"Eddie says robots are programmed to do certain tasks," he said. "Andy does the tasks you bid him?"
"Mostly, yes," Eisenhart said. "Not always. And he's not always around, ye ken."
"Hard to believe he was built to do no more than sing foolish songs and tell horoscopes," Roland mused.
"Perhaps the Old People gave him hobbies," Margaret Eisenhart said, "and now that his main tasks are gone--lost in time, do ya ken--he concentrates on the hobbies."
"You think the Old People made him."
"Who else?" Vaughn Eisenhart asked. Andy was gone now, and the back yard was empty.
"Aye, who else," Roland said, still musing. "Who else would have the wit and the tools? But the Old People were gone two thousand years before the Wolves began raiding into the Calla. Two thousand or more. So what I'd like to know is who or what programmed Andy not to talk about them, except to tell you folks when they're coming. And here's another question, not as interesting as that but still curious: why does he tell you that much if he cannot--or will not--tell you anything else?"
Eisenhart and his wife were looking at each other, thunderstruck. They'd not gotten past the first part of what Roland had said. The gunslinger wasn't surprised, but he was a little disappointed in them. Really, there was much here that was obvious. If, that was, one set one's wits to work. In fairness to the Eisenharts, Jaffordses, and Overholsers of the Calla, he supposed, straight thinking wasn't so easy when your babbies were at stake.
There was a knock at the door. Eisenhart called, "Come!"
It was Ben Slightman. "Stock's all put to bed, boss." He took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt. "And the boys're off with Benny's tent. Andy was stalkin em close, so that's well." Slightman looked at Roland. "It's early for rock-cats, but if one were to come, Andy'd give my boy at least one shot at it with his bah--he's been told so and comes back 'Order recorded.' If Benny were to miss, Andy'd get between the boys and the cat. He's programmed strictly for defense and we've never been able to change that, but if the cat were to keep coming--"
"Andy'd rip it to pieces," Eisenhart said. He spoke with a species of gloomy satisfaction.
"Fast, is he?" Roland asked.
"Yer-bugger," Slightman said. "Don't look it, do he, all tall and gangly like he is? But aye, he can move like greased lightning when he wants to. Faster than any rock-cat. We believe he must run on ant-nomics."
"Very likely," Roland said absently.
"Never mind that," Eisenhart said, "but listen, Ben--why d'you suppose it is that Andy won't talk about the Wolves?"
"His programming--"
"Aye, but it's as Roland pointed out to us just before'ee came in--and we should have seen it for ourselves long before this--if the Old People set him a-going and then the Old People died out or moved on . . . long before the Wolves showed themselves . . . do you see the problem?"
Slightman the Elder nodded, then put his glasses back on. "Must have been something like the Wolves in the elden days, don't you think? Enough like em so Andy can't tell em apart. It's all I can figure."
Is it really? Roland thought.
He produced the Tavery twins' map, opened it, and tapped an arroyo in the hill country northeast of town. It wound its way deeper and deeper into those hills before ending in one of the Calla's old garnet mines. This one was a shaft that went thirty feet into a hillside and then stopped. The place wasn't really much like Eyebolt Canyon in Mejis (there was no thinny in the arroyo, for one thing), but there was one crucial similarity: both were dead ends. And, Roland knew, a man will try to take service again from that which has served him once. That he should pick this arroyo, this dead-end mineshaft, for his ambush of the Wolves made perfect sense. To Eddie, to Susannah, to the Eisenharts, and now to the Eisenharts' foreman. It would make sense to Sarey Adams and Rosalita Munoz. It would make sense to the Old Fella. He would disclose this much of his plan to others, and it would make sense to them, as well.
And if things were left out? If some of what he said was a lie?
If the Wolves got wind of the lie and believed it?
That would be good, wouldn't it? Good if they lunged and snapped in the right direction, but at the wrong thing?
Yes, but I'll need to trust someone with the whole truth eventually. Who?
Not Susannah, because Susannah was now two again, and he didn't trust the other one.
Not Eddie, because Eddie might let something crucial slip to Susannah, and then Mia would know.
Not Jake, because Jake had become fast friends with Benny Slightman.
He was on his own again, and this condition had never felt more lonely to him.
