Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

“Candida. You’re a priestess of Andrena,” I said. “How did you end up in the Spire?”

Candida seemed almost surprised to be spoken to. “Oh, I-” She coughed, then stepped up. “Well, Mr. Vitus there invited me. He said they wanted me to represent Andrena.”

I let my eyes trail over the three seats at the table. No space left for Andrena. “What were you actually doing?”

“Paperwork. I haven’t even been allowed up here, to see anyone,” she said. She coughed. “Ah-“

“Candida was about to testify to the public,” I said. “Tell them what she saw. She was there, the night of the arson. She saw the arsonist’s face. You had nothing to do with the fires. That’s what you claim, yes?”

“Of course it is! I would never do such a thing.” The Voice of Teuthida stood up, pushing her chair back. “In fact- I don’t know why we even tolerate your presence. You’re not a Voice! You don’t belong here. You aren’t Lucilla, who feeds us. You’re- you’re simply a leech. Leave at once! I’ve already apologized.”

"Candida. Who did you see, that night?”

Candida didn’t hesitate. She lifted her hand, pointing straight at the Voice of Teuthida. “I don’t- there were two of them,” she said.

“You see!” The Voice of Teuthida was triumphant. “She was befuddled by the smoke and fire. Doesn’t remember a thing. Besides, she’s just one priestess. I’m a Voice of an Upper God. You’ll take her word over mine?”

I reached into my cloak. It was tucked underneath the cloak I was wearing as a disguise, making me overly sweaty but holding onto what I needed- an extra set of pockets.

On the table, I set the folded letterboys clothes. Next to them, I put a pair of pale, greasy, gloves. “Note the burn marks,” I said. I unfolded the tunic, held it up to the room. “On the bottom of the tunic, but on the top of the pants. Whoever wore this, they were too tall for it to fit.”

I held up the gloves. “As for these… they stink of whale oil. It burns bright and fast. Fast enough for the bucket brigade to not get there.”

“I already said I didn’t do it,” said the Voice of Teuthida.

“You have illusion magic.” I stepped around the table. “You could make it look like there were two of you. Muddy the waters.”

I let my hands hover over her back. “If we looked underneath your tunic, would we find a burn mark matching the space on that tunic?”

“Get off me! I deserve personal space. Guards!”

None of the guards responded to her. Not because she had no point; I was, in fact, in her space. It was simply that I suspected all of the guards in this room were entirely fake.

The one behind her shifted slightly again, plate clanking.

I withdrew anyway. I didn’t want to get in a fight- she was small and slight, but she seemed like she was mostly made of bottled rage. That sort of person was dangerous.

“No matter,” I said. “Whoever gave you those clothes did you a dis-service. No one should be touching you, now.”

“Makes no matter to me,” she sniffed. “I didn’t wear anything.”

“Are you sure? If you did, you should start consulting a healer,” I said. “The boy that owns those clothes had the pox. That was why he couldn’t deliver. It’s fine for a child, of course… but for adults, the sickness is often terminal.”

The Voice of Teuthida froze. “You- you lie.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Those were plague clothes.” I held up the gloves. “These are plague gloves. Did they fit you well?”

“But- you held them!”

“I had the pox when I was a small child.” I pointed to the mark on my chin. “It was mild. The younger the better, they say.”

She was shaking. She looked between the room, but no one was giving her sympathy anymore. Not even the Voice of Saxom, who had wrinkled his nose at the burned clothes and moved his plate away.

“You’re saying she went off and burned down a temple, then made us hide away because of it? That’s some madness,” he said. “No wonder she’s been so tense.”

“I burned it down for all of you!”

The Voice of Teuthida picked up one of the gloves and threw it at him. It hit him directly in the face. “All of you. None of you understand. I’ve been working for- for years to try and fix this. Year after year, the law gets stronger. Who do we have, to lead us, to take our power back? Him! Of course I made some moves- everyone needed to know that an upstart Voice was hardly going to work. The Spire needs to be seen as a source of power! Of Influence!”

She flung a hand towards Baron Vindex. He looked up. “If you have an issue with my leadership, you can always consult the proper channels,” he said.

“It’s not just that he’s going to allow the law to take us over!” She said. “He was going to allow small gods to rise! He wanted to test the upper gods! Use the scales on everyone! As if we haven’t earned our seniority!”

“Obviously, it’s better to test every year,” said Baron Vindex. “For example, Ursus. Does anyone pray to him anymore?”

“Certainly! Don’t want your bow to go off-target, do you?” said the Voice of Ursus. Everyone roundly ignored him.

“You burned the altar at the small gods, then, just to…”

“I don’t know why that girl came up here,” said the Voice of Teuthida. “I warned her- I thought the fire would be clear enough. It was all perfectly logical. The Spire needs to gain power, not give it to little upstarts. If she wants to be involved, she can come back in a decade.”

“Why did you retreat into the tower, then?” Her ideas didn’t make sense to me. Killing Marcia, perhaps, if she didn’t like Andrena’s plans- but why hadn’t she attacked the Voice of the Beetle? “Didn’t you need to be with the law, to help influence them while they investigated?”

“We needed the public to see how disarrayed they were,” she said. “To know how much they needed us. You should understand the concept. You read the book.”

Of course. The children’s book she’d used as her code. The beetle on the cover, fighting to push along.

Where a shadow was cast, the light did show

The beetle flown, stray believers left to

Link elbows and try to move…

the world themselves, their lives askew.

Every season rumple-and-tumble

Without gods to help the struggle,”

A new prayer to bring

the gods back to spring

believers rejoiced and said never a’gain

would they ask the gods where and when!

A little ditty all about never looking a gift-horse in the mouth. All of the believers, left to do the work themselves, begging to have help again. She was exactly the sort who would believe it. “We,” I said. “Who is we?”

“There is no we,” she said, after a moment. She coughed. It was like all the air in a balloon had deflated, after her violent outburst. She looked around, pulled her seat up, and sat back down. “Obviously, I worked alone.”

“There’s no obvious about it, as it happens. You wanted Celeres out. You wanted power. Who was telling you what to do?” I squinted.

Some pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Lady Sylvia had told me she was involved- told me to get my fingers out of her pie. But I’d seen her coming back to town at the same time I did. She had a solid alibi. Besides, arson just wasn’t her style.

Manipulating someone else into doing it for her? That was her style. Especially if the Voice of Celeres was helping a guild she disliked.

I almost had to admire it. In one fell swoop, Sylvia had almost removed the Spire entirely. She had reduced the power of the Laundresses, pushed the Voice of Celeres into hiding through agreeing to work with the Voice of Teuthida… all for what? Some minor gain of power for her husband, a councilman everyone hated?

I missed the inn. I could almost taste the mead. “As soon as you locked yourselves up here,” I said, “The Lord Julian began inciting riots. Claiming that you were ignoring the problem. That only the law could help the city.”

When I spoke, two things happened almost at once. First, the Voice of Teuthida slammed a hand down on the table. “That isn’t what we agreed to!” she said. “That sneak! I should never have trusted her.”

Behind her, the false guard pulled off his helmet. Servius stared out at me, too-lanky and eyes wild. “My mother would never do something like that!”

I had a response ready- something about never knowing someone truly- but I couldn’t manage to get it out.

Behind me, the door slammed open. We all turned to watch as a woman poured in, supported by a foam of guards and pikes. The city guard, infesting the spire.

The Lady Sylvia pointed towards Servius. Behind her, Cornelia nodded. Satisfied. “There he is!” she said. “My son! They kidnapped him. The Spire has gone mad!”