"Do you understand what I've told you, Susannah?"
"Yes," she said, still without looking up. "I'm to bury my man.
Ted and Dinky will help me, if only to keep their friends-" she gave this word a bitterly sarcastic litde twist that actually encouraged Roland a bit; she was in there after all, it seemed "-from taking him away from me and lynching his body from a sour apple tree."
"And then?"
"Either you'll find a way to come back here and we'll return to Fedic together, or Ted and Dinky will put me on the train and I'll go there alone."
Jake didn't just hate the cold disconnection in her voice; it terrified him, as well. 'You know why we have to go back to the other side, don't you?" he asked anxiously. "I mean, you knoiu, don't you?"
"To save the writer while there's still time." She had picked up one of Eddie's hands, and Jake noted with fascination that his nails were perfectly clean. What had she used to get die dirt out from beneath them, he wondered-had the proctor had one of those little nail-care gadgets, like the one his father always kept on a keychain in his pocket? "Sheemie says we've saved the Beam of Bear and Turtle. We think we've saved the rose. But there's at least one more job to do. The writer. The lazybones writer." Now she did look up, and her eyes flashed.
Jake suddenly thought it might be good that Susannah wouldn't be with them when-if-they met sai Stephen King.
"You bettah save him," she said. Both Roland and Jake could hear old sneak-thief Detta creeping into her voice. "After what's happened today, youjust bettah. And this time, Roland, you tell him not to stop with his writin. Not come hell, high water, cancer, or gangrene of the dick. Never mind worryin about the Pulitzer Prize, neither. You tell him to go on and be donewith his motherfuckin story."
"I will pass the message on," Roland said.
She nodded.
"You'll come to us when this job is finished," Roland said, and his voice rose just slightly on the last word, almost turning it into a question. 'You'll come with us and finish the final job, won't you?"
"Yes," she said. "Not because I want to-all the spit and git is out of me-but because it wanted me to." Gently, very gently, she put Eddie's hand back on his chest with the other one. Then she pointed a finger at Roland. The tip trembled minutely. "Just don't start up with any of that we are ka-tet, we are one from many crap. Because those days are gone. Ain't they?"
"Yes," Roland said. "But the Tower still stands. And waits."
"Lost my taste for that, too, big boy." Not quite los'mah tase fo'dat, too, but almost. "Tell you the truth."
But Jake realized that she was not telling the truth. She hadn't lost her desire to see the Dark Tower any more than Roland had. Any more than Jake had himself. Their tet might be broken, but ka remained. And she felt it just as they did.
FIFTEEN
They kissed her (and Oy licked her face) before leaving.
"You be careful, Jake," Susannah said. "Come back safe, hear? Eddie would have told you the same."
"I know," Jake said, and then kissed her again. He was smiling because he could hear Eddie telling him to watch his ass, it was cracked already, and starting to cry once more for the same reason. Susannah held him tight a moment longer, then let him go and turned back to her husband, lying so still and cold in the proctor's bed. Jake understood that she had little time for Jake Chambers or Jake Chambers's grief just now. Her own was too big.
SIXTEEN
Outside the suite, Dinky waited by the door. Roland was walking on with Ted, the two of them already at the end of the corridor and deep in conversation. Jake supposed they were headed back to the Mall, where Sheemie (with a little help from the others) would attempt to send them once more to America-side. That reminded him of something.
"The D-line trains go south," Jake said. "Or what's supposed to be south-is that right?"
"More or less, partner," Dinky said. "Some of the engines have got names, like Delicious Rain or Spirit of the Snow Country, but they've all got letters and numbers."
"Does the D stand for Dandelo?" Jake asked.
Dinky looked at him with a puzzled frown. "Dandelo? What in the hell is that?"
Jake shook his head. He didn't even want to tell Dinky where he'd heard the word.
"Well, I don't know, not for sure," Dinky said as they resumed walking, "but I always assumed the D stood for Discordia.
Because that's where all the trains supposedly end up, you know-somewhere deep in the universe's baddest Badlands."
Jake nodded. D for Discordia. That made sense. Sort of, anyway.
