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

matter to discuss, Royster said. I was loath to speak of it in front of Gordon. He is still so young, you see, and would likely find this conversation distressing. He might even try to stop us.

Stop us doin what? Ford asked.

As I said before, Lord Gabriel Troy is fomenting rebellion.

Ford’s heart trip-hammered. He would not have been surprised if Royster could hear it. I’ve known Gabe all my life. I’ve bled with him. I can’t believe he’d stand on the wrong side.

The smile disappeared. Troy’s betrayal has been revealed to Mister Rook in his meditations. Would you question his divine vision? Or God’s word? The same word that set orphans like you on high?

I’m just sayin Gabe’s always done right.

Ah, but that is the root of it. Lord Troy believes we are wrong, that he knows the Most High’s will better than the Crusade.

Ford looked at Long. She gripped her chair’s armrests with both hands, but she said nothing. He turned back to Royster. Let me talk to him.

No, said Royster. He is condemned. What you do now determines your own fate. Do what I ask and prove your loyalty. Refuse, and we must assume you stand with Troy.

Ford scowled. I don’t much like tests. We’ve done everything you’ve said since you got here. How did we buy this trouble?

You hesitated. Royster leaned forward, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. Make your decision, Chief Hunter. Do your duty, or sit beside your Troubler lord in the towers.

Ford clenched his fists. If I crush his throat, maybe we can slip outside before anybody knows what’s happened.

Then Long laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. He looked at her, but she was watching Royster. Why us? she asked.

Royster turned to her and seemed to relax, despite the breach in protocol. If Misters Benn and Clemens arrest Troy, I believe the populace would revolt. And Gordon, already being so upset, cannot handle him.

Gabe won’t come easy, even for us, Ford said.

Royster’s eyes were ice. As I said before, you are authorized to use all necessary force.

Sweat broke out on Ford’s back, his brow. Royster had reached into his heart and poked the exact spot where his deepest, most conflicted feelings lived—his gratitude for his position and his ability to make a difference in people’s lives, as well as his ambivalence about why he deserved it. His loyalty to Gabriel Troy, who had named him chief hunter, struggled hand to hand with his lifelong service to God.

It’s Gabe or us. Hell and damnation. So this is what fear feels like.

Royster watched him, implacable, tireless, demanding.

I’ll do what’s required of me, Ford said, like I always have.

Royster turned to Long. And you, Madam Weaponsmith?

Long’s lower lip trembled. She did not look at Ford. I stand with the Crusade, sir. But I’m strugglin.

Was she being truthful? How much did she doubt? Repudiating a lifetime’s devotion—to the Crusade, to Troy—should not be as easy as shucking off an old, frayed shirt.

Or maybe she was just shining Royster on, waiting for the moment when she could slip a knife in his back.

Had the Crusade never set our current course, I believe Gabriel Troy would have died an old, revered Crusader, Royster said. But Mister Rook has been watching him a long time, ever since the plan for this city was first revealed to him. He was afraid Troy’s passion for New Orleans would prove his undoing. And so it has come to pass. As for you two, Mister Rook values your loyalty, your skills. He wants to raise you even higher. Now is your moment. Can I count on you?

Long sighed. A tear slipped down her cheek. Yes, sir, she whispered.

Royster stood, holding out his hand. Ford and Long rose and shook it. Until it is time to act, he said, keep this between us.

Yes, sir, Ford said.

You may go. I have much work to do.

He took up a stack of papers. At least some of them were marked-up city maps. I could steal those and smuggle em to Gabe. Or I could show Royster where we’ve stored our weapons and food caches. Really come clean. Get right with the faith again. Royster’s and Troy’s voices shouted in Ford’s head, advocating their moralities and plans. Hell and damnation.

Minutes later, Ford and Long walked out of the office and down the stairs in silence, caught between two causes like ships struggling through a wind-tossed channel full of jagged rocks.

Long followed Ford to the hitching post. Their saddled animals stood side by side, freshly brushed coats gleaming. Ford’s long rifle hung in its scabbard. Long’s saddlebags bulged with tools. Canteens had been strung from their pommels. Long took her reins and thanked the groom, a pale boy of fifteen. The other groom was a girl, age indeterminate. She had blond hair and a round, dirty face. If they choose the wrong side, I may have to kill em myself, Long thought. Or maybe they’ll drown. Would that be better or worse than me shootin em to pieces? Gators and gulls will eat their bodies.

She put her foot in the stirrup and hauled herself into the saddle. Ford mounted up. They turned their horses toward Canal, riding close while the grass muffled their hoofbeats.

The endgame’s closer than we thought, Ford said as they passed out of sight of the Temple.

Long looked around. No one was within earshot. You think he knows about Stransky?

He might suspect, but if he knew, we’d be dead.

Did you mean what you said? About killin Gabe?

Ford rode in silence for a long time. I don’t know that I got the heart, he finally said. There’s a special place in hell for betrayers. But if we don’t, it’s heresy. Seems like we’re damned either way.

From somewhere in the city, the flat clap of a rifle, the roar of a shotgun, screams.

So, Long said. We kill Gabe, or we keep on doin what we’ve been doin.

Can’t do nothin right now. We’ve had tails since we