Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

There I was. In the center of the Council of Gods, on the eve of Beetle’s Flight. At dawn, the horrible creatures would be released, showering the capital in bright wings and more legs than any acceptable being should really have. I shuddered to think about it.

In the current moment, I stood at the center of a U-shaped desk. In front of me was my husband (as much as I tried to avoid him), the Voice of the Beetle. The most important person in the Spire, although he pretended to be mostly occupied with his books.

To his right were the Voice of Ursus (old, mad, currently eating chicken instead of paying attention), the Voice of Teuthida (guilty of arson and using an onion in a handkerchief to falsify tears), and the Voice of Cabellus (also very old, snoring). To his left were three small gods, spread out to fill seven chairs. One of them, the Voice of Saxom, had obtained an apple from somewhere in his pockets.

He bit it, loudly, as the Lady Sylvia continued to shout. She was in the doorway, surrounded by enough city guards to make another riot and flanked by Cornelia.

Her son, strangely enough, hadn’t run to her. He was slowly backing away, towards the corner of the room. He’d even put his guard helmet back on, as if any of us would fall for it.

I could see the situation devolving rapidly. It would all play out so simply. Vitus clearly had a crossbow tucked under that giant cloak. I could see the edges, where he was grabbing for it. He would pull it out, the guards would use their swords. Being in the middle, I would be stabbed, or possibly shot by a crossbow bolt. Given that I still hadn’t gotten my soul back, that would leave me in the stars forever, until the beetle rolled the world back around.

In summary. Deeply inconvenient.

Andrena, I am going to hold a grudge for this. Forever.

Duran was slightly behind me, staring at the Voice of the Beetle. “Duran,” I said. “I need to borrow something.”

“What do you-”

Before he could finish the question, I’d pulled out the Abyssal Blade from the sheath at his hip. The clouds, flashing with fire below, reflected off of the blade. It looked deadly. It was also a lot bigger than the knives I usually used. I adjusted my grip.

“Everyone!” I shouted. “I have an Abyssal Blade, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

That shut them up. “Ah,” said Sylvia. She had started to jump across the table in pursuit of Servius, and was now stopped halfway across. The Voice of Saxom leaned over to push his cup out of her path. “Elysia, let’s not get over- excited.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.” I swung the blade towards her. She leaned back. Good. Sylvia might not believe in most religion, but it seemed even she was afraid of being thrown into the stars forever. “Don’t worry, everyone!” I said. “I’m a paladin. So when I send your soul to the stars, you can tell them it was justified.”

“A paladin?” The Voice of Ursus coughed, halfway through a drink. “Girl, those don’t exist anymore!”

I swung the blade towards him.

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Whose paladin, then. Not one of mine, I suppose.”

“Andrena.” No point concealing it now.

“She does paladins?” The Voice of Saxom stood up and strolled to a cabinet in the corner of the room, apparently unconcerned about the horrible, cursed sword I was holding. “I thought it was just…” he waved a hand. “You know. Massive, ah, chests. Of… pickles. And mead. Definitely mead!”

“Remember the sword,” I said. I very much empathized with Duran. “If you don’t have something useful to say, don’t say it.” He rose his eyebrows insolently, but he didn’t reply. “Apis,” I said. “Please show those nice guards out the door and close it behind them.”

Sylvia got up and started to walk. “Not you,” I said, holding up the blade so it crossed her path. “You can stay here. We have some problems to discuss, I think.”

As she stared at me, the guards clattered out the door. They were well-armed, it was true. But the city guard didn’t pay enough for anyone to give up their soul, it seemed.

“If this is about your little…” She turned to look at the audience around us. “Well, your little visit to my residence, surely that’s not something to hold a grudge about? I told you, it was nothing personal.”

“When I said I was on a mission for Andrena, I meant it,” I said. “Sit down. We have plenty of chairs.”

Everyone was much more cooperative now that I had a horrible giant sword out. I waved it occasionally, letting everyone arrange themselves. Even Servius pulled up a chair, next to Vitus the traitor. The mead-bringing servant stayed at the edge of the room, nervously putting his ear to the door.

“They’re saying they’re going to try and find siege weapons!” he reported. “Someone’s asking about a trebuchet!”

“That trebuchet is a problem for later. I am a problem for now.” I stood back, swung the sword in a wide loop. “So. Before you entered, Lady Sylvia, we were just discussing something very interesting about you. I thought you might want to join the conversation.”

Lady Sylvia had only taken a few minutes to re-adjust to the situation. Now she sat in the chair calmly, as if this was a simple council meeting. “I suppose this is about the Quarantine Ship,” she said. “I requested they help me in the moment. Obviously I hadn’t been involved previously. It simply- well, I do have a little money stored away. Purse money, for dresses and such. I reacted as needed.”

“You didn’t take anyone aside on that ship,” I said. “Didn’t speak to them at all.”

I glanced towards the rest of the room. “Lady Sylvia walked through the tunnel at the Temple of Teuthida with us,” I said. “Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, she trapped Apis and I in the ship. She left us. With no lantern, no food-”

“I fed you!”

“It was intolerable.”

