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They had to go back today, and they refused to be underprepared. Lamb rifled through the cult kitchen, exasperatedly yanking open every cooler and cabinet.
“How much longer will you be slamming things about? Heket and I need to use the stovetop.” Leshy’s voice was unmistakable compared to most of the Lamb’s other followers. Every former god seemed to have that effect. Their voices practically reverberated through the Lamb’s head.
“You may be waiting a while. Oh!”
Lamb popped their head above the counter to peer at the two bishops. “Heket! You can help me!” The frog narrowed her eyes at that. “Where do we usually keep the follower meat?”
Heket offered no attempt at a response. Not even a change in expression.
“I know we have some.” It could be more aptly referred to as a stockpile, actually. Lamb didn’t have much culinary use for it, but kept it around for the rare construction project. Still, neither of the bishops were giving an answer. Which probably meant…
“Heket. Seriously?” The frog smirked. “You have been here for a MONTH! You could not have eaten it all already!”
“To be fair, it was not solely her. I had some as well.” Leshy offered, eagerly unhelpful.
“This is outrageous.” Lamb stepped out of the kitchen and deflated against one of the dining counter chairs. “You two are outrageous.”
Leshy chuckled at that, moving to lean back against the counter. Next to him, Heket took out the kettle. She seemed to find it funny as well, though her laughter was, of course, mostly silent.
The worm continued the conversation.
“Why are you so upset about this? You never used follower meat before now. Have you created some new meat-ritual that I should know about?”
“Novel idea, but no, I haven’t gotten into the business of making new rituals yet.” Lamb replied. “I was just going to use it for a meal.”
“Oooh I see~ Trying to teach someone a lesson on authority, hmm?” Leshy seemed almost… excited at that notion. Heket, who had moved to stand next to him while waiting for the water to boil, appeared to be interested too.
“Trying to manifest a few diseased hearts for my next crusade, actually.”
Leshy scoffed. “Anchordeep has been giving you that much trouble? I don’t recall you needing disease hearts for Darkwood or Anura. I’m insulted.”
“Listen! The heretics there multiply and explode!” Lamb scrambled to defend themselves, spurred on by the judgmental glare from Heket. “It’s ridiculous!”
“You’re practically at the door to Kallamar’s temple and your biggest worries are his underlings?”
“Well, yes. And no.” Lamb admitted. “Actually, since you two are here, I wanted to ask something.”
“You want advice on how to defeat him? Hounds of Fate and Beak of the Fowler combo. Never fails.” Good advice to be sure, but not the information Lamb wanted.
“Do you think he would be in any state to be reasoned with?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Mentally. You two know him better than I. And you know firsthand what it is like to be… in that situation.” Lamb tiptoed around the word itself, but the two bishops straightened at the vague mention nonetheless. Leshy’s claws grasped at his cloak, pulling it tighter around him. Heket stiffened and curled her hands into fists. Purgatory was hell, pure and simple. Not even gods came away unscathed. The Lamb continued. “Could I save him without a fight? Would he be… present enough to consider the offer? I feel there may be a chance. I encountered him during my second round, and he seemed more terrified than hostile.”
“Tch. Cowardly as ever.” Leshy remarked. To his right, the kettle began to shrill. Heket moved to tend to it. “Well, I cannot speak for his cognizance, but, given you prove yourself trustworthy, I have no doubt he would take your offer.”
“That will be my plan then.” The Lamb paused, thinking. “You know, it seems the only thing anyone has to say about Kallamar is that he is cowardly. Surely he isn’t that one-note?”
“I suppose it’s the novelty of it.” Leshy shrugged. “Knowing that the god towering above you is-” Next to him, Heket rasped something. It was near inaudible to the Lamb, but Leshy had no problem deciphering it, quickly interrupting himself to respond. “Your choice. You know I’m not picky. Maybe something that we could put honey in though? One of the missionaries came back with some yesterday.” Heket gave an affirmative breath and Leshy turned his attention back to the Lamb. “As I was saying, it’s the thing people notice most. Are we done with the questions?”
“I wish to prepare for his arrival as I did yours. Is there anything else I should know about him?”
The pair stalled for a moment. Despite all the effort Lamb put in to get to know them, the two former bishops were stubborn, refusing to share anything about themselves. Though, as the worm tilted his head and smiled sharply, it seemed Kallamar’s secrets were not worth keeping. “Kallamar is very good at manipulating people. ‘Charm’ is the word he prefers to use for it, but the meaning is the same. I would suggest keeping him away from your more impressionable underlings.”
A grumbled “... Vain…” was Heket’s only contribution to the discussion. She hadn’t even bothered to turn around from the tea she was pouring.
Lamb tried not to let their frustration show. “Okay, allow me to rephrase. Is there anything I can do to make the transition easier for him?”
“Aside from building his entire shelter out of gold and crystals?” Leshy flippantly remarked. “I cannot think of anything.”
The Lamb sighed, accepting that they would not be getting any further information.
“I’ll take my leave, then.” They slipped off the counter chair. “Apologies for souring your tea time.”
Lamb received no acknowledgement from either of the pair as they walked off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was later in the day when the Lamb sat rummaging through their demon record book, earnestly mulling over which followers to take on their final Anchordeep crusade. They needed whatever combat help they could get, but would having only combat-focused demons hurt their chances of bargaining with the blue crown? It would be intimidating, surely. So perhaps they should call forth Hathor as-
“He enjoyed calligraphy.”
The Lamb jolted at the low voice behind them. The cat’s shadow loomed from over their shoulder. “Narinder? Wha- Who are we speaking about?”
“Kallamar. You were asking around about him, yes? He enjoyed calligraphy.” There was no pause in his words, no room for an affirmative. “He used to have papers pinned on the walls of his temple. Handwritten doctrines, or the names of his most loyal followers. They considered it an honor.” Narinder laughed, dry and meanspirited. “To find value in something so worthless, truly their brains must have been fried with fever. I remember, in my early godhood, he assisted with my studies, writing reminders and notes for me when I could not find the time. His handwriting helped things stick in my mind more.”
The Lamb did not dare to turn their head. They did not dare to say anything. If they did, it would surely break the spell that had compelled Narinder to talk openly, semi-positively, about his former family. The cat did not need any acknowledgement that they were listening.
“I do not know if he still does it, for when I watched you battle him the first time, the temple walls were bare. Nonetheless, perhaps you can use this knowledge to prepare a bit for his arrival.”
Silence stretches, and the Lamb waits one more moment before turning around.
“Thank you for the information.”
The field behind them is empty.