Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

“Well, well!” The proprietress of the dance-house, Paula, was smoking on a stool in the shade, when we all made our way back inside. “Did you fall in?”

Duran, in front of me, beamed. “It was horrible! I won! It was great! I get to drink now!” He had tucked his gifts in safely underneath his blanket.

I grabbed his shoulder and ushered him around the lady. “We’ll try to dry off first.”

“Don’t rush on my account. Might as well get some excitement today.”

I took us to the kitchen to dry off, on account of the stone floor. We all crowded around the stove to shiver as a group, the belly of the fire low. I eyed the roasted birds as I did. Still two remaining, and it was nearly noon, with none prepared. It was slow, then.

“Oh, you’re back!” Viana pushed the door open with her hip, a tray half-full of empty mugs in one hand and a rag in another. “I thought we might have lost you for good!”

“Never!” Duran held a hand out. “I get to drink now!”

She lifted the tray. “Not before I’m done refilling these, you don’t!”

For all of her bullying, though, she made sure to fill a half-mug for him of the weakest blend we had before shoving back out into the main floor. I peeked out after her. Only a couple of tables full.

I sighed in relief. We had time.

My dreams of running my own place had dissolved as soon as I’d realized how much property actually cost. Still, it wasn’t so bad here. We were right near the edge of the Capital. It was night and day compared to the inn where I’d worked before. In an inn for pilgrims, you got a lot of guilty religious types. A few drinks and then they went to bed, thinking about all the truths they didn’t want Teuthida to discover.

The customers through the door weren’t guilty in the slightest. I spotted two councilmen (drunk, at noon on an ebbelsday) one merchant offering what looked like a book of fabric samples to the waitress, and a group of young women giggling in the corner. They were the ones that had ordered the mead. They had the look of money- lace edges on their clothing, the newest fashions. It smelled like a good tip. Even if we all had to tolerate the way they laughed at the lyrics to every song.

I let the door close and turned back to Duran and Apis. “Right. Everyone can feel their limbs again?” Duran nodded vehemently. I pointed to him. “Duran, you’re on break. Apis, did you want to supervise, or should I?”

Apis looked guilty. “I can supervise. If you wanted to cook tonight.”

We had half an hour before Viana was technically off-shift. I pushed my sleeves up. I might as well get a head-start now- she was a good waitress but an awful cook.

It was easy to get absorbed in the work, even with my fingers half-numb and the fire crackling behind me. Mixing up more cheese pies, starting a few pans on the fire for oat-cakes. It all became a pleasant routine, task after task. I glanced up when Viana finally pushed the door back open. I’d finished two sets of oatcakes.

“They’re all hungry suddenly,” she told me, leaning over the stove. “Could you-”

I flipped a cheese pie with one hand and slid more chicken onto a platter with another. “We need another chicken?”

“Maybe two. I don’t know what’s in the air, but we just got seven more customers. Seven! On an Ebbelsday! They should know not to take his death in vain!” She pushed her hair over her shoulder and took the new tray, refilling the mugs with mead.

“How’s Duran doing?”

I’d sent him out with Apis, fresh out of the river. I hadn’t expected the dance-house to actually fill up. Viana snorted. “He’ll be just fine. They think he’s cute.”

On that menacing note, she swanned back out. I turned back to the pies, watching them sizzle.

The night trickled by as most nights did. All I saw was the crackle of the fire in the potbellied stove, and the ceaseless offering of orders. Seven pickle platters, ten cheese pies. Extra mead, extra spicy chicken. Two dips, no sauce (whatever that meant!).

It all became a blur. I stopped for a minute and leaned against the other edge of the kitchen, wiping my forehead with a rag and taking a sip of the mead. That was one bonus of working with Apis; the drinks were always good.

Viana pushed the door open. I sighed. “If it’s more chicken, we’re out for tonight. Someone’s going to have to go to market tomorrow-”

“No,” she said. She was actually wringing her hands in her apron. “Someone’s asking for you. By name.”

My hand went to my spoon. “If this is another complaint about the pies, that’s just the way they’re made! They can go to the Beetle about it, for all I care!”

“No, it’s not-”

“Is it Duran?” I shouldn’t have left him with Apis.

