The Dark Tower

2 Hammarskjöld Plaza was a shrine.

Six

There was a tap on his shoulder and Rolandwhirled about so suddenly that he drew glances of alarm. He was alarmedhimself. Not for years—perhaps since his early teenage years—hadanyone been quiet enough to come within shoulder-tapping distance of him withoutbeing overheard. And on this marble floor, he surely should have—

The young (and extremely beautiful) womanwho had approached him was clearly surprised by the sudde

He glanced down at the woman’s feet and gotat least part of the answer. She was wearing a kind of shoe he’d never seenbefore, something with deep foam soles and what might have been canvas uppers.Shoes that would move as softly as moccasins on a hard surface. As for thewoman herself—

A queer double certainty came to him as helooked at her: first, that he had “seen the boat she came in,” as familialresemblance was sometimes expressed in Calla Bryn Sturgis; second, that asociety of gunslingers was a-breeding in this world, this special KeystoneWorld, and he had just been accosted by one of them.

And what better place for such an encounterthan within sight of the rose?

“I see your father in your face, but can’tquite name him,” Roland said in a low voice. “Tell me who he was, do it pleaseyou.”

The woman smiled, and Roland almost had thename he was looking for. Then it slipped away, as such things often did: memorycould be bashful. “You never met him… although I can understand why you mightthink you had. I’ll tell you later, if you like, but right now I’m to take youupstairs, Mr. Deschain. There’s a person who wants…” For a moment she lookedself-conscious, as if she thought someone had instructed her to use a certainword so she’d be laughed at. Then dimples formed at the corners of her mouthand her green eyes slanted enchantingly up at the corners; it was as if shewere thinking If it’s a joke on me, let them have it. “… a person whowants to palaver with you,” she finished.

“All right,” he said.

She touched his shoulder lightly, to holdhim where he was yet a moment longer. “I’m asked to make sure that you read thesign in the Garden of the Beam,” she said. “Will you do it?”

Roland’s response was dry, but still a bitapologetic. “I will if I may,” he said, “but I’ve ever had trouble with yourwritten language, although it seems to come out of my mouth well enough whenI’m on this side.”

“I think you’ll be able to read this,” shesaid. “Give it a try.” And she touched his shoulder again, gently turning himback to the square of earth in the lobby floor—not earth that had beenbrought in wheelbarrows by some crew of gifted gardeners, he knew, but theactual earth of this place, ground which might have been tilled but had notbeen otherwise changed.

At first he had no more success with thesmall brass sign in the garden than he’d had with most signs in the shopwindows, or the words on the covers of the “magda-seens.” He was about to sayso, to ask the woman with the faintly familiar face to read it to him, when theletters changed, becoming the Great Letters of Gilead. He was then able to readwhat was writ there, and easily. When he had finished, it changed back again.

“A pretty trick,” he said. “Did it respondto my thoughts?”

She smiled—her lips were coated withsome pink candylike stuff—and nodded. “Yes. If you were Jewish, you mighthave seen it in Hebrew. If you were Russian, it would have been in Cyrillic.”

“Say true?”

“True.”

The lobby had regained its normal rhythm…except, Roland understood, the rhythm of this place would never be like that inother business buildings. Those living in Thunderclap would suffer all theirlives from little ailments like boils and eczema and headaches and ear-styke;at the end of it, they would die (probably at an early age) of some big andpainful trum, likely the cancers that ate fast and burned the nerves likebrushfires as they made their meals. Here was just the opposite: health andharmony, goodwill and generosity. These folken did not hear the rosesinging, exactly, but they didn’t need to. They were the lucky ones, and onsome level every one of them knew it… which was luckiest of all. He watchedthem come in and cross to the lift-boxes that were called ele-vaydors, moving briskly,swinging their pokes and packages, their gear and their gu

“Mr. Deschain? Are you ready to go upstairsnow?”

“Aye,” he said. “Lead me as you would.”

Seven

The familiarity of the woman’s face clickedinto place for him just as they reached the ele-vaydor. Perhaps it was seeingher in profile that did it, something about the shape of the cheekbone. Heremembered Eddie telling him about his conversation with Calvin Tower afterJack Andolini and George Biondi had left the Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind.Tower had been speaking of his oldest friend’s family. They like to boastthat they have the most unique legal letterhead in New York, perhaps in theUnited States. It simply reads “DEEPNEAU.”

“Are you sai Aaron Deepneau’s daughter?” heasked her. “Surely not, you’re too young. His granddaughter?”

Her smile faded. “Aaron never had children,Mr. Deschain. I’m the granddaughter of his older brother, but my own parentsand grandfather died young. Airy was the one who mostly raised me.”

“Did you call him so? Airy?” Roland wascharmed.

“As a child I did, and it just kind ofstuck.” She held out a hand, her smile returning. “Nancy Deepneau. And I am sopleased to meet you. A little frightened, but pleased.”

Roland shook her hand, but the gesture wasperfunctory, hardly more than a touch. Then, with considerably more feeling(for this was the ritual he had grown up with, the one he understood), heplaced his fist against his forehead and made a leg. “Long days and pleasantnights, Nancy Deepneau.”

Her smile widened into a cheerful grin.“And may you have twice the number, Roland of Gilead! May you have twice thenumber.”

The ele-vaydor came, they got on, and itwas to the ninety-ninth floor that they went.

Eight

The doors opened on a large round foyer.The floor was carpeted in a dusky pink shade that exactly matched the hue ofthe rose. Across from the ele-vaydor was a glass door with THE TETCORPORATION lettered on it. Beyond, Roland saw another, smaller lobby wherea woman sat at a desk, apparently talking to herself. To the right of the outerlobby door were two men wearing business suits. They were chatting to eachother, hands in pockets, seemingly relaxed, but Roland saw they were anythingbut. And they were armed. The coats of their suits were well-tailored, but aman who knows how to look for a gun usually sees one, if a gun is there. Thesetwo fellows would stand in this foyer for an hour, maybe two (it was difficultfor even good men to remain totally alert for much longer), falling into theirlittle just-chatting routine each time the ele-vaydor came, ready to moveinstantly if they smelled something wrong. Roland approved.