Chương 106: Chapter 103 - Play, Seriously

Inside Stromni's forge, the pair had done four stripping runs before declaring it enough and moving to try a spirit run. The spirit run had settled into something that could not reasonably be called stable, though it had stopped threatening immediate failure, which in this context was close enough to be useful.

The still held its heat in that stubborn way copper had, not giving it up so much as moving it through itself, the warmth present whether acknowledged or not, and the thumper had found a rhythm that neither of them trusted but had, for the moment, decided not to interfere with. Every tankard Stromni owned had been pressed into service, Alric had brought a few as well.

They sat along the workbench in a loose line that had begun as something deliberate and had since expanded into something more hopeful than structured, each one filled, shifted, replaced, and nudged along with the kind of casual care that suggested they would eventually need to remember which was which and had already decided not to. One of them still had a dent in the side. Another leaned slightly where the base had worn unevenly. It did not matter much. They were all being used.

"Too quick," Stromni said, not looking at Alric, his attention fixed on the outlet in a way that suggested it might misbehave if left unwatched long enough. Alric adjusted the stone, not removing it, just easing it back a fraction, watching the still rather than the movement itself, waiting for the change to arrive rather than assuming it would. It took its time.

"It's not quick," he said after a moment, though without much conviction.

"It's… leaning that way." Stromni made a sound that could have been agreement or dismissal, and reached for the next tankard, swapping it in place and sliding the previous one along with the back of his hand, the motion practiced enough now that it no longer needed attention.

"How many more ya reckon lad? Gonna run outta tankards?" he asked. Alric did not answer immediately. He watched the output instead, the thin line forming, breaking, forming again, settling into something that resembled consistency without quite committing to it.

"Not much I think," he said eventually.

"We'll stop when we hit tails."

"That's not much ta go on ya know?" Stromni said, though he did not object further, which was close enough to agreement. The thumper dipped slightly, then recovered, the bubbling shifting in tone just enough to be noticed and then, just as quickly, ignored. Alric adjusted the stone again anyway. They worked. The tankards filled, were replaced, moved aside.

The line extended further than it should have, further than was convenient, and then further still, until the act of keeping track of them had been quietly abandoned in favour of simply continuing. The air grew heavier. The sharpness of alcohol sat over everything else, flattening it slightly, reducing it to something less distinct than it had been before, or at least less distinct in a way that was harder to separate. After a while, the work stopped feeling like decisions.

It became repetition instead, the same motion layered over itself until the individual adjustments blurred together into something continuous, something that could be maintained without thinking about each part separately.

"This is a pain," Stromni said eventually, not complaining so much as arriving at the conclusion he had probably reached some time ago. Alric nodded once.

"It works," he said, though even as he said it, he was aware that this was not quite the same thing as it had been earlier, or at least not in the way he had meant it.

"That's not the same thing," Stromni replied, which saved Alric the trouble of adjusting it.

"No," Alric said after a moment.

"It isn't. I think I told you this may happen." They let that sit. The still continued. At some point, without anything clearly marking the moment, Alric noticed the smell. Not that it had changed, exactly. If anything, it had become more consistent, which was, in itself, enough to draw attention in a way inconsistency usually did.

"Take the stone a moment," Alric said, shifting over to Stromni. He grumbled but used the tongs to try to keep the still at the correct temperature, or close enough that it wouldn't drift too far while he was distracted. Alric leaned slightly toward the nearest tankard, lifting it just enough to bring it closer, the motion careful without being deliberate. It was clean. Not like whisky, like medical alcohol. It reminded him, faintly, of hospitals, or what he remembered of them.

The kind of clean that suggested something had gone very right in entirely the wrong direction. He held the tankard there for a moment longer than necessary, as though something else might arrive if he waited. He turned it slightly, more out of habit than expectation, and drew in another breath. It did not improve.

He lowered it, not setting it down immediately, just letting it hover in his hand as though the angle might matter, then placed it back among the others with a small adjustment that didn't separate it from the line so much as mark it. He reached for the next. The same. He didn't move on immediately this time. He lingered, not because there was more to find, but because there should have been, and the absence of it felt like something that needed confirming twice before it could be accepted properly. Another.

