Lord of Order

by Brett Riley

  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 accept.

  Sarah raised one eyebrow. Stransky agreed to that?

  A man can hope. We plan to offer her and her people equal seats to even out the numbers. But we need a swing vote. Somebody we can trust, somebody who loves this city and all its people, who’ll always do what’s best for everybody. We need you.

  Sarah sighed. For a moment, she looked up at the cross. Then she shook her head. I got too much to do already.

  You wouldn’t have to give it up. You’d be addin to your ministry’s influence.

  I ain’t no politician.

  Me neither. But somebody’s gotta lead.

  It don’t gotta be me.

  You’re the only person me and Stransky will ever agree on. Please, Sarah.

  She rubbed her temples. A bit of hair slipped out from under her habit, as Jewel’s had done. It looked auburn, but that might have been a trick of the light.

  If Stransky agrees, I’ll do it until it interferes with my work here, she said. Then I’ll resign.

  Troy nodded. Thank you.

  You said it’s officially you and the others. What does that mean?

  He picked at a scab on the back of his hand. It was hard to look at her and say these things.

  You’re right about how we can’t beat the whole Crusade, he said. But we can cut off its head.

  Her jaw tensed. You’re goin after Rook.

  Troy looked her in the eye. She deserved that much, and more. Yeah. Him and his whole inner circle.

  She shook her head. More violence. More death.

  I don’t want it. But it’s them or the world.

  Maybe somebody worse would take their places.

  Who could be worse? They wanna kill nearly everybody on the planet. Again.

  She laughed bitterly. So Gabriel Troy’s gotta stop em because nobody else is up to the task. What did I say about pride?

  I don’t think I’m the only one who could. But nobody else is.

  Her grip tightened. Nails bit into his flesh near the scab he had picked. Or maybe you’re lookin for a reason to keep doin what you’ve always done. Ride. Shoot. Kill.

  That ain’t fair.

  Are you sure?

  Look. We’ve talked about it at length.

  Well, now I feel better.

  We’re gonna go to Washington and find somebody in authority, somebody who’s as horrified as we are. There has to be one. And then we’ll kill everybody that outranks him. Or her.

  Sister Sarah turned away. Her free hand gripped the crucifix dangling on its leather lanyard. You want to stop mass murder by committin the same sin on a smaller scale.

  He let go of her hand and took her face in both of his, turning her head, gently, gently, until he could look into her eyes again. I’m tellin you I don’t want this. I’m sick of death. But they ain’t gonna stop unless somebody makes em. And me—well, I’ve got too much blood on my soul already. Better me than some kid who’s still got a chance to see heaven.

  Hundreds of miles between here and there, she said. All of em filled with Crusaders who want your head. You’ll die before you reach the capital.

  I reckon so. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. She pulled away. He reached out, tentative, as if trying to grasp a butterfly. He laid his hand on her shoulder, just enough to feel her flesh and bone underneath the habit, the heat of pumping blood, intake of breath. Life. I have to say it. When he spoke again, his voice quivered.

  Sarah. I meant what I just said. But if somebody I cared about—somebody I loved—was to ask me, I’d stay.

  For a moment, she said nothing. When she turned back to him, tears stained her habit even darker. She stroked his cheek, her fingers wisping through his four days’ beard. Sometimes, she said, I wish for you more than anything. Mother of God, forgive me. But I can’t abandon my vows to satisfy my own traitor heart. My duty is—I—I just can’t.

  She stood and scurried across the room, her garments swishing like quick, excited breaths. A sound lovers might make as they touched. She put her hand on the doorknob and paused.

  Sarah, Troy said. I—

  My prayers ride with you. Be well.

  Then she was gone.

  Troy settled back against the pew. The back door was closed against him, just as it had always been and always would be. He stood.

  Goodbye, he whispered.

  Then he turned on his heel and limped out. The votives flickered in the breeze of his passing.

  Before Dwyer and Royster came to town, Camp Street had mostly belonged to the sisters, who traversed the sidewalks, market bundles in hand, or rode one of the two horses they stabled nearby. Only the oldest hardliners had ever complained. Troy had always told himself he protected the sisters in the name of Christian mercy, but he had done it mostly for Sarah. He could admit that now. He would not meet God still lying to himself.

  With Japeth hitched nearby and munching oats from his feedbag, Troy sat on the sisters’ front steps and noted the changes Royster’s coming had wrought. The Temple’s officers would have their hands full for months—filling residential requests, expanding crops, integrating Troublers into the trades, making sure everyone had enough food and clothing and water and shelter and peace. In anticipation, people wandered Camp in droves, sizing up empty buildings. Easily a hundred and likely twice that number, walking to and fro, talking and laughing, all ex-Troublers. Not so long ago, Troy would have killed them all or died trying. Now they nodded to him as they passed, and he nodded back. They shared the city. He could only pray it lasted.

