rusher at the slit in the brush marking the entrance

to Eyebolt Canyon.

18

Hendricks fell in beside Latigo, breathing hard, cheeks glaring with color. Sir!

Beg to report!

Then do it.

I have twenty men, and there are praps three times that number rid ing hard to

join us.

Latigo ignored all of this. His eyes were bright blue flecks of ice. Un der his

mustache was a small, greedy smile. Rodney, he said, speaking Hendrickss first

name almost with the caress of a lover.

Sir

I think theyre going in, Rodney. Yes … look. Im sure of it. Two more minutes

and itll be too late for them to turn back. He raised his gun, laid the muzzle

across his forearm, and threw a shot at the three rid ers ahead, mostly in

exuberance.

Yes, sir, very good, sir. Hendricks turned and waved viciously for his men to

close up, close up.

19

Dismount! Roland shouted when they reached the line of tangled brush. It had a

smell that was at once dry and oily, like a fire waiting to happen. He didnt know if

their failure to ride their horses into the canyon would put Latigos wind up or not, and he didnt care. These were good mounts, fine Gilead stock, and over these last

months, Rusher had become his friend. He would not take him or any of the horses

into the canyon, where they would be caught be tween the fire and the thinny.

The boys were off the horses in a flash, Alain pulling the drawstring bag free of

his saddle-horn and slinging it over one shoulder.

Cuthberts and Alains horses ran

at once, whinnying, parallel to the brush, but Rusher lingered for a moment,

looking at Roland. Go on. Roland slapped him on the flank. Run.

Rusher ran, tail streaming out behind him. Cuth bert and Alain slipped through the break in the brush. Roland followed, glancing down to make sure that the powdertrail

was still there. It was, and still drythere had been not a drop of rain since

the day theyd laid it.

Cuthbert, he said. Matches.

Cuthbert gave him some. He was grinning so hard it was a wonder they hadnt

fallen out of his mouth. We warmed up their day, didnt we, Roland Aye!

We did, indeed, Roland said, grinning himself.

Go on, now. Back to that

chimney-cut.

Let me do it, Cuthbert said. Please, Roland, you go with Alain and let me stay.

Im a firebug at heart, always have been.

No, Roland said. This part of its mine. Dont argue with me. Go on. And tell

Alain to mind the wizards glass, no matter what.

Cuthbert looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded. Dont wait too long.

I wont.

May your luck rise, Roland.

May yours rise twice.

Cuthbert hurried away, boots rattling on the loose stone which car peted the floor

of the canyon. He reached Alain, who lifted a hand to Roland. Roland nodded

back, then ducked as a bullet snapped close enough to his temple to flick his

hatbrim.

He crouched to the left of the opening in the brush and peered around, the wind

now striking full in his face. Latigos men were clos ing rapidly. More rapidly than

he had expected. If the wind blew out the lucifers

Never mind the ifs. Hold on, Roland… hold on

wait for them…

He held on, hunkering with an unlit match in each hand, now peering out through

a tangle of interlaced branches. The smell of mesquite was strong in his nostrils.

Not far behind it was the reek of burning oil. The drone of the thinny filled his

head, making him feel dizzy, a stranger to himself.

He thought of how it had been

inside the pink storm, flying through the air

how he had been snatched away

from his vision of Su san. Thank God for Sheemie, he thought distantly. Hell

make sure she finishes the day someplace safe.

But the craven whine of the thinny seemed somehow to mock him, to ask him if there had been more to see.

Now Latigo and his men were crossing the last three hundred yards to the canyons mouth at a full-out gallop, the ones behind closing up fast. It would be hard for the

ones riding point to stop suddenly without the risk of being ridden down.

It was time. Roland stuck one of the lucifers between his front teeth and raked it

forward. It lit, spilling one hot and sour spark onto the wet bed of his tongue.

Before the lucifers head could bum away, Roland touched it to the powder in the

trench. It lit at once, running left beneath the north end of the brush in a bright

yellow thread.

He lunged across the openingwhich might be wide enough for two horses

running flank to flankwith the second lucifer al ready poised behind his teeth. He

struck it as soon as he was somewhat blocked from the wind, dropped it into the

powder, heard the splutter-hiss, then turned and ran.

20

Mother and father, was Rolands first shocked thoughtmemory so deep and

unexpected it was like a slap. At Lake Saroni.

When had they gone there, to beautiful Lake Sa roni in the northern part of Gilead Barony That Roland couldnt remember. He knew only that he had been very

small, and that there had been a beautiful stretch of sandy beach for him to play

on, perfect for an aspiring young castle-builder such as he. That was what he had

been doing on one day of their

(vacation was it a vacation did my parents once upon a time actu ally take a

vacation)

trip, and he had looked up, somethingmaybe only the cries of the birds circling

over the lakehad made him look up, and there were his mother and father,

Steven and Gabrielle Deschain, at the waters edge, standing with their backs to him and their arms around each others waists, look ing out at blue water beneath a

blue summer sky. How his heart had filled with love for them! How infinite was

love, twining in and out of hope and memory like a braid with three strong strands,

so much the Bright Tower of every humans life and soul.

It wasnt love he felt now, however, but terror. The figures standing before him as

he ran back to where the canyon ended (where the rational part of the canyon

ended) werent Steven of Gilead and Gabrielle of Arten but his mollies, Cuthbert

and Alain. They didnt have their arms around each others waists, either, but their

hands were clasped, like the hands of fairytale chil dren lost in a threatening fairytale wood. Birds circled, but they were vultures, not gulls, and the shimmering,

mist-topped stuff before the two boys wasnt water.

It was the thinny, and as Roland watched, Cuthbert and Alain began to walk

toward it.

Stop! he screamed. For your fathers sakes, stop!

They did not stop. They walked hand-in-hand to ward the white-edged hem of the

smoky green shimmer. The thinny whined its plea sure, mur mured endearments,

promised rewards. It baked the nerves numb and picked at the brain.

There was no time to reach them, so Roland did the only thing he could think of:

raised one of his guns and fired it over their heads.

The re port was a hammerblow

in the canyons enclosure, and for a moment the ricochet whine was louder

than that of the thinny. The two boys stopped only inches from its sick shimmer.

Roland kept expecting it to reach out and grab them, as it had grabbed the lowfly ing bird when they had been here on the night of the Peddlers Moon.

He triggered two more shots into the air, the re ports hitting the walls and rolling back. Gunslingers! he cried. To me! To me!

It was Alain who turned toward him first, his dazed eyes seeming to float in his

dust-streaked face. Cuthbert continued forward another step, the tips of his boots disappearing in the greenish-silver froth at the edge of the thinny (the whingeing

grumble of the thing rose half a note, as if in antic ipation), and then Alain yanked

him back by the tugstring of his som brero. Cuthbert tripped over a good-sized

chunk of fallen rock and landed hard. When he looked up, his eyes had cleared.

Gods! he murmured, and as he scrambled to his feet, Roland saw that the toes of

his boots were gone, clipped off neatly, as if with a pair of gardening shears. His

great toes stuck out.

Roland, he gasped as he and Alain stumbled to ward him. Roland, we were

almost gone. It talks!

Yes. Ive heard it. Come on. Theres no time.

He led them to the notch in the canyon wall, praying that they could get up quick

enough to avoid being riddled with bullets

as they cer tainly would be, if Latigo arrived before they could get up at least part of the way.

A smell, acrid and bitter, began to fill the airan odor like boiling juniper berries.

And the first tendrils of whitish-gray smoke drifted past them.

Cuthbert, you first. Alain, you next. Ill come last.

Climb fast, boys. Climb for

your lives.

21

Latigos men poured through the slot in the wall of brush like water pour ing into a

funnel, gradually widening the gap as they came.

The bottom layer of the dead

vegetation was already on fire, but in their excite ment none of them saw these first

low flames, or marked them if they did. The pungent smoke also went unnoticed;

their noses had been deadened by the colossal stench of the burning oil. Latigo

himself, in the lead with Hendricks close behind, had only one thought; two words

that pounded at his brain in a kind of vicious tri umph: Box canyon! Box canyon!

Box canyon!

Yet something began to intrude on this mantra as he galloped deeper into Eyebolt,

his horses hooves clattering nimbly through the scree of rocks and

(bones)

whitish piles of cow-skulls and ribcages. This was a kind of low buzzing, a

maddening, slobbering whine, insectile and insistent. It made his eyes water. Yet, strong as the sound was (if it was a sound; it almost seemed to be coming from

inside him), he pushed it aside, holding onto his mantra

(box canyon box canyon got em in a box canyon) instead. He would have to face Walter when this was over, perhaps Farson

himself, and he had no idea what his punishment would be for los ing the tankers

but all that was for later. Now he wanted only to kill these interfering bastards.

Up ahead, the canyon took a jog to the north. They would be beyond that point,

and probably not far beyond, either. Backed up against the canyons final wall,

trying to squeeze themselves behind what fallen rocks there might be. Latigo

would mass what guns he had and drive them out into the open with ricochets.

They would probably come with their hands up, hop ing for mercy. They would

hope in vain. After what theyd done, the trouble theyd caused

As Latigo rode around the jog in the canyons wall, already levelling his pistol, his

horse screamedlike a woman, it screamedand reared beneath him. Latigo

caught the saddle-horn and managed to stay up, but the horses rear hooves slid

sideways in the scree and the animal went down.

Latigo let go of the horn and

threw himself clear, already aware that the sound which had been creeping into his

ears was suddenly ten times stronger, buzzing loud enough to make his eyeballs

pulse in their sockets, loud enough to make his balls tingle unpleasantly, loud

enough to blot out the mantra which had been beating so insistently in his head.

The insistence of the thinny was far, far greater than any George Latigo could

have managed.

Horses flashed around him as he landed in a kind of sprawling squat, horses that

were shoved forward willy-nilly by the oncoming press from behind, by riders that

squeezed through the gap in pairs (then trios as the hole in the brush, now burning

all along its length, widened) and then spread out again once they were past the

bottleneck, none of them clearly realizing that the entire canyon was a bottleneck.

Latigo got a confused glimpse of black tails and gray forelegs and dappled

fetlocks; he saw chaps, and jeans, and boots jammed into stir rups. He tried to get up and a horseshoe clanged against the back of his skull. His hat saved him from

unconsciousness, but he went heavily to his knees with his head down, like a man who means to pray, his vision full of stars and the back of his neck instantly

soaked with blood from the gash the passing hoof had opened in his scalp.

Now he heard more screaming horses. Screaming men, as well. He got up again,

coughing out the dust raised by the passing horses (such acrid dust, too; it clawed

his throat like smoke), and saw Hendricks trying to spur his horse south and east

against the oncoming tide of riders. He couldnt do it. The rear third of the canyon

was some sort of swamp, filled with greenish steam ing water, and there must be

quicksand beneath it, be cause Hendrickss horse seemed stuck. It screamed again,

and tried to rear. Its hindquarters slewed sideways.

Hendricks crashed his boots

into the animals sides again and again, attempt ing to get it in motion, but the horse didntor couldntmove. That hungry buzzing sound filled Latigos ears, and

seemed to fill the world.

Back! Turn back!

He tried to scream the words, but they came out in what was little more than a

croak. Still the riders pounded past him, raising dust that was too thick to be only dust. Latigo pulled in breath so he could scream louderthey had to go back,

something was dreadfully wrong in Eyebolt Canyonand hacked it out without

saying anything.

Screaming horses.

Reeking smoke.

And everywhere, filling the world like lunacy, that whining, whingeing, cringing

buzz.

Hendrickss horse went down, eyes rolling, bit-part ed teeth snapping at the smoky

air and splattering curds of foam from its lips. Hen dricks fell into the steaming

stagnant water, and it wasnt water at all. It came alive, somehow, as he struck it;

grew green hands and a green, shifty mouth; pawed his cheek and melted away the

flesh, pawed his nose and tore it off, pawed at his eyes and stripped them from

their sockets. It pulled Hen dricks under, but before it did, Latigo saw his denuded

jawbone, a bloody piston to drive his screaming teeth. Other men saw, and tried to wheel away from the green trap. Those who managed

to do so in time were broadsided by the next wave of mensome of whom were,

incredibly, still yipping or bellowing fullthroat ed battle cries. More horses and

riders were driven into the green shimmer, which accepted them eagerly. Latigo,

standing stunned and bleeding like a man in the middle of a stampede (which was

exactly what he was), saw the soldier to whom he had given his gun. This fellow,

who had obeyed Latigos order and shot one of his compadres in order to awaken

the rest of them, threw himself from his saddle, howling, and crawled back from

the edge of the green stuff even as his horse plunged in. He tried to get to his feet,

saw two riders bearing down on him, and clapped his hands across his face. A

moment later he was ridden down.

The shrieks of the wounded and dying echoed in the smoky canyon, but Latigo

hardly heard them. What he heard mostly was that buzzing, a sound that was

almost a voice. Inviting him to jump in. To end it here. Why not It was over,

wasnt it All over.

He struggled away instead, and was now able to make some head way; the stream

of riders packing its way into the canyon was eas ing. Some of the riders fifty or

sixty yards back from the jog had even been able to turn their horses. But these

were ghostly and confused in the thick ening smoke.

The cunning bastards have set the brush on fire be hind us. Gods of heaven, gods

of earth, I think we re trapped in here.

He could give no commandsevery time he drew in breath to try, he coughed it

wordlessly back out againbut he was able to grab a passing rider who looked all

of seventeen and yank him out of his saddle. The boy went down headfirst and

smashed his brow open on a jutting chunk of rock.

Latigo was mounted in his

place before the kids feet had stopped twitching.

He jerked the horses head around and spurred for the front of the canyon, but the

smoke thickened to a choking white cloud before he got more than twenty yards.

The wind was driving it this way. Latigo could make outbarelythe shifting

orange glare of the burning brush at the desert end.

He wheeled his new horse back the way it had come.

More horses loomed out of

the fog. Latigo crashed into one of them and was thrown for the second time in

five minutes. He landed on his knees, scrambled to his feet, and staggered back

downwind, coughing and retching, eyes red and streaming.

It was a little better beyond the canyons north ward jog, but wouldnt be for much longer. The edge of the thinny was a tangle of milling horses, many with broken

legs, and crawling, shrieking men. Latigo saw sev eral hats floating on the

greenish surface of the whining organism that filled the back of the canyon; he

saw boots; he saw wristlets; he saw neckerchiefs; he saw the bugle-boys dented

instrument, still trailing its frayed strap.

Come in, the green shimmer invited, and Latigo found its buzz strangely attractive

intimate, almost. Come in and visit, squat and hun ker, be at rest, be at peace,

be at one.

Latigo raised his gun, meaning to shoot it. He didnt believe it could be killed, but

he would remember the face of his father and go down shooting, all the same.

Except he didnt. The gun dropped from his relax ing fingers and he walked

forwardothers around him were now doing the sameinto the thinny. The

buzzing rose and rose, filling his ears until there was noth ing else.

Nothing else at all.

22

They saw it all from the notch, where Roland and his friends had stopped in a

strung-out line about twenty feet below the top.

They saw the scream ing

confusion, the panicky milling, the men who were trampled, the men and horses

that were driven into the thinny

and the men who, at the end, walked willingly

into it.

Cuthbert was closest to the top of the canyons wall, then Alain, then Roland,

standing on a six-inch shelf of rock and holding an outcrop just above him. From

their vantage-point they could see what the men strug gling in their smoky hell

below them could not: that the thinny was grow ing, reaching out, crawling

eagerly toward them like an incoming tide.

Roland, his battle-lust slaked, did not want to watch what was happening below,

but he couldnt turn away. The whine of the thinny

cowardly and triumphant at

the same time, happy and sad at the same time, lost and found at the same

timeheld him like sweet, sticky ropes. He hung where he was, hypnotized, as

did his friends above him, even when the smoke be gan to rise, and its pungent

tang made him cough dryly.

Men shrieked their lives away in the thickening smoke below. They struggled in it

like phantoms. They faded as the fog thickened, climbing the canyon walls like

water. Horses whinnied desperately from be neath that acrid white death. The wind swirled its surface in prankish whirl pools. The thin ny buzzed, and above where it

lay, the surface of the smoke was stained a mystic shade of palest green.

Then, at long last, John Farsons men screamed no more. We killed them, Roland

thought with a kind of sick and fascinated horror.

Then: No, not we. I. I killed

them.

How long he might have stayed there Roland didnt knowperhaps until the

rising smoke engulfed him as well, but then Cuth bert, who had begun to climb

again, called down three words from above him; called down in a tone of surprise

and dismay. Roland! The moon!

Roland looked up, startled, and saw that the sky had darkened to a velvety purple.

His friend was outlined against it and looking east, his face stained fever-orange

with the light of the rising moon.

Yes, orange, the thinny buzzed inside his head.

Laughed inside his head. Orange

as twas when it rose on the night you came out here to see me and count me.

Orange like afire. Orange like a bonfire.

How can it be almost dark he cried inside him self, but he knewyes, he knew

very well. Time had slipped back together, that was all, like lay ers of ground

embracing once more after the argument of an earthquake. Twilight had come.

Moonrise had come.

