The Dark Tower

Gingerly, as if he thought Aunt Talitha’s cross might glow redhot at any moment and give him a serious burn, John Cullum did as bid. He bent his head to look down at it (momentarily giving his long Yankee face an amusing burgher’s double chin), then tucked it into his shirt.

“Gorry,” he said again, very softly.

SIX

Aware that he was speaking now as once he’d been spoken to, Eddie Dean said: “Tell the rest of your lesson, John of East Stoneham, and be true.”

Cullum had gotten out of bed that morning no more than a country caretaker, one of the world’s unknown and unseen. He’d go to bed tonight with the potential of becoming one of the world’s most important people, a true prince of the Earth. If he was afraid of the idea, it didn’t show. Perhaps he hadn’t grasped it yet.

But Eddie didn’t believe that. This was the man ka had put in their road, and he was both trig and brave. If Eddie had been Walter at this moment (or Flagg, as Walter sometimes called himself), he believed he would have trembled.

“Well,” John said, “it don’t mind a mite to ya who runs the company, but you want Tet to swallow up Holmes, because from now on the job doesn’t have anything to do with makin toothpaste and cappin teeth, although it may go on lookin that way yet awhile.”

“And what’s—”

Eddie got no further. John raised a gnarled hand to stop him. Eddie tried to imagine a Texas Instruments calculator in that hand and discovered he could, and quite easily. Weird.

“Gimme a chance, youngster, and I’ll tell you.”

Eddie sat back, making a zipping motion across his lips.

“Keep the rose safe, that’s first. Keep the writah safe, that’s second. But beyond that, me and this guy Deepneau and this other guy Carver are s’posed to build up one of the world’s most powerful corporations. We trade in real estate, we work with . . . uh . . .” He pulled out the battered green pad, consulted it quickly, and put it away. “We work with ‘software developers,’ whatever they are, because they’re gonna be the next wave of technology. We’re supposed to remember three words.” He ticked them off. “Microsoft. Microchips. Intel. And n’matter how big we grow—or how fast—our three real jobs are the same: protect the rose, protect Stephen King, and try to screw over two other companies every chance we get. One’s called Sombra. Other’s . . .” There was the slightest of hesitations. “The other’s North Central Positronics. Sombra’s mostly interested in proppity, accordin to you fellas. Positronics . . . well, science and gadgets, that’s obvious even to me. If Sombra wants a piece of land, Tet tries t’get it first. If North Central wants a patent, we try to get it first, or at least to frig it up for them. Throw it to a third party if it comes to that.”

Eddie was nodding approval. He hadn’t told John that last, the old guy had come up with it on his own.

“We’re the Three Toothless Musketeers, the Old Farts of the Apocalypse, and we’re supposed to keep those two outfits from gettin what they want, by fair means or foul. Dirty tricks most definitely allowed.” John grinned. “I never been to Harvard Business School”—Haa-vid Bi’ness School—“but I guess I can kick a fella in the crotch as well’s anyone.”

“Good,” Roland said. He started to get up. “I think it’s time we—”

Eddie raised a hand to stop him. Yes, he wanted to get to Susannah and Jake; couldn’t wait to sweep his darling into his arms and cover her face with kisses. It seemed years since he had last seen her on the East Road in Calla Bryn Sturgis. Yet he couldn’t leave it at this as easily as Roland, who had spent his life being obeyed and had come to take the death-allegiance of complete strangers as a matter of course. What Eddie saw on the other side of Dick Beckhardt’s table wasn’t another tool but an independent Yankee who was tough-minded and smart as a whip . . . but really too old for what they were asking. And speaking of too old, what about Aaron Deepneau, the Chemotherapy Kid?

“My friend wants to get moving and so do I,” Eddie said. “We’ve got miles to go yet.”

“I know that. It’s on your face, son. Like a scar.”

Eddie was fascinated by the idea of duty and ka as something that left a mark, something that might look like decoration to one eye and disfigurement to another. Outside, thunder cracked and lightning flashed.

“But why would you do this?” Eddie asked. “I have to know that. Why would you take all this on for two men you just met?”