thing!
Yes, it was lovely. A lovely little treasure. And once upon a time, not so long ago, Jake Chambers had found something queerly similar. In Calvin Tower’s bookshop, Jake had bought a book called Charlie the Choo-Choo, by Beryl Evans. Why? Because it had called to him. Later—shortly before Roland’s ka-tet had come to Calla Bryn Sturgis, in fact—the author’s name had changed to Claudia y Inez Bachman, making her a member of the ever-expanding Ka-Tet of Nineteen. Jake had slipped a key into that book, and Eddie had whittled a double of it in Mid-World. Jake’s version of the key had both fascinated the folks who saw it and made them extremely suggestible. Like Jake’s key, the scrimshaw turtle had its double; she was sitting beside it. The question was if the turtle was like Jake’s key in other ways.
Judging from the fascinated way the Scandinavian businessman was looking at it, Susannah was pretty sure the answer was yes. She thought, Dad-a-chuck, dad-a-churtle, don’t worry, girl, you got the turtle! It was such a silly rhyme she almost laughed out loud.
To Mia she said, Let me handle this.
Handle what? I don’t understand—
I know you don’t. So let me handle it. Agreed? She didn’t wait for Mia’s reply. She turned back to the businessman, smiling brightly, holding the turtle up where he could see it. She floated it from right to left and noted the way his eyes followed it, although his head, with its impressive mane of white hair, never moved.
“What’s your name, sai?” Susannah asked.
“Mathiessen van Wyck,” he said. His eyes rolled slowly in their sockets, watching the turtle. “I am second assistant to the Swedish Ambassador to the United Nations. My wife has taken a lover. This makes me sad. My bowels are regular once again, the tea the hotel masseuse recommended worked for me, and this makes me happy.” A pause. Then: “Your sköldpadda makes me happy.”
Susannah was fascinated. If she asked this man to drop his trousers and evacuate his newly regularized bowels on the sidewalk, would he do it? Of course he would.
She looked around quickly and saw no one in the immediate vicinity. That was good, but she thought it would still behoove her to transact her business here as quickly as she could. Jake had drawn quite the little crowd with his key. She had no urge to do the same, if she could avoid it.
“Mathiessen,” she began, “you mentioned—”
“Mats,” he said.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Call me Mats, if you would. I prefer it.”
“All right, Mats, you mentioned a—”
“Do you speak Swedish?”
“No,” she said.
“Then we will speak English.”
“Yes, I’d prefer—”
“I have quite an important position,” Mats said. His eyes never left the turtle. “I am meeting many important peoples. I am going to cocktail parties where good-looking women are wearing ‘the little black dress.’”
“That must be quite a thrill for you. Mats, I want you to shut your trap and only open it to speak when I ask you a direct question. Will you do that?”
Mats closed his mouth. He even made a comical little zipping gesture across his lips, but his eyes never left the turtle.
“You mentioned a hotel. Do you stay at a hotel?”
“Yah, I am staying at the New York Plaza–Park Hyatt, at the corner of First and Forty-sixth. Soon I am getting the condominium apartment—”
Mats seemed to realize he was saying too much again and shut his mouth.
Susannah thought furiously, holding the turtle in front of her breasts where her new friend could see it very well.
“Mats, listen to me, okay?”
“I listen to hear, mistress-sai, and hear to obey.” That gave her a nasty jolt, especially coming out as it did in Mats’s cute little Scandihoovian accent.
“Do you have a credit card?”
Mats smiled proudly. “I have many. I have American Express, MasterCard, and Visa. I have the Euro-Gold Card. I have—”
“Good, that’s good. I want you to go down to
Yes, it was lovely. A lovely little treasure. And once upon a time, not so long ago, Jake Chambers had found something queerly similar. In Calvin Tower’s bookshop, Jake had bought a book called Charlie the Choo-Choo, by Beryl Evans. Why? Because it had called to him. Later—shortly before Roland’s ka-tet had come to Calla Bryn Sturgis, in fact—the author’s name had changed to Claudia y Inez Bachman, making her a member of the ever-expanding Ka-Tet of Nineteen. Jake had slipped a key into that book, and Eddie had whittled a double of it in Mid-World. Jake’s version of the key had both fascinated the folks who saw it and made them extremely suggestible. Like Jake’s key, the scrimshaw turtle had its double; she was sitting beside it. The question was if the turtle was like Jake’s key in other ways.
Judging from the fascinated way the Scandinavian businessman was looking at it, Susannah was pretty sure the answer was yes. She thought, Dad-a-chuck, dad-a-churtle, don’t worry, girl, you got the turtle! It was such a silly rhyme she almost laughed out loud.
To Mia she said, Let me handle this.
Handle what? I don’t understand—
I know you don’t. So let me handle it. Agreed? She didn’t wait for Mia’s reply. She turned back to the businessman, smiling brightly, holding the turtle up where he could see it. She floated it from right to left and noted the way his eyes followed it, although his head, with its impressive mane of white hair, never moved.
“What’s your name, sai?” Susannah asked.
“Mathiessen van Wyck,” he said. His eyes rolled slowly in their sockets, watching the turtle. “I am second assistant to the Swedish Ambassador to the United Nations. My wife has taken a lover. This makes me sad. My bowels are regular once again, the tea the hotel masseuse recommended worked for me, and this makes me happy.” A pause. Then: “Your sköldpadda makes me happy.”
Susannah was fascinated. If she asked this man to drop his trousers and evacuate his newly regularized bowels on the sidewalk, would he do it? Of course he would.
She looked around quickly and saw no one in the immediate vicinity. That was good, but she thought it would still behoove her to transact her business here as quickly as she could. Jake had drawn quite the little crowd with his key. She had no urge to do the same, if she could avoid it.
“Mathiessen,” she began, “you mentioned—”
“Mats,” he said.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Call me Mats, if you would. I prefer it.”
“All right, Mats, you mentioned a—”
“Do you speak Swedish?”
“No,” she said.
“Then we will speak English.”
“Yes, I’d prefer—”
“I have quite an important position,” Mats said. His eyes never left the turtle. “I am meeting many important peoples. I am going to cocktail parties where good-looking women are wearing ‘the little black dress.’”
“That must be quite a thrill for you. Mats, I want you to shut your trap and only open it to speak when I ask you a direct question. Will you do that?”
Mats closed his mouth. He even made a comical little zipping gesture across his lips, but his eyes never left the turtle.
“You mentioned a hotel. Do you stay at a hotel?”
“Yah, I am staying at the New York Plaza–Park Hyatt, at the corner of First and Forty-sixth. Soon I am getting the condominium apartment—”
Mats seemed to realize he was saying too much again and shut his mouth.
Susannah thought furiously, holding the turtle in front of her breasts where her new friend could see it very well.
“Mats, listen to me, okay?”
“I listen to hear, mistress-sai, and hear to obey.” That gave her a nasty jolt, especially coming out as it did in Mats’s cute little Scandihoovian accent.
“Do you have a credit card?”
Mats smiled proudly. “I have many. I have American Express, MasterCard, and Visa. I have the Euro-Gold Card. I have—”
“Good, that’s good. I want you to go down to
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