Then another. Each one carried that same thinness, that same sharp edge without anything beneath it to hold it in place. Not unpleasant, not exactly wrong. Just… insufficient, in a way that resisted a clean description and didn't want to help him find one. He moved further down the line. Somewhere near the middle, he paused. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Lifted that one again, slower this time. There it was. Not much. It sat differently.

Softer at the edges, carrying a slight hint of grain before it faded again, though even that felt like it might be giving it more credit than it deserved. He brought it closer. Waited. That was closer to whisky. He set the others aside slightly, not separating them fully, just enough that this one, and the few beside it, stood out from the rest without requiring explanation. Behind him, the still continued without complaint, which was, in its own way, unhelpful.

"Watch the stone," he said. Stromni grunted something that passed for agreement. Alric reached for a clean tankard, poured a small measure from the section he had marked, then added water without thinking about it, the motion familiar enough not to need consideration. He took a sip. The alcohol was there immediately, sharp and forward, asserting itself without hesitation. He waited, but nothing followed it. No flavour beyond that initial edge, nothing that held long enough to be called anything more than presence.

It was the sort of result that suggested a great deal of skill had gone into removing everything interesting. If Vale was a drink, it would have been like this. He spat it into the forge. Then took another sip, smaller this time, as though that might change something. It didn't. He let out a long breath, not quite a sigh, but close enough. Stromni was watching him now, not openly, but in that sideways way he had when something had shifted and he had not yet decided whether it mattered.

"Well?" he asked, already reaching to swap another tankard, though the motion slowed just enough to show he was listening. Alric held the one he had been tasting out toward him instead of answering. Stromni took it without comment, sniffed first, then took a pull that was larger than it needed to be, which was his way of avoiding admitting he was curious. His face tightened, not dramatically, just enough. He spat it into the forge.

"Strong," he said, lowering it again.

"That's… strong." He looked at it again, then back at Alric.

"That's it?" he asked. Alric nodded once.

"That's it." Stromni made a small noise, somewhere between disappointment and acknowledgement, and handed it back. Behind them, the output had shifted again, the line thinning out, losing what little weight it had carried, the thumper settling into a softer, less certain rhythm. Alric leaned toward the outlet, sniffed, then pulled back quickly.

"Tails, we done here but you should sniff it to recognise that smell," he said. Stromni nodded, already moving. He lifted the tankard and took a deep breath, then shuddered slightly. Alric lifted the stone out from beneath the still, setting it aside with the care of someone who had learned that things remained hot long after they had stopped being useful. The heat would bleed out slowly. The still did not stop immediately. It never did.

It continued a while longer, the sound changing, softening, then settling into something that suggested it had no intention of improving further. They stood there for a moment. Not waiting, exactly. Just… watching it finish. Alric's gaze moved again. Across the still. Along the line of tankards. He scratched his neck as he studied them. He let out a breath.

"The damned thumper," Alric said, moving his gaze toward it.

"Eh? What about it lad?" Stromni asked, already turning. Alric nodded toward it.

"That is where the flavour is. Can we take the pipes out?" Stromni frowned, looking between the still and the tankards, as though expecting the connection to make itself obvious if he gave it enough time.

"Aye, we can," he said, moving over. He donned gloves and carefully pried the pipe free from the worm section. They had used clay to seal it, but the moment the pipe lifted, the smell of grain came out with it, heavier, fuller. Stromni straightened slightly, his frown deepening, not quite disagreement, more a resistance to the idea arriving without invitation.

"It did its job… too well?" he asked, glancing at Alric.

"It did," Alric agreed.

"We didn't need it for the spirit run." He reached for one of the earlier tankards, then another from the section he had set aside, holding them both without lifting them too far, just enough to compare.

"This should have more in it," he said, not looking at Stromni, but at the liquid itself. Stromni leaned closer, sniffed one, then the other, his expression not changing much, though the second lingered slightly longer.

"I don't…" he started, then stopped, shook his head once.

"Maybe." Alric set them down again.

"Scottish stills don't use these for the spirit run," he said, more to himself than to Stromni at first.

"Not like this."

"A Scottish still? Lad, ya done this before?" Stromni said, tilting his head.

"Never owned a still," Alric said.

"Knew people who did." Stromni scratched at his beard, thoughtful now rather than doubtful.

