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Prayer and Contemplation Breakfast Conversation with Paladin Stephen
Bishop Beartongue of the Archon’s Glory Temple of the White Rat walked down the hallway to her office, clutching a mug of freshly brewed tea in one hand. Last night had been a late one, with a messenger from Anuket City arriving after dark to pass along recent concerns about political rumblings in the Artificers Guild and rumblings about a new ancient artifact that was either going to be an unimaginable threat to the world, the answer to people’s prayers, or (much more likely) a complete mare’s nest. Today was probably going to be the same.
It seemed like there were always a half dozen different calamities and an equal number of mysteries at any given time, on top of the normal day-to-day dealings of the Rat. “And half of them,” she thought wryly as she spotted an imposing figure standing at attention outside her office door, “seem to revolve around these paladins we’ve acquired.” She briefly wondered, not for the first time, if it had something to do with the fact that their god had died. Perhaps the “hole” left in their spirit from the god’s aegis made them attractive to other metaphysical energies. Or perhaps it’s just that, as paladins, they never developed the reflexes to flee from obvious problems the way most people do, she thought. She smiled briefly up at Stephen and watched his hand twitch towards an aborted salute. “Good morning. Why don’t we step inside, and you can tell me what’s bothering you such that I find you here even before my assistant?”
The paladin blushed. He said, “I apologize for disturbing you so early, but I needed to catch you before the day started. I want to see if you have any extra duties that I can take on. For money, that is.” He stuttered a bit over his words. “Not that I am trying to complain about the stipend that you pay us! The Saint knows that I know just how little we have done to earn our keep all these months! It’s just that I’m trying to save some extra money right now.”
"Stephen, please believe me when I say that we are paying you a mere pittance of your actual worth. We know this, even if you do not. But I’m sure that we have some extra duties that you can take on, and if we do not; I imagine that Captain Mallory or the Merchants Guilds would be glad of an extra trained guard. However, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your urgent need for money?”
He stared at the wall past her ear with the wooden expression of one waiting for his sentence to be announced, and said, “I want to marry Grace. And you need money to get married.”
For a man who had absolutely no problems with skewering a person or determining which ordinary household items would make the best bludgeoning instrument, the man absolutely could not seem to have an emotional conversation that fell somewhere between the awkward guilt of a truant schoolboy or the absolutely blinding sincerity that seemed to be the hallmark of all paladins. She sighed. “Pardon me if I seem dubious, but does she want to marry you?”
His expression crumpled and an anguished look came into his eyes. “I know that I am too broken to think of marrying anyone, but I have never met anyone else I could ever imagine spending the rest of my life with, and if she would be willing to have me--”
She cut him off quickly. “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be expressing myself clearly this morning. I imagine it’s the time of morning. What I meant is, do you know if she wants to marry you? Or anyone? Her last marriage definitely would not have given her a very rosy view of the instituition.”
“But I live an extremely dangerous life! What if the battle tide rises and leads me into a fight I cannot win, now that my god no longer protects me?”
Beartongue sighed. “Stephen, look around. You are surrounded by a Temple full of lawyers, clerks, and accountants. Do you not think that we can produce all the necessary wills and trusts to ensure that Grace will be taken care of should anything happen to you?”
Stephen stared at her. He said, “Does this mean you think that I should not marry her?”
“What I think on the matter has extraordinarily little to do with it. It only matters what the lady thinks of it.”
“I think,” he said slowly, pausing to think about it. “I think that ensuring she is not forced to subsume her fears about allowing another person to have power over her in order to assuage my fear about securing her future…. I think that is a better declaration of love than exchanging rings.”
She smiled at him. “And I think that is a much better foundation for a marriage than panic and worry. Now if that’s all, I see my assistant hovering outside the door, so please, send him in on your way out.”
Review Daily Agenda
Acolyte Geordo slipped in the door, clutching a thick sheaf of papers in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other.
