Chương 142: Chapter 98 - Unwelcome Construction

Alric had expected his last day in the brewery to feel different. It did not. The stones were lit at the same hour, the mash behaved and the air held the same mixture of warmth, grain, and damp wood that had long ago stopped registering as anything unusual. If anything, the place seemed annoyed by the idea that it ought to acknowledge his departure at all, which, in Alric's experience, was how most well-run systems responded to change. They ignored it until it proved itself inconvenient.

He moved through the space without urgency. The new racks had settled well. That, more than anything, was satisfying. Someone had done the work properly. He ran a hand along one beam as he passed, more out of habit than inspection, and felt nothing wrong with it. Fermentation was now in the new building, germination had expanded. That was, in its own way, a small victory. Across the space, they were installing the two new boilers. The stones he'd gotten at a small discount by buying in bulk. All of it simply…

worked. Alric watched it for a moment, not as a man overseeing his operation, but as someone briefly allowed to observe a machine that no longer required him to stand next to it and explain itself. It was, he decided, slightly sad. There was a particular kind of usefulness in being necessary. It justified a great many things. When that necessity began to fade, it left behind a space that was not immediately filled by anything else, and the mind, being unhelpful in such situations, tended to notice.

He exhaled slowly and turned away from the floor. The man who approached him did so with the sort of politeness that suggested it had been practiced extensively and then refined further through use. He did not interrupt. He did not call out. He simply arrived within a reasonable distance, waited until Alric's current task reached a natural stopping point, and then inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging both the work and the fact that it had, for the moment, been completed.

It was, Alric noted, an efficient way to begin a conversation.

"Master Brewer," the man said offering a small bow. The title was delivered without emphasis, which made it more noticeable than if it had been. It immediately made him suspicious. The man was dressed plainly, though the plainness had been chosen rather than defaulted to. The fabric was good. The cut was correct. Nothing about him drew attention, which, taken together, was in itself a form of attention.

"Can I help you?" Alric asked.

"I hope I am not interrupting."

"I can live with it," Alric replied, without hostility. The man inclined his head again, accepting this as a reasonable outcome and another opportunity to demonstrate more politeness.

"I wished to discuss a future arrangement," he said.

"Beer, specifically." That was, at least, a familiar topic. Alric gestured slightly toward the side of the room, where conversation would interfere less with work, and the man followed without hesitation.

"I have made this plain, I won't supply the tavernkeepers or innkeepers" Alric asked, once they had stopped.

"O no, I'm not from the guilds." the man said with a small practiced smile.

"I see, where are you coming from then?" Alric asked"A small venue outside the city, or should I say venture. I understand you are looking for a more… peaceful business so this doesn't interfere with anything within the city." He maintained the same smile.

"Alright, how much are you looking for?" Alric tilted his head.

"Forty casks a week". Alric blinked.

"For how long?" he asked, because quantities without limits had a tendency to become problems later.

"Indefinitely." That sat between them for a moment, in the way that answers occasionally did when they had decided not to cooperate fully with the question that had produced them.

"This is not a one time event?" Alric said. To which the man shook his head. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Alric considered that, not because it was particularly useful, but because dismissing it outright would require replacing it with something more functional, and he did not yet have that.

"And where is this venue?" He asked"It is being constructed still, it will not open for some time but we understand people have strong… preferences for your esteemed beer." The man closed his eyes slowly, leaning forward slightly. Alric glanced at him.

"You are being awfully evasive for someone who wants so much beer you know? Where is this 'venue' of yours?"

"Near the gate." That, at least, was a location, though not one that explained anything. Alric let that settle, then continued, with the sort of patience that suggested it was being used carefully.

"What kind of place requires forty casks a week before it is finished."

"One that will be full." There was a pause.

"That is not an answer. I'm afraid I'm not committing to an answer until I know more." Alric said folding his arms. Alric studied him for a moment, noting the consistency. The man did not avoid questions. He simply answered them in a way that suggested they had been asked incorrectly.

"I have existing customers," Alric said, shifting the conversation toward something that behaved more predictably.

"We are aware." The man said with a small nod"They expect beer and they get priority." Alric began "Something that is taking forty casks is moving business away from them." It suggested that this was not, in the man's view, an obstacle so much as a detail that would eventually arrange itself into something convenient. Alric exhaled slowly.

"This feels…" he began, and then stopped, because whatever followed would have to compete with the calm certainty standing in front of him, and he was not yet sure it would win. The man waited. He did this without pressure, without expectation, as though silence were simply another part of the discussion that might, if given enough time, produce something useful. Alric did not give it that time.

