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

their training or deployment. Still, the righteous always triumph, do they not? Your populace will find their way.

Yes, praise Jesus, said the high minister.

If Dwyer said we should shove dynamite up our hindquarters and light the fuse, Jerold would praise Jesus and grab the matches. Troy scratched his head. Look. We all understand the concept of the greater good. I don’t know if lettin heretics wreck New Orleans is the best way to help the Crusade, but let’s leave that point for now and stick with the people. Who decides who’s righteous?

Dwyer looked apologetic. As I mentioned, I am not privy to those plans. But I have faith the Crusade will do what is right.

Our ideas of what’s right seem pretty far apart. Let’s hope so. Ain’t no use in killin loyal folks.

I agree. Does this mean I can count on your compliance?

I’ve always done what was required of me. Don’t aim to stop now.

Babb seemed relieved. Yes, he said. Gabriel has always been true.

Dwyer stood and held out his hand. Troy got up and shook it. The herald reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope sealed with wax—the official seal of the Bright Crusade, a cross inside the sun, beams of light radiating outward. Dwyer handed the papers to Troy, who moved to break the seal.

The herald grabbed Troy’s hands in one of his bearlike paws. No. You are to open this in solitude. Share the contents with no one, not even your deputies, not Minister Babb, until you receive further instructions. Is that clear?

Troy put the papers in his shirt pocket. Yeah.

Dwyer’s grin returned. Now that we understand each other, can you point me to my quarters? I have ridden far and fast, and my bones are tired.

Troy nodded at Boudreaux, who bowed and gestured toward the door. Dwyer shook hands with Hobbes and Babb and exited. Boudreaux followed him, closing the door.

Babb turned to Troy. Are you insane? Questioning the will of the supreme Crusader? Worse, doing it in front of a Washington official?

Simmer down, Jerold.

I will not, said Babb, gathering his robes. Don’t make me defend you, Gabriel. No one defies the will of God.

He stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

Well, that was fun, Troy said.

Hobbes walked around the desk and took one of the chairs. So. Gonna tell me what’s in that packet?

Troy took his seat. When it seems safe. I get the feelin this herald will try to worm the orders out of y’all, just so he can say we disobeyed.

Your call. Hard to believe he don’t know what they got planned, though.

In the big picture, he’s a delivery boy. We’re gonna have to take it up with the real authorities.

Hobbes took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Sweet Lord. Would have swore a Troubler wouldn’t know truth if it walked up and shot em in the leg, but looks like Stransky was right.

Troy rubbed his eyes and winced. His head ached like the devil.

5

The cold stars glimmered as Troy rode to his house on Esplanade—two stories of red brick surrounded by shrubs and rich green grass, the interior painted in mild but exotic hues like dusty purple. The tiny bricked garden outside served well for springtime contemplations. But Troy had never cared much for the comforts his station afforded. If it was too good for the average citizen, it was too good for him. Jonas Strickland had decreed that lords should live in luxurious accommodations to underscore their position. Otherwise, Troy would have been happy sleeping in a stable. Strickland had also preached that with the greatest faith came the greatest privilege. It had always seemed contradictory—keep your eyes on heaven but your behind parked in the best house you can find. But what did Gabriel Troy know? He had never been much of a philosopher.

Now that Dwyer had come with his pronouncements and his envelopes, though, Troy had questions.

Rode into New Orleans like he belongs. Marched into the High Temple as if God gave him leave, tried to bully me in my own office. And this envelope. Open it alone and tell no one, Dwyer said. Might as well say, Betray your people. Make em distrust you. Divide and conquer.

Troy dismounted in the street and tied the horse to his fence. At the front door, he nodded to the two guards stationed there.

The big one with the broken nose saluted. Evenin, Lord Troy. Mr. Tetweiller’s in yonder. Said he needed to speak with you, so we let him in.

That’s fine, Silvanus. One of y’all run my mount over to the Cabrini Playground livery. Tell em I’ll need him ready by dawn.

Yes, sir.

Y’all don’t get too hot out here.

We’ll be fine. It’s so cool, you can’t even fry an egg on the walk.

Troy laughed, just to be polite. He opened the front door. I’d like to wring Silvanus Avishay’s neck. My head hurts too bad for palaver. But when Ernie Tetweiller came to talk this late, you would do well to listen.

Normally, Troy navigated the darkness by memory and touch until he found the oil lamp on the foyer’s catch-all table. Then he would light the lantern with the matches he left next to it, toting it through the house as he ate or read or wrote letters until he fell into his feather bed, exhausted. But now the foyer lamp burned. Light spilled from other rooms. He walked into his den, where Ernie Tetweiller sat in his second-best chair, drinking bourbon from a flask and smoking a cigar. Troy took off his hat and dropped it onto an end table and sat.

Them fellas outside see that? he asked.

Tetweiller held up the flask. This? Naw. Want a belt?

You know better than that.

Yeah, well, an old fart like me needs a little help gettin to sleep of a night.

Troy rubbed his temples, squinting his eyes against the pain and Tetweiller’s cigar smoke. I’m about wore out. What do you need?

Tetweiller drank