"Look," he said, tapping the arroyo. "Here's a place you might think of, Slightman. Easy to get in, not so easy to get back out. Suppose we were to take all the children of a certain age and tuck them away safe in this little bit of a mine?"
He saw understanding begin to dawn in Slightman's eyes. Something else, too. Hope, maybe.
"If we hide the children, they know where," Eisenhart said. "It's as if they smell em, like ogres in a kid's cradle-story."
"So I'm told," Roland said. "What I suggest is that we could use that."
"Make em bait, you mean. Gunslinger, that's hard."
Roland, who had no intention of putting the Calla's children in the abandoned garnet mine--or anywhere near it--nodded his head. "Hard world sometimes, Eisenhart."
"Say thankya," Eisenhart replied, but his face was grim. He touched the map. "Could work. Aye, could work . . . if ye could suck all the Wolves in."
Wherever the children wind up, I'll need help putting them there, Roland thought. There'll have to be people who know where to go and what to do. A plan. But not yet. For now I can play the game I'm playing. It's like Castles. Because someone's hiding.
Did he know that? He did not.
Did he smell it? Aye, he did.
Now it's twenty-three, Roland thought. Twenty-three days until the Wolves.
It would have to be enough.
CHAPTER VI:
GRANPERE'S TALE
ONE
Eddie, a city boy to the core, was almost shocked by how much he liked the Jaffords place on the River Road. I could live in a place like this, he thought. That'd be okay. It'd do me fine.
It was a long log cabin, craftily built and chinked against the winter winds. Along one side there were large windows which gave a view down a long, gentle hill to the rice-fields and the river. On the other side was the barn and the dooryard, beaten dirt that had been prettied up with circular islands of grass and flowers and, to the left of the back porch, a rather exotic little vegetable garden. Half of it was filled with a yellow herb called madrigal, which Tian hoped to grow in quantity the following year.
Susannah asked Zalia how she kept the chickens out of the stuff, and the woman laughed ruefully, blowing hair back from her forehead. "With great effort, that's how," she said. "Yet the madrigal does grow, you see, and where things grow, there's always hope."
What Eddie liked was the way it all seemed to work together and produce a feeling of home. You couldn't exactly say what caused that feeling, because it was no one thing, but--
Yeah, there is one thing. And it doesn't have anything to do with the rustic log-cabin look of the place or the vegetable garden and the pecking chickens or the beds of flowers, either.
It was the kids. At first Eddie had been a little stunned by the number of them, produced for his and Suze's inspection like a platoon of soldiers for the eye of a visiting general. And by God, at first glance there looked like almost enough of them to fill a platoon . . . or a squad, at least.
"Them on the end're Heddon and Hedda," Zalia said, pointing to the pair of dark blonds. "They're ten. Make your manners, you two."
Heddon sketched a bow, at the same time tapping his grimy forehead with the side of an even grimier fist. Covering all the bases, Eddie thought. The girl curtsied.
"Long nights and pleasant days," said Heddon.
"That's pleasant days and long lives, dummikins," Hedda stage-whispered, then curtsied and repeated the sentiment in what she felt was the correct manner. Heddon was too overawed by the outworlders to glower at his know-it-all sister, or even really to notice her.
"The two young'uns is Lyman and Lia," Zalia said.
Lyman, who appeared all eyes and gaping mouth, bowed so violently he nearly fell in the dirt. Lia actually did tumble over while making her curtsy. Eddie had to struggle to keep a straight face as Hedda picked her sister out of the dust, hissing.
"And this 'un," she said, kissing the large baby in her arms, "is Aaron, my little love."
"Your singleton," Susannah said.
"Aye, lady, so he is."
Aaron began to struggle, kicking and twisting. Zalia put him down. Aaron hitched up his diaper and trotted off toward the side of the house, yelling for his Da'.
"Heddon, go after him and mind him," Zalia said.
"Maw-Maw, no!" He sent her frantic eye-signals to the effect that he wanted to stay right here, listening to the strangers and eating them up with his eyes.
"Maw-Maw, yes," Zalia said. "Garn and mind your brother, Heddon."
