Book 2: Chapter 40: Butter Knives Aren't Great at Stabbing
The brewer’s guild in the Grand Market was exactly as it had been the last time I’d come. Roughly… a month ago, now. The only difference was that the beer garden had been converted into a single long table, which was covered in food, and the faint odour of onions wafted around outside. The area was closed to the public, and sixteen black robed figures sat around the table. Well… maybe sat was the wrong choice of word.
“Give me that elfin piece o’ cheese!”
“Not till ya pass tha sausages!”
“Oooh, are these yer wife’s scones?”
“Aye, she made ‘em special.”
“Where’s all the beer gone?”
“WHO KEEPS STABBIN’ ME WITH THA BUTTER KNIFE!?”
“Git over it, you’ve got [Regeneration].”
“It still bloody hurts!”
“Bah, ya got a babe’s moustache.”
There followed an intense kerfuffle at the end of the table.
Annie and I watched, bereft. We’d known there was going to be food, but whatever we’d been expecting, this hadn’t been it. I cleared my throat and the dwarf at the head of the table noticed us. Malt hopped out of his seat and sauntered over, a roasted chicken leg dripping with gravy held loosely in one hand. He seemed to have gotten a bit rounder since I’d seen him last.
“A most auspicious day you to Master Brewer.” Annie and I said together and bowed.
“A most auspicious day to you too Brewer.” Malt gave me a short bow then poked Annie in her bowed forehead. “And why aren’t you a [Brewer] yet, hmm? I can’t imagine that all yer work hasn’t been sufficient for a Blessing or two.” He took a bite of chicken and slurped the gravy soaked skin up as he did so.
Annie’s smile thinned. “I’ve been waiting for the right one.”
“*Munch* *Munch* Picky, picky. Back in my day youngsters were happy to get any Blessing, and now they’re pickin’ and choosin’? Oy Drum! Did you hear that? Young Annie turned the Gods down!”
A few other dwarves at the table noticed us, and either smiled, ignored us, or glowered. Drum raised his fist in a rude gesture. I was pretty sure it was aimed at Malt. He then resumed fighting another brewer over a plate of fire-blackened drumsticks covered in cloves and garlic.
“Well, *gulp* no matter. Would you care to join us for food? We have some delicious treats, including that new Octamillenial thing from Joejam’s.”
A muscle twitched in Annie’s neck. She’d come here high strung and ready to fight, and Malt’s attitude was throwing her off. It was another common business tactic, and one I’d actually done a lot myself. Though it could have just been Malt… we’d worked out ahead of time who would talk when, and I swept in. Annie just wasn’t as in tune with the business side, yet. She knew dwarven law and business, but I know business.
“We'd be happy ta join you for a business lunch, Malt. WIll we be presenting during or after tha meal?”
Malt smacked his lips. “After, I think.”
“Well then, we’d love to sit down with everyone.”
As we walked up to the table Malt suddenly yelled. “Alright, listen up you lot! You all know young Goldstone here, and this is her partner Brewer Peter Roughtuff.”
There was a general mutter of acknowledgment. I looked around the room and put faces to names; Annie had drilled their identities into me so I wouldn’t be completely lost here. There was a grey-haired dwarf with the muttonchops who gave me a small wave - Master Brewer Stonetusk, and the dwarfess with the lovely emerald hair. She was giving me a death glower, and if looks could kill… Annie had said her name was Topaz Caskit, and she was one of Browning’s old hardliners. I also spotted one of the ginger ducktail bearded twins - Master Brewer Crackle, who was currently chatting with another hooded dwarf. The rest were still hooded.
“Take a seat you two. Alright you lot! A toast!” Malt raised his glass. “Fer Crack and Minnova! And the Will of the Ancestors!”
Everyone raised their mugs. “For Crack and Minnova! And the Will of the Ancestors!”
Annie and I toasted along with everyone then took our seats. I may or may not have slipped a "Fer Crack and Annie!" in there. Annie was slowly getting back into her groove as she leaned in to a neighbour and began chatting about the quality of the food. I personally found it to be a cut below the usual fare we got from Bran. The gravy had distinctly too little sugar, and the chicken was just a bit under-salted. It really did look like Bran’s biggest advantage as a chef was his willingness to go hard on spices. Good for him.
I paused in my mastication of some erdroot pasta as I realized the sauce had beer in it. I would recognize that awful, sour aftertaste anywhere! I smiled and resumed eating, it looked like Bran’s use of beer in dwarven food was reaching the general population.
“Yer the one whose been messin’ with tha Sacred Brew, eh?”
The dwarf to my left spoke up while I was in the middle of chewing on a massive pork hock.
“*Mrf*?” I replied. “And who might you be? A Most Auspicious Day to you, Master Brewer.”
The dwarf, who was still wearing his hood up, audibly sneered. “I’m Samuel Rudd, of Ruddy Bloodbrews. I’ll never vote to bring you back in. All of this is an affront to our ancestors.”
He squared up as he said it, clearly expecting a fight. However, by this point I was more resigned by the dwarven attitude towards tradition than enraged. Forget the Red Rage, I couldn’t work up an emotion much hotter than ‘mild’.
I smiled disarmingly. “I’m glad ta meet a dwarf who holds fast to his convictions. I’m about to offer everyone here a lot of gold, but I guess you won’t be wanting it. Your ancestors will be proud of you for resisting temptation.”
