The Wind Through the Keyhole (The Dark Tower 4.5)

"Bring them all to the jail. I'll have the boy in a cell--a locked one, you ken--and you can walk the horsemen past, one by one. I'll tell Young Bill to say nothing, one way or the other, until they're gone. You're right, he may not be able to pick our man out, even if I can help him remember some of what happened last night. But our man won't know that, either."

"It's risky," said Jamie. "Risky for the kid."

"Small risk," I said. "It'll be daylight, with the skin-man in his human shape. And Jamie . . ." I grasped his arm. "I'll be in the cell, too. The bastard will have to go through me if he wants to get to the boy."

*

Peavy liked my plan better than Jamie had. I wasn't a bit surprised. It was his town, after all. And what was Young Bill to him? Only the son of a dead cook. Not much in the great scheme of things.

Once the little expedition to Saltie Town was on its way, I woke the boy and told him we were going to Debaria. He agreed without asking questions. He was distant and dazed. Every now and then he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. As we walked out to the corral, he asked me again if I was sure his da' was dead. I told him I was. He fetched a deep sigh, lowered his head, and put his hands on his knees. I gave him time, then asked if he'd like me to saddle a horse for him.

"If it's all right to ride Millie, I can saddle her myself. I feed her, and she's my special friend. People say mules ain't smart, but Millie is."

"Let's see if you can do it without getting kicked," I said.

It turned out he could, and smartly. He mounted up and said, "I guess I'm ready." He even tried to give me a smile. It was awful to look at. I was sorry for the plan I'd set in motion, but all I had to do was think of the carnage we were leaving behind and Sister Fortuna's ruined face to remind myself of what the stakes were.

"Will she skit in the wind?" I asked, nodding at the trim little mule. Sitting on her back, Young Bill's feet came almost down to the ground. In another year, he'd be too big for her, but of course in another year, he'd probably be far from Debaria, just another wanderer on the face of a fading world. Millie would be a memory.

"Not Millie," he said. "She's as solid as a dromedary."

"Aye, and what's a dromedary?"

"Dunno, do I? It's just something my da' says. One time I asked him, and he didn't know, either."

"Come on, then," I said. "The sooner we get to town, the sooner we'll get out of this grit." But I intended to make one stop before we got to town. I had something to show the boy while we were still alone.

*

About halfway between the ranch and Debaria, I spied a deserted sheepherder's lean-to, and suggested we shelter in there for a bit and have a bite. Bill Streeter agreed willingly enough. He had lost his da' and everyone else he'd known, but he was still a growing boy and he'd had nothing to eat since his dinner the night before.

We tethered our mounts away from the wind and sat on the floor inside the lean-to with our backs against the wall. I had dried beef wrapped in leaves in my saddlebag. The meat was salty, but my waterskin was full. The boy ate half a dozen chunks of the meat, tearing off big bites and washing them down with water.

A strong gust of wind shook the lean-to. Millie blatted a protest and fell silent.

"It'll be a full-going simoom by dark," Young Bill said. "You watch and see if it ain't."

"I like the sound of the wind," I said. "It makes me think of a story my mother read to me when I was a sma' one. 'The Wind Through the Keyhole,' it was called. Does thee know it?"

Young Bill shook his head. "Mister, are you really a gunslinger? Say true?"

"I am."

"Can I hold one of your guns for a minute?"

"Never in life," I said, "but you can look at one of these, if you'd like." I took a shell from my belt and handed it to him.

He examined it closely, from brass base to lead tip. "Gods, it's heavy! Long, too! I bet if you shot someone with one of these, he'd stay down."

"Yes. A shell's a dangerous thing. But it can be pretty, too. Would you like to see a trick I can do with this one?"

"Sure."

I took it back and began to dance it from knuckle to knuckle, my fingers rising and falling in waves. Young Bill watched, wide-eyed. "How does thee do it?"

"The same way anyone does anything," I said. "Practice."

"Will you show me the trick?"

"If you watch close, you may see it for yourself," I said. "Here it is . . . and here it isn't." I palmed the shell so fast it disappeared, thinking of Susan Delgado, as I supposed I always would when I did this trick. "Now here it is again."

The shell danced fast . . . then slow . . . then fast again.

"Follow it with your eyes, Bill, and see if you can make out how I get it to disappear. Don't take your eyes off it." I dropped my voice to a lulling murmur. "Watch . . . and watch . . . and watch. Does it make you sleepy?"

"A little," he said. His eyes slipped slowly closed, then the lids rose again. "I didn't sleep much last night."

"Did you not? Watch it go. Watch it slow. See it disappear and then . . . see it as it speeds up again."

Back and forth the shell went. The wind blew, as lulling to me as my voice was to him.

"Sleep if you want, Bill. Listen to the wind and sleep. But listen to my voice, too."

"I hear you, gunslinger." His eyes closed again and this time didn't reopen. His hands were clasped limply in his lap. "I hear you very well."

"You can still see the shell, can't you

? Even with your eyes closed."

"Yes . . . but it's bigger now. It flashes like gold."

"Do you say so?"

"Yes . . ."

"Go deeper, Bill, but hear my voice."

"I hear."

"I want you to turn your mind back to last night. Your mind and your eyes and your ears. Will you do that?"

A frown creased his brow. "I don't want to."

"It's safe. All that's happened, and besides, I'm with you."

"You're with me. And you have guns."

"So I do. Nothing will happen to you as long as you can hear my voice, because we're together. I'll keep thee safe. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"Your da' told you to sleep out under the stars, didn't he?"

"Aye. It was to be a warm night."

"But that wasn't the real reason, was it?"

"No. It was because of Elrod. Once he twirled the bunkhouse cat by her tail, and she never came back. Sometimes he pulls me around by my hair and sings 'The Boy Who Loved Jenny.' My da' can't stop him, because Elrod's bigger. Also, he has a knife in his boot. He could cut with it. But he couldn't cut the beast, could he?" His clasped hands twitched. "Elrod's dead and I'm glad. I'm sorry about all the others . . . and my da', I don't know what I'll do wi'out my da' . . . but I'm glad about Elrod. He won't tease me nummore. He won't scare me nummore. I seen it, aye."

So he did know more than the top of his mind had let him remember.

"Now you're out on the graze."

"On the graze."

"Wrapped up in your blanket and shinnie."

"Shaddie."

"Your blanket and shaddie. You're awake, maybe looking up at the stars, at Old Star and Old Mother--"

"No, no, asleep," Bill said. "But the screams wake me up. The screams from the bunkhouse. And the sounds of fighting. Things are breaking. And something's roaring."

"What do you do, Bill?"

"I go down. I'm afraid to, but my da' . . . my da's in there. I look in the window at the far end. It's greasepaper, but I can see through it well enough. More than I want to see. Because I see . . . I see . . . mister, can I wake up?"

"Not yet. Remember that I'm with you."