“STOP IT.”
Roland went on in the same serene tone, ignoring Blaine completely. “Unfortunately, I am somewhat restricted in my ability to be rude, since you are only a machine . .. what Eddie calls a ‘gadget.’” “I AM A GREAT DEAL MORE THAN JUST—“
“I cannot call you a sucker of cocks, for instance, because you have no mouth and no cock. I cannot say you are viler than the vilest beggar who ever crawled the gutters of the lowest street in creation, because even such a creature is better than you; you have no knees on which to crawl, and would not fall upon them even if you did, for you have no conception of such a human flaw as mercy. I cannot even say you f**ked your mother, because you had none.” Roland paused for breath. His three companions were holding theirs. All around them, suffocating, was Blaine the Mono’s thunderstruck silence. “I can call you a faithless creature who let your only companion kill herself, a coward who has delighted in the torture of the foolish and the slaughter of the innocent, a lost and bleating mechanical goblin who—” “I COMMAND YOU TO STOP IT OR I’LL KILL YOU ALL RIGHT HERE!” Roland’s eyes blazed with such wild blue fire that Eddie shrank away from him. Dimly, he heard Jake and Susannah gasp.
“Kill if you will, but command me nothing!” the gunslinger roared. “You have forgotten the faces of those who made you! Now either kill us or be silent and listen to me, Roland of Gilead, son of Steven, gunslinger, and lord of the ancient lands! I have not come across all the miles and all the years to listen to your childish prating! Do you understand? Now you will listen to ME!” There was a moment of shocked silence. No one breathed. Roland stared sternly forward, his head high, his hand on the butt of his gun.
Susannah Dean raised her hand to her mouth and felt the small smile there as a woman might feel some strange new article of clothing— a hat, perhaps—to make sure it is still on straight. She was afraid that this was the end of her life, but the feeling which dominated her heart at that moment was not fear but pride. She glanced to her left and saw Eddie regarding Roland with an amazed grin. Jake’s expression was even simpler: it was adoration, pure and simple. “Tell him!” Jake breathed. “Walk it to him! Right!” “You better pay attention,” Eddie agreed. “He really doesn’t give much of a rat’s ass, Blaine. They didn’t call him The Mad Dog of Gilead for nothing.” After a long, long moment, Blaine asked: “DID THEY CALL YOU SO, ROLAND SON OF STEVEN?”
“It may have been so,” Roland agreed, standing calmly on thin air above the sterile foothills.
“WHAT GOOD ARE YOU TO ME IF YOU WON’T TELL ME RIDDLES?” Blaine asked. Now he sounded like a grumbling, sulky child who has been allowed to stay up too long past his usual bedtime.
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t,” Roland said, “NO?” Blaine sounded bewildered. “I DO NOT UNDERSTAND, YET VOICE-PRINT ANALYSIS INDICATES RATIONAL DIS-COURSE. PLEASE EXPLAIN.” “You said you wanted them right now,” the gunslinger replied. “That was what I was refusing. Your eagerness has made you unseemly.” “I DON’T UNDERSTAND.”
“It has made you rude. Do you understand that?” There was a long, thoughtful silence. Then: “IF WHAT I SAID STRUCK YOU AS RUDE, I APOLOGIZE.”
“It is accepted, Blaine. But there is a larger problem.” “EXPLAIN.”
Blaine now sounded a bit unsure of himself, and Roland was not entirely surprised. It had been a long time since the computer had experi-enced any human responses other than ignorance, neglect, and supersti-tious subservience. If it had ever been exposed to simple human courage, it had been a long time ago. “Close the carriage again and I will.” Roland sat down as if further argument—and the prospect of immediate death—was now unthinkable. Blaine did as he was asked. The walls filled with color and the nightmare landscape below was once more blotted out. The blip on the route-map was now blinking close to the dot which marked Candleton. “All right,” Roland said. “Rudeness is forgivable, Blaine; so I was taught in my youth, and the clay has dried in the shapes left by the artist’s hand. But I was also taught that stupidity is not.”
“HOW HAVE I BEEN STUPID, ROLAND OF GILEAD?” Blaine’s voice was soft and ominous. Susannah suddenly thought of a cat crouched outside a mouse-hole, tail swishing back and forth, green eyes shining.
“We have something that you want,” Roland said, “but the only reward you offer if we give it to you is death. That’s very stupid.” There was a long, long pause as Blaine thought this over. Then: “WHAT YOU SAY IS TRUE, ROLAND OF GILEAD, BUT THE QUALITY OF YOUR RIDDLES IS NOT PROVEN. I WILL NOT REWARD YOU WITH YOUR LIVES FOR BAD RIDDLES.” Roland nodded. “I understand, Blaine. Listen, now, and take under-standing from me. I have told some of this to my friends already. When I was a boy in the Barony of Gilead, there were seven Fair-Days each year—Winter, Wide Earth, Sowing, Mid-Summer, Full Earth, Reaping, and Year’s End. Riddling was an important part of every Fair-Day, but it was the most important event of the Fair of Wide Earth and that of Full Earth, for the riddles told were supposed to augur well or ill for the success of the crops.” “THAT IS SUPERSTITION WITH NO BASIS AT ALL IN FACT,” Blaine said. “I FIND IT ANNOYING AND UPSETTING.”
“Of course it’s superstition,” Roland agreed, “but you might be sur-prised at how well the riddles foresaw the crops. For instance, riddle me this, Blaine: What is the difference between a grandmother and a granary?”