by Stephen King
“Yes, Roland, I ken very well.” There was a pause. “If we do win, will the folken find out, do’ee reckon? Find out about…me?”
“Not from Andy, they won’t,” Roland said. “His blabber’s done. And not from me, if you do as you now promise. Not from my ka-tet, either. Not out of respect for you, but out of respect for Jake Chambers. And if the Wolves fall into the trap I’ve laid them, why would the folken ever suspect another traitor?” He measured Slightman with his cool eyes. “They’re innocent folk. Trusting. As ye know. Certainly ye used it.”
The flush came back. Slightman looked down at the floor of the peak-seat again. Roland looked up and saw the place he was looking for now less than a quarter of a mile ahead. Good. There was still no dust-cloud on the eastern horizon, but he could feel it gathering in his mind. The Wolves were coming, oh yes. Somewhere across the river they had dismounted their train and mounted their horses and were riding like hell. And from it, he had no doubt.
“I did it for my son,” Slightman said. “Andy came to me and said they would surely take him. Somewhere over there, Roland—” He pointed east, toward Thunderclap. “Somewhere over there are poor creatures called Breakers. Prisoners. Andy says they’re telepaths and psychokinetics, and although I ken neither word, I know they’re to do with the mind. The Breakers are human, and they eat what we eat to nourish their bodies, but they need other food, special food, to nourish whatever it is that makes them special.”
“Brain-food,” Roland said. He remembered that his mother had called fish brain-food. And then, for no reason he could tell, he found himself thinking of Susannah’s nocturnal prowls. Only it wasn’t Susannah who visited that midnight banquet hall; it was Mia. Daughter of none.
“Yar, I reckon,” Slightman agreed. “Anyway, it’s something only twins have, something that links them mind-to-mind. And these fellows—not the Wolves, but they who send the Wolves—take it out. When it’s gone, the kids’re idiots. Roont. It’s food, Roland, do ya kennit? That’s why they take em! To feed their goddamned Breakers! Not their bellies or their bodies, but their minds! And I don’t even know what it is they’ve been set to break!”
“The two Beams that still hold the Tower,” Roland said.
Slightman was thunderstruck. And fearful. “The Dark Tower?” He whispered the words. “Do ya say so?”
“I do,” Roland said. “Who’s Finli? Finli o’ Tego.”
“I don’t know. A voice that takes my reports, is all. A taheen, I think—do you know what that is?”
“Do you?”
Slightman shook his head.
“Then we’ll leave it. Mayhap I’ll meet him in time and he’ll answer to hand for this business.”
Slightman did not reply, but Roland sensed his doubt. That was all right. They’d almost made it now, and the gunslinger felt an invisible band which had been cinched about his middle begin to loosen. He turned fully to the foreman for the first time. “There’s always been someone like you for Andy to cozen, Slightman; I have no doubt it’s mostly what he was left here for, just as I have no doubt that your daughter, Benny’s sister, didn’t die an accidental death. They always need one left-over twin, and one weak parent.”
“You can’t—”
“Shut up. You’ve said all that’s good for you.”
Slightman sat silent beside Roland on the seat.
“I understand betrayal. I’ve done my share of it, once to Jake himself. But that doesn’t change what you are; let’s have that straight. You’re a carrion-bird. A rustie turned vulture.”
The color was back in Slightman’s cheeks, turning them the shade of claret. “I did what I did for my boy,” he said stubbornly.
Roland spat into his cupped hand, then raised the hand and caressed Slightman’s cheek with it. The cheek was currently full of blood, and hot to the touch. Then the gunslinger took hold of the spectacles Slightman wore and jiggled them slightly on the man’s nose. “Won’t wash,” he said, very quietly. “Because of these. This is how they mark you, Slightman. This is your brand. You tell yourself you did it for your boy because it gets you to sleep at night. I tell myself that what I did to Jake I did so as not to lose my chance at the Tower…and that gets me to sleep at night. The difference between us, the only difference, is that I never took a pair of spectacles.” He wiped his hand on his pants. “You sold out, Slightman. And you have forgotten the face of your father.”
