The Dark Tower

As if she wasn’t onto your tricks, oldman, Roland thought, amused even in his sorrow. As if she hasn’t been onto them for many and many a year—say delah.

Marian Carver said, “We’d palaver with youfor just a little while, Roland, but first there’s something I need to see.”

“Ain’t a bit o’ need for that!” the old mansaid, his voice cracking with indignation. “Not a bit o’ need, and you know it!Did I raise a jackass?”

“He’s very likely right,” Marian said, “butalways safe—”

“—never sorry,” the gunslinger said.“It’s a good rule, aye. What is it you’d see? What will tell you that I am whoI say I am, and you believe I am?”

“Your gun,” she said.

Roland took the Old Home Days shirt out ofthe leather bag, then pulled out the holster. He unwrapped the shell-belt andpulled out his revolver with the sandalwood grips. He heard Marian Carver drawin a sharp, awed breath and chose to ignore it. He noticed that the two guardsin their well-cut suits had drawn close, their eyes wide.

“You see it!” Moses Carver shouted. “Aye,every one of you here! Say God! Might as well tell your gran-babbies yousaw Excalibur, the Sword of Arthur, for’t comes to the same!”

Roland held his father’s revolver out toMarian. He knew she would need to take it in order to confirm who he was, thatshe must do this before leading him into the Tet Corporation’s soft belly(where the wrong someone could do terrible damage), but for a moment she wasunable to fulfill her responsibility. Then she steeled herself and took thegun, her eyes widening at the weight of it. Careful to keep all of her fingersaway from the trigger, she brought the barrel up to her eyes and then traced abit of the scrollwork near the muzzle:

“Will you tell me what this means, Mr.Deschain?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he said, “if you will call meRoland.”

“If you ask, I’ll try.”

“This is Arthur’s mark,” he said, tracingit himself. “The only mark on the door of his tomb, do ya. ‘Tis his dinh mark,and means WHITE.”

The old man held out his trembling hands,silent but imperative.

“Is it loaded?” she asked Roland, and then,before he could answer: “Of course it is.”

“Give it to him,” Roland said.

Marian looked doubtful, the two guards evenmore so, but Daddy Mose still held his hands out for the widowmaker, and Rolandnodded. The woman reluctantly held the gun out to her father. The old man tookit, held it in both hands, and then did something that both warmed and chilledthe gunslinger’s heart: he kissed the barrel with his old, folded lips.

“What does thee taste?” Roland asked,honestly curious.

“The years, gunslinger,” Moses Carver said.“So I do.” And with that he held the gun out to the woman again, butt first.

She handed it back to Roland as if glad tobe rid of its grave and killing weight, and he wrapped it once more in its beltof shells.

“Come in,” she said. “And although our timeis short, we’ll make it as joyful as your grief will allow.”

“Amen to that!” the old man said, andclapped Roland on the shoulder. “She’s still alive, my Odetta—she youcall Susa

Roland was glad, and nodded histhanks.

“Come now, Roland,” Marian Carver said.“Come and be welcome in our place, for it’s your place as well, and we know thechances are good that you’ll never visit it again.”

Ten

Marian Carver’s office was on the northwestcorner of the ninety-ninth floor. Here the walls were all glass unbroken by asingle strut or muntin, and the view took the gunslinger’s breath away.Standing in that corner and looking out was like hanging in midair over askyline more fabulous than any mind could imagine. Yet it was one he had seenbefore, for he recognized yonder suspension bridge as well as some of the tallbuildings on this side of it. He should have recognized the bridge, forthey’d almost died on it in another world. Jake had been kidnapped off it byGasher, and taken to the Tick-Tock Man. This was the City of Lud as it musthave been in its prime.

“Do you call it New York?” he asked. “Youdo, yes?”

“Yes,” Nancy Deepneau said.

“And yonder bridge, that swoops?”

“The George Washington,” Marian Carversaid. “Or just the GWB, if you’re a native.”

So yonder lay not only the bridge which hadtaken them into Lud but the one beside which Pere Callahan had walked when heleft New York to start his wandering days. That Roland remembered from his story,and very well.

“Would you care for some refreshment?”Nancy asked.

He began to say no, took stock of how hishead was swimming, and changed his mind. Something, yes, but only if it wouldsharpen wits that needed to be sharp. “Tea, if you have it,” he said. “Hot,strong tea, with sugar or honey. Can you?”

“We can,” Marian said, and pushed a buttonon her desk. She spoke to someone Roland couldn’t see, and all at once thewoman in the outer office—the one who had appeared to be talking toherself—made more sense to him.

When the ordering of hot drinks andsandwiches (what Roland supposed he would always think of as popkins) was done,Marian leaned forward and captured Roland’s eye. “We’re well-met in New York,Roland, so I hope, but our time here isn’t… isn’t vital. And I suspectyou know why.”

The gunslinger considered this, the

“Nancy told you to read the plaque in theGarden of the Beam,” Marian said. “Did—”

“Garden of the Beam, say Gawd!” MosesCarver interjected. On the walk down the corridor to his daughter’s office, hehad picked a cane out of a faux elephant-foot stand, and now he thumped it onthe expensive carpet for emphasis. Marian bore this patiently. “Say Gawd-bomb!”

“My father’s recent friendship with theReverend Harrigan, who holds court down below, has not been the high point inmy life,” Marian said with a sigh, “but never mind. Did you read the plaque,Roland?”

He nodded. Nancy Deepneau had used adifferent word—sign or sigul—but he understood it came to the same.“The letters changed into Great Letters. I could read it very well.”

“And what did it say?”

“GIVEN BY THE TET CORPORATION, IN HONOR OFEDWARD CANTOR DEAN AND JOHN “JAKE” CHAMBERS.” He paused. “Then it said‘Cam-a-cam-mal, Pria-toi, Gan delah,’ which you might say as WHITE OVER RED,THUS GAN WILLS EVER.”

“And to us it says GOOD OVER EVIL, THIS ISTHE WILL OF GOD,” Marian said.

“God be praised!” Moses Carver said, andthumped his cane. “May the Prim rise!”

There was a perfunctory knock at the doorand then the woman from the outer desk came in, carrying a silver tray. Rolandwas fascinated to see a small black knob suspended in front of her lips, and anarrow black armature that disappeared into her hair. Some sort of far-speakingdevice, surely. Nancy Deepneau and Marian Carver helped her set out steamingcups of tea and coffee, bowls of sugar and honey, a crock of cream. There wasalso a plate of sandwiches. Roland’s stomach rumbled. He thought of his friendsin the ground—no more popkins for them—and also of IreneTassenbaum, sitting in the little park across the street, patiently waiting forhim. Either thought alone should have been enough to kill his appetite, but hisstomach once more made its impudent noise. Some parts of a man wereconscienceless, a fact he supposed he had known since childhood. He helpedhimself to a popkin, dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into his tea, thenadded honey for good measure. He would make this as brief as possible andreturn to Irene as soon as he could, but in the meantime…