Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [307]
“But you have to understand something. For your own good and Benny’s as much as ours. If the Wolves win, you will die. That much you can be sure of. ‘Take it to the bank,’ Eddie and Susannah say.”
Slightman was looking at him again, eyes narrowed behind his specs.
“Hear me well, Slightman, and take understanding from what I say. We’re not going to be where the Wolves think we’re going to be, and neither are the kiddies. Win or lose, this time they’re going to leave some bodies behind. And win or lose, they’ll know they were misled. Who was there in Calla Bryn Sturgis to mislead them? Only two. Andy and Ben Slightman. Andy’s shut down, gone beyond the reach of their vengeance.” He gave Slightman a smile that was as cold as the earth’s north end. “But you’re not. Nor the only one you care for in your poor excuse for a heart.”
Slightman sat considering this. It was clearly a new idea to him, but once he saw the logic of it, it was undeniable.
“They’ll likely think you switched sides a-purpose,” Roland said, “but even if you could convince them it was an accident, they’d kill you just the same. And your son, as well. For vengeance.”
A red stain had seeped into the man’s cheeks as the gunslinger spoke—roses of shame, Roland supposed—but as he considered the probability of his son’s murder at the hands of the Wolves, he grew white once more. Or perhaps it was the thought of Benny being taken east that did it—being taken east and roont. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry for what I’ve done.”
“Balls to your sorry,” Roland said. “Ka works and the world moves on.”
Slightman made no reply.
“I’m disposed to send you with the kids, just as I said I would,” Roland told him. “If things go as I hope, you won’t see a single moment’s action. If things don’t go as I hope, you want to remember Sarey Adams is boss of that shooting match, and if I talk to her after, you want to hope that she says you did everything you were told to do.” When this met with only more silence from Slightman, the gunslinger spoke sharply. “Tell me you understand, gods damn you. I want to hear ‘Yes, Roland, I ken.’ ”
“Yes, Roland, I ken very well.” There was a pause. “If we do win, will the folken find out, do’ee reckon? Find out about…me?”
“Not from Andy, they won’t,” Roland said. “His blabber’s done. And not from me, if you do as you now promise. Not from my ka-tet, either. Not out of respect for you, but out of respect for Jake Chambers. And if the Wolves fall into the trap I’ve laid them, why would the folken ever suspect another traitor?” He measured Slightman with his cool eyes. “They’re innocent folk. Trusting. As ye know. Certainly ye used it.”
The flush came back. Slightman looked down at the floor of the peak-seat again. Roland looked up and saw the place he was looking for now less than a quarter of a mile ahead. Good. There was still no dust-cloud on the eastern horizon, but he could feel it gathering in his mind. The Wolves were coming, oh yes. Somewhere across the river they had dismounted their train and mounted their horses and were riding like hell. And from it, he had no doubt.
“I did it for my son,” Slightman said. “Andy came to me and said they would surely take him. Somewhere over there, Roland—” He pointed east, toward Thunderclap. “Somewhere over there are poor creatures called Breakers. Prisoners. Andy says they’re telepaths and psychokinetics, and although I ken neither word, I know they’re to do with the mind. The Breakers are human, and they eat what we eat to nourish their bodies, but they need other food, special food, to nourish whatever it is that makes them special.”
“Brain-food,” Roland said. He remembered that his mother had called fish brain-food. And then, for no reason he could tell, he found himself thinking of Susannah’s nocturnal prowls. Only it wasn’t Susannah who visited that midnight banquet hall; it was Mia. Daughter of none.
“Yar, I reckon,” Slightman agreed. “Anyway, it’s something only twins have, something