“Let me be,” Slightman whispered. He wiped the slick of the gunslinger’s spittle from his cheek. It was replaced by his own tears. “For my boy’s sake.”
Roland nodded. “That’s all this is, for your boy’s sake. You drag him behind you like a dead chicken. Well, never mind. If all goes as I hope, you may live your life with him in the Calla, and grow old in the regard of your neighbors. You’ll be one of those who stood up to the Wolves when the gunslingers came to town along the Path of the Beam. When you can’t walk, he’ll walk with you and hold you up. I see this, but I don’t like what I see. Because a man who’ll sell his soul for a pair of spectacles will resell it for some other prink-a-dee—even cheaper—and sooner or later your boy will find out what you are, anyway. The best thing that could happen to your son today is for you to die a hero.” And then, before Slightman could reply, Roland raised his voice and shouted. “Hey, Overholser! Ho, the waggon! Overholser! Pull on over! We’re here! Say thankya!”
“Roland—” Slightman began.
“No,” Roland said, tying off the reins. “Palaver’s done. Just remember what I said, sai: if you get a chance to die a hero today, do your son a favor and take it.”
Three
At first everything went according to plan and they called it ka. When things began going wrong and the dying started, they called that ka, too. Ka, the gunslinger could have told them, was often the last thing you had to rise above.
Four
Roland had explained to the children what he wanted of them while still on the common, under the flaring torches. Now, with daylight brightening (but the sun still waiting in the wings), they took their places perfectly, lining up in the road from oldest to youngest, each pair of twins holding hands. The buckas were parked on the left side of the road, their offside wheels just above the ditch. The only gap was where the track into the arroyo country split off from East Road. Standing beside the children in a stretched line were the minders, their number now swelled to well over a dozen with the addition of Tian, Pere Callahan, Slightman, and Wayne Overholser. Across from them, positioned in a line above the righthand ditch, were Eddie, Susannah, Rosa, Margaret Eisenhart, and Tian’s wife, Zalia. Each of the women wore a silk-lined reed sack filled with plates. Stacked in the ditch below and behind them were boxes containing more Orizas. There were two hundred plates in all.
Eddie glanced across the river. Still no dust. Susannah gave him a nervous smile, which he returned in kind. This was the hard part—the scary part. Later, he knew, the red fog would wrap him up and carry him away. Now he was too aware. What he was aware of most was that right now they were as helpless and vulnerable as a turtle without its shell.
Jake came hustling up the line of children, carrying the box of collected odds and ends: hair ribbons, a teething infant’s comfort-chewy, a whistle whittled from a yew-stick, an old shoe with most of the sole gone, a mateless sock. There were perhaps two dozen similar items.
“Benny Slightman!” Roland barked. “Frank Tavery! Francine Tavery! To me!”
“Here, now!” Benny Slightman’s father said, immediately alarmed. “What’re you calling my son out of line f—”
“To do his duty, just as you’ll do yours,” Roland said. “Not another word.”
The four children he had called appeared before him. The Taverys were flushed and out of breath, eyes shining, still holding hands.
“Listen, now, and make me repeat not a single word,” Roland said. Benny and the Taverys leaned forward anxiously. Although clearly impatient to be off, J
ake was less anxious; he knew this part, and most of what would follow. What Roland hoped would follow.
Roland spoke to the children, but loud enough for the strung-out line of child-minders to hear, too. “You’re to go up the path,” he said, “and every few feet you leave something, as if ’twere dropped on a hard, fast march. And I expect you four to make a hard, fast march. Don’t run, but just below it. Mind your footing. Go to where the path branches—that’s half a mile—and no farther. D’you ken? Not one step farther.”
They nodded eagerly. Roland switched his gaze to the adults standing tensely behind them.
“These four get a two-minute start. Then the rest of the twins go, oldest first, youngest last. They won’t be going far; the last pairs will hardly get off the road.” Roland raised his voice to a commanding shout. “Children! When you hear this, come back! Come to me a-hurry!” Roland put the first two fingers of his left hand into the corners of his mouth and blew a whistle so piercing that several children put their hands to their ears.
