The Dark Tower

When Roland had finished, Ted Brautigansaid: “You mean to spill an almighty lot of blood.”

“Indeed I do. As much as I can.”

“Risky for the lady,” Dink remarked,looking first at her and then at her husband.

Susa

Blood and fire.

“I may be able to rig a couple of otherguns,” Susa

“Can this work?” Dinky asked bluntly.

Roland’s lips parted in a humorless grin.“It will work.”

“How can you say that?” Ted asked.

Eddie recalled Roland’s reasoning beforetheir call to John Cullum and could have answered that question, but answerswere for their ka-tet’s dinh to give—if he would—and so he leftthis one to Roland.

“Because it has to,” the gunslinger said.“I see no other way.”

Chapter XI:

The Attack on AlgulSiento

One

It was a day later and not long before thehorn signaled the morning change of shift. The music would soon start, the sunwould come on, and the Breaker night-crew would exit The Study stage left whilethe Breaker day-crew entered stage right. Everything was as it should be, yetPimli Prentiss had slept less than an hour the previous night and even thatbrief time had been haunted by sour and chaotic dreams. Finally, around four(what his bedside clock in fact claimed was four, but who knew anymore,and what did it matter anyway, this close to the end), he’d gotten up and satin his office chair, looking out at the darkened Mall, deserted at this hoursave for one lone and pointless robot who’d taken it into its head to patrol,waving its six pincer-tipped arms aimlessly at the sky. The robots that stillran grew wonkier by the day, but pulling their batteries could be dangerous,for some were booby-trapped and would explode it you tried it. There wasnothing you could do but put up with their antics and keep reminding yourselfthat all would be over soon, praise Jesus and God the Father Almighty. At somepoint the former Paul Prentiss opened the desk drawer above the kneehole,pulled out the .40 Peacemaker Colt inside, and held it in his lap. It was theone with which the previous Master, Humma, had executed the rapist Cameron.Pimli hadn’t had to execute anyone in his time and was glad of it, but holdingthe pistol in his lap, feeling its grave weight, always offered a certaincomfort. Although why he should require comfort in the watches of the night,especially when everything was going so well, he had no idea. All he knew forsure was that there had been some anomalous blips on what Finli and Jenkins,their chief technician, liked to call the Deep Telemetry, as if these wereinstruments at the bottom of the ocean instead of just in a basement closetadjacent to the long, low room holding the rest of the more useful gear. Pimlirecognized what he was feeling—call a spade a spade—as a sense ofimpending doom. He tried to tell himself it was only his grandfather’s proverbin action, that he was almost home and so it was time to worry about the eggs.

Finally he’d gone into his bathroom, wherehe closed the lid of the toilet and knelt to pray. And here he was still, onlysomething had changed in the atmosphere. He’d heard no footfall but knewsomeone had stepped into his office. Logic suggested who it must be. Stillwithout opening his eyes, still with his hands clasped on the closed cover ofthe toilet, he called: “Finli? Finli o’ Tego? Is that you?”

“Yar, boss, it’s me.”

What was he doing here before thehorn? Everyone, even the Breakers, knew what a fiend for sleep was Finli theWeasel. But all in good time. At this moment Pimli was entertaining the Lord(although in truth he’d nearly dozed off on his knees when some deepsub-instinct had warned him he was no longer alone on the first floor ofWarden’s House). One did not snub such an important guest as the Lord God ofHosts, and so he finished his prayer—“Grant me the grace of Thy will,amen!”—before rising with a wince. His damned back didn’t care a bit forthe belly it had to hoist in front.

Finli was standing by the window, holdingthe Peacemaker up to the dim light, turning it to and fro in order to admirethe delicate scrollwork on the butt-plates.

“This is the one that said goodnight toCameron, true?” Finli asked. “The rapist Cameron.”

Pimli nodded. “Have a care, my son. It’sloaded.”

“Six-shot?”

“Eight! Are you blind? Look at the size ofthe cylinder, for God’s love.”

Finli didn’t bother. He handed the gun backto Pimli, instead. “I know how to pull the trigger, so I do, and when it comesto guns that’s enough.”

“Aye, if it’s loaded. What are you doing upat this hour, and bothering a man at his morning prayers?”

Finli eyed him. “If I were to ask you why Ifind you at your prayers, dressed and combed instead of in your bathrobeand slippers with only one eye open, what answer would you make?”

“I’ve got the jitters. It’s as simple asthat. I guess you do, too.”

Finli smiled, charmed. “Jitters! Is thatlike heebie-jeebies, and harum-scarum, and hinky-di-di?”

“Sort of—yar.”

Finli’s smile widened, but Pimli thought itdidn’t look quite genuine. “I like it! I like it very well! Jittery!Jittersome!”

“No,” Pimli said. “ ‘Got the jitters,’that’s how you use it.”

Finli’s smile faded. “I also have thejitters. I’m heebie and jeebie. I feel hinky-di-di. I’m harum and you’rescarum.”

“More blips on the Deep Telemetry?”

Finli shrugged, then nodded. The problemwith the Deep Telemetry was that none of them were sure exactly what itmeasured. It might be telepathy, or (God forbid) teleportation, or even deeptremors in the fabric of reality—precursors of the Bear Beam’s impendingsnap. Impossible to tell. But more and more of that previously dark and quietequipment had come alive in the last four months or so.

“What does Jenkins say?” Pimli asked. Heslipped the .40 into his docker’s clutch almost without thinking, so moving usa step closer to what you will not want to hear and I will not want to tell.

“Jenkins says whatever rides out of hismouth on the flying carpet of his tongue,” said the Tego with a rude shrug.“Since he don’t even know what the symbols on the Deep Telemetry dials and vidscreens signify, how can you ask his opinion?”

“Easy,” Pimli said, putting a hand on hisSecurity Chief’s shoulder. He was surprised (and a little alarmed) to feel theflesh beneath Finli’s fine Turnbull & Asser shirt thrumming slightly. Orperhaps trembling. “Easy, pal! I was only asking.”

“I can’t sleep, I can’t read, I can’t evenfuck,” Finli said. “I tried all three, by Gan! Walk down to Damli House withme, would you, and have a look at the damned readouts. Maybe you’ll have someideas.”

“I’m a trailboss, not a technician,” Pimlisaid mildly, but he was already moving toward the door. “However, since I’venothing better to do—”

“Maybe it’s just the end coming on,” Finlisaid, pausing in the doorway. “As if there could be any just about sucha thing.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Pimli said equably, “anda walk in the morning air can’t do us any ha—Hey! Hey, you! You, there!You Rod! Turn around when I talk to you, hadn’t you just better!”

The Rod, a scrawny fellow in an ancientpair of denim biballs (the deeply sagging seat had gone completely white),obeyed. His cheeks were chubby and freckled, his eyes an engaging shade of blueeven though at the moment alarmed. He actually wouldn’t have been bad-lookingexcept for his nose, which had been eaten away almost completely on one side,giving him a bizarre one-nostril look. He was toting a basket. Pimli was prettysure he’d seen this shufflefoot bah-bo around the ranch before, but couldn’t besure; to him, all Rods looked alike.