Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

The cobbled road out of the harbor wound like a serpent up the hill, shining in the late afternoon light. It smelled of rotting fish, of old wood and salt. I felt the stickiness of the saltwater drying on the back of my neck as we rattled up the road and grimaced.

I probably smelled just as rank.

This was the capitol’s most impressive view; low in the harbor, all of the buildings seemed like they towered- three, four stories. The Spire, where I could see it in the distance, scraped at the sky. I could almost picture souls sentenced to exile in the ether, reaching down to grasp at the sculpted beetle, desperate to find a way to climb down and into the blissful heat of the earth.

I scratched again underneath my tunic. Tucked under my feet, away from the rest of the garbage, were the rest of my clothes. Unfortunately, I couldn’t pull them back on. My tunic was still damp, dripping from my journey into the harbor.

I glanced over at Duran. He was uncharacteristically silent. His hands weren’t on the sword; he’d pulled his knees up to his chest and was resting his chin upon them, his cloak over his shoulders.

Don’t feel pity for him.

I grabbed for the edge of the cart as we took a turn too fast around a corner, nearly tipping everyone out.

“A little more concern here!”

Apis turned back. “Oh, sorry!” he said. “I keep forgetting we don’t still have mead back there. The weight’s different, you see.”

The cart creaked so loudly it cut the rest of his conversation off. He smiled at me. “Almost to the guards,” he added.

I slid back down so most of my face was hidden as we came to a stop. The guard that came out to speak had a higher-pitched voice, still-half breaking. An older teenager, it sounded like.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know people were down in the harbor.” he paused. “You’re not from the-”

“Would someone from the west be driving a raker’s cart?”

A fly was buzzing close to me. I swatted at it as we waited. The seagulls were cawing loudly. The woman selling food was gone.

“I suppose,” said the boy, doubtfully. He peered into the cart. “Who are you?” he said. His eyes were focusing a little too much on the way my tunic had plastered to my chest. I folded my arms and glared at him.

Duran, next to me, lifted his head off of his knees. “We’re rakers, too,” he said. “I’m apprenticing.”

“You’re raking the harbor?”

“I fell in.” Duran put his head back on his knees and shivered pitifully. If it was acting, it did wonderfully. The guard only stared at us for a moment more, scratching his attempt at a beard, before standing back.

“Carry on! But next time, you’ll need a permit. I’m not sure why last shift let you through.”

“May the beetle grace you with what you deserve,” said Apis mildly, and clicked his tongue. With a few creaks and groans, we resumed. Moving against the current, I watched the mass of people lined up to try and catch a glimpse of the Infamy with suspicion. They had turned it into almost an open-air market, with no one able to move. People were juggling, others trying to sell their wares. One man was selling lemons to put on fish, although they were so wrinkled they must have been harvested last year.

I also wondered where anyone was meant to get fish from, if we weren’t allowed down into the harbor.

It was only once we’d finally made it out of the din, Apis apologizing to everyone we had to squeeze by, that we finally came to a stop in a side alley. Above us, drying clothes snapped in the wind. I gazed mournfully at a pair of pale petticoats. They didn’t smell of seaweed.

“So,” said Apis. “I think that went very well! Andrena surely knew what was in store.”

“Well? We almost lost Duran!” I turned to stare up at him. He smiled down at me with both dimples. His eyes half-sparkled in the light. He had no right to look this cheerful.

“We got the clothes. They smelled of fire to me, and I saw the burns. Surely that’s useful?”

“I brought the shoe.” Duran scrambled around in the cart and fished it out. It was stuck in between parts of a barrel and a rotting fish head.

“I’m not talking about this until we’ve gotten rid of this…” I waved at the fish head. It stared back at me.

There was still enough flesh on there to make a stock. I sighed with disappointment. The capitol was too fat and happy with profit; they were letting entire half-fish rot.

Then I reached out and tossed it out of the cart.

We hadn’t actually needed much garbage to make our disguise convincing. The cart had done the majority of work for us. I left the rest of it in a neat pile at the end of the alley, where a real raker could collect it.

Then, brushing myself off and trying not to smell anything, I turned back to our group.

I thought again of the investigation of the missing frying pan. How had I started? I hadn’t been distracted by any false flags. I had gone straight to the heart of it. First, I had gone to the crime scene.

I thought of the burned temple, of Apis kneeling in front of the statue. There had been nothing there. Probably not worth it, then.

What had I done next?

“Who else was at the temple the night of the fire?”

Apis frowned in thought. “Well,” he said. “It was regulsday, so it was likely a quiet night. I wouldn’t expect anyone to be there except the Voice and the priestesses.”

“These priestesses.” I thought again of the vision Andrena had shown me, of the women running, of the fear and pain. “Are they…”

“Oh, they’re alive,” he said. “They don’t have time to deal with the main temple, though. The demand for Andrena’s other temples has gone up, from what I’ve heard. I know at least one has been tending the altar there so everyone can pray for the new voice’s health-” He smiled at me for that, which was uncalled for- “and the other two are busy with the festival.”

