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

and even. Unblemished tanned skin, layers of toned muscle over strong bones. I reckon he’s sent more than one Crusader to the prayer closet, askin forgiveness for lust. He’s a fighter too. A good one. Troy and Hobbes stopped an arm’s length from the other three men. The herald’s smile never reached his eyes, which were deep brown and full of intelligence. They bored into the New Orleanians, mining for what treasures Troy could not say.

Boudreaux saluted, then bowed. I hail my direct superior, New Orleans Lord of Order Gabriel Troy, and my senior partner, Deputy Lord Jack Hobbes. It’s my honor to introduce Jevan Dwyer, herald of the honorable Matthew Rook. May the Bright Crusade endure forever.

Dwyer, Troy, and Hobbes saluted each other and then bowed, the tops of their heads nearly touching. Boudreaux cleared his throat. Sweat trickled from Troy’s temple down to his neck. All this bowing and ritual—titles, fancy talk, old customs and traditions and rules. Might as well let Sarah move her people into the Quarter and hold Mass right here. Can’t say that to this fella, though. Dwyer put out his hand. Troy shook it. The herald’s hand was bigger, the grip strong. Troy squeezed back. They released each other, and Dwyer turned and shook hands with Hobbes, who grunted. The herald’s eyes narrowed a bit.

All right, Troy said, now that we impressed each other and just about broke our ever-lovin hands, let’s get outta this bonfire.

Dwyer threw back his head and laughed, hands on his hips. Babb smiled for perhaps two seconds before he seemed to remember how dour he was supposed to be. Boudreaux stood upright, like a plank someone had set on end, hands behind his back.

You can get the stick outta your hindquarters now, Gordy, said Hobbes.

Boudreaux turned red. Troy winked at him.

Deputy Hobbes, our guest, Babb scolded.

Please, Dwyer said. A little humor is welcome after my lonely trip. Lord Troy, can I trouble you for some water? The heat has parched me.

Jack, y’all get the staff to rustle up some refreshments and then meet us in my office, Troy said.

Yes, sir, said Hobbes, saluting.

He walked away, throwing an arm around Boudreaux and pulling him along. They motioned toward the staff members still standing at attention, and everyone followed them to the front desk, where Hobbes doled out orders.

Dwyer watched them. Your deputies seem well trained, and so far I’ve found your staff courteous and highly competent.

The crew ran in all directions. Hobbes laid one hand on Boudreaux’s shoulder and spoke. The tension drained out of the junior deputy’s face.

Yeah, said Troy. They’re a good bunch. And I’d sure appreciate it if you’d call me Gabe. If I call you Herald Dwyer, folks around here’s like to think your name’s Harold.

Dwyer laughed again and clapped him on the shoulder. I like you, Gabe. I look forward to seeing your office.

Well, let’s get to gettin.

Troy sat with his hands folded on his bare desk, his hat hanging on the corner rack. Dwyer had taken a visitor’s chair and sat with his long legs crossed. He played with a coil of string, knitting it into geometric shapes, cat’s cradles and multifaceted diamonds and near-perfect squares. Babb sat in the other straight-backed chair. His robes pooled over its back and behind him like a bridal train. Boudreaux stood to Troy’s left, at ease, Hobbes to the right. Everyone seemed solemn except Dwyer. Troy waited, but the herald just sat there, playing with the string.

A tall pitcher of ice water sat on a side table someone had lugged up, which also meant somebody had visited the icehouse. The carafe was half full now; Dwyer had drunk the rest. Four glasses sat near the pitcher. Boudreaux harrumphed.

By all means, Deputy, have some water, Dwyer said. The trail dust gets to you, even in the city. Doesn’t it?

Boudreaux looked at Troy, who nodded. The young deputy went to the table and poured himself a glass. Anybody else want some while I’m at it?

You heard our guest, Troy said. Trail dust and so forth. Pour em all.

Dwyer studied Troy’s office as if it held the old world’s lost treasures while Boudreaux handed the glasses around and refilled Dwyer’s. Troy set his glass on the desk. Hobbes sipped from his and then held it in one hand, hooking his other thumb in his gun belt. Dwyer drank the water in one long gulp. He belched and placed the empty glass on the floor. Trying to keep up with the herald, Babb swallowed so much he choked and sputtered, droplets spewing onto his robes and Troy’s desk.

No need to rush, Minister, Dwyer said. We have the night.

You had a long trip, I reckon, said Troy.

Not as long as some. I’ve ridden from Washington to California and back again. I’ve traveled from the tip of Florida to the northwestern point of Alaska.

You must get awful tired of the saddle.

I prefer the open road to the confines of cities. I assume you have remained within your borders since assuming your post?

Pretty much. Ain’t got time for sightseein.

Of course not. We have heard great things about New Orleans, and about you. The Crusade intends to reward your service with a new position. A unique one.

Troy did not stir, but Boudreaux spilled water on his shirt. Troy knew how he felt. A new position made no sense; Troy had already reached the top. Either he was being demoted or transferred, which would trickle down to his subordinates, or else Dwyer was about to confirm Stransky’s story. Bad news for the New Orleanians in the room, and everyone knew it.

Except for Jerold. He looks like an angel just flew outta Dwyer’s hindquarters.

Dwyer made a circle with his string. I can sense your trepidation. Let me set you at ease. You are not moving, nor are you being demoted.

An icy finger stroked the base of Troy’s spine, and despite the heat, his skin broke out in gooseflesh. They’re gonna make it sound like