Lord of Order by Brett Riley (the reading list book TXT) 📕

everyone understood what he had done, not when they told him they believed God would understand too. Boudreaux had offered no explanations or insights. He had stared at the walls, the floors, the barred windows of the cell where they protected him against himself. But the prison was no place for a man like him. If he sought death, he would find a way, and if he wanted to live, he could not do it in lockup.

Stransky and Hobbes climbed into the back of the wagon and helped Boudreaux up and out. Troy went to him and put one hand on his shoulder.

Gordy, Troy said. Look at me. Troy patted Boudreaux’s cheek and nudged his head upward. The deputy’s eyes were haunted and bloodshot. Listen, said Troy. There’s somethin I gotta do outside the city. I’ll be gone a while. Maybe forever, because it’s dangerous. I need somebody I trust to watch over the city.

Boudreaux looked away again. Task Jack. Leave me be.

Jack’s comin with me. So are the others. I need you.

Nobody needs me.

Again, Troy took Boudreaux’s face in his hands and made the young man look at him. You’re wrong. Everybody needs you. Especially me. I can’t do what needs doin knowin Sarah’s in peril. I need a good man to keep her safe.

I ain’t a good man.

Only a good man could go through what you did and still come down on the side of what’s right. I don’t know a better man than you.

Boudreaux’s face was a study in despair, painted in darkened hues of blood and anguish. God won’t never forgive me for what I did.

God will forgive anything if you ask Him. Have you?

I ain’t got no right to speak to Him.

Everybody’s got that right. And you won’t find a better place to call on Him than here. Take care of this place, Gordy. Take care of her. Please. I’ll beg you if I gotta.

Boudreaux looked at Troy a moment longer. The deputy trembled, as if the war inside him might spill out and leave a heap of muscle and sinew torn asunder. Then he sighed, as if breathing exhausted him. I reckon so, he said.

Troy patted his shoulder. Thank you, my good friend. Jack, let’s get rid of these ropes.

Hobbes pulled out his hunting knife. A moment later, the bonds lay about Boudreaux’s feet. Troy stuck out his hand. Boudreaux shook it. Troy embraced him.

When Troy let go, Hobbes shouldered his way in and hugged Boudreaux, who grunted. Missed you, son, Hobbes said, grinning. Let’s get you inside. Comin, boss?

No, said Troy. There’s some things I can’t do twice.

Hobbes nodded. Then he put his hand on the small of Boudreaux’s back and guided the younger man toward the doors.

Troy turned to Stransky. Now. Let’s talk about what comes next.

Corpse-disposal crews had been working day and night since the battle, sometimes hampered by angry citizens wanting to hang dead Crusaders from lampposts or dump them in the river. New Orleanians who had stayed loyal to the Crusade, or who could not abide seeing so many of God’s temples desecrated, confronted those crowds. Only Troy and Stransky’s unity staved off violence. Many had been disappointed to hear Royster’s troops would receive a proper Christian burial outside the city, only consoling themselves with knowing that the Crusaders would fertilize the land with their own decay. Others, reticent to repudiate long-held beliefs, grumbled that Troy had overstepped by taking arms against God’s chosen. Crusader and Troubler clashed with words, deeds, and, on a few small-scale occasions, fists. Seems like the savagery we found inside ourselves won’t go back in, Troy thought as he and Stransky passed a crew stacking flyblown bodies into a wagon. The detail wore bandanas over their noses. We’ve gotta find a way, though. The Bible says there’s a time to kill and a time to heal. There’s nobody left to hurt but each other, and we’ve done enough of that.

The lord of order’s office had been stripped clean of Royster’s belongings. Now Troy sat at his old desk and looked at Stransky across its bare, distressed surface. She grinned. The last time she had sat in that chair, she had been in chains.

We need to fortify the waterways, she said. They’re the Cult’s best chance to get inside. Raise the levee walls, buttress the river positions, map Royster’s mines.

Troy sighed. I wish you wouldn’t call it a cult. It’s still my religion.

Her smile disappeared. I ain’t talkin about your beliefs. I’m talkin about the organization. A Crusader might be good, but the Crusade has been rotten from the start.

I can’t defend the Purge or what Rook tried to do here, but the Crusade did good too. It brought peace. It didn’t care about who you were or where you came from or what you looked like, as long as you loved God.

You mean, as long as you loved Jonas Strickland.

I’m sittin here with you. Don’t that show what I really mean?

Maybe.

You’ve blamed us for everything bad that’s ever happened and ignored the good. We did the same to you. I bet that’s how it’s always been. Just folks tryin to get by and rammin up against each other like two addled horses. But now we know each other.

She watched him, her eyes sparkling with cunning. But any system built on genocide needs killin. You know that, or you wouldn’t be plannin what you’re plannin. The question is how far you’re willin to go.

Troy laughed, humorless and flat. You want me to wipe out every Crusader because one leader lost his way. How is that different from genocide?

It’s self-defense.

How do you figure?

The Crusade’s way has always been kill anybody that don’t think like us.

You’re sayin that to me when we just left the sisters’?

I am. You ain’t in love with nobody from my bayou.

We just fought beside you. You’re sharin the city and the leadership. I’m goin to Washington to kill Rook. What else do you want from me?

To know you’re all in.