Chương 130: Chapter 127 - Crown Oversight

The brewery had been cleaned beyond reason. Today was different. Today the brewery had been scrubbed, swept, wiped, arranged, inspected, rearranged, inspected some more, and then inspected again by someone who had been disappointed to discover the previous inspector had done his job properly. Alric stood outside the main entrance with Seren and Vale, watching the city prepare for the king by rapidly increasing the number of innocent bystanders. Clerks hurried past with boards held tight against their chests.

Guards moved in pairs, speaking quietly, checking doors, windows, side alleys, barrel stacks, drainage channels, carts, cask racks, and a broom that had apparently drawn suspicion by the handle being too thick. The road had been closed. That part still bothered Alric. He understood why, in principle. A king did not simply walk through traffic, wave at children, and ask for directions. There were protocols and dangers.

The king employed people whose entire profession existed to imagine dangers and then make everyone nearby miserable about them. Still, it was a road. People used it and now they were not allowed to. They had been pushed back by guards who looked annoyed at the public for existing. A small crowd had formed anyway, because nothing drew attention quite like official attempts to prevent attention. Alric adjusted his sleeves for the fourth time.

"You are doing that a lot Mister Alric," Seren said quietly glancing sideways at him.

"I have been searched four times. By four different people. One of them checked my boots. I got questions about the socks." Alric said not looking at Seren, opting instead to adjust the suit jacket for the third time. Seren opened her mouth and closed it again. Her silhouette had improved as of late, she glanced away from Alric. Vale made a small sound that was not quite a laugh. Alric glanced back toward the brewery wall where the staff had been arranged.

It was technically their day off, which had made the repeated searches considerably less popular. Several of the men had been asked to explain whether mash paddles could be used as weapons. The answer, unfortunately, was yes, because most things could be used as weapons if the person asking was nervous enough. Henry had not helped by saying so.

The staff were lined neatly against the wall now, dressed better than usual, though not so well that anyone could mistake them for people who did not lift things for a living. A few looked proud. Hesta looked as though she had mentally recorded every inefficiency in the royal inspection process and was waiting for a more appropriate time to be disappointed in someone. While they all looked annoyed, Alric could see the occasional smug grin, something only double pay for the day could bring.

A clerk ran past, stopped, turned, and hurried back toward them. The clerk then seemed to forget the question and hurried away. Alric and Seren shrugged at the same time. A horn sounded from farther down the road. The talking faded fast followed by any movement. Clerks stopped running, which somehow made them look less useful. Guards straightened up. The crowd beyond them leaned as one living organism. The royal carriage train appeared at the end of the road. Three carriages.

Six outriders flanked them, mounted on swamp dragons whose broad feet struck the road with a soft, heavy slap. The beasts were larger than the normal ones Alric had seen. Thicker necks, ridged backs, and patient eyes. Their hides were dark green and grey, slick in places, armoured in others. Each wore fitted tack and polished metal plates, clearly to make them look more intimidating. Alric swallowed, "This feels excessive," he said.

He caught himself before he could make a hand gesture that may be construed as a threat. Vale's voice was quiet.

"It is the king."

"Yes, but I assumed... I'm not sure what I assumed." Alric said keeping his hands at his sides, visible and still. Seren made a soft clicking sound with her tongue glancing at the pair. The staff lowered themselves to their knees. Alric saw the movement and, without thinking, began to follow. Seren clicked her tongue again. Sharper this time, she turned a glare at Alric wide-eyed. He froze halfway down. She bowed. Vale bowed.

Alric corrected quickly, turning the movement into something that was not quite as graceful as Seren's and not quite as terrible as it might have been. He heard one of the staff behind him shift as though trying very hard not to laugh or find a comfortable way to kneel. The carriages stopped in front of the brewery. The first carriage door opened, and several guards stepped out before the king did. They did not look around in the way curious people looked around.

They looked around in the way people did when they were deciding where danger would come from if danger had any sense of timing. Then the king stepped down. He did not speak immediately, he simply looked at the brewery taking it in. Alric found himself following the king's gaze and tried to see the building as someone else might. The long structure. The stacks of casks. The movement waiting beneath the stillness. The faint lingering memory of divine light that the building had not entirely given up. It was large.

