The Dark Tower-Part 3#-4#-5#(17)

"We can," Marian said, and pushed a button on her desk.

She spoke to someone Roland couldn't see, and all at once the woman in the outer office-the one who had appeared to be talking to herself-made more sense to him.

When the ordering of hot drinks and sandwiches (what Roland supposed he would always think of as popkins) was done, Marian leaned forward and captured Roland's eye.

"We're well-met in New York, Roland, so I hope, but our time here isn't …  isn't vital. And I suspect you know why."

The gunslinger considered this, then nodded. A trifle cautiously, but over the years he had built a degree of caution into his nature. There were others-Alain Johns had been one, Jamie DeCurry another-for whom a sense of caution had been inbred, but that had never been the case with Roland, whose tendency had been to shoot first and ask questions later.

"Nancy told you to read the plaque in the Garden of the Beam," Marian said. "Did-"

"Garden of the Beam, say Gawd!" Moses Carver interjected.

On the walk down the corridor to his daughter's office, he had picked a cane out of a faux elephant-foot stand, and now he thumped it on the expensive carpet for emphasis. Marian bore this patiently. "Say Gawd-bomb!"

"My father's recent friendship with the Reverend Harrigan, who holds court down below, has not been the high point in my life," Marian said with a sigh, "but never mind. Did you read the plaque, Roland?"

He nodded. Nancy Deepneau had used a different word-sign or sigul-but he understood it came to the same. "The letters changed into Great Letters. I could read it very well."

"And what did it say?"

"GIVEN BY THE TET CORPORATION, IN HONOR OF EDWARD CANTOR DEAN AND JOHN "JAKE" CHAMBERS." He paused. "Then it said ‘Cam-a-cam-mal, Pria-toi, Gan delah,' which you might say as WHITE OVER RED, THUS GAN WILLS EVER."

"And to us it says GOOD OVER EVIL, THIS IS THE WILL OF GOD," Marian said.

"God be praised!" Moses Carver said, and thumped his cane. "May the Prim rise!"

There was a perfunctory knock at the door and then the woman from the outer desk came in, carrying a silver tray.

Roland was fascinated to see a small black knob suspended in front of her lips, and a narrow black armature that disappeared into her hair. Some sort of far-speaking device, surely. Nancy Deepneau and Marian Carver helped her set out steaming cups of tea and coffee, bowls of sugar and honey, a crock of cream. There was also a plate of sandwiches. Roland's stomach rumbled. He thought of his friends in the ground-no more popkins for them-and also of Irene Tassenbaum, sitting in the little park across the street, patiently waiting for him. Either thought alone should have been enough to kill his appetite, but his stomach once more made its impudent noise. Some parts of a man were conscienceless, a fact he supposed he had known since childhood. He helped himself to a popkin, dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into his tea, then added honey for good measure. He would make this as brief as possible and return to Irene as soon as he could, but in the meantime …

"May it do you fine, sir," Moses Carver said, and blew across his coffee cup. "Over the teeth, over the gums, look out guts, here it comes! Hee!"

"Dad and I have a house on Montauk Point," said Marian, pouring cream into her own coffee, "and we were out there this past weekend. At around five-fifteen on Saturday afternoon, I got a call from one of the security people here. The Hammarskjold Plaza Association employs them, but the Tet Corporation pays them a bonus so we may know …  certain things of interest, let's say …  as soon as they occur. We've been watching that plaque in the lobby with extraordinary interest as the nineteenth of June approached, Roland. Would it surprise you to know that, until roughly quarter of five on that day, it read GIVEN BY THE TET CORPORATION, IN HONOR OF THE BEAM FAMILY, AND IN MEMORY OF GILEAD?"

Roland considered this, sipped his tea (it was hot and strong and good), then shook his head. "No."

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "And why do you say so?"

"Because until Saturday afternoon between four and five o'clock, nothing was sure. Even with the Breakers stopped, nothing was sure until Stephen King was safe." He glanced around at them. "Do you know about the Breakers?"

Marian nodded. "Not the details, but we know the Beam they were working to destroy is safe from them now, and that it wasn't so badly damaged it can't regenerate." She hesitated, then said: "And we know of your loss. Both of your losses.