  Stransky and Hobbes rode up in a mule-drawn wagon and stopped next to the curb in front of Troy. Boudreaux sat in the back, bound with rope, his leg wound bandaged. As far as Troy knew, he had not looked anyone in the face since they pulled him off the wall. Not when they visited him in the Temple’s jailhouse infirmary, not when they tried to explain how everyone understood what he had done, not when they told him they believed God would understand too. Boudreaux had offered no explanations or insights. He had stared at the walls, the floors, the barred windows of the cell where they protected him against himself. But the prison was no place for a man like him. If he sought death, he would find a way, and if he wanted to live, he could not do it in lockup.

  Stransky and Hobbes climbed into the back of the wagon and helped Boudreaux up and out. Troy went to him and put one hand on his shoulder.

  Gordy, Troy said. Look at me. Troy patted Boudreaux’s cheek and nudged his head upward. The deputy’s eyes were haunted and bloodshot. Listen, said Troy. There’s somethin I gotta do outside the city. I’ll be gone a while. Maybe forever, because it’s dangerous. I need somebody I trust to watch over the city.

  Boudreaux looked away again. Task Jack. Leave me be.

  Jack’s comin with me. So are the others. I need you.

  Nobody needs me.

  Again, Troy took Boudreaux’s face i
n his hands and made the young man look at him. You’re wrong. Everybody needs you. Especially me. I can’t do what needs doin knowin Sarah’s in peril. I need a good man to keep her safe.

  I ain’t a good man.

  Only a good man could go through what you did and still come down on the side of what’s right. I don’t know a better man than you.

  Boudreaux’s face was a study in despair, painted in darkened hues of blood and anguish. God won’t never forgive me for what I did.

  God will forgive anything if you ask Him. Have you?

  I ain’t got no right to speak to Him.

  Everybody’s got that right. And you won’t find a better place to call on Him than here. Take care of this place, Gordy. Take care of her. Please. I’ll beg you if I gotta.

  Boudreaux looked at Troy a moment longer. The deputy trembled, as if the war inside him might spill out and leave a heap of muscle and sinew torn asunder. Then he sighed, as if breathing exhausted him. I reckon so, he said.

  Troy patted his shoulder. Thank you, my good friend. Jack, let’s get rid of these ropes.

  Hobbes pulled out his hunting knife. A moment later, the bonds lay about Boudreaux’s feet. Troy stuck out his hand. Boudreaux shook it. Troy embraced him.

  When Troy let go, Hobbes shouldered his way in and hugged Boudreaux, who grunted. Missed you, son, Hobbes said, grinning. Let’s get you inside. Comin, boss?

  No, said Troy. There’s some things I can’t do twice.

  Hobbes nodded. Then he put his hand on the small of Boudreaux’s back and guided the younger man toward the doors.

  Troy turned to Stransky. Now. Let’s talk about what comes next.

  Corpse-disposal crews had been working day and night since the battle, sometimes hampered by angry citizens wanting to hang dead Crusaders from lampposts or dump them in the river. New Orleanians who had stayed loyal to the Crusade, or who could not abide seeing so many of God’s temples desecrated, confronted those crowds. Only Troy and Stransky’s unity staved off violence. Many had been disappointed to hear Royster’s troops would receive a proper Christian burial outside the city, only consoling themselves with knowing that the Crusaders would fertilize the land with their own decay. Others, reticent to repudiate long-held beliefs, grumbled that Troy had overstepped by taking arms against God’s chosen. Crusader and Troubler clashed with words, deeds, and, on a few small-scale occasions, fists. Seems like the savagery we found inside ourselves won’t go back in, Troy thought as he and Stransky passed a crew stacking flyblown bodies into a wagon. The detail wore bandanas over their noses. We’ve gotta find a way, though. The Bible says there’s a time to kill and a time to heal. There’s nobody left to hurt but each other, and we’ve done enough of that.

  The lord of order’s office had been stripped clean of Royster’s belongings. Now Troy sat at his old desk and looked at Stransky across its bare, distressed surface. She grinned. The last time she had sat in that chair, she had been in chains.

  We need to fortify the waterways, she said. They’re the Cult’s best chance to get inside. Raise the levee walls, buttress the river positions, map Royster’s mines.

  Troy sighed. I wish you wouldn’t call it a cult. It’s still my religion.

  Her smile disappeared. I ain’t talkin about your beliefs. I’m talkin about the organization. A Crusader might be good, but the Crusade has been rotten from the start.

  I can’t defend the Purge or what Rook tried to do here, but the Crusade did good too. It brought peace. It didn’t care about who you were or where you came from or what you looked like, as long as you loved God.

  You mean, as long as you loved Jonas Strickland.

  I’m sittin here with you. Don’t that show what I really mean?

  Maybe.

  You’ve blamed us for everything bad that’s ever happened and ignored the good. We did the same to you. I bet that’s how it’s always been. Just folks tryin to get by and rammin up against each other like two addled horses. But now we know each other.

