“I think he’s awake again,” the Templar in front of Simon said.
It took a moment of intense study for Simon to realize it was one man and not twins.
“Are you awake, Simon?” Booth asked.
Still weak and partially disoriented, Simon sagged against the chains and turned his head to look at Booth. The High Seat sat across the metal table in the room.
“I’m awake,” Simon mumbled through swollen lips.
“I’ve talked with your friends. They’ve agreed to exchange the Goetia manuscript for you.” Booth ate fresh cherries from a bowl.
The Templar Underground gardens were a mixture of hydroponics and mysticism. Almost anything could be grown there because conditions for any type of plant were possible. The systems in the stronghold Simon had established hadn’treached anywhere near the same efficiency or potential variables.
Do to the pain and the drugs coursing through his system, Simon had trouble sifting through Booth’s words. “They told you theywould trade the manuscript for me?”
“Yes.” Booth popped another cherry into his mouth.
Simon hated the High Seat for his excesses, and he was sure Booth knew it. In the stronghold it sometimes became a struggle to feed everyone. Yet the Templar in the Underground produced enough to have surplus and could grow things beyond the staples.
Given the circumstances and the fact that he hadn’t been privy to theconversation with anyone Booth had talked to, Simon felt certain Booth wasn’ttelling the truth. He licked his lips and tasted blood.
“You’re lying,” Simon croaked. He craved a drink of water. He didn’t know howlong he’d been unconscious.
Almost casually, Booth tapped a remote control next to the cherry bowl. A tri-dee screen opened on one of the walls and showed Nathan seated at the comm command center in the stronghold.
“either you produce the manuscript by sunrise tomorrow or I stake Cross outas demonbait,” Booth’s recorded voice said.
Booth tapped the remote control to freeze the image on Nathan. “That was me,making my demands. This next bit is your friend.” He tapped the remote controlagain.
Nathan stared at the screen for a moment, then said, “We’ll bring youthe manuscript. But we need more time.”
“No more time,” Booth’s recorded voice replied. “Sunrise tomorrow. Afterthat, Simon Cross is a dead man.”
Booth turned off the tri-dee and smiled brightly. “You’re going to be a deadman anyway, but he doesn’t think so. Yet.”
Simon made himself grin. It was hard because his lips didn’t work right in the shape they were in. His nose felt broken and hecouldn’t breathe through it.
“Nathan knows you’re a liar,” Simon said. “He already knows honor doesn’tmean anything to you.”
“What?” Booth feigned surprise. “Because I broke the Flag of Honor agreementwith you?”
Simon refused to take the bait.
“You make agreements like that with men with honor,” Booth said. “Notthe likes of you. That agreement is for Templar. You’re an outcast. There’s nohonor in dealing with you.”
Something Thomas Cross had told Simon a long time ago came back to him. He hadn’t really seen the truth of it until four years ago when he’d come back tofind London in the hands of demons.
“Honor isn’t something between men,” Simon said. “It’s something inside a manthat can be used to take his measure. And because he has it, he can extend it to others.” He pierced Booth with his gaze. “You have no honor.”
Booth scowled. “Don’t bore me with your platitudes.”
“They’re not platitudes,” Simon said. “They’re words my father gave me tolive by.” He looked at the other Templar in the room. “They’re words I’m sure hegave to all of you.”
The other Templar dropped their eyes and wouldn’t meet Simon’s gaze.
Booth nodded at the big man in front of Simon. Knowing what was coming, Simon tried to turn away from the blow. It didn’t do any good. The man’s hand caughthim full in the face. For a moment it seemed like the pain was going to be enough to knock him over into the abyss.
“Don’t use your father’s good name to hide your shame,” Booth said. “There’snot a man in this room that doesn’t know what Thomas Cross meant to the Order.He never once turned his back on us.”
Simon spat blood into the cherry bowl.
Booth cursed him and got up from the table. Unlike the man who’d been hittingSimon with his fists. Booth still wore his armor. If he hit Simon, the blow would undoubtedly kill him.
Simon didn’t turn away.
“High Seat Booth,” one of the Templar said, “I won’t be party to murder.”
Booth turned to the man. “Then you should leave, Whitehall.”
The Templar drew himself up. “No. I agreed to this because I believe we needto have the Goetia manuscript. If what Macomber told us about the protective nodes was correct, we can’t continue holding out against the demonswithout them. If Cross’s friends find out he’s dead, they won’t give us themanuscript.”
Rage darkened Booth’s face. He curled a hand into a fist and hammered thetable, knocking it flat. The boom of the impact filled the room.
Simon guessed that the room was soundproofed. Many of the Templar Underground rooms were. But his thoughts centered on what Whitehall had said Macomber had talked about.
“You’re being insubordinate,” Booth declared.
“No sir. I’m here to get the manuscript,” Whitehall said. “All of us are. Andwe agreed that the Flag of Honor didn’t apply to Simon Cross. But we will notpermit this. No Templar murders a helpless prisoner.”
“Then you’re all fools,” Simon told them. “Because the manuscript had alreadybeen destroyed when we got there. Whatever information it contained was lost a long time ago.”
“You’re lying,” Booth accused.
“On my father’s blood,” Simon replied.
“Your friend Nathan said he was going to bring the manuscript.”
“He didn’t have a choice. You told him you were going to kill me.” Simon drewa breath. “You’re just wasting time and broke what