He knew that, obviously. He had arranged most of it. He had complained through a great deal of it. He had paid for more of it than he liked remembering. But with the king standing before it, surrounded by carriages, guards, clerks, and swamp dragons, it looked less like a brewery and more like a declaration he had accidentally made out of stone, copper, and casks. The king turned toward him, "Mister Alric." He said with a nod.

"Your Majesty," Alric said, bowing again because it seemed safer than guessing. He glanced around for the queen, he was about to ask before thinking better of it.

"Your brewery, it's…" the king didn't finish, his gaze moved from left to right. The king gestured toward the entrance with an open hand.

"Shall we?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Alric said straightening, his gaze travelled over the procession; the king had brought clerks and one other excessively well dressed man, Alric noted him as another noble. The most notable feature Alric picked up was a slight greying at the temples before he had to continue with the king. They entered with the king at the centre and everyone else rearranging themselves around him. The royal guards spread through the brewery with quiet efficiency. One took the main door.

Two moved toward the side entrance. Another stood near the boilers. One watched the workers. One watched Alric. The brewery, despite its size, immediately became crowded. Alric had prepared a demonstration. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Show the process. Make the work clear. Let the king see that this was not magic happening in a corner, but labour, heat, timing, cleaning, and more cleaning. The first stage went well. Workers moved grain in measured amounts. The mash was stirred with practised rhythm.

Steam rose from the boilers in clean white plumes. Casks were rolled, checked, lifted, sealed. Tarrow stood nearby with small cups arranged in front of him, looking unusually serious until someone brought him a sample, at which point he looked blessed in a much more personal sense. The king watched carefully. At first, Alric thought he was interested. Then he realised the king was counting.

"How much can one of these produce?" the king asked, stopping before the nearest boiler. He had pointed at it before turning to Alric. Alric brightened slightly. Numbers were safe. Numbers behaved.

"Each boiler can manage about thirty-six casks a day, Your Majesty, assuming everything else keeps up. We usually only do thirty though." Alric said, his smile holding and giving the boiler a proud nod. A clerk behind the king began writing. The charcoal scratched faster than before.

"And you have six?" The king said tilting his head and pointing at them.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Alric said following his gaze. The charcoal scratching became more urgent.

"We're putting in the stone emplacements for the last three next week," Alric added glancing at the clerk before pointing to where the stone emplacements would go.

"The copper's still the issue, but we're getting there." The clerk stopped writing long enough to stare at him, his head lifted slowly as his eyebrows attempted to join the clerks receding hairline. The king turned his head slightly.

"The last three?" he asked glancing sideways at Alric.

"Yes. Nine total." Alric said, he nearly shrugged but caught himself in time. The clerk looked down at his board, then up again, then back down, as though the numbers might become less offensive if viewed from another angle.

"That is more than a thousand casks a week," the clerk said slowly as if the numbers could barely be trusted.

"It's twelve hundred and ninety-six if all nine run hard every day," Alric said automatically.

"But we can't do that yet. We don't have enough casks." He made a slow hand gesture pointing to the casks that had been arranged in the space, being careful to not appear threatening. The clerk's relief died. The king glanced at the clerk before slowly turning to look at Alric. Alric felt the familiar sensation of having said something entirely factual and somehow incorrect.

"We also need more carters," he added, because apparently, he had decided to continue. Seren's eyes closed briefly. Vale looked fascinated in the detached manner of someone watching a boulder roll downhill toward someone else's house.

"You are limited by casks?" the king asked blinking rapidly.

"At the moment, yes. We'd like to export eventually, but casks are always the problem, the beer is cheaper than the cask. We can barely keep up with the city as it is." Alric explained, he frowned down at the casks as if that could get them to start multiplying. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The clerk wrote that down in a manner that suggested the words had become evidence.

"I see," the king said simply. He followed Alric's gaze to the casks and swallowed. Alric was not sure he liked the way he said it but they moved on anyway. The tour continued past the boilers, Alric explained the fermentation building and the cask building where they cleaned the casks over and over. Eventually they reached the cellar stairs. The king asked few questions, but each one was specific. How many workers? How many deliveries? How often did spoilage occur? How many taverns? How much grain? How much water?

Alric answered honestly, because lying to the king seemed unwise and because, in any case, he did not think quickly enough to make up numbers that looked less alarming. The cellar was cooler as he walked them into it. It was also, Alric realised too late, much more impressive when entered by people who had not watched it slowly fill. Rows of barrels lined the walls. More stood in ordered groups through the centre, leaving narrow walking paths between them. The air smelled of wood, fruit, alcohol, and time.

