Chương 75: Chapter 72 – Tavern at Dusk

Alric stepped out of the brewery. He had charged the case earlier, which meant he was done for the day. Two adventurers fell into step behind him. Neither said anything. They carried round shields and short swords, and one had a short bow slung across his back, the sort of equipment that suggested they were prepared for trouble but would rather it waited until after dinner. Outside, the other team sat in the shade. There were six of them in total.

They were assigned to protect the warehouse, and they even had a mage with them, who was doing nothing in particular with professional intensity. Alric had not spoken to any of them. In fact, he had not even been introduced to the warehouse team, which seemed an odd way to guard someone but was apparently how things were done.

"Just going to the docks for a drink," Alric said to his escort. They nodded. No questions, just following. A wagon creaked past at the end of the street, its wheels complaining as if they had been promised retirement and then betrayed. Alric was not even sure it was necessary to tell the guards. He turned toward the one tavern he knew that had a good view of the river and sold his beer. It was still early when he arrived.

The tavern was not busy yet, but it had the quiet expectancy of a place that knew its future and was pleased about it. One of his guards went ahead, secured a private table around a corner, and both took another just beside it. They even fetched an ale for him. All he had to do was sit and stare at the river, which obligingly continued to exist and stink. The smell could be considered a separate entity at this point. If you wanted to check on the city's health, you could simply approach the river.

It was not suggested to do this on a sunny day. The river moved steadily below the deck, this was an outdoor tavern which Alric had found to be his preference, barges drifting past without hurry, as though they had learned that arriving early only led to more work. Alric sincerely hoped to get used to the smell soon. He watched the birds moving over the water for a while, noting how quickly the tavern filled.

It was much busier and louder than it used to be, and the noise had the comfortable shape of people who were exactly where they wanted to be. His gaze drifted to the patrons. They were smiling as they approached the bar, often to loud greetings that suggested previous agreements had already been made. None spat his beer, he noted, which was new. People clinked their cups and drank in the way they probably always wanted to, with the confidence of drinkers who expected the beer to behave itself.

Alric sipped his slowly, wishing it were cold, which felt like a small, reasonable request in a world that did not usually offer those. His thoughts drifted to his university days, the happiest time in either life. Failed batches. Shared fermentation buckets. Laughing when it all went wrong. Low stakes. Fun. Beer made by people who had nothing to lose except pride, which was easily recovered.

The table beneath his forearms was sticky with old spills, the wood worn smooth by generations of elbows that had leaned there to consider important matters and then forget them. He sighed as he drank. The fun was gone now. He knew that, finally. Not just for him, but for everyone. Watching the patrons and their smiles, he knew this was better for more people. It was safer. People were enjoying themselves more.

He watched the barkeep talking with a table, laughter rising easily, the sound bouncing off walls of nearby buildings that had heard worse. He knew the beer was good, yet he could not shake the feeling of being slightly to one side of it all, like a man attending his own party through the wrong door. He frowned as his gaze caught a bushy red beard coming up the stairs.

Stromni glanced around until he spotted Alric and made his way over, moving with the confidence of someone who assumed chairs would make room for him. Alric gestured to the chair opposite.

"Ya know, I'm not welcoming competition for grumpiest in the city. Ya don't have a proper scowl for it," Stromni said, pulling an exaggerated one that looked like it had been practised in a mirror designed to withstand insults. Despite himself, Alric tried to suppress a smile and failed.

"It's summer. Heat makes people irritable," Alric said, taking a sip.

"Aye? I don't buy it." Stromni settled back into his seat and gestured to the barman, who nodded with the careful attention of a man who had learned not to ignore dwarves.

"Heard a rumor ya may want ta hear," he said, leaning forward.

"Oh?" Alric matched the lean.

"So. The Temple, aye? They've been going around blessing taverns and inns that are still guild members. Also blessing casks. Ones that ain't yours." The barman weaved between tables, then stopped short as one of Alric's bodyguards intercepted him, a brief negotiation occurring entirely through eye contact and professional courtesy. He sat back as his ale arrived, delivered by one of Alric's bodyguards, which was alarming in a quiet, well-organised way.

