"Does the D stand for Dandelo?" Jake asked.
Dinky looked at him with a puzzled frown. "Dandelo? What in the hell is that?"
Jake shook his head. He didn't even want to tell Dinky where he'd heard the word.
"Well, I don't know, not for sure," Dinky said as they resumed walking, "but I always assumed the D stood for Discordia.
Because that's where all the trains supposedly end up, you know-somewhere deep in the universe's baddest Badlands."
Jake nodded. D for Discordia. That made sense. Sort of, anyway.
"You didn't answer my question," Dinky said. "What's a Dandelo?"
"Just a word I saw written on the wall in Thunderclap Station.
It probably doesn't mean anything."
SEVENTEEN
Outside Corbett Hall, a delegation of Breakers waited. They looked grim and frightened. Dfor Dandelo, Jake thought. Dfor Discordia. Also Dfor desperate.
Roland faced them with his arms folded over his chest.
"Who speaks for you?" he asked. "If one speaks, let him come forward now, for our time here is up."
A gray-haired gentleman-another bankerly-looking fellow, in truth-stepped forward. He was wearing gray suitpants, a white shirt open at the collar, and a gray vest, also open.
The vest sagged. So did the man wearing it.
"You've taken our lives from us," he said. He spoke these words with a kind of morose satisfaction-as if he'd always known it would come to this (or something like this). "The lives we knew. What will you give back in return, Mr. Gilead?"
There was a rumble of approval at this. Jake Chambers heard it and was suddenly more angry than ever before in his life. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, stole to the handle of the Coyote machine-pistol, caressed it, and found a cold comfort in its shape. Even a brief respite from grief. And Roland knew, for he reached behind him without looking and put his hand on top of Jake's. He squeezed until Jake let loose of the gun.
"I'll tell you what I'll give, since you ask," Roland said. "I
meant to have this place, where you have fed on the brains of helpless children in order to destroy the universe, burned to the ground; aye, every stick of it. I intended to set certain flying balls that have come into our possession to explode, and blow apart anything that would not burn. I intended to point you the way to the River Whye and the green Callas which lie beyond it, and set you on with a curse my father taught me: may you live long, but not in good health."
A resentful murmur greeted this, but not an eye met Roland's own. The man who had agreed to speak for them (and even in his rage, Jake gave him points for courage) was swaying on his feet, as if he might soon faint away.
"The Callas still lie in that direction," Roland said, and pointed. "If you go, some-many, even-may die on the way, for there are animals out there that are hungry, and what water there is may be poison. I've no doubt the Calla-folken will know who you are and what you've been about even if you lie, for they have the Manni among them and the Manni see much. Yet you may find forgiveness there rather than death, for the capacity for forgiveness in the hearts of such people is beyond the capacity of hearts such as yours to understand. Or mine, for that matter.
"That they would put you to work and that the rest of your lives would pass not in the comfort you've known but in toil and sweat I have no doubt, yet I urge you to go, if only to find some redemption for what you have done."
"We didn't know what we were doing, ye chary man!" a woman in the back yelled furiously.
"YOU KNEW!" Jake shouted back, screaming so loudly that he saw black dots in front of his eyes, and Roland's hand was once again instantly over his to stay his draw. Would he actually have sprayed the crowd with the Coyote, bringing more death to this terrible place? He didn't know. What he did know was that a gunslinger's hands were sometimes not under his control once a weapon was in them. "Don't you dare say you didn't! You knew!"
"I'll give this much, may it do ya," Roland said. "My friends and I-those who survive, although I'm sure the one who lies dead yonder would agree, which is why I speak as I do-will let this place stand. There's food enough to see you through the rest of your lives, I have no doubt, and robots to cook it and wash your clothes and even wipe your asses, if that's what you think you need. If you prefer purgatory to redemption, then stay here.
Were I you, I'd make the trek instead. Follow the railroad tracks out of the shadows. Tell them what you did before they can tell you, and get on your knees with your heads bared, and beg their forgiveness."