"Somebody shut him up!" Dinky cried, and Oy began barking.
"Never mind die Rod, get Sheemie's feet!" Ted snapped.
"Hold him still!"
Dinky dropped to his knees and grabbed Sheemie's feet, one now bare, the other still wearing its absurd rubber moc.
"Oy, hush!" Jake said, and Oy did. But he was standing with his short legs spread and his belly low to the ground, his fur bushed out so he seemed nearly double his normal size.
Roland crouched by Sheemie's head, forearms on the dirt floor of the cave, mouth by one of Sheemie's ears. He began to murmur. Susannah could make out very little of it because of the Rod's falsetto babbling, but she did hear Will Dearborn that was and All's well and-she thought-rest.
Whatever it was, it seemed to get through. Litde by litde Sheemie relaxed. She could see Dinky easing his hold on the former tavern-boy's ankles, ready to grab hard again if Sheemie renewed his kicking. The muscles around Sheemie's mouth also relaxed, and his teeth unlocked. The piece of wood, still nailed lightly to his mouth by his upper incisors, seemed to levitate.
Susannah pulled it gently free, looking with amazement at the blood-rimmed holes, some almost half an inch deep, diat had been driven into the soft wood. Sheemie's tongue lolled from the side of his moudi, reminding her of how Oy looked at siesta time, sleeping on his back with his legs spread to the four points of the compass.
Now there was only the rapid auctioneer's babble of die Rod, and die low growl deep in Oy's chest as he stood protectively at Jake's side, looking at die newcomer widi narrowed eyes.
"Shut your mouth and be still," Roland told the Rod, then added something else in another language.
The Rod froze halfway into another salaam, hands still raised above his head, staring at Roland. Eddie saw the side of his nose had been eaten away by a juicy sore, red as a strawberry.
The Rod put his scabbed, dirty palms over his eyes, as if the gunslinger were a thing too bright to look at, and fell on his side.
He drew his knees up to his chest, producing a loud fart as he did so.
"Harpo speaks," Eddie said, ajoke snappy enough to make Susannah laugh. Then there was silence except for the whine of the wind outside the cave, the faint sound of recorded music from the Devar-Toi, and the distant rumble of thunder, that sound of rolling bones.
Five minutes later Sheemie opened his eyes, sat up, and looked around with the bewildered air of one who knows not where he is, how he got there, or why. Then his eyes fixed on Roland, and his poor, tired face lit in a smile.
Roland returned it, and held out his arms. "Can'ee come to me, Sheemie? If not, I'll come to you, sure."
Sheemie crawled to Roland of Gilead on his hands and knees, his dark and dirty hair hanging in his eyes, and laid his head on Roland's shoulder. Susannah felt tears stinging her eyes and looked away.
TWO
Some short time later Sheemie sat propped against the wall of the cave with the mover's pad that had been over Suzie's Cruisin Trike cushioning his head and back. Eddie had offered him a soda, but Ted suggested water might be better. Sheemie drank the first bottle of Perrier at a single go, and now sat sipping another. The rest of them had instant coffee, except for Ted; he was drinking a can of Nozz-A-La.
"Don't know how you stand that stuff," Eddie said.
"Each to his own taste, said the old maid as she kissed the cow," Ted replied.
Only the Child of Roderick had nothing. He lay where he was, at the mouth of the cave, with his hands pressed firmly over his eyes. He was trembling lighdy.
Ted had checked Sheemie over between Sheemie's first and second bottle of water, taking his pulse, looking in his mouth, and feeling his skull for any soft places. Each time he asked Sheemie if it hurt, Sheemie solemnly shook his head, never taking his eyes off Roland during the examination. After feeling Sheemie's ribs ("Tickles, sai, so it do," Sheemie said widi a smile), Ted pronounced him fit as a fiddle.
Eddie, who could see Sheemie's eyes perfecdy well-one of the gas-lanterns was nearby and cast a strong glow on Sheemie's face-thought that was a lie of near Presidential quality.
Susannah was cooking up a fresh batch of powdered eggs and corned beef hash. (The grill had spoken up again-"More of the same, eh?" it asked in a tone of cheery approval.) Eddie caught Dinky Earnshaw's eye and said, "Want to step outside with me for a minute while Suze makes with the chow?"
Dinky glanced at Ted, who nodded, then back at Eddie. "If you want. We've got a litde more time diis morning, but that doesn't mean we can waste any."
