A Knight Of The Word

A ripple of apprehension ran down his spine. What was Simon doing up here?

He climbed the short flight of stairs and walked down the hallway into the exhibition rooms. The lights were dim, the red oak walls draped with shadows. There was a display of Chihulyglass that shimmered in bright splashes of colour beneath directional lighting. Fire reds, sun-bright yellows, ocean blues, and deep purples lent a festive air to the semidark. Ross walked on, passing other exhibits in other areas, searching. The sound of his footfalls echoed eerily.

Then abruptly, shockingly, Simon Lawrence stepped out from behind a display directly to one side and said. “Why are you here, John?”

Ross started in spite of himself, then took a quick breath to steady the rapid beating of his heart and faced the other man squarely. “I came to ask you if what Stef told me was true.”

Simon smiled. He was dressed in a simple black tuxedo that made him look taller and broader than Ross knew him to be and lent him an air of smooth confidence. “Which part, John? That I fired you for stealing money from the project? That I chose to do it without talking to you first? That I did it to distance myself from you?” He paused. “The answer is yes to all.”

John stared at him in disbelief. Somehow, he hadn’t expected Simon to find it so easy to say it to his face. “Why?” he managed, shaking his head slowly. “I haven’t done anything, Simon. I didn’t steal that money.”

Simon Lawrence moved out of the shadows and came right up to Ross, stopping so close to him that Ross could see the silvery glitter of his eyes. “I know that,” Simon said softly. “I did.”

Ross blinked. “Simon, why —”

The other man interrupted smoothly, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. “You know why, John.”

John Ross felt the ground shift under his feet, as if the stone had turned to quicksand and was about to swallow him up. In that instant of confusion and dismay, Simon Lawrence snatched away his staff, wrenching it from his grasp with a sudden, vicious twist, then stepped back swiftly out of reach, leaving Ross tottering on his bad leg.

“I set fire to Fresh Start as well, John,” Simon went on smoothly, cradling the staff beneath one arm. “I killed Ray Hapgood. Everything you think I might have done, I probably did. I did it to destroy the programs, to undermine the Simon Lawrence legend, the mystique of the Wiz, which, after all, I created in the first place. I did it to further the aims I really serve and not those I have championed as a part of my disguise. But you guessed as much already, or you wouldn’t be here.”

Ross was fighting to keep from attempting to rush Simon or the thing that pretended at being Simon. An attack would only result in Ross falling on his face. He had to hope the other might come close enough to be grappled with, might make a mistake born of overconfidence.

“You fooled us all,” he said softly. “But especially me. I never guessed what you really were.”

The demon laughed. “I hired you in the first place, John, because I knew what you were and I was certain I could make good use of you. A Knight of the Word fallen from grace, an exile by choice, but still in possession of a valuable magic. The opportunity was too good to pass up. Besides, it was time to abandon this charade, to put an end to Simon Lawrence and his good works. It was time to move on to something else. All I had to do was to destroy the persona I had created by discrediting him. You were the perfect scapegoat. So willing, John, to be seduced. So I used you, and now you will take the blame, I will resign in disgrace, and the programs will fail. If it works as I intend, it will have a ripple effect on homeless programs all over the country. Loss of trust is a powerful incentive for closing up pocketbooks and shutting off funds.”

The demon smiled. “Was that what you wanted to hear, John? I haven’t disappointed you, have I?”