Terror struck Roland like a closed fist aimed at the heart, making him jerk

backward on the small ledge hed found. He groped for the horn-shaped outcrop

above him, but that act of rebalancing was far away; most of him was inside the

pink storm again, before he had been snatched away and shown half the cosmos.

Perhaps the wizards glass had only shown him what stood worlds far away in

order to keep from showing him what might soon befall so close to home.

Id turn around if I thought her life was in any real dan ger, he had said. In a

second.

And if the ball knew that If it couldnt lie, might it not misdirect Might it not

take him away and show him a dark land, a darker tower And it had shown him

something else, something that recurred to him only now: a scrawny man in

farmers overalls who had said… what Not quite what hed thought, not what he

had been used to hearing all his life; not Life for you and life for your crop, but…

Death, he whispered to the stones surrounding him. Death for you, life for my

crop. Charyou tree. Thats what he said, Charyou tree. Come, Reap.

Orange, gunslinger, a cracked old voice laughed in side his head. The voice of the

Coos. The color of bonfires. Charyou tree, fin de ano, these are the old ways of

which only the stuffyguys with their red hands re main … until tonight. Tonight

the old ways are refreshed, as the old ways must be, from time to time. Charyou

tree, you damned babby, Charyou tree: tonight you pay for my sweet Ermot.

Tonight you pay for all. Come, Reap.

Climb! he screamed, reaching up and slapping Alains behind. Climb, climb!

For your fathers sake, climb!

Roland, what Alains voice was dazed, but he did begin to climb, going from

handhold to handhold and rattling small pebbles down into Rolands upturned

face. Squinting against their fall, Roland reached and swatted Als bottom again,

driving him like a horse.

Climb, gods damn you! he cried. It maynt be too late, even now!

But he knew better. Demon Moon had risen, he had seen its orange light shining

on Cuthberts face like delirium, arid he knew bet ter. In his head the lunatic buzz

of the thinny, that rotting sore eating through the flesh of reality, joined with the

lunatic laughter of the witch, and he knew better.

Death for you, life for the crop. Charyou tree.

Oh, Susan

23

Nothing was clear to Susan until she saw the man with the long red hair and the

straw hat which did not quite obscure his lambslaughterers eyes; the man with

the cornshucks in his hands. He was the first, just a farmer (she had glimpsed him

in the Lower Market, she thought; had even nod ded to him, as countryfolk do,

and he back to her), standing by himself not far from the place where Silk Ranch

Road and the Great Road inter sected, standing in the light of the rising moon.

Until they came upon him, nothing was clear; after he hurled his bundle of

cornshucks at her as she passed, standing in the slowly rolling cart with her hands bound in front of her and her head lowered and a rope around her neck, everything

was clear.

Charyou tree,  he called, almost sweetly utter ing words of the Old People she

hadnt heard since her childhood, words that meant Come, Reap … and

something else, as well. Something hidden, something se cret, something to do with that root word, char, that word which meant only death. As the dried shucks

fluttered around her boots, she understood the se cret very well; understood also

that there would be no baby for her, no wedding for her in the fairy-distant land of

Gilead, no hall in which she and Roland would be joined and then saluted beneath

the electric lights, no husband, no more nights of sweet love; all that was over.

The world had moved on and all that was over, done before fairly begun.

She knew that she had been put in the back of the cart, stood in the back of the

cart, and that the surviving Coffin Hunter had looped a noose around her neck.

Dont try to sit, he had said, sounding almost apo lo getic. I have no desire to

choke you, girly. If the wagon bumps and you fall, Ill try to keep the knot loose,

but if you try to sit, Ill have to give you a pinching. Her orders. He nodded to

Rhea, who sat erect on the seat of the cart, the reins in her warped hands. Shes in

charge now.

And so she had been; so, as they neared town, she still was. Whatever the

possession of her glam had done to her body, whatever the loss of it had done to her mind, it had not broken her power; that seemed to have increased, if anything,

as if shed found some other source from which she could feed, at least for awhile.

Men who could have broken her over one knee like a stick of kindling followed

her commands as unquestioningly as children.

There were more and more men as that Reaping af ternoon wound its shallow

course to night: half a dozen ahead of the cart, riding with Rimer and the man with

the cocked eye, a full dozen riding behind it with Reynolds, the rope leading to her

neck wound around his tattooed hand, at their head.

She didnt know who these

men were, or how they had been summoned.

Rhea had taken this rapidly increasing party north a little farther, then turned southwest on the old Silk Ranch Road, which wound back toward town. On the

eastern edge of Hambry, it rejoined the Great Road. Even in her dazed state, Susan had realized the harridan was moving slowly, mea suring the descent of the sun as they went, not clucking at the pony to hurry but ac tually reining it in, at least until afternoons gold had gone. When they passed the farmer, thin-faced and alone, a

good man, no doubt, with a freehold farm he worked hard from first gleam to last

glow and a family he loved (but oh, there were those lambslaughterer eyes below

the brim of his battered hat), she understood this leisurely course of travel, too.

Rhea had been waiting for the moon.

With no gods to pray to, Susan prayed to her father.

Da If thees there, help me to be strong as lean be, and help me hold to him, to

the memory of him. Help me to hold to myself as well. Not for rescue, not for

salvation, but just so as not to give them the satis faction of seeing my pain and my

fear. And him, help him as well…

Help keep him safe, she whispered. Keep my love safe; take my love safe to

where he goes, give him joy in who he sees, and make him a cause of joy in those

who see him.

Praying, dearie the old woman asked without turning on the seat. Her croaking

voice oozed false compassion. Aye, yed do well tmake things right with the

Powers while ye still canbefore the spits burned right out of yer throat! She

threw back her head and cackled, the strag gling re mains of her broomstraw hair

flying out orange in the light of the bloated moon.

24

Their horses, led by Rusher, had come to the sound of Rolands dismayed shout.

They stood not far away, their manes rippling in the wind, shaking their heads and

whinnying their displeasure whenever the wind dropped enough for them to get a

whiff of the thick white smoke rising from the canyon.

Roland paid no attention to the horses or the smoke. His eyes were fixed on the

drawstring sack slung over Alains shoulder. The ball inside had come alive again;

in the growing dark, the bag seemed to pulse like some weird pink firefly. He held

out his hands for it.

Give it to me!

Roland, I dont know if

Give it to me, damn your face!

Alain looked at Cuthbert, who nodded … then lift ed his hands sky ward in a

weary, distracted gesture.

Roland tore the bag away before Alain could do more than begin to shrug it off his

shoulder. The gunslinger dipped into it and pulled the glass out. It was glowing

fiercely, a pink Demon Moon instead of an or ange one.

Behind and below them, the nagging whine of the thinny rose and fell, rose and

fell.

Dont look directly into that thing, Cuthbert mut tered to Alain. Dont, for your

fathers sake.

Roland bent his face over the pulsing ball, its light running over his cheeks and

brow like liquid, drowning his eyes in its dazzle.

In Maerlyns Rainbow he saw herSusan, horsedrovers daughter, lovely girl at

the window. He saw her standing in the back of a black cart decorated with gold

symbols, the old witchs cart. Reynolds rode behind her, holding the end of a rope

that was noosed around her neck. The cart was rolling toward Green Heart,

making its way with processional slow-ness. Hill Street was lined with people of

whom the farmer with the lambslaughterers eyes had been only the firstall

those folk of Hambry and Mejis who had been de prived of their fair but were now

given this ancient dark attraction in its stead: Charyou tree, come, Reap, death for you, life for our crops.

A soundless whispering ran through them like a gathering wave, and they began to

pelt herfirst with cornhusks, then with rotting tomatoes, then with potatoes and

apples. One of these latter struck her cheek. She reeled, almost fell, then stood

straight again, now raising her swollen but still lovely face so the moon painted it.

She looked straight ahead.

Charyou tree,  they whispered. Roland couldnt hear them, but he could see the

words on their lips. Stanley Ruiz was there, and Pet tie, and Gert Moggins, and

Frank Claypool, the deputy with the broken leg; Jamie McCann, who was to have

been this years Reap Lad. Roland saw a hun dred people he had known (and

mostly liked) during his time in Mejis. Now these people pelted his love with

cornshucks and vegetables as she stood, hands bound before her, in the back of

Rheas cart.

The slowly rolling cart reached Green Heart, with its colored paper lanterns and

silent carousel where no laughing children rode

no, not this year. The crowd,

still speaking those two wordschanting them now, it appearedparted. Roland

saw the heaped pyramid of wood that was the unlit bonfire. Sitting around it, their

backs propped on the central col umn, their lumpy legs outstretched, was a ring of

redhanded stuffyguys. There was a single hole in the ring; a single waiting

vacancy.

And now a woman emerged from the crowd. She wore a rusty black dress and

held a pail in one hand. A smear of ash stood out on one of her cheeks like a

brand. She

Roland began to shriek. It was a single word, over and over again:

No, no, no, no, no, no! The balls pink light flashed brighter with each repetition,

as if his horror refreshed and strengthened it. And now, with each of those pulses,

Cuthbert and Alain could see the shape of the gun slingers skull beneath his skin.

We have to take it away from him, Alain said. We have to, its sucking him dry.

Its killing him!

Cuthbert nodded and stepped forward. He grabbed the ball, but couldnt take it from Rolands hands. The gunslingers fingers seemed welded to it.

Hit him! he told Alain. Hit him again, you have to!

But Alain might as well have been hitting a post.

Roland didnt even rock back on

his heels. He continued to cry out that single neg ative No! No! No! No and

the ball flashed faster and faster, eating its way into him through the wound it had

opened, sucking up his grief like blood.

25

Charyou tree! Cordelia Delgado cried, darting forward from where she had been

waiting. The crowd cheered her, and beyond her left shoulder Demon Moon

winked, as if in complicity. Charyou tree, ye faith less bitch! Charyou tree!

She flung the pail of paint at her niece, splattering her pants and dressing her tied

hands in a pair of wet scarlet gloves. She grinned up at Susan as the cart rolled

past. The smear of ash stood out on her cheek; in the center of her pale forehead, a

single vein pulsed like a worm.

Bitch! Cordelia screamed. Her fists were clenched; she danced a kind of

hilarious jig, feet jumping, bony knees pumping beneath her skirt. Life for the

crops! Death for the bitch! Charyou tree! Come, Reap!

The cart rolled past her; Cordelia faded from Su sans sight, just one more cruel

phantasm in a dream that would soon end. Bird and bear and hare and fish, she

thought. Be safe, Roland; go with my love. Thats my fondest wish.

Take her! Rhea screamed. Take this murdering bitch and cook her redhanded!

Charyou tree!

Charyou tree! the crowd responded. A forest of willing hands grew in the

moonlit air; somewhere firecrackers rattled and children laughed excitedly.

Susan was lifted from the cart and handed toward the waiting wood pile above the

heads of the crowd, passed by uplifted hands like a heroine returned triumphantly

home from the wars. Her hands dripped red tears up on their straining, eager faces.

The moon overlooked it all, dwarfing the glow of the paper lanterns.

Bird and bear and hare and fish, she murmured as she was first low ered and

then slammed against the pyramid of dry wood, put in the place which had been

left for herthe whole crowd chanting in unison now, Charyou TREE! Charyou

TREE! Charyou TREE!

Bird and bear and hare and fish.

Trying to remember how he had danced with her that night. Trying to remember

how he had loved with her in the willow grove. Trying to re member that first

meeting on the dark road: Thankee-sai, we re well met, he had said, and yes, in

spite of everything, in spite of this miserable end ing with the folk who had been

her neighbors turned into prancing goblins by moonlight, in spite of pain and

betrayal and what was coming, he had spoken the truth: they had been well met, they had been very well met, indeed.

Charyou TREE! Charyou TREE! Charyou TREE!

Women came and piled dry cornshucks around her feet. Several of them slapped

her (it didnt matter; her bruised and puffy face seemed to have gone numb), and

oneit was Misha Alvarez, whose daughter Susan had taught to ridespat into

her eyes and then leaped prankishly away, shaking her hands at the sky and

laughing. For a moment she saw Coral Thorin, fes tooned with reapcharms, her

arms filled with dead leaves which she threw at Su san; they fluttered down around

her in a crackling, aro matic shower.

And now came her aunt again, and Rhea beside her.

Each held a torch. They stood

before her, and Susan could smell sizzling pitch.

Rhea raised her torch to the moon. CHARYOU

TREE! she screamed in her rusty

old voice, and the crowd responded, CHARYOU

TREE!

Cordelia raised her own torch. COME, REAP!

COME, REAP! they cried back to her.

Now, ye bitch, Rhea crooned. Now comes warmer kisses than any yer love

ever gave ye.

Die, ye faithless, Cordelia whispered. Life for the crops, death for you.

It was she who first flung her torch into the corn shucks which were piled as high

as Susans knees; Rhea flung hers a bare second later. The cornshucks blazed up at once, dazzling Susan with yellow light.

She drew in a final breath of cool air, warmed it with her heart, and loosed it in a

defiant shout: ROLAND, I LOVE THEE!

The crowd fell back, murmuring, as if uneasy at what they had done, now that it

was too late to take it back; here was not a stuffyguy but a cheerful girl they all

knew, one of their own, for some mad reason backed up against the ReapNight

bonfire with her hands painted red. They might have saved her, given another

momentsome might have, anywaybut it was too late. The dry wood caught;

her pants caught; her shirt caught; her long blonde hair blazed on her head like a

crown.

ROLAND, I LOVE THEE!

At the end of her life she was aware of heat but not pain. She had time to consider

his eyes, eyes of that blue which is the color of the sky at first light of morning.

She had time to think of him on the Drop, riding Rusher flat-out with his black

hair flying back from his temples and his necker chief rippling; to see him

laughing with an ease and freedom he would never find again in the long life

which stretched out for him beyond hers, and it was his laughter she took with her

as she went out, fleeing the light and heat into the silky, consoling dark, calling to

him over and over as she went, calling bird and bear and hare and fish.

26

There was no word, not even no, in his screams at the end: he howled like a gutted

animal, his hands welded to the ball, which beat like a runaway heart. He watched

in it as she burned.

Cuthbert tried again to take the cursed thing away, and couldnt. He did the only

other thing he could think ofdrew his revolver, pointed it at the ball, and

thumbed back the hammer. He would likely wound Roland, and the flying glass

might even blind him, but there was no other choice. If they didnt do something,

the glam would kill him.

But there was no need. As if seeing Cuthberts gun and understanding what it

meant, the ball went instantly dark and dead in Rolands hands. Rolands stiff

body, every line and muscle trembling with horror and out rage, went limp. He

dropped like a stone, his fingers at last letting go of the ball. His stomach

cushioned it as he struck the ground; it rolled off him and trickled to a stop by one

of his limp, outstretched hands. Nothing burned in its darkness now except for one

baleful orange sparkthe tiny reflection of the rising Demon Moon.

Alain looked at the glass with a species of disgust ed, frightened awe; looked at it

as one might look at a vicious animal that now sleeps

but will wake again, and

bite when it does.

He stepped forward, meaning to crush it to powder beneath his boot. Dont you

dare, Cuthbert said in a hoarse voice. He was kneeling beside Rolands limp form but looking at Alain. The rising moon was in his eyes, two small, bright stones of

light. Dont you dare, after all the misery and death weve gone through to get it.

Dont you even think of it.

Alain looked at him uncertainly for a moment, thinking he should de stroy the

cursed thing, anywaymisery suffered did not jus tify misery to come, and as long

as the thing on the ground remained whole, misery was all it would bring anyone.

It was a misery-machine, that was what it was, and it had killed Susan Delgado.

He hadnt seen what Roland had seen in the glass, but he had seen his friends face,

and that had been enough. It had killed Susan, and it would kill more, if left

whole.

But then he thought of ka and drew back. Later he would bitterly re gret doing so.

Put it in the bag again, Cuthbert said, and then help me with Roland. We have

to get out of here.

The drawstring bag lay crumpled on the ground nearby, fluttering in the wind.

Alain picked up the ball, hating the feel of its smooth, curved surface, expecting it

to come alive under his touch. It didnt, though. He put it in the bag, and looped it

over his shoulder again. Then he knelt be side Roland.

He didnt know how long they tried unsuccessfully to bring him arounduntil the

moon had risen high enough in the sky to turn silver again, and the smoke roiling

out of the canyon had begun to dissipate, that was all he knew. Until Cuthbert told

him it was enough; they would have to sling him over Rushers saddle and ride

with him that way. If they could get into the heavily forested lands west o Barony

before dawn, Cuthbert said, they would likely be safe … but they had to get at

least that far. They had smashed Parsons men apart with stunning ease, but the

remains would likely knit together again the fol lowing day. Best they be gone

before that happened.

And that was how they left Eyebolt Canyon, and the seacoast side of Mejis; riding

west beneath the Demon Moon, with Roland laid across his saddle like a corpse.

27

The next day they spent in II Bosque, the forest west of Mejis, waiting for Roland

to wake up. When afternoon came and he re mained unconscious, Cuthbert said: See if you can touch him.

Alain took Rolands hands in his own, marshalled all his concentra tion, bent over

his friends pale, slumbering face, and remained that way for almost half an hour.

