Song of Susannah

5th Stanza: The Turtle

  One

  Mia said:Talking will be easier - quicker and clearer, too - if we do it face-to-face.

  How can we?Susannah asked.

  We'll have our palaver in the castle,Mia replied promptly. The Castle on the Abyss. In the banquet room. Do you remember the banquet room?

  Susannah nodded, but hesitantly. Her memories of the banquet room were but recently recovered, and consequently vague. She wasn't sorry, either. Mia's feeding there had been. . . well, enthusiastic, to say the very least. She'd eaten from many plates (mostly with her fingers) and drunk from many glasses and spoken to many phantoms in many borrowed voices. Borrowed? Hell,stolen voices. Two of these Susannah had known quite well. One had been Odetta Holmes's nervous - and rather hoity-toity - "social" voice. Another had been Detta's raucous who-gives-a-shit bellow. Mia's thievery had extended to every aspect of Susannah's personality, it seemed, and if Detta Walker was back, pumped up and ready to cut butt, that was in large part this unwelcome stranger's doing.

  The gunslinger saw me there,Mia said. The boy, too.

  There was a pause. Then:

  I have met them both before.

  Who? Jake and Roland?

  Aye, they.

  Where? When? How could y -

  We can't speak here. Please. Let us go somewhere more private.

  Someplace with a phone, isn't that what you mean? So your friends can call you.

  I only know a little, Susannah of New York, but what little I know, I think you would hear.

  Susannah thought so, too. And although she didn't necessarily want Mia to realize it, she was also anxious to get off Second Avenue. The stuff on her shirt might look like spilled egg-cream or dried coffee to the casual passerby, but Susannah herself was acutely aware of what it was: not just blood, but the blood of a brave woman who had stood true on behalf of her town's children.

  And there were the bags spread around her feet. She'd seen plenty of bag-folkenin New York, aye. Now she felt like one herself, and she didn't like the feeling. She'd been raised to better, as her mother would have said. Each time someone passing on the sidewalk or cutting through the little park gave her a glance, she felt like telling them she wasn't crazy in spite of how she looked: stained shirt, dirty face, hair too long and in disarray, no purse, only those three bags at her feet. Homeless, aye - had anyone ever been as homeless as she, not just out of house but out of time itself? - but in her right mind. She needed to palaver with Mia and get an understanding of what all this was about, that was true. What shewanted was much simpler: to wash, to put on fresh clothes, and to be out of public view for at least a little while.

  Might as well wish for the moon, sugar,she told herself. . . and Mia, if Mia was listening. Privacy costs money. You're in a version of New York where a single hamburger might cost as much as a dollar, crazy as that sounds. And you don't have a sou. Just a dozen or so sharpened plates and some kind of black-magic ball. So what are you gonna do?

  Before she could get any further in her thinking, New York was swept away and she was back in the Doorway Cave. She'd been barely aware of her surroundings on her first visit - Mia had been in charge then, and in a hurry to make her getaway through the door - but now they were very clear. Pere Callahan was here. So was Eddie. And Eddie's brother, in a way. Susannah could hear Henry Dean's voice floating up from the cave's depths, both taunting and dismayed: "I'm in hell, bro! I'm in hell and I can't get a fix andit's all your fault! "

  Susannah's disorientation was nothing to the fury she felt at the sound of that nagging, hectoring voice. "Most of what was wrong with Eddie wasyour fault! " she screamed at him. "You should have done everyone a favor and died young, Henry!"

  Those in the cave didn't even look around at her. What was this? Had she come here todash from New York, just to add to the fun? If so, why hadn't she heard the chimes?

  Hush. Hush, love. That was Eddie's voice in her mind, clear as day. Just watch.

  Do you hear him?she asked Mia. Do you -

  Yes! Now shut up!

  "How long will we have to be here, do you think?" Eddie asked Callahan.

  "I'm afraid it'll be awhile," Callahan replied, and Susannah understood she was seeing something that had already happened. Eddie and Callahan had gone up to the Doorway Cave to try to locate Calvin Tower and Tower's friend, Deepneau. Just before the showdown with the Wolves, this had been. Callahan was the one who'd gone through the door. Black Thirteen had captured Eddie while the Pere was gone. And almost killed him. Callahan had returned just in time to keep Eddie from hurling himself from the top of the bluff and into the draw far below.

