by Brett Riley
A clumsy test, Envoy. I reckon he knew what he was doin.
Of course he did.
Benn wrote, drew, annotated. Finally, he finished his notes and sat back, wiping sweat from his face. Dark stains had spread from his armpits to his chest and back. He huffed in the hot, still air.
What else? Troy asked.
That will do for now. Royster stuck out his hand. Thank you, Lord Troy.
Troy shook with him. We’ll have the offices ready by tomorrow. Gordy?
Boudreaux took the three men downstairs. Troy sat and rubbed his temples. Another headache had begun to throb behind his left eye. He had hoped the Crusade would make at least some pretense of relocating the population, but Royster’s flickering eyes said no.
Stransky had been right. About everything.
Chain gangs trooped across the causeway and through the city ceaselessly, the reverberations of their footfalls shaking jars off shelves and pounding into dreams. All those people moving at once suggested months, perhaps years, of planning, which belied Royster’s claim about the recency of Rook’s vision. Did the envoy think no one would realize that, or did he not care? Guards poured into town on horseback, on foot, in supply wagons. Shots had been fired eight or ten times already. The first time, when Troy tried to dash out of the office, Royster assured him some Troubler had gotten too uppity or had attempted escape, an unfortunate but inevitable occurrence. Troy stayed.
Boudreaux and Ford had joined Tetweiller in directing the prisoners as far south as Estelle and Woodmere. No one had indicated whether the Crusade planned to let the southern bogs function as a natural border or wall them off or drain the swamps and raze the whole place. Troy had chased Troublers out there for years, running them to ground and dragging the survivors back to the city in chains. The dead he left for the gators and insects. Now, if he returned to the bogs, he would likely do so as an outcast, as much a traitor as those whose bones he would tread on, because where else was there to hide?
He managed to get away from Royster around five o’clock. The sounds of the march drummed against his temples as he and Japeth rode through town. The buildings’ shadows stretched like the talons of some unimaginable prey bird. Every glance at the prisoners yielded a fresh crop of expressionless faces and bobbing greasy heads. The deep suspiration of thousands of lungs created its own breeze, fetid and swampy. Troy rode among his own people, going to or coming from work, their faces wan, their bodies hunched. They looked to him as he passed, and the hope in their expressions broke his heart, for what was hope in the face of genocide?
Later, on empty thoroughfares, solitary in the gloaming, Troy ambled toward Sister Sarah’s, and then, thinking better of it, turned for home, his new office, a token of both his authority and the loss of it.
I’ve probably used my Temple office for the last time. His eyes stung with the salt of unfamiliar tears.
Jack Hobbes sat on the front steps, his saddled roan tethered to the hitching post near the street. Troy dismounted and hitched Japeth. Then he walked up and sat next to Hobbes, who was wearing a sling, the poultice and bandages hunched beneath his shirt. The men sat in silence for a bit, listening. Hobbes smelled of mustard.
Racket got old real quick, the senior deputy said.
Troy laughed, humorless and bitter. How’s the collarbone?
Arm’s stiff, but I’ll live. Been workin the shoulder as much as I can without poppin the stitches. What’s our next move?
We need to talk about that. All of us, includin Willa. Everybody should get a say.
Hobbes nodded. Seen LaShanda today. A guard told her the wall’s already built. They got the Troublers draggin it here in sections.
Troy spat. I knew Royster lied. He knows exactly what’s comin.
Whole thing ain’t seemed real till now. But it is. They’re gonna turn New Orleans into a lake, with us still in it.
When we meet, Stransky’s gotta be there.
And if one of us decides their salvation depends on killin the rest?
I reckon somebody will die.
The horses shifted. What moon and stars there were rode between cloud banks pendulous and jagged. Up and down the avenues, candlelight flickered in windows. Gray smoke from cookfires drifted along the blue-black horizon. It would be nice to live in a peaceful world where a man could stretch out on his porch and sleep in the drowsy heat, but the world ain’t never been peaceful and never will be. All my life I’ve fought to keep order, but if it ain’t the Troublers, it’s men like Rook. I might as well try to sop up the ocean with a bath towel.
