The Dark Tower (The Dark Tower 7)

Moses Carver-if still alive-had to be convinced enough by what he heard to fold the so-called Tet Corporation into Holmes Industries (or vice-versa). More! He had to dedicate what was left of his life (and Eddie had an idea Carver might be Aaron Deepneau's age by now) to building a corporate giant whose only real purpose was to thwart two other corporate giants, Sombra and North Central Positronics, at every turn. To strangle them if possible, and keep them from becoming a monster that would leave its destroyer's track across all the dying expanse of Mid-World and mortally wound the Dark Tower itself.

"Maybe we should have left the writ O'Trade with sai Deepneau,"

Roland mused when he had heard Eddie through to the end. "At least he could have located this Carver and sought him out and told our tale for us. "

"No, we did right to keep it. " This was one of the few things of which Eddie was completely sure. "If we'd left this piece of paper with Aaron Deepneau, it'd be ashes in the wind by now. "

"You believe Tower would have repented his bargain and talked his friend into destroying it?"

"I know it," Eddie said. "But even if Deepneau could stand up to his old friend going yatta-yatta-yatta in his ear for on end-'Burn it, Aaron, they coerced me and now they mean to screw me, you know it as well as I do, burn it and we'll call die cops on those momsers'-do you think Moses Carver would believe such a crazy story?"

Roland smiled bleakly. "I don't diink his belief would be an issue, Eddie. Because, think thee a moment, how much of our crazy story has Aaron Deepneau actually heard)"

"Not enough," Eddie agreed. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them. Hard. "I can only think of one person who could actually convince Moses Carver to do the things we'd have to ask, and she's otherwise occupied. In the year of '99. And by then, Carver's gonna be as dead as Deepneau and maybe Tower himself. "

"Well, what can we do without her? What will satisfy you?"

Eddie was thinking that perhaps Susannah could come back to 1977 without them, since she, at least, hadn't visited it yet. Well. . . she'd come here todash, but he didn't think that exactly counted. He supposed she might be barred from 1977

solely on the grounds that she was ka-tet with him and Roland.

Or some other grounds. Eddie didn't know. Reading the fine print had never been his strong point. He turned to ask Roland what he thought, but Roland spoke before he got a chance.

"What about our dan-tete?" he asked.

Although Eddie understood the term-it meant baby god or little savior-he did not at first understand what Roland meant by it. Then he did. Had not their Waterford dan-tete loaned them the very car they were sitting in, say thankya?

"Cullum? Is that who you're talking about, Roland? The guy with the case of autographed baseballs?"

"You say true," Roland replied. He spoke in that dry tone which indicated not amusement but mild exasperation. "Don't overwhelm me with your enthusiasm for the idea. "

"But. . . you told him to go away! And he agreed to go!"

"And how enthusiastic would you say he was about visiting his friend in Vermong?"

"Mont," Eddie said, unable to suppress a smile. Yet, smiling or not, what he felt most strongly was dismay. He thought that scraping sound he heard in his imagination was Roland's o-fingered right hand, prospecting around at the very bottom of the barrel.

Roland shrugged as if to say he didn't care if Cullum had noken of going to Vermont or Barony o' Garlan. "Answer my question. "

"Well. . . "

Cullum actually hadn't expressed much enthusiasm for the idea at all. He had from the very first reacted more like one of them than one of the grass-eaters among whom he lived (Eddie recognized grass-eaters very easily, having been one himself until Roland first kidnapped him and then began his homicidal lessons). Cullum had been clearly intrigued by the gunslingers, an

d curious about their business in his little town. But Roland had been very emphatic abovit what he wanted, and folks had a way of following his orders.

Now he made a twirling motion with his right hand, his old impatient gesture. Hurry, for your father's sake. Shit or get off the commode.

"I guess he really didn't want to go," Eddie said. "But that doesn't mean he's still at his house in East Stoneham. "

"He is, though. He didn't go. "

Eddie managed to keep his mouth from dropping open only with some effort. "How can you know that? Can you touch him, is that it?"

Roland shook his head.

"Then how-"

"Ka. "

"Ka? Ka?" Just what the fuck does iki mean?"

Roland's face was haggard and tired, the skin pale beneath his tan. "Who else do we know in this part of the world?"

