The Dark Tower

And while the gunslingers had had no luckfinding any sort of radio-controlled weaponry, they had discovered thatthree of the more science-fictiony rifles were equipped with switches markedINTERVAL. Eddie said he thought these rifles were lazers, althoughnothing about them looked lazy to Susa

“He’s right, kid,” Eddie had said. “Theclowns down there might know we were shooting those things even if theycouldn’t see or hear anything. We don’t know what kind of vibes their telemetrycan pick up.”

Under cover of dark, Susa

Heart thumping heavily, Susa

“The ideal would be for all of them to gohot during the five or ten minutes when they’re changing the guard,” Roland hadsaid. “Everyone scurrying hither and thither, waving to their friends andexchanging little bits o’ gossip. We can’t expect that—notreally—but we can hope for it.”

Yes, they could do that much… but wish inone hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up first. In any case, itwould be her decision as to when to fire the first shot. After that, everythingwould happen jin-jin.

Please, God, help me pick the right time.

She waited, holding one of the Coyotemachine-pistols with the barrel in the hollow of her shoulder. When the musicstarted—a recorded version of what she thought might be “ ‘At’sAmore”—Susa

The music had started and that was good.But the music wasn’t enough. She sat on the SCT’s saddle, waiting for the horn.

Three

“Dino Martino,” Eddie said, almost too lowto hear.

“Hmmm?” Jake asked.

The three of them were behind the SOO LINEboxcar, having worked their way through the graveyard of old engines andtraincars to that spot. Both of the boxcar’s loading doors were open, and allthree of them had had a peek through them at the fence, the south watchtowers,and the village of Pleasantville, which consisted of but a single street. Thesix-armed robot which had earlier been on the Mall was now here, rolling up anddown Main Street past the quaint (and closed) shops, bellowing what soundedlike math equations at the top of its… lungs?

“Dino Martino,” Eddie repeated. Oy wassitting at Jake’s feet, looking up with his brilliant gold-ringed eyes; Eddiebent and gave his head a brief pat. “Dean Martin did that song originally.”

“Yeah?” Jake asked doubtfully.

“Sure. Only we used to sing it, ‘When-a damoon hits-a yo’ lip like a big piece-a shit, ‘at’s amore—’”

“Hush, do ya please,” Roland murmured.

“Don’t suppose you smell any smoke yet, doyou?” Eddie asked.

Jake and Roland shook their heads. Rolandhad his big iron with the sandalwood grips. Jake was armed with an AR-15, butthe bag of Orizas was once more hung over his shoulder, and not just for goodluck. If all went well, he and Roland would be using them soon.

Four

Like most men with what’s known as“house-help,” Pimli Prentiss had no clear sense of his employees as creatureswith goals, ambitions, and feelings—as humes, in other words. As long asthere was someone to bring him his afternoon glass of whiskey and set his chop(rare) in front of him at six-thirty, he didn’t think of them at all. Certainlyhe would have been quite astounded to learn that Tammy (his housekeeper) andTassa (his houseboy) loathed each other. They treated each other withperfect—if chilly—respect when they were around him, after all.

Only Pimli wasn’t around this morning as “‘At’s Amore” (interpreted by the Billion Bland Strings) rose from AlgulSiento’s hidden speakers. The Master was walking up the Mall, now in thecompany of Jakli, a ravenhead taheen tech, as well as his Security Chief. Theywere discussing the Deep Telemetry, and Pimli had no thought at all for thehouse he had left behind for the last time. Certainly it never crossed his mindthat Tammy Kelly (still in her nightgown) and Tassa of Sonesh (still in hissilk sleep-shorts) were on the verge of battle about the pantry-stock.

“Look at this!” she cried. They werestanding in the kitchen, which was deeply gloomy. It was a large room, and allbut three of the electric lights were burned out. There were only a few bulbsleft in Stores, and they were earmarked for The Study.

“Look at what?” Sulky. Pouty. Andwas that the remains of lip paint on his cu

“Do’ee not see the empty spots on theshelves?” she asked indignantly. “Look! No more baked beans—”

“He don’t care beans for beans, as you verywell know—”

“No tuna-fish, either, and will’ee tell mehe don’t eat that? He’d eat it until it ran out his ears, and thee knowsit!”

“Can you not—”

“No more soup—”

“Balls there ain’t!” he cried. “Look there,and there, and th—”

“Not the Campbell’s Tamater he likes best,”she overrode him, drawing closer in her excitement. Their arguments had neverdeveloped into outright fisticuffs before, but Tassa had an idea this might bethe day. And if it were so, it were fine-oh! He’d love to sock this fat oldrun-off-at-the-mouth bitch in the eye. “Do you see any Campbell’s Tamater,Tassa o’ wherever-you-

grew?”

“Can you not bring back a box of tinsyourself?” he asked, taking his own step forward; now they were nearlynose-to-nose, and although the woman was large and the young man was willowy,the Master’s houseboy showed no sign of fear. Tammy blinked, and for the firsttime since Tassa had shuffled into the kitchen—wanting no more than a cupof coffee, say thanks—an expression that was not irritation crossed herface. It might have been nervousness; it might even have been fear. “Are you soweak in the arms, Tammy of wherever -you- grew, that you can’t carry abox of soup-tins out of Stores?”

She drew herself up to her full height,stung. Her jowls (greasy and a-glow with some sort of night-cream) quiveredwith self-righteousness. “Fetching pantry supplies has ever been the houseboy’sjob! And thee knows it very well!”

“That don’t make it a law that you can’thelp out. I was mowing his lawn yest’y, as surely you know; I spied you sittinga-kitchen with a glass of cold tea, didn’t I, just as comfortable as old Elliein your favorite chair.”

She bristled, losing any fear she mighthave had in her outrage. “I have as much right to rest as anyone else! I’d justwarshed the floor—”

“Looked to me like Dobbie was doing it,” hesaid. Dobbie was the sort of domestic robot known as a “house-elf,” old butstill quite efficient.

Tammy grew hotter still. “What would youknow about house chores, you mincy little queer?”

Color flushed Tassa’s normally pale cheeks.He was aware that his hands had rolled themselves into fists, but only becausehe could feel his carefully cared-for nails biting into his palms. It occurredto him that this sort of petty bitch-and-whistle was downright ludicrous,coming as it did with the end of everything stretching black just beyond them;they were two fools sparring and catcalling on the very lip of the abyss, buthe didn’t care. Fat old sow had been sniping at him for years, and now here wasthe real reason. Here it was, finally naked and out in the open.