Lord of Order, Brett Riley [e ink manga reader .TXT] 📗

be Troy’s next stop. If one of the dynamite huts ever exploded, the nearest weapons would hopefully survive, though no one alive had ever seen such a conflagration. Troy hoped Long’s people had rotated out the older sticks recently. He had no desire to spend any time amid the nitroglycerin sweat of old dynamite.

Troy pulled out his pen and set the inkpot on a shelf full of pipe bombs. He straightened the sheaf of papers on a box top and tied his bandana around his nose and mouth. Then he started counting.

Tetweiller had drawn the hunter-green curtains he had chosen years ago, now thin enough to let in the light even when closed. He sat in his favorite chair, an oak straight-back with a soft cushion for his lower back, its arms covered in half-finished doodles he had carved with his pocketknives over the years as he pondered life’s mysteries and frustrations. Tetweiller sipped from a glass of whiskey. LaShanda Long and Santonio Ford sat across from him on his couch’s threadbare, forest-green down cushions. Ford was dressed in his usual deerskins, his dreadlocks hanging past his shoulders. Long wore a sundress, likely because of the heat, though in her forges, she wore skins or heavy cloth to protect her from sparks. Her hair fell to the middle of her back. When Tetweiller was lord and had access to the forbidden histories, he had read that before the Purge, two dark-skinned people sitting in an old white man’s parlor would have been controversial, even unthinkable. I ain’t never understood that shit. Might as well shut out all the folks with blue eyes or red hair. Long’s the best weaponsmith I’ve ever known, and Ford’s the best hunter. Great fighters too. Always liked em. Hope we don’t gotta kill each other.

Long drank from the glass of ice water she had requested, her face blank. She had always been nearly impossible to read, even for an old law like Tetweiller.

Their glasses clinked on wood as they set them down, picked them up, set them down. No one, it seemed, wanted to start. Something in the kitchen creaked—old wood reshaping itself in the muggy Louisiana temperatures. Behind Long and Ford stood the entrance to the darkened hallway, which led back to the bedrooms and bathroom. It reminded the old man of his afternoon nap, which he was currently missing. Despite his bunched muscles, tensed against the potential confrontation, Tetweiller yawned.

Hands on his knees, Ford watched Tetweiller as if the old man were a buck slipping through the dawn forests. It’s too hot to sit inside like this, he said. Why are we here?

Tetweiller sipped more whiskey. His mouth tingled; his throat burned. Gabe showed me them orders the herald brought. Washington’s gonna wall off New Orleans and make it a prison.

What? said Long. She set her glass on the side table and narrowed her eyes.

You heard me, Tetweiller said. Ford and Long looked at each other, then back at him. Both seemed to be waiting for him to go on.

Fuck it, Tetweiller thought. Time to find out which side of the bed they sleep on. If it’s Dwyer’s, maybe I can get one of em before they reach the door. The other one will get me, most likely. But I’ve fought beside em ever since they came of age. I owe em the first move.

We’ve also heard Rook’s plannin a new Purge. If that’s true, the prison’s just an excuse to get all the Troublers in one place. Our people will be here too. They ain’t relocatin us.

Ford had leaned forward as Tetweiller talked. Now he fell back against the couch, eyes wide. Long looked stunned.

That’s insane, she said.

I know it, Tetweiller said. But Stransky swears it’s true.

Stransky? I trust her about as far as I can throw the Temple.

Me too. But she knew about Dwyer and what his orders would say. As for the Purge, they wouldn’t write that kind of thing down and entrust it to one man. Not even that oak tree with arms.

Long shook her head. If this came from Willa McClure, I might believe it. But Stransky—

Stransky’s crazier than a shithouse rat, Tetweiller said. But Gabe and me believe her. She says the prisoners and their guards are marchin on us now, and Rook’s sendin envoys to take charge of New Orleans.

Ford stood and paced. Take charge. Like we ain’t competent. Or don’t they trust us?

Long studied Tetweiller. That ain’t why we’re here, Santonio. Ernie don’t plan to go along.

Ford stopped pacing and goggled at the old man.

Look, said Tetweiller, ain’t nobody sayin we should mount up and ambush the envoys. We’re just sayin it’s best to consider all our options. We might could live with seein our town ruined. But what if Washington plans to take the citizens with it? Do we let that happen?

We could get thrown in the towers just for talkin about this, Ford said.

The towers don’t scare me, Tetweiller said. Not when you stack em against smashin our town and maybe slaughterin our people. This whole damn place will be one big tower, and we’re all gonna be stuck in it for the rest of our short-ass lives.

He told them of how Rook had named Troy the warden, that Troy intended to show them the letter so they could see for themselves. As he spoke, the defiance and most of the disbelief drained from their faces.

Lord above, Ford said.

Here’s the best-case scenario, Tetweiller said. Stransky’s wrong about the Purge. You keep your positions. But we’ll still be neck-deep in Troublers, and the main job’s gonna be to make sure they don’t escape. We’ll swim in blood every day. Worst case? That fuckin harpy is right, and we’re all on Rook’s list. Me, I can’t abide any of it.

It’s insane, Long said again, her brow furrowed. We’re faithful.

Tetweiller set the whiskey flask on his side table. He got up and poured himself a glass of water and sat again, sipping it. It