DEAN AND JOHN "JAKE" CHAMBERS." He paused. "Then it said 'Cam-a-cam-mal, Pria-toi, Gan delah,' which you might say as WHITE OVER RED, THUS GAN WILLS EVER."
"And to us it says GOOD OVER EVIL, THIS IS THE WILL OF GOD," Marian said.
"God be praised!" Moses Carver said, and thumped his cane. "May the Prim rise!"
There was a perfunctory knock at the door and then the woman from the outer desk came in, carrying a silver tray.
Roland was fascinated to see a small black knob suspended in front of her lips, and a narrow black armature that disappeared into her hair. Some sort of far-speaking device, surely. Nancy Deepneau and Marian Carver helped her set out steaming cups of tea and coffee, bowls of sugar and honey, a crock of cream. There was also a plate of sandwiches. Roland's stomach rumbled. He thought of his friends in the ground-no more popkins for them-and also of Irene Tassenbaum, sitting in the little park across the street, patiently waiting for him. Either thought alone should have been enough to kill his appetite, but his stomach once more made its impudent noise. Some parts of a man were conscienceless, a fact he supposed he had known since childhood. He helped himself to a popkin, dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into his tea, then added honey for good measure. He would make this as brief as possible and return to Irene as soon as he could, but in the meantime...
"May it do you fine, sir," Moses Carver said, and blew across his coffee cup. "Over the teeth, over the gums, look out guts, here it comes! Hee!"
"Dad and I have a house on Montauk Point," said Marian, pouring cream into her own coffee, "and we were out there this past weekend. At around five-fifteen on Saturday afternoon, I got a call from one of the security people here. The Hammarskjold Plaza Association employs them, but the Tet Corporation pays them a bonus so we may know... certain things of interest, let's say... as soon as they occur. We've been watching that plaque in the lobby with extraordinary interest as the nineteenth of June approached, Roland. Would it surprise you to know that, until roughly quarter of five on that day, it read GIVEN BY THE TET CORPORATION, IN HONOR OF THE BEAM FAMILY, AND IN MEMORY OF GILEAD?"
Roland considered this, sipped his tea (it was hot and strong and good), then shook his head. "No."
She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "And why do you say so?"
"Because until Saturday afternoon between four and five o'clock, nothing was sure. Even with the Breakers stopped, nothing was sure until Stephen King was safe." He glanced around at them. "Do you know about the Breakers?"
Marian nodded. "Not the details, but we know the Beam they were working to destroy is safe from them now, and that it wasn't so badly damaged it can't regenerate." She hesitated, then said: "And we know of your loss. Both of your losses.
We're ever so sorry, Roland."
"Those boys are safe in the arms of Jesus," Marian's father said. "And even if they ain't, they're together in the clearing."
Roland, who wanted to believe this, nodded and said thankya. Then he turned back to Marian. "The thing with the writer was very close. He was hurt, and badly. Jake died saving him. He put his body between King and the van-mobile that would have taken his life."
"King is going to live," Nancy said. "And he's going to write again. We have that on very good authority."
"Whose?"
Marian leaned forward. "In a minute," she said. "The point is, Roland, we believe it, we're sure of it, and King's safety over the next few years means that your work in the matter of the Beams is done: Ves'-Ka Gan."
Roland nodded. The song would continue.
"There's plenty of work for us ahead," Marian went on,
"thirty years' worth at least, we calculate, but-"
"But it's ourwork, not yours," Nancy said.
"You have this on the same 'good authority'?" Roland asked, sipping his tea. Hot as it was, he'd gotten half of the large cup inside of him already.
"Yes. Your quest to defeat the forces of the Crimson King has been successful. The Crimson King himself-"
"That wa'n't never this man's quest and you know it!" the centenarian sitting next to die handsome black woman said, and he once more thumped his cane for emphasis. "His quest-"
"Dad, that's enough." Her voice was hard enough to make the old man blink.
"Nay, let him speak," Roland said, and they