Dark Tower V, The

by Stephen King

  He had polished his specs on his shirt as they rode, held them up to the sky so that twin spots of light swam on his cheeks, then put them back on. “If I ever lose em or break em, I don’t know what I’d do,” he’d said. “I got along without such just fine for twenty years or more, but a person gets used to something better in one rip of a hurry.”

  Jake thought it was a good story. He was sure Susannah would have believed it (assuming the singularity of Slightman’s spectacles had occurred to her in the first place). He had an idea Roland would have believed it, too. Slightman told it in just the right way: a man who still appreciated his good fortune and didn’t mind letting folks know that he’d been right about something while quite a number of other people, his boss among them, had been wide of the mark. Even Eddie might have swallowed it. The only thing wrong with Slightman’s story was that it wasn’t true. Jake didn’t know what the real deal was, his touch didn’t go that deep, but he knew that much. And it worried him.

  Probably nothing, you know. Probably he just got them in some way that wouldn’t sound so good. For all you know, one of the Manni brought them back from some other world, and Benny’s Da’ stole them.

  That was one possibility; if pressed, Jake could have come up with half a dozen more. He was an imaginative boy.

  Still, when added to what he’d seen by the river, it worried him. What kind of business could Eisenhart’s foreman have on the far side of the Whye? Jake didn’t know. And still, each time he thought to raise this subject with Roland, something kept him quiet.

  And after giving him a hard time about keeping secrets!

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. But—

  But what, little trailhand?

  But Benny, that was what. Benny was the problem. Or maybe it was Jake himself who was actually the problem. He’d never been much good at making friends, and now he had a good one. A real one. The thought of getting Benny’s Da’ in trouble made him feel sick to his stomach.

  Seven

  Two days later, at five o’ the clock, Rosalita, Zalia, Margaret Eisenhart, Sarey Adams, and Susannah Dean gathered in the field just west of Rosa’s neat privy. There were a lot of giggles and not a few bursts of nervous, shrieky laughter. Roland kept his distance, and instructed Eddie and Jake to do the same. Best to let them get it out of their systems.

  Set against the rail fence, ten feet apart from each other, were stuffies with plump sharproot heads. Each head was wrapped in a gunnysack which had been tied to make it look like the hood of a cloak. At the foot of each guy were three baskets. One was filled with more sharproot. Another was filled with potatoes. The contents of the third had elicited groans and cries of protest. These three were filled with radishes. Roland told them to quit their mewling; he’d considered peas, he said. None of them (even Susannah) was entirely sure he was joking.

  Callahan, today dressed in jeans and a stockman’s vest of many pockets, ambled out onto the porch, where Roland sat smoking and waiting for the ladies to settle down. Jake and Eddie were playing draughts close by.

  “Vaughn Eisenhart’s out front,” the Pere told Roland. “Says he’ll go on down to Tooky’s and have a beer, but not until he passes a word with’ee.”

  Roland sighed, got up, and walked through the house to the front. Eisenhart was sitting on the seat of a one-horse fly, shor’boots propped on the splashboard, looking moodily off toward Callahan’s church.

  “G’day to ya, Roland,” he said.

  Wayne Overholser had given Roland a cowboy’s broad-brimmed hat some days before. He tipped it to the rancher and waited.

  “I guess you’ll be sending the feather soon,” Eisenhart said. “Calling a meeting, if it please ya.”

  Roland allowed as how that was so. It was not the town’s business to tell knights of Eld how to do their duty, but Roland would tell them what duty was to be done. That much he owed them.

  “I want you to know that when the time comes, I’ll touch it and send it on. And come the meeting, I’ll say aye.”

  “Say thankya,” Roland replied. He was, in fact, touched. Since joining with Jake, Eddie, and Susannah, it seemed his heart had grown. Sometimes he was sorry. Mostly he wasn’t.

  “Took won’t do neither.”

  “No,” Roland agreed. “As long as business is good, the Tooks of the world never touch the feather. Nor say aye.”

  “Overholser’s with him.”