"…we cleaned it too much," Alric said slowly, nodding to himself. There was a short pause. Stromni let out a low whistle, longer this time.

"…so what we've got is…" He gestured vaguely to the tankards. Alric considered that for a moment, then gave the simplest answer.

"Alcohol. Pretty clean too, if my nose is right." Stromni huffed a small laugh, though there wasn't much humour in it. He glanced back at the line again, then at the still.

"Ya know alchemists will pay a mint for it?" he said after a moment. Alric looked at him.

"Alchemists?"

"Aye," Stromni said with a shrug.

"Back in Iron Hold, they would. There's a guild here, I'm told." Alric nodded slowly.

"Well. Guess it's not useless," he said. Stromni made a small sound of agreement, though his attention had already drifted back to the still.

"Now what?" Stromni asked, scratching at his neck. Alric followed his gaze. Looked at the still.

"This worked," he said, then paused slightly.

"But we need to run it again. Without the thumper this time." Stromni glanced at him sideways.

"Part of me wants to be mad," Alric continued, "but this is actually better. It works. It worked too well." He tapped the side of the thumper lightly.

"It just went too far," Alric explained with a frown and small smile. Stromni nodded slowly, the idea settling in pieces rather than all at once.

"Keep it for the first run," Alric added.

"Not the second."

"Aye," Stromni said, more certain now, filing that away. He looked back at the still again, his expression tightening slightly.

"This thing's a pain," he said. Not the first time he'd said it. Not the same way either. Alric watched him for a moment. Then, carefully, "Do you want to keep doing it like this?" Stromni glanced at him.

"Like what." Alric gestured, not precisely, just enough to include everything around them.

"I guess I'm asking if you want to get serious about this. Build something proper. I couldn't do it without you, you know." Alric tried not to face the dwarf but was watching him carefully. Stromni shifted slightly, wiped his hands on the cloth at his belt, though it did little for them, then looked back at the still again, his gaze lingering there.

"This…" he said slowly, "…is the most I've enjoyed work in years. But lad, I'm just a smith." There was a long silence. Alric considered it. The final still would need to be bigger, safer, something that let physics do most of the work without constant correction. Stromni interrupted his thoughts with his own.

"Getting it wrong," he said.

"Fixing it. Trying again." He gave a small shrug.

"The forge…" he started, then stopped, then found it anyway.

"The forge just works." Alric nodded once before saying "I'd be asking you to take charge of the most dangerous piece of metal in the city, you know." That gave Stromni pause. Alric pushed a little further.

"This would have to be right. No shortcuts. No superstition. Built for it. Sounds like it needs an expert." Stromni was silent for a long moment.

"Fifteen percent," he said finally, glancing at Alric. Alric arched a brow.

"I want fifteen percent. No haggling."

"Of the product or…"

"Nah. Of the business. We make one for this." Stromni said now facing Alric directly and pointing at the still, "I'll need wages. And this space. Can't roll it into the deal but ya'll need to support it."

"Done," Alric said, extending a hand. The dwarf let out a breath and took it.

"Lad, if we do this, I got a condition," Stromni added.

"I want to know your history. Mine too. Fair is fair." Alric nodded slightly.

"Well, as long as you swear to secrecy," he said.

"We're going to have a lot of time, lets get this moving first. We're going to work together a lot on this, we'll have time?" Stromni nodded. Later, after Alric had gone, Stromni remained. The forge was quieter without the still running, though it wasn't empty, just… settled, the kind of quiet that followed work rather than replaced it. He moved through it slowly. Just looking. Tools were where they had always been. Metal where it had always been. Nothing out of place, but nothing new either.

His gaze settled on one of the casks they had moved all the alcohol into earlier. If he understood it right, that stuff could feed him for a season. He crouched slightly, leaned in, and sniffed. It was still there. Incredibly strong and incredibly clean. Nothing behind it. If he was understanding it right, it took alchemists years of training to get something close. Alchemists, in Stromni's experience, were very fond of things that worked perfectly and explained themselves poorly.

He straightened, wiped his hands on the cloth at his belt, then stood there for a moment longer than he needed to. Then he exhaled. Stagnation, he decided, felt worse than risk.