Chapter 11: Enjoying Brandy
One aspect that greatly elucidated the Imperion mindset for me was when I discovered they didn't have a specific term for brandy, despite having the beverage. They labelled it as wine and seemingly differentiated it based on the maker's reputation regarding its strength and flavor. To me, brandy and wine are drastically different in taste, and perhaps they are for Imperions too. However, Imperions seem indifferent about these differences, or that the production process of each beverage is distinct; to them, both are fruit-based alcoholic drinks, so they must be the same. Quite intriguing, isn't it?
Terrans don't share this viewpoint. Especially not at Verenk's. One entire wall behind the long, shadowy, hardwood counter was filled with an array of Venorium brandies, with peach varieties making up about half. It was an impressive sight. I hadn't realized so many existed. I was immensely relieved that the Imperion Kingdom wasn't presently at odds with Venorio.
The place was nearly empty. I licked my lips and perched on a tall, high-backed stool at the bar. The bartender eyed Opal, wiped the counter in front of me, and silently inquired about my order.
My gaze landed on the peach brandies, and I ordered, "A glass of Hyacinth."
He nodded. "A blend of the deceased and seaweed, eh?"
I retorted, "Is that your description?"
He shrugged. "Well, it isn't what I'd term mellow."
I asked, "What would you suggest?"
His eyes scanned the wall before selecting a short, rounded bottle. He presented it to me. The label was worn, but the letters spelling "Mirafor" were still discernible.
"Okay. I'll try a glass of that."
He retrieved a glass, reached beneath his counter, and added some ice to it. Initially, I was taken aback by his ability to procure ice and the necessary spells to maintain its temperature. Such commodities aren't affordable in these parts. However, realizing what he was up to, I interjected, "No, no. I don't want ice in it."
He looked disgruntled. He filled a glass with water from a pitcher and slid it towards me. Then he poured some brandy into another glass and placed it beside the water. He said, "I'm just giving you some water to cleanse your palate before you drink the brandy. You know your drinks; I know my pours, okay?"
"Understood," I responded to the bartender, beginning to savor the brandy.
Opal's laughter echoed in my ears. "Quiet," I admonished him. I put the brandy down, took a sip of water, then indulged in some of the brandy. The brandy was exquisite.
"Same for me," came a soft, velvety voice from directly behind me. It was eerily familiar. I spun around and found my face stretching into a smile.
"Liora!"
"Hello, Viktor."
Liora, known as the Thief, took the seat next to me.
"What brings you here?" I asked.
"I'm sampling Venorium brandies," she replied.
The bartender eyed her with a combination of apprehension and reluctance. Being a Vorgan, I was at least human. But Liora was an Imperion. A quick glance around revealed that the other three patrons shared a similar reaction, their faces etched with a blend of fear and animosity. I returned my attention to the bartender and said, "The lady requested a drink."
His gaze darted between the table where the humans were seated, Liora, and myself. As I held his look, he swallowed nervously, hesitated, and finally acquiesced. "Alright," he said, and poured her the same brandy he'd given me. Then he retreated to the other end of the bar. Nonplussed, Liora and I shifted to a table.
"So," I started, "Frequent visitor?"
She offered a smile. "I've heard you're facing some difficulties."
I shook my head. "One day, I'll uncover how you acquire such information."
"Perhaps. Do you need help, Viktor?"
"Just bravery, I believe."
"Indeed?"
"I assume you know that one of my Point-men has been filching the eggs."
"Yes. And the mother hen isn't pleased."
"I'd prefer it if you referred to it as the father rooster."
"Fair enough. What's your plan of action?"
"Primarily, going to a place I'd rather avoid."
"Which is?"
"Ever heard of Nocturne Castle?"
Her eyes widened in recognition. "A Dragonlord named Drevolan resides there, as far as I know," she said.
"Exactly."
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Here's the deal, Viktor. You proceed and confront him. If Drevolan kills you, his days are numbered."
A lump formed in my throat. After a brief pause, I asked, "Planning on a career change, Liora?"
Her smile returned. "We all have our alliances."
"Appreciated," I said. "That's another favor added to my growing debt to you."
She nodded, maintaining her smile, rose, complemented, "Good wine," and left the inn.
And it's peculiar. The concept of revenge is rather ludicrous. After all, if I were to die, why would it matter to me? Yet, her words served as the reassurance I needed. I still can't quite comprehend why.
Following her departure, I savored another drink and to contradict Opal, I capped it at two. I once again summoned my connection to the Sovereign Sphere and realized I still had a few hours before I needed to return to the office. I settled my tab with the bartender, informed him I'd return in the future, and set off for home.
My grandfather has a white cat named Alarus, who is exceptionally intelligent and also the oldest cat I've ever known. As a child, while my father and grandfather held their discussions in another room, I would converse with him. Despite never interacting with him like one would with a typical cat, I pretended that he understood me. Either he truly did or my memory has skewed the truth, because no ordinary cat could respond like Alarus did: meowing precisely in response to queries, purring when I expressed my fondness, and unsheathing his claws, slashing at the invisible enemy behind him when I would point and exclaim, "Beware, a Dragon."
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