  Right now, though, Eddie was dragging the bag - pink, yes, she'd been right about that, on the Calla side it had been pink - out from underneath the troublesome sai Tower's bookcase of first editions. They needed the ball inside the bag for the same reason Mia had needed it: because it opened the Unfound Door.

  Eddie lifted it, started to turn, then froze. He was frown-

  "What is it?" Callahan asked.

  "There's something in here," Eddie replied.

  "The box - "

  "No, in the bag. Sewn into the lining. It feels like a little rock, or something. " Suddenly he seemed to be looking directly at Susannah, and she was aware that she was sitting on a park bench. It was no longer voices from the depths of the cave she heard, but the watery hiss and plash of the fountain. The cave was fading. Eddie and Callahan were fading. She heard Eddie's last words as if from a great distance: "Maybe there's a secret pocket. "

  Then he was gone.

  Two

  She hadn't gone todash at all, then. Her brief visit to the Doorway Cave had been some kind of vision. Had Eddie sent it to her? And if he had, did it mean he'd gotten the message she'd tried to send him from the Dogan? These were questions Susannah couldn't answer. If she saw him again, she'd ask him. After she'd kissed him a thousand times or so, that was.

  Mia picked up the red bag and ran her hands slowly down its sides. There was the shape of the box inside, yes. But halfway down there was something else, a small bulge. And Eddie was right: it felt like a stone.

  She - or perhaps it was they, it no longer mattered to her - rolled the bag down, not liking the intensified pulse from the thing hidden inside but setting her mind against it. Here it was, right in here. . . and something that felt like a seam.

  She leaned closer and saw not a seam but some kind of a seal. She didn't recognize it, nor would Jake have done, but Eddie would have known Velcro when he saw it. Shehad heard a certain Z. Z. Top tribute to the stuff, a song called "Velcro Fly. " She got a fingernail into the seal and pulled with her fingertip. It came loose with a soft ripping sound, revealing a small pocket on the inside of the bag.

  What is it?Mia asked, fascinated in spite of herself.

  Well, let's just see.

  She reached in and brought out not a stone but a small scrimshaw turtle. Made of ivory, from the look of it. Each detail of the shell was tiny and precisely executed, although it had been marred by one tiny scratch that looked almost like a question-mark. The turtle's head poked halfway out. Its eyes were tiny black dots of some tarry stuff, and looked incredibly alive. She saw another small imperfection in the turtle's beak - not a scratch but a crack.

  "It's old," she whispered aloud. "So old. "

  Yes,Mia whispered back.

  Holding it made Susannah feel incredibly good. It made her feel. . . safe,somehow.

  See the Turtle,she thought. See the Turtle of enormous girth, on his shell he holds the earth. Was that how it went? She thought it was at least close. And of course that was the Beam they had been following to the Tower. The Bear at one end - Shardik. The Turtle at the other - Maturin.

  She looked from the tiny totem she'd found in the lining of the bag to the one beside the fountain. Barring the difference in materials - the one beside her bench was made of dark metal with brighter copp
ery glints - they were exactly the same, right down to the scratch on the shell and the tiny wedge-shaped break in the beak. For a moment her breath stopped, and her heart seemed to stop, also. She went along from moment to moment through this adventure - sometimes even from day to day - without thinking much but simply driven by events and what Roland insisted was ka. Then something like this would happen, and she would for a moment glimpse a far bigger picture, one that immobilized her with awe and wonder. She sensed forces beyond her ability to comprehend. Some, like the ball in the ghostwood box, were evil. But this. . . this. . .

  "Wow," someone said. Almost sighed.

  She looked up and saw a businessman - a very successful one, from the look of his suit - standing there by the bench. He'd been cutting through the park, probably on his way to someplace as important as he was, some sort of meeting or a conference, maybe even at the United Nations, which was close by (unless that had changed, too). Now, however, he had come to a dead stop. His expensive briefcase dangled from his right hand. His eyes were large and fixed on the turtle in Susannah-Mia's hand. On his face was a large and rather dopey grin.

  Put it away!Mia cried, alarmed. He'll steal it!

  Like to see him try,Detta Walker replied. Her voice was relaxed and rather amused. The sun was out and she - all parts of she - suddenly realized that, all else aside, this day was beautiful. And precious. And gorgeous.