Duran stepped closer, pulling the cloak up to his shoulders. The horse had started to chew at an old boot she’d found in the alleyway.

“They’re focusing on the festival instead of their goddess? Didn’t she just get murdered?”

“Don’t be stupid! They’re defending her honor!” called down a voice. As one, we all looked up. An older woman was leaning out of a top window. She had a fat pipe in one hand, the smoke trailing up to the sky. “The last forty years, Andrena’s priestesses have won the Flight’s Feast lace-weaving competition. You want them to give that up for a little fire?”

She spit downwards in what was, as far as I could tell, disgust. Then she took another draw of her pipe.

The horse dropped the boot and let out a long whinnying exhale of disgust. I reached over and scratched her behind the ears, thinking. “They weren’t making the lace in the temple?”

“No. It has to be made on festival grounds.” Apis stared at me for a moment. “You’ve never seen the competition?”

“Why would I have seen it?”

This time, he was the one that glanced away. “I just… you have a capitol accent. I thought you would have been.”

I had attended the festival, yes. Standing behind people in elaborate dress, there to see and be seen. I hadn’t spent my time doing anything as entertaining as watching lace be made.

“Well, that’s one decision made. To the festival we go.”

The festival grounds had been claimed from what was once the palace, before a few excited revolutionaries had turned it into more of an ashen plain. By now, a few hundred years later, all of the ashes had been raked up. I couldn’t see the single column that remained, the names of the heroes inscribed upon it, because of the sheer volume of people.

“How does the capitol fit this many people inside it?” I groused. I stepped out of the cart. Apis had tied the horse to a nearby post, next to a mule and what looked like either a very large goat or an extremely ugly pony. “Everywhere I turn, it’s another crowd.”

How I missed my days at the inn up north, where I could come back, cook oatcakes, and serve them to people without having to talk to anyone other than Duran.

“It’s Flight’s Feast,” said Apis. He wasn’t bothered by the constant crowds. He didn’t elbow. He only gently, continuously, said “Excuse me,” and somehow- miraculously- they all stepped out of the way. “Of course it’s busy.”

Trees had been brought in and set up all over the grounds, their pots seeming too small to contain their trunks as their branches climbed up to grasp at the sky.

In a few days, when the colonies of beetles usually kept safe at the base of the Spire took flight for their new swarm, everyone would cluster at the base of these trees. I could already see wishes written out on paper and plastered on with sugar- the better for the beetles to consume them and send the prayers directly to the great beetle. Incense would be lit, offerings would be set in the planter pots. All to hope you could convince a swarm of beetles to land in the crown of the tree, burrow in and make a home in the fresh sap and wood of the poor creature.

I shuddered. I’d never liked the bugs. I certainly hoped I wasn’t around by the time they started swarming.

There were other booths set up, too. One sold small carved beetles, their wings painted in the shimmering green that was a stand-in for all godly favor. Another sold incense for you to take home.

A third was telling fortunes. She winked at me as I walked by. “I can see great promise in you!” she called. “Stop by. No charge for the first reading!”

I could see Duran slowing. “All they ever tell you is that you’ll marry someone important,” I said. I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him forward.

After the outer ring of booths- which were ramshackle and probably not allowed by the city- the booths started to get larger, more elaborate. A man juggled on top of a turning cycle, his balls all different colors. Another balanced a sword on top of his nose. He winked at Duran when he saw the sword at his hip.

“Would you like to give it a try, young man?”

Duran just shook his head furiously.

“Maybe next time,” he said. As he grinned, he flipped his head upwards, sending the sword spinning. It fell into his open mouth as we continued deeper into the crowd.

The air smelled of fried meat and roasted fish, of nuts over charcoal and incense. The sweet scent of honeyed sap candy hung over the entire festival, thick in the back of my throat. I had never liked it. I pulled Duran away from a cart selling honey-crusted nuts as well, their surfaces shimmering in the light of the sun as it lowered.

We were closer to the center of the market now, where permanent trees grew. They weren’t big, stunted by the stink of the city. Still, they were ornamented now. With every gust of wind, they chimed with the bells hung in their branches and the ribbons falling from their branches. I stopped under one as Apis spoke to a woman holding a massive basket of masks. They were formed to look like a beetles face, antennae poking out towards her side as she moved it to rest on her hip.

“May your mead always bubble,” He gave her a half bow and turned to me. He pointed into the center of the festival, where people clustered into groups of ten to twenty, chattering loudly and laughing. “All we have to do is find the column,” he said. “They’ll be near the stage.”

The stage- where the minister came, to give his rousing speeches at the beginning and end of the festival. I had seen this festival from atop it, before.

Even though the crowd bothered me, I thought I preferred the festival from down here. I pulled the damp fabric of my tunic away from my neck.

“Well? What are we waiting for?”