“Ah, the Rat bless you. Somehow I did not manage to finish my first cup before it went cold.” Beartongue huffed out a small laugh. It was a running joke in the temple that she constantly left a trail of half-drunk mugs of tea in her wake, as she kept forgetting to finish them while she got wrapped up listening to the problems being poured out to her.
“Somehow, I thought that might happen. Now, let’s go over what’s supposed to happen today…”
Conclave with Other Temples
Beartongue glanced at the agenda and took a sip of tea. “Let’s get started. Of course, our most pressing issue currently is the frogs.”
“Why frogs?” the Forge God’s bishop groaned. “Give us something we could fight, and then we could be of use. But all you can do with frogs is squish them, and that’s just messy and tends to make people upset.”
The Archimandrite of the Hanged Motherhood with impressive violet robes and a more-or-less permanent expression of disgust, glared around the table. He said, “A plague of frogs is obviously a Judgement on the sinners of this unclean city. The Motherhood should be allowed to purge the sinfulness from here and then the problem will be solved.”
The High Priestess of the Lady of Grass leaned towards Beartongue and murmured sotto voce, “Yes but then you will have the problem of piles of dead bodies everywhere. Rather a case of the cure being worse than the illness.”
Meanwhile the Four-Faced God’s Archprelate had excitedly interjected, “You said plague, but really would this be considered an actual, literal plague? As I am sure you are aware, the word for plague comes from an ancient word plajha meaning ten thousand, which seems to be a reference to the large numbers of people infected or killed in a plague. Now so far nobody seems to have died of this so-called plague—”
Priest Rumari from the Dreaming God interjected, “A carthorse was spooked by the frogs and bolted, injuring three people and breaking its foreleg, which unfortunately required it to be put down.”
The Archprelate inclined his head gracefully and continued his lecture. “I stand corrected, but that still doesn’t meet the requirements of ten thousand even if we include the frogs in the death toll. Now of course language naturally changes over time and is dependent on a consensus of the usage by speakers for its meaning—”
“Can someone please shut him up?” groaned the Priest of Shining Waters, not quite under his breath
Beartongue interceded before a real argument could break out. “What our comrade is trying to say is that, while that is a most interesting aside, it is an aside, and we need to concentrate on the main point. To whit: how can we get rid of all these damn frogs? Does anyone have any thoughts?”
The Lady of Grass’s High Priestess said thoughtfully, “Well, normally when you get some frogs in your yard that you don’t want, you just make sure to get rid of any standing water that’s breeding them. And maybe catch and release them elsewhere.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Or kill them and cook up some fried frogs’ legs,” put in the Forge God’s bishop.
She wrinkled her nose slightly. “Yes, but they’re so chewy I feel people would soon tire of it.” Everyone around the table nodded.
Beartongue said, “I know that in the wild snakes eat frogs, although I am dubious that it would work here in the city. But maybe we could train some sort of animal to hunt them?”
The Priest of Shining Waters shuddered at the thought of dozens of snakes let loose in the city. “Definitely no snakes. Many frogs hibernate during the colder months; is there some way that we can freeze them? Can we afford to wait until winter? It would at least make it easier to scoop them up and remove them.”
The Four-Faced God’s Archprelate looked around. “First shouldn’t we find out where they are coming from? Is this some wonderworker’s malicious doing? A natural phenomenon, such as the rains of shrimps reported in Red Springs? An unintended consequence from some seemingly harmless change to the local environment?”
“A punishment for sinners.” That was the Motherhood Archimandrite, as usual harping on about sin and punishment.
“Well, now it could very well be the actions of a god, although surely this seems like more of a punishment for the frogs than for any particular people. And I’m not aware of any frog gods in the area, although there are reports from a few hundred years ago in the Southern Islands…” The Archprelate trailed off as he noticed that everyone was looking irritably at him again.
Beartongue rubbed the knot between her eyebrows. “So, it seems like we are agreed then. We should send some groups to investigate and find out the cause for our sudden frog abundance. In the meanwhile, the Four-Faced God will investigate the usage of trained animals to hunt them. And we at the Rat will coordinate with the Widows and Orphans House to arrange for them to receive training in how to catch the frogs so that they can either gain work clearing them out for people or sustain themselves with the frog meat.” She wrinkled her nose. “Hopefully, they will be happy enough to have a cheap source of meat to not complain too much.”