  "Precious and beautiful and gorgeous," said the businessman (or perhaps he was a diplomat), who had forgotten all about his business. Was it the day he was talking about, or the scrimshaw turtle?

  It's both,Susannah thought. And suddenly she thought she understood this. Jake would have understood, too - no one better! She laughed. Inside her, Detta and Mia also laughed, Mia a bit against her will. And the businessman or diplomat, he laughed, too.

  "Yah, it's both," the businessman said. In his faint Scandinavian accent,both came outboad. "What a lovely thing you have!"Whad a loffly thing!

  Yes, itwas lovely. A lovely little treasure. And once upon a time, not so long ago, Jake Chambers had found something queerly similar. In Calvin Tower's bookshop, Jake had bought a book calledCharlie the Choo-Choo, by Beryl Evans. Why? Because it had called to him. Later - shortly before Roland's ka-tet had come to Calla Bryn Sturgis, in fact - the author's name had changed to Claudia y Inez Bachman, making her a member of the ever-expanding Ka-Tet of Nineteen. Jake had slipped a key into that book, and Eddie had whittled a double of it in Mid-World. Jake's version of the key had both fascinated the folks who saw it and made them extremely suggestible. Like Jake's key, the scrimshaw turtle had its double; she was sitting beside it. The question was if the turtle was like Jake's key in other ways.

  Judging from the fascinated way the Scandinavian businessman was looking at it, Susannah was pretty sure the answer was yes. She thought,Dad-a-chuck, dad-a-churtle, don't worry, girl, you got the turtle! It was such a silly rhyme she almost laughed out loud.

  To Mia she said,Let me handle this.

  Handle what? I don't understand -

  I know you don't. So let me handle it. Agreed?

  She didn't wait for Mia's reply. She turned back to the businessman, smiling brightly, holding the turtle up where he could see it. She floated it from right to left and noted the way his eyes followed it, although his head, with its impressive mane of white hair, never moved.

  "What's your name, sai?" Susannah asked.

  "Mathiessen van Wyck," he said. His eyes rolled slowly in their sockets, watching the turtle. "I am second assistant to the Swedish Ambassador to the United Nations. My wife has taken a lover. This makes me sad. My bowels are regular once again, the tea the hotel masseuse recommended worked for me, and this makes me happy. " A pause. Then: "Yoursk?ldpadda makes me happy. "

  Susannah was fascinated. If she asked this man to drop his trousers and evacuate his newly regularized bowels on the sidewalk, would he do it? Of course he would.

  She looked around quickly and saw no one in the immediate vicinity. That was good, but she thought it would still behoove her to transact her business here as quickly as she could. Jake had drawn quite the little crowd with his key. She had no urge to do the same, if she could avoid it.

  "Mathiessen," she began, "you mentioned - "

  "Mats," he said.

  "Beg your pardon?"

  "Call me Mats, if you would. I prefer it. "

  "All right, Mats, you mentioned a - "

  "Do you speak Swedish?"

  "No," she said.

  "Then we will speak English. "

  "Yes, I'd prefer - "

  "I have quite an important position," Mats said. His eyes never left the turtle. "I am meeting many important peoples. I am going to cocktail parties where good-looking women are wearing 'the little black dress. ' "

  "That must be quite a thrill for you. Mats, I want you to shut your trap and only open it to speak when I ask you a direct question. Will you do that?"

  Mats closed his mouth. He even made a comical little zipping gesture across his lips, but his eyes never left the turtle.

  "You mentioned a hotel. Do you stay at a hotel?"

  "Yah, I am staying at the New York Plaza - Park Hyatt, at the corner of First and Forty-sixth. Soon I am getting the condominium apartment - "

  Mats seemed to realize he was saying too much again and shut his mouth.

  Susannah thought furiously, holding the turtle in front of her breasts where her new friend could see it very well.

  "Mats, listen to me, okay?"

  "I listen to hear, mistress-sai, and hear to obey. " That gave her a nasty jolt, especially coming out as it did in Mats's cute little Scandihoovian accent.

  "Do you have a credit card?"

