He paused at her wheelchair, looking around to make sure he’d left no trace of himself. He saw a bootprint, smoothed it away, then tossed a few leaves over it for good measure. Not too many; too many might be worse than none at all. With that done, he headed back toward the road and their camp, not hurrying anymore. She would pause for a little housekeeping of her own before going on. What would Mia see as she was cleaning Susannah’s wheelchair, he wondered? Some sort of small, motorized cart? It didn’t matter. What did was how clever she was. If he hadn’t awakened with a need to make water just as she left on one of her earlier expeditions, he quite likely still wouldn’t know about her hunting trips, and he was supposed to be clever about such things.

Not as clever as she, maggot. Now, as if the ghost of Vannay were not enough, here was Cort to lecture him. She’s shown you before, hasn’t she?

Yes. She had shown him cleverness as three women. Now there was this fourth.

Nine

When Roland saw the break in the trees ahead—the road they’d been following, and the place where they’d camped for the night—he took two long, deep breaths. These were meant to steady him and didn’t succeed very well.

Water if God wills it,he reminded himself. About the great matters, Roland, you have no say.

Not a comfortable truth, especially for a man on a quest such as his, but one he’d learned to live with.

He took another breath, then stepped out. He released the air in a long, relieved sigh as he saw Eddie and Jake lying deeply asleep beside the dead fire. Jake’s right hand, which had been linked with Eddie’s left when the gunslinger had followed Susannah out of camp, now circled Oy’s body.

The bumbler opened one eye and regarded Roland. Then he closed it again.

Roland couldn’t hear her coming, but sensed her just the same. He lay down quickly, rolled over onto his side, and put his face in the crook of his elbow. And from this position he watched as the wheelchair rolled out of the trees. She had cleaned it quickly but well. Roland couldn’t see a single spot of mud. The spokes gleamed in the moonlight.

She parked the chair where it had been before, slipped out of it with her usual grace, and moved across to where Eddie lay. Roland watched her approach her husband’s sleeping form with some anxiety. Anyone, he thought, who had met Detta Walker would have felt that anxiety. Because the woman who called herself mother was simply too close to what Detta had been.

Lying completely still, like one in sleep’s deepest sling, Roland prepared himself to move.