Lunch
“What’s next?” Beartongue groaned, stretching and cracking her back. She did not actually wish to be young again with all the anxieties and insecurities of that time, but she would happily switch out her back with her younger self who could, and did, happily sleep in any position on any surface with nary a twinge the next day.
Geordo said, smilingly, “Next is lunch.”
“Oh, thank the Rat! What do we have today?” she said.
He brightened up. “I think you’re really going to like it today. One of the new petitioners is a cheesemaker. She has paid us for our help with a portion of her newest batch: a goat cheese wrapped in olive leaves with a middle layer of vegetable ash.” Geordo carried in a tray of bread, cheese, and figs, along with a steaming tea pot and shoved some papers out of the way to set it down on her desk.
Beartongue took a bite of the cheese and sighed happily. “Now I just wish we could find a petitioner among the pastry-cooks. Do you think we could send one of the prelates down to Biscuit Lane to listen sympathetically to any of their problems and mention how we can help solve them?”
“I will get the prelates on to it, right away,” he deadpanned and the two shared a grin over their bites.
Consultation with Sin Eater Silva
“I see, so the Booksellers Guild wants to start a monthly broadsheet with the latest courtly gossip? Interesting. I can certainly see how that would be popular with many people. And also very unpopular with the people gossiped about. Certainly seems like something they may wish to get legal advice about.” She scribbled down a note in her personal code. “What about what I asked you about our new Guard Commander Tamsin?”
He looked off into the air over her head with the air of someone consulting a mental notebook for the appropriate entry. “Ah yes. Well, Tamsin is reasonably sober. Married faithfully, as far as we can tell so far, to Jessalyne, the daughter of the Blacksmith’s Guildmaster, for the past seven years, which helps account for his rise in the ranks. Decent for a policeman: not too vicious with his fists and doesn’t take more than his fair share of the bribes. Thinks he is much smarter than he is.” He paused. “Likes to gloat a little.” His mouth turned down just slightly in disdain.
“I see,” Beartongue said. She could work with gloating. Gloaters rarely thought much beyond their next victory. A few thoughts began to percolate inside her head about how best to arrange things. She’d need to talk to Geordo about this.
Silva rose, looking, as he usually did, sinuous and catlike. A small smile curled his mouth. “Oh, and one more thing. Just a small thing really. That Paladin of yours, the large one and his new religious lady friend?” The smile stretched into a grin. “Apparently a chandler turning into Linnaker Alley for a delivery caught them going right at it outside the butcher shop back entrance in the middle of the day. You might want to discreetly remind him that we are but simple city folk here and easily shocked by the depraved antics they get up to in the provinces?”
Meeting with Zale
“What trouble do you have for me now, Zale?” She eyed them faux-sternly and took a sip of her tea. Cold, blech. Beartongue sighed and shoved it to the side of her desk in the hopes that she would remember not to drink from it again.
Zale laid a hand over their heart. “I feel that is quite unfair. Merely because I have an eye for the more interesting petitioners and problems, I have become branded a troublemaker. Really you should be thanking me. If not for me, you might be forced to take a hands-on interest in these issues.”
“I usually do end up having to do exactly that,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but that is hardly my fault,” they said gently, “I do try to keep you out of it as much as possible.” Zale sighed and blew a lock of white hair impatiently out of their eyes. “In this case, in the form of one of our new petitioners. She ran away from her abusive family a few years ago. Changed her name, moved to Amalcross, started working for a farmer there and ended up meeting her wife. Unfortunately, her family is now very heavily involved in the upper hierarchy of the Motherhood. Somehow they have found out where she is and are trying to drag her back to her family.”
Beartongue frowned. “Well, we will certainly aid her in making sure that doesn’t happen. Does she want assistance to escape them, or is she planning to fight them legally?”
