Wolves of the Calla

torchglow. He put out one leg. The thunk of the worn bootheel on the boards was very clear in the silence; Eddie for no reason thought of a fist knocking on a coffintop. He bowed deeply, open palms held out to them. 'Roland of Gilead, son of Steven,' he said. 'The Line of Eld.'

They sighed.

'May we be well-met.' He stepped back, and glanced at Eddie.

This part he could do. 'Eddie Dean of New York,' he said. 'Son of Wendell.' At least that's what Ma always claimed , he thought. And then, unaware he was going to say it: 'The Line of Eld. The ka-tet of Nineteen.'

He stepped back, and Susannah moved forward to the edge of the platform. Back straight, looking out at them calmly, she said, 'I am Susannah Dean, wife of Eddie, daughter of Dan, the Line of Eld, the ka-tet of Nineteen, may we be well-met and do ya fine.' She curtsied, holding out her pretend skirts.

At this there was both laughter and applause.

While she spoke her piece, Roland bent to whisper a brief something in Jake's ear. Jake nodded and then stepped forward confidently. He looked very young and very handsome in the day's end light.

He put out his foot and bowed over it. The poncho swung comically forward with Oy's weight. 'I am Jake Chambers, son of Elmer, the Line of Eld, the ka-tet of the Ninety and Nine.'

Ninety-nine ? Eddie looked at Susannah, who offered him a very small shrug. What's this ninety-nine shit ? Then he thought what the hell. He didn't know what the ka-tet of Nineteen was, either, and he'd said it himself.

But Jake wasn't done. He lifted Oy from the pocket of Benny Slightman's poncho. The crowd murmured at the sight of him. Jake gave Roland a quick glance—Are you sure? it asked— and Roland nodded.

At first Eddie didn't think Jake's furry pal was going to do anything. The people of the Calla—the folken —had gone completely quiet again, so quiet that once again the evensong of the birds could be heard clearly.

Then Oy rose up on his rear legs, stuck one of them forward, and actually bowed over it. He wavered but kept his balance. His little black paws were held out with the palms up, like Roland's. There were gasps, laughter, applause. Jake looked thunderstruck.

'Oy!' said the bumbler. 'Eld! Thankee!' Each word clear. He held the bow a moment longer, then dropped onto all fours and scurried briskly back to Jake's side. The applause was thunderous. In one brilliant, simple stroke, Roland (for who else, Eddie thought, could have taught die bumbler to do that) had made these people into their friends and admirers. For tonight, at least.

So that was the first surprise: Oy bowing to the assembled Calla folken and declaring himself an-tet with his traveling-mates. The second came hard on its heels. 'I'm no speaker,' Roland said, stepping forward again. 'My tongue tangles worse than a drunk's on Reap-night. But Eddie will set us on with a word, I'm sure.'

This was Eddie's turn to be thunderstruck. Below them, the crowd applauded and stomped appreciatively on the ground. There were cries of Thankee-sai and Speak you well and Hear him, hear him . Even the band got into the act, playing a flourish that was ragged but loud.

He had time to shoot Roland a single frantic, furious look: What in the blue fuck are you doing to me? The gunslinger looked back blandly, then folded his arms across his chest. The applause was fading. So was his anger. It was replaced by terror. Overholser was watching him with interest, arms crossed in conscious or unconscious imitation of Roland. Below him, Eddie could see a few individual faces at the front of the crowd: the Slightmans, the Jaffordses. He looked in the other direction and there was Callahan, blue eyes narrowed. Above them, the ragged cruciform scar on his forehead seemed to glare.

What the hell am I supposed to say to them ?

Better say somethin, Eds , his brother Henry spoke up. They're waiting .

'Cry your pardon if I'm a little slow getting started,' he said.

'We've come miles and wheels and more miles and wheels, and you're the first folks we've seen in many a—'

Many a what? Week, month, year, decade?

Eddie laughed. To himself he sounded like the world's biggest idiot, a fellow who couldn't be trusted to hold his own dick at watering-time, let alone a gun. 'In many a blue moon.'

They laughed at that, and hard . Some even applauded. He had touched the town's funnybone without even realizing it. He relaxed, and when he did he found himself speaking quite naturally. It occurred to him, just in passing, that not so long ago the armed gunslinger standing in front of these seven hundred frightened, hopeful people had been sitting in front of the TV in nothing but a pair of yellowing underpants, eating Cheetos, done up on heroin, and watching Yogi Bear.

'We've come from afar,' he said, 'and have far yet to go. Our time here will be short, but we'll do what we can, hear me, I beg.'

'Say on, stranger!' someone called. 'You speak fair!'

Yeah ? Eddie thought. News to me, fella .

A few cries of Aye and Do ya .

'The healers in my barony have a saying,' Eddie told them. 'First, do no harm.' ' He wasn't sure if this was a lawyer-motto or a doctor-motto, but he'd heard it in quite a few movies and TV shows, and it sounded pretty good. 'We would do no harm here, do you ken, but no one ever pulled a bullet, or even a splinter from under a kid's fingernail, without spilling some blood.'

There were murmurs of agreement. Overholser, however, was poker-faced, and in the crowd Eddie saw looks of doubt. He felt a surprising flush of anger. He had no right to be angry at these people, who had done them absolutely no harm and had refused them absolutely nothing (at least so far), but he was, just the same.

'We've got another saying in the barony of New York,' he told them. ' 'There ain't no free lunch.' From what we know of your situation, it's serious. Standing up against these Wolves would be dangerous. But sometimes doing nothing just makes people feel sick and hungry.'

'Hear him, hear him!' the same someone at the back of the crowd called out. Eddie saw Andy the robot back there, and near him a large wagon full of men in voluminous cloaks of either black or dark blue. Eddie assumed that these were the Manni-folk.

'We'll look around,' Eddie said, 'and once we understand the problem, we'll see what can be done. If we think the answer's nothing, we'll tip our hats to you and move along.' Two or three rows back stood a man in a battered white cowboy hat. He had shaggy white eyebrows and a white mustache to match. Eddie thought he looked quite a bit like Pa Cartwright on that old TV show, Bonanza . This version of the Cartwright patriarch looked less than thrilled with what Eddie was saying.

'If we can help, we'll help,' he said. His voice was utterly flat now. 'But we won't do it alone, folks. Hear me, I beg. Hear me very well. You better be ready to stand up for what you want. You better be ready to fight for the things you'd keep.'

With that he stuck out a foot in front of him—the moccasin he wore didn't produce the same fist-on- coffintop thud, but Eddie thought of it, all the same—and bowed. There was dead silence. Then Tian Jaffords began to clap. Zalia joined him. Benny also applauded. His father nudged him, but the boy went on clapping, and after a moment Slightman the Elder joined in.

Eddie gave Roland a burning look. Roland's own bland expression didn't change. Susannah tugged the leg of his pants and Eddie bent to her.

'You did fine, sugar.'

'No thanks to him .' Eddie nodded at Roland. But now that it was over, he felt