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

he found the altar. Then he took some matches from his pocket and lit a votive. Its pitiful light made the darkness seem heavier, but now his visibility extended a couple of feet. He picked up the candle as Stransky slipped her hand into his belt just over his buttocks. He stiffened.

She leaned close, her lips at his ear. Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t feature breakin my hips on these pews.

Keep your hands above the waist.

He edged his way to the door leading to the living quarters beyond the sanctuary and rapped twice, paused a few seconds, then knocked four more times.

Secret knocks and everything, Stransky said. Y’all took to this shit fast.

Someone rustled behind the door. Then it opened inward. Sister Sarah Gonzales stood there, holding a lantern. Ford squinted and shaded his eyes with his hand.

Hello, Santonio, said Sister Sarah. It’s late.

Ford pulled Stransky into the light. Sister Sarah Gonzales, he said, meet Lynn Stransky. She needs sanctuary.

Sister Sarah’s eyes widened. She looked at the Troubler for a long time. If she wants it, she has to ask for it. Does Gabriel know she’s with you?

I’m right here, Stransky offered. You can ask me.

I’m here on Gabe’s orders, Ford said. He’ll explain when he can. Right now, all I got time to say is we busted her outta the tower, and she needs a place to hide.

You busted her out? As in you and Gabriel?

And some others. He’ll explain, but I gotta go. Can she stay?

She’s gotta ask. Those are the rules.

Stransky laughed and opened her mouth, probably to say something that would ruin the whole deal. So Ford took her by the shoulders and squeezed. You saw the patrols. Everybody’s after you. There’s no leverage here.

Stransky pulled free, all her humor gone. She stared a hole in him. Then, her jaw set, she turned to Sister Sarah, who stood her ground. They looked as if they might throw punches.

Ford wanted to slap the Troubler upside her head. Don’t mess this up.

Finally, Stransky said, I hope you don’t expect me to confess and all that bullshit.

Sister Sarah’s gaze was as cold as her voice. You don’t have to convert. But you’ll respect us and our ways. Otherwise, you can take your chances on the street.

The Troubler frowned. Ford inched closer, ready to intervene. It kills Stransky to ask for anything.

But then she shrugged. Fine. I ask sanctuary. Until I can get back to my people.

Sister Sarah nodded, her mouth a thin line. She glanced at Ford and then turned. I’ll fix you a bed, she said. Then she disappeared, taking her lantern. The darkness swooped in and nearly drowned them.

Stransky’s voice floated out of the darkness. So what’s the deal?

Your network tells you what the Crusade’s up to. You tell us. We help you stop em.

That’s puttin a gauze bandage on a broken arm. The Crusade’s gotta die.

All we want is to save New Orleans and our people. You’re askin too much.

No. I’m askin just enough. Your precious Crusade ain’t about God no more, if it ever was. It’s about Matthew Rook tryin to be God. If you don’t see that yet, you will. I guarantee it.

Ford said nothing. There was nothing to say. If Stransky were wrong, it would not matter. They would use her until she had nothing left to give, and then she would hang. And if she were right, then she would find plenty of opportunities to crow about it later.

8

Troy had assumed that, after the returning Temple personnel had carried Hobbes away, Dwyer would snort and bellow and demand action. But he had not.

The masks trouble me, he had said.

No tellin what a Troubler’s thinkin, Troy said. Maybe they heard about you and didn’t cotton to bumpin into you when they ain’t already drawn their guns.

Dwyer thought about that for a minute. Then he nodded. Let me know when you have some idea of who attacked us and where they took the prisoner, he said. He left, threading his string around his fingers as he walked.

The runners Troy had sent for his lieutenants reported rousting Long from bed. Tetweiller and Ford had returned to their houses to find messengers waiting. Tetweiller claimed he had gone out to secure the neighborhood. Everyone knew Ford often checked his traps in the middle of the night, fished and hunted before dawn, slept little, and answered to no one but Troy.

Jack Hobbes lay in the prison infirmary, pale and wasted.

He had volunteered to be wounded so the breakout would seem real, and as planned, Ford’s bullet had missed his major organs, but he had lost a lot of blood. The doctors transfused him and gave him the most comfortable bed in the prison and ordered him not to leave it for at least a few days. The wound had turned an ugly blue-black, and Hobbes had reported some numbness in his upper arm. Troy could barely look at him. If Jack loses any mobility, I’ll never forgive myself.

Someone rapped on the office door. It’s open, Troy said.

Ford walked in and closed the door behind him. He glanced around. Where’s Dwyer?

He left. Ain’t said boo to a goose. Ford pulled up a chair and sat across from Troy. He looked tired. You get any sleep? Troy asked.

Not much, but I’m used to that. It’s Jack that’s buggin me.

I gave the order. Whatever happens is on me.

Ford did not look convinced. Stransky’s at the sisters’. If she’s got sense enough to stay there, she’ll be fine.

Troy grunted and yawned. He had slept only an hour and dreaded working with Stransky after spending so many years shooting at her. Nothin makes sense anymore. It’s like we’ve built our church on sand.

Dwyer’s gonna be watchin us till things die down, he said. So let’s stay away from the sisters’ until them prisoners get closer. Maybe she’ll know somethin new by then.

All right, Ford said.

Over his shoulder, dawn’s light sparkled on the river. A handful