in the other, what appeared to be an olive branch.
Roland of Gilead stood atop the Cradle of Lud, dressed in gold.
No, she thought, at last remembering to breathe again. It’s not him . . . but in another way,
it is. That man was a gunslinger, and the resemblance between him, who’s probably been
dead a thousand years or more, and Roland is all the truth of ka-tet you’ll ever need to
know.
Thunder slammed out of the south. Lightning harried racing clouds across the sky. She
wished she had more time to study both the golden statue which stood atop the Cradle and
the animals which surrounded it; each of these latter appeared to have words carved upon
them, and she had an idea that what was written there might be knowledge worth having.
Under these circumstances, however, there was no time to spare.
A wide red strip had been painted across the pavement at the point where The Street of the
Turtle emptied into The Plaza of the Cradle. Maud and the fellow Eddie called Jeeves the
Butler stopped a prudent distance from the red mark.
“This far and no farther,” Maud told them flatly. “You may take us to our deaths, but each man and woman owes one to the gods anyway, and I’ll die on this side of the dead-line no
matter what. I’ll not dare Blaine for outlanders.”
“Nor will I,” Jeeves said. He had taken off his dusty bowler and was holding it against his naked chest. On his face was an expression of fearful reverence.
“Fine,” Susannah said. “Now scat on out of here, both of you.”
“Ye’ll backshoot us the second we turn from ye,” Jeeves said in a trembling voice. “I’ll take my watch and warrant on it, so I will.”
Maud shook her head. The blood on her face had dried to a gro- tesque maroon stippling.
“There never were a backshooting gunslinger— that much I will say.”
“We only have their word for it that that’s what they are.”
Maud pointed to the big revolver with the worn sandalwood grip which Susannah held in
her hand. Jeeves looked . . . and after a moment he stretched out his hand to the woman.
When Maud took it, Susannah’s image of them as dangerous killers collapsed. They looked
more like Hansel and Gretel than Bonnie and Clyde; tired, frightened, confused, and lost so
long in the woods that they had grown old there. Her hate and fear of them departed. What replaced it was pity and a deep, aching sadness.
“Fare you well, both of you,” she said softly. “Walk as you will, and with no fear of harm from me or my man here.”
Maud nodded. “I believe you mean us no harm, and I forgive you for shooting Winston.
But listen to me, and listen well: stay out of the Cradle. Whatever reasons you think you
have for going in, they’re not good enough. To enter Blaine’s Cradle is death.”
“We don’t have any choice,” Eddie said, and thunder banged over- head again, as if in
agreement. “Now let me tell you something. I don’t know what’s underneath Lud and what
isn’t, but I do know those drums you’re so whacked out about are part of a recording—a
song—that was made in the world my wife and I came from.” He looked at their
uncom- prehending faces and raised his arms in frustration. “Jesus Pumpkin-Pie Christ,
don’t you get it? You’re killing each other over a piece of music that was never even
released as a single!”
Susannah put her hand on his shoulder and murmured his name. He ignored her for the
moment, his eyes flicking from Jeeves to Maud and then back to Jeeves again.
“You want to see monsters? Take a good look at each other, then. And when you get back
to whatever funhouse it is you call home, take a good look at your friends and relatives.”
“You don’t understand,” Maud said. Her eyes were dark and somber. “But you will.
Ay—you will.”
“Go on, now,” Susannah said quietly. “Talk between us is no good; the words only drop dead. Just go your way and try to remember the faces of your fathers, for I think you lost
sight of those faces long ago.”
The two of them walked back in the direction from which they had come without another
word. They did look back over their shoulders from time to time, however, and they were
still holding hands: Hansel and Gretel lost in the deep dark forest.
“Lemme outta here,” Eddie said heavily. He made the Ruger safe, stuck it back in the
waistband of his pants, and then rubbed his red eyes with the heels of his hands. “Just
lemme out, that’s all I ask.”
“I know what you mean, handsome.” She was clearly scared, but her head had that defiant tilt he had come to recognize and love. He put his hands on her shoulders, bent down, and
kissed her. He did not let either their surroundings or the oncoming storm keep him from
doing a thorough job. When he pulled back at last, she was studying him with wide,
dancing eyes. “Wow! What was that about?”
“About how I’m in love with you,” he said, “and I guess that’s about all. Is it enough?”
Her eyes softened. For a moment she thought about telling him the secret she might or might not be keeping, but of course the time and place were wrong—she could no more tell
him she might be pregnant now than she could pause to read the words written on the
sculpted Portal Totems.
“It’s enough, Eddie,” she said.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” His hazel eyes were totally focused on her. “It’s hard for me to say stuff like that— living with Henry made it hard, I guess—but
it’s true. I think I started loving you because you were everything Roland took me away
from—in New York, I mean—hut it’s a lot more than that now, because I don’t want to go
hack anymore. Do you?”
She looked at the Cradle. She was terrified of what they might find in there, but all the
same . . . she looked back at him. “No, I don’t want to go back. I want to spend the rest of my life going forward. As long as you’re with me, that is. It’s funny, you know, you saying
you started loving me because of all the things he took you away from.”
“Funny how?”
“I started loving you because you set me free of Detta Walker.” She paused, thought, then shook her head slightly. “No—it goes further than that. I started loving you because you set me free of both those bitches. One was a foul-mouthed, cock-teasing thief, and the other
was a self-righteous, pompous prig. Comes down to six of one and half a dozen of the other,
as far as I’m concerned. I like Susannah Dean better than either one . . . and you were the
one who set me free.”
This time it was she who did the reaching, pressing her palm to his stubbly cheeks,
drawing him down, kissing him gently. When he put a light hand on her breast, she sighed
and covered it with her own.
“I think we better get going,” she said, “or we’re apt to be laying right here in the street . . .
and getting wet, from the look.”
Eddie stared around at the silent towers, the broken windows, the vine-encrusted walls a
final time. Then he nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think there’s any future in this town, anyway.”
He pushed her forward, and they both stiffened as the wheels of the chair passed over what
Maud had called the dead-line, fearful that they would trip some ancient protective device
and die together. But nothing happened. Eddie pushed her into the plaza, and as they
approached the steps leading up to the Cradle, a cold, wind-driven rain began to fall.
Although neither of them knew it, the first of the great autumn storms of Mid-World had
arrived.
25
ONCE THEY WERE IN the smelly darkness of the sewers, Gasher slowed the killing
pace he’d maintained aboveground. Jake didn’t think it was because of the darkness; Gasher
seemed to know every twist and turn of the route he was following, just as advertised. Jake
believed it was because his captor was satisfied that Roland had been squashed to jelly by
the deadfall trap.
Jake himself had begun to wonder.
If Roland had spotted the tripwires—a far more subtle trap than the one which
followed—was it really likely that he had missed seeing the fountain? Jake supposed it was
possible, but it didn’t make much sense. Jake thought it more likely that Roland had tripped
the fountain on purpose, to lull Gasher and perhaps slow him down. He didn’t believe
Roland could follow them through this maze under the streets—the total darkness would