Finally he shook his head, let go of Rolands hands, and stood up.

Nothing Cuthbert asked.

Alain sighed and shook his head.

They made a travois of pine branches so he wouldnt have to spend another night

riding oversaddle (if nothing else, it seemed to make Rusher nervous to be

carrying his master in such a way), and went on, not travel ling on the Great

Roadthat would have been far too dangerous

but parallel to it. When Roland

remained unconscious the following day (Mejis falling behind them now, and both

boys feeling a deep tug of homesick ness, inex plicable but as real as tides), they sat on either side of him, look ing at each other over the slow rise and fall of his

chest.

Can an unconscious person starve, or die of thirst Cuthbert asked. They cant, can they

Yes, Alain said. I think they can.

It had been a long, nervewracking night of travel.

Neither boy had slept well the

previous day, but on this one they slept like the dead, with blankets over their

heads to block the sun. They awoke minutes apart as the sun was going down and

Demon Moon, now two nights past the full, was ris ing through a troubled rack of

clouds that presaged the first of the great autumn storms.

Roland was sitting up. He had taken the glass from the drawstring bag. He sat with

it cradled in his arms, a darkened bit of magic as dead as the glass eyes of The

Romp. Rolands own eyes, also dead, looked indif ferently off into the moonlit

corridors of the forest. He would eat but not sleep.

He would drink from the

streams they passed but not speak. And he would not be parted from the piece of

Maerlyns Rainbow which they had brought out of Mejis at such great price. It did

not glow for him, however. Not, Cuthbert thought once, while Al and I are awake

to see it, anyway.

Alain couldnt get Rolands hands off the ball, and so he laid his own on Rolands

cheeks, touching him that way. Except there was nothing to touch, nothing there.

The thing which rode west with them toward Gilead was not Roland, or even a

ghost of Roland. Like the moon at the close of its cy cle, Roland had gone.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

PART FOUR

ALL GODS

CHILLUN GOT

SHOES

CHAPTER I

KANSAS IN

THE MORNING

1

For the first time in

(hours days)

the gunslinger fell silent. He sat for a moment look ing toward the building to the

east of them (with the sun behind it, the glass palace was a black shape surrounded

by a gold nimbus) with his forearms propped on his knees. Then he took the

waterskin which lay on the pavement beside him, held it over his face, opened his

mouth, and upended it.

He drank what happened to go in his mouththe others could see his adams

apple working as he lay back in the breakdown lane, still pour ingbut drinking

didnt seem to be his primary purpose. Water streamed down his deeply lined

forehead and bounced off his closed eyelids. It pooled in the triangular hollow at the base of his throat and ran back from his temples, wetting his hair and turning it

darker.

At last he put the waterskin aside and only lay there, eyes closed, arms stretched out high above his head, like a man surrendering in his sleep. Steam rose in

delicate tendrils from his wet face.

Ahhh, he said.

Feel better Eddie asked.

The gunslingers lids rose, disclosing those faded yet somehow alarming blue eyes.

Yes. I do. I dont understand how that can be, as much as I dreaded this telling …

but I do.

An ologist-of-the-psyche could probably ex plain it to you, Susan nah said, but I doubt youd listen. She put her hands in the small of her back, stretched and

winced

but the wince was only reflex. The pain and stiffness shed expected

werent there, and although there was one small creak near the base other spine,

she didnt get the satisfying series of snaps, crackles, and pops she had expected.

Tell you one thing, Eddie said, this gives a whole new meaning to Get it off

your chest. How long have we been here, Roland

Just one night.

 The spirits have done it all in a single night,  Jake said in a dreamy voice. His

legs were crossed at the ankles; Oy sat in the di amond shape made by the boys

bent knees, looking at him with his bright gold-black eyes. Roland sat up, wiping at his wet cheeks with his neckerchief and looking at Jake

sharply. What is it you say

Not me. A guy named Charles Dickens wrote that. In a story called A Christmas

Carol. All in a single night, huh

Does any part of your body say it was longer

Jake shook his head. No, he felt pretty much the way he did any morningbetter

than on some. He had to take a leak, but his back teeth werent exactly floating, or anything like that.

Eddie Susannah

I feel good, Susannah said. Surely not as if I stayed up all night, let alone many of em.

Eddie said, It reminds me of the time I spent as a junkie, in a way

Doesnt everything Roland asked dryly.

Oh, thats funny, Eddie said. A real howl. Next train that goes crazy on us, you

can ask it the silly questions. What I meant was that youd spend so many nights

high that you got used to feeling like ten pounds of shit in a nine-pound bag when

you got up in the morningbad head, stuffy nose, thumping heart, glass in the old

spine. Take it from your pal Eddie, you can tell just from the way you feel in the

morning how good dope is for you. Anyway, youd get so used to that/did,

any waythat when you actually took a night off, youd wake up the next

morning and sit there on the edge of the bed, think ing, What the flicks wrong

with me Am I sick I feel weird. Did I have a stroke in the night 

Jake laughed, then clapped a hand over his mouth so violently that it was as if he

wanted not just to hold the sound in but call it back.

Sorry, he said. That made

me think of my dad.

One of my people, huh Eddie said. Anyway, I expect to be sore, I expect to be

tired, I expect to creak when I walk

but I actually think all I need to put me right

is a quick pee in the bushes.

And a bite to eat Roland asked.

Eddie had been wearing a ^mall smile. Now it fad ed. No, he said. After that

story, Im not all that hungry. In fact, Im not hungry at all.

2

Eddie carried Susannah down the embank ment and popped her behind a stand of laurel bushes to do her necessary. Jake was six ty or seventy yards east, in a grove of birches. Roland had said he would use the reme dial strip to do his morning

necessary, then raised his eyebrows when his New York friends laughed.

Susannah wasnt laughing when she came out of the bushes. Her face was streaked

with tears. Eddie didnt ask her; he knew. He had been fight ing the feeling

himself. He took her gently in his arms and she put her face against the side of his

neck. They stayed that way for a little while.

Charyou tree,  she said at last, pronouncing it as Roland had: chair-you tree,

with a little upturned vowel at the end.

Yeah, Eddie said, thinking that a Charlie by any other name was still a Charlie.

As, he supposed, a rose was a rose was a rose.

Come, Reap.

She raised her head and began to wipe her swim ming eyes. To have gone through

all that, she said, keeping her voice low

and look ing once at the turnpike

embankment to make sure Roland wasnt there, look ing down at them. And at

fourteen.

Yeah. It makes my adventures searching for the elusive dime bag in Tompkins

Square look pretty tame. In a way, though, Im al most relieved.

Relieved Why

Because I thought he was going to tell us that he killed her himself. For his

damned Tower.

Susannah looked squarely into his eyes. But he thinks thats what he did. Dont

you understand that

3

When they were back together again and there was food actually in sight, all of

them decided they could eat a bit, after all. Roland shared out the last of the

burritos (Maybe later today we can stop in at the nearest Boing Boing Burgers

and see what theyve got for leftovers, Eddie thought), and they dug in. All of

them, that was, except Roland. He picked up his bur rito, looked at it, then looked

away. Eddie saw an expression of sadness on the gunslingers face that made him look both old and lost. It hurt Ed dies heart, but he couldnt think what to do about

it.

Jake, almost ten years younger, could. He got up, went to Roland, knelt beside

him, put his arms around the gunslingers neck, and hugged him. Im sorry you

lost your friend, he said.

Rolands face worked, and for a moment Eddie was sure he was go ing to lose it.

A long time between hugs, maybe. Mighty long. Ed die had to look away for a

moment. Kansas in the morning, he told himself. A sight you never expected to

see. Dig on that for awhile, and let the man be.

When he looked back, Roland had it together again.

Jake was sitting beside him,

and Oy had his long snout on one of the gunslingers boots. Roland had begun to

eat his burrito. Slowly, and without much relish . .

. but he was eating.

A cold handSusannahscrept into Eddies.

He took it and folded his fingers

over it.

One night, she marvelled.

On our body-clocks, at least, Eddie said. In our heads…

Who knows Roland agreed. But storytelling al ways changes time. At least it

does in my world. He smiled. It was unexpected, as al ways, and as always, it

transformed his face into something nearly beau ti ful. Looking at that, Eddie

mused, you could see how a girl might have fallen in love with Roland, once upon

a time. Back when he had been long and going on tall but maybe not so ugly; back

when the Tower hadnt yet got its best hold on him.

I think its that way in all worlds, sugar, Susannah said. Could I ask you a

couple of questions, before we get rolling

If you like.

What happened to you How long were you

gone

I was certainly gone, youre right about that. I was travelling. Wan dering. Not in

Maerlyns Rainbow, exactly

I dont think I ever would have returned from there,

if Id gone into it while I was still … sick … but ev eryone has a wizards glass, of

course. Here. He tapped his fore head gravely, just above the space between his

eyebrows. Thats where I went. Thats where I trav elled while my friends

travelled east with me. I got better there, little by lit tle. I held onto the ball, and I

travelled inside my head, and I got better. But the glass never glowed for me until

the very end

when the battlements of the castle and the towers of the city were

actually in sight. If it had awakened earlier



He shrugged.

If it had awakened before Id started to get some of my strength of mind back, I

dont think Id be here now. Because any worldeven a pink one with a glass

skywould have been preferable to one where there was no Susan. I suppose the

force that gives the glass its life knew that

and wait ed.

But when it did glow for you again, it told you the rest,

Jake said. It must have.

It told you the parts that you werent there to see.

Yes. I know as much of the story as I do because of what I saw in the ball.

You told us once that John Farson wanted your head on a pole, Ed die said.

Because you stole something from him. Some thing he held dear. It was the glass ball, wasnt it

Yes. He was more than furious when he found out.

He was insane with rage. In

your parlance, Eddie, he went nuclear. 

How many more times did it glow for you Susan nah asked.

And what happened to it Jake added.

I saw in it three times after we left Mejis Barony,

Roland said. The first was on

the night before we came home to Gilead. That was when I travelled in it the

longest, and it showed me what Ive told you. A few things Ive only guessed at,

but most I was shown. It showed me these things not to teach or enlighten, but to

hurt and wound. The remaining pieces of the Wiz ards Rainbow are all evil things.

Hurt enlivens them, somehow. It waited until my mind was strong enough to

understand and withstand

and then it showed me all the things I missed in my

stu pid adolescent complacency. My lovesick daze. My prideful, murderous

conceit.

Roland, dont, Susannah said. Dont let it hurt you still.

But it does. It always will. Never mind. It doesnt matter now; that tale is told.

The second time I saw into the glasswent into the glasswas three days after I

came home. My mother wasnt there, although she was due that evening. She had

gone into Debariaa kind of retreat for women to wait and pray for my return.

Nor was Marten there. He was in Cressia, with Far son.

The ball, Eddie said. Your father had it by then

No-o, Roland said. He looked down at his hands, and Eddie ob served a faint

flush rising into his cheeks. I didnt give it to him at first. 1 found it

hard to give

up.

I bet, Susannah said. You and everyone else who ever looked into the goddam

thing.

On the third afternoon, before we were to be ban queted to celebrate our safe

return

I bet you were really in a mood to party, too, Ed die said.

Roland smiled without humor, still studying his hands. At around four o the

clock, Cuthbert and Alain came to my rooms. We were a trio for an artist to paint, I wotwindburned, hollow-eyed, hands covered with healing cuts and scrapes

from our climb up the side of the canyon, scrawny as scarecrows. Even Alain, who

tended toward stoutness, all but disappeared when he turned sideways. They

confronted me, I suppose youd say. Theyd kept the secret of the ball to that

pointout of respect for me and for the loss Id suf fered, they told me, and I

believed them but they would keep it no longer than that nights meal. If I

wouldnt give it up voluntarily, it would be a ques tion for our fathers to decide.

They were horribly embarrassed, especially Cuthbert, but they were determined.

I told them Id give it over to my own father before the banquet before my

mother arrived by coach from Debaria, even. They should come early and see that

I kept my promise. Cuthbert started to hem and haw and say that wouldnt be

necessary, but of course it was necessary

Yeah, Eddie said. He had the look of a man who understood this part of the story

perfectly. You can go into the crapper on your own, but its a lot easier to actually flush all the bad shit down the toilet if you have some body with you.

Alain, at least, knew it would be better for meeas ierif I didnt have to hand

the ball over alone. He hushed Cuthbert up and said theyd be there. And they

were. And I gave it over, little as I wanted to. My fa ther went as pale as paper

when he looked into the bag and saw what was there, then excused himself and

took it away. When he came back, he picked up his glass of wine and went on

talking to us of our adventures in Mejis as if noth ing had happened.

But between the time your friends talked to you about it and the time you gave it

up, you looked into it, Jake said. Went into it.

Travelled in it. What did it show

you that time

First the Tower again, Roland said, and the be ginning of the way there. I saw

the fall of Gilead, and the triumph of the Good Man.

Wed put those things back a

mere twenty months or so by destroying the tankers and the oilpatch. I could do nothing about that, but it showed me something I could do. There was a certain

knife. The blade had been treated with an espe cially potent poison, something

from a distant MidWorld Kingdom called Garlan.

Stuff so strong even the tiniest

cut would cause almost instant death. A wander ing singerin truth, John Parsons eldest nephewhad brought this knife to court. The man he gave it to was the

castles chief of domestic staff. This man was to pass the knife on to the actual

assassin. My father was not meant to see the sun come up on the morning after the

banquet. He smiled at them grimly. Because of what I saw in the Wizards Glass,

the knife never reached the hand that would have used it, and there was a new

chief of domestics by the end of that week. These are pretty tales I tell you, are

they not Aye, very pretty, indeed.

Did you see the person the knife was meant for

Susannah asked. The actual

killer

Yes.

Anything else Did you see anything else Jake asked. The plan to murder

Rolands father didnt seem to hold much interest for him.

Yes. Roland looked puzzled. Shoes. Just for a minute. Shoes tum bling through

the air. At first I thought they were autumn leaves. And when I saw what they

really were, they were gone and I was lying on my bed with the ball hugged in my

arms … pretty much the way I carried it back from Mejis. My father

as Ive

said, his surprise when he looked inside the bag was very great, indeed.

You told him who had the knife with the special poi son on it, Susan nah thought,

Jeeves the Butler, or whoever, but you didnt tell him who was supposed to

actually use it, did you, sugar Why not Be cause you wanted to take care of dat little spot o work yo ownself But before she could ask, Eddie was asking a

question of his own.

Shoes Flying through the air Does that mean any thing to you now

Roland shook his head.

Tell us about the rest of what you saw in it, Susan nah said.

He gave her a look of such terrible pain that what Susannah had only suspected

immediately solidified to fact in her mind. She looked away from him and groped

for Eddies hand.

I cry your pardon, Susannah, but I cannot. Not now. For now, Ive told all I can.

All right, Eddie said. All right, Roland, thats cool.

Ool, Oy agreed.

Did you ever see the witch again Jake asked.

For a long time it seemed Roland would not answer this, either, but in the end he

did.

Yes. She wasnt done with me. Like my dreams of Susan, she fol lowed me. All

the way from Mejis, she followed me.

What do you mean Jake asked in a low, awed voice. Cripes, Roland, what do

you mean

Not now. He got up. Its time we were on our way again. He nodded to the

building which floated ahead of them; the sun was just now clearing its

battlements. Yon glitter-domes a good dis tance away, but I think we can reach it this afternoon, if we move brisk. Twould be best. Its not a place Id reach after

nightfall, if that can be avoided.

Do you know what it is yet Susannah asked.

Trouble, he repeated. And in our road.

4

For awhile that morning, the thinny warbled so loudly that not even the bullets in their ears would entirely stop up the sound; at its worst, Susan nah felt as if the

bridge of her nose would simply disintegrate, and when she looked at Jake, she

saw he was weeping copiouslynot crying the way people do when theyre sad,

but the way they do when their sinuses are in total revolt. She couldnt get the sawplay er the kid had mentioned out of her mind.

Sounds Hawaiian, she thought over

and over again as Eddie pushed her grimly along in the new wheelchair, weaving

in and out of the stalled vehicles. Sounds Hawai ian, doesnt it Sounds fucking

Hawaiian, doesnt it. Miss Oh So Black and Pretty On both sides of the turnpike the thinny lapped all the way up to the embankment,

casting its twitching, misshapen reflections of trees and grain elevators, seeming to watch the pilgrims pass as hungry animals in a zoo might watch plump children.

Susannah would find herself thinking of the thin ny in Eyebolt Canyon, reaching

out hungrily through the smoke for Latigos milling men, pulling them in (and

some going in on their own, walking like zombies in a horror movie), and then she

would find herself thinking of the guy in Central Park again, the wacko with the

saw. Sounds Hawaiian, doesnt it Counting one thinny, and it sounds Hawai ian,

doesnt it

Just when she thought she could stand it not a mo ment longer, the thinny began to

draw back from 1-70 again, and its humming warble at last began to fade.

Susannah was eventually able to pull the bul lets out of her ears. She tucked them into the side-pocket of her chair with a hand that shook slightly.

That was a bad one, Eddie said. His voice sound ed clogged and weepy. She

looked around at him and saw his cheeks were wet, his eyes red. Take it easy,

Suzie-pie, he said. Its my sinuses, thats all. That sound kills em.