The boy might have argued further, but at that moment Tian Jaffords came around the corner of the cabin and swept the little boy up into his arms. Aaron crowed, knocked off his Da's straw hat, pulled at his Da's sweaty hair.
Eddie and Susannah barely noticed this. They had eyes only for the overall-clad giants following along in Jaffords's wake. Eddie and Susannah had seen maybe a dozen extremely large people on their tour of the smallhold farms along the River Road, but always at a distance. ("Most of em're shy of strangers, do ye ken," Eisenhart had said.) These two were less than ten feet away.
Man and woman or boy and girl? Both at the same time, Eddie thought. Because their ages don't matter.
The female, sweaty and laughing, had to be six-six, with breasts that looked twice as big as Eddie's head. Around her neck on a string was a wooden crucifix. The male had at least six inches on his sister-in-law. He looked at the newcomers shyly, then began sucking his thumb with one hand and squeezing his crotch with the other. To Eddie the most amazing thing about them wasn't their size but their eerie resemblance to Tian and Zalia. It was like looking at the clumsy first drafts of some ultimately successful work of art. They were so clearly idiots, the both of them, and so clearly, so closely, related to people who weren't. Eerie was the only word for them.
No, Eddie thought, the word is roont.
"This is my brother, Zalman," Zalia said, her tone oddly formal.
"And my sister, Tia," Tian added. "Make your manners, you two galoots."
Zalman just went ahead sucking one piece of himself and kneading the other. Tia, however, gave a huge (and somehow ducklike) curtsy. "Long days long nights long earth!" she cried. "WE GET TATERS AND GRAVY!"
"Good," Susannah said quietly. "Taters and gravy is good."
"TATERS AND GRAVY IS GOOD!" Tia wrinkled her nose, pulling her upper lip away from her teeth in a piglike sneer of good fellowship. "TATERS AND GRAVY! TATERS AND GRAVY! GOOD OL' TATERS AND GRAVY!"
Hedda touched Susannah's hand hesitantly. "She go on like that all day unless you tell her shush, missus-sai."
"Shush, Tia," Susannah said.
Tia gave a honk of laughter at the sky, crossed her arms over her prodigious bosom, and fell silent.
"Zal," Tian said. "You need to go pee-pee, don't you?"
Zalia's brother said nothing, only continued squeezing his crotch.
"Go pee-pee," Tian said. "You go on behind the barn. Water the sharproot, say thankya."
For a moment nothing happened. Then Zalman set off, moving in a wide, shambling gait.
"When they were young--" Susannah began.
"Bright as polished agates, the both of em," Zalia said. "Now she's bad and my brother's even worse."
She abruptly put her hands over her face. Aaron gave a high laugh at this and covered his own face in imitation ("Peet-a-boo!" he called through his fingers), but both sets of twins looked grave. Alarmed, even.
"What's wrong 'it Maw-Maw?" Lyman asked, tugging at his father's pantsleg. Zalman, heedless of all, continued toward the barn, still with one hand in his mouth and the other in his crotch.
"Nothing, son. Your Maw-Maw's all right." Tian put the baby down, then ran his arm across his eyes. "Everything's fine. Ain't it, Zee?"
"Aye," she said, lowering her hands. The rims of her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying. "And with the blessing, what ain't fine will be."
"From your lips to God's ear," Eddie said, watching the giant shamble toward the barn. "From your lips to God's ear."
TWO
"Is he having one of his bright days, your Granpere?" Eddie asked Tian a few minutes later. They had walked around to where Tian could show Eddie the field he called Son of a Bitch, leaving Zalia and Susannah with all children great and small.
"Not so's you'd notice," Tian said, his brow darkening. "He ain't half-addled these last few years, and won't have nobbut to do with me, anyway. Her, aye, because she'll hand-feed him, then wipe the drool off his chin for him and tell him thankya. Ain't enough I got two great roont galoots to feed, is it? I've got to have that bad-natured old man, as well. Head's gone as rusty as an old hinge. Half the time he don't even know where he is, say any small-small!"
They walked, high grass swishing against their pants. Twice Eddie almost tripped over rocks, and once Tian seized his arm and led him around what looked like a right leg-smasher of a hole. No wonder he calls it Son of a Bitch, Eddie thought. And yet there were signs of cultivation. Hard to believe anyone could pull a plow through this mess, but it looked as if Tian Jaffords had been trying.