It was quieter here, the noise of the brewery above softened into a low, steady presence. The king stopped again.

"This is not beer," he said as his gaze swept across the cellar.

"No, Your Majesty. Wine mostly." Alric said, although he nodded at the no which made him briefly confuse himself by his own gesture. He frowned at the nearest barrel wondering if he should have shook his head to agree with the king saying no.

"Mostly?" The King asked still looking out over the barrels.

"We made ninety barrels of wine," Alric said pointing to the two barrels, a guard glanced at Alric who lowered his hand slowly.

"And two port pipes of well, port." The king turned to look at Alric but said nothing, the clerk who had been following made a small mark that snapped the charcoal. Alric glanced at clerk.

"Are you alright?" The clerk changed charcoal without answering.

"What," the king asked slowly also ignoring the clerk, "is port?" Alric felt his confidence return.

"Fortified wine, stronger, richer, sweeter. It should keep well, and if it ages properly, it should be excellent." He said with a smile at the king, he bounced on his toes slightly to keep his pride in check. The king's interest sharpened with a grin. Alric saw the grin and matched it; he gestured toward the port pipes and led them toward the two larger barrels. They were not merely large. They had a presence.

The sort of presence a barrel acquired when it stopped being a container and became a piece of furniture that happened to be full of future regret.

"I was going to bring samples to the office," Alric said, reaching for the tap.

"But that seems… optimistic now." He paused briefly to note the entire procession of guards, clerks and the spare noble. He drew a small measure into a cup he had pulled out his item box absent mindedly. Three people moved at once and Alric froze. A hand stopped his wrist. Another took the cup. A third stepped between him and the king with the calm determination of a man prepared to die preventing royalty from drinking something interesting too quickly.

An official taster had materialized from somewhere and looked at him suspiciously.

"You first."

"It's mine." Alric said slightly offended, he held out a hand for the cup Alric accepted the cup back, took a sip, and handed it over. The taster sniffed it carefully with his eyes closed. Tasted it, waited. His eyebrows lifted with his eyes closed as he considered it. Understanding dawned on Alric that tasters without a good sense of smell probably didn't last long. A second taster took it, repeated the action with less caution. Then a guard who just seemed to nod approvingly.

Then another official Alric had not noticed before, the clerk made a note that apparently the port had failed to immediately kill anyone. Only then was a fresh measure poured for the king. The king accepted it, raised the cup, and tasted. He was silent for a moment. Alric tried not to lean forward.

"That," the king said, smacking his lips slightly, "is very good." He glanced down at the cup again before taking another sip. Alric smiled before he could stop himself.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"It is not like wine. I like that a lot." The king said nodding, his gaze moved back to Alric, his expression was thoughtful.

"No. It should be richer. It's lacking body and a bit of depth. It's young, though. It needs time." Alric explained, it would in his mind need a year, maybe two before it became a proper tawny port. Right now, it tasted to him like good grape juice. The king looked at the barrel with the expression of a man who had just been introduced to a promising political problem.

"I would like to try the beers as well." The king said still staring at the port pipes.

"Of course. I also have brandy, though not much yet." Alric added off handedly. The king's face changed as he turned his full attention on Alric. Alric saw it. The interest became something heavier. More careful. Alric went a bit still unsure how to take the new development.

"Brandy?" the king repeated still watching him carefully.

"Yes. Uh… distilled wine. We're still learning the process. It is something we are still trying to get right, but I have some." Alric said slowly, the other noble had also turned his attention to Alric fully. The tasting procedure repeated itself with the brandy, somehow with even more caution. Alric poured awkwardly while three people tried to help by preventing him from doing anything naturally. He took the first sip. The taster took the next. Then the second taster.

Then a guard, who looked briefly surprised and then worked very hard to look like a man who had not just enjoyed himself. The king tasted last. He held it in his mouth, swallowed, and looked down at the cup with a thoughtful expression.

"Close," he said slowly still looking down, he swilled the cup slightly studying it. Alric waited, trying not to look nervous.

"Close, to some of the best brandies I have had," the king added, his gaze moving from the cup to the other noble and back to Alric.

"Though I admit, I am not usually a brandy drinker." Alric let out a breath.

"That is… better than I expected."

"It is young as well?" The king asked glancing at the cask it had come from.