Me, too, Susannah said.

My sinuses are okay, but my head aches, Jake said. Roland, do you have any

more aspirin

Roland stopped, rummaged, and found the bottle.

Did you ever see Clay Reynolds again Jake asked, after swallow ing the pills with water from the skin he carried.

No, but I know what happened to him. He got a bunch together, some of them

deserters from Parsons army, went to robbing banks

in toward our part of the

world, this was, but by then bank-thieves and stagerobbers didnt have much to

fear from gunslingers.

The gunslingers were busy with Farson, Eddie said.

Yes. But Reynolds and his men were trapped by a smart sheriff who turned the

main street of a town called Oakley into a killingzone. Six of the ten in the gang

were killed outright. The rest were hung. Reynolds was one of those. This was less

than a year later, during the time of Wide Earth. He paused, then said: One of

those shot dead in the killingzone was Coral Thorin.

She had become Reynoldss

woman; rode and killed with the rest of them.

They went on in silence for a bit. In the distance, the thinny warbled its endless

song. Jake suddenly ran ahead to a parked camper. A note had been left under the wiper blade on the drivers side. By standing on his toes, he was just able to reach

it. He scanned it, frowning.

What does it say Eddie asked.

Jake handed it over. Eddie looked, then passed it to Susannah, who read it in turn

and gave it to Roland. He looked, then shook his head.

I can make out only a few

wordsold woman, dark man. What does the rest say Read it to me.

Jake took it back.  The old woman from the dreams is in Nebraska. Her name is

Abagail.  He paused. Then, down here, it says, The dark man is in the west.

Maybe Vegas. 

Jake looked up at the gunslinger, the note fluttering in his hand, his face puzzled

and uneasy. But Roland was looking toward the palace which shimmered across

the highwaythe palace that was not in the west but in the east, the palace that

was light, not dark.

In the west, Roland said. Dark man, Dark Tower, and always in the west.

Nebraskas west of here, too, Susannah said hesitantly. I dont know if that

matters, this Abagail person, but



I think shes part of another story, Roland said.

But a story close to this one, Eddie put in. Next door, maybe. Close enough to

swap sugar for salt

or start arguments.

Im sure youre right, Roland said, and we may have business with the old

woman and the dark man yet

but today our business is east. Come on.

They began walking again.

5 

What about Sheemie Jake asked after awhile.

Roland laughed, partly in surprise at the question, partly in pleased remembrance.

He followed us. It couldnt have been easy for him, and it must have been

damned scary in placesthere were wheels and wheels of wild country between

Mejis and Gilead, and plenty of wild folks, too. Worse than just folks, mayhap.

But ka was with him, and he showed up in time for Years End Fair. He and that

damned mule.

Capi, Jake said.

Appy, Oy repeated, padding along at Jakes heel.

When we went in search of the Tower, I and my friends, Sheemie was with us.

As a sort of squire, I suppose youd say. He … But Roland trailed off, biting at

his lip, and of that he would say no more.

Cordelia Susannah asked. The crazy aunt

Dead before the bonfire had burned down to em bers. It might have been a heartstorm, or a brainstormwhat Eddie calls a stroke.

Perhaps it was shame, Susannah said. Or hor ror at what shed done.

It may have been, Roland said. Waking to the truth when its too late is a

terrible thing. I know that very well.

Something up there, Jake said, pointing at a long stretch of road from which the

cars had been cleared. Do you see

Roland didwith his eyes he seemed to see every thingbut it was another fifteen

minutes or so before Susannah began to pick up the small black specks ahead in the road. She was quite sure she knew what they were, although what she thought

was less vision than intuition. Ten min utes after that, she was sure.

They were shoes. Six pairs of shoes placed neatly in a line across the eastbound

lanes of Interstate 70.

CHAPTER II

SHOES IN THE ROAD

1

They reached the shoes at midmorning. Beyond them, clearer now, stood the

glass palace. It glimmered a delicate green shade, like the reflection of a lily pad in still water. There were shining gates in front of it; red pen nons snapped from its

towers in a light breeze.

The shoes were also red.

Susannahs impression that there were six pairs was understandable but

wrongthere were actually four pairs and one quartet. This latter four dark red booties made of supple leatherwas undoubted ly meant for the four-footed

member of their ka-tet. Roland picked one of them up and felt inside it. He didnt

know how many bumblers had worn shoes in the his tory of the world, but he was

willing to guess that none had ever been gifted with a set of silk-lined leather

booties.

Bally, Gucci, eat your heart out, Eddie said. This is great stuff.

Susannahs were easiest to pick out, and not just because of the femi nine, sparkly

swoops on the sides. They werent really shoes at allthey had been made to fit

over the stumps of her legs, which ended just above the knees.

Now look at this, she marvelled, holding one up so the sun could flash on the

rhinestones with which the shoes were decorated

if they were rhinestones. She

had a crazy notion that maybe they were diamond chips. Cappies. After four

years of gettin along in what my friend Cyn thia calls circumstances of reduced

leg-room, I finally got myself a pair of cappies.

Think of that.

Cappies, Eddie mused. Is that what they call em

Thats what they call em, sugar.

Jakes were bright red Oxfordsexcept for the col or, they would have looked

perfectly at home in the well-bred classrooms of The Piper School. He flexed one,

then turned it over. The sole was bright and un marked.

There was no

manufacturers stamp, nor had he really ex pected one. His father had maybe a dozen pairs of fine handmade shoes. Jake knew them when he saw them.

Eddies were low boots with Cuban heels {Maybe in this world you call them

Mejis heels, he thought) and pointed toes

what, back in his other life, had been

known as street-boppers. Kids from the mid-six tiesan era

Odetta/Detta/Susannah had just missedmight have called them Beatle-boots.

Rolands, of course, were cowboy boots. Fancy onesyoud go danc ing rather

than droving in such as these. Looped stitching, side decora tions, narrow, haughty arches. He examined them without picking them up, then looked at his fellow

travellers and frowned. They were looking at each other. You would have said

three people couldnt do that, only a pair

but you only would have said it if

youd never been part of a ka-tet.

Roland still shared khef with them; he felt the power ful current of their mingled

thought, but could not understand it. Because its of their world. They come from

different whens of that world, but they see some thing here thats common to all

three of them.

What is it he asked. What do they mean, these shoes

I dont think any of us know that, exactly, Susan nah said.

No, Jake said. Its another riddle. He looked at the weird, blood red Oxford

shoe in his hands with distaste. Another god damned riddle.

Tell what you know. He looked toward the glass palace again. It was perhaps

fifteen New York miles away, now, shining in the clear day, delicate as a mirage,

but as real as

well, as real as shoes. Please, tell me what you know about these

shoes.

I got shoes, you got shoes, all Gods chillun got shoes, Odetta said. Thats the

prevailin opinion, anyway.

Well, Eddie said, we got em, anyway. And youre thinking what Im thinking,

arent you

I guess I am.

You, Jake

Instead of answering with words, Jake picked up the other Oxford (Roland had no

doubt that all the shoes, including Oys, would fit per fectly) and clapped them

briskly together three times. It meant nothing to Roland, but both Eddie and

Susannah reacted violently, looking around, looking especially at the sky, as if expecting a storm born out of this bright autumn sunshine. I hey ended up looking

at the glass palace again … and then at each other, in that knowing, round-eyed

way that made Roland feel like shaking them both until their teeth rattled. Yet he

waited. Sometimes that was all a man could do.

After you killed Jonas, you looked into the ball,

Eddie said, turning to him.

Yes.

Travelled in the ball.

Yes, but I dont want to talk about that again now; it has nothing to do with

these

I think it does, Eddie said. You flew inside a pink storm. Inside a pink gale,

you could say. Gale is a word you might use for a storm, isnt it Especially if you

were making up a riddle.

Sure, Jake said. He sounded dreamy, almost like a boy who talks in his sleep.

When does Dorothy fly over the Wizards Rainbow When shes a Gale.

We aint in Kansas anymore, sugar, Susannah said, and then voiced a strange,

humorless bark which Roland supposed was a species of laugh ter. May look a

little like it, but Kansas was never … you know, this thin:

I dont understand you, Roland said. But he felt cold, and his heart was beating

too fast. There were thinnies everywhere now, hadnt he told them that Worlds

melting into one another as the forces of the Tower weakened As the day when

the rose would be plowed under drew nearer You saw things as you flew, Eddie said. Before you got to the dark land, the

one you called Thunderclap, you saw things. The pi ano-player, Sheb. Who turned

up again later in your life, didnt he

Yes, in Tull.

And the dweller with the red hair

Him, too. He had a bird named Zoltan. But when we met, he and I, we said the

normal. Life for you, life for your crop, that sort of thing. I thought I heard the

same when he flew by me in the pink storm, but he re ally said something else. He

glanced at Susannah. I saw your wheelchair, too.

The old one.

And you saw the witch.

Yes. I

In a creaky chortle that reminded Roland unnerv ingly of Rhea, Jake Chambers

cried: Ill get you, my pretty! And your little dog, too!

Roland stared at him, trying not to gape.

Only in the movie, the witch wasnt riding a broom,

Jake said. She was on her

bike, the one with the basket on the back.

Yeah, no reapcharms, either, Eddie said.

Would have been a nice touch,

though. I tell you, Jake, when I was a kid, I used to have night mares about the

way she laughed.

It was the monkeys that gave me the creeps, Su sannah said. The flying

monkeys. Id get thinkin about em, and then have to crawl into bed with my mom

and dad. Theyd still be arguin bout whose bright idea it was to take me to that

show in the foist place when I fell asleep be tween em.

I wasnt worried about clapping the heels togeth er, Jake said. Not a bit. It was Susannah and Eddie he was speaking to; for the time being, it was as if Roland

wasnt even there. I wasnt wearing them, after all.

True, Susannah said, sounding severe, but you know what my daddy always

used to say

No, but I have a feeling were going to find out,

Eddie said.

She gave Eddie a brief, severe look, then turned her attention back to Jake. 

Never whistle for the wind unless you want it to blow,  she said. And its good

advice, no matter what Young Mister Foolish here may think.

Spanked again, Eddie said, grinning.

Tanked! Oy said, eyeing Eddie severely.

Explain this to me, Roland said in his softest voice.

I would hear. I would share

your khef. And I would share it now.

2

They told him a story almost every American child of the twentieth cen tury

knew, about a Kansas farmgirl named Dorothy Gale who had been carried away

by a cyclone and deposited, along with her dog, in the Land of Oz. There was no 170 in Oz, but there was a yellow brick road which served much the same purpose,

and there were witches, both good and bad. There was a ka-tet comprised of

Dorothy, Toto, and three friends she met along the way: the Cowardly Lion, the

Tin Woodman, and the Scare crow. They each had (bird and bear and hare and fish)

a fondest wish, and it was with Dorothys that Rolands new friends (and Roland

himself, for that matter) identified the most strongly: she wanted to find her way home again.

The Munchkins told her that she had to follow the yellow brick road to Oz, Jake

said, and so she went. She met the others along the way, sort of like you met us,

Roland

Although you dont look much like Judy Garland,

Eddie put in.

and eventually they got there. To Oz, the Emer ald Palace, and the guy who

lived in the Emerald Palace. He looked toward the glass palace ahead of them,

greener and greener in the strengthening light, and then back to Roland.

Yes, I understand. And was this fellow, Oz, a pow erful dinh A Baron Perhaps a

King

Again, the three of them exchanged a glance from which Roland was excluded.

Thats complicated, Jake said. He was sort of a humbug

A bumhug Whats that

Humbug,  Jake said, laughing. A faker. All talk, no action. But maybe the

important thing is that the Wizard actually came from

Wizard Roland asked sharply. He grasped Jakes shoulder with his diminished

right hand. Why do you call him so

Because that was his title, sug, Susannah said.

The Wizard of Oz. She lifted

Rolands hand gently but firmly from Jakes shoul der. Let him tell it, now. He

dont need you to squeeze it out of him.

Did I hurt you Jake, I cry your pardon.

Nah, Im fine, Jake said. Dont worry about it. Any way, Dorothy and her friends

had a lot of adventures before finding out the Wizard was a, you know, a

bumhug. Jake giggled at this with his hands clapped to his forehead and pushing

back his hair, like a child of five. He couldnt give the Lion courage, the

Scarecrow a brain, or the Tin Woodman a heart.

Worst of all, he couldnt send

Dorothy back to Kansas. The Wizard had a balloon, but he went without her. I

dont think he meant to, but he did.

It seems to me, from your telling of the tale, Roland said, speaking very slowly,

that Dorothys friends had the things they wanted all along.

Thats the moral of the story, Eddie said. Maybe what makes it a great story.

But Dorothy was stuck in Oz, you see. Then Glinda showed up. Glinda the Good.

And, as a present for smooshing one of the bad witches under her house and

melting another one, Glinda told Dorothy how to use the ruby slippers. The ones

Glinda gave her.

Eddie raised the red Cuban-heeled street-bop pers which had been left for him on the dotted white line of 1-70.

Glinda told Dorothy to click the heels of the ruby slippers together three times.

That would take her back to Kansas, she said. And it did. And thats the end of

the tale

Well, Jake said, it was so popular that the guy who wrote it went ahead and

wrote about a thousand more Oz stories

Yeah, Eddie said. Everything but Glindas Guide to Firm Thighs.

and there was this crazy remake called The Wiz, starring black people

Really Susannah asked. She looked be mused. What a peculiar concept.

but the only one that really matters is the first one, I think, Jake finished.

Roland hunkered and put his hands into the boots which had been left for him. He

lifted them, looked at them, put them down again.

Are we supposed to put them

on, do you think Here and now

His three friends from New York looked at each other doubtfully. At last

Susannah spoke for themfed him the khef which he could feel but not quite

share on his own.

Best not to right now, maybe. Too many bad-ass spirits here. Takuro spirits,

Eddie murmured, mostly to himself. Then: Look, lets just take em along. If were supposed to put em on, I think well know when the time comes. In the meantime,

I think we ought to beware of bumhugs bearing gifts.

It cracked Jake up, as Eddie had known it would; sometimes a word or an image

got into your funny bone like a virus and just lived there awhile. Tomorrow the

word bumhug might mean nothing to the kid; for the rest of today, however, he

was going to laugh every time he heard it. Eddie intended to use it a lot, especially when ole Jake wasnt expect ing it.

They picked up the red shoes which had been left for them in the eastbound lanes

(Jake took Oys) and moved on again toward the shimmering glass castle.

Oz, Roland thought. He searched his memory, but he didnt think it was a name he

had ever heard before, or a word of the High Speech that had come in disguise, as char had come disguised as Charlie. Yet it had a sound that belonged in this

business; a sound more of his world than of Jakes, Susannahs, and Eddies, from

whence the tale had come.

3J

ake kept expecting the Green Palace to begin looking normal as they drew closer to it, the way the attractions in Disney World be gan to look normal as you drew

close to themnot ordinary, necessarily, but normal, things which were as much

a part of the world as the comer bus stop or mailbox or park bench, stuff you could

touch, stuff you could write fuck piper on, if you took a notion.

But that didnt happen, wasnt going to happen, and as they neared the Green

Palace, Jake realized something else: it was the most beautiful, radiant thing he

had ever seen in his life. Not trusting itand he did not didnt change the fact. It

was like a drawing in a fairytale book, one so good it had become real, somehow.

And, like the thinny, it hummed

except that this sound was far fainter, and not

unpleasant.

Pale green walls rose to battlements that jutted and towers that soared, seeming

almost to touch the clouds floating over the Kansas plains. These towers were

topped with needles of a darker, emerald green; it was from these that the red

pennants nickered. Upon each pennant the sym bol of the open eye

had been traced in yellow.

Its the mark of the Crimson King, Jake thought. Its really his sigul, not John

Farson s. He didnt know how he knew this (how could he, when Alabamas

Crimson Tide was the only Crimson anything he knew), but he did.

So beautiful, Susannah murmured, and when Jake glanced at her, he thought she was almost crying. But not nice, somehow. Not right. Maybe not downright bad,

the way the thinny is, but…

But not nice, Eddie said. Yeah. That works. Not a red light, maybe, but a bright

yellow one just the same. He rubbed the side of his face (a gesture he had picked

up from Roland without even realizing it) and looked puzzled. It feels almost not seriousa practical joke.

I doubt its a joke, Roland said. Do you think its a copy of the place where

Dorothy and her ka-tet met the false wizard

Again, the three erstwhile New Yorkers seemed to exchange a single glance of

consultation. When it was over, Eddie spoke for all of them. Yeah. Yeah,

probably. Its not the same as the one in the movie, but if this thing came out of

our minds, it wouldnt be. Because we see the one from L. Frank Baums book,

too. Both from the illustrations in the book…

And the ones from our imaginations, Jake said.

But thats it, Susannah said. Id say were def initely off to see the Wizard.

You bet, Eddie said. Because-because-be cause-because-because

Because of the wonderful things he does! Jake and Susannah fin ished in unison,

then laughed, delighted with each other, while Roland frowned at them, feeling

puzzled and looking left out.

