all looked at him, surprised by (and a little afraid of) that dry whipcrack. "Let him speak, for he says true. If we're going to have it out, let us have it all out. For me, the Beams have always been no more than means to an end. Had they broken, the Tower would have fallen. Had die Tower fallen, I should never have gained it, and climbed to the top of it."
"You're saying you cared more for the Dark Tower than for the continued existence of the universe," Nancy Deepneau said. She spoke in a just-let-me-make-sure-I've-got-this-right voice and looked at Roland with a mixture of wonder and contempt.
"For the continued existence of all the universes."
"The Dark Tower is existence," Roland said, "and I have sacrificed many friends to reach it over the years, including a boy who called me father. I have sacrificed my own soul in the bargain, lady-sai, so turn thy impudent glass another way. May you do it soon and do it well, I beg."
His tone was polite but dreadfully cold. All the color was dashed from Nancy Deepneau's face, and the teacup in her hands trembled so badly that Roland reached out and plucked it from her hand, lest it spill and burn her.
"Take me not amiss," he said. "Understand me, for we'll never speak more. What was done was done in both worlds, well and ill, for ka and against it. Yet there's more beyond all worlds than you know, and more behind them than you could ever guess. My time is short, so let's move on."
"Well said, sir!" Moses Carver growled, and thumped his cane again.
"If I offended, I'm truly sorry," Nancy said.
To this Roland made no reply, for he knew she was not sorry a bit-she was only afraid of him. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence that Marian Carver finally broke.
"We don't have any Breakers of our own, Roland, but at the ranch in Taos we employ a dozen telepaths and precogs.
What they make together is sometimes uncertain but always greater than the sum of its parts. Do you know the term "good-mind'?"
The gunslinger nodded.
"They make a version of that," she said, "although I'm sure it's not so great or powerful as that the Breakers in Thunderclap were able to produce."
"B'cause they had hundreds," the old man grumped. "And they were better fed."
"Also because the servants of the King were more than willing to kidnap any who were particularly powerful," Nancy said, "they always had what we'd call 'the pick of the litter.' Still, ours have served vis well enough."
"Whose idea was it to put such folk to work for you?"
Roland asked.
"Strange as it might seem to you, partner," Moses said, "it was Cal Tower. He never contributed much-never did much but elect his books and drag his heels, greedy highfalutin whitebread sumbitch that he was-"
His daughter gave him a warning look. Roland found he had to struggle to keep a straight face. Moses Carver might be a hundred years old, but he had pegged Calvin Tower in a single phrase.
"Anyway, he read about putting tellypaths to work in a bunch of science fiction books. Do you know about science fiction?"
Roland shook his head.
"Well, ne'mine. Most of it's bullshit, but every now and then a good idear crops up. Listen to me and I'll tell you a good
"un. You'll understand if you know what Tower and your friend Mist' Dean talked about twenty-two years ago, when Mist' Dean come n saved Tower from them two honky thugs."
"Dad," Marian said warningly. 'You quit with the nigger talk, now. You're old but not stupid."
He looked at her; his muddy old eyes gleamed with malicious good cheer; he looked back at Roland and once more came that sly droop of a wink. "Them two honky dago thugs!"
"Eddie spoke of it, yes," Roland said.
The slur disappeared from Carver's voice; his words became crisp. "Then you know they spoke of a book called The Hogan, by Benjamin Slightman. The title of the book was misprinted, and so was the writer's name, which was just the sort of thing that turned old fatty's dials."
"Yes," Roland said. The title misprint had been The Dogan, a phrase that had come to have great meaning to Roland and his tet.
"Well, after your friend came to visit, Cal Tower got interested in that fella all over again, and it turned out he'd written four other books under the name of Daniel Holmes. He was as white as a Klansman's sheet,