They sat for a while longer, and then Troy invited Jack Hobbes inside, where they talked long into the night.
During Sunday morning services, the envoys sat in the front row on the left-hand side of the Temple. Royster sang bass, Benn tenor. Clemens sounded more like a cat somebody had stepped on, but none could say he had not made his joyful noise. When Babb took the podium and spoke for an hour and a half on I John 3:4, Whosoever committeth sin transgresseth also the law: for sin is the transgression of the law, Royster amened so loudly that he sounded as if the Holy Spirit had overcome him, making him forget the august dignity of his office.
Ford cut his eyes at Troy. The lord of order’s jaw was set, his right fist clenched, but his face betrayed nothing. Nor did Jack Hobbes’s or LaShanda Long’s. Perhaps they agreed with Babb in their hearts. Perhaps they kept still through sheer will, like Troy.
I don’t know how them folks in the back can even hear Jerold, what with all that noise from the city.
The Office of Order had never been able to afford taking the Sabbath off, as the rest of the professions did. Neither, it seemed, would the emigration. Night or day, Sunday or not, the prisoners marched.
And so I beseech you, Babb cried, as if he had read Ford’s thoughts. Turn your eyes and ears to God. Trouble yourselves not, for our Father stands with us. His greatest earthly servant, Matthew Rook, has sent us three men to lead us into our new life. Trust in them, for to do so is to trust in the Most High.
Is Jerold right, Father God? Or has the adversary laid a finger on his heart? Oh, dear Father, has the devil touched mine?
After the service, Royster, Benn, and Clemens stood beside Babb at the front doors, shaking hands as the congregants exited the Temple. Ford embraced all four men, but even as he passed into the day’s dull heat, he shivered.
10
Troy sat in his saddle and glared at the Crusade guard standing before him. To Troy’s right, Jack Hobbes’s jaw clenched hard enough to shatter his teeth. To the left, Gordy Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed. The guard white-knuckled a shotgun. He glanced over his shoulder at the troops lined across the bridge thirty yards away. They stood at ease, but if anything happened, they would cut down everyone in their path, even this guard, who had positioned Tetweiller between himself and the lords, a human shield. All of this before anyone had said a word. For the hundredth time since they had captured Lynn Stransky, Troy wondered how moments like this were possible, how the Crusade had changed so much without his noticing it.
Or maybe it never changed, and I’ve just been blind my whole life.
Blushing, Tetweiller sputtered, It’s a damn outrage. Gabriel, you better straighten out this young pup before I pistol-whip him and kick his damn teeth in.
The guard’s shotgun moved upward two inches, as if he were about to jab the barrel into Tetweiller’s back, but Troy said, You don’t wanna do that, son.
The guard froze.
Ernie, come on over here with us, Hobbes said.
Tetweiller approached and put a hand on Troy’s saddle. They say we ain’t allowed across the river no more. And they requisitioned my horse. My horse.
No wonder the old man had lost his temper. When outsiders took over your hometown, you tended to take it personally, especially when they also commandeered your mount.
They had me leadin em s
treet to street, droppin Troublers and guards every few feet, and then this whippersnapper asks if I can dismount and show him a good fallback point in case we got attacked, Tetweiller said, spittle flying. When we come back, Pete was gone, and they drug me all the way here, tellin me Royster ordered it all. I’d of busted his head open, but you see how I’m outnumbered. All them jackasses back there for one old man. They didn’t even have the balls to tell me about Pete until they got me on the north side of the water.
Tetweiller had ridden Pete for ten years. Tears welled in the old man’s eyes.
Troy’s stomach roiled. These devils. I reckon it’s good they took Pete behind Ernie’s back, or else he wouldn’t be standin here right now, and at least a dozen outlanders would never see another sunrise. Troy took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. A shootout would help no one. He looked at the guard. I want to talk with your bosses right away, he said. If you see em before I do, tell em. As for this mess, Ernie Tetweiller is a retired lord of order. Pete better be back at his house by dark, or you and me will have this little chat again. Not Royster. Not you and thirty guards against one old man. Just me and you. We clear?