"I will think about it," he said. Anything that needed forty casks a week would become public knowledge pretty soon he suspected. The man inclined his head, accepting the answer exactly as given.

"I would expect nothing less." And then, with the same careful politeness with which he had arrived, he left. Alric stood for a moment after he had gone, watching the space he had occupied, as though it might offer additional information now that it was no longer required to hold a person. It did not. Seren appeared at his side shortly after, which suggested she had been nearby for longer than was immediately obvious.

"You are going to say no," she said. Alric glanced at her.

"I said I would think about it."

"You are going to think about saying no," she corrected. He did not deny it.

"It feels wrong," he said, after a moment.

"They are deliberately avoiding direct questions." Seren waited.

"They want forty casks a week," he continued.

"Before it is even built. Before it exists properly. That is not demand. That is… assumption." Seren considered this.

"And your customers?" she asked.

"They are already waiting," Alric said.

"They have been waiting. They will continue to wait. That is what happens when supply is limited."

"And this would increase supply," Seren said.

"It would redirect it," Alric replied.

"From people who have already adjusted to not having enough, to something that does not yet exist and has decided it should." Seren nodded slightly.

"That is not a financial argument," she said.

"No," Alric agreed.

"It is not." She studied him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Then you will think about it," she said.

"Yes." Seren waited, as though expecting something further. Alric did not provide it. After a moment, he gestured vaguely toward the far end of the room.

"How are the new casks holding," he asked. Seren followed the shift without comment. The next day, the brewery was no longer his home. This did not, in practice, change very much immediately, which Alric found mildly offensive. He stood in the doorway of his new home, which was larger than necessary, better constructed than anything he would have chosen for himself, and positioned in a part of the city that suggested someone, somewhere, had decided he ought to be more visible than he was entirely comfortable with.

Inside, the space had been arranged with care. Not his care. Seren had hired two assistants who were furiously cleaning the space, removing dust mostly. Everything was where it should be, which was precisely the problem. He was still considering which parts of it he intended to disagree with when Pavise arrived. Pavise did not knock in a way that suggested uncertainty.

He knocked in a way that assumed the door would open, and when it did, he stepped inside with the calm confidence of a man who had already decided that he was expected. If any door ever put up a fight, it would not find Pavise wanting.

"Alric," Pavise said. Alric nodded.

"Pavise? How did you know I'd be here?"

"Your security people are still my people you know." Pavise replied with a smirk. He held up a letter, his expression turning serious. This, on its own, would not have been unusual, except that Pavise was looking at it with the sort of measured curiosity usually reserved for problems that he couldn't punch. Yet.

"This arrived," he said, offering it. Alric took it, opened it, and read. There was a long pause. He read it again as Pavise watched him.

"Well," Alric said, after a moment.

"That is… who sent you this?" Alric lowered the letter slightly.

"I have no idea, it just promises me three gold if I convince you to sell beer to the arena. You don't know then?" Alric looked at him shaking his head.

"Arena?" Pavise regarded him for a moment, then adjusted his approach.

"Yes, they are opening an arena just outside the city, you can see where from the gate." Pavise explained. Alric folded the letter once, then again, his gaze drifted to the wall, he blinked rapidly.

"The arena," Pavise said, "will draw big crowds. Why wouldn't you sell beer to them?" Alric opened his mouth to speak then closed it. He glanced back at Pavise before speaking "This will sink so many taverns? Inns should be ok but…"

"People will go," Pavise said with a shrug.

"They will spend days there. Drinking, gambling, women. You know you can't change that?" He did not look at Alric while saying this. Alric could see it, laid out cleanly. Supply that matched demand. Demand that did not move. A system that behaved in a way that could be predicted, measured, and expanded without needing to account for the inconvenient habits of people.

"I mean… this is a fighting arena right?" Alric asked to be sure Pavise nodded "I can't pretend this isn't good for me and good for the adventurers. Monsters captured alive is good coin for us, some may become arena fighters."

"And people?" Alric asked aghast.

"The ones fighting? Always against monsters?"

"Some volunteer," Pavise said.

"Some do not." Alric waited.

"Death row inmates," Pavise explained, with the same calm tone he had used for everything else. Alric exhaled slowly.

"That's… barbaric.."

"No," Pavise said with a shrug.

"There is a gallows in the poor quarter, this just changes where it goes. In fact the arena is buying them from the guards, so coin goes back to the city." There was no argument in it.