The Orb of Unquestionable Truth turned out to be just as useless for generating income as I feared. Who would buy an artifact that forced you to confess your most embarrassing secrets? Even Rylan, the master of questionable deals, refused the offer with a horrified look.
"Some truths are best left buried, Takumi. For example, I would never pay more than five coins for that thing," he said, then immediately covered his own mouth, horrified by his forced honesty caused by the orb I was holding. He fled.
We were sitting in the tavern, the useless orb at the center of the table, surrounded by unpaid bills. The atmosphere was tense. The confessions at the temple still lingered over us like a ghost.
"We need money. Fast," I declared, breaking the silence. "Before Brom makes good on his manure threat."
That's when a scroll sealed with golden wax materialized in the air, hovered above our table, and unfurled with a whoosh.
"Official Invitation from the Council of Lesser Gods," it read in shining letters. "You, known as 'The Unclothables,' are invited to serve as attendants at the Annual Celestial Banquet. Payment: 100 gold coins. Location: Hall of Divine Festivals. Dress Code: Semi-formal (preferably with clothing intact)."
Vespera grabbed the scroll. "Gold? Gold is good!"
Elara read cautiously. "'Lesser Gods'? That sounds... risky."
Liriel wrinkled her nose. "The Annual Banquet. A night of third-rate deities trying to impress each other with hors d'oeuvres and gossip. Pathetic."
"But it's a hundred gold coins, Liriel," I reminded her. "Gold. That pays the stable, the roof, the jars, the flour, the crystals..."
She sighed dramatically. "Very well. But if any lesser god tries to hand me a business card, I'll turn him into a frog."
The Hall of Divine Festivals was... dazzling. Everything looked made of solid light, marble that hummed softly when stepped on, and fountains that poured nectar. Lesser gods of every kind circulated — goddesses of harvest dressed in leaves, gods of commerce with floating abacuses, weather entities arguing over atmospheric pressure.
We were the only mortals. And the only ones wearing aprons.
"Remember," I whispered to the group, carrying a tray of amber glasses filled with starlit dew. "Serve, don't provoke. And for the love of everything holy, don't break anything."
"Boring," Vespera complained, but picked up a tray of seasoned cloud canapés.
Our contact was a lesser god named Fester, in charge of the food. He was short, jittery, and sweating light. "Quickly, quickly! The Goddess of Primordial Gossip is thirsty! The God of Lost Naps is hungry! Don't mess this up! This year's budget is already stretched thin!"
For one hour — unbelievably — everything went well. Elara, with deep concentration, used minor levitation spells to carry heavy trays without fainting. Vespera, motivated by the reward, served drinks without spilling a drop. Liriel, wearing an expression of supreme boredom, distributed hors d'oeuvres with an efficiency that bordered on insulting. I moved around, collecting empty glasses, avoiding eye contact.
Then I saw him. Sitting on a lesser throne, surrounded by flattering satyrs, was Bromus, the Lesser God of Stables, Horses, and Dubious Loans. He was the divine image of Brom, our stable master: broader than tall, with a beard made of golden hay and eyes that calculated the worth of everything.
Our eyes met. He recognized me instantly. A wide, gold-toothed smile spread across his face.
"You!" he thundered, pointing a hay-scented finger at me. "The mortal who owes fifty coins to my earthly devotee! With interest!"
The chatter in the hall stopped. Every divine eye turned toward me.
"Lord Bromus," I said, trying to keep my composure. "That's a... terrestrial misunderstanding. We're just here to serve."
"Serve?" he laughed, a sound like a horse's whinny. "You'll serve to pay me! Here and now!"
"I don't have celestial gold, sir."
"Then work for me! Serve me personally! The main course is late. Go to the kitchens and bring me my special roast chicken! Now!"
It was a trap. I knew it. But a hundred gold coins were at stake. I nodded and ran toward the kitchens.
There, chaos was divine. Cosmic fires crackled, giant pots bubbled with constellation soups. And in the center, on a spit of light, rotated the largest, most golden, and most fragrant roast chicken I had ever seen.
"Bromus's chicken!" I shouted to the chef, a four-armed god with a flaming chef's hat.
"Take it! And be careful! It's seasoned with Herbs of Forgetfulness! Inhaling the smoke may cause... memory lapses!"
I grabbed the giant tray. The chicken was heavy, and the aroma was intoxicating. Literally. As I carried it through the hall, a golden smoke wafted from it, and I accidentally inhaled some.
Immediately, I felt my mind grow... light.
Bromus rubbed his hands. "Put it here, mortal!"
I took a step. Tripped. The tray tilted. The divine chicken, perfectly roasted, slid off the tray, flew through the air in slow motion, and hit Bromus square in the face, wrapped in a cloud of golden smoke.
The Lesser God of Stables sat there for a second, with a chicken in his lap, covered in grease and herbs. He inhaled deeply. His eyes glazed over.
"Where... where am I?" he murmured, confused. "Who... who are you?" He looked down at the chicken in his lap. "And why am I hugging a roasted bird?"
The effect of the Herbs of Forgetfulness was powerful. Bromus had forgotten who he was, who I was, and his debt.
Fester, the nervous god, appeared, horrified. "You... you've amnesia'd a guest! The main course is destroyed! Your reward is confiscated! And the bill for damages will be sent to Vaelor!"
Panic. Even Liriel looked impressed.
Then Vespera, with a gleam of evil genius in her eyes, grabbed the Orb of Truth from the service table where we'd left it.
"Wait!" she shouted, holding the orb high. "Lord Bromus doesn't remember his debt. But the Orb of Truth can make him recall! We want our reward, or I'll activate this and he'll confess all his embarrassing divine secrets to the entire hall! Like how he started as a pony spirit, perhaps?"
Fester paled. The threat of exposing divine secrets in public was worse than a lost chicken.
"Fine! Fine!" he shouted. "A hundred gold coins! Now! Just get out of here!"
He shoved a heavy bag of gold into my hands and literally pushed us out of the hall, while Bromus, still confused, tried to have a conversation with a candelabrum.
We fell back into the mortal world, in the same place we had left, with the sound of the celestial party fading behind us.
I held the bag of gold. It was heavy. It was real.
"We did it," I said, stunned.
"Of course we did," Liriel said, straightening her apron. "It was all part of my plan, obviously."
Elara and Vespera looked at her, but were too relieved to argue.
The relief lasted exactly until the moment a new scroll materialized — this time, from the Vaelor Merchants' Guild.
"Fine for Disturbing a Celestial Event: 50 gold coins. Fine for Unauthorized Use of a Magical Artifact in Divine Jurisdiction: 30 gold coins."
I looked at the bag of gold in my hands. Looked at the bills. In the end, we were left with twenty coins. Enough to pay Gorrin and his jars. Brom's stable, Garth's flour, and Torin's roof would have to wait.
Some things, I realized, are universal: whether among mortals or gods, at the end of the day, you always end up owing someone.