The Dark Tower

“In our hearts they do speak,Roland,” Marian said. “And in your face we see them very well.”

Moses Carver was smiling. “In our world,Roland, giving a man a gold watch has a special significance.”

“What would that be?” Roland asked. He heldthe watch—easily the finest timepiece he’d ever had in his life—upto his ear and listened to the precise and delicate ticking of its machinery.

“That his work is done and it’s time forhim to go fishing or play with his grandchildren,” Nancy Deepneau said. “But wegave it to you for a different reason. May it count the hours to your goal andtell you when you near it.”

“How can it do that?”

“We have one exceptional good-mind fellowin New Mexico,” Marian said. “His name is Fred Towne. He sees a great deal andis rarely if ever mistaken. This watch is a Patek Philippe, Roland. It costnineteen thousand dollars, and the makers guarantee a full refund of the priceif it’s ever fast or slow. It needs no winding, for it runs on a battery—notmade by North Central Positronics or any subsidiary thereof, I can assureyou—that will last a hundred years. According to Fred, when you near theDark Tower, the watch may nevertheless stop.”

“Or begin to run backward,” Nancy said.“Watch for it.”

Moses Carver said, “I believe you will,won’t you?”

“Aye,” Roland agreed. He put the watchcarefully in one pocket (after another long look at the carvings on the goldencover) and the box in another. “I will watch this watch very well.”

“You must watch for something else, too,”Marian said. “Mordred.”

Roland waited.

“We have reason to believe that he’smurdered the one you called Walter.” She paused. “And I see that does notsurprise you. May I ask why?”

“Walter’s finally left my dreams, just asthe ache has left my hip and my head,” Roland said. “The last time he visitedthem was in Calla Bryn Sturgis, the night of the Beamquake.” He would not tellthem how terrible those dreams had been, dreams in which he wandered, lost andalone, down a dank castle corridor with cobwebs brushing his face; thescuttering sound of something approaching from the darkness behind him (orperhaps above him), and, just before waking up, the gleam of red eyes and awhispered, inhuman voice: “Father.”

They were looking at him grimly. At lastMarian said: “Beware him, Roland. Fred Towne, the fellow I mentioned, says‘Mordred be a-hungry.’ He says that’s a literal hunger. Fred’s a brave man, buthe’s afraid of your… your enemy.”

My son, why don’t you say it? Rolandthought, but believed he knew. She withheld out of care for his feelings.

Moses Carver stood and set his cane besidehis daughter’s desk. “I have one more thing for you,” he said, “on’y it wasyours all along—yours to carry and lay down when you get to where you’rebound.”

Roland was honestly perplexed, and moreperplexed still when the old man began to slowly unbutton his shirt down thefront. Marian made as if to help him and he motioned her away brusquely.Beneath his dress-shirt was an old man’s strap-style undershirt, what thegunslinger thought of as a slinkum. Beneath it was a shape that Rolandrecognized at once, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest. For a moment hewas cast back to the cabin on the lake—Beckhardt’s cabin, Eddie by hisside—and heard his own words: Put Auntie’s cross around your neck, andwhen you meet with sai Carver, show it to him. It may go a long way towardconvincing him you’re on the straight. But first…

The cross was now on a chain of fine goldlinks. Moses Carver pulled it free of his slinkum by this, looked at it for amoment, looked up at Roland with a little smile on his lips, then down at thecross again. He blew upon it. Faint and faint, raising the hair on thegunslinger’s arms, came Susa

“We buried Pimsey under the apple tree…”

Then it was gone. For a moment there wasnothing, and Carver, frowning now, drew in breath to blow again. There was noneed. Before he could, John Cullum’s Yankee drawl arose, not from the cross itself,but seemingly from the air just above it.

“We done our best, partner”—paaa’t-nuh—“andI hope ‘twas good enough. Now, I always knew this was on loan to me, and hereit is, back where it belongs. You know where it finishes up, I…” Here thewords, which had been fading ever since here it is, became inaudibleeven to Roland’s keen ears. Yet he had heard enough. He took Aunt Talitha’scross, which he had promised to lay at the foot of the Dark Tower, and do

“I thank you, sai Carver,” he said. “Formyself, for my ka-tet that was, and on behalf of the woman who gave it to me.”

“Don’t thank me,” Moses Carver said. “ThankJoh

“I—” Roland began, and for a momentcould say no more. His heart was too full. “I thank you all,” he said at last.He bowed his head to them with the palm of his right fist against his brow andhis eyes closed.

When he opened them again, Moses Carver washolding out his thin old arms. “Now it’s time for us to go our way and you togo yours,” he said. “Put your arms around me, Roland, and kiss my cheek infarewell if you would, and think of my girl as you do, for I’d say goodbye toher if I may.”

Roland did as he was bid, and in anotherworld, as she dozed aboard a train bound for Fedic, Susa

Thirteen

When Roland stepped out of the ele-vaydorin the lobby, he wasn’t surprised to see a woman in a gray-green pullover andslacks the color of moss standing in front of the garden with a few otherquietly respectful folken. An animal which was not quite a dog sat byher left shoe. Roland crossed to her and touched her elbow. Irene Tassenbaumturned to him, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Do you hear it?” she asked. “It’s like thesinging we heard in Lovell, only a hundred times sweeter.”

“I hear it,” he said. Then he bent andpicked up Oy. He looked into the bumbler’s bright gold-ringed eyes as thevoices sang. “Friend of Jake,” he said, “what message did he give?”

Oy tried, but the best he could manage wassomething that sounded like Dandy-o, a word Roland vaguely rememberedfrom an old drinking song, where it rimed with Adelina says she’s randy-o.

Roland put his forehead down against Oy’sforehead and closed his eyes. He smelled the bumbler’s warm breath. And more: ascent deep in his fur that was the hay into which Jake and Be

Tell him Eddie says, “Watch forDandelo.” Don’t forget!

And Oy had not.

Fourteen

Outside, as they descended the steps of 2Hammarskjöld Plaza, a deferential voice said, “Sir? Madam?”

It was a man in a black suit and a softblack cap. He stood by the longest, blackest car Roland had ever seen. Lookingat it made the gunslinger uneasy.

“Who’s sent us a funeral bucka?” he asked.

Irene Tassenbaum smiled. The rose hadrefreshed her—excited and exhilarated her, as well—but she wasstill tired. And concerned to get in touch with David, who would likely be outof his mind with worry by this time.

“It’s not a hearse,” she said. “It’s alimousine. A car for special people… or people who think they’re special.”Then, to the driver: “While we’re riding, can you have someone in your officecheck some airline info for me?”

“Of course, madam. May I ask your carrierof choice and your destination?”