“Leave them be,” Roland said.
“Old fools’ll rupture themselves,” Eddie muttered, but he followed the others, leaving the old men to their chosen table. Susannah gasped as Eddie lifted her from her chair and carried her through the back door. This wasn’t a lawn but a showplace, with beds of flowers blazing like torches in the soft green grass. She saw some she recognized—marigolds and zinnias and phlox—but many others were strange to her. As she watched, a horsefly landed on a bright blue petal . . . which at once folded over it and rolled up tight.
“Wow!” Eddie said, staring around. “Busch Gardens!” Si said, “This is the one place we keep the way it was in the old days, before the world moved on. And we keep it hidden from those who ride through—Pubes, Grays, harriers. They’d bum it if they knew . . . and kill us for keeping such a place. They hate anything nice—all of em. It’s the one thing all those bastards have in common.”
The blind woman tugged his arm to shush him. “No riders these days,” the old man with the wooden leg said. “Not for a long time now. They keep closer in to the city. Guess they find all they need to keep em well right there.”
The albino twins struggled out with the table. One of the old women followed them, urging them to hurry up and get the hell out of her way. She held a stoneware pitcher in each hand.
“Sit ye down, gunslinger!” Aunt Talitha cried, sweeping her hand at the grass. “Sit ye down, all!”
Susannah could smell a hundred conflicting perfumes. They made her feel dazed and unreal, as if this was a dream she was having. She could hardly believe this strange little pocket of Eden, carefully hidden behind the crumbling facade of the dead town.
Another woman came out with a tray of glasses. They were mismatched but spotless, twinkling in the sun like fine crystal. She held the tray out first to Roland, then to Aunt Talitha, Eddie, Susannah, and Jake at the last. As each took a glass, the first woman poured a dark golden liquid into it. Roland leaned over to Jake, who was sitting tailor-fashion near an oval bed of bright green flowers with Oy at his side. He murmured: “Drink only enough to be polite, Jake, or we’ll be carrying you out of town—this is graf—strong apple-beer.”
Jake nodded.
Talitha held up her glass, and when Roland followed suit, Eddie, Susannah, and Jake did the same.
“What about the others?” Eddie whispered to Roland. “They’ll be served after the voluntary. Now be quiet.” “Will ye set us on with a word, gunslinger?” Aunt Talitha asked. The gunslinger got to his feet, his glass upraised in his hand. He lowered his head, as if in thought. The few remaining residents of River Crossing watched him respectfully and, Jake thought, a little fearfully. At last he raised his head again. “Will you drink to the earth, and to the days which have passed upon it?” he asked. His voice was hoarse,’ trembling with emotion. “Will you drink to the fullness which was, and to friends who have passed on? Will you drink to good company, well met? Will these things set us on, Old Mother?” She was weeping, Jake saw, but her face broke into a smile of radiant happiness all the same . . . and for a moment she was almost young. Jake looked at her with wonder and sudden, dawning happiness. For the first time since Eddie had hauled him through the door, he felt the shadow of the doorkeeper truly leave his heart.
“Ay, gunslinger!” she said. “Fair spoken! They’ll set us on by the league, so they shall!” She tilted her glass up and drank it at a draught. When the glass was empty, Roland emptied his own. Eddie and Susannah also drank, although less deeply.