Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

Duran ran up to me before I could start interrogating him about what, why, and most importantly, how. He shouldn’t have been able to cross the bridge into the Southern District- regardless of how he’d even followed me. Based on his ability to navigate, I was surprised he hadn’t gotten so lost he’d left the city entirely.

“Madam Elysia,” he said. “I went investigating!”

“….ah.”

He reached into his tunic. I winced at the crumpling noise and closed both eyes, not wanting to see what he’d managed to find. The first week of his apprenticeship, he had informed me that he’d created a new recipe; I had felt about the same level of fear, then.

A piece of parchment was pushed into my arm. I opened one eye.

A stack of crumpled letters were in his hand. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice at a completely normal volume, “But I broke into the priest’s desk. These letters were in a locked drawer, so they must be important, right?”

Over his shoulder, I could see Lady Sylvia, holding her son- Servius, I supposed- at arm’s length, careful not to get any of his mud on her dress as she demanded to know if he had any injuries.

As he said that he’d retrieved the letters, her expression froze. Not notably. Not in a way anyone else would have noticed. But I had spent the better part of our childhoods getting away with falsehoods with her- hiding underneath tables, pretending that we’d never seen the live frogs smuggled into our bedchambers before.

She looked away as soon as we made eye contact. I unfolded my arms and took the letters. “Duran,” I said. “Why don’t you show me where you got those letters?”

Duran was many things. Excitable, certainly. Bold, most definitely. Thorough, absolutely not. If he had actually found a useful clue, which seemed about as likely as me being chosen by the Pickle Goddess, then I ought to make sure he’d gotten all of the letters.

Apis was still standing, staring horrified at the fountain. “This has to be breaking some sort of claim,” he said.

“Are you coming with us, or not?”

“Ah!” He glanced over at Duran. “I hope you had nothing to do with this, young man.”

Duran coughed. “I was investigating.”

Apis shouldn’t have let him get away with that; in fact, any other night I would have taken over and made Duran spend some time cleaning the fountain. Even if we were technically sworn to Andrena for the time being, it would do him some good. It would be practice for cleaning dishes later.

Still, we had another focus at the moment. “We’re going to the temple, checking on documentation from the priests,” I said. “Will you look, too?”

It was the first time I had offered him a choice, after the revelation. He had noticed my capitol accent before- had commented on how I didn’t know as much as I should about the festivals, about the gods. Perhaps he had always suspected.

Did it make a difference to our investigation, to our partnership, that I hadn’t always been a cook? That I had once been raised here, come to pray at this horrible fountain? Spent my time counting all of the suckers on each tentacle?

Apis, to his credit, didn’t hesitate before nodding. “We should speak to them about the events of the last week, anyway,” he said. “Teuthida’s voice was reputably the first one to call for a sequestering of the Voices. I wonder if she knew something and feared retribution.”

Both of us looked at Sylvia, then. She was forcing Servius to take off his other boot and show his ankle to her, demonstrating that it wasn’t broken.

“No,” I said, but it was empty. “She wouldn’t- she was never a killer.”

The automatic refusal, though. That was rather suspicious.

“Come on,” said Duran. He grabbed at my elbow and pulled. “I got to see a big desk, and they have a book full of numbers. Maybe it says who did it.”

Lady Sylvia didn’t follow us inside as we stepped through the doorway into the temple. Another reason she might be innocent, I thought, trying desperately to weigh the scales towards her. It just didn’t seem right, didn’t seem to match the girl I’d grown up with. Sylvia had always been a little petty, perhaps focused on the strength of her family, but she had never been cruel.

Voice Marcia had been kind, according to everyone I spoke to. One to help others, to care about those with less power than her. She had been old, too. Who would kill someone when you could just wait it out?

“It’s just through here,” said Duran. His shoes echoed loudly on the tile. “See?”

The door swung open. I peered through, squinting at the desk. Sure enough, he had been inside; the desk was a complete mess, books thrown aside, drawer broken open. I saw, to my surprise, another copy of Where will the World Go? Tossed aside, the childish illustrations staring up at me. “And no one saw you do this?”

How could they have such abysmal security? Yes, Teuthida was the goddess of Truth and Illusions, but- well, it was a city. Surely Duran hadn’t been the first to try stealing something.

I thought of the letters, tucked into my closest pocket, and suppressed some guilt. Yes, he had succeeded, but it was for a good cause. If the letters didn’t mean anything, I would give them back.

