Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [274]
Roland wished he could have supported this charming idea, but he couldn’t. And withholding the truth within the ka-tet was no longer an option. He shook his head. Susannah’s face fell.
“She’s been sleeping quietly, so far as I can tell,” Eddie said. “No sign of Mia.”
“Rosalita says the same,” Callahan added.
“You got dat jane watchin me?” Susannah said in a suspiciously Detta-like tone. But she was smiling.
“Every now and then,” Callahan admitted.
“Let’s leave the subject of Susannah’s chap, if we may,” Roland said. “We need to speak of the Wolves. Them and little else.”
“But Roland—” Eddie began.
Roland held up his hand. “I know how many other matters there are. I know how pressing they are. I also know that if we become distracted, we’re apt to die here in Calla Bryn Sturgis, and dead gunslingers can help no one. Nor do they go their course. Do you agree?” His eyes swept them. No one replied. Somewhere in the distance was the sound of many children singing. The sound was high and gleeful and innocent. Something about commala.
“There is one other bit of business that we must address,” Roland said. “It involves you, Pere. And what’s now called the Doorway Cave. Will you go through that door, and back to your country?”
“Are you kidding?” Callahan’s eyes were bright. “A chance to go back, even for a little while? You just say the word.”
Roland nodded. “Later today, mayhap you and I will take a little pasear on up there, and I’ll see you through the door. You know where the vacant lot is, don’t you?”
“Sure. I must have been past it a thousand times, back in my other life.”
“And you understand about the zip code?” Eddie asked.
“If Mr. Tower did as you requested, it’ll be written at the end of the board fence, Forty-sixth Street side. That was brilliant, by the way.”
“Get the number…and get the date, too,” Roland said. “We have to keep track of the time over there if we can, Eddie’s right about that. Get it and come back. Then, after the meeting in the Pavilion, we’ll need you to go through the door again.”
“This time to wherever Tower and Deepneau are in New England,” Callahan guessed.
“Yes,” Roland said.
“If you find them, you’ll want to talk mostly to Mr. Deepneau,” Jake said. He flushed when they all turned to him, but kept his eyes trained on Callahan’s. “Mr. Tower might be stubborn—”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Eddie said. “By the time you get there, he’ll probably have found twelve used bookstores and God knows how many first editions of Indiana Jones’s Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown.”
“—but Mr. Deepneau will listen,” Jake went on.
“Issen, Ake,” Oy said, and rolled over onto his back. “Issen kiyet!”
Scratching Oy’s belly, Jake said: “If anyone can convince Mr. Tower to do something, it’ll be Mr. Deepneau.”
“Okay,” Callahan replied, nodding. “I hear you well.”
The singing children were closer now. Susannah turned but couldn’t see them yet; she assumed they were coming up River Street. If so, they’d be in view once they cleared the livery and turned down the high street at Took’s General Store. Some of the folken on the porch over there were already getting up to look.
Roland, meanwhile, was studying Eddie with a small smile. “Once when I used the word assume, you told me a saying about it from your world. I’d hear it again, if you remember.”
Eddie grinned. “Assume makes an ass out of u and me—is that the one you mean?”
Roland nodded. “It’s a good saying. All the same, I’m going to make an assumption now—pound it like a nail—then hang all our hopes of coming out of this alive on it. I don’t like it but see no choice. The assumption is that only Ben Slightman and Andy are working against us. That if we take care of them when the time comes, we can move in secrecy.”
“Don’t kill him,” Jake said in a voice almost too low to hear. He had drawn Oy close and was petting the top of his head and his long neck with a kind of compulsive, darting speed. Oy bore this patiently.
“Cry pardon, Jake,” Susannah said, leaning forward and tipping a hand behind one ear. “I didn’t—