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

I think I ripped up my knee. Maybe worse. Got no idea how I’m gonna make it all the way to the sisters’ on foot.

Tetweiller dismounted and took Troy’s arm, leading him to the horse. Here’s how.

Troy did not protest. Tetweiller was old and limped worse every day, but Troy had seen him walk across the city in July, gunning down Troublers while his left leg pile-drove the ground. He could manage a few miles.

Troy grabbed the pommel. How’d you get this horse around the Troubler line?

Tetweiller got behind Troy and pushed him into the saddle. Stole him from a house down the road a piece. When you get to the sisters’, let him go. He’ll find his way home, if some fool guard don’t shoot him.

Together they clopped off, two half-lame men and a stolen horse.

Near the sisters’, Hobbes walked out of a shadowed doorway, holstering his pistols. He saw Troy and grunted. Gonna punch Santonio Ford in the throat.

He helped Troy off the horse. Troy tried not to moan too much. They did the best they could, Troy said through gritted teeth. We were ridin hard over uneven ground.

Hobbes scoffed. Tenderized you like a steak, didn’t they?

They could have shot me in the back. They didn’t.

Hobbes grumbled as he took the reins. Troy limped toward the entrance. When Hobbes started to hitch the horse, Troy said, Ernie stole him. Just turn him loose.

Hobbes led the animal away from the post and slapped it on the hindquarters. The horse whinnied and broke into a trot, heading back the way they had come. Hobbes walked over and draped Troy’s arm around his neck. Together they ascended the steps and opened the doors. Inside, Sister Jewel, Sarah Gonzales’s right hand, scurried up and washed the blood from Troy’s face with a rag, walking backward and never missing a step. She even turned at the altar as if she could see it through the back of her head. Hobbes helped Troy sit while the nun ministrated, keeper of a dim and smoky temple to a God of mystery and ritual, her face lined with care and sun, her age indeterminate, her movements quick and economical, dabbing blood and dirt from flesh as a chick pecks feed from the ground. She stepped out for a moment. When she came back, she carried a basin and bandages, a wet rag draped on her shoulder. Hobbes helped Troy remove his shirt. Sister Jewel cleaned the shoulder wound, a two-inch gouge, dark about the edges with crusted blood. She poulticed and dressed it as well as any physician Troy had ever known. Then she went to work on his head.

Troy looked at Hobbes, who stood by the flickering votives, and raised his eyebrows. Hobbes nodded.

We’ve long suspected the sisters have been patchin up Troublers. Jewel’s good enough to support that theory. Not that it matters anymore.

Sister Jewel knotted the bandage. Skin off them britches, she said.

Groaning and moving as if he were a hundred years old, Troy unbuttoned his pants. Sister Jewel pulled them down, easing them over his knee. It already looked as big as a mushmelon. As she wrapped the knee, the back door opened again. Sister Sarah Gonzales entered, holding folded clothes. Lynn Stransky followed, her hair and clothes freshly washed. She winked at Hobbes, who turned from her, stone-faced.

Troy smiled. She really does get to him. In another world, they might have made a good couple. Who knows? Maybe they still can. The future was unspooling before them like a night highway, twists and turns and precipices and dead ends.

Troy wanted to cover himself, but if Sister Sarah felt uncomfortable, she gave no sign. She handed him the clothes and inspected Sister Jewel’s work.

Stransky peered over Sarah’s shoulder and whistled. Nice legs, she said.

Then she threw her arm around Hobbes, who stiffened and clenched his jaw. Troy could not be sure in the dim light, but he would have sworn Hobbes was blushing. Probably the first time a woman’s touched him that way. If we had all just been born other people or in some other world. That’s all it would have taken—for every single thing in our lives to have been different.

Sorry about all this, he said to Sarah. I know it’s a risk.

She glanced at him and then turned away. We risk ourselves every time we open these doors.

When they were done, Troy pushed himself off the pew, setting his jaw against the stiffness in his violated limbs, and managed to put on the fresh clothes without aid, though he could barely get the pants over his knee.

Thank you, he said. These fit right fine.

Sister Sarah nodded. I had to guess your size.

Troy squeezed her shoulder. Then Sister Sarah put her arms around him. He embraced her. Her heartbeat thumped against his chest, her breath on his neck, the tips of her fingers tracing his ribs. He tried to think of the habit’s coarse fabric rather than the way her breasts pressed against his chest, how her cheek felt on his shoulder.

After a moment, they let go. She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, her breath quickening. Her eyes fluttered as she blinked away tears. She looked away. Vaya con Dios, Gabriel.

Troy nodded. His throat felt like he had swallowed raw cotton.

Sister Sarah helped Sister Jewel gather their materials and his ruined clothes. Together, without another word, the nuns exited through the back door.

No one spoke for a moment. Then Stransky sighed. You’re both damn fools.

Troy turned back to Hobbes. They’ll be watchin you and Ernie even closer now. Assume somebody’s tailin you every second. Tell Ernie the same.

Hobbes frowned. Ain’t gonna be able to squirrel away a single bullet. Might as well come with you.

Troy shook his head. Conviction’s more dangerous than bullets. Spread the word. Be watchful. And be ready.

One thing we ain’t established. How will we know when to make our move?

It’s best if we don’t get too particular. But believe me—everybody