The Dark Tower

and he responded:

All is well, don’t fear, cully, all is well.

The bumbler in the bag (Nigel had found it in the motor-pool, separated from its mother, brothers, and sisters by the closing of an automatic door) relaxed — not believing, exactly, but hoping to believe.

Six

In Nigel’s study, the lights had been turned down to quarter-brilliance. When Oy began to whine, Jake woke at once. The others slept on, at least for the time being.

What’s wrong, Oy?

The bumbler didn’t reply, only went on whining deep in his throat. His gold-ringed eyes peered into the gloomy far corner of the study, as if seeing something terrible there. Jake could remember peering into the corner of his bedroom the same way after waking from some nightmare in the small hours of the morning, a dream of Frankenstein or Dracula or (Tyrannasorbet Wrecks) some other boogeyman, God knew what. Now, thinking that perhaps bumblers also had nightmares, he tried even harder to touch Oy’s mind. There was nothing at first, then a deep, blurred image (eyes eyes looking out of the darkness) of something that might have been a billy-bumbler in a sack.

“Shhhh,” he whispered into Oy’s ear, putting his arms around him. “Don’t wake em, they need their sleep.”

“Leep,” Oy said, very low.

“You just had a bad dream,” Jake whispered. “Sometimes I have them, too. They’re not real. Nobody’s got you in a bag. Go back to sleep.”

“Leep.” Oy put his snout on his right forepaw. “Oy-be ki-yit.”

That’s right, Jake thought at him, Oy be quiet.

The gold-ringed eyes, still looking troubled, remained open a bit longer. Then Oy winked at Jake with one and closed both. A moment later, the bumbler was asleep again. Somewhere close by, one of his kind had died…but dying was the way of the world; it was a hard world and always had been.

Oy dreamed of being with Jake beneath the great orange orb of the Peddler’s Moon. Jake, also sleeping, picked it up by touch and they dreamed of Old Cheap Rover Man’s Moon together.

Oy, who died? asked Jake beneath the Peddler’s one-eyed, knowing wink.

Oy, said his friend. Delah. Many.

Beneath the Old Cheap Man’s empty orange stare Oy said no more; had, in fact, found a dream within his dream, and here also Jake went with him. This dream was better. In it, the two of them were playing together in bright sunshine. To them came another bumbler: a sad fellow, by his look. He tried to talk to them, but neither Jake nor Oy could tell what he said, because he was speaking in English.

Seven

Mordred wasn’t strong enough to lift the bumbler from the bag, and Nigel either would not or could not help him. The robot only stood inside the door of the Control Center, twisting his head to one side or the other, counting and clanking more loudly than ever. A hot, cooked smell had begun to rise from his innards.

Mordred succeeded in turning the bag over and the bumbler, probably half a yearling, fell into his lap. Its eyes were half-open, but the yellow-and-black orbs were dull and unmoving.

Mordred threw his head back, grimacing in concentration. That red flash ran down his body, and his hair tried to stand on end. Before it could do more than begin to rise, however, it and the infant’s body to which it had been attached were gone. The spider came. It hooked four of its seven legs about the bumbler’s body and drew it effortlessly up to the craving mouth. In twenty seconds it had sucked the bumbler dry. It plunged its mouth into the creature’s soft underbelly, tore it open, lifted the body higher, and ate the guts which came tumbling out: delicious, strength-giving packages of dripping meat. It ate deeper, making muffled mewling sounds of satisfaction, snapping the billy-bumbler’s spine and sucking the brief dribble of marrow. Most of the energy was in the blood — aye, always in the blood, as the Grandfathers well knew — but there was strength in meat, as well. As a human baby (Roland had used the old Gilead endearment, bah-bo), he could have taken no nourishment from either the juice or the meat. Would likely have choked to death on it. But as a spider—