Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

“I was only looking around,” said Duran. I patted him again on the back, checking that none of the cleaning fluid had made it into anything important. They used strange chemicals in the guild, acids and soaps and something that made everything hiss.

“You’re lucky you still have all your fingers.”

They had found him midway down a vat of laundry, tangled in all of the uniforms. He’d been dunked in and out through the oars, clinging onto the wood. Even now, he was dripping on the cobbles.

The lamp-lighters were coming around now, their matches flickering. I straightened, the crab in my apron pocket crawling up onto my shoulder, and sighed. “Well.”

I missed my cloak already. It was difficult to stride sternly down the street without it.

The way to Apis’s home seemed dangerous and looming in the dark, although I didn’t look up. It was the same as it had been this morning. I distracted myself by counting the gods, counting my suspects. Andrena. Well, probably not. Cabellus. Again, probably not. Celeres. I’d deal with her tomorrow. Teuthida. I frowned. I supposed I could investigate her. Ursus? It just… didn’t seem his style.

I stopped as we turned onto Apis’s street and groaned, putting a palm over my face. “What’s the point?”

“Are you quite well?” Apis hovered a little too closely.

I gestured for them both to go on. “Duran, get inside.”

The boy scuttled out of my way- eager to get dry, no doubt- and the crab grabbed onto my pinky. I detached it and shoved it back into my pocket, sighing.

“We’ve made no progress. All I’ve done is yell at some prison guards.”

“You spoke to the small gods. We know what they want now.”

“No, we don’t. They’re arguing and petty. When has that ever been different?” Over the sound of the night, we could hear cheering. Revelry. It was like I was a girl again, going in circles. I wanted to be back at the inn. Back where I could curl up next to the stables and not have anyone bother me. Where I could make my pickles and brew my mead and know that what I was doing was right.

“It has,” said Apis. “The Upper Gods, they used to work together. This last year- the last ten requests the Temple made for more funding, they were denied. She made someone in the coalition very unhappy.”

“I thought you said Cabellus couldn’t be responsible.”

“He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Obviously it wouldn’t be right! It’s a crime!”

I wanted to reach out and shake him. He wasn’t meant for the politics of this city.

Not that I had been raised for this half of it, either. The Law and the Spire. Technically meant to operate hand-in-hand, forced to agree in totality to affect all of the population. In action, it seemed, they hardly spoke at all.

Actually. There was a thought.

“What did the law think of Voice Marcia?” I said. I didn’t know who was in power, these days. The only politician I’d seen lately was Sylvia’s husband as he gave that speech.

Apis shook his head. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “If they approved, wouldn’t they fund our temples?”

This city wasn’t doing well. Lighthouses, rivers. The lamps were lit, but that was because fire only had to be lit the once and then it did the business well enough on its own. “Maybe,” I said, slowly. I reached out and grabbed his elbow. “We’re going visiting.”

He stumbled as I pulled him along. “Sorry, what?” Apis craned his head to look up at the top window of the building, where Duran’s face was illuminated. “What about the boy?”

“He’ll deal well enough on his own.”

I had to go now. Otherwise my visiting gift would be long-rotten. There were, of course, more varying layers of rules for the upper-class than an elaborate knot. I had never much cared for any of them. Hopefully everyone involved would be in enough disgrace that a crab could overcome the bare minimum.

The Southern District was over the fat waters of the Always. It didn’t so much run as amble down the banks, fat with silt and whatever the city wanted to call refuse.

A branch stuck into it was moving so slowly that a spider stuck upon it was actually able to weave herself a web between an uppermost branch and the bridge we walked across, escaping upwards before the branch got any further downstream. I watched the spider crawl up onto the top of the bridge before I turned to the guardsman with a blank smile.

“What’s your business?” He kept blinking a little too long and forcing himself back awake.

That was the other thing the Always had. Guards. Not just anyone could enter the Southern District, of course. It was the home of lawmen, of nobility. Of a few tradesmen who had been bold enough to purchase (gauche, of course, but money did exchange hands occasionally) houses there.