"If your wife's right, I think I need to talk to him," Eddie said. "Need to hear his story."
"My Granda's got stories, all right. Half a thousand! Trouble is, most of em was lies from the start and now he gets em all mixed up together. His accent were always thick, and these last three years he's missing his last three teeth as well. Likely you won't be able to understand his nonsense to begin with. I wish you joy of him, Eddie of New York."
"What the hell did he do to you, Tian?"
" 'Twasn't what he did to me but what he did to my Da'. That's a long story and nothing to do with this business. Leave it."
"No, you leave it," Eddie said, coming to a stop.
Tian looked at him, startled. Eddie nodded, unsmiling: you heard me. He was twenty-five, already a year older than Cuthbert Allgood on his last day at Jericho Hill, but in this day's failing light he could have passed for a man of fifty. One of harsh certainty.
"If he's seen a dead Wolf, we need to debrief him."
"I don't kennit, Eddie."
"Yeah, but I think you ken my point just fine. Whatever you've got against him, put it aside. If we settle up with the Wolves, you have my permission to bump him into the fireplace or push him off the goddam roof. But for now, keep your sore ass to yourself. Okay?"
Tian nodded. He stood looking out across his troublesome north field, the one he called Son of a Bitch, with his hands in his pockets. When he studied it so, his expression was one of troubled greed.
"Do you think his story about killing a Wolf is so much hot air? If you really do, I won't waste my time."
Grudgingly, Tian said: "I'm more apt to believe that 'un than most of the others."
"Why?"
"Well, he were tellin it ever since I were old enough to listen, and that 'un never changes much. Also . . . " Tian's next words squeezed down, as if he were speaking them through gritted teeth. "My Granpere never had no shortage of thorn and bark. If anyone would have had guts enough to go out on the East Road and stand against the Wolves--not to mention enough trum to get others to go with him--I'd bet my money on Jamie Jaffords."
"Trum?"
Tian thought about how to explain it. "If'ee was to stick your head in a rock-cat's mouth, that'd take courage, wouldn't it?"
r /> It would take idiocy was what Eddie thought, but he nodded.
"If 'ee was the sort of man could convince someone else to stick his head in a rock-cat's mouth, that'd make you trum. Your dinh's trum, ain't he?"
Eddie remembered some of the stuff Roland had gotten him to do, and nodded. Roland was trum, all right. He was trum as hell. Eddie was sure the gunslinger's old mates would have said the same.
"Aye," Tian said, turning his gaze back to his field. "In any case, if ye'd get something halfway sensible out of the old man, I'd wait until after supper. He brightens a bit once he's had his rations and half a pint of graf. And make sure my wife's sitting right beside you, where he can get an eyeful. I 'magine he'd try to have a good deal more than his eye on her, were he a younger man." His face had darkened again.
Eddie clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, he's not younger. You are. So lighten up, all right?"
"Aye." Tian made a visible effort to do just that. "What do'ee think of my field, gunslinger? I'm going to plant it with madrigal next year. The yellow stuff ye saw out front."
What Eddie thought was that the field looked like a heartbreak waiting to happen. He suspected that down deep Tian thought about the same; you didn't call your only unplanted field Son of a Bitch because you expected good things to happen there. But he knew the look on Tian's face. It was the one Henry used to get when the two of them were setting off to score. It was always going to be the best stuff this time, the best stuff ever. China White and never mind that Mexican Brown that made your head ache and your bowels run. They'd get high for a week, the best high ever, mellow, and then quit the junk for good. That was Henry's scripture, and it could have been Henry here beside him, telling Eddie what a fine cash crop madrigal was, and how the people who'd told him you couldn't grow it this far north would be laughing on the other side of their faces come next reap. And then he'd buy Hugh Anselm's field over on the far side of yon ridge . . . hire a couple of extra men come reap, for the land'd be gold for as far as you could see . . . why, he might even quit the rice altogether and become a madrigal monarch.
Eddie nodded toward the field, which was hardly half-turned. "Looks like slow plowing, though. You must have to be damned careful with the mules."