Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

I adjusted the cloak, pulling it up over my face. The smell of the chicken wafted up from the basket. The fresh rosemary, the lemon. It mixed with the warmth of the fresh flatbread. Duran chewed on the ham and bread we’d taken from the pile already in the basket.

“We couldn’t have used the food she already had?”

His voice was muffled from the bread he was chewing. I sighed. The smell of smoke was mixing with the meal I’d concocted, creating a noxious flavor. “We’re trying to cheat our way in. If they’re distracted by the food, they might ignore you. Not to mention…”

“Not to mention what?” he swallowed.

I held out a hand. “Wait. We have to be quiet. Act natural.”

For Duran, that was a big ask. I should have told him to act professional instead, but I wasn’t entirely sure he knew what that concept was. He stiffened, following in my footsteps as we approached the Spire.

We didn’t go to the front door this time, the wide, elaborately carved pair of doors. Instead, we stepped towards the back entrance. Barely tall enough for me. Two guards stood next to the doors, shoulders straight. They both held a pike in one hand, the other resting on the swords in their holsters.

I held out the basket. If I had owned any tranquilizing herbs, or other substances, I would have used them. I didn’t. All I had was some well-roasted chicken.

“You’ve worked so hard,” I said. “Would you like something to eat?”

One shook his head. The other coughed. “Well,” he said. His voice echoed. “I suppose I could try.”

I glanced over my shoulder, pretending to hesitate. “I’m not sure if the others would approve. Would you come with me to that alley? I think you’d still be able to see the door from there, and we could use napkins there. Even sit down.”

It was a pathetic trick. They never should have fallen for it.

I wafted the smell towards them. Andrena, a little help here? Anything at all? This is for you.

One of the guards, the one that had rejected it, sighed. “Go and have a snack. I’ll watch. But you owe me.”

I smiled in relief. “Come on, then.”

The alley was shaded by laundry fluttering in the breeze. The boy took his helmet off. He was in his early twenties, trying to grow a beard and failing. I handed him an olive on flatbread, with a little chickpea-paste. “Here,” I said. “For your hard work.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, bread half to his mouth. “You aren’t Lucilla-”

The axe-blade was to his throat before he could say anything else. It was, I reflected, a little too easy to convince him to take off his armor.

“It’s too tight,” complained the Voice of Celeres, scratching at the plates. I rolled my eyes. “Well, it’s this or you wear the cloak.”

She pushed the visor up and stared at the cloak. It would be entirely too long on her. “Fine.”

When we approached the tower, the other guard was speaking with a supervisor, hands on his pike. “He just went to check the perimeter!” He said. “It’s not- look, there he is now.”

The supervisor was obviously in charge, due to a bright-colored feather on his helmet. The entire assembly turned to look at me, metal scraping. I pulled the cloak further over my helmet.

The Voice of Celeres held up a hand to wave in greeting.

“Fine,” said the supervisor. “You went on a perimeter check. This is the last time, you hear me? We need this place locked up tight. Just because you’re on the back door doesn’t mean no one’s going to try and break in.”

The guard shifted. “I know! I know. Just give me a break, here.”

“There are no breaks! When this city crumbles apart, the spire is what stands.”

As the man stalked away, the other guard mocked him under his breath. “The spire is what stands. As if we’re not trying.”

“You’re so right,” I said. “You know, I do have a little bread left.”

“I can’t,” said the other guard. “You heard iron-ass over there.”

We both glanced over. Sure enough, the head of the guards was still in-range. Unfortunately for the other guard, he wasn’t looking towards us.

I slipped my hand into my basket. I’d put something else in there, with all of the meat and bread.

I stepped closer. “You’re sure? I baked it fresh this morning?”

Through the visor, the guard’s reply was tinny. “Yes, I’m sure. This is a big job, you know.”