But I have to tell you guys, Eddie said, that its only gonna take about one more

wonderful thing to send me around to the dark side of the Psycho Moon. Most

likely for good.

4

As they drew closer, they could see Interstate 70

stretching away into the pale

green depths of the castles slightly rounded outer wall; it floated there like an

optical illusion. Closer yet, and they could hear the pennants snapping in the

breeze and see their own ripply reflections, like drowned folk who somehow walk

at the bottoms of watery tropical graves.

There was an inner redoubt of dark blue glassit was a color Jake as sociated

with the bottles fountain-pen ink came inand a rust-hued wall-walk between the

redoubt and the outer wall. That color made Su sannah think of the bottles Hires

root-beer had come in when she was a little girl.

The way in was blocked by a barred gate that was both huge and ethe real: it

looked like wrought iron which had been turned to glass. Each cunningly made

stake was a different color, and these colors seemed to come from the inside, as if the bars were filled with some bright gas or liquid.

The travellers stopped before it. There was no sign of the turnpike be yond it;

instead of roadway, there was a courtyard of sil ver glassa huge flat mirror, in

fact. Clouds floated serenely through its depths; so did the image of the occasional

swooping bird. Sun reflected off this glass court yard and ran across the green

castle walls in ripples. Un the far side, the wall of the palaces inner ward rose in a

glimmery green cliff, broken by narrow loophole windows of jet-black glass.

There was also an arched entry in this wall that made Jake think of St. Patricks

Cathedral.

To the left of the main doorway was a sentry-box made of cream-colored glass

shot through with hazy orange threads. Its door, painted with red stripes, stood

open. The phone-booth-sized room inside was empty, although there was

something on the floor which looked to Jake like a newspaper.

Above the entry, flanking its darkness, were two crouching, leering gargoyles of

darkest violet glass. Their pointed tongues poked out like bruises.

The pennants atop the towers flapped like school yard flags.

Crows cawed over empty cornfields now a week past the Reap.

Distant, the thinny whined and warbled.

Look at the bars of this gate, Susannah said. She sounded breathless and

awestruck. Look very closely.

Jake bent toward the yellow bar until his nose nearly touched it and a faint yellow stripe ran down the middle of his face. At first he saw noth ing, and then he

gasped. What he had taken for motes of some kind were creaturesliving

creaturesimprisoned inside the bar, swim ming in tiny schools. They looked like fish in an aquarium, but they also (their heads, Jake told himself, I think its mostly

their heads) looked oddly, disquietingly human.

As if, Jake thought, he were

looking into a vertical golden sea, all the ocean in a glass rodand living myths

no bigger than grains of dust swimming within it. A tiny woman with a fishs tail

and long blonde hair streaming out behind her swam to her side of the glass,

seemed to peer out at the giant boy (her eyes were round, startled, and beautiful),

and then flipped away again.

Jake felt suddenly dizzy and weak. He closed his eyes until the feel ing of vertigo went away, then opened them again and looked around at the others. Cripes! Are they all the same

All different, I think, said Eddie, who had already peered into two or three. He

bent close to the purple rod, and his cheeks lit up as if in the glow of an oldfash

ioned fluoroscope. These guys here look like birds little tiny birds.

Jake looked and saw that Eddie was right: inside the gates purple up right were

flocks of birds no bigger than summer minges. They swooped giddily about in

their eternal twilight, weaving over and under one an other, their wings leaving

tiny silver trails of bubbles.

Are they really there Jake asked breathlessly.

Are they, Roland, or are we only

imagining them

I dont know. But I know what this gate has been made to look like.

So do I, Eddie said. He surveyed the shining posts, each with its own column of imprisoned light and life. Each of the gates wings con sisted of six colored bars.

The one in the centerbroad and flat instead of round, and made to split in two

when the gate was openedwas the thir teenth. This one was dead black, and in

this one nothing moved.

Oh, maybe not that you can see, but there are things moving around in there, all

right, Jake thought. Theres life in there, terrible life.

And maybe there are roses,

too. Drowned ones.

Its a Wizards Gate, Eddie said. Each bar has been made to look like one of the

balls in Maerlyns Rainbow. Look, heres the pink one.

Jake leaned toward it, hands propped on his thighs.

He knew what would be inside

even before he saw them: horses, of courses. Tiny herds of them, galloping

through that strange pink stuff that was neither light nor liquid. Horses running in

search of a Drop they would never find, mayhap.

Eddie stretched his hands out to grasp the sides of the central post, the black one.

Dont! Susannah called sharply.

Eddie ignored her, but Jake saw his chest stop for a moment and his lips tighten as

he wrapped his hands around the black bar and wait ed for somethingsome force

perhaps sent Special Delivery all the way from the Dark Tower itselfto change

him, or even to strike him dead. When nothing hap pened, he breathed deep again,

and risked a smile. No elec tricity, but … He pulled; the gate held fast. No

give, either. I see where it splits down the middle, but I get nothing. Want to take a

shot, Roland

Roland reached for the gate, but Jake put a hand on his arm and stopped him

before the gunslinger could do more than give it a prelimi nary shake. Dont

bother. Thats not the way.

Then what is

Instead of answering, Jake sat down in front of the gate, near the place where this

strange version of 1-70 ended, and began putting on the shoes which had been left

for him. Eddie watched a moment, then sat down beside him. I guess we ought to

try it, he said to Jake, even though itll probably turn out to be just another

bumhug.

Jake laughed, shook his head, and began to tighten the laces of the blood-red

Oxfords. He and Eddie both knew it was no bumhug. Not this time.

5 

Okay, Jake said when they had all put on their red shoes (he thought they looked

extraordinarily stupid, especially Eddies pair). Ill count to three, and well click our heels together. Like this. He clicked the Ox fords together once, sharply …

and the gate shivered like a loosely fas tened shut ter blown by a strong wind.

Susannah cried out. There followed a low, sweet chiming sound from the Green

Palace, as if the walls them selves had vibrated.

I guess thisll do the trick, all right, Eddie said. I warn you, though, Im not

singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Thats not in my contract.

The rainbow is here, the gunslinger said softly, stretching his di minished hand

out to the gate.

It wiped the smile off Eddies face. Yeah, I know. Im a little scared, Roland.

So am I, the gunslinger said, and indeed, Jake thought he looked pale and ill.

Go on, sugar, Susannah said. Count before we all lose our nerve. One

two

three.

They clicked their heels together solemnly and in unison: tock, tock, tock. The gate shivered more violently this time, the colors in the uprights brightening

perceptibly. The chime that followed was higher, sweeter the sound of fine

crystal tapped with the haft of a knife. It echoed in dreamy harmonics that made

Jake shiver, half with pleasure and half with pain.

But the gate didnt open.

What Eddie began.

I know, Jake said. We forgot Oy.

Oh Christ, Eddie said. I left the world I knew to watch a kid try to put booties

on a fucked-up weasel. Shoot me, Roland, before I breed.

Roland ignored him, watching Jake closely as the boy sat down on the turnpike

and called, Oy! To me!

The bumbler came willingly enough, and although he had surely been a wild

creature before they had met him on the Path of the Beam, he al lowed Jake to slip

the red leather booties onto his paws without mak ing trouble: in fact, once he got

the idea, he stepped into the last two. When all four of the little red shoes were in

place (they looked, in fact, the most like Dorothys ru by slippers), Oy sniffed at

one of them, then looked at tentively back at Jake.

Jake clicked his heels together three times, look ing at the bumbler as he did so,

ignoring the rattle of the gate and the soft chime from the walls of the Green

Palace.

You, Oy!

Oy!

He rolled over on his back like a dog playing dead, then simply looked at his own

feet with a kind of disgusted bewilderment.

Looking at him, Jake had a sharp

memory: trying to pat his stomach and rub his head at the same time, and his

father making fun of him when he couldnt do it right away.

Roland, help me. He knows what hes supposed to do, but he doesnt know how to

do it. Jake glanced up at Eddie. And dont make any smart remarks, okay

No, Eddie said. No smart remarks, Jake. Do you think just Oy has to do it this

time, or is it still a group effort

Just him, I think.

But it wouldnt hurt us to kind of click along with Mitch,

Susan nah said.

Mitch who Eddie asked, looking blank.

Never mind. Go on, Jake, Roland. Give us a count again.

Eddie grasped Oys forepaws. Roland gently grasped the bumblers rear paws. Oy looked nervous at thisas if he perhaps expect ed to be swung briskly into the air and given the old heave-hobut he didnt struggle.

One, two, three.

Jake and Roland gently patted Oys forepaws and rear paws together in unison. At

the same time they clicked the heels of their own footwear. Eddie and Susannah

did the same.

This time the harmonic was a deep, sweet bong, like a glass church bell. The black glass bar running down the center of the gate did not split open but shattered,

spraying crumbs of obsidian glass in all direc tions.Some rattled against Oys hide. He sprang up in a hurry, yanking out of Jakes and

Rolands grip and trotting a little distance away. He sat on the broken white line

between the travel lane and the passing lane of the high way, his ears laid back,

looking at the gate and panting.

Come on, Roland said. He went to the left wing of the gate and pushed it slowly

open. He stood at the edge of the mirror courtyard, a tall, lanky man in cowpoke

jeans, an ancient shirt of no particular color, and improbable red cowboy boots.

Lets go in and see what the Wizard of Oz has to say for himself.

If hes still here, Eddie said.

Oh, I think hes here, Roland murmured. Yes, I think hes here.

He ambled toward the main door with the empty sentry-box beside it. The others

followed, welded to their own downward reflec tions by the red shoes like sets of Siamese twins.

Oy came last, skipping nimbly along in his ruby slippers, pausing once to sniff

down at his own reflected snout.

Oy! he cried to the humbler floating below him, and then hurried after Jake.

CHAPTER III

the wizard

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

1

Roland stopped at the sentry-box, glanced in, then picked up the thing which was

lying on the floor. The others caught up with him and clustered around. It had

looked like a newspaper, and that was just what it was … although an

exceedingly odd one. No Topeka CapitalJournal this, and no news of a

population-levelling plague.

The Oy Daily Buzz

Vol. MDLXVDI No. 96 Daily Buzz, Daily Buzz, Handsome Iz as Handsome

Duuzz Weather: Here today, gone tomorrow Lucky Numbers: None Prognosis:

Bad

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah blah blah yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak

yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak blah blah blah good is bad bad is good all the

stuffs the same good is bad bad is good all the stuffs the same go slow past the

drawers all the stuffs the same blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Blame is a

pain all the stuffs the same yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak yak charyou tree

all the stuffs the same blah yak blah blah yak yak blah blah blah yak yak yak

baked turkey cooked goose all the stuffs the same blah blah yak yak ride a train

die in pain all the stuffs the same blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah blah blame blame blame blame blame blame blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah yak yak blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. (Related

story p. 6)

Below this was a picture of Roland, Eddie, Su sannah, and Jake cross ing the

mirrored courtyard, as if this had happened the day before instead of only minutes ago. Beneath it was a caption reading: Tragedy in Oz: Travellers Arrive Seeking

Fame and Fortune; Find Death Instead.

I like that, Eddie said, adjusting Rolands re volver in the holster he wore low on his hip. Comfort and encouragement after days of confu sion. Like a hot drink on a cold fucking night.

Dont be afraid of this, Roland said. This is a joke.

Im not afraid, Eddie said, but its a little more than a joke. I lived with Henry

Dean for a lot of years, and I know when theres a plot to psych me out afoot. I

know it very well. He looked curiously at Roland. I hope you dont mind me

saying this, but you re the one who looks scared, Roland.

Im terrified, Roland said simply.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

2

The arched entryway made Susannah think of a song which had been popular ten

years or so before she had been yanked out of her world and into Rolands. Saw an

eyeball peepin through a smoky cloud behind the Green Door, the lyric went.

When I said Joe sent me,  someone laughed out loud behind the Green Door.

There were actually two doors here in stead of one, and no peephole through

which an eyeball could look in ei ther. Nor did Su sannah try that old speakeasy

deal about how Joe had sent her. She did, however, bend forward to read the sign

hanging from one of the circular glass door-pulls.

bell out of order, please knock,

it said.

Dont bother, she said to Roland, who had actu ally doubled up his fist to do as

the sign said. Its from the story, thats all.

Eddie pulled her chair back slightly, stepped in front of it, and took hold of the

circular pulls. The doors opened easily, the hinges rolling in silence. He took a

step forward into what looked like a shadowy green grotto, cupped his hands to his mouth, and called: Hey!

The sound of his voice rolled away and came back changed

small, echoing, lost.

Dying, it seemed.

Christ, Eddie said. Do we have to do this

If we want to get back to the Beam, I think so. Roland looked paler than ever,

but he led them in. Jake helped Eddie lift Susan nahs chair over the sill (a milky block of jade-colored glass) and inside. Oys little shoes flashed dim red on the

green glass floor. They had gone only ten paces when the doors slammed shut

behind them with a no-question-about-it boom that rolled past them and went

echoing away into the depths of the Green Palace.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

3

There was no reception room; only a vaulted, cavernous hallway that seemed to go on forever. The walls were lit with a faint green glow.

This is just like the hallway

in the movie, Jake thought, the one where the Cow ardly Lion got so scared when

he stepped on his own tail.

And, adding a little extra touch of verisimilitude Jake could have done without,

Eddie spoke up in a trembly (and better than passable) Bert Lahr imitation: Wait a minute, fellas, I wuz just thinkinI really dont wanna see the Wizard this much.

I better wait for you outside!

Stop it, Jake said sharply.

Oppit! Oy agreed. He walked directly at Jakes heel, swinging his head

watchfully from side to side as he went. Jake could hear no sound except for their

own passage

yet he sensed something: a sound that wasnt. It was, he thought,

like looking at a wind-chime that wants only the slightest puff of breeze to set it tinkling.

Sorry, Eddie said. Really. He pointed. Look down there.

About forty yards ahead of them, the green corridor did end, in a nar row green

doorway of amazing heightperhaps thirty feet from the floor to its pointed tip.

And from behind it, Jake could now hear a steady thrumming sound. As they drew

closer and the sound grew louder, his dread grew.

He had to make a conscious

effort to take the last dozen steps to the door. He knew this sound; he knew it from

the run hed made with Gasher under Lud, and from the run he and his friends had

made on Blaine the Mono. It was the steady beatbeat-beat of slotrans engines.

Its like a nightmare, he said in a small, close-totears voice. Were right back

where we started.

No, Jake, the gunslinger said, touching his hair.

Never think it. What you feel is

an illusion. Stand and be true.

The sign on this door wasnt from the movie, and only Susannah knew it was from

Dante. abandon hope, all ye who enter here, it said.

Roland reached out with his two-fingered right hand and pulled the thirty-foot

door open.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

4

What lay beyond it was, to the eyes of Jake, Susan nah, and Eddie, a weird

combination of The Wizard of Oz and Blaine the Mono. A thick mg (pale blue,

like the one in the Barony Coach) lay on the floor. The chamber was like the nave

of a cathedral, soaring to impenetrable heights of greenish-black. The pillars

which supported the glowing walls were great glass ribs of alternating green and pink light; the pink was the exact shade of Blaines hull. Jake saw these supporting

pillars had been carven with a billion different images, none of them comforting;

they jostled the eye and unsettled the heart. There seemed to be a preponderance

of screaming faces.

Ahead of them, dwarfing the visitors, turning them into creatures that seemed no

bigger than ants, was the chambers only furnish ing: an enor mous green glass

throne. Jake tried to estimate its size and was un able he had no reference-points

to help him. He thought that the thrones back might be fifty feet high, but it could

as easily have been seventy-five or a hundred. It was marked with the open eye

symbol, this time traced in red instead of yellow.

The rhythmic thrusting of the

light made the eye seem alive; to be beating like a heart.Above the throne, rising like the pipes of a mighty medieval organ, were thirteen

great cylinders, each pulsing a different color.

Each, that was, save for the pipe

which ran directly down in back of the thrones cen ter. That one was black as

midnight and as still as death.

Hey! Susannah shouted from her chair. Anyone here

At the sound of her voice, the pipes flashed so bril liantly that Jake had to shield

his eyes. For a moment the entire throneroom glared like an ex ploding rainbow.

Then the pipes went out, went dark, went dead, just as the wizards glass in

Rolands story had done when the glass (or the force inhabiting the glass) decided

to shut up for awhile. Now there was only the column of blackness, and the steady

green pulse of the empty throne.

Next, a somehow tired humming sound, as of a very old servomechanism being

called into use one final time, began to whine its way into their ears. Panels, each

at least six feet long and two feet wide, slid open in the arms of the throne. From

the black slots thus revealed, a rose-colored smoke began to drift out and up. As it rose, it darkened to a bright red. And in it, a terribly familiar zigzag line appeared.

Jake knew what it was even before the words {Lud Candleton Rilea The Falls of the Hounds Dasherville Topeka)

appeared, glowing smoke-bright.

It was Blaines routemap.

Roland could say all he wanted about how things had changed, how Jakes feeling

of being trapped in a nightmare

{this is the worst nightmare of my life, and that is the truth)

was just an illusion created by his confused mind and frightened heart, but Jake knew better. This place might look a little bit like the throneroom of Oz the Great

and Terrible, but it was really Blaine the Mono.