  This was a blow. Not an entirely unexpected one, but he’d hoped Overholser would come around. Roland had all the support he needed, however, and supposed Overholser knew it. If he was wise, the farmer would just sit and wait for it to be over, one way or the other. If he meddled, he would likely not see another year’s crops into his barns.

  “I wanted ye to know one thing,” Eisenhart said. “I’m in with’ee because of my wife, and my wife’s in with’ee because she’s decided she wants to hunt. This is what all such things as the dish-throwing comes to in the end, a woman telling her man what’ll be and what won’t. It ain’t the natural way. A man’s meant to rule his woman. Except in the matter of the babbies, o’course.”

  “She gave up everything she was raised to when she took you to husband,” Roland said. “Now it’s your turn to give a little.”

  “Don’t ye think I know that? But if you get her killed, Roland, you’ll take my curse with you when ye leave the Calla. If’ee do. No matter how many children ye save.”

  Roland, who had been cursed before, nodded. “If ka wills, Vaughn, she’ll come back to you.”

  “Aye. But remember what I said.”

  “I will.”

  Eisenhart slapped the reins on the horse’s back and the fly began to roll.

  Eight

  Each woman halved a sharproot head at forty yards, fifty yards, and sixty.

  “Hit the head as high up into the hood as you can get,” Roland said. “Hitting them low will do no good.”

  “Armor, I suppose?” Rosalita asked.

  “Aye,” Roland said, although that was not the entire truth. He wouldn’t tell them what he now understood to be the entire truth until they needed to know it.

  Next came the taters. Sarey Adams got hers at forty yards, clipped it at fifty, and missed entirely at sixty; her dish sailed high. She uttered a curse that was far from ladylike, then walked head-down to the side of the privy. Here she sat to watch the rest of the competition. Roland went over and sat beside her. He saw a tear trickling from the corner of her left eye and down her wind-roughened cheek.

  “I’ve let ye down, stranger. Say sorry.”

  Roland took her hand and squeezed it. “Nay, lady, nay. There’ll be work for you. Just not in the same place as these others. And you may yet throw the dish.”

  She gave him a wan smile and nodded her thanks.

  Eddie put more sharproot “heads” on the stuffy-guys, then a radish on top of each. The latter were all but concealed in the shadows thrown by the gunnysack hoods. “Good luck, girls,” he said. “Better you than me.” Then he stepped away.

  “Start from ten yards this time!” Roland called.

  At ten, they all hit. And at twenty. At thirty yards, Susannah threw her plate high, as Roland had instructed her to do. He wanted one of the Calla women to win this round. At forty yards, Zalia Jaffords hesitated too long, and the dish she flung chopped the sharproot head in two rather than the radish sitting on top.

  “Fuck-commala!” she cried, then clapped her hands to her mouth and looked at Callahan, who was sitting on the back steps. That fellow only smiled and waved cheerfully, affecting deafness.

  She stamped over to Eddie and Jake, blushing to the tips of her ears and furious. “Ye must tell him to give me another chance, say will ya please,” she told Eddie. “I can do it, I know I can do it—”

  Eddie put a hand on her arm, stemming the flood. “He knows it, too, Zee. You’re in.”

  She looked at him with burning eyes, lips pressed so tightly together they were
almost gone. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” Eddie said. “You could pitch for the Mets, darlin.”

  Now it was down to Margaret and Rosalita. They both hit the radishes at fifty yards. To Jake, Eddie murmured: “Buddy, I would have told you that was impossible if I hadn’t just seen it.”

  At sixty yards, Margaret Eisenhart missed cleanly. Rosalita raised her plate over her right shoulder—she was a lefty—hesitated, then screamed “Riza!” and threw. Sharp-eyed though he was, Roland wasn’t entirely sure if the plate’s edge clipped the side of the radish or if the wind toppled it over. In either case, Rosalita raised her fists over her head and shook them, laughing.

  “Fair-day goose! Fair-day goose!” Margaret began calling. The others joined in. Soon even Callahan was chanting.

  Roland went to Rosa and gave her a hug, brief but strong. As he did so he whispered in her ear that while he had no goose, he might be able to find a certain long-necked gander for her, come evening.