“You cannot say you weren’t fed simply because you disliked the fare. I treat-” The Lady Sylvia coughed. “Well, if I did have prisoners, I would treat them well.”

“She didn’t need to say anything. They were already on her payroll.” I turned to Baron Vindex. “Has the Voice of Teuthida made any funding requests recently? How much has been spent on her temples?”

While big decisions were made during Flight’s Feast, with the release of the colonies (the flight itself) at the upcoming dawn symbolizing the completion of the decade, there was still paperwork to be filed in the middle years. Instead of bringing together the whole council, as far as I understood it, individual gods pled and had to get votes from each Voice. Previously I hadn’t bothered to think about it much.

Now I was in the muck of it. More fool me.

“No, as it happens,” said the Baron. “No requests at all. The Voice of Teuthida actually rejected our offer for funding of the temple. Said that offerings had been increased.”

I turned back to the Voice of Teuthida as she began to protest. “I think you were telling the truth,” I said.

That shut her up quickly.

“Sorry?”

“Not offerings from the public at large,” I said. “But offerings from one person in particular. Your price for helping Lady Sylvia in her mission.”

The Voice of Teuthida wavered. “It is not forbidden to take offerings from noble houses. It is not!”

I sighed. Time to approach a different angle. “Voice of Celeres. Take that helmet off before you answer me, I hate the echo. What exactly did you do for the Laundresses guild?”

There was a great clanking as she removed it. Finally, she spoke. “Can we test my blood on the scales, already? I should be an upper god.” She leaned forward. “I mean, we already found out who did it. Let’s move on.”

“No,” said the Baron Vindex. “I’m interested. What did you do for the guild?”

The Voice of Celeres flushed. “What’s it to you? You don’t even acknowledge me.”

“Answer the question, child!”

Sylvia’s sharp bark finally made her respond. She coughed. “Well, it wasn’t much. Just.. just free delivery.”

“Well, there you have it,” said the Voice of Saxom. “The entire city, aflame because of free delivery. You should have just said it, girl!”

“I wasn’t supposed to say!” Her shoulders went up, her head pulling back. “I don’t know why!”

I didn’t know why either. I frowned. I’d expected something more… suspicious. Hiding forbidden letters, maybe, or helping them blackmail someone. Free delivery?

“That’s why you had me going through all those papers!” said Candida. “You thought the Laundresses guild had fake costs somewhere.”

I glanced between her and the Baron Vindex. He was nodding slowly. “Everyone knew they couldn’t afford that new vat. They’ve been listing delivery as a cost of business- with a significant markup. No wonder they’ve been making so much extra money. We weren’t able to tax them at all.”

He leaned forward. “No other Voice would have helped them. But you… this is a reason we need to bring all Voices into the fold at once! You should have known what side to stand on. Now the Law and the Spire are all getting mixed up. People are evading taxes! Because we didn’t open our arms to new members!”

All of my revelations. The horrors, the murder. He drew the line at tax evasion?

“Lady Sylvia,” I said. “I thought I recognized some of the people at that breakfast. They were speaking to you, at that horrible party my mother threw.”

She shrugged. “What of it? I have friends.”

“You wanted the Laundresses out. They must irk you. Running half of this city. No noble blood. No power over anything. Just good, old-fashioned, corruption. Meanwhile you’re trying to force Lord Julian to follow your orders, and half the time, he forgets what you wanted him to say.”

She laughed at that before bringing a hand up to her mouth. “Well, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means that you didn’t just want Voice Marcia out. You wanted the Voice of Celeres out. I remember what you told me. I needed to get my fingers out of your pie. You even told me- my mother wanted to be involved, at first. She tried for this plan, too.”

“And unlike her, I’m actually here!” she said. “Your mother has, once again, blundered into my life.”

“So you admit it,” I said. “You were behind all of this.”

She rolled her eyes. Next to her, Servius leaned forward, protesting. “My mother would never-”

A broken record. I waved a hand over at him, shut him up.

“Vitus,” I said. “You took letters for the- as we all know, now- traitorous Voice of Teuthida, yes?”

He hesitated. “Traitorous?”

“Focus on the point. Did you, or did you not?”

I was losing the room. He glanced from side to side. “Ah- well- yes, I did-”

“And did you take any to the Lady Sylvia?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted.

“There you have it,” I said.

“You have nothing!” interrupted Sylvia. “A few letters, my generosity towards the Temple? You’re imprisoning me and my son, all because of a grudge from school.”

I glanced towards Cornelia. “Cornelia, I assume you recall every person that visits the house? You seem to be very organized.”

She kept her lips firmly shut.

“Oh, go on,” said Lady Sylvia. “It’s hardly incriminating.”

“Well?”

“What would you have me say? Yes, I recall who visits. We take pride in creating a top environment for all guests.”

“Have you had any priests of Teuthida over lately?”

She hesitated a moment too long. “Yes,” she said. “But you must understand. This is normal, for the end of the year.”

“What did you serve them? What food?”

She turned to look at the Lady Sylvia. The Lady Sylvia waved in invitation.