  Mats smiled proudly. "I have many. I have American Express, MasterCard, and Visa. I have the Euro-Gold Card. I have - "

  "Good, that's good. I want you to go down to the - " For a moment her mind blanked, and then it came. " - to the Plaza - Park Hotel and rent a room. Rent it for a week. If they ask, tell them it's for a friend of yours, a lady friend. " An unpleasant possibility occurred to her. This was New York, thenorth, in the year 1999, and a person liked to believe that things continued to go in the right direction, but it was best to be sure. "Will they make any unpleasantness about me being a Negro?"

  "No, of course not. " He looked surprised.

  "Rent the room in your name and tell the clerk that a woman named Susannah Mia Dean will be using it. Do you understand?"

  "Yah, Susannah Mia Dean. "

  What else? Money, of course. She asked him if he had any. Her new friend removed his wallet and handed it to her. She continued to hold the turtle where he could see it in one hand while she riffled through the wallet, a very nice Lord Buxton, with the other. There was a wad of traveler's checks - no good to her, not with that insanely convoluted signature - and about two hundred dollars in good old American cabbage. She took it and dropped it into the Borders bag which had lately held the pair of shoes. When she looked up she was dismayed to see that a couple of Girl Scouts, maybe fourteen years old and both wearing backpacks, had joined the businessman. They were staring at the turtle with shiny eyes and wet lips. Susannah found herself remembering the girls in the audience on the night Elvis Presley had playedThe Ed Sullivan Show.

  "Toocoooool, " one of them said, almost in a sigh.

  "Totally awesome," said the other.

  "You girls go on about your business," Susannah said.

  Their faces tucked in, assuming identical looks of sorrow. They could almost have been twins from the Calla. "Do we have to?" asked the first.

  "Yes!"Susannah said.

  "Thankee-sai, long days and pleasant nights," said the second. Tears had begun to roll down her cheeks. Her friend was also crying.

  "Forget you saw me!" Susannah called as they started away.

  She watched them nervously until they reached Second Avenue and headed
uptown, then turned her attention back to Mats van Wyck. "You get a wiggle on, too, Mats. Hoss your freight down to that hotel and rent a room. Tell them your friend Susannah will be right along. "

  "What is this freight-hossing? I do not understand - "

  "It means hurry up. " She handed back his wallet, minus the cash, wishing she could have gotten a longer look at all those plastic cards, wondering why anyone would need so many. "Once you have the room nailed down, go on to where you were going. Forget you ever saw me. "

  Now, like the girls in their green uniforms, Mats began to weep. "Must I also forget thesk?ldpadda? "

  "Yes. " Susannah remembered a hypnotist she'd once seen performing on some TV variety show, maybe evenEd Sullivan. "No turtle, but you're going to feel good the rest of the day, you hear me? You're going to feel like. . . "A million bucks might not mean that much to him, and for all she knew a million kroner wouldn't buy a haircut. "You're going to feel like the Swedish Ambassador himself. And you'll stop worrying about your wife's fancy-man. To hell with him, right?"

  "Yah, to hell witdot guy!" Mats cried, and although he was still weeping, he was now smiling, too. There was something divinely childish in that smile. It made Susannah feel happy and sad at the same time. She wanted to do something else for Mats van Wyck, if she could.

  "And your bowels?"

  "Yah?"

  "Like clockwork for the rest of your life," Susannah said, holding the turtle up. "What's your usual time, Mats?"

  "I am going yust after breakfast. "

  "Then that's when it'll be. For the rest of your life. Unless you're busy. If you're late for an appointment or something like that, just say. . . um. . . Maturin,and the urge'll pass until the next day. "

  "Maturin. "

  "Correct. Go on, now. "

  "May I not take thesk?ldpadda ?"

  "No, you may not. Go on, now. "

  He started away, then paused and looked back at her. Although his cheeks were wet, his expression was pixie-ish, a trifle sly. "Perhaps I should take it," he said. "Perhaps it is mine by right. "

  Like to see you try, honkywas Detta's thought, but Susannah - who felt more and more in charge of this wacky triad, at least for the time being - shushed her. "Why would you say that, my friend? Tell, I beg. "

  The sly look remained. Don't kid a kidder, it said. That was what it looked like to Susannah, anyway. "Mats, Maturin," he said. "Maturin, Mats. You see?"

  Susannah did. She started to tell him it was just a coincidence and then thought:Calla, Callahan.

  "I see," she said, "but thesk?ldpadda isn't yours. Nor mine, either. "

  "Then whose?" Plaintive. Den hoose? it sounded like.

