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

Fine. I’ll gut them myself. Dwyer moved forward.

Ford pivoted and aimed at him. Try it, and Rook’s gonna need a new herald.

Just give them the keys, Babb cried. Jack needs help.

Hobbes had struggled into a sitting position, though he might not have been able to sustain it if Babb had not supported him. His shirt was soaked with blood. He was the color of old cheese. Still holding his hands up, Troy approached Hobbes, knelt, and pulled the deputy’s shirt aside. The bullet wound was a blackish-red hole. Blood steadily dribbled from it. Troy tore off a piece of his own shirt and pressed it against the wound. Hobbes moaned.

Tetweiller gritted his teeth.

All right, said Ford. Skin them guns off and kick em over here. Don’t forget the bootlicker’s.

Troy took out his other pistol, placed them both on the floor, and slid them to Ford. Then he did the same with Hobbes’s. Ford booted them past Tetweiller and out the door.

Now the keys, said Tetweiller. He turned to Dwyer. And that knife, big fella, before you hurt somebody. And let’s hope you don’t prefer death to surrender. If you do, I’ll burn you down and figure out how to explain it to the goddam envoys later.

But Dwyer tossed his knife underhand. Tetweiller let it sail past him and clatter across the floor. Ford kicked it into the stairwell. Then he pulled more rawhide out of his satchel. Soon Dwyer lay on the floor near Hobbes, hogtied. The blood pooling under Hobbes edged toward him.

Troy and Babb were still applying pressure on Hobbes’s wound. The heavy fabric was almost soaked through. Troy looked at Ford, his eyes grave. We gotta get help, he said.

Not our problem, Ford said.

Give them the keys and let them go, Gabriel, Babb said. He turned to Ford and Tetweiller. And may the Most High forgive you.

From your lips to His ear, thought Tetweiller.

Hobbes had dropped the keyring when he fell. Troy slid them across to Ford and then resumed helping Babb with Hobbes’s wound.

Tetweiller looked at Ford, keeping his voice loud enough for Dwyer to hear. Didn’t expect the herald to be here. We ain’t got enough rawhide for the rest of em.

Ford scratched his head as if he were puzzled. What do you wanna do?

Better get to gettin. I’ll watch em.

Ford nodded and backed out of the room. Tetweiller kept his gun trained on Gabriel Troy, as anyone would expect him to.

Hurry, Santonio.

The guard stared at him, eyes bright with hate.

Ford took the stairs two at a time, flipping through Troy’s master key ring as he climbed. From below, Dwyer shouted at Troy to kill that Troubler, to free him, to stop those heretics. Troy said something about keeping Hobbes stable. Ford found the right key just before he reached the narrow landing outside Stransky’s cell. No one guarded her. There was no need. Troublers had never assaulted the towers, much less broken someone out.

Stransky was sitting up. She looked Ford up and down and threw back her head and laughed, her greasy hair dangling down her back. What are you supposed to be? A highwayman? A bank robber? A cowpuncher?

Ford ignored her. The key was an old and heavy brass number that might have been forged two hundred years before the Purge. He jammed it in the lock and turned it. The tumblers clicked. Stransky stood and grasped the cell bars. Well, she said. Sounds like trouble below. Better hurry.

Ford swung the door open and grabbed Stransky by the hair, yanking her toward him, their faces inches apart. You better hold up your end, or I’ll skin you alive. You hear me?

Stransky’s wild green eyes sparkled. She puckered her lips and then flicked her tongue. You keep talkin like that, and you’re gonna have to send me flowers.

Ford let her go. Come on, he said, before I change my mind.

They descended. One floor below, they entered Troy’s office. Troy and Babb had laid Hobbes on the floor. The pool of blood beneath the senior deputy had spread. Troy had ripped off another piece of his shirt. He continued to apply pressure to Hobbes’s wound. The herald and the guard lay in the same position, though Dwyer’s face had turned beet red as he strained against his bonds. Through the stained glass, the light of the fire flickered as if the night were winking at them, eternal, amused at humanity’s follies.

Ford locked the stairwell door and nodded at Tetweiller. They went over and cut the rawhide binding the guard’s feet and pulled him up. Then Ford motioned for Stransky to lead the way, toward the entrance near Troy’s desk. He shoved the guard after her, Tetweiller bringing up the rear.

As they passed, Dwyer stopped straining and glared at them, his expression wolfish, savage. I name you cowards, he hissed. Cut these bonds and face me. Let the Most High judge us.

Nah, said Tetweiller.

He’s a big un, Stransky said. I bet his horse rides him.

They crossed the room and exited into the back stairwell.

Ford found the right key and locked the office. Then the four of them headed down the stairwell, Tetweiller’s gun jammed into the guard’s back. Halfway down, a tremendous crash. Tetweiller turned. Dust wafted from the doorframe. Hell, Tetweiller thought. Dwyer’s already loose. Or maybe Jack’s lost too much blood, and that’s Gabe tryin to bust out. Either way, we gotta move. He turned, refusing to look back, though more crashes, metronomic and almost certainly Dwyer given the sheer force, followed them. The herald seemed made of steel.

He seems a mite outta sorts, Stransky said.

Hellfire, Tetweiller muttered. If that damn door opened outward, he’d be on us already.

They reached the ground floor without incident. The Temple was empty, except for Norville Unger and the other guard, who had both awakened and lay struggling with their bonds. Ford was already searching through the keys for the one that would open the door leading to the prison.

So we’re