"Very." Alric said, straightening up slightly. The king handed the cup to the other noble who swilled it slowly and sipped it again, although he offered no comment. Alric had the sudden unpleasant feeling that the king was no longer touring the brewery. He was assessing it. They returned upstairs.

"I should mention, we are trying to make whisky as well, but that's still too early to sample, Your Majesty. That needs barrel time," Alric said awkwardly his gaze shifting between him and the other noble who seemed to be enjoying the brandy. The king stared at Alric for a long moment, before he nodded thoughtfully. The office was abandoned as an option the moment Alric looked at the number of people following them.

His office could hold himself, Seren, Vale, and perhaps one more person if that person had small shoulders. It could not hold a king, tasters, clerks, guards, captains, and the full weight of the crown without everyone becoming deeply familiar, possibly intimate with one another's elbows. Instead, they moved to a cleared side area where a table had been set with samples. The tasting went well. The king liked the beer. He liked the brown ale in particular, which was meant to be exclusive to the adventurers.

The king listened while Alric explained distribution, tavern receipts, cask recovery, and why certain districts were easier to supply than others. Then he asked the question.

"Why are you not selling to the noble quarter?" he asked with a frown. Alric glanced at Vale. Vale very subtly nodded his head. Unfortunately, Alric had already been asked a direct question by the king.

"They wanted discounts for their inns," Alric explained, he glanced toward the samples as he said before looking back at the king, he paused before adding, "And they won't let my carters across the bridge." The guard captain nearby went very still. The king turned his head toward him with a raised brow. It was not a fast movement. Everyone nearby understood the direction of royal attention and moved their breathing accordingly. The guard captain swallowed.

"There have been… concerns about presentation, Your Majesty."

"Presentation?" the king repeated with both brows raised.

"Yes, Your Majesty. The many visitors. Foreign merchants, ambassadors, families of station. The bridge guards must maintain certain standards." The captain said gaining confidence as he spoke, he concluded with a small nod. Alric stared at the captain saying nothing. The king looked back at Alric, noting the stare.

"And your view?"

"No one looks good pushing a handcart." Alric said turning to the king, he glanced back at the captain as he said it. There was a pause. Vale looked at the ceiling. The guard captain's jaw tightened. Alric realised he should perhaps stop. Then continued because it was too late and accuracy had him now.

"They're moving casks. Heavy casks. Sometimes through mud, often in the rain. They sweat because they're people. I can put them in better shirts if that helps, but by the time they reach the bridge they'll look like men who pushed a cart across the city." Alric explained, looking between the king and the captain as he spoke. The king's mouth opened slightly. For one terrible moment, Alric thought he had gone too far.

Then the king wheezed before it became real laughter, one of the tasters looked alarmed and the guard captain looked as though he wished to be stabbed instead. Alric stood very still but bit his lips. The king put one hand on the table, laughing harder.

"No one," he repeated, breathlessly, "looks good pushing a handcart." Vale made a strangled sound. Seren looked away. The guard captain, to his credit, did not combust. Alric pressed on more carefully.

"I have the whole poor district to consider, Your Majesty. If I can't reach the noble quarter without making working men look like they belong in a portrait, I'm happy to leave the noble quarter alone." The king wiped at one eye. The guard captain exhaled through his nose.

"Perhaps," he said, each word dragged behind his teeth, "some adjustment can be made."

"That would help," Alric said but not hopeful.

"I am certain it would," the king said, still amused. He took a deep breath. The laughter faded slowly. When it did, the king's expression changed again. Alric noticed, Seren noticed too, he knew she noticed because her posture shifted half an inch closer to formal.

"You are too much of an anomaly, Master Brewer," the king said folding his arms and tilting his head to the side. Alric stood a little straighter.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me." He said his expression not changing.

"I did. I was hoping I hadn't. Your Majesty." Alric said with a small grin hoping to get a chuckle. The king regarded him for a moment, then smiled faintly.

"You produce too much of the city's beer. More next month. Possibly far more after that. You produce cider strong enough to throw off a festival, wine in quantities most estates would envy, port I suspect will make certain men foolish, and brandy that… best in the nation, I suppose." Alric said nothing. Wisely. The king continued.

"You employ a growing number of people. You influence taverns, carters, grain merchants, coopers, guards, priests, nobles, and now apparently the nobles bridge." He chuckled at the last glancing over at the captain with an amused expression. The guard captain stared very hard at the table.

"But," the king said after a pause, "your security is woeful." Alric frowned.