They were back aboard Blaine,

and soon the riddling would begin all over again.

Jake felt like screaming.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

5

Eddie recognized the voice that boomed out of the smoky routemap hanging

above the green throne, but he believed it was Blaine the Mono no more than he

believed it was the Wizard of Oz. Some wizard, perhaps, but this wasnt the

Emerald City, and Blaine was just as dead as dogshit. Eddie had sent him home

with a fuckin rupture.

HELLO THERE AGAIN, LITTLE TRAILHANDS!

The smoky routemap pulsed, but Eddie no longer associated it with the voice,

although he guessed they were supposed to. No, the voice was coming from the

pipes.

He glanced down, saw Jakes paper-white face, and knelt beside him. If scrap,

kid, he said.

N-No

its Blaine

not dead



Hes dead, all right. This is nothing but an ampli fied version of the after-school

announcements … whos got detention and whos supposed to report to Room Six for Speech Therapy. You dig

What Jake looked up at him, lips wet and trem bling, eyes dazed. What do

you

Those pipes are speakers. Even a pipsqueak can sound big through a twelvespeak

er Dolby sound-system; dont you re member the movie It has to sound big because its a bumhug, Jakejust a bumhug.

WHAT ARE YOU TELLING HIM, EDDIE OF NEW

YORK ONE OF YOUR

STUPID, NASTY-MINDED LITTLE JOKES ONE

OF YOUR UNFAIR

RIDDLES

Yeah, Eddie said. The one that goes, How many dipolar comput ers does it

take to screw in a lightbulb Who are you, buddy 1

know goddam well youre

not Blaine the Mono, so who are you

I

AM … Oz! the voice thundered. The glass columns flashed; so did the

pipes behind the throne. OZ THE GREAT! OZ THE

POWERFUL! WHO ARE

YOU

Susannah rolled forward until her wheelchair was at the base of the dull green

steps leading up to a throne that would have dwarfed even Lord Perth.

Im Susannah Dean, the small and crippled, she said, and I was raised to be

polite, but not to suffer bullshit. Were here be cause were spozed to be herewhy else did we get left the shoes

WHAT DO YOU WANT OF ME, SUSANNAH

WHAT WOULD YOU

HAVE, LITTLE COWGIRL

You know, she said. We want what everyone wants, so far as I knowto go

back home again, cause theres no place like home.

We

You cant go home, Jake said. He spoke in a rapid, frightened murmur. You

cant go home again, Thomas Wolfe said that, and that is the truth.

Its a lie, sug, Susannah said. A flat-out lie. You can go home again. All you

have to do is find the right rainbow and walk under it. Weve found it; the rest is

just, you know, footwork.

WOULD YOU GO BACK TO NEW YORK, SUSAN

NAH DEAN EDDIE

DEAN JAKE CHAMBERS IS THAT WHAT YOU

ASK OF OZ, THE

MIGHTY AND POWERFUL

New York isnt home for us anymore, Susannah said. She looked very small yet

very fearless as she sat in her new wheelchair at the foot of the enormous, pulsing

throne. No more than Gilead is home for Roland. Take us back to the Path of the

Beam. Thats where we want to go, be cause thats our way home. Only way home

we got.

GO AWAY! cried the voice from the pipes. GO

AWAY AND COME BACK

TOMORROW! WELL DISCUSS THE BEAM

THEN! FIDDLE-DE-DEE, SAID

SCARLETT, WELL TALK ABOUT THE BEAM TO

MORROW, FOR

TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY!

No, Eddie said. Well talk about it now.

DO NOT AROUSE THE WRATH OF THE GREAT

AND POW ERFUL OZ!

the voice cried, and the pipes flashed furiously with each word. Susannah was sure

this was supposed to be scary, but she found it al most amusing, instead. It was like watching a salesman demonstrate a childs toy.

Hey, kids! When you talk, the pipes flash bright colors! Try it and see!

Sugar, you best listen, now, Susannah said.

What you dont want to do is arouse the wrath of folks with guns. Especially when you be livin in a glass house.

I SAID COME BACK TOMORROW!

Red smoke once more began to boil out of the slots in the arms of the throne. It

was thicker now. The shape which had been Blaines routemap melted apart and

joined it. The smoke formed a face, this time. It was nar row and hard and

watchful, framed by long hair.

Its the man Roland shot in the desert, Susannah thought wonderingly. Its that

man Jonas. I know it is.

Now Oz spoke in a slightly trembling voice: DO

YOU PRESUME TO

THREATEN THE GREAT OZ The lips of the huge, smoky face hovering over

the thrones seat parted in a snarl of mingled men ace and contempt. YOU

UNGRATEFUL CREATURES! OH, YOU UN

GRATE FUL CREATURES!

Eddie, who knew smoke and mirrors when he saw them, had glanced in another

direction. His eyes widened and he gripped Su sannahs arm above the elbow.

Look, he whispered. Christ, Suze, look at Oy!

The billy-bumbler had no interest in smokeghosts, whether they were monorail routemaps, dead Coffin Hunters, or just Holly wood spe cial effects of the preWorld War II variety. He had seen (or smelled) something that was more

interesting.

Susannah grabbed Jake, turned him, and pointed at the bumbler. She saw the boys

eyes widen with understanding a moment be fore Oy reached the small alcove in the left wall. It was screened from the main chamber by a green curtain which

matched the glass walls. Oy stretched his long neck forward, caught the curtains

fabric in his teeth, and yanked it back.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

6

Behind the curtain red and green lights flashed; cylinders spun inside glass boxes; needles moved back and forth inside long rows of lighted di als. Yet Jake barely

noticed these things. It was the man who took all his attention, the one sitting at

the console, his back to them. His filthy hair, streaked with dirt and blood, hung to

his shoulders in matted clumps. He was wearing some sort of headset, and was

speaking into a tiny mike which hung in front of his mouth. His back was to them,

and at first he had no idea that Oy had smelled him out and uncovered his hiding

place.

GO! thundered the voice from the pipes… except now Jake saw where it was

really coming from. COME BACK TOMOR

ROW IF YOU LIKE, BUT GO

NOW! I WARN YOU!

It is Jonas, Roland must not have killed him after all,

Eddie whis pered, but Jake

knew better. He had recognized the voice. Even distorted by the amplification of

the colored pipes, he had recognized the voice.

How could he have ever believed it to be the voice of Blaine

I WARN YOU, IF YOU REFUSE

Oy barked, a sharp and somehow forbidding sound. The man in the equipment

alcove began to turn.

Tell me, cully, Jake remembered this voice say ing before its owner had discovered the dubious attractions of amplification. Tell me all you know about dipolar

computers and transitive circuits. Tell me and Ill give you a drink.

It wasnt Jonas, and it wasnt the Wizard of anything.

It was David Quicks

grandson. It was the TickTock Man.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

7

Jake stared at him, horrified. The coiled, danger ous creature who had lived

beneath Lud with his matesGasher and Hoots and Brandon and Tillywas

gone. This might have been that monsters ruined father

or grandfather. His left

eyethe one Oy had punctured with his claws

bulged white and misshapen,

partly in its socket and partly on his un shaven cheek. The right side of his head

looked half-scalped, the skull showing through in a long, triangular strip. Jake had

a distant, panic-darkened memory of a flap of skin falling over the side of TickTocks face, but he had been on the edge of hyste ria by that point

and was again

now.

Oy had also recognized the man who had tried to kill him and was barking

hysterically, head down, teeth bared, back bowed.

TickTock stared at him with

wide, stunned eyes.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain,

said a voice from behind them,

and then tittered. My friend Andrew is having an other in a long series of bad

days. Poor boy. I suppose I was wrong to bring him out of Lud, but he just looked

so lost

 The owner of the voice tittered again.

Jake swung around and saw that there was now a man sitting in the middle of the

great throne, with his legs casually crossed in front of him. He was wearing jeans,

a dark jacket that belted at the waist, and old, run down cowboy boots. On his

jacket was a button that showed a pigs head with a bullethole between the eyes. In

his lap this newcomer held a draw string bag. He rose, standing in the seat of the

throne like a child in daddys chair, and the smile dropped away from his face like

loose skin. Now his eyes blazed, and his lips parted over vast, hungry teeth.

Get them, Andrew! Get them! Kill them! Every sis ter-fucking one of them!

My life for you! the man in the alcove screamed, and for the first time Jake saw

the machine-gun propped in the comer. TickTock sprang for it and snatched it up.

My life for you!

He turned, and Oy was on him once again, leaping forward and up ward, sinking

his teeth deep into TickTocks left thigh, just below the crotch.

Eddie and Susannah drew in unison, each rais ing one of Rolands big guns. They fired in concert, not even the smallest overlap in the sound of their shots. One of

them tore off the top of TickTocks miserable head, buried itself in the equipment, and created a loud but mercifully brief snarl of feedback. The other took him in the throat.

He staggered forward one step, then two. Oy dropped to the floor and backed

away from him, snarling. A third step took TickTock out into the throneroom

proper. He raised his arms toward Jake, and the boy could read Tickys hatred in

his remaining green eye; the boy thought he could hear the mans last, hateful

thought: Oh, you fucking little squint

Then TickTock collapsed forward, as he had col lapsed in the Cradle of the Grays

… only this time he would rise no more.

Thus fell Lord Perth, and the earth did shake with that thunder, said the man on

the throne.

Except hes not a man, Jake thought. Not a man at all. Weve found the Wizard at

last, I think. And Im pretty sure I know whats in the bag he has.

Marten, Roland said. He held out his left hand, the one which was still whole.

Marten Broadcloak. After all these years. After all these centuries.

Want this, Roland

Eddie put the gun he had used to kill the TickTock Man in Rolands hand. A

tendril of blue smoke was still rising from the bar rel. Roland looked at the old

revolver as if he had never seen it before, then slowly lifted it and pointed it at the grinning, rosy-cheeked figure sitting crosslegged on the Green Palaces throne.

Finally, Roland breathed, thumbing back the trig ger. Finally in my sights.

Darktower 4 - Wizard and

Glass

8

That sixshooter will do you no good, as I think you know, the man on the

throne said. Not against me. Only misfires against me, Roland, old fellow. Hows

the family, by the way I seem to have lost touch with them over the years. I was

always such a lousy correspondent. Someone ought to take a hosswhip to me, aye, so they should!

He threw back his head and laughed. Roland pulled the trigger of the gun in his

hand. When the hammer fell there was only a dull click.

Toadjer, the man on the throne said. I think you must have gotten some of those

wet slugs in there by accident, dont you The ones with the flat powder Good for

blocking the sound of the thinny, but not so good for shooting old wizards, are

they Too bad. And your hand, Roland, look at your hand! Short a couple of

fingers, by the look. My, this has been hard on you, hasnt it Things could get

easier, though. You and your friends could have a fine, fruitful lifeand, as Jake

would say, that is the truth. No more lobstrosities, no more mad trains, no more

disquiet ingnot to mention dangeroustrips to other worlds. All you have to do is give over this stupid and hopeless quest for the Tower.

No, Eddie said.

No, Susannah said.

No, Jake said.

No! Oy said, and added a bark.

The dark man on the green throne continued to smile, unperturbed. Roland he

asked. What about you Slowly, he raised the drawstring bag. It looked dusty

and old. It hung from the wizards fist like a teardrop, and now the thing in its

pouch began to pulse with pink light. Cry off, and they need never see whats

inside thisthey need never see the last scene of that sad longago play. Cry off.

Turn from the Tower and go your way.

No, Roland said. He began to smile, and as his smile broadened, that of the man

sitting on the throne began to falter. You can en chant my guns, those of this

world, I reckon, he said.

Roland, I dont know what youre thinking of, laddie, but I warn you not to

Not to cross Oz the Great Oz the Powerful But I think I will, Marten

or

Maerlyn

or whoever you call yourself now



Flagg, actually, the man on the throne said. And weve met be fore. He smiled.

Instead of broadening his face, as smiles usual ly did, it contracted Flaggs features into a narrow and spiteful grimace. In the wreck of Gilead. You and your

surviving palsthat laughing donkey Cuthbert Allgood made one of your party, I

remember, and DeCurry, the fellow with the birthmark, made anotherwere on

your way west, to seek the Tower. Or, in the par lance of Jakes world, you were

off to see the Wizard. I know you saw me, but I doubt you knew until now that I

saw you, as well.

And will again, I reckon, Roland said. Unless, that is, I kill you now and put an

end to your interference.

Still holding his own gun out in his left hand, he went for the one tucked in the

waistband of his jeansJakes Ruger, a gun from another world and perhaps

immune to this creatures enchantmentswith his right. And he was fast as he had

always been fast, his speed blinding.

The man on the throne shrieked and cringed back. The bag fell from his lap, and

the glass ballonce held by Rhea, once held by Jonas, once held by Roland

himselfslipped out of its mouth. Smoke, green this time instead of red, billowed

from the slots in the arms of the throne. It rose in ob scuring fumes. Yet Roland

still might have shot the figure disappearing into the smoke if he had made a clean

draw. He didnt, however; the Ruger slid in the grip of his reduced hand, then

twisted. The front sight caught on his belt-buckle. It took only an extra quartersec

ond for him to free the snag, but that was the quarter-second he had needed. He

pumped three shots into the billowing smoke, then ran forward, oblivious of the

shouts of the others.

He waved the smoke aside with his hands. His shots had shattered the back of the

throne into thick green slabs of glass, but the manshaped creature which had

called itself Flagg was gone. Roland found himself al ready beginning to wonder

if heor it had been there in the first place.

The ball was still there, however, unharmed and glowing the same en ticing pink

he remembered from so long agofrom Mejis, when he had been young and in

love. This survivor of Maerlyns Rainbow had rolled almost to the edge of the

thrones seat; two more inches and it would have plunged over and shattered on

the floor. Yet it had not; still it remained, this be witched thing Susan Delgado had

first glimpsed through the win dow of Rheas hut, un der the light of the Kissing

Moon.

Roland picked it uphow well it fit his hand, how nat ural it felt against his palm,

even after all these yearsand looked into its cloudy, troubled depths. You

always did have a charmed life, he whispered to it.

He thought of Rhea as he had

seen her in this ballher ancient, laugh ing eyes. He thought of the flames from

the ReapNight bonfire rising around Susan, making her beauty shimmer in the

heat. Making it shiver like a mirage.

Wretched glam! he thought. If I dashed you to the floor, surely we would drown in

the sea of tears that would pour out of your split belly .

. . the tears of all those

youve put to ruin.

And why not do it Left whole, the nasty thing might be able to help them back to

the Path of the Beam, but Roland didnt believe they actu ally needed it. He

thought that TickTock and the creature which had called itself Flagg had been

their last challenge in that regard. The Green Palace was their door back to MidWorld

and it was theirs, now. They had conquered it by force of arms.

But you cant go yet, gunslinger. Not until youve fin ished your story, told the last

scene.

Whose voice was that Vannays No. Corts No.

Nor was it the voice of his

father, who had once turned him naked out of a whores bed. That was the hardest

voice, the one he often heard in his troubled dreams, the one he wanted so to

please and so seldom could. No, not that voice, not this time.

This time what he heard was the voice of kaka like a wind. He had told so much

of that awful fourteenth year

but he hadnt fin ished the tale. As with Detta

Walker and the Blue Ladys forspecial plate, there was one more thing. A hidden thing. The question wasnt, he saw, whether or not the five of them could find their

way out of the Green Palace and re cover the Path of the Beam; the question was

whether or not they could go on as ka-tet. If they were to do that, there could be

nothing hidden; he would have to tell them of the fi nal time he had looked into the

wizards glass in that longago year. Three nights past the welcoming banquet, it

had been. He would have to tell them

No, Roland, the voice whispered. Not just tell. Not this time. You know better.

Yes. He knew better.

Come, he said, turning to them.

They drew slowly around him, their eyes wide and fill ing with the balls flashing

pink light. Already they were half-hypnotized by it, even Oy.

We are ka-tet, Roland said, holding the ball to ward them. We are one from

many. I lost my one true love at the beginning of my quest for the Dark Tower.

Now look into this wretched thing, if you would, and see what I lost not long after.

See it once and for all; see it very well.

They looked. The ball, cupped in Rolands upraised hands, began to pulse faster. It

gathered them in and swept them away. Caught and whirled in the grip of that

pink storm, they flew over the Wizards Rain bow to the Gilead that had been.

CHAPTER. IV

the glass

Jake of New York stands in an upper corridor of the Great Hall of Gileadmore

castles, here in the green land, than Mayors House.

He looks around and sees

Susannah and Eddie standing by a tapestry, their eyes big, their hands tightly

entwined. And Susannah is standing; she has her legs back, at least for now, and

what she called cappies  have been replaced by a pair of ruby slippers exactly

like those Dorothy wore when she stepped out upon her version of the Great Road

to find the Wizard of Oz, that bumhug.

She has her legs because this is a dream, Jake thinks, but knows it is no dream. He looks down and sees Oy looking up at him with his anxious, intelligent, goldringed

eyes. He is still wearing the red booties. Jake bends and strokes Oy s head.