We're ever so sorry, Roland."

"Those boys are safe in the arms of Jesus," Marian's father said. "And even if they ain't, they're together in the clearing."

Roland, who wanted to believe this, nodded and said thankya. Then he turned back to Marian. "The thing with the writer was very close. He was hurt, and badly. Jake died saving him. He put his body between King and the van-mobile that would have taken his life."

"King is going to live," Nancy said. "And he's going to write again. We have that on very good authority."

"Whose?"

Marian leaned forward. "In a minute," she said. "The point is, Roland, we believe it, we're sure of it, and King's safety over the next few years means that your work in the matter of the Beams is done: Ves'-Ka Gan."

Roland nodded. The song would continue.

"There's plenty of work for us ahead," Marian went on,

"thirty years' worth at least, we calculate, but-"

"But it's ourwork, not yours," Nancy said.

"You have this on the same 'good authority'?" Roland asked, sipping his tea. Hot as it was, he'd gotten half of the large cup inside of him already.

"Yes. Your quest to defeat the forces of the Crimson King has been successful. The Crimson King himself-"

"That wa'n't never this man's quest and you know it!" the centenarian sitting next to die handsome black woman said, and he once more thumped his cane for emphasis. "His quest-"

"Dad, that's enough." Her voice was hard enough to make the old man blink.

"Nay, let him speak," Roland said, and they all looked at him, surprised by (and a little afraid of) that dry whipcrack. "Let him speak, for he says true. If we're going to have it out, let us have it all out. For me, the Beams have always been no more than means to an end. Had they broken, the Tower would have fallen. Had die Tower fallen, I should never have gained it, and climbed to the top of it."

"You're saying you cared more for the Dark Tower than for the continued existence of the universe," Nancy Deepneau said. She spoke in a just-let-me-make-sure-I've-got-this-right voice and looked at Roland with a mixture of wonder and contempt.

"For the continued existence of all the universes."

"The Dark Tower is existence," Roland said, "and I have sacrificed many friends to reach it over the years, including a boy who called me father. I have sacrificed my own soul in the bargain, lady-sai, so turn thy impudent glass another way. May you do it soon and do it well, I beg."

His tone was polite but dreadfully cold. All the color was dashed from Nancy Deepneau's face, and the teacup in her hands trembled so badly that Roland reached out and plucked it from her hand, lest it spill and burn her.

"Take me not amiss," he said. "Understand me, for we'll never speak more. What was done was done in both worlds, well and ill, for ka and against it. Yet there's more beyond all worlds than you know, and more behind them than you could ever guess. My time is short, so let's move on."

"Well said, sir!" Moses Carver growled, and thumped his cane again.

"If I offended, I'm truly sorry," Nancy said.

To this Roland made no reply, for he knew she was not sorry a bit-she was only afraid of him. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence that Marian Carver finally broke.

"We don't have any Breakers of our own, Roland, but at the ranch in Taos we employ a dozen telepaths and precogs.

What they make together is sometimes uncertain but always greater than the sum of its parts. Do you know the term "good-mind'?"

The gunslinger nodded.

"They make a version of that," she said, "although I'm sure it's not so great or powerful as that the Breakers in Thunderclap were able to produce."

"B'cause they had hundreds," the old man grumped. "And they were better fed."

"Also because the servants of the King were more than willing to kidnap any who were particularly powerful," Nancy said, "they always had what we'd call 'the pick of the litter.' Still, ours have served vis well enough."

"Whose idea was it to put such folk to work for you?"

Roland asked.

"Strange as it might seem to you, partner," Moses said, "it was Cal Tower. He never contributed much-never did much but elect his books and drag his heels, greedy highfalutin whitebread sumbitch that he was-"

His daughter gave him a warning look. Roland found he had to struggle to keep a straight face. Moses Carver might be a hundred years old, but he had pegged Calvin Tower in a single phrase.

"Anyway, he read about putting tellypaths to work in a bunch of science fiction books. Do you know about science fiction?"

Roland shook his head.

"Well, ne'mine. Most of it's bullshit, but every now and then a good idear crops up. Listen to me and I'll tell you a good