“No. It’s-” she paused. “Could you just waitress for a little bit? You can go out and speak to him. I’ll handle it in here.” She moved up and refilled all the drinks on the tray, offering it to me. “Please?”

I glanced around the kitchen. There was nothing she could break too badly. “Fine,” I said, reluctant. “But if they say anything rude, I’ll use the spoon. I don’t care what the rules are about it.”

“I know,” she said. “But- please listen. Before you use the spoon.”

I took a deep breath. Then I lifted up the tray, and prepared to do my least-favorite job. Beyond the door, there was heat. There was light. Even worse, there were customers.

“One cheese pie and two pickled peppers, hot- extra toasted, please.”

I nodded and pretended to care. Extra-toasted was definitely what would happen, with Viana in the kitchen. She only noticed when something was burning.

“And-” The man leaned forward. Unlike everyone else in the dance hall, he was alone. He was also dressed very neatly, and had nothing to drink. “I’d like to hire you.”

I glared at him. “This isn’t that kind of place.” I pointed to the girl on stage. She was still fully dressed. “It’s far-western dance. With the hips. And the music. We aren’t part of that guild.” The proprietress actually had a few, more choice words about the guild (something about them being money-grubbing fools who didn’t respect an independent entrepreneur) but I didn’t need to go into that with him right now.

“No, no.” He waved his hands. “I mean as a paladin.” He blinked earnestly. “It’s important. Very important.”

Now, I consider myself to be a calm individual. Collected. Which is why I considered it for at least two seconds before hitting him over the head with my spoon.

“Out! Get out!”

It had been three months. Three months of bliss. I had escaped. I was free of the Capital. Of demands from Goddesses, Temples, and idiots like the man in front of me. I didn’t even recognize him. Had people been gossiping about me?

“Please!” He cowered behind upraised arms. “I’m only here to ask a favor! I really won’t hurt anyone!”

“Out!”

I raised my wooden spoon again, but paused. I could see Duran at the next table, seated next to Apis. He’d stopped mid-drink.

Maybe I wasn’t setting the best example. I lowered the spoon.

“If I order more pies, will you listen to me?”

“You’ll order four more,” I said, pushing the limit. Pies were one of our most expensive menu items. Labor-intensive. “And you’ll tip. At least half of the value.”

“I’ll tip double,” he said. “Please. Just listen to me.”

I hesitated. I glanced over to Duran and Apis. Apis had rather obviously scooted his chair closer so he could eavesdrop over the music.

If I got rid of this leech without listening to his offer, I’d never live it down. I pulled out a chair and sat across from him, putting the tray down. “You have a few minutes. Go.”

“It’s about the Voice of Teuthida,” he said. “She’s gone missing. She-”

“No.”

“But- she demanded everyone see her. She was claiming she would show us the error of her ways! Another takeover of the spire! And then- well, she disappeared.”

“Sounds like it’s dealt with, then.” I took a sip of one of the glasses of mead on the tray. “Why do you need me?”

“She was saying she would work in the shadows! Bring power that hadn’t been seen in generations! That’s the kind of thing you need a paladin for!”

I squinted over at him. “Who are you, exactly?”

He drew himself up, insulted. He was definitely someone unimportant, I decided. He held himself that way. A little twiggy mustache he couldn’t quite grow, clothes that didn’t fit him quite right. A nervous way of holding himself.

“My name is Lepidus,” he said. “Secretary of the Voice of The Beetle, and while he may not be worried about this, I am-”

“That’s it,” I said. “No. Absolutely not. I divorced him for a reason.”

“You won’t even consider it? Not even for a good wage? Accolades?”

“No! I’m not going back to the Capital. Not for anyone, and especially not for him.” I shoved back from the table. “Four pies, coming right up.”

Lepidus stood up too. “But- but the entire Spire could collapse. This could be the end of civilization as we know it!”

“Too bad,” I said. “I’m done being a paladin.” I’d hidden my sword under hay. Gone back to what I knew. If they wanted to save the world, they could do it without me. “Besides, I’m banned from the Capital.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Duran slouch in disappointment. “Now, sit back down,” I told Lepidus. “Your pies are waiting for you.”