The feel of the humblers fur under his hand is clear and real. No, this isnt a

dream.

Yet Roland is not here, he realizes; they are four in stead of five. He realizes

something else as well: the air of this corridor is faintly pink, and small pink halos revolve around the funny, old-fashioned light bulbs that illuminate the corridor.

Something is going to happen; some story is go ing to play out in front of their

eyes. And now, as if the very thought had summoned them, the boy hears the click

of approaching footfalls.

Its a story I know, Jake thinks. One Ive been told be fore.

As Roland comes around the corner, he realizes what story it is: the one where

Marten Broadcloak stops Roland as Roland passes by on his way to the rooftop,

where it will perhaps be cooler. You, boy,  Marten will say. Come in! Dont

stand in the hall! Your mother wants to speak to you. 

But of course that isnt the

truth, was never the truth, will never be the truth, no matter how much time slips

and bends. What Marten wants is for the boy to see his mother, and to understand

that Gabrielle Deschain has become the mistress of his fathers wizard. Marten

wants to goad the boy into an early test of man hood while his father is away and

cant put a stop to it; he wants to get the puppy out of his way before it can grow

teeth long enough to bite.

Now they will see all this; the sad comedy will go its sad and pre ordained course

in front of their eyes. Im too young, Jake thinks, but of course he is not too young;

Roland will be only three years older when he comes to Mejis with his friends and meets Susan upon the Great Road. Only three years older when he loves her; only three years older when he loses her.

I dont care, I dont want to see it

And wont, he realizes as Roland draws closer; all that has already happened. For

this is not August, the time of Full Earth, but late fall or early winter. He can tell

by the serape Roland wears, a souvenir of his trip to the Outer Arc, and by the

vapor that smokes from his mouth and nose each time he exhales: no central

heating in Gilead, and its cold up here.

There are other changes as well: Roland is now wearing the guns which are his

birthright, the big ones with the sandalwood grips.

His fa ther passed them on at

the banquet, Jake thinks. He doesnt know how he knows this, but he does. And

Rolands face, although still that of a boy, is not the open, untried face of the one

who idled up this same corridor five months be fore; the boy who was ensnared by

Marten has been through much since then, and his battle with Cort has been the

very least of it.

Jake sees something else, too: the boy gunslinger is wearing the red cowboy boots.

He doesnt know it, though. Because this isnt real ly happening.

Yet somehow it is. They are inside the wizards glass, they are inside the pink

storm (those pink halos revolving around the light fixtures re mind Jake of The

Falls of the Hounds, and the moonbows revolving in the mist), and this is

happening all over again.

Roland! Eddie calls from where he and Susan nah stand by the ta pestry.

Susannah gasps and squeezes his shoulder, wanting him to be silent, but Eddie ignores her. No, Roland! Dont! Bad idea!  No!

Olan! Oy yaps.

Roland ignores both of them, and he passes by Jake a hands breadth away

without seeing him. For Roland, they are not here; red boots or no red boots, this

ka-tet is far in his future.

He stops at a door near the end of the corridor, hesitates, then raises his fist and knocks. Eddie starts down the corridor toward him, still hold ing Susannahs

hand

now he looks almost as if he is dragging her.

Come on, Jake,  says Eddie.

No, I dont want to.

Its not about what you want, and you know it. Were supposed to see. If we cant

stop him, we can at least do what we came here to do.

Now come on!

Heart heavy with dread, his stomach clenched in a knot, Jake comes along. As

they approach Rolandthe guns look enormous on his slim hips, and his unlined

but already tired face somehow makes Jake feel like weepingthe gunslinger

knocks again.

She aint there, sugar! Susannah shouts at him.

She aint there or she aint

answering the door, and which one it is dont mat ter to you! Leave it! Leave her!

She aint worth it! Just bein your mother dont make her worth it! Go away!

But he doesnt hear her, either, and he doesnt go away. As Jake, Eddie, Susannah,

and Oy gather unseen behind him, Roland tries the door to his mothers room and

finds it unlocked. He opens it, revealing a shad owy chamber decorated with silk

hangings. On the floor is a rug that looks like the Per sians beloved of Jakes

mother … only this rug, Jake knows, comes from the Province of Kashamin.

On the far side of the parlor, by a window which has been shuttered against the

winter winds, Jake sees a low-backed chair and knows it is the one she was in on

the day of Rolands manhood test; it is where she was sitting when her son

observed the love-bite on her neck.

The chair is empty now, but as the gunslinger takes another step into the room and

turns to look toward the apartments bedroom, Jake ob serves a pair of

shoesblack, not redbeneath the drapes flanking the shuttered window.

Roland! he shouts. Roland, behind the drapes!

Someone behind the drapes!

Look out!

But Roland doesnt hear.

Mother  he calls, and even his voice is the same, Jake would know it anywhere

… but it is such a magically freshened version of it! Young and uncracked by all

the years of dust and wind and cigarette smoke.

Mother, its Roland! I want to

talk to you!

Still no answer. He walks down the short hall which leads to the bed room. Part of

Jake wants to stay here in the parlor, to go to that drape and yank it aside, but he

knows this isnt the way its supposed to go. Even if he tried, he doubts it would do

any good; his hand would likely pass right through, like the hand of a ghost.

Come on,  Eddie says. Stay with him.

They go in a cluster that might have been comic un der other circum stances. Not

under these; here it is a case of three people des perate for the comfort of friends.

Roland stands looking at the bed against the rooms left wall. He looks at it as if

hypnotized. Perhaps he is trying to imagine Marten in it with his mother; perhaps he is remembering Susan, with whom he never slept in a proper bed, let alone a canopied luxury such as this. Jake can see the gun slingers dim profile in a threepan eled mirror across the room, in an alcove. This triple glass stands in front of a

small table the boy recognizes from his mothers side of his parents bedroom; it is a vanity.

The gunslinger shakes himself and comes back from whatever thoughts have

seized his mind. On his feet are those terrible boots; in this dim light, they look

like the boots of a man who has walked through a creek of blood.

Mother!

He takes a step toward the bed and actually bends a little, as if he thinks she might be hiding under it. If shes been hiding, however, it wasnt there; the shoes which

Jake saw beneath the drape were womens shoes, and the shape which now stands

at the end of the short corridor, just out side the bedroom door, is wearing a

dress. Jake can see its hem.

And he sees more than that. Jake understands Rolands troubled rela tionship with his mother and father better than Eddie or Su sannah ever could, because Jakes

own parents are peculiarly like them: Elmer Cham bers is a gunslinger for the

Network, and Megan Chambers has a long histo ry of sleeping with sick friends.

This is nothing Jake has been told, but he knows, somehow; he has shared khef

with his mother and father, and he knows what he knows.

He knows something about Roland, as well: that he saw his mother in the wizards

glass. It was Gabrielle Deschain, fresh back from her retreat in Debaria,

Gabrielle who would confess to her husband the er rors of her ways and her

thinking after the banquet, who would cry his par don and beg to be taken back to

his bed… and, when Steven drowsed after their lovemaking, she would bury the

knife in his breast … or perhaps only lightly scratch his arm with it, not even

waking him. With that knife, it would come to the same either way.

Roland had seen it all in the glass before finally turning the wretched thing over to his father, and Roland had put a stop to it. To save Steven Deschain s life, Eddie

and Susannah would have said, had they seen so far into the business, but Jake

has the unhappy wisdom of unhappy chil dren and sees further. To save his

mothers life as well. To give her one last chance to recover her sanity, one last

chance to stand at her hus bands side and be true.

One last chance to repent of

Marten Broadcloak.

Surely she will, surely she must! Roland saw her face that day, how unhappy she

was, and surely she must! Surely she cannot have chosen the magician! If he can

only make her see …

So, unaware that he has once more lapsed into the unwisdom of the very

youngRoland cannot grasp that unhappiness and shame are often no match for

desirehe has come here to speak to his mother, to beg her to come back to her

husband before its too late. He has saved her from herself once, he will tell her,

but he cannot do it again.

And if she still wont go, Jake thinks, or tries to brave it out, pretend she doesnt

know what hes talking about, hell give her a choice: leave Gilead with his

helpnow, tonightor be clapped in chains tomor row morning, a traitor so

outrageous she will almost certainly be hung as Hax the cook was hung.

Mother  he calls, still unaware of the shape standing in the shad ows behind

him. He takes one further step into the room, and now the shape moves. The shape

raises its hands. There is something in its hands.

Not a gun, Jake can tell that

much, but it has a deadly look to it, a snaky look, somehow

Roland, watch out! Susannah shrieks, and her voice is like a magi cal switch.

There is something on the dressing tablethe glass, of course;

Gabrielle has stolen it, its what she II bring to her lover as a consolation prize

for the murder her son preventedand now it lights as if in re sponse to

Susannahs voice. It sprays brilliant pink light up the triple mir ror and casts its

glow back into the room. In that light, in that triple glass, Roland finally sees the

figure behind him.

Christ! Eddie Dean shrieks, horrified. Oh Christ, Roland! Thats not your

mother! Thats

Its not even a woman, not really, not anymore; it is a kind of living corpse in a

road-filthy black dress. There are only a few strag gling tufts of hair left on her

head and theres a gaping hole where her nose used to be, but her eyes still blaze,

and the snake she holds wriggling between her hands is very lively. Even in his

own horror, Jake has time to wonder if she got it from under the same rock where

she found the one Roland killed.

It is Rhea who has been waiting for the gunslinger in his mothers apartment; it is

the Coos, come not just to retrieve her glam but to finish with the boy who has

caused her so much trouble.

Now, ye trollops get! she cries shrilly, cackling.

Now yell pay!

But Roland has seen her, in the glass he has seen her, Rhea betrayed by the very

ball she came to take back, and now he is whirling, his hands dropping to his new

guns with all their deadly speed. He is fourteen, his reflexes are the sharpest and

quickest they II ever be, and he goes off like ex ploding gunpowder.

No, Roland, dont! Susannah screams. Its a trick, its a glam!

Jake has just time to look from the mirror to the wom an actually standing in the

doorway; has just time to realize he, too, has been tricked.

Perhaps Roland also understands the truth at the last split-second that the

woman in the doorway really is his mother after all, that the thing in her hands

isnt a snake but a belt, something she has made for him, a peace offering,

mayhap, that the glass has lied to him in the only way it can

by reflection.

In any case, its too late. The guns are out and thun dering, their bright yellow

flashes lighting the room. He pulls the trigger of each gun twice before he can

stop, and the four slugs drive Gabrielle Deschain back into the corridor with the

hopeful can-we-make-peace smile still on her face.

She dies that way, smiling.

Roland stands where he is, the smoking guns in his hands, his face cramped in a

grimace of surprise and horror, just beginning to get the truth of what he must

carry with him the rest of his life: he has used the guns of his father to kill his

mother.

Now cackling laughter fills the room. Roland does not turn; he is frozen by the

woman in the blue dress and black shoes who lies bleeding in the corridor of her

apartment; the woman he came to save and has killed, instead. She lies with the hand-woven belt draped across her bleed ing stom ach.

Jake turns for him, and is not surprised to see a green-faced woman in a pointed

black hat swimming inside the hall. It is the Wicked Witch of the East; it is also, he

knows, Rhea of the Coos. She stares at the boy with the guns in his hands and

bares her teeth at him in the most terrible grin Jake has ever seen in his life.

Ive burned the stupid girl ye lovedaye, burned her alive, I did and now Ive

made ye a matricide. Do ye repent of killing my snake yet, gunslinger My poor,

sweet Ermot Do ye regret playing yer hard games with one more trig than ye II ever be in yer miserable life 

He gives no sign that he hears, only stares at his la dy mother. Soon he will go to

her, kneel by her, but not yet; not yet.

The face in the ball now turns toward the three pil grims, and as it does it changes,

becomes old and bald and raddledbecomes, in fact, the face Roland saw in the

lying mirror. The gunslinger has been unable to see his future friends, but Rhea

sees them; aye, she sees them very well.

Cry it off!  she croaksit is the caw of a raven sit ting on a leafless branch

beneath a winter-dimmed sky. Cry it off! Re nounce the Tower!

Never, you bitch,  Eddie says.

Ye see what he is! What a monster he is! And this is only the beginning of it, ye

ken! Ask him what happened to Cuthbert! To Alain Alain s touch, clever as

twas, saved him not in the end, so it didnt! Ask him what happened to Jamie De

Curry! He never had a friend he didnt kill, never had a lover whos not dust in the

wind!

Go your way,  Susannah says, and leave us to ours. 

Rheas green, cracked lips twist in a horrible sneer.

Hes killed his own mother!

What will he do to you, ye stupid brown-skinned bitch 

He didnt kill her,  Jake said. You killed her. Now go!

Jake takes a step toward the ball, meaning to pick it up and dash it to the floor …

and he can do that, he realizes, for the ball is real.

Its the one thing in this vision

that is. But before he can put his hands to it, it flash es a soundless explosion of

pink light. Jake throws his hands up in front of his face to keep from being

blinded, and then he is

(melting Im melting what a world oh what a world) falling, he is being whirled down through the pink storm, out of Oz and back to

Kansas, out of Oz and back to Kansas, out of Oz and back to

CHAPTER V

THE PATH OF

THE BEAM

1 home, Eddie muttered. His voice sounded thick and punch-drunk to his own

ears. Back home, because theres no place like home, no indeed.

He tried to open his eyes and at first couldnt. It was as if they were glued shut. He

put the heel of his hand to his forehead and pushed up, tightening the skin on his

face. It worked; his eyes popped open. He saw nei ther the throneroom of the

Green Palace nor (and this was what he had really expected) the richly appointed

but somehow claustrophobic bed room in which he had just been.

He was outside, lying in a small clearing of win ter-white grass. Nearby was a little grove of trees, some still with their last brown leaves clinging to the branches.

And one branch with an odd white leaf, an al bino leaf. There was a pretty trickle

of running water farther into the grove. Standing abandoned in the high grass was

Susannahs new and im proved wheelchair. There was mud on the tires, Eddie

saw, and a few late leaves, crispy and brown, caught in the spokes. A few

swatches of grass, too. Overhead was a skyful of still white clouds, every bit as

interesting as a laundry-basket full of sheets.

The sky was clear when we went inside the Palace, he thought, and realized time

had slipped again. How much or how little, he wasnt sure he wanted to

knowRolands world was like a transmission with its gear-teeth all but stripped

away; you never knew when time was going to pop into neutral or race you away

in overdrive.

Was this Rolands world, though And if it was, how had they gotten back to it

How should I know Eddie croaked, and got slowly to his feet, wincing as he

did so. He didnt think he was hungover, but his legs were sore and he felt as if he

had just taken the worlds heaviest Sunday after noon nap.

Roland and Susannah lay on the ground under the trees. The gunslinger was

stirring, but Susannah lay on her back, arms spread extravagantly wide, snoring in an unladylike way that made Eddie grin. Jake was nearby, with Oy sleeping on his side by one of the kids knees. As Eddie looked at them, Jake opened his eyes and

sat up. His gaze was wide but blank; he was awake, but had been so heavily asleep

he didnt know it yet.

Gruz, Jake said, and yawned.

Yep, Eddie said, that works for me. He turned in a slow circle, and had gotten

three quarters of the way back to where hed started when he saw the Green Palace

on the horizon. From here it looked very small, and its brilliance had been robbed

by the sunless day. Eddie guessed it might be thir ty miles away. Leading toward

them from that direction were the tracks of Susan nahs wheelchair.

He could hear the thinny, but faintly. He thought he could see it, as wella

quicksilver shimmer like bogwater, stretching across the flat, open land… and finally drying up about five miles away. Five miles west of here Given the

location of the Green Palace and the fact that they had been travelling east on 170, that was the natural assumption, but who re ally knew, especially with no

visible sun to use for orientation Wheres the turnpike Jake asked. His voice sounded thick and gummy. Oy

joined him, stretching first one rear leg, then the oth er. Eddie saw he had lost one

of his booties at some point.

Maybe it was cancelled due to lack of interest.

I dont think were in Kansas anymore, Jake said.

Eddie looked at him sharply,

but didnt believe the kid was consciously riffing on The Wizard of Oz. Not the

one where the Kansas City Royals play, not the one where the Monarchs play,

either.

What gives you that idea

Jake hoisted a thumb toward the sky, and when Ed die looked up, he saw that he

had been wrong: it wasnt all still white overcast, bor ing as a basket of sheets.

Directly above their heads, a band of clouds was moiling toward the horizon as

steadily as a conveyor belt.

They were back on the Path of the Beam.

2 

Eddie Where you at, sugar

Eddie looked down from the lane of clouds in the sky and saw Susan nah sitting

up, rubbing the back of her neck. She looked unsure of where she was. Perhaps

even of who she was. The red cappies she was wearing looked oddly dull in this

light, but they were still the brightest things in Ed dies view

until he looked

down at his own feet and saw the street-boppers with their Cuban heels. Yet these

also looked dull, and Eddie no longer thought it was just the days cloudy light that

made them seem so. He looked at Jakes shoes, Oys remaining three slippers,

Rolands cow boy boots (the gunslinger was sitting up now, arms crossed around

his knees, looking blankly off into the distance). All the same ruby red, but a

lifeless red, somehow. As if some magic essen tial to them had been used up.