"You didn't answer my question," Dinky said. "What's a Dandelo?"
"Just a word I saw written on the wall in Thunderclap Station.
It probably doesn't mean anything."
SEVENTEEN
Outside Corbett Hall, a delegation of Breakers waited. They looked grim and frightened. Dfor Dandelo, Jake thought. Dfor Discordia. Also Dfor desperate.
Roland faced them with his arms folded over his chest.
"Who speaks for you?" he asked. "If one speaks, let him come forward now, for our time here is up."
A gray-haired gentleman-another bankerly-looking fellow, in truth-stepped forward. He was wearing gray suitpants, a white shirt open at the collar, and a gray vest, also open.
The vest sagged. So did the man wearing it.
"You've taken our lives from us," he said. He spoke these words with a kind of morose satisfaction-as if he'd always known it would come to this (or something like this). "The lives we knew. What will you give back in return, Mr. Gilead?"
There was a rumble of approval at this. Jake Chambers heard it and was suddenly more angry than ever before in his life. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, stole to the handle of the Coyote machine-pistol, caressed it, and found a cold comfort in its shape. Even a brief respite from grief. And Roland knew, for he reached behind him without looking and put his hand on top of Jake's. He squeezed until Jake let loose of the gun.
"I'll tell you what I'll give, since you ask," Roland said. "I
meant to have this place, where you have fed on the brains of helpless children in order to destroy the universe, burned to the ground; aye, every stick of it. I intended to set certain flying balls that have come into our possession to explode, and blow apart anything that would not burn. I intended to point you the way to the River Whye and the green Callas which lie beyond it, and set you on with a curse my father taught me: may you live long, but not in good health."
A resentful murmur greeted this, but not an eye met Roland's own. The man who had agreed to speak for them (and even in his rage, Jake gave him points for courage) was swaying on his feet, as if he might soon faint away.
"The Callas still lie in that direction," Roland said, and pointed. "If you go, some-many, even-may die on the way, for there are animals out there that are hungry, and what water there is may be poison. I've no doubt the Calla-folken will know who you are and what you've been about even if you lie, for they have the Manni among them and the Manni see much. Yet you may find forgiveness there rather than death, for the capacity for forgiveness in the hearts of such people is beyond the capacity of hearts such as yours to understand. Or mine, for that matter.
"That they would put you to work and that the rest of your lives would pass not in the comfort you've known but in toil and sweat I have no doubt, yet I urge you to go, if only to find some redemption for what you have done."
"We didn't know what we were doing, ye chary man!" a woman in the back yelled furiously.
"YOU KNEW!" Jake shouted back, screaming so loudly that he saw black dots in front of his eyes, and Roland's hand was once again instantly over his to stay his draw. Would he actually have sprayed the crowd with the Coyote, bringing more death to this terrible place? He didn't know. What he did know was that a gunslinger's hands were sometimes not under his control once a weapon was in them. "Don't you dare say you didn't! You knew!"
"I'll give this much, may it do ya," Roland said. "My friends and I-those who survive, although I'm sure the one who lies dead yonder would agree, which is why I speak as I do-will let this place stand. There's food enough to see you through the rest of your lives, I have no doubt, and robots to cook it and wash your clothes and even wipe your asses, if that's what you think you need. If you prefer purgatory to redemption, then stay here.
Were I you, I'd make the trek instead. Follow the railroad tracks out of the shadows. Tell them what you did before they can tell you, and get on your knees with your heads bared, and beg their forgiveness."
"Never!" someone shouted adamantly, but Jake thought some of the others looked unsure.
"As you will," said Roland. "I've spoken my last word on it, and the next who speaks back to me may remain silent ever after, for one of my friends is preparing another, her husband, to lie in the ground and I am full of grief and rage. Would you speak more? Would you dare my rage? If so, you dare this." He drew his gun and laid it in the hollow of his shoulder. Jake stepped up beside him, at last drawing his own.
There was a moment of silence, and then the man who had spoken turned away.
"Don't shoot us, mister, you've done enough," someone said bitterly.