The Dark Tower

Still, until he’d had Roland to complete him—tomake him greater than his own destiny, perhaps—Walter o’ Dim had beenlittle more than a wanderer left over from the old days, a mercenary with avague ambition to penetrate the Tower before it was brought down. Was that notwhat had brought him to the Crimson King in the first place? Yes. And it wasn’this fault that the great scuttering spider-king had run mad.

Never mind. Here was his son with the samemark on his heel—Walter could see it at this very moment—andeverything balanced. Of course he’d need to be careful. The thing in the chairlooked helpless, perhaps even thought it was helpless, but it wouldn’tdo to underestimate it just because it looked like a baby.

Walter slipped the gun into his pocket (forthe moment; only for the moment) and held his hands out, empty and palms up.Then he closed one of them into a fist, which he raised to his forehead.Slowly, never taking his eyes from Mordred, wary lest he should change (Walterhad seen that change, and what had happened to the little beast’s mother), thenewcomer dropped to one knee.

“Hile, Mordred Deschain, son of Roland ofGilead that was and of the Crimson King whose name was once spoken fromEnd-World to Out-World; hile you son of two fathers, both of them descendedfrom Arthur Eld, first king to rise after the Prim receded, and Guardianof the Dark Tower.”

For a moment nothing happened. In theControl Center there was only silence and the lingering smell of Nigel’s friedcircuits.

Then the baby lifted its chubby fists,opened them, and raised his hands: Rise, bondsman, and come to me.

Two

“It’s best you not ‘think strong,’ in anycase,” the newcomer said, stepping closer. “They knew you were here, and Rolandis almighty Christing clever; trig-delah is he. He caught up with me once, youknow, and I thought I was done. I truly did.” From his gu

Mordred raised one chubby baby-hand in theair and swooped it gracefully down in the shape of a question mark.

“How did I escape?” Walter asked. “Why, Idid what any true cozener would do in such circumstances—told him thetruth! Showed him the Tower, at least several levels of it. It stu

He laughed through a mouthful of crackersand sprayed crumbs on his chin and shirt. Mordred smiled, but he was revolted.This was what he was supposed to work with, this? A cracker-gobbling,crumb-spewing fool who was too full of his own past exploits to sense hispresent danger, or to know his defenses had been breached? By all the gods, he deservedto die! But before that could happen, there were two more things he needed. Onewas to know where Roland and his friends had gone. The other was to be fed.This fool would serve both purposes. And what made it easy? Why, that Walterhad also grown old—old and lethally sure of himself—and too vain torealize it.

“You may wonder why I’m here, and not aboutyour father’s business,” Walter said. “Do you?”

Mordred didn’t, but he nodded, just thesame. His stomach rumbled.

“In truth, I am about his business,”Walter said, and gave his most charming smile (spoiled somewhat by the peanutbutter on his teeth). He had once probably known that any statement begi

Walter leaned forward earnestly, claspinghis knees.

“Your Red Father is… indisposed. As aresult of having lived so close to the Tower for so long, and having thoughtupon it so deeply, I have no doubt. It’s down to you to finish what he began.I’ve come to help you in that work.”

Mordred nodded, as if pleased. He waspleased. But ah, he was also so hungry.

“You may have wondered how I reached you inthis supposedly secure chamber,” Walter said. “In truth I helped build thisplace, in what Roland would call the long-ago.”

That phrase again, as obvious as a wink.

He had put the gun in the left pocket ofhis parka. Now, from the right, he withdrew a gadget the size of acigarette-pack, pulled out a silver ante

First, however…

Walter’s smile had faded a little. “Did’eesay something, sire? For I thought I heard the sound of your voice, far back inmy mind.”

The baby shook his head. And who is morebelievable than a baby? Are their faces not the very definition ofguilelessness and i

“I’d take you with me and go after them, ifyou’d come,” Walter said. “What a team we’d make! They’ve gone to the devar-toiin Thunderclap, to release the Breakers. I’ve already promised to meet yourfather—your White Father—and his ka-tet should they dare goon, and that’s a promise I intend to keep. For, hear me well, Mordred, thegunslinger Roland Deschain has stood against me at every turn, and I’ll bear itno more. No more! Do you hear?” His voice was rising in fury.

Mordred nodded i

Once again Mordred drew the shape of aquestion mark in the air.

Any last vestige of a smile faded fromWalter’s face. “What do I truly want? Is that what you’re asking for?”

Mordred nodded yes.

“ ‘Tisn’t the Dark Tower at all, if youwant the truth; it’s Roland who stays on my mind and in my heart. I want himdead.” Walter spoke with flat and unsmiling finality. “For the long and dustyleagues he’s chased me; for all the trouble he’s caused me; and for the RedKing, as well—the true King, ye do ken; for his presumption inrefusing to give over his quest no matter what obstacles were placed in hispath; most of all for the death of his mother, whom I once loved.” And, in anundertone: “Or at least coveted. In either case, it was he who killed her. Nomatter what part I or Rhea of the Cöos may have played in that matter, itwas the boy himself who stopped her breath with his damned guns, slow head, andquick hands.