Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [168]
Eddie’s heart sank. “Yes, sir. At the table on the other side of the house.”
“Ah ask because if Ah’m gonna shoot some dirt, Ah usually shoot it d’recly after the night meal. Don’t feel no urge, so Ah thought Ah’d ask.”
“No. We ate.”
“Ah. And what’s your name?”
“Eddie Dean.”
“Ah.” The old man drew on his pipe. Twin curls of smoke drifted from his nose. “And the brownie’s yours?” Eddie was about to ask for clarification when Gran-pere gave it. “The woman.”
“Susannah. Yes, she’s my wife.”
“Ah.”
“Sir…Gran-pere…the Wolves?” But Eddie no longer believed he was going to get anything from the old guy. Maybe Suze could—
“As Ah recall, there was four of us,” Gran-pere said.
“Not five?”
“Nar, nar, although close enow so you could say a moit.” His voice had become dry, matter-of-fact. The accent dropped away a little. “We ’us young and wild, didn’t give a rat’s red ass if we lived or died, do ya kennit. Just pissed enow to take a stand whether the rest of ’un said yes, no, or maybe. There ’us me…Pokey Slidell…who ’us my best friend…and there ’us Eamon Doolin and his wife, that redheaded Molly. She was the very devil when it came to throwin the dish.”
“The dish?”
“Aye, the Sisters of Oriza throw it. Zee’s one. Ah’ll make her show’ee. They have plates sharpened all the way around except fer where the women hold on, do’ee ken. Nasty wittit, they are, aye! Make a man witta bah look right stupid. You ort to see.”
Eddie made a mental note to tell Roland. He didn’t know if there was anything to this dish-throwing or not, but he did know they were extremely short of weapons.
“ ’Twas Molly killed the Wolf—”
“Not you?” Eddie was bemused, thinking of how truth and legend twisted together until there was no untangling them.
“Nar, nar, although”—Gran-pere’s eyes gleamed—“Ah might have said ’twas me on one time or another, mayhap to loosen a young lady’s knees when they’d otherwise have stuck together, d’ye ken?”
“I think so.”
“ ’Twas Red Molly did for it witter dish, that’s the truth of it, but that’s getting the cart out front of the horse. We seen their dust-cloud on the come. Then, mebbe six wheel outside of town, it split throg.”
“What’s that? I don’t understand.”
Gran-pere held up three warped fingers to show that the Wolves had gone three different ways.
“The biggest bunch—judgin by the dust, kennit—headed into town and went for Took’s, which made sense because there were some’d thought to hide their babbies in the storage bin out behind. Tooky had a secret room way at the back where he kep’ cash and gems and a few old guns and other outright tradeables he’d taken in; they don’t call em Tooks for nothin, ye know!” Again the rusty, cackling chuckle. “It were a good cosy, not even the folk who worked fer the old buzzard knew it were there, yet when the time come the Wolves went right to it and took the babbies and kilt anyone tried to stand in their way or even speak a word o’ beggary to em. And then they whopped at the store with their light-sticks when they rode out and set it to burn. Burnt flat, it did, and they was lucky not to’ve lost the whole town, young sai, for the flames started out of them sticks the Wolves carry ain’t like other fire, that can be put out with enough water. T’row water on these ’uns, they feed on it! Grow higher! Higher and hotter! Yer-bugger!”
He spat over the rail for emphasis, then looked at Eddie shrewdly.
“All of which Ah’m sayin is this: no matter how many in these parts my grandson conwinces to stand up and fight, or you and yer brownie, Eben Took won’t never be among em. Tooks has kep’ that store since time was toothless, and they don’t ever mean to see it burned flat again. Once ’us enough for them cowardy custards, do’ee foller?”
“Yes.”
“The other two dust-clouds, the biggest of em hied sout’ for the ranches. The littlest come down East Rud toward the smallholds, which was where we were, and where we made our stand.”
The old man