  And before her conscious mind could stop her (or at least censor her), Susannah spoke the truth her heart and soul knew: "It belongs to the Tower, sai. The Dark Tower. And it's to there I'll return it, ka willing. "

  "Gods be with you, lady-sai. "

  "And you, Mats. Long days and pleasant nights. "

  She watched the Swedish diplomat walk away, then looked down at the scrimshaw turtle and said, "That was pretty amazing, Mats old buddy. "

  Mia had no interest in the turtle; she had but a single object. This hotel, she said. Will there be a telephone?

  Three

  Susannah-Mia put the turtle into the pocket of her bluejeans and forced herself to wait for twenty minutes on the park bench. She spent much of this time admiring her new lower legs (whoever they belonged to, they were pretty fine) and wiggling her new toes inside her new

  (stolen)

  shoes. Once she closed her eyes and summoned up the control room of the Dogan. More banks of warning lights had gone on there, and the machinery under the floor was throbbing louder than ever, but the needle of the dial marked SUSANNAH-MIO was still just a little way into the yellow. Cracks in the floor had begun to appear, as she had known they would, but so far they didn't look serious. The situation wasn't that great, but she thought they could live with it for now.

  What are you waiting for?Mia demanded. Why are we just sitting here?

  I'm giving the Swede a chance to do his business for us at the hotel and clear out,Susannah replied.

  And when she thought enough time had passed for him to have done that, she gathered her bags, got up, crossed Second Avenue, and started down Forty-sixth Street to the Plaza - Park Hotel.

  Four

  The lobby was full of pleasant afternoon light reflected by angles of green glass. Susannah had never seen such a beautiful room - outside of St. Patrick's, that was - but there was something alien about it, too.

  Because it's the future,she thought.

  God knew there were enough signs of that. The cars looked smaller, and entirely different. Many of the younger women she saw were walking around with their lower bellies exposed and their bra-straps showing. Susannah had to see this latter phenomenon four or five times on her stroll down Forty-sixth Street before she could completely convince herself that it was some sort of bizarre fashion fillip, and not a mistake. In her day, a woman with a bra-strap showing (or an inch of slip,snowing down south they used to say) would have ducked into the nearest public restroom to pin it up, and at once. As for the deal with the nude bellies. . .

  Would have gotten you arrested anywhere but Coney Island,she thought. No doubt about it.

  But the thing which made the biggest impression was also the hardest thing to define: the city just seemedbigger. It thundered and hummed all around her. It vibrated. Every breath of air was perfumed with its signature smell. The women waiting for taxis outside the hotel (with or without their bra-straps showing) could only be New York women; the doormen (not one but two) flagging cabs could only be New York doormen; the cabbies (she was amazed by how many of them were dark-skinned, and she saw one who was wearing aturban ) could only be New York cabbies, but they were all. . . different. The world had moved on. It was as if her New York, that of 1964, had been a triple-A ball-club. This was the major leagues.

  She paused for a moment just inside the lobby, pulling the scrimshaw turtle out of her pocket and getting her bearings. To her left was a parlor area. Two women were sitting there, chatting, and Susannah stared at them for a moment, hardly able to credit how much leg they were showing under the hems of their skirts (whatskirts, ha-ha?). And they weren't teenagers or kollege kuties, either; these were women in their thirties, at least (although she supposed they might be in theirsixties, who knew what scientific advances there might have been over the last thirty-five years).

  To the right was a little shop. Somewhere in the shadows behind it a piano was tinkling out something blessedly familiar - "Night and Day" - and Susannah knew if she went toward the sound, she'd find a lot of leather seats, a lot of sparkling bottles, and a gentleman in a white coat who'd be happy to serve her even if itwas only the middle of the afternoon. All this was a decided relief.

  Directly ahead of her was the reception desk, and behind it was the most exotic woman Susannah had ever seen in her life. She appeared to be white, black, and Chinese, all whipped together. In 1964, such a woman would undoubtedly have been called a mongrel, no matter how beautiful she might have been. Here she had been popped into an extremely handsome ladies' suit and put behind the reception desk of a large first-class hotel. The Dark Tower might be increasingly shaky, Susannah thought, and the world might be moving on, but she thought the lovely desk clerk was proof (if any were needed) that noteverything was falling down or going in the wrong direction. She was talking to a customer who was complaining about his in-room movie bill, whatever that might be.

