“The voice from the machine spoke in accents like those of your ka-mates, gunslinger. It said that we should come here, Jemmin and I, and we’d find a door and a man and a wonder. So we did.”

“Someone left you instructions,” Roland mused. It was Walter he was thinking of. The man in black, who had also left them the cookies Eddie called Keeblers. Walter was Flagg and Flagg was Marten and Marten…was he Maerlyn, the old rogue wizard of legend? On that subject Roland remained unsure. “And spoke to you by name?”

“Nay, he did not know s’much. Only called us the Manni-folk.”

“How did this someone know where to leave the voice machine, do you think?”

Henchick’s lips thinned. “Why must thee think it was a person? Why not a god speaking in a man’s voice? Why not some agent of The Over?”

Roland said, “Gods leave siguls. Men leave machines.” He paused. “In my own experience, of course, Pa.”

Henchick made a curt gesture, as if to tell Roland to spare him the flattery.

“Was it general knowledge that thee and thy friend were exploring the cave where you found the speaking machine?”

Henchick shrugged rather sullenly. “People see us, I suppose. Some mayhap watch over the miles with their spyglasses and binoculars. Also, there’s the mechanical man. He sees much and prattles everlastingly to all who will listen.”

Roland took this for a yes. He thought someone had known Pere Callahan was coming. And that he would need help when he arrived on the outskirts of the Calla.

“How far open was the door?” Roland asked.

“These are questions for Callahan,” Henchick said. “I promised to show thee this place. I have. Surely that’s enough for ye.”

“Was he conscious when you found him?”

There was a reluctant pause. Then: “Nay. Only muttering, as one does in his sleep if he dreams badly.”

“Then he can’t tell me, can he? Not this part. Henchick, you seek aid and succor. This thee told me on behalf of all your clans. Help me, then! Help me to help you!”

“I do na’ see how this helps.”

And it might not help, not in the matter of the Wolves which so concerned this old man and the rest of Calla Bryn Sturgis, but Roland had other worries and other needs; other fish to fry, as Susannah sometimes said. He stood looking at Henchick, one hand still on the crystal doorknob.