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

from jumpin out of a canoe, but you reckon you can start a cookfire and heat up that pot of gumbo?

The big man glanced at Stransky. She nodded, and he left without looking at Troy.

There’s another problem. I can’t lead this rabble if every order or request needs Stransky’s approval, and I can’t just shoot all these ornery knuckleheads.

Troy knelt in front of Unger, grunting as his stiff knee flexed. Unger looked alarmed. You all right?

I’ll live. We got some gumbo comin. But I need you to talk. Can you do that for me?

Unger nodded, his face reddened and dripping sweat. He kept looking at the gathered Troublers as if they were black bears and he had just stumbled on their cubs. But when he spoke, his voice was steady.

It’s all bad. Ever last lick.

Bad how?

Unger grimaced. That godforsaken wall’s almost finished, and the whole city is paved in Troubler flesh. They’re lined up from south of the river almost to the lake. They stopped at places like Robert E. Lee and Morrison. Just enough room left for the guards and the builders to move about without tramplin folks. I like to never got past em. Santonio’s gotta wade hip deep in miserable wretches just to check his crops, and the wildlife that got stuck in our parks is scared half to death. Not three days ago, a handful of deer trampled three chained-up Troublers and turned about and plowed back into the forest.

So we got even less time than we thought.

A week or ten days at most. I heard that Clemens fella talkin about how there ain’t but a few parties still on the way and how the wall ought to be done right after they’re settled.

Troy mopped his brow with his shirtsleeve. Lord help us.

That ain’t all. They house-arrested Jack Hobbes and Ernie Tetweiller. Ain’t seem em since, but Santonio says they’re alive. Not that I asked him. After what he done to you, I wanted to cut his throat.

Troy’s flesh wounds still ached. Ford’s bullets had shaved him closer than a well-stropped razor. He had tried to reflect on that day, but sometimes it was hard to think with the bugs whining all night, giving voice to the tumult in their own Troubler souls.

I reckon Santonio did what he had to do, he said. What about LaShanda?

Unger scowled again and spat. They made her the new lord. Didn’t give her your office, and they don’t even let her say the lord of order’s prayer on Sundays. Royster does it. Attendance looks like it’s gone down by half since you left. Don’t know if that’s because people can’t stand the envoys. Maybe the outlanders put em in chains somewhere, or killed em all. Nobody tells me nothin.

Lord above. So LaShanda’s doin what?

Runnin about the city supervisin Troubler transfers and tellin folks to go along, do what the outlanders say, kiss their hindquarters.

Don’t be too hard on her. If she had really turned, Jack and Ernie would be dead, and so would a lot of other folks. What about Gordy?

Unger picked at a splinter on the chair, his mouth working as if the words had stuck in his throat. A tear carved a swath through the grime and dust on his face. Gordy’s changed, he muttered.

Changed how?

Unger told Troy about Boudreaux’s recruitment, about the trips across the river, about how the young deputy’s eyes had emptied, his once expressive face frozen into a stoicism as plain as a white wall. By the time Unger finished and Bushrod appeared with a steaming bowl of gumbo, Troy feared more for Boudreaux than anyone or anything else, even the city. Buildings could be reconstructed. Gardens could be salvaged. But where lay the soil in which you could replant a good man’s essence?

Unger ate the gumbo, his graying hair corkscrewing from his scalp like steam, wrinkles road-mapping his face and hands. Bushrod and the others stood around, watching the area for movement, as vigilant as any Crusader Troy had ever seen. If only discipline and vigilance were enough.

He pulled Stransky into the cabin proper. You heard Norville. We need to be ready to move in a week. Or less.

She smiled. We’re good at movin fast.

I wouldn’t put it past Royster to up and execute Ernie and Jack. We gotta spring em.

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Anger rose inside him like vomit. He scowled. They risked their necks to bust you outta the towers. Jack Hobbes took a bullet just to make it look good.

Stransky laughed. Yeah, and they did it just for me, outta the goodness of their hearts. Right?

Troy grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall. I ain’t negotiatin. I want my people alive and free.

There was no fear in her eyes. That’s all any of us ever wanted too, and look how often you assholes gave it to us. Besides, Gabe, this act’s gettin old. Grabbin my neck and talkin tough. Remember where you are? Hurt a hair on my head, and you’ll never make it outta the bayou alive. Neither will that old fart. Now get your goddam hand off me before them boys out yonder pile in and gut you.

Troy squeezed her throat even tighter. She sounded like she was breathing through a tube the size of a pine needle. Her face turned red, then purple. But she never stopped smiling because she was right.

He let her go and stalked away, clenching and unclenching his fists. His knee fired bolts of red pain up his leg.

My friends are deep in the desert, he said, and I can’t lead em out.

Look, Stransky rasped, rubbing her neck. You might not believe this, but I want them boys free too. Hobbes is cuter than a fuckin puppy dog, and Tetweiller’s the only one of y’all without a goddam cypress trunk up his ass. Right now, though, Royster’s got every reason to believe he can relax. You’re dead. He’s