“Ah, you see, there’s a slight complication. Nikola is blind and mostly deaf, so her family says that she obviously can’t make any independent decisions, and that her partner is just making up lies about what she really wants.” They grimaced. “Oh, and did I mention that her wife is a minor wonderworker, so of course there is a lot of talk about evil, demon-possessed sorcerers casting spells on their innocent baby?” They sighed. “It’s a mess. I’d like to say that we could just drag them in front of a judge and point out that they are trying to kidnap a fully grown adult woman with a job, a house, and a wife of three years. But you know how many people think that people whose eyes or hands don’t work right must also have problems with their minds. And that’s not even counting the Motherhood’s rhetoric about how all wonderworkers are evil fiends just waiting for their chance to produce the next Clocktaur Wars.”
Beartongue huffed out a short breath. “You certainly don’t ever bring me the easy ones, do you? Well, let’s plan out our various attacks.”
Temple of the White Rat Administration
“I can’t possibly house more than an additional ten people in the Eastern Hall. And that’s assuming that the number of petitioners doesn’t increase,” said Bertram, the Head Housekeeper.
Cleric Rowen asked, “What about if we ask some of the acolytes who work at night to share rooms with those who work during the day? That would save on rooms.”
Sister Safiya, a small woman with long, gray-streaked hair and glasses, said, “We tried that at Hollis Knoll a few years ago. It mostly didn’t work out very well.”
“You said that it mostly didn’t work. Any ideas on what was different about the ones where it did work?” the cleric asked as he jotted down notes on a thick sheaf of papers.
She said slowly, “Well, they left a lot of notes for each other about issues that had come up and things they had done to del with it, you know, communicating about chores, and whether food stored in the room was meant to be shared or for them alone.”
“Great, great, encourage communications about roommate issues. Maybe we could arrange a book they could share to write to each other in, or some sort of board they could post notes on…” He eagerly scribbled some ideas down.
“And then the notes began to get more personal as they became friendlier, talking about their days, having some intense emotional conversations—"
Rowen nodded encouragingly. “Of course, sometimes it’s easier to write things down than it is to talk face-to-face, especially when embarrassment or fear of others’ reactions is a thing…”
“And then, anyway, to make a long story short, they’re married now and adopting their third child. But I don’t really think that that’s something we can expect from most roommates.” Safiya smiled sweetly up at him. “Don’t you agree?”
Preparation for the Archon’s Dinner
A knock on the door interrupted her correspondence. “The Archon’s dinner is tonight, so you need to start getting ready now.”
Beartongue grimaced slightly but accepted the dark blue tunic with dancing white rats embroidered along the hems that Geordo held out to her. Slipping behind the folded screen in the corner of the office to change, she said, “I hate these formal dinners.”
She heard him shuffling through the letters on her desk, sorting them into tidy piles of those that were ready to go out to various locations. “No, you don’t. You love getting to look all arch and mysterious while secretly plotting out terrible demises for half of them.”
She smiled at him while she brushed her hair. “No, that’s your style. I look serene and beneficent while secretly planning how I would run their duties if I were in charge. Which I praise the Rat every night that I am not, because I realize that just trying to desperately keep up with all the duties of one small Temple is quite enough for my talents.” Beartongue stepped out from behind the screen to hunt for her court slippers.
Geordo handed them to her and grinned. “I would accuse you of being modest, but I’m fairly sure that if I did so that you would find some excuse to saddle me with your responsibilities, and that’s something nobody would wish for. But I understand. These things take up so much time that could be better used for something else.”
“No,” she paused to put in the gold earrings of three entwined mice that she wore for court functions. “It’s the food. It’s all very nice if you like that sort of thing. Tiny plates and lots of fancy cooking techniques. But the Archon has a new chef who I suppose feels the need to prove that they are worthy to be cooking for the elite of Archon’s Glory, such as it is. Take the last dessert: a perfectly nice crème caramel with some orange and rosemary. You’d think that would be fancy enough. But no! She had to put gold flakes on top. Actual gold! You can eat it, of course, it won’t hurt you. But what is it for, other than to boast about?” Beartongue sighed, staring at her reflection in the small mirror.
