Voice of the Pickles

One of the slightly-singed wooden buildings turned out to be Apis’s home. He took a back staircase up, leading us through a doorway and up rickety steps. I could hear snoring through one door, and through another a flight up, a couple arguing. Only once we reached the top floor did he pull out a set of keys and unlock a door, iron jangling.

Above us, there was the sound of buzzing. I glanced upwards, trying to trace it, but couldn’t see the source. All I could see was the butter-pale moon, nearly full for the Flight’s Feast, and the washed-out sky. In the middle of the city, there were no visible stars. I felt a sudden pang of longing for the country, separate from my anger at being in the capital at all. There was something beautiful and simple about it, removed from the chaos and fear here.

Then I stepped inside, and I was no longer worried about such philosophies.

“You didn’t say it was full of bees,” I said, stepping back towards the door.

“They won’t hurt you!” said Apis, who had pulled down his hood instead of bringing it up. He was mad! That was the only explanation. I watched him with half-wide eyes, unable to comprehend it.

Beyond him was a cramped room. A table was set with two chairs. One of them was half-broken, one leg supported by an old crate. The other was well-made, and clearly repaired. Upon it sat a woven beehive, crawling all-over with bees. As if they sensed Apis’s nearness, they buzzed with excitement, flying over and crawling upon his hands, his face, even his eyes. He didn’t flinch.

I found myself changing my opinion of him quickly. Before he had seemed only a little timid, perhaps afraid of life outside of the temple. Now I knew better. He hadn’t called me mad because he was completely mad himself.

“I think we need to be going,” I said, and grabbed for the door handle.

Apis turned to face me. He smiled, the bees crawling over his cheeks. He looked entirely serene. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They don’t know you. They worry about strangers. They only missed me.”

Duran, I could feel, was hiding behind me. This was impressive because when he was standing he actually was slightly taller than I was. He had half-drawn the sword again, the slick metal sliding against the sheath with a thwacking sound.

“They’re bees,” I said.

“They need to be told about everything,” he said. He made a clicking noise with his tongue, the kind you might make to reprimand a dog. “Nosy souls. It’s as if they spend all of their time nosing around flowers instead of using their own senses.”

He flicked a hand, sending a few fat bees spiraling back towards the hive. “I’ll put some tea on,” he said, helpful. “The fire’s still going.”

In the back of the room, a chimney went up through the whole building. A fireplace was added along with a grate. A few coals still rested there, filling the place with a faint haze of smoke. Apis didn’t seem to mind this smoke. He strode through the apartment, leaning down next to his cot and nudging at the coals with an iron poker until they sparked back to life and nestling a kettle into their flames.

“Only a few moments now,” he said. As he did it, he muttered to the hive; he introduced me in a low voice, calling me the honored voice of Andrena- flowery, if technically true- and just naming Duran as ‘my boy’.

I couldn’t tell why I hadn’t moved. Maybe it was because he had told the truth, and the bees hadn’t come near me. They stayed in a little cloud around their hive, which was dripping honey in a steady flow into a bucket underneath the chair. A few adventurous bees were around Apis’s face, but even those had steadily returned to their home.

I found myself almost believing his talk about bees and being nosy.

Either that or the smoke was sedating them. I coughed. All of this smoke smell was blending together, reminding me of the temple again. There must be something wrong with the chimney. I shuddered again. Was it better to die by bees, or by fire?

Andrena, if this is a test, I don’t want to take it.

“You can stop clutching at my cloak,” I said, and felt Duran stand up behind me. He peered forward, leaning on my shoulder, and stared for a long moment at the hive before finally emerging into the main room.

There wasn’t much space at all; only the table, and the sparse cot in front of the fireplace. A door opened to another room elsewhere, although she couldn’t see anything within the shadowed arch. Apis was leaning over, the sparks illuminating the low bridge of his nose and the tight curls of his hair. He was watching the coals, intent, as though he wasn’t bothered by two strangers in his home.

I supposed he had no reason to be worried. Other than the cot, the only other things of worth in the room were a few jars stacked up in the corner- empty, but still glass- probably worth a few coppers- and a stone prayer bust. A carved bee, for Andrena. Set above the fireplace, to represent the home. A cupboard in the corner was closed, but I doubted it held anything much of worth.

So. He had been telling the truth, about being faithful.

I swallowed, keeping an eye on those bees, and then stepped forward. “Did you actually have a plan in mind? Or were you just hoping the solution would be in the flames?”

“Tea first,” said Apis, solid. “Then we discuss.”

There was a great deal of fiddling with the kettle, then watching it boil with a squeal as the steam escaped. With that sound came a thumping from downstairs; apparently they didn’t like their rest disturbed. Finally he pulled out three roughly thrown mugs, no handles, from the cupboard and sprinkled in a few leaves of tea, pouring in hot water.

We all exchanged glances. There was only one chair.

After a great deal of fussing, I was finally forced into the chair- being the only woman- and Apis was forced onto the cot- being the owner of the home. I couldn’t help but gently scoot the chair away from the buzzing of bees, their sound ever-present. Duran hovered near the fireplace, as far from the bees as he could get. He gripped the mug as though it could form some sort of self-defense for him. Before I could ask a question, Apis began to speak.

