Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

The Spire was closed for contemplation. Everyone knew that.

Of course, even contemplation required fuel. Lucilla pulled her hood up higher as she strode through the streets, clutching her basket tighter to her chest. As time had gone on, and the riots had gotten worse, their restaurant had been forced to move from hot prepared meals to cold ones. It made her feel ashamed of her good name. She had built this business from the ground up. From the very start, her family recipes had brought joy to people’s faces. The freshest ingredients. Filling people’s bellies, from the lowest dock worker to the very Voices that ran the city. To feed them cold bread and meat?

Still. They were still fed, and Lucilla was the one to do it. Surely that had to be enough. Behind her, her hired guard- Tullius, although he refused to let her use his familiar name- stepped closer. “You should have allowed us to hire a coach,” he said. “This is madness.”

“I don’t make the money to use a coach! What do you think I’m made of, gold?” She hissed back. “No one cares about me! I’m just the bread girl!”

“They don’t care about you, but this city is falling apart!” He turned and hit someone soundly over the head. She closed her eyes as they thumped to the ground.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said. “What if you spoke to them. Told them we were on their side!”

“Which side is that? They’re just here to destroy things!”

Admittedly, he was right. There was a significant portion of the Capital that viewed rioting as part of the natural cycle of life. Lucilla sighed. “All they want to know is that you aren’t going to hurt them. Which isn’t going to make a difference if you keep actually hurting people!”

“You’re the one that hired me.”

“You’re just supposed to keep the food from being damaged!” Lucilla held the basket up to her chest and turned away, sniffing. “I think you were a waste of money, anyway. It’s not as if anyone’s ever tried to attack me.”

She’d only hired a guard because her mother had started to panic after all of that nastiness around Andrena’s temple. She lived near the Temple of Cabellus, and it was a rather long walk all the way to the Spire. Still, Lucilla knew her mother didn’t really understand. Even when people were rioting, they didn’t want to hurt each other. They wanted to break a few windows, clash swords with the guards. Attack the bread girl? As if.

“Anyway,” she said, “The last payment will be done tomorrow, so you can consider yourself finished today. You can take that last day as a bonus. Since you’ve done nothing.”

Tullius didn’t respond. Sulking, of course. She kept her head high, eyes watering in the smoke. Awful, all of it. What was on fire now? They had been lighting effigies of the lawmen on fire for days now, but it usually didn’t generate this much smoke. Someone ought to call the fire brigade.

She stomped further. Someone lunged forward, grabbed for the bread. Lucilla stepped back, nearly tripping. She turned. “Well!” She said. “I know I said I’m not hiring you for today, but-”

She frowned. “Tullius?”

Behind her, where Tullius should have been standing, there was only a crumpled body. She froze. “….Tullius?”

“Tullius is taking a nice long nap,” said an old man. He held up an axe. It was shining. “Now, put the basket down and come with us. You’re going to get a break today.”

Lucilla looked over her shoulder. A woman smiled at her. She was short. But her eyes were full of vigor. She held up a sword. “No running,” she said. “Don’t you know that’s rude?”

They led Lucilla to an alleyway just beyond the spire. Lucilla curled up, cradling her basket, as they held up her cloak and inspected it, conversing in low tones about whether it would fit.

“It won’t fit either of you,” she said, spiteful. “It’s too big for the woman and it’s too short for you, old man.”

“My name’s Amatus,” said the man. He spit on the ground.

“Don’t tell people your name! We’re committing crimes!”

“Could be a fake name.”

“Obviously it’s not,” said Lucilla. “She’s just gotten angry about it.”

“Yeah, Prisca,” said Amatus. “Your fault.”

“Ugh, you’ve just done it again!”

“Well, consider me sorry. Not much secrecy when I did pirating. Either we killed people or we didn’t.”

Lucilla shrank back and stared down the alleyway. Could she run for it?

A shape moved through the smoke. Her heart jumped. Could it be?

“How long’s she going to keep us waiting?” said Amatus. “It’s only some food.”

“This is what we get for relying on an unknown. I still think we ought to have used the trebuchet.”

“A woman after my own heart. Why’d you have to start that festival fire, though?”

“That was an accident! How many times do I have to say it? Are we meant to control the wind?”

The shape moved again. It was waving. Lucilla pushed herself up on an elbow, putting her basket down slowly. Tullius.

She glanced towards her captors. They were arguing more, now.

“Basic planning!” Said Amatus. “You’re starting fires, pay attention to the wind direction! You’re a leader! You should have led! In my day, you never would have gotten away with that basic of a mistake!” He shook his head. “Shame, too. I liked that festival. The meat sticks were delicious.”

“The wind changed! When we started the burn, it wasn’t- oh, how am I meant to expect you to understand! You never even led! Marcia told me the truth, you know. You weren’t ever a captain. You weren’t even a fighter. You were the surgeon!”

“That shows how little you know about pirating.”

Lucilla stood up slowly as Amatus spat on the ground again, her cloak flapping in his outstretched hands. “Surgeon’s the most important job, girlie,” he said. “I’m the one that decided how many limbs everyone got to keep. When they started losing teeth, I was the one that used the pliers. That’s more than being captain. That’s being judge, jury, and executioner.”

“So you admit you didn’t pay attention to wind direction!”

“On a ship, everyone watches the sails!”

Yes. They were completely distracted. Lucilla gave one last glance to her basket, full of perfectly prepared bread and sliced ham, and took a deep breath. Then she started sprinting.

She was halfway down the alley when she started hearing shouts. Then she was in reach of Tullius. He had blood streaked down his face, an arm outstretched. He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her into the mass of the riot.

“Head down!” He said. “Don’t let them see where we’re going!”

“I thought you were dead!”

“I wasn’t even knocked out! I was just pretending!”

It was dreadfully loud. She could feel the heat radiating off of the festival grounds, burning slowly to ash. People were jostling them in every direction. They were well lost in the crowd before she finally managed to figure out her next question.

“Why do you think they attacked me?”

Tullius scratched at the dried blood on his cheek. “I told you,” he said. “Everyone here just wants to see the city burn.”

Lucilla frowned over the crowd. It didn’t feel right. The strength of the attack, the level of planning. She didn’t know why they had chosen her, but she didn’t think it was random.

They had a goal in mind.

She just hoped she would get her basket back.