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

the red plains of another planet. He turned toward the wall and set his hands against it. It felt squishy. Mister Ford? What’s this all about?

Shut your mouth, Troubler, Clemens said. We know your heart.

Babb tsked. I never would have figured you for treason, Fleming.

Long grabbed Lange’s wrists and pulled them behind his back and shackled him.

Treason? he said. I know I broke curfew, but only because Mister Ford asked me to meet him here. Tell him, Mister Ford.

Long grabbed Lange by the shoulder and spun him around. Ford turned away. The others holstered their weapons and talked among themselves, as if Lange had already ceased to exist. His breath tore in and out of his lungs. Deep red panic fell over his vision like a caul.

You must confess, said Babb. Do not meet the Lord with a tainted soul.

Lange looked about, wild and desperate. He moved toward Ford. A guard shoved him back against the wall. Mister Ford, he shouted. Please. Tell em you asked me to come here. I’d be home eatin supper right now if it wasn’t for you. Tell em.

Ford said nothing.

Fleming Lange burst into tears.

Babb came forward and touched Lange’s forehead, tracing the sign of the cross. May the ever-generous Lord of Hosts forgive you.

Sobs erupted from Lange like foul effluvium. They watched him a moment. Then Boudreaux grabbed his arm and yanked him across the darkened street, toward the stoic and noble shapes of the horses. Lange wept like a lost child and begged to be turned loose. No one paid him any mind except Babb, who prayed aloud, speaking of forgiveness and penance and mercy and hellfire. And as Boudreaux shoved him into the saddle, Fleming Lange knew he would never see the sun again.

As Boudreaux led the prisoner’s horse away, Clemens turned to Ford. Tell me again how you found him out.

Ford looked at him, annoyed. Ain’t nothin changed since the last time I told you. Fleming came to me and said he heard y’all thought I was leakin information. He knew people who wanted y’all gone. If I met with him here after curfew, he’d introduce me.

Clemens studied Ford with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. Why didn’t you play along and ferret out the rest of the rebels?

After what happened to Gabe, it don’t seem healthy to ride with traitors.

How did he claim to know what we suspect and what we don’t?

Ford shrugged. He didn’t say. Just told me I’d find out everything tonight. I knew he was lyin about y’all suspectin me. Figured he was tryin to turn me. So I came to you.

Clemens shook his head. You’d think a Troubler double agent could do better. A transparent lie like that—even a fool would have seen through it.

Ford clenched his teeth. I’ll tell you what’s transparent. That you don’t like me much. And I’d rather stick my privates in a bear trap than throw in with you. Well, he said, when your best friend turns traitor and you chase him off a bridge, it tends to change your views. I reckon he just miscalculated which way it changed me.

Maybe. Boudreaux will get it out of him. Your friend’s got a flair for interrogation.

Does he, now?

He does. Let’s go.

Clemens mounted up and rode after Boudreaux, taking the guards with him. Ford and Long lingered. When they could no longer hear hoofbeats, Ford spoke. What we did here tonight damns us.

Long squeezed his arm. I hope the Lord sees it different. You’re more important to His true work than Fleming Lange. It’s one man or many.

I don’t reckon choices like that should be up to us.

For a while, they listened to the prisoners’ buzzing conversations, as if a plague of locusts had infested the streets. Look, Long said. Ain’t no point in wishin it could have been some other way. It’s this way, and that’s all there is to it. Now let’s go home and wash this day off our hands.

She spurred her horse and trotted away, leaving Ford alone.

Close by, the river wound across the world like a flat black string. He stood beside Rachel, patting her sides, feeling her thick muscles. A good horse, steady in a firefight. Maybe one day he could put her out to pasture. She deserved to live out her days in peace. But peace, like clear consciences, was in short supply.

Boudreaux led Lange past the outstretched arms of writhing Troublers. Unwashed flesh, human waste in festering heaps. Clemens and Babb and the two guards followed, Clemens spitting on upturned faces and laughing at shrieking children. Babb pulled his shirt over his nose and wiped his reddened eyes. Clemens drew his revolver and pointed it into the crowd, grinning when they cringed and shrieked. After that, Boudreaux refused to look at him. I’ll kill him if I do. The streets stretched before them in ever longer and darker iterations, wrinkles on the earth’s face. Finally, the riders reached the High Temple. Boudreaux saluted the gate guards. When they saw Lange bound and weeping, they scowled and spat at his horse’s feet.

Boudreaux was not entirely sure Lange had done anything wrong, but what of that? He was just another damned soul. So were they all.

The prisoner’s eyes were fixed on his horse’s neck, as if the answer to how he had come to this sorry end were written there. Now, as they reined up at the Jesus statue and dismounted, Lange wept again, his voice low and craven.

Please, Mister Boudreaux. I ain’t done nothin. I don’t know why Mister Ford thinks I did, and if I gave him the wrong impression, I’m real sorry. Just let me talk to him. Please, sir.

Boudreaux said nothing. He helped Lange dismount without fracturing his skull or breaking an ankle and then pushed him toward the Temple.

Quiet, Clemens snarled from behind them. Or I’ll shoot off your genitals.

Lange stopped talking but continued to whimper, low in his throat like a kicked puppy. They shoved him into the