“I - er, aye. How much gold? No, yer right. I’ll nae change me mind over somethin’ as small as money. Gold is gold.”
“Why is it called bloodbrew? I imagine it uses the same recipe as the other beers?” I kept my tone chatty and curious.
The dwarf was hesitant at first, but answered. “Fer thousands of years everyone agreed that our clan’s beer is just a bit darker than everyone else's, like tha colour of dried blood. And it reminds them of drinkin’ the blood of their enemies! We’re tha favourite beer of [Berzerkers] and warriors!”
“Hmmm… sounds like iron contamination, and maybe hard water. Is it a little more bitter than the regular Sacred Brew? I should see if it actually tastes like blood.” Huh, I actually knew what bloody brew tasted like. It was brewed tea, but the point remained - what a terrifying, horrible thing to know. I’d need to ask Richter if there were any long term problems for dwarves drinking excess iron like that, though I suspected not.
“You - what? What do you mean iron? All we’ve ever used is water, bittering agent, and erdroot! Are you accusin’ us of changing the Sacred Brew!?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t dream of accusing you of something like that Master Brew. If it’s like the Goat, you pump your water up from the city reservoir, right? There’s probably an iron deposit near your pump head, and it’s leeching iron into the water. That’s gettin’ into yer beer, and making it taste like blood. In short, it’s the water. Congratulations! Your clan has been blessed by Tiara.” I raised my tankard. “Fer Tiara, may we eventually find her keep!” I chugged and tried not to gag. This was the original Sacred Brew - I had to fish a twig out from under my uvula.
My seatmate pulled down his hood. He had scruffy reddish/brown hair and a ruddy complexion with the pinched face of a persistent worrier. His beard and hair were braided in a traditional style. “What are you talkin’ about??”
“Beer? The crafting ins and outs? Surely you’ve carefully studied the great gift your ancestors left for you? Hard water is full of calcium and magnesium and tends to make beer bitter. Even just changing where you get your water from can have a massive impact on beer flavour.”
“Er, aye. I knew that.”
“Of course you did! How fortunate that your clan received such an excellent opportunity. It might have been lost if any other industry opened in your area. And you’ve turned what could have been a negative into your clan’s trademark. I’m impressed.”
“Er… thank you, Brewer Roughtuff.”
“No, thank you fer reaching out to a youngster like meself!”
I gently finagled the Master Brewer in the direction I wanted, and we were soon discussing erdroot markets and the cooking contest. Apparently he’d put a lot of money on Kebab Cuisine coming in top 3, and had won a tidy sum. I eventually moved on from him to introduce myself to several of the other guild clans. Annie had already made the rounds, so I didn’t bother with a spiel. She was currently chatting merrily with Malt.
Eventually everyone was done eating (except for Drum), and Malt called the meeting to order.
“Alright! Let’s get this meeting under way. I have an afternoon nap to get to.”
There was general laughter. Gawd, it felt like Monday morning corporate meetings back in Canada when Beavermoose Brewery was big.
“As many of ya know, the Goldstones were not renewed into the guild after the retirement of Jermiah Goldstone. Young Goldstone here wants us to vote them back in.”
There was a *Bang!* as the emerald bearded dwarfess smashed her gauntlet on the table. “After what they did with that Feud? We were given a black eye before all of Minnova!” There was a murmur of assent from several others.
“And that was entirely Browning’s fault!” Drum snapped. He tossed a half-eaten chicken to the side. “*Burp* And by tha Gods he deserved it! Ya cannae tell me the hubris didn’t grate, and he acted like he owned tha guild instead o’ just runnin’ it!”
The ginger twin laughed. “Not that Malt’s any better. He can’t manage much better than walkin’ it.”
I immediately liked him significantly more than I had a minute ago.
“Now, now. The Thirsty Goat has a proposal they’d like us to hear first, and I think you’ll like it. Come on up, youngins.” Malt’s eyes twinkled as he spoke. I frowned as Annie and I walked over to stand beside him.
“What do you know…” I asked suspiciously.
“A lot of brewing equipment and erdroots have been purchased by Pot Company. We keep track of those to nab beer smugglers. Well, used to nab. Drum and I have been turnin’ a blind eye the past few months. A lot more hobby brewers than usual; must be all the competitions.” Malt smiled and yielded the floor to a beaming Annie. We’d decided she should present; hopefully having a familiar face present our outlandish plan would soften the blow.
“Last night, I had a meeting with a new subsidiary. They believe they can massively increase our market cap. By our numbers, anyone who joins in on this new market could see a nearly 75% increase in sales. I would like you to consider this contribution to the Guild for determining our re-entry. ”
“Nonsense!” A dwarf with a curly blonde mop of hair and a goatee scoffed and rose to his feet. “A 75% increase is impossible, there aren’t that many people in all of Minnova. And how is a subsidiary supposed to make a difference.”
Annie bounced a chicken leg off his head, and he sat back down. “The subsidiary is Pot Corporation, and with their help we believe we have created the first acceptable gnomish brew. With a minimum amount of tool-up, and their aid, we believe every brewing clan in Crack will be able to sell Sacred Brew to the Gnomes.”
There was a beat of silence, and then everyone started yelling at once.
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