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

Ford and Tetweiller ducked deeper into the foliage, covering their ears and waiting for the exodus.

Long sprinted out the brewery’s back door, her upper right thigh and left elbow throbbing from crashing into shadowy objects. She ran around the corner and alongside the building and then across the street, the thick night air tearing in and out of her lungs. McClure waited for her in the shadowed doorway. Long stopped and dug through her satchel and found the cotton she had stored there. She handed some to the girl. They shoved it in their ears. Then she dragged the child into the alley and behind the building.

Outta time.

She pulled McClure close, covering the child’s head with her arms.

The brewery exploded.

The roar nearly burst her eardrums, despite the cotton. The whole edifice at their back shuddered. The night lit up as if a star had fallen onto Decatur, and even with a building between them and the heat wave, Long’s skin went dry. Her mouth turned to sand. McClure struggled in Long’s arms, so the weaponsmith shifted, afraid she was smothering the girl. Then the air turned too hot to breathe. Glass rained onto them. Long rolled them away from the building as fragments of brick and mortar smashed the ground. They stood, holding their shirts over their noses. McClure’s left hand had sustained several scratches, and small fragments of glass stuck out of her palm. But overall, the damage seemed minimal. Good. Together they ran two blocks and into another alley. Long paused to dig the glass out of McClure’s hand. The girl took off her shirt so Long could check her over. All the wounds looked superficial—a scrape here, a tiny puncture there.

I’ve imagined gettin naked with you, McClure said, a smile in her voice despite the pain. This ain’t how I pictured it.

Quit it.

Pinpricks in Long’s arms, thighs, torso—likely glass or debris picked up in the rolling. She and the girl would both need to clean those wounds well. Infections could kill.

McClure put her shirt back on, and they ran again, heading back toward Decatur and the rifles Long had hidden in the old café on the corner of Chartres and Pirate Alley.

Raised voices, pounding footsteps—Tetweiller and Ford had moved far enough along the tree line to hear it all as the Temple mobilized. Most of the staff would exit via the front doors at any moment. Then Ford and Tetweiller could make their move. They needed to get past the doors, reach Stransky’s cell, and get back down without killing anyone.

Lord, thought Ford, guide my hand, tonight of all nights.

The guards stepped aside as the heavy doors swung open. Three dozen men and women carrying rifles and shotguns and pistols tromped out. Some would search for Troublers. Others would head for the fire stations and guard the water wagons. Gordy Boudreaux, who would lead the firefighting efforts and run interference for Long, left last.

Go with God.

The door guards locked the Temple and resumed their positions as Boudreaux ran after the others. One of the patrollers unlocked the gate, and the little crowd that had gathered there merged with the Temple staff. No one hung back to look for the gate guards. When the crowd passed out of sight, Ford nodded to Tetweiller. They slipped through the foliage until they stood in the shadows of the Temple, Ford leading the way. They crouched low, hugging the wall, their guns drawn. When they were still ten yards from the doors, one of the guards turned, but when he saw Ford’s pistol pointed at his head, he dropped his gun. The other man turned, surprised, and started to raise his shotgun.

Lowering his voice again, Tetweiller rasped, Drop it, or I put one in your brain. The guards glared at them with icy hate. The armed one did not move. Do it, or I’ll gutshoot your friend, Tetweiller said. This time the guard complied.

Tetweiller covered them while Ford bound their wrists with rawhide thongs. Hope it don’t hurt you too bad, brothers, the hunter thought.

One guard looked over his shoulder and said, Y’all won’t make it out alive. If you’re smart, you’ll run while you still can. Otherwise, you better shoot us because if we get free, we’re gonna—

Ford cuffed him upside the head, and the man fell to his knees. Lowering his voice as Tetweiller had done, Ford said, When I want your advice, I’ll clout it outta you.

Ford and Tetweiller confiscated the guards’ keys, gagged them, and bound the quiet one’s feet. Ford burst through the door, guns drawn. Norville Unger’s eyes widened as he staggered back from the desk, one hand going to his throat. He opened his mouth to shout a warning.

Ford cocked his pistols. Don’t make me turn your skull into a planter. Get your hands up.

Unger shut his mouth and raised his hands. Tetweiller dragged the guards inside and locked the doors as Unger scowled.

Come out from behind that desk, Tetweiller said.

You ain’t gonna find the lord of order, nor his deputies, Unger said. They headed out to see what you scum blew up.

We ain’t here for them, Tetweiller growled.

Ford winced. Tetweiller sounded like someone trying to disguise his voice. A Troubler would not bother. What if Unger noticed?

They bound and gagged him, trying to be gentle. I don’t wanna do this. I wish I could tell you. Troy had forbidden them from using the old man as a hostage, but they had to make certain he was out of the way. So, gritting his teeth and feeling awful, Ford pistol-whipped Unger. The old fellow fell beside the bound guard, whom Ford punched hard in the jaw. His eyelids fluttered and closed. The other guard mumbled something that sounded like a threat. He struggled, digging in his heels and twisting until Ford stepped in front of him and pointed the pistol right between his eyes. He stopped fighting.

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