"No one, but-"

Then it's him. " Roland spoke flatly, as if stating some obvious fact of life for a child: up is over your head, down is where your feet stick to the earth.

Eddie got ready to tell him that was stupid, nothing more an rank superstition, then didn't. Putting aside Deepneau, and the hideous Jack Andolini, John Cullum was the only person tiiey knew in this part of the world

(or on diis level of the Tower, if you preferred to diink of it that way). And, after the things Eddie had seen in the last few months-hell, in the last week-who was he to sneer at superstition?

"All right," Eddie said. "I guess we better try it. "

"How do we get in touch?"

"We can phone him from Bridgton. But in a story, Roland, a minor character like John Cullum would never come in off die bench to save the day. It wouldn't be considered realistic. "

"In life," Roland said, "I'm sure it happens all the time. "

And Eddie laughed. What the hell else could you do? It was just so perfecdy Roland.

FOUR

BRIDGTON HIGH STREET 1

HIGHLAND LAKE 2

HARRISON 3

WATERFORD6

SWEDEN 9

LOVELL18

FRYEBURG24

They had just passed this sign when Eddie said, "Root around in the glove-compartment a little, Roland. See if ka or the Beam or whatever left us a little spare change for the pay phone. "

"Glove-? Do you mean this panel here?"

"Yeah. "

Roland first tried to turn the chrome button on the front, then got with the program and pushed it. The inside was a mare's nest that hadn't been improved by the Galaxie's brief period of weighdessness. There were credit card receipts, a very old tube of what Eddie identified as "tooth-paste" (Roland could make out the words HOLMES DENTAL on it quite clearly), a fottergraff showing a smiling little girl-Cullum's niece, mayhap-on a pony, a stick of what he first took for explosive (Eddie said it was a road flare, for emergencies), a magazine that appeared to be called YANKME. . . and a cigar-box.

Roland couldn't quite make out the word on this, although he thought it might be trolls. He showed the box to Eddie, whose eyes lit up.

"That says TOLLS," he said. "Maybe you're right about Cullum and ka. Open it up, Roland, do it please ya. "

The child who had given this box as a gift had crafted a loving

(and rather clumsy) catch on the front to hold it closed.

Roland slipped the catch, opened the box, and showed Eddie a great many silver coins. "Is it enough to call sai Cullum's house?"

"Yeah," Eddie said. "Looks like enough to call Fairbanks,

Alaska. It won't help us a bit, though, if Cullum's on the road to Vermont. "

FIVE

The Bridgton town square was bounded by a drug store and a pizza-joint on one side; a movie theater (The Magic Lantern)

and a department store (Reny's) on the other. Between the theater and the department store was a little plaza equipped with benches and three pay phones.

Eddie swept through Cullum's box of toll-change and gave Roland six dollars in quarters. "I want you to go over there," he said, pointing at the drug store, "and get me a tin of aspirin. Will you know it when you see it?"

"Astin. I'll know it. "

"The smallest size they have is what I want, because six bucks really isn't much money. Then go next door, to that place that says Bridgton Pizza and Sandwiches. If you've still got at least sixteen of those money-coins left, tell them you want a hoagie. "

Roland nodded, which wasn't good enough for Eddie. "Let me hear you say it. "

"Hoggie. "

"Hoagie. "

"HOOG-gie"

"Ho-" Eddie quit. "Roland, let me hear you say 'poorboy. '"

"Poor boy. "

"Good. If you have at least sixteen quarters left, ask for a poorboy. Can you say 'lots of mayo'?"

"Lots of mayo. "

"Yeah. If you have less than sixteen, ask for a salami and cheese sandwich. Sandwich, not a popkin. "

"Salommy sanditch. "

"Close enough. And don't say anything else unless you absolutely have to. "

Roland nodded. Eddie was right, it would be better if he did not speak. People only had to look at him to know, in their secret hearts, that he wasn't from these parts. They also had a tendency to step away from him. Better he not exacerbate that.

The gunslinger dropped a hand to his left hip as he turned toward the street, an old habit that paid no comfort this time; both revolvers were in die trunk of Cullum's Galaxie, wrapped in their cartridge belts.