“I heard two people talking,” said Duran. He leaned down, tried to jiggle the drawer back into place. It gave a moaning squeal and then broke apart further, splinters of wood falling apart under his hand. “That’s why I came in. I didn’t understand what they were talking about, and I wanted to…” He coughed. “Um, I was going to ask them. About it. Definitely.”

“Eavesdropping is not a kindness,” said Apis, almost automatically. “But not technically forbidden by Andrena.”

Duran perked up. “Really? Oh, so I was coming in to eavesdrop.”

“Well-”

“So you came in to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t find them?”

That didn’t seem right. Where could they have gone? This place only had the one door. The windows didn’t open, and I’d only seen the two main rooms- one, with the door closed, and this one, where Duran had clearly explored it to the maximum. That, and the gigantic statue, made up the entirety of the temple. Yes, it was a large building, but most of it was made of space. Space to think about “truth” and “water” and stand and contemplate, I supposed.

Duran nodded. “I came in to look, but they were gone.”

“You checked the other room?”

“They were walking the other direction!”

I peered into the drawer one more time before standing up, but he had told the truth; there was nothing much remaining. I straightened my tunic, then stepped out of the room, closing the door. Probably best not to steal further from other temples.

If I was a priest of Teuthida, where would I go?

I stepped back into the main center of the temple, closed my eyes. I started to walk in a circle, trying to feel for any direction to go. There was the faint breeze from the entryway, the cool night air scented with the air of the sea, the faint smell of mud, and the horrible stink of the Always taking it over like a cudgel to the head- mixed with the lavender and cloves that everyone burned to try and send it away.

I was trying to recover from the scent-based assault when I felt it. Another ghost of wind, coming from behind me. I turned, holding my hands out.

“Madam Elysia? Are you well?”

“Perhaps she’s trying to find her soul,” said Apis.

“I told you, I’m fine without it.” That might have sounded a little testy. I was working! How was I meant to operate under these conditions?

I walked with my eyes still closed, still following that faint breeze. I knelt down, hands working over pale stone and smooth carvings of tentacles meeting hands. It was the statue of Teuthida.

“Are you dedicating yourself?”

“That- you said Andrena chose you! You can’t abandon her now!” That was real panic in Apis’s voice. I was almost flattered.

My hand dragged over one well-carved sucker. As I moved along it, I was able to compress it- a button. Metal, not stone. Cleverly concealed on the underside of the statue.

With a faint, well-oiled sound, something clicked back. I opened my eyes.

Where half of the statue had been before, a small trap-door opened below us. A dank breeze came up. It smelled of wine cellars, of earth, of worms.

“Why,” I said, “Would the goddess of the water have a path underneath her temple?”

“Goddess below!”

The cry came from behind us. Lady Sylvia and Servius had stepped inside of the doorway. Lady Sylvia herself had a hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. “What a shock! Do you suppose they were up to something?”

Ah, yes. I had been planning on interrogating her. I stared between her and Servius. Impressively, even though she had been inspecting him for injuries, she had managed to avoid getting even a speck of mud on her pristine dress. This was, I supposed, the kind of skill I had always lacked.

“Ah,” I said. “Maybe they just wanted cold storage.”

Duran put a finger to his lips. “Shhh!” He cast a glance over to the other wing of the temple, where there was still a faint snoring echoing down the stone. “We want them to stay asleep.”

If they were still snoring after Lady Sylvia’s shriek, they would sleep through the end of time itself. Still, he had good instincts.

“…Good idea,” I said, reluctantly. “Lady Sylvia, perhaps it’s best if you return home. We can resume our interview tomorrow.”

“Surely it must have been urgent, if you came to speak to me tonight.”

“Well, you’ve already denied it,” I said. I didn’t want her to see whatever I would find. Something about cross-contaminating information felt wrong. What if she already knew too much?

“Nonsense,” she said. “It’s been too long since we had an adventure together, Elysia. Won’t you let me come along?”

I shouldn’t have. I looked between her and Apis, crossed my arms. Sighed. Duran looked between her and Servius. His eyes widened in a silent request, although I couldn’t tell which way he was thinking.

“Fine,” I said, finally. “But the first time anything goes wrong, you’re going back home. I don’t have the money to pay your husband for the funeral rites.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lady Sylvia. “He’d work it out with your mother.”

My mother’s name mentioned, the spirit in the room dampened adequately enough for me to focus back on the tunnel below. There were no lamps. Only the darkness, the tiled steps still carved with curling tentacles.

Never let it be said that Teuthida didn’t keep to a theme. “Well,” I said. “If a few priests can manage it, surely we can, too.”