“The soup course was a light broth, with seaweed to aid the digestion. For the main, a roast boar, with cellar onions and potatoes,” she said. “There was also a burst pepper-corn sauce in cream. For the dessert, roast peaches with honey-crusted salt roasted almonds.”

“Peppercorns,” I said. “You, Lady Sylvia, famous for your sharp financial savvy… spending money on imported peppercorns? For a guest?”

“I-”

“Was there a pickle course?”

There usually was, at these events. A crisp pickle, before the main, after the soup. Something to help your digestion, right with the soup.

“Yes,” Cornelia admitted.

“What was pickled?”

“Eggs, hot wax peppers, and spiraled cucumbers in dill…”

“Three types of pickle! I rest my case. Lady Sylvia was bribing those priests.”

The Voice of Teuthida began to speak up again- wanting to protect the Lady Sylvia- but I interrupted her. “You think she’s on your side? After all of this? The only person she wants to help is herself. She probably wrote that speech for Lord Julian, about how the Voices were failing the city. After starting the whole problem herself!”

The Voice of Teuthida turned to face Lady Sylvia, beginning to speak, but the Lady Sylvia interrupted her.

“Yes. Yes, I had my best interests in mind. I refuse to apologize for it.” She stood, pushing back the chair. “This entire trial you’ve set up is a farce. I am the wife of a councilwoman, and I cannot be thrown about at sword-point and accused.”

“Do you deny the charges?”

Our eyes met, for a second. I could have been sixteen, on the duelling field at our finishing school. Sylvia was always better at that, too. Then the gaze broke and I felt the years all at once, the ache in my arm, saw the wrinkles on her face. Her son was tugging at her sleeve, eyes wide.

“No,” she said. “I see nothing wrong with it. She-” Lady Sylvia gestured to the Voice of Teuthida- “Thought she could fix the Spire by taking charge of it. I have no such hope. Look at this! You’re meant to be the leaders of this country. Ruling it by half. The Voices of Gods. Yet one middle-aged woman comes in with a basket of food and a sword, and you’re all hiding behind your tables.”

“Well now,” blustered the Baron Vindex. She ran him over mid-sentence.

“I would expect the gods to choose someone better. Use their powers. Instead, look at what’s assembled. A complete fool, a set of old men, and some ego-maniacs with delusions of power. None of whom are any good at politics. Not one of you has visited the council chambers. It’s been a decade!”

“I was going to get around to it,” muttered the Baron.

“No point. Nothing interesting over there,” said the Voice of Saxom.

“You see! It would have been a mercy, to remove the Spire. To give the ruling of the people back to the noble and elected class. The Voices can stay with what they do best. Kissing babies on the cheek and standing in Temples.”

I reached up to try and apprehend her, but she pushed the sword away by the hilt. A crucial weakness of an Abyssal blade; you must actually be a capable swordswoman.

“Come, Servius,” she said. “We must go. Some of us have jobs to do.”

Not so fast.

The words tore out of my chest, other-worldly, before I had any option to do otherwise. The same spirit was throwing my aching bones forward, grabbing Sylvia by the back of the collar like a kitten. She went easily. I was full of inhuman strength. My movements were not my own.

Well? Nothing to say, now?

“Elysia,” she said. “You’re… not acting right.”

My Paladin has done what is Right. What is Just. Now you are mine to deal with. In days of old, I would kill you for this insult.

There was a squeak of fear behind me- us?- my body, at least. Andrena turned my head. I felt myself pressed into a corner of my own mind, squealing in protest. It was rude! You couldn’t just tromp into someone’s head and then use their body to do violence!

“Ah- my Lady Andrena,” muttered the Voice of Teuthida. “Please, consider mercy. Aren’t you- I thought you were a goddess of kindness?”

I would kill you, too, said Andrena.

She dropped the Lady Sylvia. Unfortunately, it is not days of old. Marcia informs me there is something called a ‘Murder Charge’.

“Yes,” said the Baron Vindex. “They took away our immunity after the events of- well, I’m sure you were there, actually.”

Andrena stared at him for a long, long moment. He gulped.

You will stay, she said, turning around again and staring down at the Lady Sylvia. I wished she would remember to blink. My mortal eyes were burning. You will accept judgement. Or the sword will swing, and your soul will be mine to use as I please. This is my Justice.

I staggered forward and leaned on the table for support as Andrena’s presence left me. It was like a boot suddenly removed from my throat. I had to remember how to breathe again.

I spotted Servius trying to escape out of the corner of my eye. “Not so fast!” I lifted a trembling hand with the sword.

In front of me, the Baron Vindex cleared his throat. “Well. I suppose we’ve all realized your position on the matter,” he said. “Will it be, ah…” He coughed. “The mercy of the sword?”

The Sword. The traditional punishment for murderers and traitors* (*actually, the newer punishment. The older one included a lot more torturing beforehand). Public death.

I shook my head. “No. I have a better idea.”

“Exile?” said the Lady Sylvia, a little too hopefully. I recalled her mentioning, back when we were girls, her husband’s (then fiance’s) vacation house abroad.

“Worse,” I said. I finally gave up and re-sheathed the sword. “Paperwork.”