The little knife slipped right into the joint between helmet and plate mail. “Why don’t you reconsider,” I said. “There’s a nice alley right down the way. We’ll have that mail off of you in no time. You’ll get a nice long break, and no one yelling at you.”

The guard froze. I smiled.

“You won’t use that.”

“Will I?”

I hadn’t used a blade on a person before. Ever. But I did deconstruct a lot of meat, cooking. It was all the same principle, wasn’t it?

The pike lowered. “I’ll run.”

“My friend’s pike will make sure you won’t. We’ll go on a nice perimeter walk together.”

When we came back to the tower, it was with two guards. one was a little too short. The other was scratching at his helmet. It was on a little lopsided. He reached up, gauntlets squeaking, and pushed his visor up.

“This itches,” he said. “And I’m fairly sure I’m working against some tenent of Andrena.”

“If she didn’t specifically say not to, it’s fair game,” I said. “She told me so, when I visited the realm of the gods.”

He squinted at me. I gave him another smile and let my hands tighten over the handle of the knife where I’d re-concealed it in the basket. Behind me, Duran tried to peer into the Spire. “Do you think they really keep a bunch of gods made flesh in there?” He said.

The Voice of Celeres pushed open the door, letting me in. She glanced out one last time at the chaos beyond, where Amatus and Prisca were stoking the riot ever-higher- distracting the rest of the guards, if we were lucky- before she let it clang shut behind us.

As soon as the door shut behind us, Apis took the helmet off entirely. “That is entirely too heavy,” he said. “No wonder we could overpower them! Can’t see a thing.”

“You’re going to ruin our cover.” The Voice of Celeres sounded very tinny. “Keep it on.”

“I agree,” I said. “We’ll guide you.”

Apis looked sulky, but he finally nodded and put it back on.

There was no one in the lower chamber of the Spire. We had come in a back entrance, clearly meant for servants. Only a single candle was lit, leaving us in a pale silence. Even this, however, was nicer than I was used to. I stared at the tiled floor. They were in the shape of beetles.

“Right,” I said. It felt a little sacrilegious to be stepping on them. “Let’s… climb.”

There was only way in. Up.

We took the first set of stairs at a near-run, Apis and the Voice of Celeres clanking as I held out the basket of food like a barrier. The second set of stairs, lungs burning, I took at a respectable trot. By the third flight, I was barely moving. The tower was starting to open up, now; the stairs were no longer confined to their own spiral, but let out into a hallway, showing a set of doors and a single window. The light filtered in, pale and gray through the smoke.

We heard voices around the corner. I pressed myself to a wall, trying not to breathe too loudly.

“…Heard about any progress?”

“Gods only know,” said the other voice. A young man, speaking to a young woman. “I’m just the help.”

“But surely you can tell me something. I’m here to represent Andrena.”

“If they wanted you to know, they’d bring you into the meeting.”

“They brought me into the Spire!”

“Maybe if you finish this accounting,” said the male voice.

There was a loud thump.

“Hey! Don’t throw it at me. I’m not the one giving you the job.”

“I’m not doing it. Let me out if you’re not going to ask me for help.”

“That’s not the way it works! The Spire is closed. You think I don’t want to speak to my mum?”

“This is- this is stupid. All of you are stupid, and I’ve been lied to. I think I’m a prisoner here.”

“…I’m going to go get you some mead,” said the male voice. He coughed. “Er, don’t go anywhere. Not that you can! Ha, ha. Not that you’re a prisoner! You’re just, ah. You can’t leave. I’m going to go get that mead now.”

As the door creaked open, I realized it was too late to run. I held out the basket of food instead, trying to keep my head down.

“Oh, Lucilla,” said the boy. He was freckled, a little young. Maybe in his mid-twenties. “Pardon me! I’m just- I’m not actually getting mead for her, obviously. That wouldn’t be allowed! I’m just, ha ha. You know. Being friendly. Do you mind?”

