Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

The rush of water. The crushing heat. Duran struggled up as the oar pressed against his legs, dragging him down. The clothes clung to him like hundreds of grasping hands, pulling him back as he desperately tried to swim to the surface. He opened his mouth, desperate for air, but all that rushed in was burning, bitter soap.

The world was quiet, so quiet, under the surface. His lungs ached. His world had narrowed to a single, panicked point.

The oar came down again, stirring the pot of laundry. Duran grabbed for it. His hands slipped, once, twice, but desperate, he gripped it with his full body.

He emerged into the steam of the surface gasping like a beached fish. He spat out a gout of water, coughing, as a Laundress leaned down and shoved at his shoulder. “You’re slowing down the mix! Get off!”

“Please!” He coughed again.

It hadn’t seemed like such a dangerous thing, leaning over to see what was in the pot. He had been fascinated by all of the colors. They were all gray, gray, gray- cloaks of the same color- but he’d seen something different.

A spot of white. Had he managed to grab it?

He coughed out another fountain of water as the Laundress scolded him. He ignored her- it was one of his main talents, ignoring people- and checked his pockets. There, stuffed into the left pocket of his tunic. He shoved the white fabric deeper inside as someone grabbed him by the back of the collar and threw him onto the tile.

“Don’t come back!”

Duran rolled until he was lying on his back, coughing again. The gears on the ceiling had started rotating again. “What’s in that pot?”

She leaned over, frowning. “You hit your head or something? Leave! Your mistress is already gone.”

Duran vaguely recognized that as a bad sign, but Madam Elysia walked slow and was really loud. He could just follow the yelling. “Please?” That usually worked. He tried to give his best pitiful expression. It ended up just making him cough more.

“It’s washing for the Letterboys,” said the Laundress. “Important guild business. Which is why boys like you shouldn’t be interfering.” She pulled him up by the front of his tunic this time and sent him spinning towards the door. Before he’d realized what was happening, the door was closed behind him and he was shivering in the night, steam billowing around him.

He spat out another mouthful of water and felt for the sword at his hip, sighing in relief when it was still there.

He had the white fabric in his pocket, too. That was two wins for Duran! He grinned, running to catch up with Madam Elysia. Before he could speak, she was already patting him down. She forced his mouth open to check for soap- as if it wasn’t clean already! And demanded to know why he’d gone into the vat!

She didn’t even ask what he’d found. Before he could tell her, she’d started talking to Apis again. Duran tried to tell her she was missing a big clue- or, well, she probably was, he hadn’t looked at the fabric yet- but they were ignoring him entirely.

He scowled and kicked at a rock as they walked, trying to make it roll. Typical. It was just like the bard had said. A hero wasn’t recognized until the true moment of darkness, when no one else could accomplish the task. Madam Elysia probably couldn’t have done that well in the vat, that was for sure.

When she told him to go inside, he didn’t protest. He would set the clue up to dry, and when she came in, she’d be so surprised that she’d have to recognize his greatness. He could already picture it; the door opening, the gasp. She might even say “good job, Duran.” Or he might get a second sword. Or a chef’s knife.

It was with these visions of weaponry in his head that he shoved open the door, said hello to the bees, and pulled the crumpled white cloth out of his pocket. As he shook it out, he realized with shock that he had done it again. He was a hero!

“Ah-hah!” There were two pieces of cloth- gloves! They were still a little grimy on the ends, as if someone had been grubbing in the dirt. Or as if someone had done crime with them!

“I’m going to solve the case,” he told the bees. They buzzed. “Then, I’m going to stab everyone. Bam! Bam! Bam!”

The bees didn’t have much comment on this. Duran considered trying to get some honey, but gave the hive a wide berth instead. He shook out both gloves and held them out towards the fire.

One started smoking.

He pulled it back, frowning. That wasn’t right. He held the glove close to his face, frowning. What kind of fabric set on fire this far from a flame? It looked…

Duran didn’t know anything about fabric, really. It wasn’t leather. It wasn’t like his tunic. He sniffed it. It smelled like oil and dirt and that soap that had been in his mouth. After some thought, he licked it.

