“Let’s see. There’s tell-a-me, which means—I think—to gossip about someone you shouldn’t gossip about. It stuck in my head, because that’s what gossip sounds like: tell-a-me.” Jake cupped a hand to his ear.

Roland smiled. It was actually telamei, but Jake had of course picked it up phonetically. This was really quite amazing. He reminded himself to guard his deep thoughts carefully in the future. There were ways that could be done, thank the gods.

“There’s dash-dinh, which means some sort of religious leader. You’re thinking about that this morning, I think, because of…is it because of the old Manni guy? Is he a dash-dinh?”

Roland nodded. “Very much so. And his name, Jake?” The gunslinger concentrated on it. “Can you see his name in my mind?”

“Sure, Henchick,” Jake said at once, and almost offhandedly. “You talked to him…when? Late last night?”

“Yes.” That he hadn’t been concentrating on, and he would have felt better had Jake not known of it. But the boy was strong in the touch, and Roland believed him when he said he hadn’t been snooping. At least not on purpose.

“Mrs. Eisenhart thinks she hates him, but you think she’s only afraid of him.”

“Yes,” Roland said. “You’re strong in the touch. Much more so than Alain ever was, and much more than you were. It’s because of the rose, isn’t it?”

Jake nodded. The rose, yes. They rode in silence a little longer, their horses’ hooves raising a thin dust. In spite of the sun the day was chilly, promising real fall.

“All right, Jake. Speak to me dan-dinh if you would, and I say thanks for your trust in such wisdom as I have.”

But for the space of almost two minutes Jake said nothing. Roland pried at him, trying to get inside the boy’s head as the boy had gotten inside his (and with such ease), but there was nothing. Nothing at a—

But there was. There was a rat…squirming, impaled on something…

“Where is the castle she goes to?” Jake asked. “Do you know?”

Roland was unable to conceal his surprise. His astonishment, really. And he supposed there was an element of guilt there, as well. Suddenly he understood…well, not everything, but much.

“There is no castle and never was,” he told Jake. “It’s a place she goes to in her mind, probably made up of the stories she’s read and the ones I’ve told by the campfire, as well. She goes there so she won’t have to see what she’s really eating. What her baby needs.”

“I saw her eating a roasted pig,” Jake said. “Only before she came, a rat was eating it. She stabbed it with a meat-fork.”

“Where did you see this?”

“In the castle.” He paused. “In her dream. I was in her dream.”