  Never mind, it's the future,Susannah told herself once again. It's science fiction, like the City of Lud. Best leave it at that.

  I don't care what it is or when,Mia said. I want to be near a telephone. I want to see to my chap.

  Susannah walked past a sign on a tripod, then turned back and gave it a closer look.

  AS OF JULY 1S
T, 1999, THE NEW YORK PLAZA - PARK HYATT

  WILL BECOME THE REGAL U. N. PLAZA HOTEL

  ANOTHER GREATSOMBRA/NORTH CENTRAL PROJECT!!

  Susannah thought,Sombra as in Turtle Bay Luxury Condominiums. . . which never got built, from the look of that black-glass needle back on the corner. And North Central as in North Central Positronics. Interesting.

  She felt a sudden twinge of pain go through her head. Twinge? Hell, a bolt. It made her eyes water. And she knew who had sent it. Mia, who had no interest in the Sombra Corporation, North Central Positronics, or the Dark Tower itself, was becoming impatient. Susannah knew she'd have to change that, or at least try. Mia was focused blindly on her chap, but if she wanted tokeep the chap, she might have to widen her field of vision a little bit.

  She fight you ever' damn step of the way,Detta said. Her voice was shrewd and tough and cheerful. You know dat too, don't you?

  She did.

  Susannah waited until the man with the problem finished explaining how he had ordered some movie calledX-Rated by accident, and he didn't mind paying as long as it wasn't on his bill, and then she stepped up to the desk herself. Her heart was pounding.

  "I believe that my friend, Mathiessen van Wyck, has rented a room for me," she said. She saw the reception clerk looking at her stained shirt with well-bred disapproval, and laughed nervously. "I really can't wait to take a shower and change my clothes. I had a small accident. At lunch. "

  "Yes, madam. Just let me check. " The woman went to what looked like a small TV screen with a typewriter attached. She tapped a few keys, looked at the screen, and then said: "Susannah Mia Dean, is that correct?"

  You say true, I say thank yarose to her lips and she squelched it. "Yes, that's right. "

  "May I see some identification, please?"

  For a moment Susannah was flummoxed. Then she reached into the rush bag and took out an Oriza, being careful to hold it by the blunt curve. She found herself remembering something Roland had said to Wayne Overholser, the Calla's big rancher:We deal in lead. The 'Rizas weren't bullets, but surely they were the equivalent. She held the plate up in one hand and the small carved turtle in the other.

  "Will this do?" she asked pleasantly.

  "What - " the beautiful desk clerk began, then fell silent as her eyes shifted from the plate to the turtle. They grew wide and slightly glassy. Her lips, coated with an interesting pink gloss (it looked more like candy than lipstick to Susannah), parted. A soft sound came from between them:ohhhh. . .

  "It's my driver's license," Susannah said. "Do you see?" Luckily there was no one else around, not even a bellman. The late-day checkouts were on the sidewalk, fighting for hacks; in here, the lobby was a-doze. From the bar beyond the gift shop, "Night and Day" gave way to a lazy and introspective version of "Stardust. "

  "Driver's license," the desk clerk agreed in that same sighing, wondering voice.

  "Good. Are you supposed to write anything down?"

  "No. . . Mr. Van Wyck rented the room. . . all I need is to. . . to check your. . . may I hold the turtle, ma'am?"

  "No," Susannah said, and the desk clerk began to weep. Susannah observed this phenomenon with bemusement. She didn't believe she had made so many people cry since her disastrous violin recital (both first and last) at the age of twelve.

  "No, I may not hold it," the desk clerk said, weeping freely. "No, no, I may not, may not hold it, ah, Discordia, I may not - "

  "Hush up your snivel," Susannah said, and the desk clerk hushed at once. "Give me the room-key, please. "

  But instead of a key, the Eurasian woman handed her a plastic card in a folder. Written on the inside of the folder - so would-be thieves couldn't easily see it, presumably - was the number 1919. Which didn't surprise Susannah at all. Mia, of course, could not have cared less.

  She stumbled on her feet a little. Reeled a little. Had to wave one hand (the one holding her "driver's license") for balance. There was a moment when she thought she might tumble to the floor, and then she was okay again.