  “Well,” she said, smiling, “when we get older, we take our prizes where we find them. Don’t we?”

  Zalia glanced at Margaret. “What did he say to her? Did’ee kennit?”

  Margaret Eisenhart was smiling. “Nothing you haven’t heard yourself, I’m sure,” she said.

  Nine

  Then the ladies were gone. So was the Pere, on some errand or other. Roland of Gilead sat on the bottom porch step, looking downhill toward the site of the competition so lately completed. When Susannah asked him if he was satisfied, he nodded. “Yes, I think all’s well there. We have to hope it is, because time’s closing now. Things will happen fast.” The truth was that he had never experienced such a confluence of events…but since Susannah had admitted her pregnancy, he had calmed nevertheless.

  You’ve recalled the truth of ka to your truant mind, he thought. And it happened because this woman showed a kind of bravery the rest of us couldn’t quite muster up.

  “Roland, will I be going back out to the Rocking B?” Jake asked.

  Roland considered, then shrugged. “Do you want to?”

  “Yes, but this time I want to take the Ruger.” Jake’s face pinked a little, but his voice remained steady. He had awakened with this idea, as if the dreamgod Roland called Nis had brought it to him in his sleep. “I’ll put it at the bottom of my bedroll and wrap it in my extra shirt. No one needs to know it’s there.” He paused. “I don’t want to show it off to Benny, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  The idea had never crossed Roland’s mind. But what was in Jake’s mind? He posed the question, and Jake’s answer was the sort one gives when one has charted the likely course of a discussion well in advance.

  “Do you ask as my dinh?”

  Roland opened his mouth to say yes, saw how closely Eddie and Susannah were watching him, and reconsidered. There was a difference between keeping secrets (as each of them had in his own way kept the secret of Susannah’s pregnancy) and following what Eddie called “a hunch.” The request under Jake’s request was to be on a longer rope. Simple as that. And surely Jake had earned the right to a little more rope. This was not the same boy who had come into Mid-World shivering and terrified and nearly naked.

  “Not as your dinh,” he said. “As for the Ruger, you may take it anywhere, and at any time. Did you not bring it to the tet in the first place?”

  “Stole it,” Jake said in a low voice. He was staring at his knees.

  “You took what you needed to survive,” Susannah said. “There’s a big difference. Listen, sugar—you’re not planning to shoot anyone, are you?”

  “Not planning to, no.”

  “Be careful,” she said. “I don’t know what you’ve got in your head, but you be careful.”

  “And whatever it is, you better get it settled in the next week or so,” Eddie told him.

  Jake nodded, then looked at Roland. “When are you planning to call the town meeting?”

  “According to the robot, we have ten days left before the Wolves come. So…” Roland calculated briefly. “Town gathering in six days. Will that suit you?”

  Jake nodded again.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to tell us what’s on your mind?”

  “Not unless you ask as dinh,” Jake said. “It’s probably nothing, Roland. Really.”

  Roland nodded dubiously and began rolling another smoke. Having fresh tobacco was wonderful. “Is there anything else? Because, if there isn’t—”

  “There is, actually,” Eddie said.

  “What?”

  “I need to go to New York,” Eddie said. He spoke casually, as if proposing no more than a trip to the mercantile to buy a pickle or a licorice stick, but his eyes were dancing with excitement. “And this time I’ll have to go in the flesh. Which means using the ball more directly, I guess. Black Thirteen. I hope to hell you know how to do it, Roland.”

  “Why do you need to go to New York?” Roland asked. “This I do ask as dinh.”

  “Sure you do,” Eddie said, “and I’ll tell you. Because you’re right about time getting short. And because the Wolves of the Calla aren’t the only ones we have to worry about.”

  “You want to see how close to July fifteenth it’s getting,” Jake said. “Don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Eddie said. “We know from when we all went todash that time is going faster in that version of New York, 1977. Remember the date on the piece of The New York Times I found in the doorway?”

  “June second,” Susannah said.

  “Right. We’re also pretty sure that we can’t double back in time in that world; it’s later every time we go there. Right?”

