Susannah waited, with a mixture of dread and almost prurient interest, for Roland's response. There was none. Roland only stared at Dinky, his thumbs hooked into his gunbelt.
"Surely you realize that a dead man can't bring you back from America-side," Ted said in a more reasonable tone.
"We'll jump that fence when and if we come to it," Roland said. "In the meantime, we've got several other fences to get over."
"I'm glad we're taking on the Devar-Toi first, whatever the risk," Susannah said. "What's going on down there is an abomination."
"Yes, ma'am," Dinky drawled, and pushed up an imaginary hat. "Ah reckon that's the word."
The tension in die cave eased. Behind them, Sheemie was telling Oy to roll over, and Oy was doing so willingly enough.
The Rod had a big, sloppy smile on his face. Susannah wondered when Haylis of Chayven had last had occasion to use his smile, which was childishly charming.
She thought of asking Ted if there was any way of telling what day it was in America right now, then decided not to bother. If Stephen King was dead, diey'd know; Roland had said so, and she had no doubt he was right. For now the writer was fine, happily frittering away his time and valuable imagination on some meaningless project while the world he'd been born to imagine continued to gather dust in his head. If Roland was pissed at him, it was really no wonder. She was a little pissed at him herself.
"What's your plan, Roland?" Ted asked.
"It relies on two assumptions: that we can surprise them and then stampede them. I don't think they expect to be interrupted in these last days; from Pimli Prentiss down to the lowliest hume guard outside the fence, they have no reason to believe they'll be bothered in their work, certainly not attacked. If my assumptions are correct, we'll succeed. If we fail, at least we won't live long enough to see the Beams break and the Tower fall."
Roland found the crude map of die Algul and put it on the floor of the cave. They all gathered around it.
"These railroad sidetracks," he said, indicating the hashmarks labeled 10. "Some of the dead engines and traincars on them stand widiin twenty yards of the south fence, it looks like through the binoculars. Is that right?"
"Yeah," Dinky said, and pointed to the center of die nearest line. "Might as well call it south, anyway-it's as good a word as any. There's a boxcar on this track that's real close to the fence.
Only ten yards or so. It says soo LINE on the side."
Ted was nodding.
"Good cover," Roland said. "Excellent cover." Now he pointed to the area beyond the north end of the compound.
"And here, all sorts of sheds."
"There used to be supplies in them," Ted said, "but now most are empty, I think. For awhile a gang of Rods slept there, but six or eight months ago, Pimli and the Wease kicked them out."
"But more cover, empty or full," Roland said. "Is the ground behind and around them clear of obstacles and pretty much smooth? Smooth enough for that thing to go back and forth?"
He cocked a thumb at Suzie's Cruisin Trike.
Ted and Dinky exchanged a glance. "Definitely," Ted said.
Susannah waited to see if Eddie would protest, even before he knew what Roland had in mind. He didn't. Good. She was already thinking about what weapons she'd want. What guns.
Roland sat quiet for a moment or two, gazing at the map, almost seeming to commune with it. When Ted offered him a cigarette, the gunslinger took it. Then he began to talk. Twice he drew on the side of a weapons crate with a piece of chalk.
Twice more he drew arrows on the map, one pointing to what they were calling north, one to the south. Ted asked a question;
Dinky asked another. Behind them, Sheemie and Haylis played with Oy like a couple of children. The bumbler mimicked their laughter with eerie accuracy.
When Roland had finished, Ted Brautigan said: 'You mean to spill an almighty lot of blood."
"Indeed I do. As much as I can."
"Risky for the lady," Dink remarked, looking first at her and then at her husband.
Susannah said nothing. Neither did Eddie. He recognized the risk. He also understood why Roland would want Suze north of the compound. The Cruisin Trike would give her mobility, and they'd need it. As for risk, they were six planning to take on sixty. Or more. Of course there would be risk, and of course there would be blood.
Blood and fire.
"I may be able to rig a couple of other guns," Susannah said. Her eyes had taken on that special Detta Walker gleam.
"Radio-controlled, like a toy airplane. I dunno. But I'll move, all right. I'm goan speed around like grease on a hot griddle."
"Can this work?" Dinky asked bluntly.