Suddenly, Eddie wanted them off his feet.

He sat down beside Susannah, gave her a kiss, and said: Good morning, Sleeping

Beauty. Or afternoon, if its that. Then, quickly, almost hating to touch them (it

was like touching dead skin, somehow), Eddie yanked off the street-boppers. As

he did, he saw that they were scuffed at the toes and muddy at the heels, no longer

new looking. Hed wondered how theyd gotten here; now, feeling the ache in the muscles of his legs and remembering the wheelchair tracks, he knew. They had walked, by God. Walked in their sleep.

That, Susannah said, is the best idea youve had since … well, in a long time.

She stripped off the cappies. Close by, Eddie saw Jake tak ing off Oys booties.

Were we there Susannah asked him. Eddie, were we really there when he



When I killed my mother, Roland said. Yes, you were there. As I was. Gods

help me, I was there. I did it. He covered his face with his hands and began to

voice a series of harsh sobs.

Susannah crawled across to him in that agile way that was almost a version of

walking. She put an arm around him and used her other hand to take his hands

away from his face. At first Roland didnt want to let her do that, but she was

persistent, and at last his handsthose killers handscame down, revealing

haunted eyes which swam with tears.

Susannah urged his face down against her shoul der. Be easy, Roland, she said.

Be easy and let it go. This part is over now. You past it.

A man doesnt get past such a thing, Roland said.

No, I dont think so. Not

ever.

You didnt kill her, Eddie said.

Thats too easy. The gunslingers face was still against Susannahs shoulder, but

his words were clear enough. Some responsibil ities cant be shirked. Some sins

cant be shirked. Yes, Rhea was therein a way, at leastbut I cant shift it all to

the Coos, much as I might like to.

It wasnt her, either, Eddie said. Thats not what I mean.

Roland raised his head. What in hells name are you talking about

Ka,  Eddie said. Ka like a wind.

3 In their packs there was food none of them had put therecookies with Keebler

elves on the packages, Saran Wrapped sandwich es that looked like the kind you

could get (if you were desperate, that was) from turnpike vending machines, and a

brand of cola neither Eddie, Susannah, nor Jake knew. It tasted like Coke and came in a red and white can, but the brand was NozzA-La.

They ate a meal with their backs to the grove and their faces to the distant glamgleam

of the Green Palace, and called it lunch. If we start to lose the light in an

hour or so, we can make it supper by voice vote, Ed die thought, but he didnt

believe theyd need to. His interior clock was run ning again now, and that

mysterious but usually accurate device sug gested that it was early afternoon.

At one point he stood up and raised his soda, smil ing into an invisible camera.

When Im travelling through the Land of Oz in my new Takuro Spirit, I drink

Nozz-A-La! he proclaimed. It fills me up but nev er fills me out! It makes me

happy to be a man! It makes me know God! It gives me the outlook of an angel

and the balls of a tiger! When I drink Nozz-A-La, I say Gosh! Aint I glad to be

alive! I say

Sit down, you bumhug, Jake said, laughing.

Ug, Oy agreed. His snout was on Jakes ankle, and he was watch ing the boys

sandwich with great interest.

Eddie started to sit, and then that strange albino leaf caught his eye again. Thats

no leaf, he thought, and walked over to it. No, not a leaf but a scrap of paper. He

turned it over and saw columns of blah blah and yak yak and all the stuffs the

same. Usually newspapers werent blank on one side, but Eddie wasnt surprised

to find this one wasthe Oz Daily Buzz had only been a prop, after all.

Nor was the blank side blank. Printed on it in neat, careful letters, was this

message:

Below that, a little drawing:

Eddie brought the note back to where the others were eating. Each of them looked

at it. Roland held it last, ran his thumb over it thought fully, feeling the texture of

the paper, then gave it back to Eddie.

R.F., Eddie said. The man who was running TickTock. This is from him, isnt

it

Yes. He must have brought the TickTock Man out of Lud.

Sure, Jake said darkly. That guy Flagg looked like someone whod know a firstclass

bumhug when he found one. But how did they get here before us What

could be faster than Blaine the Mono, for cripes sake

A door, Eddie said. Maybe they came through one of those special doors.

Bingo, Susannah said. She held her hand out, palm up, and Eddie slapped it.

In any case, what he suggests is not bad advice,

Roland said. I urge you to

consider it most seriously. And if you want to go back to your world, I will allow

you to go.

Roland, I cant believe you, Eddie said. This, af ter you dragged me and Suze

over here, kicking and screaming You know what my brother would say about

you That youre as contrary as a hog on iceskates.

I did what I did before I learned to know you as friends, Roland said. Before I

learned to love you as I loved Alain and Cuthbert. And be fore I was forced to

to revisit certain scenes. Doing that has

 He paused, looking down at his feet

(he had put his old boots back on again) and thinking hard. At last he looked up

again. There was a part of me that hadnt moved or spoken in a good many years.

1 thought it was dead. It isnt. I have learned to love again, and Im aware that this

is probably my last chance to love. Im slowVan nay and Cort knew that; so did

my fatherbut Im not stupid.

Then dont act that way, Eddie said. Or treat us as if we were.

What you call the bottom line, Eddie, is this: I get my friends killed. And Im not

sure I can even risk doing that again. Jake espe cially… I

never mind. I dont

have the words. For the first time since I turned around in a dark room and killed

my mother, I may have found something more im portant than the Tower. Leave it

at that.

All right, I guess I can respect that.

So can I, Susannah said, but Eddies right about ka. She took the note and ran

a finger over it thoughtfully. Roland, you cant talk about thatka, I meanthen

turn around and take it back again, just because you get a little low on willpower

and dedication.

Willpower and dedication are good words,

Roland remarked. Theres a bad one, though, that means the same thing. That one is ob session.

She shrugged it away with an impatient twitch of her shoulders. Sugarpie, either

this whole business is ka, or none of it is. And scary as ka might bethe idea of

fate with eagle eyes and a bloodhounds nose I find the idea of no ka even

scarier. She tossed the R.F. note aside on the mat ted grass.

Whatever you call it, youre just as dead if it runs you over, Roland said. Rimer

… Thorin … Jonas … my mother … Cuthbert …

Susan. Just ask them. Any of

them. If you only could.

Youre missing the biggest part of this, Eddie said.

You cant send us back.

Dont you realize that, you big galoot Even if there was a door, we wouldnt go

through it. Am I wrong about that

He looked at Jake and Susannah. They shook their heads. Even Oy shook his head.

No, he wasnt wrong.

Weve changed, Eddie said. We

 Now he was the one who didnt know how

to go on. How to express his need to see the Tower … and his other need, just as

strong, to go on carrying the gun with the sandalwood insets. The big iron was

how hed come to think of it. Like in that old Marty Robbins song about the man

with the big iron on his hip. Its ka, he said. It was all he could think of that was

big enough to cover it.

Kaka, Roland replied, after a moments consid eration. The three of them stared

at him, mouths open. Roland of Gilead had made a joke.

4 

Theres one thing I

dont understand about what we

saw, Susannah said

hesitantly. Why did your mother hide behind that drape when you came in,

Roland Did she mean to

 She bit her lip, then brought it out. Did she mean to

kill you

If shed meant to kill me, she wouldnt have chosen a belt as her weapon. The

very fact that she had made me a presentand thats what it was, it had my initials

woven into itsuggests that she meant to ask my forgiveness. That she had had a

change of heart.

Is that what you know, or only what you want to be lieve Eddie thought. It was a

question he would never ask. Roland had been tested enough, had won their way

back to the Path of the Beam by reliving that terri ble final visit to his mothers

apartment, and that was enough.

I think she hid because she was ashamed, the gun slinger said. Or because she

needed a moment to think of what to say to me. Of how to explain.

And the ball Susannah asked him gently. Was it on the vanity table, where we

saw it And did she steal it from your father

Yes to both, Roland said. Although … did she steal it He seemed to ask this

question of himself. My father knew a great many things, but he sometimes kept

what he knew to himself.

Like him knowing that your mother and Marten were seeing each other,

Susannah said.

Yes.

But, Roland… you surely dont believe that your fa ther would knowingly have

allowed you to

to



Roland looked at her with large, haunted eyes. His tears had gone, but when he

tried to smile at her question, he was unable. Have knowingly allowed his son to

kill his wife he asked. No, I cant say that. Much as Id like to, I cant. That he

should have caused such a thing to have hap pened, to have deliberately set it in

motion, like a man playing Castles … that I can not believe. But would he allow

ka to run its course Aye, most certainly.

What happened to the ball Jake asked.

I dont know. I fainted. When I awoke, my mother and 1 were still alone, one

dead and one alive. No one had come to the sound of the shotsthe walls of that

place were thick stone, and that wing mostly empty as well. Her blood had dried.

The belt shed made me was covered with it, but I took it, and I put it on. I wore

that bloodstained gift for many years, and how I lost it is a tale for another

dayIll tell it to you before we have done, for it bears on my quest for the Tower.

But although no one had come to investigate the gunshots, someone had come for

another reason. While I lay fainted away by my mothers corpse, that someone

came in and took the wizards glass away.

Rhea Eddie asked.

I doubt she was so close in her body

but she had a way of making friends, that

one. Aye, a way of making friends. I saw her again, you know. Roland explained

no further, but a stony gleam arose in his eyes. Ed die had seen it before, and knew

it meant killing.

Jake had retrieved the note from R.F. and now ges tured at the little drawing

beneath the message. Do you know what this means

I have an idea its the sigul of a place I saw when I first travelled in the wizards

glass. The land called Thunderclap. He looked around at them, one by one. I

think its there that well meet this manthis thing

named Flagg again.

Roland looked back the way they had come, sleep walking in their fine red shoes.

The Kansas we came through was his Kansas, and the plague that emptied out

that land was his plague. At least, thats what I be lieve.

But it might not stay there, Susannah said.

It could travel, Eddie said.

To our world, Jake said.

Still looking back toward the Green Palace, Roland said: To your world, or any

other.

Whos the Crimson King Susannah asked abruptly.

Susannah, I know not.

They were quiet, then, watching Roland look to ward the palace where he had

faced a false wizard and a true memory and some how opened the door back to his

own world by so doing.

Our world, Eddie thought, slipping an arm around Susannah. Our world now. If

we go back to America, and perhaps well have to before this is over, we II arrive as strangers in a strange land, no matter what when it is. This is our world now.

The world of the Beams, and the Guardians, and the Dark Tower.

We got some daylight left, he said to Roland, and put a hesitant hand on the

gunslingers shoulder. When Roland immedi ately covered it with his own hand, Eddie smiled. You want to use it, or what

Yes, Roland said. Lets use it. He bent and shoul dered his pack.

What about the shoes Susannah asked, looking doubtfully at the little red pile

they had made.

Leave them here, Eddie said. Theyve served their purpose. Into your

wheelchair, girl. He put his arms around her and helped her in.

All Gods children have shoes, Roland mused. Isnt that what you said,

Susannah

Well, she said, settling herself, the correct di alect adds a soupcon of flavor, but youve got the essence, honey, yes.

Then well undoubtedly find more shoes as God wills it, Ro land said.

Jake was looking into his knapsack, taking in ventory of the foodstuffs that had been added by some unknown hand. He held up a chicken leg in a Baggie, looked

at it, then looked at Eddie. Who do you suppose packed this stuff

Eddie raised his eyebrows, as if to ask Jake how he could possibly be so stupid.

The Keebler Elves, he said. Who else Come on, lets go.

5

They clustered near the grove, five wanderers on the face of an empty land. Ahead

of them, running across the plain, was a line in the grass which exactly matched

the lane of rushing clouds in the sky. This line was nothing so obvious as a path . .

. but to the awakened eye, the way that everything bent in the same direction was

as clear as a painted stripe.

The Path of the Beam. Somewhere ahead, where this Beam inter sected all the

others, stood the Dark Tower. Eddie thought that, if the wind were right, he would

almost be able to smell its sullen stone.

And rosesthe dusky scent of roses.

He took Susannahs hand as she sat in her chair; Susannah took Rolands; Roland

took Jakes. Oy stood two paces before them, head up, scenting the autumn air that

combed his fur with unseen fingers, his goldringed eyes wide.

We are ka-tet, Eddie said. It crossed his mind to wonder at how much hed

changed; how he had become a stranger, even to himself. We are one from

many.

Ka-tet,  Susannah said. We are one from many.

One from many, Jake said. Come on, lets go.

Bird and bear and hare and fish, Eddie thought.

With Oy in the lead, they once more set out for the Dark Tower, walking along the

Path of the Beam.

AFTERWORD

The scene in which Roland bests his old teacher, Cort, and goes off to roister in

the less savory section of Gilead was written in the spring of 1970. The one in

which Rolands father shows up the following morning was written in the sum mer of 1996. Although only sixteen hours pass be tween the two occurrences in the

world of the story, twenty-six years had passed in the life of the storys teller. Yet the moment finally came, and I found myself con fronting myself across a whores

bedthe unemployed schoolboy with the long black hair and beard on one side,

the successful popular novelist (Americas shlockmeister, as I am affectionately known by my legions of admiring critics) on the other.

I mention this only because it sums up the essen tial weirdness of the Dark Tower

experience for me. I have written enough novels and short stories to fill a solar

system of the imagination, but Rolands story is my Jupitera planet that dwarfs

all the others (at least from my own perspective), a place of strange atmosphere,

crazy landscape, and savage gravitational pull.

Dwarfs the others, did I say I

think theres more to it than that, actually. I am coming to understand that Rolands world (or worlds) actually contains all the others of my making; there is a place in

MidWorld for Randall Flagg, Ralph Roberts, the wandering boys from The Eyes

of the Dragon, even Father Callahan, the damned priest from Salem s Lot, who

rode out of New England on a Grey hound Bus and wound up dwelling on the

border of a terrible MidWorld land called Thun derclap. This seems to be where

they all finish up, and why not MidWorld was here first, before all of them,

dreaming under the blue gaze of Rolands bom bardier eyes.

This book has been too long in cominga good many readers who enjoy Rolands

adventures have all but howled in frustrationand for that I apolo gize. The

reason is best summed up by Susannahs thought as she prepares to tell Blaine the first riddle of their contest: It is hard to begin.

Theres nothing in these pages that I agree with more.

I knew that Wizard and Glass meant doubling back to Rolands young days, and to

his first love affair, and I was scared to death of that story. Sus pense is relatively

easy, at least for me; love is hard. Consequently I dallied, I temporized, I

procrastinated, and the book remained unwrit ten.

I began at last, working in motel rooms on my Macintosh PowerBook, while

driving cross-country from Colorado to Maine af ter finishing my work on the

miniseries version of The Shining. It occurred to me as I drove north through the

deserted miles of western Nebraska (where I also happened to be, driving back

from Colorado, when I got the idea for a story called Children of the Corn), that

if I didnt start soon, I would never write the book at all.

But I no longer know the truth of romantic love, I told myself. I know about

marriage, and mature love, but forty-eight has a way of forgetting the heat and

passion of seventeen.

I will help you with that part, came the reply. I didnt know who that voice

belonged to on that day outside Thetford, Ne braska, but I do now, be cause I have looked into his eyes across a whores bed in a land that exists very clearly in my

imagination. Rolands love for Susan Delgado (and hers for him) is what was told to me by the boy who began this story. If its right, thank him. If its wrong, blame

whatever got lost in the translation.

Also thank my friend Chuck Verrill, who edited the book and hung with me every

step of the way. His encouragement and help were invaluable, as was the

encouragement of Elaine Koster, who has pub lished all of these cow boy

romances in paperback.

Most thanks of all go to my wife, who supports me in this madness as best she can

and helped me on this book in a way she doesnt even know. Once, in a dark time,

she gave me a funny little rubber figure that made me smile. Its Rocket J.

Squirrel, wearing his blue aviators hat and with his arms bravely outstretched. I

put that figure on my manuscript as it grew (and grew

and grew), hoping some

of the love that came with it would kind of fertilize the work. It must have worked,

at least to a degree; the book is here, after all. I dont know if its good or badI

lost all sense of perspective around page four hun dredbut its here. That alone

seems like a miracle. And I have started to believe I might actually live to

complete this cycle of stories. (Knock on wood.) There are three more to be told, I think, two set chiefly in MidWorld and one

almost entirely in our worldthats the one deal ing with the vacant lot on the

comer of Second and Fortysixth, and the rose that grows there. That rose, I must

tell you, is in terrible danger.

In the end; Rolands ka-tet will come to the nightscape which is Thunderclap …

and to what lies beyond it. All may not live to reach the Tower, but I believe that

those who do reach it will stand and be true.

Stephen King

Lovell, Maine, October 27, 1996

STEPHEN KING, the worlds best selling novelist, is the author of more than

thirty books, most recently Desperation, Rose Madder, Insomnia, and The Green

Mile. His four volumes in the Dark Tower series, including The Gunslinger, The

Drawing of the Three, and The Waste Lands, are all available in Plume trade

paperback editions. He lives in Bangor, Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha

King.__

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

PART TWO

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

PART THREE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

PART FOUR

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER V