Roland's eyes ... and his heart, a little, too. It stopped at the far side
of the square, by an overturned flatbed wagon (there looked to be
more dried blood splashed on the freighter's side), and glanced
back. It uttered a forlorn howl that raised the hairs on the nape of
Roland's neck even further.
Then it turned, skirted the wrecked wagon, and limped down a lane
which opened between two of the stalls. This way towards Eluria's
back gate, Roland guessed.
Still leading his dying horse, the gunslinger crossed the square to
the ironwood trough and looked in.
The owner of the chewed boot wasn't a man but a boy who had just
been beginning to get his man's growth - and that would have been
quite a large growth indeed, Roland judged, even setting aside the
bloating effects which had resulted from being immersed for some
unknown length of time in nine inches of water simmering under a
summer sun.
The boy's eyes, now just milky balls, stared blindly up at the
gunslinger like the eyes of a statue. His hair appeared to be the
white of old age, although that was the effect of the water; he had
likely been a towhead. His clothes were those of a cowboy,
although he couldn't have been much more than fourteen or
sixteen. Around his neck, gleaming blearily in water that was
slowly turning into a skin stew under the summer sun, was a gold
medallion.
Roland reached into the water, not liking to but feeling a certain
obligation. He wrapped his fingers around the medallion and
pulled. The chain parted, and he lifted the thing, dripping, into the
air.
He rather expected a Jesus-man sigil - what was called the crucifix
or the rood -but a small rectangle hung from the chain, instead. The
object looked like pure gold. Engraved into it was this legend:
James
Loved of Family, Loved of GOD
Roland, who had been almost too revolted to reach into the
polluted water (as a younger man, he could never have brought
himself to that), was now glad he'd done it. He might never run
into any of those who had loved this boy, but he knew enough of
ka to think it might be so. In any case, it was the right thing. So
was giving the kid a decent burial ... assuming, that was, he could
get the body out of the trough without having it break apart inside
the clothes.
Roland was considering this, trying to balance what might be his
duty in this circumstance against his growing desire to get out of
this town, when Topsy finally fell dead.
The roan went over with a creak of gear and a last whuffling groan
as it hit the ground. Roland turned and saw eight people in the
street, walking towards him in a line, like beaters who hope to
flush out birds or drive small game. Their skin was waxy green.
Folk wearing such skin would likely glow in the dark like ghosts.
It was hard to tell their sex, and what could it matter - to them or