“And I just hope it’s the chef, and not a sign that the Archon is feeling a need to impress people with his power and wealth. Never a good sign when a place’s leader feels the need to proclaim his superiority over those he rules. Leads to all sorts of dangerous actions when he feels threatened. But it is unfortunately exactly something I can see those idiots over at the Motherhood suggesting.” She turned around to shrug into the stole Geordo was holding open. “And so, I suppose, that is why I do not see this as wasted time. Because I fear the amount of harm they could truly do if the Motherhood ever gains the Archon’s total support. So I go to these dinners, and I trade blandly civil remarks with their priests, and I temper his language when he starts up his hateful rhetoric about sinners and purges, and I remind the Archon just how much the rule of law and the existence of all the gods has benefited Archonhold over the years, in the hopes that in this small way I can mitigate harm.”
She extended her arm to him. “Come, walk with me to the carriage. I’d like to discuss this plan to install scribes at the Guardhouses. Have you heard what the Four-Faced God’s scribes have suggested?”
Formal Dinner at the Archon’s palace
Beartongue prodded the oysters on her plate, which were covered in a scattering of shaved truffles, and sighed. Should she mention this to Sister Clara? She wasn’t sure if the laysister would be more irritated at someone who didn’t know how to properly cook with her Convent’s produce or amused by the folly? Probably both. She approved of Clara. There was a woman who knew practicality down to her bones.
She turned to the Guild Leader beside her. “I’ve heard that you are thinking about starting a monthly gossip broadsheet. Have you considered how best to avoid legal liabilities? I feel like we could offer you a valuable consultation.”
Prayer and Sleep Dealing with the Latest Catastrophe
An urgent knocking burst into her consciousness, waking Beartongue up from a confused dream about painting the oxen green because Brindle had told her it would make them happier. She struggled out of bed and opened the door.
“I’m sorry to interrupt so late,” Zale said. “But it’s that petitioner I told you about earlier. The one escaping her family. She’s missing.”
“Any signs that she was kidnapped? Is her partner missing as well?”
“They’re both gone, and there’s nothing to definitely say it’s a kidnapping, but also nothing to point to a voluntary leaving. All of their things still seem to be at the hostel, as best as we can tell.”
“Well, then, it appears we have a mystery. Can you wake up, hmm, Brindle if he’s around? And a couple of the Paladins. Clara, too, if she’s willing. Her nose may be able to scent something we can’t. I’d rather not alert the Guards just yet if we don’t have to.” She yawned jaw-crackingly wide and stretched her neck while she considered. “I’ll put the kettle on and meet you at my office.”
Zale apologized and gave her a commiserating look. “I have some extra honey cakes in my room. I’ll bring those as well.”
She smiled. “You are a Saint among solicitors.” They laughed at the old joke. She turned back inside to grab her slippers and a warmer overlayer. It looked like it was going to be another long night. Beartongue sighed. “Most people think we become lawyers because we like to argue. Not me. Arguing is pointless. But I will argue until my tongue falls off if I can protect just one person from those who use the power of the law to hurt others.”
“And that’s why the Rat chose you as Bishop,” Zale said.
“No,” she said. “I’m fairly sure that’s because I’m good at paperwork. But it is why I chose the Rat. And if I can leave the world slightly better for as many people as possible, I will think my work has been fairly recompensed.
And tonight, that means finding a young woman who may have been kidnapped, arrested, fled in fear, or even,” she smiled wryly, “merely lost in an unfamiliar city. Ah well. If I wanted a boring life I would have retired to the monastery for a life of quiet contemplation long ago.”
“You’d never do that,” Zale pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
“No, probably not. But it isn’t nice to occasionally contemplate on a chilly night when we are facing a very late night with a high likelihood of problems?”
“If you say so,” they demurred politely.
She chuckled and grabbed the lantern. “Come on,” she said, “we have quite a lot to do and waiting won’t lessen it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Zale grinned and they set out together down the halls to solve the latest problem.