  She watched him, her eyes sparkling with cunning. But any system built on genocide needs killin. You know that, or you wouldn’t be plannin what you’re plannin. The question is how far you’re willin to go.

  Troy laughed, humorless and flat. You want me to wipe out every Crusader because one leader lost his way. How is that different from genocide?

  It’s self-defense.

  How do you figure?

  The Crusade’s way has always been kill anybody that don’t think like us.

  You’re sayin that to me when we just left the sisters’?

  I am. You ain’t in love with nobody from my bayou.

  We just fought beside you. You’re sharin the city and the leadership. I’m goin to Washington to kill Rook. What else do you want from me?

  To know you’re all in. That you’ll walk over anybody who gets in our way. That you ain’t gonna balk when Rook’s in your sights.

  I didn’t balk with Royster.

  No. But Rook’s bigger than that. He’s more important and less personal.

  When we march on Washington, we’ll kill Rook and his inner circle. Their families and friends. Their lieutenants. Their generals. The whole leadership. Even their pets. Ain’t that enough?

  She sat back and pondered a moment. Then she shrugged. I reckon we’ll see.

  Troy tapped his fingers on the desk. Stransky would never change. As long as she lived, she would poke and prod him. Well, he said, before we can worry about Washington, we gotta figure out how to keep this city from eatin itself when we’re gone.

  Her long hair hung in her face. She peeked at him from behind its curtain. For starters, no second-class citizens.

  Nobody’s gonna be persecuted for worshippin God their own way. Your people will get the same courtesy mine do, and Sarah’s.

  We’re all one people now.

  Exactly. Nobody’s knifin each other. Everybody’s eatin. Everybody’s workin.

  She nodded at his guns. What about weapons?

  We keep em in the armories until they’re needed.

  But who decides when to distribute and how?

  The council.

  Stransky looked at him for a long time. He looked back at her, holding her gaze, neither of them blinking. Finally she nodded. I can live with that. Though I can imagine there’ll be times when folks ain’t got time to wait on a vote if what they need is a gun.

  He got up and poured them glasses of ice water. She drank half of hers. He sat back down. I’d like to name you a deputy lord, just like Jack and Gordy. All of us accountable to the new council.

  Stransky burst out laughing. I ain’t no deputy.

  It’s just symbolic. Shows we’re together. Besides, I won’t even be here. It’s likely I’ll never come back.

  For my people, it’ll be symbolic I’ve rolled over. That’s just touchin a match to a fuse.

  Troy folded his hands and thought a while. He had not wanted to say what would come next. It tasted like dirt in his mouth. But New Orleans needed it.

  All right, he said. Co-lord.

  Stransky laughed again. Well, if this don’t beat all.

  This way everybody will know you’ll never stop talkin in my blasted ear. No one person with too much power.

  She shook her head, grinning. Never would have guessed this day would come in a million years.

  Me neither.

  All right. We got a bare-bones idea of what to do with New Orleans. Now all we gotta do is save the rest of the world.

  Troy sipped his water. It soothed his raw throat. He leaned over and took her hand. She almost jerked away but did not.

  I aim to take Jack, Ernie, Santonio, and LaShanda with me, he said. We’re already pickin proxies for our duties and the council. They’ll raise the crops and work the forges and keep the peace until we get back.


  Who’s got your proxy?

  Mordecai Jones.

  And what about my folks?

  We’ll divvy up duties. Water, security, sanitation, housin, a hundred other things. You’ll get equal representation on the council. As for you, I could use you on the road. I’ve studied the maps and picked a route, but your contacts would make us twice as likely to get there alive. Maybe even get back. Or you could keep your seat on the council and be co-lord with Mordecai. Your choice.

  She got up and walked to the stained-glass window and leaned her forehead against it. Troy followed and stood beside her.

  I ain’t never known nothin but New Orleans, she said. But I don’t let others fight my battles. I’ll come.

  Will your proxy work with Mordecai and treat my people right?

  He will, or I’ll cut his throat myself. She had never looked so serious, not even when torturing that guard in the swamp. Nobody ever had the balls to take out the Supreme Crusader, she said. Maybe we’re just throwin rocks at the moon, but if you’re gonna try, I’ve gotta be part of it.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. I’m glad you’re ready for some We who are about to die moves after all. You and me, we’ve got a lot to make up for.

  Think we can pull it off?

  He looked at her for a moment. Then he shrugged. I don’t have the slightest idea.

  She laughed. It’s crazy. Probably stupid. I love it.

  This time Troy laughed with her. They stood in silence for a while, watching night take the river, the courtyard and statue, the street where Crusaders and Troublers alike whooped and ran like children playing games in the sunniest, most peaceful meadow God had ever grown.

  56

  When Stransky reached Jesus’s statue, the crews were lighting the streetlamps. Ex-Troublers and ex-Crusaders danced and sang songs sacred and bawdy. The evening was filled with the scents of roasting meats and vegetables, spices, wood smoke. Despite the scattered squabbles, the city was mostly at peace.