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

So she’s only a figurehead. She’ll hold office till she questions an order or New Orleans floods, whichever comes first.

So what brings you here so blasted early? he asked.

She sat and sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were bloodshot and heavy. You, she said. Your people. Royster wants Charters’s contact, dead or alive. And they don’t believe it was Quintus Vacla.

Ford snorted. Didn’t stop em from killin him, though, did it?

No. And unless we give em somebody, they’ll rip your territory to pieces.

Ford watched her, letting the moment stretch out. She held his gaze, arms crossed, the deerskin shirt and pants clinging to her solid, muscled frame, her hair trailing halfway down her back. She looks tired, but bigger somehow, more there. It’s like the office made her grow. Did it do that to Gabe back in the day? I can’t remember.

They’re tearin the whole town apart, he said. Or hadn’t you noticed?

She glared at him. It’s my city as much as yours.

Is it?

Don’t put on airs with me. You rode down Gabe just like I did.

I remember. I also recall some secret meetings. There was a woman there. Looked a lot like you.

She looked away, whether from guilt or shame or exasperation he could not have said. The shadows seemed to press in on them.

They’ll come for you, sooner or later, she said.

You mean you’ll come for me.

They’ll kill you. Just like they killed Vacla. What are you gonna do about it?

I reckon I’ll die.

Plenty of folks in these neighborhoods ain’t what you’d call innocent. Others have met in secret too.

Ford sneered. I don’t aim to save my own skin by lettin em make a rug outta somebody else’s. Would you save yourself that way?

She stood, crossed the room, and got in his face, poking his chest with her index finger. Yeah. I would. You know why? Because everybody expects us to lead em outta this mess. The Lord knew sacrifices are necessary. He sent His own son, just like Abraham took his up that mountain. Are you better than them?

He knocked her hand away. That was different, and you know it. I won’t ask somebody to die in my place.

Yes, you will. Because this city needs you. You’re chief hunter because you’re the best person for the job. If you die, everybody else’s chances drop that much more. Would you rather sacrifice one soul or the whole lot?

Others can lead.

Not like you. Out of all the orphans who chose order as their life’s work, Gabe picked you. Our people follow you because they see what he saw. If you ever cared about him, about any of us, you’ll honor our faith in you. Especially when it’s hard.

Ford looked out the window. The citizens in his charge walked by on their way to fields, woods, forges, stalls. Fisherfolk headed for the riverfront or the lake carried poles and rods and baskets. Some rode horses as lively as any mounts ever were. But all of them were already dead—shot, ripped open from crotch to sternum, drowned, starved. Long claimed only he could lead them from that path, as if when the flood came, he could part it, like Moses, or raise them above it, like Noah. That was nonsense, but LaShanda was right about some things. Troy picked him for a reason. Martyring himself seemed like folly at best, hubris at worst.

Or maybe that was his coward soul talking.

Ford passed a hand over his face. I don’t know what to do.

Long put a hand on his shoulder. Pick somebody. Or I will.

We could just rise up with what we got and let the Lord sort it out.

We need more fighters and time to organize em. This buys us some.

I don’t know if I can live with that.

She squeezed his shoulders. You got no choice. She sat back down in the chair, unblinking, irresistible. As if someone had carved her out of obsidian while Ford slept, rounding off the angles but leaving the edges sharp.

Maybe we can blame it on a Troubler, he said, wincing at how weak he sounded.

Long’s voice softened. No. It’s gotta be somebody they know we trust.

Damn all this to hell, he spat. Long said nothing. Her face was stone. No help there, or anywhere. There’s somethin else, he said. Last night I took a walk. Got too near the river bridge. Four guards tried to arrest me.

She looked at him for a long time. These’d be the four guards we found dead this mornin.

Unless four more got killed in that part of town. He said nothing of McClure. Let whatever happens fall on me. I owe the child that much and more. Besides, those guards had taken pleasure in the prospect of his torture and death, as if they were hell’s own executioners. He would not mourn them.

Long rubbed her eyes. Well. In time, you’ll have to justify those killins before God. But I ain’t Him. Right now all I’m worried about is gettin Royster off your scent.

Ford thought of Vacla. Please, Father God. If I’m goin along because I’m a coward, strike me down. And if she’s right, lift this burden from my heart. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. No matter what I do, he said, I feel dirty and wrong.

Me too.

Ford shook his head. More weight settled on his shoulders.

They sat in his oven of a house and talked, and with every passing moment, peace and happiness moved farther away than he had ever thought possible this side of hell. Later, they knelt together, hands clasped, their foreheads touching. They prayed silently, and then they prayed aloud, taking turns beseeching the Most High for guidance. They pleaded and despaired, wept and gnashed their teeth like the worst penitents, their immortal souls hanging over the fiery pit on gossamer strands. Ford exhausted himself and felt no better about anything. When Long rode away, taking the Crusaders with her, Ford watched them go from