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

Ford. Even Gabriel Troy. Might still be, before all was said and done.

Boudreaux’s stomach roiled.

The guard pushed the prisoner through the door and pulled it shut. Then, taking a key ring the size of a mushmelon out of his satchel, Clemens locked them all in. The Troubler stood before them, stinking, palsied.

Mister Kouf, said Benn. Welcome.

Clemens grabbed Kouf by the neck and dragged him to the island. Benn drew his gun and covered them while Clemens wiped his hand on his pants, scowling as if he had just handled rotten meat. Perhaps he had.

Climb up on this block, if you please, said Benn, his voice conversational.

Kouf leaned against the island, palms on its surface, one finger tracing a deep groove left by someone’s knife or bone saw. When he spoke, his whisper sounded as scratchy as sandpaper on coarse wood. I haven’t done anything, sirs. Please let my family go. We have always been loyal.

Benn backhanded the prisoner with his gun barrel, knocking Kouf to the floor. He lay there, moaning. Benn and Clemens looked at Boudreaux.

Well, don’t just stand there, Deputy, said Clemens, grinning. Get this trash on the block.

Benn’s face was impassive. The envoys waited to see what Boudreaux would do.

They got me two to one. I’m deep in their territory, surrounded by armed guards. If I draw, I’ll have to fight my way outta the room, through the building, and across the river, where the first Crusader I see will probably shoot me. And for all I know, Kouf’s guilty. Nobody’s shown any evidence either way. Won’t it be better to play along until I know for sure?

Boudreaux gritted his teeth.

Well? said Benn.

Boudreaux swallowed hard. His hands twitched near his guns.

Then he grasped Kouf by the wrists and hauled him to his feet. Best you get up, mister. They ain’t gonna stop until you do.

Don’t you mean we won’t stop? asked Benn.

Boudreaux held Benn’s gaze. That’s right. We won’t stop.

Kouf tried to climb onto the island, his scabbed feet kicking for purchase. Boudreaux boosted him up and rolled him onto his back. Kouf was a sack of dry leaves. He grimaced in pain, his teeth yellow and red, the gums receded down to the roots. A deep bruise in the shape of Boudreaux’s hand was already forming where he had gripped the man, the skin still sunken in. No elasticity. It’s like they plucked him off a ship that had been becalmed for months.

Benn yanked Kouf’s arms upward and shackled his wrists in the corner restraints, while Clemens did the same to his ankles. Spread-eagled, Kouf lay there, panting. He could barely raise his head. Where had he found the strength to walk down the corridor?

Kouf looked at Boudreaux, desperation in his eyes. Please, sir. My wife and daughter.

Clemens punched him in the mouth. Blood dribbled from his lips and onto the island. He opened his mouth to groan, revealing the jagged stumps of three teeth, the remnants on his tongue. Kouf spat them out.

I have a wife and two daughters as well, Benn said, his voice cold. They have never stolen so much as a crumb. Besides, we aren’t here to talk about the traitor you married or the one you sired. We’re here for you. If we were popish, you might call us your confessors. Answer us truthfully, and you can go to God with a clean conscience. Wouldn’t you like that? To stand before the Almighty’s throne, shining white like the angels’ very wings?

Kouf drooled blood. Boudreaux moved closer to the wall, watching Kouf and Benn as the one glanced about, goggling like a frightened horse, and the other leaned on the island, studying his fingernails. Clemens stood nearby, fists clenched, ready to strike again. A creeping sense of dread settled in Boudreaux’s stomach, turning fiery and climbing up his throat like heartburn.

Two to one, then out the building and across the river.

Kouf groaned. I’ve nothing to confess.

Benn stroked the man’s oily hair. Nothing? Are you without sin, as only the Son of God ever was? Blasphemy, sir.

Clemens struck Kouf again, this time on the cheekbone. Clemens grinned, shaking out his hand. Ow, he laughed.

No, you are just another sinner, Benn said, as if he had not noticed the interruption. We’re aware that, on your march here, you stole several strips of jerky and a canteen from a sleeping guard. The very Commandments condemn you, sir. Would you go against Matthew Rook and the Bible in the same breath?

Kouf looked from Clemens to Benn and back again, despair in his eyes. He burst into tears, his flesh torn and bloody where Clemens had punched him.

Clemens strode to the other side of the room and grabbed a covered rolling cart. He pulled it over to the island and yanked off the cloth. On the cart’s surface, a set of tools, some brand new and recently forged, others so rusty they might have been produced in the ancients’ time. Two hammers, two chisels, a handsaw, a bone saw. Two knives, one serrated. A long, hooked implement Boudreaux had never seen before.

Clemens unhooked and brought over a wall lantern. He held it over the instruments. Kouf saw them and blubbered like a child.

Benn selected the serrated knife. He held it to the lamplight. Dried blood coated its teeth. Benn turned it this way and that, as if inspecting it for flaws. Kouf struggled against his bonds, yanking, grunting like a pig.

Now, now, Benn said. None of that.

Clemens grabbed Kouf’s head, wrapping his fingers in the greasy hair, and held it still while Benn stuck the knife into Kouf’s nostril and yanked upward. The blade ripped through flesh and cartilage, blood splattering Clemens’s face. Kouf howled, his nose laid opened on its right side from tip to bridge. Cilia and blood and snot wiggled when he breathed.

Benn slit the other nostril.

Kouf babbled as Boudreaux started toward the table, hand dropping to his gun.

By the time he touched it, Benn had drawn his, the barrel pointing straight at Boudreaux’s