  "Ma'am?" the desk clerk inquired. Looking remotely - veryremotely - concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"

  "Yeah," Susannah said. "Only. . . lost my balance there for a second or two. "

  Wondering,What in the blue hell just happened? Oh, but she knew the answer. Mia was the one with the legs,Mia. Susannah had been driving the bus ever since encountering old Mr. May I Not Take TheSk?ldpadda, and this body was starting to revert to its legless-below-the-knee state. Crazy but true. Her body was going Susannah on her.

  Mia, get up here. Take charge.

  I can't. Not yet. As soon as we're alone I will.

  And dear Christ, Susannah recognized that tone of voice, recognized it very well. The bitch wasshy.

  To the desk clerk, Susannah said, "What's this thing? Is it a key?"

  "Why - yes, sai. You use it in the elevator as well as to open your room. Just push it into the slot in the direction the arrows point. Remove it briskly. When the light on the door turns green, you may enter. I have slightly over eight thousand dollars in my cash drawer. I'll give it all to you for your pretty thing, your turtle, yoursk?ldpadda, yourtortuga, yourkavvit, your - "

  "No," Susannah said, and staggered again. She clutched the edge of the desk. Her equilibrium was shot. "I'm going upstairs now. " She'd meant to visit the gift shop first and spend some of Mats's dough on a clean shirt, if they carried such things, but that would have to wait. Everything would have to wait.

  "Yes, sai. " No morema'am, not now. The turtle was working on her. Sanding away the gap between the worlds.

  "You just forget you saw me, all right?"

  "Yes, sai. Shall I put a do-not-disturb on the phone?"

  Mia clamored. Susannah didn't even bother paying attention. "No, don't do that. I'm expecting a call. "

  "As you like, sai. " Eyes on the turtle. Ever on the turtle. "Enjoy the Plaza - Park. Would you like a bellman to assist you with your bags?"

  Look like I need help with these three pukey li'l things?Detta thought, but Susannah only shook her head.

  "Very well. "

  Susannah started to turn away, but the desk clerk's next words swung her back in a hurry.

  "Soon comes the King, he of the Eye. "

  Susannah gaped at the woman, her surprise close to shock. She felt gooseflesh crawling up her arms. The desk clerk's beautiful face, meanwhile, remained placid. Dark eyes on the scrimshaw turtle. Lips parted, now damp with spittle as well as gloss. If I stay here much longer, Susannah thought,she'll start to drool.

  Susannah very much wanted to pursue the business of the King and the Eye - it washer business - and she could, she was the one up front and driving the bus, but she staggered again and knew she couldn't. . . unless, that was, she wanted to crawl to the elevator on her hands and knees with the empty lower legs of her jeans trailing out behind her. Maybe later, she thought, knowing that was unlikely; things were moving too fast now.

  She started across the lobby, walking with an educated stagger. The desk clerk spoke after her in a voice expressing pleasant regret, no more than that.

  "When the King comes and the Tower falls, sai, all such pretty things as yours will be broken. Then there will be darkness and nothing but the howl of Discordia and the cries of the can toi. "

  Susannah made no reply, although the gooseflesh was now all the way up the nape of her neck and she could feel her scalp tightening on her very skull. Her legs (someone'slegs, anyway) were rapidly losing all feeling. If she'd been able to look at her bare skin, would she have seen her fine new legs going transparent? Would she have been able to see the blood flowing through her veins, bright red going down, darker and exhausted heading back up to her heart? The interwoven pigtails of muscle?

  She thought yes.

  She pushed the UP button and then put the Oriza back into its bag, praying one of the three elevator doors would open before she collapsed. The piano player h
ad switched to "Stormy Weather. "

  The door of the middle car opened. Susannah-Mia stepped in and pushed 19. The door slid shut but the car went nowhere.

  The plastic card,she reminded herself. You have to use the card.

  She saw the slot and slid the card into it, being careful to push in the direction of the arrows. This time when she pushed 19, the number lit up. A moment later she was shoved rudely aside as Miacame forward.

  Susannah subsided at the back of her own mind with a kind of tired relief. Yes, let someone else take over, why not? Let someone else drive the bus for awhile. She could feel the strength and substance coming back into her legs, and that was enough for now.