Annabelle Javier said, “Sai, if you mean for the children to hide in one of the caves, why would you call them back?”
“Because they’re not going into the caves,” Roland said. “They’re going down there.” He pointed east. “Lady Oriza is going to take care of the children. They’re going to hide in the rice, just this side of the river.” They all looked where he pointed, and so it was they all saw the dust at the same time.
The Wolves were coming.
Five
“Our company’s on the way, sugarpie,” Susannah said.
Roland nodded, then turned to Jake. “Go on, Jake. Just as I say.”
Jake pulled a double handful of stuff from the box and handed it to the Tavery twins. Then he jumped the lefthand ditch, graceful as a deer, and started up the arroyo track with Benny beside him. Frank and Francine were right behind; as Roland watched, Francine let a little hat fall from her hand.
“All right,” Overholser said. “I ken some of it, do ya. The Wolves’ll see the cast-offs and be even surer the kids are up there. But why send the rest of em north at all, gunslinger? Why not just march em down to the rice right now?”
“Because we have to assume the Wolves can smell the track of prey as well as real Wolves,” Roland said. He raised his voice again. “Children, up the path! Oldest first! Hold the hand of your partner and don’t let go! Come back at my whistle!”
The children started off, helped into the ditch by Callahan, Sarey Adams, the Javiers, and Ben Slightman. All the adults looked anxious; only Benny’s Da’ looked mistrustful, as well.
“The Wolves will start in because they’ve reason to believe the children are up there,” Roland said, “but they’re not fools, Wayne. They’ll look for sign and we’ll give it to em. If they smell—and I’d bet this town’s last rice crop that they do—they’ll have scent as well as dropped shoes and ribbons to look at. After the smell of the main group stops, that of the four I sent first will carry on yet awhile farther. It may suck em in deeper, or it may not. By then it shouldn’t matter.”
“But—”
Roland ignored him. He turned toward his little band of fighters. They would be seven in all. It’s a good number, he told himself. A number of power. He looked beyond them at the dust-cloud. It rose higher than any of the remaining seminon dust-devils, and was moving with horrible speed. Yet for the time being, Roland thought they were all right.
“Listen and hear.” It was Zalia, Margaret, and Rosa to whom he was speaking. The members of his own ka-tet already knew this part, had since old Jamie whispered his long-held secret into Eddie’s ear on the Jaffordses’ porch. “The Wolves are neither men nor monsters; they’re robots.”
“Robots!” Overholser shouted, but with surprise rather than disbelief.
“Aye, and of a kind my ka-tet has seen before,” Roland said. He was thinking of a certain clearing where the great bear’s final surviving retainers had chased each other in an endless worry-circle. “They wear hoods to conceal tiny twirling things on top of their heads. They’re probably this wide and this long.” Roland showed them a height of about two inches and a length of about five. “It’s what Molly Doolin hit and snapped off with her dish, once upon a time. She hit by accident. We’ll hit a-purpose.”
“Thinking-caps,” Eddie said. “Their connection to the outside world. Without em, they’re as dead as dogshit.”
“Aim here.” Roland held his right hand an inch above the crown of his head.
“But the chests…the gills in the chests…” Margaret began, sounding utterly bewildered.
“Bullshit now and ever was,” Roland said. “Aim at the tops of the hoods.”
“Someday,” Tian said, “I’m going to know why there had to be so much buggering bullshit.”
“I hope there is a someday,” Roland said. The last of the children—the youngest ones—were just starting up the path, obediently holding hands. The eldest would be perhaps an eighth of a mile up, Jake’s quartet at least an eighth of a mile beyond that. It would have to be enough. Roland turned his attention to the child-minders.
“Now they come back,” he said. “Take them across the ditch and through the corn in two side-by-side rows.” He cocked a thumb over his shoulder without looking. “Do I have to tell you how important it is that the corn-plants not be disturbed, especially close to the road, where the Wolves can see?”