Once the guard had returned to his table, Stromni took a sip and nodded approvingly.

"This temple stuff smells like guild work."

"Taverns and inns though? They working together now?" Alric asked. Stromni shrugged, which suggested that if guilds ever truly worked together, the city would probably collapse out of surprise.

"Well, I started the rumor that a priest blessed my casks. Sort of. I just let people assume. You know it isn't true. Think they're just trying to seem the same," Alric said, shrugging again as he drank. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. His eyes slid toward his bodyguards, who also had drinks and were watching the room with the attentive boredom of men paid to notice things that rarely happened.

"So what's really eating ya, lad?" Stromni asked, frowning.

"It's complicated. And stupid," Alric said, waving a hand.

"So just like you then? Lay it on me."

"All right. All I did this whole week at the brewery was charge the station and do the tasting. That's it."

"Aye? And?" Alric searched for words.

"All right. Say you ran a smithy, and that's all you did for a week." Now Stromni hesitated. He tried the thought from a few angles before settling on, "Well. Ya ain't a dwarf."

"That explains nothing."

"All right then. Why did you employ Seren?" Alric paused.

"She was a maid. Good with scheduling, paperwork, managing people. Lots of reasons."

"Well, ya employed a lord's maid, and now people treat ya like one," Stromni said, as if this were a law of nature, like bears in woods or unpaid tabs. Alric leaned forward, blinking rapidly.

"No. Explain more."

"Well. When I was working the roof frame, aye? I had questions for ya. Most of them got stopped by Seren.

'He doesn't need ta be disturbed.' Ya staff act like ya a proper human lord." Alric gestured for him to continue. This was all new to him, which was concerning given how long it had apparently been happening.

"Ya wanted a dwarven workshop? Humans don't work that way. They want the owner ta come in, shout at them, then go kill a duck or somethin, ya know, show off ya martial prowess against sumin that don't fight back," Stromni said, taking a sip.

"But I'm not a noble," Alric said.

"Don't matter. They're all like this. Any employer. See, ya people are waiting for ya to buy a house in the nice part of town, go to guild meetings, eat small sandwiches," Stromni said, with the tone of someone listing inevitable disasters. Alric leaned back, thinking hard.

"I'd hate nothing more."

"Aye. I know the feeling.

'Tis what happens. Just how I've seen humans ta be. I thought it's what ya wanted." Stromni added.

"Well, no sense complaining, lad. What's done is done. Ya make more in a week than I did in a season," Stromni said, gesturing to the barman for two.

"Is a strange problem, lad, but one I understand."

"Well, if I'm going to complain, may as well mention the other thing." Alric noted his bodyguards intercept the barman, take the two drinks, sniff them carefully, and then bring them over, which suggested a life experience he was glad not to share. Once the guard had returned to his table, Alric continued.

"Well, I think I killed beer crafting. For everyone else." Alric said it out loud for the first time.

"Aye. That ya did," Stromni said simply. Alric blinked at how quickly it came.

"But ya have it wrong, lad. This city doesn't enjoy brewing. Everyone's trying ta keep it cheap. A bad batch means someone goes to sleep hungry." Alric sipped the new beer, leaning back as he thought on it.

"Think o' it, lad. Ya next batch could mean ya let staff go, have ta stop. A few bad batches a season could sink ya," Stromni said, gesturing to the nearby bar.

"How is it ya think more like a dwarf?" Alric just shrugged.

"Well, I guess I never thought of it that way." He took another sip, realising he felt decidedly better, which seemed suspicious but welcome.

"Aye. Well, thinking o' workshops makes me think o' my apprentice days. Happiest I been," Stromni added, sipping slowly but eyeing Alric out.

"Me too."

"Hah! At what, twenty summers?" Stromni grinned, thinking he'd caught Alric out.

"When mistakes got you shouted at, running out with your friends. No one expected you to get it right. You could just be, You'd even just try things with your friends to see how it turns out." Alric said with a faint, smug smile.

