Chương 95: Chapter 92 - Uniformity

Two weeks had passed since Tarrow joined the brewery, though it did not feel like two weeks in the way time was usually expected to feel. It had not dragged. It had simply settled, it felt like rhythm. They had even expanded again, with the new boilers becoming increasingly imminent, they had found more staff. That was one thing they would never have shortage of. The stone emplacements for the next three boiler pots had been completed during that time.

The work had been loud enough to be noticed, should have been dusty enough to be inconvenient, and constant enough that it should have been a massive headache. It usually did. Construction always did. Dust found its way into things it had no business being in, into joints, into grain, into lungs, into places that required time, patience and tools to correct. This time it had not.

The wet blankets had been hung where they were needed, draped carefully, repositioned when necessary, and they had done their job with a degree of success that bordered on suspicious. Not most of the dust had been caught. Nearly all of it had been caught. The air had remained breathable. The grain stores had remained clean. No one had needed to stop work to cough or complain or take apart equipment that had no business being taken apart so soon after it had been cleaned.

Alric stood for a while beside the newly set stone, looking from the emplacements to the blankets and back again. He did not trust it. It felt like being handed something expensive and told not to ask where it came from. He suspected, quietly and without any particular evidence beyond the absence of problems, that the blessing had not finished with them. At least his staff didn't look like human lightbulbs anymore. Behind him, the brewery continued without interruption.

Father Tarrow stood at one of the work tables with a small cup in hand, moving through the day's output with a consistency that was beginning to resemble routine. He lifted the cup, inhaled slowly, took a measured sip, and held it in his mouth for a moment before turning and spitting neatly into a waiting bucket. The first day he had not done that. The first day he had swallowed everything, either out of habit or enthusiasm, neither of which had proven sustainable for the volume required.

He had adapted quickly, after big naps.

"Hmm, that's the same bad grain again," Tarrow said, setting the cup aside. Hesta nodded immediately, already turning back toward the cask to make the necessary mark. Another worker nearby made a small correction of his own, not because he had been told to, but because he had heard. A third stood around waiting for instructions unsure if comments about grain would mean lifting something heavy.

The adjustments spread outward quietly, without announcement, without instruction, like a series of decisions that had agreed to arrive at the same conclusion independently. Alric watched it happen. By the time anything reached him, it was already done. He moved on. The taverns had begun sending word back with their order sheets. The beer was consistent. It was dependable he'd been told. It was reliable. The same words had been said more than once.

It was good, in the way that a thing became good when it stopped surprising anyone. Reliable was not an insult. It was not even faint praise. It was, in most contexts, the goal. He found himself wishing they had chosen something else. Outside, Mara stood beside the large tub they normally used for pasteurising, overseeing a small group working through a batch of berry wine blending. The arrangement was functional, if not good.

It was far too small to blend properly, he would have wanted a tub large enough to take five barrels worth, then drain into five awaiting barrels. It worked. For now. It worked in the way that something temporary often did, by refusing to admit it was permanent. Behind him, Seren followed him. He was tempted to look at heavy things to get a rise from her but pushed back the compulsion, this time. Hesta moved through the fermentation section after Father Tarrow, somehow, she observed everything.

She did not interrupt, did not offer correction unless invited, but her attention carried a particular quality, the sort that suggested she had spent a considerable portion of her life watching people do things incorrectly and waiting for the appropriate moment to explain why. Hesta observed everything with the air of a woman who would eventually write it all down somewhere and expect it to be followed. This story originates from a different website.

Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. She inclined her head once, almost to herself, acknowledged something with a small nod and continued walking. They passed Tarrow, who was in the process of rejecting another sample with a slight movement of his hand. Hesta's gaze lingered there for a moment, not on the rejection itself, but on the ease with which it was accepted, noted, and acted upon. She did not comment further. Alric watched them go. Seren had formalised the tasting notes.

What had once existed as a series of conversations, corrections, and occasional disagreements had been written down, structured, and distributed. Sheets passed between hands, referenced, updated, and returned to where they were needed. The process no longer depended on who happened to be present to remember what had gone wrong last time. The brewery remembered. It did not require him to remember for it. He stood there for a moment longer he was about to head to the office when Seren approached.

