The other painting showed the Dark Tower, asooty-gray black cylinder tapering upward. It stood at the far end of Can’-KaNo Rey, the field of roses. In their dreams the Tower had seemed taller thanthe tallest skyscraper in New York (to Susannah this meant the Empire StateBuilding). In the painting it looked to be no more than six hundred feet high,yet this robbed it of none of its dreamlike majesty. The narrow windows rose inan ascending spiral around it just as in their dreams. At the top was an orielwindow of many colors—each, Roland knew, corresponding to one of theWizard’s glasses. The inmost circle but one was the pink of the ball that hadbeen left for awhile in the keeping of a certain witch-woman named Rhea; the centerwas the dead ebony of Black Thirteen.

“The room behind that window is where Iwould go,” Roland said, tapping the glass over the picture. “That is where myquest ends.” His voice was low and awestruck. “This picture wasn’t done fromany dream, Susannah. It’s as if I could touch the texture of every brick. Doyou agree?”

“Yes.” It was all she could say. Looking atit here on the late Richard Sayre’s wall robbed her breath. Suddenly it allseemed possible. The end of the business was, quite literally, in sight.

“The person who painted it must have beenthere,” Roland mused. “Must have set up his easel in the very roses.”

“Patrick Danville,” she said. “It’s thesame signature as on the one of Mordred and the dead horse, do you see?”

“I see it very well.”

“And do you see the path through the rosesthat leads to the steps at the base?”

“Yes. Nineteen steps, I have no doubt.Chassit. And the clouds overhead—”

She saw them, too. They formed a kind ofwhirlpool before streaming away from the Tower, and toward the Place of theTurtle, at the other end of the Beam they had followed so far. And she sawanother thing. Outside the barrel of the Tower, at what might have beenfifty-foot intervals, were balconies encircled with waist-high wrought-ironrailings. On the second of these was a blob of red and three tiny blobs ofwhite: a face that was too small to see, and a pair of upraised hands.

“Is that the Crimson King?” she asked,pointing. She didn’t quite dare put the tip of her finger on the glass overthat tiny figure. It was as if she expected it to come to life and snatch herinto the picture.

“Yes,” Roland said. “Locked out of the onlything he ever wanted.”

“Then maybe we could go right up the stairsand past him. Give him the old raspberry on the way by.” And when Roland lookedpuzzled at that, she put her tongue between her lips and demonstrated.

This time the gunslinger’s smile was faintand distracted. “I don’t think it will be so easy,” he said.

Susannah sighed. “Actually I don’t,either.”

They had what they’d come for—quite abit more, in fact—but they still found it hard to leave Sayre’s office.The picture held them. Susannah asked Roland if he didn’t want to take italong. Certainly it would be simple enough to cut it out of the frame with theletter-opener on Sayre’s desk and roll it up. Roland considered the idea, thenshook his head. There was a kind of malevolent life in it that might attractthe wrong sort of attention, like moths to a bright light. And even if thatwere not the case, he had an idea that both of them might spend too muchtime looking at it. The picture might distract them or, even worse, hypnotizethem.

In the end, maybe it’s just anothermind-trap, he thought. Like Insomnia.

“We’ll leave it,” he said. “Soonenough—in months, maybe even weeks—we’ll have the real thing tolook at.”

“Do you say so?” she asked faintly.“Roland, do you really say so?”

“I do.”

“All three of us? Or will Oy and I have todie, too, in order to open your way to the Tower? After all, you startedalone, didn’t you? Maybe you have to finish that way. Isn’t that how a writerwould want it?”

“That doesn’t mean he can do it,”Roland said. “Stephen King’s not the water, Susannah—he’s only the pipethe water runs through.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but I’mnot sure I entirely believe it.”

Roland wasn’t completely sure he did,either. He thought of pointing out to Susannah that Cuthbert and Alain had beenwith him at the true beginning of his quest, in Mejis, and when they set outfrom Gilead the next time, Jamie DeCurry had joined them, making the trio aquartet. But the quest had really started after the battle of Jericho Hill, andyes, by then he had been on his own.

“I started lone-john, but that’s not howI’ll finish,” he said. She had been making her way quite handily from place toplace in a rolling office-chair. Now he plucked her out of it and settled heron his right hip, the one that no longer pained him. “You and Oy will be withme when I climb the steps and enter the door, you’ll be with me when I climbthe stairs, you’ll be with me when I deal with yon capering red goblin, andyou’ll be with me when I enter the room at the top.”

Although Susannah did not say so, this feltlike a lie to her. In truth it felt like a lie to both of them.

Two

They brought canned goods, a skillet, twopots, two plates, and two sets of utensils back to the Fedic Hotel. Roland hadadded a flashlight that provided a feeble glow from nearly dead batteries, abutcher’s knife, and a handy little hatchet with a rubber grip. Susannah had founda pair of net bags in which to store this little bit of fresh gunna. She alsofound three cans of jellylike stuff on a high shelf in the pantry adjacent tothe infirmary kitchen.

“It’s Sterno,” she told the gunslinger whenhe inquired.

“Good stuff. You can light it up. It burnsslow and makes a blue flame hot enough to cook on.”

“I thought we’d build a little fire behindthe hotel,” he said. “I won’t need this smelly stuff to make one, certainly.”He said it with a touch of contempt.

“No, I suppose not. But it might come inhandy.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but…” She shrugged.

Near the door to the street they passedwhat appeared to be a janitor’s closet filled with piles of rickrack. Susannahhad had enough of the Dogan for one day and was anxious to be out, but Rolandwanted to have a look. He ignored the mop buckets and brooms and cleaningsupplies in favor of a jumble of cords and straps heaped in a corner. Susannahguessed from the boards on top of which they lay that this stuff had once beenused to build temporary scaffoldings. She also had an idea what Roland wantedthe strappage for, and her heart sank. It was like going all the way back tothe beginning.

“Thought I was done with piggybackin,” shesaid crossly, and with more than a touch of Detta in her voice.

“It’s the only way, I think,” Roland said.“I’m just glad I’m whole enough again to carry your weight.”

“And that passage underneath’s the only waythrough? You’re sure of that?”

“I suppose there might be a way through thecastle—” he began, but Susannah was already shaking her head.

“I’ve been up top with Mia, don’t forget.The drop into the Discordia on the far side’s at least five hundred feet.Probably more. There might have been stairs in the long-ago, but they’re gonenow.”

“Then we’re for the passage,” he said, “andthe passage is for us. Mayhap we’ll find something for you to ride in oncewe’re on the other side. In another town or village.”

Susannah was shaking her head again. “Ithink this is where civilization ends, Roland. And I think we better bundle upas much as we can, because it’s gonna get cold.”

Bundling-up materials seemed to be in shortsupply, however, unlike the foodstuffs. No one had thought to store a few extrasweaters and fleece-lined jackets in vacuum-packed cans. There were blankets,but even in storage they had grown thin and fragile, just short of useless.

“I don’t give a bedbug’s ass,” she said ina wan voice. “Just as long as we get out of this place.”