  Five

  Mia might have been a stranger in a strange land, but she was a fast learner. In the nineteenth-floor lobby she located the arrow with 1911 - 1923 beneath it and walked briskly down the corridor to 1919. The carpet, some thick green stuff that was delightfully soft, whispered beneath her

  (their)

  stolen shoes. She inserted the key-card, opened the door, and stepped in. There were two beds. She put the bags on one of them, looked around without much interest, then fixed her gaze on the telephone.

  Susannah!Impatient.

  What?

  How do I make it ring?

  Susannah laughed with genuine amusement. Honey, you aren't the first person to ask thatquestion, believe me. Or the millionth. It either will or it won't. In its own good time. Meanwhile, why don't you have a look around. See if you can't find a place to store your gunna.

  She expected an argument but didn't get one. Mia prowled the room (not bothering to open the drapes, although Susannah very much wanted to see the city from this height), peeked into the bathroom (palatial, with what looked like a marble basin and mirrors everywhere), then looked into the closet. Here, sitting on a shelf with some plastic bags for dry-cleaning on top, was a safe. There was a sign on it, but Mia couldn't read it. Roland had had similar problems from time to time, but his had been caused by the difference between the English language alphabet and In-World's "great letters. " Susannah had an idea that Mia's problems were a lot more basic; although her kidnapper clearly knew numbers, Susannah didn't think the chap's mother could read at all.

  Susannahcame forward, but not all the way. For a moment she was looking through two sets of eyes at two signs, the sensation so peculiar that it made her feel nauseated. Then the images came together and she could read the message:

  THIS SAFE IS PROVIDED FOR YOUR PERSONAL BELONGINGS

  THE MANAGEMENT OF THE PLAZA - PARK HYATT ASSUMES NO

  RESPONSIBILITY FOR ITEMS LEFT HERE

  CASH AND JEWELRY SHOULD BE DEPOSITED IN THE HOTEL SAFE

  DOWNSTAIRS

  TO SET CODE, PUNCH IN FOUR NUMBERS PLUS ENTER

  TO OPEN, ENTER YOUR FOUR-NUMBER CODE AND PUSH OPEN

  Susannah retired and let Mia select four numbers. They turned out to be a one and three nines. It was the current year and might be one of the first combinations a room burglar would try, but at least it wasn't quite the room number itself. Besides, they were theright numbers. Numbers of power. Asigul. They both knew it.

  Mia tried the safe after programming it, found it locked tightly, then followed the directions for opening it. There was a whirring noise from somewhere inside and the door popped ajar. She put in the faded red MIDTOWN LANES bag - the box inside just fit on the shelf - and then the bag of Oriza plates. She closed and locked the safe's door again, tried the handle, found it tight, and nodded. The Borders bag was still on the bed. She took the wad of cash out of it and tucked it into the right front pocket of her jeans, along with the turtle.

  Have to get a clean shirt,Susannah reminded her unwelcome guest.

  Mia, daughter of none, made no reply. She clearly caredbupkes for shirts, clean or dirty. Mia was looking at the telephone. For the time being, with her labor on hold, the phone was all she cared about.

  Now we palaver,Susannah said. You promised, and it's a promise you're going to keep. But not in that banquet room. She shuddered. Somewhere outside, hear me I beg. I want fresh air. That banqueting hall smelled of death.

  Mia didn't argue. Susannah got a vague sense of the other woman riffling through various files of memory - examining, rejecting, examining, rejecting - and at last finding something that would serve.

  How do we go there?Mia asked indifferently.

  The black woman who was now two women (again) sat on one of the beds and folded her hands in her lap. Like on a sled, the woman's Susannah part said. I'll push, you steer. And remember, Susannah-Mio, if you want my cooperation, you give me some straight answers.

  I will,the other replied. Just don't expect to like them. Or even understand them.

  What do you -

  Never mind! Gods, I never metanyonewho could ask so many questions! Time is short! When the telephone rings, our palaver ends! So if you'd palaver at all -

  Susannah didn't bother giving her a chance to finish. She closed her eyes and let herself fall back. No bed stopped that fall; she went right through it. She was falling for real, falling through space. She could hear the jangle of the todash chimes, dim and far.

  Here I go again,she thought. And:Eddie, I love you.

  STAVE: Commala-gin-jive

  Ain't it grand to be alive?

  To look out on Discordia

  When the Demon Moon arrives.

  RESPONSE: Commala-come-five!

  Even when the shadows rise!

  To see the world and walk the world

  Makes ya glad to be alive.