may not believe that; we do."
But years of dealing with the Crimson King may have left you with a way of jumping at shadows, do it please ya, Roland thought.
Aloud he said, "If not stories, what?"
It was Moses Carver who answered. "We think maybe messages in bottles." In the way he spoke this word-boh'uls, almost-Roland heard a heartbreaking echo of Susannah, and suddenly wanted to see her and know she was all right. This desire was so strong it left a bitter taste on his tongue.
"-that great sea."
"Beg your pardon," the gunslinger said. "I was wool-gathering."
"I said we believe that Stephen King's cast his botdes upon that great sea. The one we call the Prim. In hopes that they'll reach you, and the messages inside will make it possible for you and my Odetta to gain your goal."
"Which brings us to our final gifts," Marian said. "Our true gifts. First..." She handed him the box.
It opened on a hinge. Roland placed his left hand splayed over the top, meaning to swing it back, then paused and studied his interlocutors. They were looking at him with hope and suspenseful interest, an expression that made him uneasy. A mad
(but surprisingly persuasive) idea came to him: that these were in truth agents of the Crimson King, and when he opened the box, the last thing he'd see would be a primed sneetch, counting down the last few clicks to red zero. And the last sound he'd hear before the world blew up around him would be their mad laughter and a cry of Hile the Red King! It wasn't impossible, either, but a point came where one had to trust, because the alternative was madness.
If ka will say so, let it be so, he thought, and opened the box.
TWELVE
Within, resting on dark blue velvet (which diey might or might not have known was the color of the Royal Court of Gilead), was a watch within a coiled chain. Engraved upon its gold cover were three objects: a key, a rose, and-between and slightly above them-a tower with tiny windows marching around its circumference in an ascending spiral.
Roland was amazed to find his eyes once more filling with tears. When he looked at the others again-two young women and one old man, the brains and guts of the Tet Corporation-he at first saw six instead of three. He blinked the phantom doubles away.
"Open the cover and look inside," Moses Carver said. "And there's no need to hide your tears in this company, you son of Steven, for we're not the machines the others would replace us with, if they had their way."
Roland saw that the old man spoke true, for tears were slipping down the weathered darkness of his cheeks. Nancy Deepneau was also weeping freely. And aldiough Marian Carver no doubt prided herself on being made of sterner stuff, her eyes held a suspicious gleam.
He depressed the stem protruding from the top of the case, and the lid sprang up. Inside, finely scrolled hands told the hour and the minute, and with perfect accuracy, he had no doubt. Below, in its own small circle, a smaller hand raced away the seconds. Carved on the inside of the lid was this:
To the Hand of ROLAND DESCHAIN
From Those of MOSES ISAAC CARVER
MARIAN ODETTA CARVER
NANCY REBECCA DEEPNEAU
With Our Gratitude White Over Red,Thus GOD Wills Ever
"Thankee-sai," Roland said in a hoarse and trembling voice.
"I thank you, and so would my friends, were they here to speak."
"In our hearts they do speak, Roland," Marian said. "And in your face we see them very well."
Moses Carver was smiling. "In our world, Roland, giving a man a gold watch has a special significance."
"What would that be?" Roland asked. He held the watch-easily die finest timepiece he'd ever had in his life-up to his ear and listened to the precise and delicate ticking of its machinery.
"That his work is done and it's time for him to go fishing or play with his grandchildren," Nancy Deepneau said. "But we gave it to you for a different reason. May it count the hours to your goal and tell you when you near it."
"How can it do that?"
"We have one exceptional good-mind fellow in New Mexico,"
Marian said. "His name is Fred Towne. He sees a great deal and is rarely if ever mistaken. This watch is a Patek Philippe,
Roland. It cost nineteen thousand dollars, and the makers guarantee a full refund of the price if it's ever fast or slow. It needs no