I smiled and wished I’d brought the coat. “Here to make a meal, sir.”

The guardsman gave me a look of flat disbelief. “It’s half to midnight.”

“It’s a very good meal.”

“I don’t see any food.”

“You don’t expect the crust to cook it for themselves, do you? It’s all in their pantries already.”

This, at least, rang true. Where my separation from the others had began. The need to know what made food delicious, to separate components and experiment.

He contemplated me for a few minutes more before he sighed. “Is that a… that’s a crab.”

“Fresh-caught.”

“In the name of Teuthida above, what did I do to deserve this,” I thought I caught, but he’d already started waving me through. “If you commit any crimes, don’t say you came through here. You swam.”

We both looked down at the Always. Swimming was possible, certainly, but it would leave you dirtier than you’d started. With a few new and interesting diseases, to boot. “Through the harbor,” he added.

“Thank you,” said Apis. He bowed. “May Andrena smile-”

“Move!”

I didn’t run- such movements were below me- but I did walk a little faster. Next to me, Apis moved just as quickly. “Are they usually that rude?”

“At least they let us through. We’re supposed to have the seal of a noble house.”

“What about the non-nobles?”

“They have an address.” Or they were questioned. I thought fondly of my Grandmother rapping at someone with her cane.

Here, the houses no longer crowded together in fear of the night. Each was an individual castle, too proud to touch anything so common as a neighbor. The Temple of Teuthida was in the center of the district, a semi-circle of stone around a massive marble fountain. Even at night it still flashed and flickered. There was no movement of priests, but someone was keeping the candles lit.

The walls were carved with coiling tentacles. Within each was a teardrop of glass, a window matched by one on the opposite wall. A clarity through illusion.

I crossed to the other side of the street as we neared it. I’d speak to the priests of Teuthida later. Their Voice, the one I thought might actually know something, was sure to be locked in the Spire by now. The Voices of Small Gods could ignore the election as they liked- they might want relevance, to beg for better laws to help fisherman or harvesters or minor musicians- but in the end, they were constantly changing anyway.

An Upper God couldn’t avoid such an election. When the beetles finally took flight, the Voice would emerge together with the others to declare that they had argued a great deal, but in the end, they’d decided to change nothing.

No one had more to lose than the people at the top of the status quo.

I avoided the gaze of the strange carved squid on the temple walls and walked faster. It had been bad enough living south of her temple at the Inn, when I only had to speak to the pilgrims.

Apis seemed to agree. He stepped closer and dropped his voice. “Where are we going? Do you know something?”

I stopped in front of one of the grandest houses. We were in the center of the old Southern District, where the houses seemed to imitate the marble of Teuthida’s Temple. Columns, elaborately trimmed bushes that were flaking green paint. Lit lamps and five sets of guards. A brass name plate gleamed.

The home of a councilman.

I took the steps two at a time. This wasn’t out of any eagerness, but to avoid the guards, who hadn’t realized I would be bold enough to approach the door and followed after me a little too late. By the time they followed me with their swords, I had already knocked on the door.

It swung open to reveal a round-cheeked woman I hadn’t met but knew immediately. She was well-cleaned, annoyed, and had dark circles under her eyes.

“Festival season?” I said, with sympathy. “Only a few days left.”

“May the beetle take flight early,” she muttered. “Oh, but delivery entrance is round the back,” she added.

“Apologies. I’m actually here to see a friend.” I held up the crab. It snapped at the air, claws empty. “I brought a gift for her.”

When her eyes remained blank, I gave my best curtsy. It was rusty, not having been used for the last decade or so, but it was still serviceable. “Miss Elysia Ferrers, here to see Lady Sylvia.”

It took a moment for everything to add up. The woman squinted, then leaned in. She leaned back quickly when the crab snapped at her nose. Then her eyes widened. “Miss- but you’re- you died of the Pox!”