The gunslinger shook his head. “Ka—the word you think of as ‘des-tiny,’ Eddie, although the actual meaning is much more complex and hard to define, as is almost always the case with words of the High Speech. And tet, which means a group of people with the same interests and goals. We three are a tet, for instance. Ka-tet, is the place where many lives are joined by fate.” “Like in The Bridge of San Luis Rey,” Susannah murmured. “What’s that?” Roland asked.
“A story about some people who die together when the bridge they’re crossing collapses. It’s famous in our world.”
Roland nodded his understanding. “In this case, ka-tet bound Jake, Walter, Jack Mort, and me. There was no trap, as I first suspected when I realized who Jack Mort meant to be his next victim, because ka-tet cannot be changed or bent to the will of any one person. But ka-tet can be seen, known, and understood. Walter saw, and Walter knew.” The gunslinger struck his thigh with his fist and exclaimed bitterly, “How he must have been laughing inside when I finally caught up to him!”
“Let’s go back to what would have happened if you hadn’t messed up Jack Mort’s plans on the day he was following Jake,” Eddie said. “You’re saying that if you hadn’t stopped Mort, someone or something else would have. Is that right?” “Yes—because it wasn’t the right day for Jake to die. It was close to the right day, but not the right day. I felt that, too. Perhaps, just before he did it, Mort would have seen someone watching him. Or a perfect stranger would have intervened. Or—“
“Or a cop,” Susannah said. “He might have seen a cop in the wrong place and at the wrong time.”
“Yes. The exact reason—the agent of ka-tet—doesn’t matter. I know from firsthand experience that Mort was as wily as an old fox. If he sensed any slightest thing wrong, he would have called it off and waited for another day. “I know something else, as well. He hunted in disguise. On the day he dropped the brick on Detta Holmes’s head, he was wearing a knitted cap and an old sweater several sizes too big for him. He wanted to look like a winebibber, because he pushed the brick from a building where a large number of sots kept their dens. You see?”
They nodded.
“On the day, years later, when he pushed you in front of the train, Susannah, he was dressed as a construction worker. He was wearing a big yellow helmet he thought of as a ‘hardhat’ and a fake moustache. On the day when he actually would have pushed Jake into traffic, causing his death, he would have been dressed as a priest.”
“Jesus,” Susannah nearly whispered. “The man who pushed him in New York was Jack Mort, and the man he saw at the way station was this fella you were chasing—Walter.”
“Yes.”
“And the little boy thought they were the same man because they were both wearing the same kind of black robe?”
Roland nodded. “There was even a physical resemblance between Walter land Jack Mort. Not as if they were brothers, I don’t mean that, but both were tall men with dark hair and very pale complexions. And given the fact that Jake was dying when he got his only good look at Mort and was in a strange place and scared almost witless when he got his only good look at Walter, I think his mistake was both understandable and forgivable. If there’s a horse’s ass in this picture, it’s me, for not realizing the truth sooner.” “Would Mort have known he was being used?” Eddie asked. Think-ing back to his own experiences and wild thoughts when Roland had invaded his mind, he didn’t see how Mort could not know . . . but Roland was shaking his head. “Walter would have been extremely subtle. Mort would have thought the priest disguise his own idea … or so I believe. He would not have recognized the voice of an intruder—of Walter—whispering deep within his mind, telling him what to do.”
“Jack Mort,” Eddie marvelled. “It was Jack Mort all the time.” “Yes . . . with assistance from Walter. And so I ended up saving Jake’s life after all. When I made Mort jump from the subway platform in front of the train, I changed everything.”
Susannah asked, “If this Walter was able to enter our world— through his own private door, maybe—whenever he wanted, couldn’t he have used someone else to push your little boy? If he could sug-gest to Mort that he dress up like a priest, then he could make somebody else do it … What, Eddie? Why are you shaking your head?”
“Because I don’t think Walter would want that to happen. What Walter wanted is what is happening … for Roland to be losing his mind, bit by bit. Isn’t that right?”
The gunslinger nodded.
“Walter couldn’t have done it that way even if he had wanted to,” Eddie added, “because he was dead long before Roland found the doors on the beach. When Roland went through that last one and into Jack Mort’s head, ole Walt’s messin-around days were done.”
Susannah thought about this, then nodded her head. “I see … I think. This time-travel business is some confusing shit, isn’t it?” Roland began to pick up his goods and strap them back into place. “Time we were moving on.”