Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower #6)(38)

Seven

Mia was strong, but unprepared for this new attack. It was especially ferocious because Detta had joined her own murderous energy to Susannah's understanding. For a moment the interloper was pushed backward, eyes wide. In the hotel room, the telephone dropped from Mia's hand. She staggered drunkenly across the carpet, almost tripped over one of the beds, then whirled about like a tipsy dancer. Susannah slapped at her and red marks appeared on her cheek like exclamation points.

Slapping myself, that's all I'm doing,Susannah thought.Beating up the equipment, how stupid is that? But she couldn't help it. The enormity of what Mia had done, the betrayingenormity -

Inside, in some battle-ring which was not quite physical (but not entirely mental, either), Mia was finally able to clutch Susannah/Detta by the throat and drive her back. Mia's eyes were still wide with shock at the ferocity of the assault. And perhaps with shame, as well. Susannah hoped she was able to feel shame, that she hadn't gone beyond that.

I did what I had to do,Mia repeated as she forced Susannah back into the brig.It's my chap, every hand is against me, I did what I had to do.

You traded Eddie and Roland for your monster, that's what you did!Susannah screamed.Based on what you overheard and then passed on, Sayre was sure they'd use the Door to go after Tower, wasn't he? And how many has he set against them?

The only answer was that iron clang. Only this time it was followed by a second. And a third. Mia had had the hands of her hostess clamped around her throat and was consequently taking no chances. This time the brig's door had been triple-locked. Brig? Hell, might as well call it the Black Hole of Calcutta.

When I get out of here, I'll go back to the Dogan and disable all the switches!she cried.I can't believe I tried to help you! Well, f**k that! Have it on the street, for all of me!

Youcan'tget out, Mia replied, almost apologetically.Later, if I can, I'll leave you in peace -

What kind of peace will there be for me with Eddie dead? No wonder you wanted to take his ring off! How could you bear to have it lie against your skin, knowing what you'd done?

Mia picked up the telephone and listened, but Richard P. Sayre was no longer there. Probably had places to go and diseases to spread, Susannah thought.

Mia replaced the telephone in its cradle, looked around at the empty, sterile room the way people do when they won't be coming back to a place and want to make sure they've taken everything that matters. She patted one pocket of her jeans and felt the little wad of cash. Touched the other and felt the lump that was the turtle, thesk?ldpadda.

I'm sorry,Mia said.I have to take care of my chap. Every hand is against me now.

That's not true,Susannah said from the locked room where Mia had thrown her. And where was it, really? In the deepest, darkest dungeons of the Castle on the Abyss? Probably. Did it matter?I was on your side. I helped you. I stopped your damn labor when you needed it stopped. And look what you did. How could you ever be so cowardly and low?

Mia paused with her hand on the room's doorknob, her cheeks flushing a dull red. Yes, she was ashamed, all right. But shame wouldn't stop her.Nothing would stop her. Until, that was, she found herself betrayed in turn by Sayre and his friends.

Thinking of that inevitability gave Susannah no satisfaction at all.

You're damned,she said.You know that, don't you?

"I don't care," Mia said. "An eternity in hell's a fair price to pay for one look in my chap's face. Hear me well, I beg."

And then, carrying Susannah and Detta with her, Mia opened the hotel room door, re-entered the corridor, and took her first steps on her course toward the Dixie Pig, where terrible surgeons waited to deliver her of her equally terrible chap.

STAVE: Commala-mox-nix!

You're in a nasty fix!

To take the hand in a traitor's glove

Is to grasp a sheaf of sticks!

RESPONSE: Commala-come-six!

Nothing there but thorns and sticks!

When you find your hand in a traitor's glove

You're in a nasty fix.

7th Stanza: The Ambush

One

Roland Deschain was the last of Gilead's last great band of warriors, for good reason; with his queerly romantic nature, his lack of imagination, and his deadly hands, he had ever been the best of them. Now he had been invaded by arthritis, but there was no dry twist in his ears or eyes. He heard the thud of Eddie's head against the side of the Unfound Door as they were sucked through (and, ducking down at the last split second, only just avoided having his own skull broken in by the Door's top jamb). He heard the sound of birds, at first strange and distant, like birds singing in a dream, then immediate and prosaic and completely there. Sunlight struck his face and should have dazzled him blind, coming as he was from the dimness of the cave. But Roland had turned his eyes into slits the moment he'd seen that bright light, had done it without thinking. Had he not, he surely would have missed the circular flash from two o'clock as they landed on hard-packed, oil-darkened earth. Eddie would have died for sure. Maybe both of them would have died. In Roland's experience, only two things glared with that perfect brilliant circularity: eyeglasses and the long sight of a weapon.

The gunslinger grabbed Eddie beneath the arm as unthinkingly as he'd slitted his eyes against the glare of onrushing sunlight. He'd felt the tension in the younger man's muscles as their feet left the rock-and bone-littered floor of the Doorway Cave, and he felt them go slack when Eddie's head connected with the side of the Unfound Door. But Eddie was groaning, still trying to talk, so he was at least partly aware.