The young guard glanced over his shoulder. His fellows on the bridge had not moved.
Don’t look at them, Troy said. Look at me.
The guard swallowed hard. He could not have been older than twenty, and he was caught between a furious lord and the specter of the envoys. But it was not Troy’s business to make the guard’s life easier. Perhaps this was a test to see how far they could push him before he pushed back, but either way, his course was set.
I’ll see what I can do, sir, the guard said. But I’ll have to ask Mr. Royster for permission to release the horse.
Troy pulled on the reins. Japeth turned. Troy helped Ernie Tetweiller into the saddle behind him. Go ahead. But if you don’t get the okay, you better bring Pete home anyhow.
He spurred Japeth and trotted away. Hobbes and Boudreaux followed. Troy did not have to look to know the young guard had turned and sprinted back toward his comrades.
Boudreaux had an armory to inventory, so he took his leave. Troy dropped Tetweiller at his house to wait for Pete. Afterward, Hobbes rode home with him. They hitched their horses and went inside. McClure and Bandit waited in the den. The girl had helped herself to some tea and a bowl of water for the dog. Troy and Hobbes took off their hats and gun belts, hanging them on the rack near the window. McClure still wore hers.
Have I ever seen her without em? Not that I recall.
Troy nodded at the girl. How are you today?
Fair to middlin. You seen what’s goin on across the river?
Hobbes sat on the sofa. Troy joined him and said, What do you know?
It was full daylight, so I couldn’t get too close. They got every man, woman, and child just sittin in the streets, with the guards marchin up and down like the whole bunch might stand up at once and make a break for it.
Hobbes grunted. In this heat, they’re more likely to die.
Yep, said McClure. There’s somethin goin on down at the river too. I couldn’t get close enough to see. I’ll try again after dark.
If there’s time, Troy said. First, I need you to set up a meetin with Stransky.
For when?
Tomorrow night, or the day after. She says she’s got friends in Washington. I want to test that one more time, right now, before we go too far. If you can find out what they’re doin at the river, we can compare it to what she says.
She knows about Willa, Hobbes said. Might tell us the truth about this just because she knows we can double-check her.
As long as she’s alive, we’ll have to watch our backs. But if she’s stupid enough to lie, we can put her behind us for good. You took a bullet to get her outta the tower. If the time comes, you’ll be first in line to put one in her brain.
Hobbes said nothing. He looked troubled.
Could be he’s lost his taste for that kind of justice. And I can’t blame him, now that we’re on the other end of it. Or maybe it’s the whole shebang—Rook, Royster, the uncertainty. That last part should work itself out soon enough.
Troy planned to ask the envoys about the confrontation on the bridge, and that conversation would tell him much he needed to know.
McClure had already faded into the gathering shadows when Troy and Hobbes untied their horses and rode back toward the Temple.
May have to fracture somebody’s skull if they try to pull rank, Hobbes said as the church loomed ahead.
When they entered the building minutes later, the personnel milling about quieted and turned to watch them. He and Hobbes nodded at the staff and tipped their hats. Everyone looked pale and nervous. No eye contact. Shifting from foot to foot. Forced smiles on reddened faces.
Like horses just before a big storm hits, Hobbes muttered.
They climbed the back stairs and found Troy’s office door open. Royster sat behind the desk. Clemens and Benn had taken the straight-backs. Dwyer stood at ease behind the deputy envoys, while Jerold Babb flitted at Royster’s right hand. As Troy and Hobbes entered, Royster looked up and smiled. Troy and Hobbes positioned themselves to Clemens’s left, thumbs in their gun belts. Intensity boiled off the deputy envoy, despite his blank face.
He’s the most dangerous, Troy thought. Even if we killed every Crusader who outranked him, he’d hound us to the ends of the earth.
I’m happy you’re here, said Royster. I was going to send for you.
Glad we could spare you some trouble, Troy said. We need to talk about Ernie Tetweiller’s horse.
Royster chuckled and flapped his hand. The animal in question has been returned.
Troy gritted his teeth. He wanted to nail that flapping hand to the desk. That’s all well and good, as long as you understand that my people should be treated with respect.