They shook their heads.
“At the edge of the rice,” Roland continued, “take them into one of the streams. Lead them almost to the river, then have them lie down where it’s tall and still green.” He moved his hands apart, his blue eyes blazing. “Spread em out. You grown-ups get on the river side of em. If there’s trouble—more Wolves, something else we don’t expect—that’s the side it’ll come from.”
Without giving them a chance to ask questions, Roland buried his fingers in the corners of his mouth again and whistled. Vaughn Eisenhart, Krella Anselm, and Wayne Overholser joined the others in the ditch and began bellowing for the little ’uns to turn around and start back toward the road. Eddie, meanwhile, took another look over his shoulder and was stunned to see how far toward the river the dust-cloud had progressed. Such rapid movement made perfect sense once you knew the secret; those gray horses weren’t horses at all, but mechanical conveyances disguised to look like horses, no more than that. Like a fleet of government Chevys, he thought.
“Roland, they’re coming fast! Like hell!”
Roland looked. “We’re all right,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Rosa asked.
“Yes.”
The youngest children were now hurrying back across the road, hand-in-hand, bug-eyed with fear and excitement. Cantab of the Manni and Ara, his wife, were leading them. She told them to walk straight down the middle of the rows and try not to even brush any of the skeletal plants.
“Why, sai?” asked one tyke, surely no older than four. There was a suspicious dark patch on the front of his overalls. “Corn all picked, see.”
“It’s a game,” Cantab said. “A don’t-touch-the-corn game.” He began to sing. Some of the children joined in, but most were too bewildered and frightened.
As the pairs crossed the road, growing taller and older as they came, Roland cast another glance to the east. He estimated the Wolves were still ten minutes from the other side of the Whye, and ten minutes should be enough, but gods, they were fast! It had already crossed his mind that he might have to keep Slightman the Younger and the Tavery twins up here, with them. It wasn’t in the plan, but by the time things got this far, the plan almost always started to change. Had to change.
Now the last of the kids were crossing, and only Overholser, Callahan, Slightman the Elder, and Sarey Adams were still on the road.
“Go,” Roland told them.
“I want to wait for my boy!” Slightman objected.
“Go!”
Slightman looked disposed to argue t
he point, but Sarey Adams touched one elbow and Overholser actually took hold of the other.
“Come’ee,” Overholser said. “The man’ll take care of yours same as he’ll take care of his.”
Slightman gave Roland a final doubtful look, then stepped over the ditch and began herding the tail end of the line downhill, along with Overholser and Sarey.
“Susannah, show them the hide,” Roland said.
They’d been careful to make sure the kids crossed the ditch on the road’s river side well down from where they had done their digging the day before. Now, using one of her capped and shortened legs, Susannah kicked aside a tangle of leaves, branches, and dead corn-plants—the sort of thing one would expect to see left behind in a roadside runoff ditch—and exposed a dark hole.
“It’s just a trench,” she said, almost apologetically. “There’s boards over the top. Light ones, easy to push back. That’s where we’ll be. Roland’s made a…oh, I don’t know what you call it, we call it a periscope where I come from, a thing with mirrors inside it you can see through…and when the time comes, we just stand up. The boards’ll fall away around us when we do.”
“Where’s Jake and those other three?” Eddie asked. “They should be back by now.”
“It’s too soon,” Roland said. “Calm down, Eddie.”
“I won’t calm down and it’s not too soon. We should at least be able to see them. I’m going over there—”
“No, you’re not,” Roland said. “We have to get as many as we can before they figure out what’s going on. That means keeping our firepower over here, at their backs.”
“Roland, something’s not right.”
Roland ignored him. “Lady-sais, slide in there, do ya please. The extra boxes of plates will be on your end; we’ll just kick some leaves over them.”
He looked across the road as Zalia, Rosa, and Margaret began to worm into the hole Susannah had disclosed. The path to the arroyo was now completely empty. There was still no sign of Jake, Benny, and the Tavery twins. He was beginning to think that Eddie was right; that something had gone amiss.