Yes. It had definitely been in the vat. It tasted just like the soap in there.

He held the other glove towards the fire. It started smoking, too. After a few more moments, it caught aflame entirely. He shouted in horror and dropped it, stomping it out. He dragged it back and inspected it.

Was it the liquid from the Laundresses? Were they secretly making everything flammable?

He had to test it. He pulled off his tunic and held it towards the fire. When it did nothing, other than faintly steam, he held it closer. Then closer. Then-

Even when it was almost touching the flames, it only steamed! He let out a noise of frustration. What were those gloves! They were ruining his perfect plan. Now Madam Elysia would find damp gloves, which wouldn’t be impressive at all.

He paused, hunched over the damp gloves, and looked over his shoulder. Where was Madam Elysia?

Duran had a finely-tuned internal clock. He could have used this for good- to wake up on time, or to make sure the bread was always perfectly cooked. Instead, he always knew when an Adult would be most likely to come check on him. As such, all of his internal alarms and then some were going off at the moment. He hadn’t seen an authority in a long time. Too long.

He left the gloves where they were, crumpled on the floor, and crossed to the window. He peered out.

The street was empty. Only a stray cat wandered, and even the cat seemed a little disgusted by the situation. It poked at a discarded set of fish bones, then spat them out.

Duran turned to the bees. “Did she mention anything to you?”

A bee drifted out lazily, then came to rest in the wilting set of squash blossoms left out for them. Duran bit at his lip. Had he been…

Left in charge?

Surely not. He must have simply been forgotten. Any moment now, Madam Elysia would be coming back for him.

He peered back out the window. It was looking very… empty. He swallowed. What if the adventure happened, and he wasn’t there?

It was just like the Bard had said. An adventure does not wait. One must find it!

Duran was that one. And he would find it!

First, though, he would be Responsible. He glanced around the rooms. If he was meant to be in charge, maybe Apis had wanted him to watch the bees? He bit at his lip. What would that entail? He knew Apis did something, but he had never paid attention before.

Maybe they needed to be able to go in and out. As he looked around, it was awfully cramped. Nodding decisively, he went over and pushed open a window. Not large enough for a person to come in, but definitely large enough for a bee to go in and out.

“There,” he said. “Have fun!”

The bees didn’t look very excited, but that was fine. Duran could be excited for everyone involved. He swiped a little more water off of his shoulders, went to grab the key from underneath a plant pot so he could lock the door again, and tried to hold back his smile. He was doing it! He was going on a real adventure!

Once he was outside, the door closed behind him, the panic set in again. It was all well and good to find an adventure, but he’d never found one before. He scratched at his chin, making sure to avoid where his one beard hair was growing in. Where would an adventure be? Did they have a natural habitat? He had gone hunting with his father once, but mostly it had just involved drinking and looking at trees. Did you have to use a mating call for an adventure?

“You, there! Boy!”

He paused, looked around wildly. There was no one there. Was this it? His adventure?

“Below the stairs!”

He kneeled and looked down. Sure enough, the scary lady from yesterday was peering out a window. “You’re looking for your Mistress?”

He nodded. Maybe if he was quiet, she would go away.

“She said something about the law,” said the woman. “She and Apis were talking so loudly I’m surprised they didn’t wake up the whole neighborhood. I’d bet they went to the Southern District. You’re staying with him, then?”

Duran tried to remember what they were supposed to say, got tripped up on what he wasn’t supposed to say because of the eviction, and ended up saying, “Bees.”

“Hmm,” said the woman. She leaned back. “Go South, tell that woman I want her out! And stop dripping on my stairs!”

The shutters slammed shut.

Duran straightened up, took the stairs two at a time, and grinned towards the Southern District. This was it! His Adventure. Just a boy and a sword, ready to save Andrena from the evil forces of… well, it didn’t matter.

The shutters shoved open again. “Kid!”

He turned, hand on his sword. “Yes?”

“That’s west,” said the landlady. “Turn left. No, your other left. Yes, that way. Now-” she sighed. “Just follow that road, take a right, take a left again, and keep going. Then tell your Mistress to get out. All right?”

Duran turned to actually face the South and smiled. He could do this. His Adventure!