(or killing them, if there was no other way to make them stop)
and keeping the writer from being struck and killed by a minivan while taking a walk. Roland thought they might be able to accomplish both things, but they'd need Sheemie's teleportation ability at least twice. Plus, their visitors would have to get back inside the triple run of wire after today's palaver was done, and presumably that meant he'd have to do it a third time.
"He says it doesn't hurt," Dinky said. "If that's what you're worried about."
Inside the cave the others laughed at something, Sheemie back to consciousness and taking nourishment, everyone the best of friends.
"It's not," Eddie said. "What does Ted think is happening to Sheemie when he teleports?"
"That he's having brain hemorrhages," Dinky said promptly.
"Little tiny strokes on the surface of his brain." He tapped a finger at different points on his own skull in demonstration.
"Boink, boink, boink."
"Is it getting worse? It is, isn't it?"
"Look, if you think him jaunting us around is my idea, you better think again."
Eddie raised one hand like a traffic cop. "No, no. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on." And what our chances are.
"I hate using him that way!" Dinky burst out. He kept his voice pitched low, so those in the cave wouldn't hear, but Eddie never for a moment considered that he was exaggerating.
Dinky was badly upset. "He doesn't mind-he wants to do it-and that makes it worse, not better. The way he looks at Ted..." He shrugged. "It's the way a dog'd look at the best master in the universe. He looks at your dinh the same way, as I'm sure you've noticed."
"He's doing it for my dinh," Eddie said, "and that makes it okay. You may not believe that, Dink, but-"
"But you do."
"Totally. Now here's the really important question: does Ted have any idea how long Sheemie can last? Keeping in mind that now he's got a little more help at this end?"
Who you tryin to cheer up, bro? Henry spoke up suddenly inside his head. Cynical as always. Him or yourself?
Dinky was looking at Eddie as if he were crazy, or soft in the head, at least. "Ted was an accountant. Sometimes a tutor. A daylaborer when he couldn't get anything better. He's no doctor."
But Eddie kept pushing. "What does he think?"
Dinky paused. The wind blew. The music wafted. Farther away, thunder mumbled out of the murk. At last he said:
"Three or four times, maybe... but the effects are getting worse. Maybe only twice. But there are no guarantees, okay? He could drop dead of a massive stroke the next time he bears down to make that hole we go through."
Eddie tried to think of another question and couldn't.
Ihat last answer pretty well covered the waterfront, and when Susannah called them back inside, he was more than glad to go.
FOUR
Sheemie Ruiz had rediscovered his appetite, which all of them took as a good sign, and was tucking in happily. The bloodspots in his eyes had faded somewhat, but were still clearly visible. Eddie wondered what the guards back in Blue Heaven would make of those if they noticed them, and also wondered if Sheemie could wear a pair of sunglasses without exciting comment.
Roland had gotten the Rod to his feet and was now conferring with him at the back of the cave. Well... sort of. The gunslinger was talking and the Rod was listening, occasionally sneaking tiny awed peeks at Roland's face. It was gibberish to Eddie, but he was able to pick out two words: Chevin and Chayven. Roland was asking this one about the one they'd met staggering along the road in Lovell.
"Does he have a name?" Eddie asked Dink and Ted, taking a second plate of food.
"I call him Chucky," Dinky said. "Because he looks a little bit like the doll in this horror movie I saw once."
Eddie grinned. "Child's Play, yeah. I saw that one. After your when, Jake. And way after yours, Suziella." The Rod's hair wasn't right, but the chubby, freckled cheeks and the blue eyes were. "Do you think he can keep a secret?"
"If no one asks him, he can," Ted said. Which was not, in Eddie's view, a very satisfactory answer.
After five minutes or so of chat, Roland seemed satisfied and rejoined the others. He hunkered-no problem doing that now that his joints had limbered up-and looked at Ted.
"This fellow's name is Haylis of Chayven. Will anyone miss him?"
"Unlikely," Ted said. "The Rods show up at the gate beyond the dorms in littie groups, looking for work. Fetching and carrying, mostly. They're given a meal or something to drink as pay. If they don't show up, no one misses them."
"Good. Now-how long are the days here? Is it twentyfour hours from now until tomorrow morning at this time?"
Ted seemed interested in the question and considered it for several moments before replying. "Call it twenty-five," he said.