"I understand," Eddie said.
THREE
The wind had strengthened, but instead of freshening the air, it smelled fouler than ever. Once, in high school, Eddie had gone on a field trip to an oil refinery in New Jersey. Until now he thought that was hands-down the worst thing he'd ever smelled in his life; two of the girls and three of the boys had puked. He remembered their tour-guide laughing heartily and saying, "Just remember that's the smell of money-it helps."
Maybe Perth Oil and Gas was still the all-time champeen, but only because what he was smelling now wasn't quite so strong.
And just by the way, what was there about Perth Oil and Gas that seemed familiar? He didn't know and it probably didn't matter, but it was strange, the way things kept coming around over here. Only "coming around" wasn't quite right, was it?
"Echoing back," Eddie murmured. "That's what it is."
"Beg pardon, partner?" Dinky asked. They were once again standing on the path, looking down at the blue-roofed buildings in the distance, and the tangle of stalled traincars, and the perfect little village. Perfect, that was, until you remembered it was behind a triple run of wire, one of those runs carrying an electrical charge strong enough to kill a man on contact.
"Nothing," Eddie said. "What's that smell? Any idea?"
Dinky shook his head, but pointed beyond the prison compound in a direction that might or might not be south or east.
"Something poison out there is all I know," he said. "Once I asked Finli and he said there used to be factories in that direction.
Positronics business. You know that name?"
"Yes. But who's Finli?"
"Finli O'Tego. The top security guy, Prentiss's number one boy, also known as The Weasel. A taheen. Whatever your plans are, you'll have to go through him to make them work. And he won't make it easy for you. Seeing him stretched out dead on the ground would make me feel like it was a national holiday.
By the way, my real name's Richard Earnshaw. Pleased as hell to meetcha." He put out his hand. Eddie shook it.
"I'm Eddie Dean. Known as Eddie of New York out here west of the Pecos. The woman's Susannah. My wife."
Dinky nodded. "Uh-huh. And the boy's Jake. Also of New York."
"Jake Chambers, right. Listen, Rich-"
"I salute the effort," he said, smiling, "but I've been Dinky too long to change now, I guess. And it could be worse. I worked for awhile at the Supr Savr Supermarket with a twentysomething guy known as JJ the Fuckin Blue Jay. People will still be calling him that when he's eighty and wearing a pee-bag."
"Unless we're brave, lucky, and good," Eddie said, "nobody's gonna see eighty. Not in this world or any of the others."
Dinky looked startled, then glum. "You got a point."
"That guy Roland used to know looks bad," Eddie said.
"Did you see his eyes?"
Dinky nodded, glummer than ever. "I think those little spots of blood in the whites are called petechiae. Something like that." Then, in a tone of apology Eddie found rather bizarre, under the circumstances: "I don't know if I'm saying that right."
"I don't care what you call them, it's not good. And him pitching a fit like that-"
"Not a very nice way to put it," Dinky said.
Eddie didn't give a shit if it was or wasn't. "Has it ever happened to him before?"
Dinky's eyes broke contact with Eddie's and looked down at his own shuffling feet, instead. Eddie thought that was answer enough.
"How many times?" Eddie hoped he didn't sound as appalled as he felt. There were enough pinprick-sized bloodspots in the whites of Sheemie's eyes to make them look as if someone had flung paprika into them. Not to mention the bigger ones in the corners.
Still without looking at him, Dinky raised four fingers.
"Four times?"
"Yuh," Dinky said. He was still studying his makeshift mocs.
"Starting with the time he sent Ted to Connecticut in 1960. It was like doing that ruptured something inside him." He looked up, trying to smile. "But he didn't faint yesterday, when the three of us went back to the Devar."
"Let me make sure I've got this right. In the prison down there, you guys have all sorts of venial sins, but only one mortal one: teleportation."
Dinky considered this. The rules certainly weren't that liberal for the taheen and the can-toi; they could be exiled or lobotomized for all sorts of reasons, including such wrongs as negligence, teasing the Breakers, or the occasional act of outright cruelty. Once-so he had been told-a Breaker had been raped by a low man, who was said to have explained earnestly to the camp's last Master that it was part of his becoming-the Crimson King himself had appeared to this fellow in a dream and told him to do it. For this the can-toi had been sentenced to death. The Breakers had been invited to attend his execution (accomplished by a single pistol-shot to the head), which had taken place in the middle of Pleasantville's Main Street.