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

She entered the sanctuary. The Temple workers stood at attention against the walls. They saluted in unison, eyes forward. She had never seen them act with such military precision. Sweet Lord. Somehow, somewhere, Royster must have started drillin em. Why? Temple personnel almost never fight.

Maybe he was just keeping them busy, passing the time before their own sentences were carried out.

They were still holding the salute when she passed through the Temple doors and into the courtyard. The guards outside saluted too. When she reached the hitching post, the grooms would likely follow suit. Word was spreading. A new lord of order reigned for the first time in years.

24

Night fell. The cold stars shone—ageless, indifferent to New Orleans and humanity and the turning Earth. Humidity hung heavy on the city. Sweat soaked Santonio Ford’s body as he sat his black mare with the gray socks, the only truly strong horse he had kept out of the remuda. The envoys seemed unlikely to confiscate it as long as Ford worked for them.

The woman was late, and Ford had no idea who she was, beyond the fact that she was a Hobbes subordinate. How could you know you were being set up when you did not even know whom to look for?

Willa McClure had arranged the meeting for three hours after sunset, plenty of time to get home and settled, to sneak out. Plenty of time for the heat to enervate the night guards. Yet the woman had not arrived. If she got captured or just changed her mind and stayed home, I don’t know what I’ll do. But I don’t know what I’ll do if she shows up either. I’m goin through the motions in two different worlds, servin both the Crusade and the Conspiracy with half conviction.

This meeting would be the forge in which he would craft his future.

He hoped the woman’s appearance would coincide with some affirmation of what was right, but so far, hidden deep in the shadows under Armstrong Park’s trees, he had seen nothing unusual. The incoming Troublers had not yet reached the park, but they would soon. Every waterway would be guarded, each sentry ready to kill any citizen who tried to leave. Except for the rare diplomatic trip to Baton Rouge or Lafayette, Ford had never traveled more than twenty miles from the city’s borders. Now he probably never would. The wall inched farther around New Orleans every day, like a great snake ready to squeeze the life from them all. Once it was completed, either the Troublers would slaughter everyone or Royster’s guards would.

All the Troublers Ford had seen—the ones he had killed, the countless numbers who had lived since the ancients’ time—surely some of them had envisioned grander acts than stealing a bushel of grain or blowing up a building or assassinating an official. An end to the Crusade itself, the establishment of a Troubler nation, a new world religion. Yet the Crusade endured. Was that the sign Ford needed? Or was the Troublers’ undying opposition the true signal?

Approaching hoofbeats—a shadowed figure ambled toward him. He gripped the crossbow across his lap. If the rider were an unknown Crusader, Ford would have no excuse for sitting in the dark, alone and long past curfew. He would have to put a bolt through the person’s throat before they could cry out. His heart beat heavily in his chest.

Forgive me, Father God. This is what we’ve come to. Murder from ambush. None of us justified.

But as the rider drew closer, Ford recognized the way she sat her horse, the outline of her body—Nella Charters. Hobbes had handpicked her to ride with them on several raids of suspected Troubler nests in his territory. Good in the saddle. A fine shot. Brave and true. Still, with so much at stake, Ford kept one hand on the crossbow. If she made a move, he would get only one chance.

She reined her horse next to Ford’s and whispered, That Clemens fella picked tonight to ride through our neighborhoods. Took me a while to slip through, but I don’t think he saw me.

And what if he did?

Charters pulled her shirt away from her body and flapped it and fanned herself with her other hand. I reckon I’d be under arrest, she said. We’d know by now if they followed me.

Ford’s mare nickered and sniffed the new arrivals. He patted her neck. I reckon so. How’s your husband and them?

Ready to spit nails. Some outlanders came by and told us we’d have to move. We knew it was comin, but Lars near about throttled a guard anyway. It’s the only home we’ve ever known.

And your young uns?

We’re tryin to keep em in good spirits, but it’s hard, lyin to em.

Sometimes lies are necessary, Ford said and hated himself for it. Forgive me my own lies, Father God. Help me find the kind of surety Ernie and Jack and the envoys have. He could see the fruit his actions bore as if with two sets of eyes—Royster’s face, blood dripping from a bullet hole in the forehead; Gabriel Troy’s body floating out to sea, nibbled by sharks and gulls.

Charters watched him. Where y’at?

Fine.

She seemed about to press the matter, but she let it drop. So Jack’s stuck in his house. What now?

That’s the question of a lifetime. We keep on goin and hope things turn out right. What can you tell me about y’all’s operation?

Jack contacted around a dozen of us, and each of us found half a dozen more. I’m estimatin, you understand. Everybody’s been goin down the line like that. I’m hopin we’ll have time to turn half our people before the end. We’ll have to hope the rest throw in with us once the shootin starts.

Or that they sit it out at least.

Yep. Speakin of that, some folks are just gone.

Gone?

Charters’s horse snorted. She patted its neck and whispered to it.