"How do ya know that, lad? I even believe you," Stromni said, scowling properly this time, which drew a chuckle from Alric.

"Well, even then, used ta get nervous when the forge master was around. Just like ya do to ya staff," Stromni continued, jabbing lightly.

"Not a lot left for me in brewing then. They make beer without me." Stromni nodded, and they both drank.

"But lad, ya beer is damn good. I'd have ta go damn far to beat this," Stromni said, pointing to the tankard.

"You can thank Mara and Hal for it," Alric scoffed. An idea struck him while Stromni was laughing.

"Listen. Let's do something. Just the two of us. Like when you were an apprentice. Let's build a still. Play around with it." Stromni paused briefly.

"Aye? Lad, I'd like that. Ya staff too. Noble needs ta have hobbies and all," he said with a grin.

"I'm not a noble."

"Like it matters, lad. People treat ya like one."

"Well here it is, lad." Stromni stepped aside and gestured broadly at what could only loosely be called a still. It sat on a low iron stand near the forge wall, assembled from mismatched copper, scavenged pipe, and a squat pot that had once boiled something entirely different. The joints were uneven. The bends were wrong. One section had clearly been hammered into shape by force rather than patience. Nothing was sealed properly. Nothing lined up, which gave it a certain honesty.

The forge fire ticked softly as it settled, iron shifting with the heat like a beast resenting wakefulness. Alric leaned closer.

"This looks awful. I like it."

"Aye." Stromni nodded, unrepentant.

"Made it that way on purpose. Ya brought the mash?" Alric nodded. The condenser sloped the wrong way, encouraging liquid to run back where it should not. The lid was weighted with a stone instead of clamped. A leather gasket had been cut too thin and already showed signs of tearing. Any apprentice would have been shouted at for half of it, and probably learned something in the process.

"You could fix this in an hour," Alric said.

"I could," Stromni agreed.

"Won't." Alric snorted and pulled out a scrap of charcoal. He crouched and began sketching on the workbench anyway, lines rough and fast. He drew a second chamber, squat and bulbous, set between the pot and the coil. Stromni squinted.

"What's that supposed ta be?"

"A thumper."

"A what?" Alric blinked. He had seen a design like it on a documentary series he watched often back in his previous life. It acted as a second distillation. Stromni straightened slowly.

"How in all the deep halls would I not know such a thing?" They stared at each other for a moment, both equally certain the other was wrong.

"We don't talk histories." Alric shrugged and wiped the charcoal dust from his fingers. Stromni's mouth opened, then closed again. He studied Alric for a long moment, eyes narrowing.

"Aye," he said at last.

"Might be time I break that rule." They lit the fire, poured the mash and settled in. The pair sipped brown ale while waiting for the still to heat. Technically the ale was meant to be exclusive to the Adventurers' Guild, but rules tended to soften when you made it. The pot heated unevenly. Steam hissed from three different seams. Something inside the mash caught and burned, filling the forge with a sour, sweet stink that made Alric's eyes water. The leather gasket slipped.

Liquid ran where it should not, dribbling onto stone with quiet determination. Then the mash surged. Foam burst up the pipe and spat violently from the coil, splattering the wall, the floor, Stromni's apron. A thick, sticky wave followed, coating iron and stone alike. The still rattled, protested, and very nearly toppled before Stromni kicked a block under it, saving it from itself. They stared at the mess. Then Stromni laughed.

Loud, unguarded, the sound echoing off the forge walls as if the building itself found this instructive. Alric joined him a heartbeat later, laughter tearing out of him before he could stop it. He laughed until his chest hurt, until his eyes burned, until he had to brace himself against the workbench, which had seen worse. They shut the fire down without ceremony. Water hissed as it hit hot metal, steam curling toward the rafters like a decision reconsidered. Nothing had been collected. Nothing had been measured.

No notes were taken. The liquid on the floor was not worth saving. The smell lingered, making sure everyone remembered it. It had produced no product. No insight. No value. Alric slept that night without dreaming, the deep, heavy sleep of someone whose mind had finally let go.