I was blocking the stairs. As one, we all stepped aside. I watched him take the stairs two at a time, heading up. I frowned.

Apis leaned in. “He didn’t even comment on the guards.”

“Maybe she’s always accompanied by guards,” I said.

Down the hall, the woman’s voice rose. “Help! Is there someone there? Help me!”

There was a loud thumping. I exchanged a glance with Apis- well, I thought I did. I might have just been staring at a metal visor. “I- we might as well,” I said.

“While we’re here,” he replied.

“It’s the heroic thing to do!” Duran had sneaked another piece of flatbread while we were waiting. I slapped his hand away.

The door was locked. I jiggled the handle once, twice, and then sighed and put my ear to the wood. “Who’s in there?”

“It’s Candida! They’ve lied to me, trapped me in here. Lucilla? Are you well? You don’t sound the same.”

I cleared my throat. “It’s, ah, the smoke-”

“It’s not Lucilla!” Said Apis. “It’s Apis and Elysia. We’ve come to rescue you!”

“Really?”

She sounded unflatteringly surprised. I thought of Candida’s face as she’d met us in the boardinghouse. How she’d wanted to stay uninvolved, do work for Andrena. Was that how she’d been tricked into coming to the Spire?

“What did they do to you? How did they get you here?”

“I think they heard I was going to testify about witnessing the murder of Voice Marcia to the public,” her voice filtered through. “They told me I could represent the temple for the Flight, since we don’t have a Voice at the moment. But all they did was put me in this room and give me paperwork. They won’t let me leave! Said it was for my safety.”

“Hmmm.” I stepped back and contemplated our options. I didn’t really know how to let her out. It was a beautiful piece of architecture; a thick door, a solid handle.

The Voice of Celeres ushered me out of the way. “I’ll handle it,” she said.

“What?”

She was already pulling a set of tools out of her pocket. “I do have some abilities,” she said. “We aren’t all useless.”

I was left to defend the food from Duran while she muttered to herself, shoving the visor out of her way and clicking through the tools in her little leather case.

Finally, the door swung open. Beyond, Candida stood. She looked well, to be fair. It seemed that imprisonment in the Spire was much more comfortable than any of the places I had been imprisoned lately- mostly, a quarantine ship and my mother’s house.

I strode over and lifted up one of the papers. “They have you evaluating tax records?”

“Apparently they think the guilds are sliding around, faking things, claiming accounts that don’t exist and listing losses to get tax benefits they shouldn’t.” she said. “No one wants to do this evaluation! I don’t know why I’ve been sent to fix the problem. I’m hardly qualified.”

There were too many numbers. It made my head swim. I set down the paper. “Well, congratulations. You’ve been freed. There’s only one price.”

“Yes?”

“You have to testify. Come with me.”

She glanced between us. “Somehow,” she said, “I feel like your goals and mine might not… entirely be the same.”

“All I want is to find who killed Voice Marcia, and give them what they deserve,” I said. “Yes?”

She frowned. Her eyes darted to the swords in the room. “You won’t kill them?”

“I don’t make a habit of it.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Look at me.” I held out my arms. “Do you think I’m the type to swing a sword about recklessly?”

Candida turned to Apis. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said, solemn. “I won’t kill anyone.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll come with you.”

We took the steps two at a time, my energy refreshed from breaking Candida out. I could feel the clues adding up. The gloves sat in my pocket, transferred from clothing to clothing. I had a witness to the crime. The letters were in my pocket, too, with the book to translate them. All that was left was to confront the truth.

Lady Sylvia hadn’t worked alone. Someone had impersonated a letterboy to set the Temple of Andrena on fire. Someone wanted the chaos that now ruled the city below. Had it all been an attempt to lock the Voice of Celeres out of the tower? Was it a personal move against Voice Marcia? Were they trying to take down the Spire from the inside, or were they just trying to gain power at the expense of everyone else?

Most importantly…. why did my mother want me to be here?