  Jake nodded emphatically. “Because that world’s not like the others…unless maybe it was just being sent todash by Black Thirteen that made us feel that way?”

  “I don’t think so,” Eddie said. “That little piece of Second Avenue between the vacant lot and maybe on up to Sixtieth is a very important place. I think it’s a doorway. One big doorway.”

  Jake Chambers was looking more and more excited. “Not all the way up to Sixtieth. Not that far. Second Avenue between Forty-sixth and Fifty-fourth, that’s what I think. On the day I left Piper, I felt something change when I got to Fifty-fourth Street. It’s those eight blocks. The stretch with the record store on it, and Chew Chew Mama, and The Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind. And the vacant lot, of course. That’s the other end. It…I don’t know…”

  Eddie said, “Being there takes you into a different world. Some kind of key world. And I think that’s why time always runs one way—”

  Roland held up his hand. “Stop.”

  Eddie stopped, looking at Roland expectantly, smiling a little. Roland was not smiling. Some of his previous sense of well-being had passed away. Too much to do, gods damn it. And not enough time in which to do it.

  “You want to see how near time has run to the day the agreement becomes null and void,” he said. “Have I got that right?”

  “You do.”

  “You don’t need to go to New York physically to do that, Eddie. Todash would serve nicely.”

  “Todash would do fine to check the day and the month, sure, but there’s more. We’ve been dumb about that vacant lot, you guys. I mean really dumb.”

  Ten

  Eddie believed they could own the vacant lot without ever touching Susannah’s inherited fortune; he thought Callahan’s story showed quite clearly how it could be done. Not the rose; the rose was not to be owned (by them or anyone) but to be protected. And they could do it. Maybe.

  Frightened or not, Calvin Tower had been waiting in that deserted laundrymat to save Pere Callahan’s bacon. And frightened or not, Calvin Tower had refused—as of May 31st, 1977, anyway—to sell his last piece of real property to the Sombra Corporation. Eddie thought that Calvin Tower was, in the words of the song, holding out for a hero.

  Eddie had also been thinking about the way Callahan had hidden his face in his hands t
he first time he mentioned Black Thirteen. He wanted it the hell out of his church…but so far he’d kept it anyway. Like the bookshop owner, the Pere had been holding out. How stupid they had been to assume Calvin Tower would ask millions for his lot! He wanted to be shed of it. But not until the right person came along. Or the right ka-tet.

  “Suziella, you can’t go because you’re pregnant,” Eddie said. “Jake, you can’t go because you’re a kid. All other questions aside, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t sign the kind of contract I’ve been thinking about ever since Callahan told us his story. I could take you with me, but it sounds like you’ve got something you want to check into over here. Or am I wrong about that?”

  “You’re not wrong,” Jake said. “But I’d almost go with you, anyway. This sounds really good.”

  Eddie smiled. “Almost only counts with grenados and horseshoes, kid. As for sending Roland, no offense, boss, but you’re not all that suave in our world. You…um…lose something in the translation.”

  Susannah burst out laughing.

  “How much are you thinking of offering him?” Jake asked. “I mean, it has to be something, doesn’t it?”

  “A buck,” Eddie said. “I’ll probably have to ask Tower to loan it to me, but—”

  “No, we can do better than that,” Jake said, looking serious. “I’ve got five or six dollars in my knapsack, I’m pretty sure.” He grinned. “And we can offer him more, later on. When things kind of settle down on this side.”

  “If we’re still alive,” Susannah said, but she also looked excited. “You know what, Eddie? You just might be a genius.”

  “Balazar and his friends won’t be happy if sai Tower sells us his lot,” Roland said.

  “Yeah, but maybe we can persuade Balazar to leave him alone,” Eddie said. A grim little smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. “When it comes right down to it, Roland, Enrico Balazar’s the kind of guy I wouldn’t mind killing twice.”

  “When do you want to go?” Susannah asked him.

  “The sooner the better,” Eddie said. “For one thing, not knowing how late it is over there in New York is driving me nuts. Roland? What do you say?”