"We have guards." He said glancing around the space.

"You have men who can stop a drunk, a thief, or perhaps an angry tavern keeper. That is not what worries me." The king said unfolding one hand and gesturing around the space, his head tilted the other way. The air around the table seemed to lose warmth.

"This place makes what much of the city drinks. If someone poisoned your stores or well, how many would fall ill before anyone understood what had happened?" The king asked in a reasonable tone, studying Alric carefully. Alric's thoughts stopped. He looked toward the boilers. Then the casks. Then the cellar ramp. The brewery had risks. He knew that.

Fire, spoilage, bad grain, broken barrels, barrels of water on ropes lowered through open roofs, guild politics, angry competitors and even divine attention, apparently. But poisoning. Proper poisoning. Not one cask. Not one tavern. The city. His mouth went dry. He wanted to bring up filters, but it would be too complicated to explain how he knew about it.

"We uh... have a priest to check that." Alric began looking toward Tarrow. The king nodded once. Seren was very still. Vale's face had lost all amusement. Tarrow, standing not far away, had gone pale beneath his usual confidence. The king let the silence hold long enough to become useful.

"Still, the point stands, if someone wanted to attack the city, they need only target this place." He paused for a moment, "I am moving this brewery under crown oversight." Alric's eyes snapped back to him.

"Your Majesty?" Alric asked alarmed.

"Not seizure," the king said with a small sigh.

"Do not look as though I have stolen your boots."

"I wasn't. I mean, I might have been. A little." Alric said defensively, trying to keep his expression under control. The king ignored that and continued to gesture with his free hand.

"You will continue to own and operate your business. Your workers remain yours. Your recipes remain yours, though I suspect half the city is already failing to copy them." Alric did not correct him.

"But this place is a strategic concern. Its security will be treated as such." The king concluded, nearby the other noble was nodding reasonably, as were the nearby guards. Alric felt several possible objections try to reach his mouth and fail on the way. The king continued, calm and practical, still studying Alric intently.

"I will not tax the beer." Alric's shoulders loosened before he could stop them.

"That," the king said, "would cause riots."

"Yes," Alric said honestly his gaze drifting downward.

"Three before lunch is my bet and I dislike preventable riots." The king's mouth twitched into a grin.

"However, the other aspects of your business are another matter." Alric's shoulders tightened again as his gaze snapped back up again.

"The wine, the port, the brandy, and anything else you decide to invent while claiming you only meant to make beer." The king said keeping his expression flat, but disapproval had crept in to his tone.

"That feels unfairly specific." Alric said defensively.

"It has become necessary to be specific with you," the king said, chuckling again.

"I like you, brewer, but you scare me." Vale made a quiet sound that might have been agreement.

"For now," the king said holding up one finger, "one port butt." Alric stared at him. The words landed slowly and then heavily. Alric looked toward the cellar ramp. He did not mean to. His body simply turned in the direction of loss.

"We only have two pipes." Alric mumbled quietly.

"I know." The king said with a shrug. Alric's shoulders sagged. The king watched him without sympathy.

"You are getting off lightly."

"People keep saying that right after taking my alcohol." Alric said not looking at the king. This time Seren made a sound. Very small. The king grinned.

"In exchange," the king said glancing around, "you will receive a crown guard contingent assigned to this brewery. Not city watch and not hired blades. Crown guards. Men of the same quality to those on the bridge." The guard captain inclined his head, still not looking pleased, but looking professional again.

"They will protect the premises, monitor access, coordinate with your existing staff, and ensure no one with a grudge against us turns this place into a disaster." The kind added with a final nod. The royal 'yes men' nearby nodded as though the sage had just said something profound. Alric looked around the brewery again. The staff were watching now. Trying not to look like they were watching, which only made it more obvious. Henry had his arms folded. Hal looked uneasy.

Mara was whispering something to Lessa, who had stopped pretending to clean the same spot on a nearby table. Hesta looked thoughtful. That worried him most.

"Ten percent," the king said still watching Alric intently. Alric turned back.

"Paid in kind. Wine, brandy, port, or whatever else falls under crown interest. The clerks will settle it." The kings gaze shifted to Vale who held himself more upright. The clerk behind him straightened with the strained excitement of a man who had just been handed future suffering and called it duty.

"I only wanted to make beer," Alric muttered to himself. Everyone nearby either didn't hear him, or ignored him.