A guard clattered by, taking the steps quickly with a hand on his sword. There was nowhere to go- we were trapped as he descended, stepping towards a window. We all froze as he stopped, staring at me. I was directly in front of him. I nudged Duran to step closer behind me, tucked next to Candida. Lower on the stairs were Apis and Celeres, both staring up at us as we faced off.

“You aren’t Lucilla.”

Why was there a guard on the upper stairs of the tower? I turned, obscuring my face.

“She was ill.”

“Why has the prisoner been released?”

“She finished her work,” I said.

He stared between us. I swallowed.

“Who are you,” he said, raising a hand. He wasn’t pointing at Apis. He was pointing at Celeres.

“That guard is ill,” I said, quickly. “Has trouble speaking.”

“I don’t know any ill guards,” he said. He reached for his sword. “And Lucilla never brings an assistant. Just that strange guard of hers. Name starts with a T, or something.”

“Care for a bread?”

I held out the basket. He hesitated.

The Voice of Celeres and Apis both moved at the same time. Apis pulled out his spear first.

It wasn’t much. Just a swipe at the guard’s ankles. There was a great echoing clang. I pressed myself against the wall, crushing Duran behind me. He squeaked in protest. Candida yelled in shock.

The guard fell, head over heels, down the stairwell.

We watched him tumble. I inhaled in shock.

“I thought you didn’t approve of violence.”

“This is for Andrena. Just like you said.” said Apis. He put his spear back down.

“There might be another guard,” I said. I let my hands release on the knife within my basket. As I stepped forward, I heard Duran put the Abyssal blade back in the sheath. I let myself shiver. Thankfully, no one had seen fit to use that. “Let’s keep moving.”

The top of the stairwell was unremarkable. A large door, made of plain wood. No carvings, no nameplate. Just the end. The top of a tall tower, in the center of the largest city in the country. No handle on the outside, either.

There were no guards. I wondered if there had only been one, or if his partner had taken another way out. I couldn’t see another path.

I knocked twice. I could hear chattering inside. A man peered out after what felt like hours of muttering within.

Older, with dark whiskers and an ugly fur hat that looked like it might come to life on his head. Old enough to have lived through the collapse of the empire and then some. The Voice of Ursus. The bear god. “Don’t need the food yet,” he said. “Go away.”

He moved to close the door. I inserted my foot. It failed to close on my boot. “You’ll want this meal,” I said. “Rosemary roast chicken. Lemon slices.”

He paused. I could see the moment when it began to work on him. His stomach growled. “Well,” he said.

“We’re busy in here! Can’t you wait?” The other voices were muffled, but their protests were easy to pick out from the fray.

“Just a moment of our time,” said the Voice of Ursus. “And it does smell good.” He scratched at his chin. “Well, it can hardly hurt.” He stepped back, ignoring the protests within.

I eeled my way in, followed by my entourage in a clanking, muttering mass. The Voice of Ursus was helpless to stop us, old and weak as he was. I strode towards the main table. It was shaped in a semi-circle, chairs arrayed around a central throne-structure. The Voice of the Beetle sat in the center, underneath a great window that showed the chaos below. His eyes were down on the papers before him.

“I’ve told you before,” he said, lifting up another piece of paper. “We don’t have time for all of this bother over food. We could have some oats brought in and just live on porridge.”

“You run the greatest temple in the world, and you want us to live on porridge?” the Voice of Ursus complained as he reached towards the basket.

“Frugality is a virtue,” said my husband.

“So is attentiveness,” I said. I slammed the basket down in front of him. “Hello, dear.”

So. This was why my mother had been so anxious. The Voice of the Beetle- formerly the Baron Vindex, currently my husband, and the reason I didn’t have a soul- looked up.

He frowned, ever-faintly. “Ah,” he said. “Good afternoon. I’m rather busy at the moment. Please speak to my secretary to arrange an appointment.”