“The Dark Tower.”

“Where is this Tower?”

“Far from the beach where you found me. How far I know not.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know that, either—except that it may be a kind of . . . of a bolt. A central linchpin that holds all of existence together. All existence, all time, and all size.”

“You said four. Who are the other two?”

“I know them not, for they have yet to be drawn.”

“As I was drawn. Or as you’d like to draw me.”

“Yes.”

From outside there was a coughing explosion like a mortar round. The glass of The Leaning Tower’s front window blew in. The barroom began to fill with choking clouds of tear-gas.

“Well?” Roland asked. He could grab Eddie, force the doorway into existence by their contact, and pummel them both through. But he had seen Eddie risk his life for him; he had seen this hag-ridden man behave with all the dignity of a born gunslinger in spite of his addiction and the fact that he had been forced to fight as naked as the day he was born, and he wanted Eddie to decide for himself.

“Quests, adventures, Towers, worlds to win,” Eddie said, and smiled wanly. Neither of them turned as fresh tear-gas rounds flew through the windows to explode, hissing, on the floor. The first acrid tendrils of the gas were now slipping into Balazar’s office. “Sounds better than one of those Edgar Rice Burroughs books about Mars Henry used to read me sometimes when we were kids. You only left out one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The beautiful bare-breasted girls.”

The gunslinger smiled. “On the way to the Dark Tower,” he said, “anything is possible.”

Another shudder wracked Eddie’s body. He raised Henry’s head, kissed one cool, ash-colored cheek, and laid the gore-streaked relic gently aside. He got to his feet.

“Okay,” he said. “I didn’t have anything else planned for tonight, anyway.”

“Take these,” Roland said, and shoved the clothes at him. “Put on your shoes if nothing else. You’ve cut your feet.”

On the sidewalk outside, two cops wearing plexiglass faceplates, flak-jackets, and Kevlar vests smashed in The Leaning Tower’s front door. In the bathroom, Eddie (dressed in his underpants, his Adidas sneakers, and nothing else) handed the sample packages of Keflex to Roland one by one, and Roland put them into the pockets of Eddie’s jeans. When they were all safely stowed, Roland slid his right arm around Eddie’s neck again and Eddie gripped Roland’s left hand again. The door was suddenly there, a rectangle of darkness. Eddie felt the wind from that other world blow his sweaty hair back from his forehead. He heard the waves rolling up that stony beach. He smelled the tang of sour sea-salt. And in spite of everything, all his pain and sorrow, he suddenly wanted to see this Tower of which Roland spoke. He wanted to see it very much. And with Henry dead, what was there in this world for him? Their parents were dead, and there hadn’t been a steady girl since he got heavily into the smack three years ago—just a steady parade of sluts, needlers, and nosers. None of them straight. Fuck that action.