We get Moorcock's perfect Order: a flat and featureless plane. In which there is no order, because there is nothing to be ordered.
Or a Lady Order who insists on keeping her (temporal) garden exactly the same, and telling the same stories every day, and eating the same food, and basically duplicating every day in a futile attempt to emulate Eternity in Time. That's not order, but disorder. It is the nature of time to flow and to change. Trying to force it into stasis is as disorderly as a topsy-turvey land where they ride foxes and have geese pull plows and the goldfish go flying through the air -- just because everything is following a rule doesn't mean that you've produced order.
Any day one can read of people describe "disorder" in a region when it is following a rigid and small set of rules, of which "might makes right" is always the first, but it is still disorder, because it tramples over the nature of those in its way.