“The guards burst into the pub that night,” said Apis. “Looking for two people wearing pale tunics and grey cloaks.”

“What of it?” I said. That pub looked like it was full of the sort of people who wanted to run from the law. An arsonist was no different than a brawler or a thief, not to them.

I avoided his gaze and swirled my tea. I might be better off wandering, or asking the discontent crowd at the Spire. After seeing them, it seemed more and more likely that one of the protesters had just gotten lost and burned the wrong building down.

Besides. I didn’t like the way he was watching me. It was like he expected things of me. As if at any moment, the Goddess Andrena might speak through me.

Don’t get any ideas.

“This was different,” he said, as though I was especially dim. “The guards forced everyone in the pub to stand up, saying they were checking for any letterboy underneath the tables. I didn’t realize at the time why they might be looking.” His eyes gained that haunted cast again, and he clutched his mug tighter. “If I had only known…”

“But they didn’t find their targets,” I said. “They couldn’t have. Otherwise…”

My mind was whirring, though. Had the letterboys really been involved? I hadn’t seen a single one so far in the city- which only now struck me as strange. How were people getting their mail, if the letterboys had been hauled off of the streets? They were usually smaller boys, a little younger than Duran, the better to avoid notice as they delivered letters.

Easy to avoid notice, even as they slipped into a temple.

“Let me finish,” said Apis. “I saw the guards when I was going to check on the temple this evening. They were dragging a boy down to the jail. He was about your age,” He said, nodding to Duran. “Wearing the dusken cloak. It was singed, too. I could see the burn marks.”

I slammed my tea down.

“It can’t be,” I said. “If they caught the letterboys-” If they had caught the boys, then what could Andrena possibly want from me? I couldn’t do anything the guards weren’t capable of. They had dozens of men with pikes. I had a large spoon, a teenage boy, and a beekeeper.

“I didn’t say it was the right boy,” said Apis. His tone had turned soothing, the same sound he’d used for the bees. “But they did take one.”

“Say your piece, then,” I said.

“Well, we can visit the jail,” he said. “They’ll hang him as soon as he’s put to trial, I expect.”

The taste of tea, once simply poorly brewed, turned over-bitter in my mouth. If they had truly taken the wrong boy…

“Right,” I said. “We ought to sleep now, then. We’ll be leaving at dawn.” I had resistance to my quest - frankly, I still had no idea what I would do with the arsonist when I found him - but there was also basic decency.

“Wait.” Apis stood, stretched- I heard every bone in his back break, it sounded like- and finally gestured for me to come forward. I cast one last suspicious glance at the bees swirling around their woven hive, the honey slowly dripping, then stepped forward.

“We ought to pray to Andrena before you turn in,” he said. “This is-”

He turned to me, and his face lit up with what I could only describe as hope. I had to restrain myself from running in the other direction. “I would thank her- you-”

“No, it’s definitely her,” I said, and tried to focus on the bee to avoid eye contact.

“I would thank her,” he continued, “For the opportunity. The last Voice of Andrena, well, she was wonderful at her job. She was also, ah, distant.” His eyes flickered towards the Spire.

I felt a chill go up my spine. I held out a hand before he could go on. “Is she-”

“No one has been recovered from the ashes yet,” he said, which was essentially a yes.

I shuddered. “Then-“

“Yes,” he said. He turned to the bee over the mantlepiece and knelt before the fire. “It’s a gift. You arrived just in time for the council.”

The festival of Flight’s Feast. Usually only an excuse to drink the night away with everyone you liked and most of the people you didn’t. Every decade or so, an impossible bureaucratic headache.

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

“The council?” asked Duran. He’d put his tea down too and started drawing the sword again. I put a hand on the hilt and pushed it back into the sheath before he broke something.

“When they decide the next leader of the Spire. It happens every ten years.”

Most of it was already determined. The upper gods- Andrena, Teuthida, Caballus and Ursus- were already determined by their number of worshippers, although if they really wanted they could give a blessing to a lower god. The lower gods were the ones who fought for relevance each election. There were only ten seats for them, after all, and dozens of them to compete for the honor.

The ultimate high seat of the gods never changed, of course, which was why I thought it was all pointless. That honor was reserved for the Beetle God, Coleoptera.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “They’re protesting at the Spire because the Voice of Ursus has made some rude comment again.”

“No,” said Apis. “They’re protesting because Andrena’s temple was burnt to the ground, and the Voice of Cabellus- the god of Fire, in case you didn’t recall- has not denied responsibility.”

I froze. “Surely,” I said, watching the flames dance, the kettle still just out of the embers, “The Voice of Andrena- she’s in hiding. She’s just waiting to appear in time for the election.”

“No one knows. The day it happened, the Spire closed to prevent interference in the election. No one in, no one out.”

That had been at least a week and a half ago, by my count.

I watched the flames and I wondered, very suddenly, what exactly Andrena had in mind when she brought me here.