Even Temperance stood at attention.
“What’s going on?” the sergeant demanded.
“It’s my fault, sergeant,” Temperance said. “I came here to see Cross, to tell him what I thought of him getting my sister killed over noncombatants too stupid to leave London. Things got out of hand.”
“Those people aren’t too stupid to leave,” another Templar said. “They can’t leave. A lot of people are stuck in their homes because they lack the wherewithal to get out of the city. You’ve got invalids and children that would never survive the trip. If they ever made it out of the city.”
“I said, that’s enough,” the sergeant roared. “Get back to your bunks. Every last one of you. Another word, another blow, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
For a moment, the tension in the room held. Then Temperance turned away from Simon and walked back through the door. Those who had come with her followed.
Simon let out a tense breath.
The sergeant turned to him, then walked over and took his face in his hands. He was rough, but gentle and thorough. “You’ve got a cut over that eye that needs tending.”
Simon pulled his head back. He felt blood running down the side of his face. “I’ll be fine.”
“That won’t close on its own. Either we close it or you go to the infirmary.”
“I don’t want to go to the infirmary,” Simon said.
“Fine.” The sergeant snapped an order over his shoulder, sending one of the men with him scurrying for a med-kit.
“This is going to sting.”
Simon sat on the floor in the bathroom as the sergeant had directed him. He had his hands crossed over his chest. He didn’t think a sting was going to be any worse than the pain already throbbing in his face.
The sergeant’s name turned out to be Brewster. He was taciturn but opinionated when he decided to let his thoughts be known. He flicked on the portable Nu-Skin cauterizer. The device powered up with an insect-like whine.
“One of the med-techs in the infirmary would do a better job of it,” Brewster said.
“I want to get to bed,” Simon said. “Getting to the infirmary and back, and waiting, will take too long.” Plus, he wasn’t sure if he’d make it under his own power.
“They’d also have some slap-patches for pain.”
“I don’t think a really deep sleep would be safe,” Simon replied.
Brewster grinned sympathetically. “Prolly not. Temperance Caine isn’t known for her forgiving ways. But she went easy on you.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“If she’d have wanted you dead, you’d have been dead before you ever saw it coming.” Brewster leaned in. “Now hold still.”
The cauterizer hissed as it made contact with Simon’s flesh. Pain bit into his head just above his eye. He forced himself to keep breathing through it, and he tried to push it away from himself, denying the pain and its hold over him. He almost succeeded.
“Nearly done,” Brewster advised.
“All right.” Simon smelled cooked meat. The cauterizer was quick and efficient, pulling a cut together, then bonding it with searing heat and a line of Nu-Skin, a hypoallergenic layer of protein-sub that gradually broke down as a wound finished healing.
True to his word, Brewster finished in just seconds. He stood and put the cauterizer back into the med-kit and handed it off to the Templar that had gotten it for him.
“How do you feel?” Brewster asked.
“It hurts.”
The Templar laughed a little. “Give it a few hours. It’ll feel better.”
Simon forced himself to his feet. His head protested, flipping woozily. For a second, the room spun.
Brewster grabbed his arm and helped steady him.
“I’ve got it.” Simon pulled his arm away, resenting the fact that the others could see the weakness in him.
“Sure you do.” Brewster stood back, though.
Crossing to the sink, Simon peered into one of the mirrors. The line of Nu-Skin looked slightly pinker than the rest of his forehead. His face was the real proof of the pudding, though. Bruises decorated his cheeks, chin, and forehead.
“Temperance did a good job,” Brewster said. “You have to give her that.”
“Yeah.” Simon dipped up a double handful of water and washed his face. “Her sister was one of those who died tonight?”
Brewster’s face grew more solemn. “Charity. Yes. They were close. They were the last family either of them had. Both their parents died at St. Paul’s.”
Simon felt bad for the young woman.
“What you did tonight,” Brewster said, “saving that woman and those two kids?”
“I know,” Simon said. “I screwed up.”
“Will it happen again?” Brewster’s face showed keen interest.
Simon thought about how best to answer the question. He didn’t know. Not without a shadow of a doubt. “Probably. If I see someone who needs help and I think I can help them.” He took in a deep breath, thinking he’d just successfully killed his career and would be put out on the street.
“Good,” Brewster said, smiling. “When I became a man and made the decision to join the Templar, I did it because I wanted to help people. I know that High Seat Booth is presenting a case against it, and he’s got good reasons in light of everything, but there are a lot of people out there who feel the way I do.”
Simon stared at the man’s reflection in the mirror.
“What you did tonight, saving that woman and those kids,” Brewster said softly, “that took courage. Despite Booth’s threats, there are a lot of us who respect what you did. When Temperance calms down, I think you’re going to find she respects you, too. After all, her sister stuck it out with you.”
Simon blotted his face dry, careful of the Nu-Skin.
“If you want,” Brewster offered, “I’ll post a guard over this barracks. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”
“No, but thanks anyway.”
“Suit yourself. If you need anything, give me a call.”
Simon said that he would. In the mirror, he watched the sergeant and his men leave. Simon remained