Roland's lips parted in a humorless grin. "It a?7/work."
"How can you say that?" Ted asked.
Eddie recalled Roland's reasoning before their call to John Cullum and could have answered that question, but answers were for their ka-tet's dinh to give-if he would-and so he left this one to Roland.
"Because it has to," the gunslinger said. "I see no other way."
Chapter XI:THE ATTACK ON ALGUL SIENTO
ONE
It was a day later and not long before the horn signaled the morning change of shift. The music would soon start, the sun would come on, and the Breaker night-crew would exit The Study stage left while the Breaker day-crew entered stage right.
Everything was as it should be, yet Pimli Prentiss had slept less than an hour the previous night and even that brief time had been haunted by sour and chaotic dreams. Finally, around four
(what his bedside clock in fact claimed was four, but who knew anymore, and what did it matter anyway, this close to the end),
he'd gotten up and sat in his office chair, looking out at the darkened Mall, deserted at this hour save for one lone and poindess robot who'd taken it into its head to patrol, waving its six pincertipped arms aimlessly at the sky. The robots that still ran grew wonkier by the day, but pulling their batteries could be dangerous, for some were booby-trapped and would explode it you tried it. There was nothing you could do but put up with their antics and keep reminding yourself that all would be over soon, praise Jesus and God the Fauier Almighty. At some point the former Paul Prentiss opened the desk drawer above the kneehole, pulled out the.40 Peacemaker Colt inside, and held it in his lap.
It was the one with which the previous Master, Humma, had executed the ra**st Cameron. Pimli hadn't had to execute anyone in his time and was glad of it, but holding the pistol in his lap, feeling its grave weight, always offered a certain comfort.
Although why he should require comfort in the watches of the night, especially when everything was going so well, he had no idea. All he knew for sure was that there had been some anomalous blips on what Finli and Jenkins, their chief technician, liked to call the Deep Telemetry, as if these were instruments at the bottom of the ocean instead of just in a basement closet adjacent to die long, low room holding the rest of the more useful gear. Pimli recognized what he was feeling-call a spade a spade-as a sense of impending doom. He tried to tell himself it was only his grandfather's proverb in action, that he was almost home and so it was time to worry about the eggs.
Finally he'd gone into his bathroom, where he closed die lid of the toilet and knelt to pray. And here he was still, only something had changed in the atmosphere. He'd heard no footfall but knew someone had stepped into his office. Logic suggested who it must be. Still without opening his eyes, still with his hands clasped on the closed cover of the toilet, he called:
"Finli? Finli O'Tego? Is that you?"
"Yar, boss, it's me."
What was he doing here before the horn? Everyone, even the Breakers, knew what a fiend for sleep was Finli the Weasel.
But all in good time. At this moment Pimli was entertaining die Lord (although in truth he'd nearly dozed off on his knees when some deep sub-instinct had warned him he was no longer alone on the first floor of Warden's House). One did not snub such an important guest as the Lord God of Hosts, and so he finished his prayer-"Grant me die grace of Thy will, amen!"-before rising with a wince. His damned back didn't care a bit for the belly it had to hoist in front.
Finli was standing by the window, holding the Peacemaker up to the dim light, turning it to and fro in order to admire die delicate scrollwork on the butt-plates.
"This is the one that said goodnight to Cameron, true?"
Finli asked. "The ra**st Cameron."
Pimli nodded. "Have a care, my son. It's loaded."
"Six-shot?"
"Eight! Are you blind? Look at the size of the cylinder, for God's love."
Finli didn't bother. He handed the gun back to Pimli, instead. "I know how to pull the trigger, so I do, and when it comes to guns that's enough.".
"Aye, if it's loaded. What are you doing up at this hour, and bothering a man at his morning prayers?"
Finli eyed him. "If I were to ask you why I find you at your prayers, dressed and combed instead of in your bathrobe and slippers with only one eye open, what answer would you make?"
"I've got the jitters. It's as simple as that. I guess you do, too."
Finli smiled, charmed. "Jitters! Is that like heebiejeebies, and harum-scarum, and hinky-di-di?"
"Sort of-yar."
Finli's smile widened, but Pimli thought it didn't look quite genuine. "I like it! I like it very well! Jittery! Jittersome!"