Eddie gave a brief grunt of acknowledgment, almost a laugh. He kept pulling in long breaths of the clean air. It was good to be back. Going to New York in the flesh had been better than going todash in one way—that sense of lurking darkness had been gone, and the accompanying sense of thinness —but God, the place stank . Mostly it was cars and exhaust (the oily clouds of diesel were the worst), but there were a thousand other bad smells, too. Not the least of them was the aroma of too many human bodies, their essential polecat odor not hidden at all by the perfumes and sprays the folken put on themselves. Were they unconscious of how bad they smelled, all huddled up together as they were? Eddie supposed they must be. Had been himself, once upon a time. Once upon a time he couldn’t wait to get back to New York, would have killed to get there.

“Eddie? Come back from Nis!” Roland snapped his fingers in front of Eddie Dean’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “As for Tower…no, I didn’t like him much. God, sending his books through like that! Making his lousy first editions part of his condition for helping to save the fucking universe!”

“He doesn’t think of it in those terms…unless he does so in his dreams. And you know they’ll burn his shop when they get there and find him gone. Almost surely. Pour gasoline under the door and light it. Break his window and toss in a grenado, either manufactured or homemade. Do you mean to tell me that never occurred to you?”

Of course it had. “Well, maybe.”

It was Roland’s turn to utter the humorous grunting sound. “Not much may in that be . So he saved his best books. And now, in Doorway Cave, we have something to hide the Pere’s treasure behind. Although I suppose it must be counted our treasure now.”

“His courage didn’t strike me as real courage,” Eddie said. “It was more like greed.”

“Not all are called to the way of the sword or the gun or the ship,” Roland said, “but all serve ka.”

“Really? Does the Crimson King? Or the low men and women Callahan talked about?”

Roland didn’t reply.

Eddie said, “He may do well. Tower, I mean. Not the cat.”

“Very amusing,” Roland said dryly. He scratched a match on the seat of his pants, cupped the flame, lit his smoke.

“Thank you, Roland. You’re growing in that respect. Ask me if I think Tower and Deepneau can get out of New York City clean.”

“Do you?”

“No, I think they’ll leave a trail. We could follow it, but I’m hoping Balazar’s men won’t be able to. The one I worry about is Jack Andolini. He’s creepy-smart. As for Balazar, he made a contract with this Sombra Corporation.”