Intuition told him that this was a key. But to what door?

He didn’t know, couldn’t read enough of the words to know. But the book in his hands seemed almost to thrum. Roland thought that perhaps this book was like the rose…

…but there were black roses, too.

Nine

“Roland, I found it! It’s a little town in central Maine called East Stoneham, about forty miles north of Portland and…” He stopped, getting a good look at the gunslinger. “What’s wrong?”

“The chiming sound,” Roland said quickly. “Even with my ears stopped up, it got through.” The door was shut and the chimes were gone, but there were still the voices. Callahan’s father was currently asking if Donnie thought those magazines he’d found under his son’s bed were anything a Christian boy would want to have, what if his mother had found them? And when Roland suggested they leave the cave, Callahan was more than willing to go. He remembered that conversation with his old man far too clearly. They had ended up praying together at the foot of his bed, and the three Playboy s had gone into the incinerator out back.

Roland returned the carved box to the pink bag and once more stowed it carefully behind Tower’s case of valuable books. He had already replaced the book with the church on it, turning it with the title down so he could find it again quickly.

They went out and stood side by side, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. “Are you sure the chimes is all it was?” Callahan asked. “Man, you looked as though you’d seen a ghost.”

“The todash chimes are worse than ghosts,” Roland said. That might or might not be true, but it seemed to satisfy Callahan. As they started down the path, Roland remembered the promise he had made to the others, and, more important, to himself: no more secrets within the tet. How quickly he found himself ready to break that promise! But he felt he was right to do so. He knew at least some of the names in that book. The others would know them, too. Later they would need to know, if the book was as important as he thought it might be. But now it would only distract them from the approaching business of the Wolves. If they could win that battle, then perhaps…

“Roland, are you quite sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” He clapped Callahan on the shoulder. The others would be able to read the book, and by reading might discover what it meant. Perhaps the story in the book was just a story…but how could it be, when…

“Pere?”

“Yes, Roland.”

“A novel is a story, isn’t it? A made-up story?”

“Yes, a long one.”

“But make-believe.”

“Yes, that’s what fiction means. Make-believe.”

Roland pondered this. Charlie the Choo-Choo had also been make-believe, only in many ways, many vital ways, it hadn’t been. And the author’s name had changed. There were many different worlds, all held together by the Tower. Maybe…