She said nothing, just turned to observe.

"Well, it looks like neither of us is needed now Mister Alric." Seren said gesturing to Hesta "You took a few seasons, it took Hesta a week." There was a pout there. Alric had to suppress a chuckle, "Yep, the machine we built doesn't care."

"Masheen?" She asked tilting her head.

"Nothing, nothing, old term." He said to which she nodded. He headed for the office, Seren in step with him.

"So where to now Mister Alric?" Seren asked with a small grin.

"I have no idea. Not sure I'm ready for the guild's small sandwiches." He said setting into his chair, Seren scoffed and nodded. Tarrow followed not long after. Hesta remained outside, her voice faint as she asked a question that was answered before she had quite finished asking it. The priest turned beer taster stepped into the office, paused briefly as his gaze moved across the room, and then, without hesitation, sat in Vale's chair.

He settled into it with the ease of someone who had not considered whether he should. He leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling, and for a moment he did nothing at all. Then he smiled. It was simply there, unforced, the way a thing was when it had no reason not to be. Alric found himself remembering the prayer he had overheard earlier from Tarrow. It was short and it was grateful.

"Do you like it here?" Alric asked already knowing the answer. Tarrow lowered his gaze immediately. He paused with a smug expression before nodding.

"I drink beer," he added, as though that were sufficient explanation, which for him it appeared to be.

"And… Ugh there are a lot of things, don't have to deal with temple people all the time and well.." he paused trying to find the words. Alric intervened "It feels meaningful, you helping people?"

"While drinking beer!" Tarrow said, as though listing the primary benefit of existence. Seren scoffed nearby. Alric nodded. It was a good answer. Alric found that he agreed with him. He also found that it clarified something he had not been looking at directly. The brewery did not simply function. It satisfied the people within it. It gave them structure, purpose, and the quiet assurance that they were doing something correctly. He was the sole exception. It would continue. It would even improve.

And it would do so with or without him. Seren began outlining a small adjustment that had been made earlier in the day, a temperature drift that had been caught early, corrected immediately, and noted for future reference. It was the sort of thing that would once have required discussion. Now it was simply reported. Alric listened, nodded once, and realised he had nothing to add.

Later, one of the newer staff approached Seren with a question about one of the earlier batches, the one that had developed a strong banana ester profile after being left too warm. It had been intended as an example of what not to do. They had only been given small samples. They had liked it. A lot.

"It was… interesting," Seren said, choosing the word carefully.

"It was delicious, never tasted anything quite like it," the worker replied, with the quiet certainty of someone who had already decided they'd take another. Alric considered it. He considered whether it might be worth producing intentionally, not as a mistake, but as a variation. Something different. Something that existed outside the standard they had begun to establish. He turned the idea over once, briefly.

His gut told him no but it also occurred to him that people here hadn't tasted the like before, if he recalled bananas had a weird history of manipulation. Alric considered that he might be the only person in the room who did not want more of it. The brewery had produced a mistake. The staff had decided it was a feature. Lessa appeared not long after, carrying a small plate. She handed it to Tarrow without ceremony, only noticing Alric once the exchange was complete.

"Oh," she said.

"Do you want a snack Mister Alric?" He shook his head. She nodded and turned away. Around them, the staff moved with a practiced familiarity, asking Tarrow questions, offering small things, including him without formality. He's only been here two weeks. He noted, absently, that between himself, Tarrow, and Lessa were among the very few single staff members. Tarrow had vows. Alric had excuses. Lessa had neither. He watched her for a moment, she turned slowly, their eyes met. He exhaled slowly.

Lessa looked alarmed, lowered her eyes and scampered off to the germination section. Looking around nervously but not at him. Alric shook his head slightly, trying to displace thoughts of Lessa running along a beach in slow motion. He turned his attention back to the brewery. Safety and sameness, he thought, had once been separate things. They were becoming harder to tell apart.