“Maybe,” Roland said. He looked in through the window a moment longer, saw nothing but darkened shelves, a few tables, and the counter Jake had mentioned—the one where the old fellows sat drinking coffee and playing this world’s version of Castles. Nothing to see, but something to feel, even through the glass: despair and loss. If it had been a smell, Roland thought, it would have been sour and a bit stale. The smell of failure. Maybe of good dreams that never grew. Which made it the perfect lever for someone like Enrico “Il Roche” Balazar.

“Seen enough?” Eddie asked.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

Eight

For Roland, the eight-block journey from Second and Fifty-fourth to Second and Forty-sixth was like visiting a country in which he had until that moment only half-believed. How much stranger must it be for Jake? he wondered. The bum who’d asked the boy for a quarter was gone, but the restaurant he’d been sitting near was there: Chew Chew Mama’s. This was on the corner of Second and Fifty-second. A block farther down was the record store, Tower of Power. It was still open—according to an overhead clock that told the time in large electric dots, it was only fourteen minutes after eight in the evening. Loud sounds were pouring out of the open door. Guitars and drums. This world’s music. It reminded him of the sacrificial music played by the Grays, back in the city of Lud, and why not? This was Lud, in some twisted, otherwhere-and-when way. He was sure of it.

“It’s the Rolling Stones,” Jake said, “but not the one that was playing on the day I saw the rose. That one was ‘Paint It Black.’ ”

“Don’t you recognize this one?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, but I can’t remember the title.”

“Oh, but you should,” Eddie said. “It’s ‘Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown.’ ”

Susannah stopped, looked around. “Jake?”

Jake nodded. “He’s right.”

Eddie, meanwhile, had fished a piece of newspaper from the security-gated doorway next to Tower of Power Records. A section of The New York Times, in fact.

“Hon, didn’t your Ma ever teach you that gutter-trolling is generally not practiced by the better class of people?” Susannah asked.

Eddie ignored her. “Look at this,” he said. “All of you.”

Roland bent close, half-expecting to see news of another great plague, but there was nothing so shattering. At least not as far as he could tell.

“Read me what it says,” he asked Jake. “The letters swim in and out of my mind. I think it’s because we’re todash—caught in between—”

“RHODESIAN FORCES TIGHTEN HOLD ON MOZAMBIQUE VILLAGES,”Jake read. “TWO CARTER AIDES PREDICT A SAVING OF BILLIONS IN WELFARE PLAN. And down here, CHINESE DISCLOSE THAT 1976 QUAKE WAS DEADLIEST IN FOUR CENTURIES. Also—”