Callahan sighed deeply, then nodded. “I have a book. Tales of Arthur, it’s called.”

Roland’s eyes gleamed. “ Doyou? Do you, indeed? I would like to see such a book. I would like it very well.”

“Perhaps you shall,” Callahan said. “The stories in it are certainly not much like the tales of the Round Table I read as a boy, but…” He shook his head. “I understand what you’re saying to me, let’s leave it at that. There are three questions, am I right? And you just asked me the first.”

“Three, yes,” Roland said. “Three is a number of power.”

Eddie thought, If you want to try a real number of power, Roland old buddy, try nineteen.

“And all three must be answered yes.”

Roland nodded. “And if they are, you may ask no more. We may be cast on, sai Callahan, but no man may cast us back. Make sure your people”—he nodded toward the woods south of them—“understand that.”

“Gunslinger—”

“Call me Roland. We’re at peace, you and I.”

“All right, Roland. Hear me well, do ya, I beg. (For so we say in the Calla.) We who come to you are only half a dozen. We six cannot decide. Only the Calla can decide.”

“Democracy,” Roland said. He pushed his hat back from his forehead, rubbed his forehead, and sighed.

“But if we six agree—especially sai Overholser—” He broke off, looking rather warily at Jake. “What? Did I say something?”

Jake shook his head and motioned Callahan to continue.

“If we six agree, it’s pretty much a done deal.”

Eddie closed his eyes, as if in bliss. “Say it again, pal.”

Callahan eyed him, puzzled and wary. “What?”

“Done deal. Or anything from your where and when.” He paused. “Our side of the big ka.”

Callahan considered this, then began to grin. “I didn’t know whether to shit or go blind,” he said. “I went on a bender, broke the bank, kicked the bucket, blew my top, walked on thin ice, rode the pink horse down nightmare alley. Like that?”

Roland looked puzzled (perhaps even a little bored), but Eddie Dean’s face was a study in bliss. Susannah and Jake seemed caught somewhere between amusement and a kind of surprised, recollective sadness.

“Keep em coming, pal,” Eddie said hoarsely, and made a come on, man gesture with both hands. He sounded as if he might have been speaking through a throatful of tears. “Just keep em coming.”

“Perhaps another time,” Callahan said gently. “Another time we may sit and have our own palaver about the old places and ways of saying. Baseball, if it do ya. Now, though, time is short.”