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

river and the Gulf. He had, in fact, tasked Jevan Dwyer with copying all recipes, gathering all indigenous seeds. The river and the Gulf would endure after the city fell, and so would the cuisine of a vanished people.

He pointed his fork at Benn. What will you do when all the Troublers are dead?

Benn considered a moment. I think there will always be Troublers. Just because we’ve caught the ones we suspect doesn’t mean we’ve suspected all the right people.

True, true. But still. Imagine a world where you could forever set aside your gun. Where you can trust every face you meet as a temple to the one true God. What would you do with your life?

Benn shifted a little. I’ve never given myself leave to imagine that world, sir. But I suppose I’d spend my days taking naps with my wife and teaching my daughters to fish. When we weren’t at worship, that is.

Royster nodded and ate, sipping tea cooled in jars at the river. A wedge of lemon floated in the glass. That sounds like a lovely life. Send word to Misters Clemens, Boudreaux, and Ford. To Lord Long as well. They are to attend the fastening, the speeches, the beginning of the celebration. All guards not on duty are required to attend.

Yes, sir.

In fact, instruct the guards on the canals to come too.

Benn frowned. Do you think that’s wise, sir? What if the Troublers attack?

Then the guards at the lakefront will flood the city, as God brought the Red Sea down on the Egyptians after the Israelites passed safely. The Troublers know this. Their best play is to stay in their verminous swamps and let this city drown.

But what if Troy—

Troy is dead. His friends have turned or sit captive in their ill-gotten homes. Not one true Crusader has been harmed. No, Mister Benn. Let the canal guards join us, that they may go forth afterward and spread the word of our victory.

Benn seemed on the verge of speaking again. Then he cleared his throat and said, Yes, sir.

Leave me. I have much to do.

Benn bowed and exited. Royster finished his meal, hoping that, wherever they might be, the loyal would eat well. Soon they could lay down their burdens.

28

On the eve of what would likely be their last stand, Stransky and Troy stayed in a cabin near the Refuge’s westernmost edge. Stransky’s Troublers slept on tiny hummocks or stood guard or dozed in boats of sundry sizes and shapes and material. When it was time to move out, Stransky would give a signal, which would fan outward like water rippling after a tossed stone, and they would descend on the city, killing and razing everything in their paths. They would take New Orleans from Royster or die trying. There was no third choice.

Troy lay awake, thinking of his absent friends; the citizens for whom tomorrow would seem like the cataclysm, not the cure; the many ways everything could go terribly wrong.

Outside, the sound of oars in water. A guard hailed someone.

Troy flexed his right knee. It still felt stiff, but he could walk without limping, could even run for short bursts. Across the room, Stransky sat on her cot, black hair falling over her eyes. She picked up the oil lamp from the little side table and lit it, banishing the shadows to the corners of the room. Troy stood. She gestured for him to wait and went to the door and poked her head out. Someone muttered to her, but Troy could not make out the words.

She turned to him. It’s your girl and that fuckin dog. Kid better hope we don’t end up in a goddam siege, or we may have to eat it.

Troy followed Stransky onto the rickety porch, where two guards armed with rifles stood vigil. Someone was carrying a lantern up the hill. The guards must have let McClure pass. How had she found them?

Soon enough, girl and dog stood before Troy and Stransky, McClure’s faced bathed in sweat, the dog panting, its pink tongue lolling.

Howdy, Troy said.

McClure wiped sweat from her forehead. Howdy. Hotter than hell out here.

Yeah, and I reckon the fish ain’t bitin, Stransky said. What the hell you doin here?

McClure ignored her. Y’all was hard to find. If I hadn’t heard them boys on the dock talkin about you, I might have rowed right past.

Stransky shook her head. Loudmouth assholes. I should gut em.

How are you? Troy asked. How are the others?

Everybody’s alive, McClure said. Jack and Ernie are still confined to quarters. That ain’t the big news, though.

The kid told them what she had heard on the streets—a meeting at dawn, the canals unguarded. When she finished, Troy fetched her a glass of water and a bowl for Bandit, while Stransky ran about, giving orders. Troublers scurried hither and yon. Soon their oars beat the waters as they moved out to spread the word.

Stransky came back, breathing hard. Gonna be a harder fight at the wall than we thought.

Don’t change nothin, Troy said. We still gotta bust my people out, keep the outlanders from blowin the levees, and take the wall.

We know where Royster’s gonna be. That helps.

Plus, McClure said, the ordnance crews got orders to light their fuses after the evacuation, if they got any choice. That gives us some time in the city.

Right, said Troy. Willa, head back and get started on your part. The more you can do, the better off we’ll all be.

McClure stood. Bandit, who had been asleep on the floorboards, sat up and wagged his tail. Then the girl exited and trotted down the hill, the dog following.

Troy drank from McClure’s half-full glass. With most of the guards gone, a surgical strike inside the city’s better than a mass force.

Stransky spat and shook her head. Strike team ain’t got much chance.

Once we free Jack and Ernie and mobilize our people, we can cut the prisoners loose street by street. I’ll take a dozen troops