The Dark Tower

“Todash chimes.”

“Yep. And things behind some of em.Slithery things. Was it you or was it Mia who told me there are monsters in thetodash darkness?”

“I might have,” he said. Gods knew therewere.

“There are things in that crack beyondtown, too. Was Mia told me that. ‘Monsters that cozen, diddle, increase, andplot to escape,’ she said. And then Ted, Dinky, Dani, and Fred joined hands.They made what Ted called ‘the little good-mind.’ I could feel it even though Iwasn’t in their circle, and I was glad to feel it, because that’s onespooky old place down there.” She clutched her blankets more tightly. “I don’tlook forward to going again.”

“But you believe we have to.”

“There’s a passage that goes deep under thecastle and comes out on the other side, in the Discordia. Ted and his friendslocated it by picking up old thoughts, what Ted called ghost-thoughts. Fred hada piece of chalk in his pocket and he marked it for me, but it’ll still be hardto find again. What it’s like down there is the labyrinth in an old Greek storywhere this bull-monster was supposed to run. I guess we can find itagain…”

Roland bent and stroked Oy’s rough fur.“We’ll find it. This fella will backtrail your scent. Won’t you, Oy?”

Oy looked up at him with his gold-ringedeyes but said nothing.

“Anyway,” she went on, “Ted and the otherstouched the minds of the things that live in that crack outside of town. Theydidn’t mean to, but they did. Those things are neither for the Crimson King noragainst him, they’re only for themselves, but they think. And they’retelepathic. They knew we were there, and once the contact was made, they wereglad to palaver. Ted and his friends said that they’ve been tu

Roland considered this silently for a fewmoments, rocking back and forth on the eroded heels of his boots. He hoped heand Susa

At last he nodded for Susa

“We heard todash chimes coming from some ofthe passages, too. Not just from behind the doors but from passages with nodoors to block em off! Do you see what that means?”

Roland did. If they picked the wrongone—or if Ted and his friends were wrong about the passageway they hadmarked—he, Susa

“They wouldn’t leave me downthere—they took me back as far as the infirmary before going onthemselves—and I was damned glad. I wasn’t looking forward to finding myway alone, although I guess I probably could’ve.”

Roland put an arm around her and gave her ahug. “And their plan was to use the door that the Wolves used?”

“Uh-huh, the one at the end of the ORANGEPASS corridor. They’ll come out where the Wolves did, find their way to theRiver Whye, and then across it to Calla Bryn Sturgis. The Calla-folkenwill take them in, won’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And once they hear the whole story, theywon’t… won’t lynch them or anything?”

“I’m sure not. Henchick will know they’retelling the truth and stand up for them, even if no one else will.”

“They’re hoping to use the Doorway Cave toget back America-side.” She sighed. “I hope it works for them, but I have mydoubts.”

Roland did, as well. But the four of themwere powerful, and Ted had struck him as a man of extraordinary determinationand resource. The Ma

“Now hear me very well and think hard,Susa

Oy looked up, eyes bright.

She thought about it. “It might have somefaint ring,” she said, “but I can’t do better than that. Why?”

Roland told her what he believed: that asEddie lay dying, he had been granted some sort of vision about a thing… or aplace… or a person. Something named Dandelo. Eddie had passed this on to Jake,Jake had passed it to Oy, and Oy had passed it on to Roland.

Susa

“Well,” Roland said, “we’ll keep a lookoutand hope that I got it right. Mayhap it means nothing at all.” But he didn’treally believe that.

“What are we going to do for clothes, if itgets colder than this?” she asked.

“We’ll make what we need. I know how. It’ssomething else we don’t need to worry about today. What we do need toworry about is finding something to eat. I suppose if we have to, we can findNigel’s pantry—”

“I don’t want to go back under the Doganuntil we have to,” Susa

Roland considered this, then nodded. It wasa good idea.

“Let’s do it now,” she said. “I don’t evenwant to be on the top floor of that place after dark.”

Four

On Turtleback Lane, in the year of ‘02,month of August, Stephen King awakes from a waking dream of Fedic. He types “Idon’t even want to be on the top floor of that place after dark.” The wordsappear on the screen before him. It’s the end of what he calls a subchapter,but that doesn’t always mean he’s done for the day. Being done for the daydepends on what he hears. Or, more properly, on what he doesn’t. What helistens for is Ves’-Ka Gan, the Song of the Turtle. This time the music, whichis faint on some days and so loud on others that it almost deafens him, seemsto have ceased. It will return tomorrow. At least, it always has.

He pushes the control-key and the S-keytogether. The computer gives a little chime, indicating that the material he’swritten today has been saved. Then he gets up, wincing at the pain in his hip,and walks to the window of his office. It looks out on the driveway slanting upat a steep angle to the road where he now rarely walks. (And on the main road,Route 7, never.) The hip is very bad this morning, and the big muscles of histhigh are on fire. He rubs the hip absently as he stands looking out.

Roland, you bastard, you gave me backthe pain, he thinks. It runs down his right leg like a red-hot rope, can yanot say Gawd, can ya not say Gawd-bomb, and he’s the one who got stuck with itin the end. It’s been three years since the accident that almost took his lifeand the pain is still there. It’s less now, the human body has an amazingengine of healing inside it (a hot-enj, he thinks, and smiles), butsometimes it’s still bad. He doesn’t think about it much when he’s writing,writing’s a sort of benign todash, but it’s always stiff after he’s spent a coupleof hours at his desk.

He thinks of Jake. He’s sorry as hell thatJake died, and he guesses that when this last book is published, the readersare going to be just wild. And why not? Some of them have known JakeChambers for twenty years, almost twice as long as the boy actually lived. Oh,they’ll be wild, all right, and when he writes back and says he’s as sorry asthey are, as surprised as they are, will they believe him? Not on yourtintype, as his grandfather used to say. He thinks of Misery—A