As Babb’s face reddened and he began to sputter, Clemens snorted and stood. He tried to edge past Hobbes, who stood his ground. Over Hobbes’s shoulder, Clemens said, Are you giving orders to Matthew Rook’s envoy? Because if you are—
Oh, sit down, Aloysius, said Royster. This isn’t a schoolyard game of King of the Mountain.
Hobbes coughed and cleared his throat. Aloysius?
Clemens sat, his face red.
Royster sighed. I apologize for Mr. Clemens’s temper. It is, perhaps, his least admirable quality, though I have found it useful on occasion. I assume you meant no disrespect to us.
Troy looked him in the eye. None. I just want to make sure it goes both ways.
Gabriel, for heaven’s sake, Babb said.
Pipe down, Jerold. This ain’t your department.
Clemens sat stone-faced, staring straight ahead. Benn had regained his composure. Dwyer, monolithic, stood with his arms crossed. The Crusade’s rules of order dictated only Troy and Royster should speak, given their ranks. The others should have remained silent and still, like children in church, unless called on. Clemens had broken that rule and would probably pay for it somewhere down the line. Royster did not strike Troy as a man who would forgive any sin, even a political one. And if he decides to gut-shoot Clemens and dump him in the landfill, I bet folks will line up for the privilege of pullin that trigger.
Royster held his hands out, palms up. Respect earned is respect given, he said. I assure you both I and my men will treat you and yours as your position and service merit.
That’s good. For starters, you can leave our mounts alone.
New Orleans is full of horses. Why, we could slaughter half of them to feed our prisoners, and you’d still have more than enough.
Is that a threat? Troy studied Royster a moment. Folks earn their horses here. Takin em ain’t any way to repay loyalty.
Royster laughed and slapped the desk. Oh, Lord Troy, you look so serious. Such concern for beasts of burden. I’m afraid the best I can do is pl
edge to disrupt your people’s lives as little as possible. Though under the circumstances, little is a truly relative term.
A generous pledge, Babb said, giving Troy the stink eye.
Troy shrugged. A pledge was not a vow or a promise. Royster had chosen his words carefully so he could renege without sinning. Not a good sign, but exactly what Troy had come to expect. Now for the real test.
I reckon that’ll have to do for now. But since we’re talkin about my people and their lives, maybe you can tell me what’s goin on across the river. I hear you got the Troublers sittin in the streets. You plan to keep em there?
Royster’s smile faded. He sat back and folded his hands across his abdomen, looking from Troy to Hobbes. He even glanced at his deputies and Dwyer for a moment, a sure sign he expected trouble.
I should like very much to know the name of the person you talked with, he said.
Don’t recall, Troy said.
Babb clucked his tongue and wrung his hands as Royster frowned. My orders come from Matthew Rook himself, the envoy said. The Troublers will remain where they are until more troops arrive. At that time, we will begin sequestering the prisoners in existing edifices and erecting the prison walls.
Which edifices? And what happens when the Troublers start spillin into areas where my people live and work?
Now Royster’s expression hardened. When he spoke, his voice was toneless. We are in control of this situation. We will tell you what you need to know. Beyond that, you must have faith. Those without faith die a thousand deaths in times like these. Do we understand each other, Lord Troy?
The envoy never blinked, nor did he look away. Babb looked constipated. The deputies sat as still as stone.
Yeah, Troy said. We understand each other just fine.
McClure and Bandit waited in Troy’s living room again, the girl sitting on the couch with her boots on the coffee table. She was reading Troy’s copy of Jonas Strickland’s The Unbelievers. Troy had read it a dozen times. Strickland’s sharp suggestions for rooting out heathens had always inspired him, despite the near-extinction of humanity, which had seemed so remote and abstract. Whenever Troy executed Troublers, he drew comfort knowing he would never have to kill on that scale. He would never doom billions to death and hell. Still, what had Strickland felt before giving the order to Purge? Had he known faith could not exist without disbelief, life without death, salvation without damnation? Had he felt comfortable choosing who would see the new world and whose bones would bleach in the sun?
