Lord of Order Brett Riley (best books under 200 pages .TXT) 📖

Boudreaux raised his weapon and jammed the barrel under his chin.

54

Hobbes fired. The bullet smashed through Boudreaux’s right thigh. He dropped his pistol and fell against the far-side ramparts.

Troy spurred his mount forward. He reined in and grabbed the ladder as his people held it steady. Then the lord of order stepped from the saddle onto the rungs and pulled himself up, his body throbbing, his head fit to burst.

Up top, Boudreaux was drawing his other sidearm. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Troy hurdled Jerold Babb, who ducked and covered, and kicked Boudreaux in the jaw as hard as he could. The deputy’s head rocked back, and he slumped as if boneless, the gun sliding from his grip. Troy picked it up and threw it over the side and sat next to Boudreaux, cradling the deputy’s head in his lap.

He brushed the hair out of Boudreaux’s face. Sorry, he said. Don’t nobody get off easy today.

Hobbes and Long hauled themselves onto the wall. They picked their way over the bodies in silence, as if afraid someone might awaken. Babb got on his knees and watched them, tears on his cheeks, his old-man hands trembling.

Y’all help us down, Troy said. I feel like I could sleep for a month.

Babb crawled over and squeezed his arm. Gabriel, I—

Not now, Troy said, pushing Babb’s hand away. Maybe not ever.

55

Sister Jewel moved about the sanctuary, setting hymnals in their racks as Troy watched from the front pew. Votives flickered on the altar as they had done since the old times. Her long and angular shadow attended her. She hummed under her breath, tuneless, the song unrecognizable. A strand of graying red hair had slipped out from beneath her habit and dangled against her cheek.

Soon the back door opened, and Sister Sarah stepped inside. Troy stood. Her habit seemed more severe than ever, more shapeless. How much did she weigh? Did she bear any scars or warts or freckles? How old was she? She might have sprung whole and clothed from the river, from stone, from the very air. She was a great mystery, like faith itself. Like love.

She approached and studied him a moment. Then she turned to Sister Jewel. You about done?

Jewel wiped her forehead with her sleeve. Well, I still need to sweep and clean up the wax on the altar, and—

Sarah cleared her throat. Surely that can wait a bit.

Troy pretended to cough.

Sure, Jewel said. Evenin, Lord Troy.

Take her easy, Troy said.

Easy ain’t our way.

When she had gone, Troy and Sister Sarah sat and faced each other. I know you’re hurt, Sarah said, but I’ve been back for two weeks. You could have come sooner.

His left arm hung in a sling. His right knee was thickly bandaged. At least his face had healed some.

Sorry, he said. Got my tail end kicked, but the other guy got worse. How about you? Any problem gettin back inside?

No. Your lookouts took care of us. It was easier than gettin out in the first place.

I’d hate to climb anywhere in that habit.

They fell silent, sweating, self-conscious. Troy sensed her gravity, the elemental yearning magnets and metal must feel before they come together. Did she feel it too?

It’s like somethin inside me has always tossed and turned, and now it’s come to rest. Maybe this is what peace feels like. Or possibility.

Lands, she said. It’s hot.

Yeah, he said. So what’s next?

She swept her hand from left to right, taking in the sanctuary. The Lord’s work is never done. This might be the greatest evangelical opportunity since the ancients’ time.

So you’ll stay.

New Orleans is my home. I learned that all over again when I left. I won’t abandon it again this side of the grave.

Troy nodded and looked around. How long would it take Sister Sarah to fill those pews? Some Troublers were Catholics who never could abide living under the Crusade’s yoke. Those folks would probably come to Mass. Others would trickle in—the converted, the curious. The sisters might even need a bigger church.

But someone else would have to see to that.

I’m glad, he said. This town needs you.

How about you? Royster’s dead. We’ve all got sanctuary. What now?

I’ve been thinkin about that. I’ve had a belly full of fightin. I’d like nothin better than to set these guns down and never pick em up again.

She smiled. It did not seem happy. But? she asked.

But Royster was right about one thing—nothin’s really over. Rook still runs the world. I doubt he’ll scrap his plans for a new Purge. Or leave us be.

So?

So we can’t just sit here. Besides, Royster burned down my house, and I don’t cotton to movin into the presbytère with Jerold Babb. I reckon he snores.

Sarah did not laugh. I heard you set a dozen Crusaders free so they could spread the word of what happened here. Maybe Rook will decide we ain’t worth the trouble.

It was only five. And no. He’ll be more determined. If others out yonder don’t get in the fight, he’ll settle us, sooner or later.

But you can’t beat the whole Crusade. That’s your pride talkin, and when you have to swallow it, you’ll find it the bitterest draught you’ve ever tasted.

He let the quiet stretch around them for a while and took her hand. She squeezed his in return. Her sweat mixed with his, her pulse a steady thumping that matched his own heart’s rhythm. A single tear slipped from her eye. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, build a life with her in the soil they were seeding here.

I’d stay for you and let the world burn. God help me, I’d do it, if you’d only ask.

But she never would.

He picked at a loose thread on the pew’s cushion. We’re makin a council. Every member with an equal voice and an equal vote. Officially, it’s me, Jack, Ernie, Santonio, LaShanda, and Stransky. We’d put Gordy on it, but I don’t think he’d