Chương 145: Chapter 57 – Quiet before the storm

Alric had just set the water barrels to the filters. They were double filtering now because of a strange scent. The first filter sometimes held it, and if the scent appeared in the second, they checked the first. This did not mean the scent was gone, merely that it had been persuaded to move elsewhere. For now, the system held. Water crept through the packed layers at an uneven pace, dripping steadily into the waiting barrels below, as if considering each drop on its own merits.

Thankfully, they had spare filters from when Alric had insisted they be changed quickly mid production, an insistence that had been met at the time with looks usually reserved for people who rearranged furniture during storms. Right now, Alric felt they were in an awkward in-between stage. They had one lifting system that raised barrels onto a platform outside. From there, the water passed through a filter before being moved to the lifting section at the roof.

Stromni had explained that this was far easier to design and maintain, which in practice meant that fewer things could fall apart in interesting ways. The well barrels only needed to go up and down, while the filtered ones travelled straight until they were dropped, of course. The ropes creaked faintly as a barrel settled into place on the filtration platform, the sound fading once the weight accepted gravity's terms.

When Alric stepped back inside, he noticed Battery sitting in a chair next to the charging station. He was eating a bowl of what Alric assumed was porridge under Seren's watchful eye. The station still radiated a dull warmth from last night's charge, like an animal that had been convinced to lie down but not to relax. Alric moved closer, deciding to observe quietly.

Battery looked tired and mostly nodded as he ate while Seren spoke to him, the nods suggesting agreement with statements that had probably not required it. Battery handed the bowl back, took a deep breath, and bent over the charging station. His knees wavered for a moment, but he straightened. Seren took him by the wrist and led him toward his room in the staff wing. Alric stepped out from where he had been watching. Well, this is his dream after all, to be a mage, so I shouldn't feel bad, right?

The thought came easily, and that alone made it feel rehearsed, like a line that had been used often enough to sound convincing even when it was not. Seren spotted him coming back from the staff wing and came over, studying him closely. Behind her, the boiler ticked as it adjusted to the rising heat, sounding mildly offended at being ignored.

"I'm not doing a thing," Alric said, raising his hands. She regarded him sceptically but said nothing, which was somehow worse.

"Can we organise him a better bed?" Alric asked, uncomfortable as he gestured toward the staff wing she had just come from. He remembered Seren had ordered a double bed recently, a purchase that had not been explained and therefore could not be questioned.

"We can do that. Battery uses a bed far more than, well, us," she said casually, as if this were simply a matter of arithmetic. Alric avoided eye contact after hearing Seren also call him Battery.

"You are not to intervene, Mister Alric. Just the water," she warned. Alric nodded slowly. His staff were particular about this. Vale had explained that when bosses did an underling's work, it made people fear for their jobs, and fear had a habit of spreading faster than competence. It made sense. It also made Alric very bored. He moved closer to Hal, waiting for a signal. When it came, he fetched the pre-filtered water and placed it beside the boiler for its second filter and boil.

The barrel thudded softly as it was set down, the sound of wood meeting the wooden platform with professional resignation. Jory began removing stones from the boiler and carrying them to the charging station, their residual heat forcing him to switch hands more than once, which he did without complaint, having long since learned which arguments were worth having. Alric stepped aside to watch the station. Thirty-six charges came from filling it.

Running one steamer to one boiler took five charges to steam the casks and boil the water. Battery handled the mornings, Alric the afternoons. Together, that made fourteen boils and steams between them, a number that sounded impressive until it was written down and asked to explain itself. It sounded like a lot to an outsider. If he brought a third boiler online, that was it. Two hours made roughly a bell by his estimate.

The stones ran for just under a bell, which was close enough to be useful and far enough to be irritating. With three boilers, he could manage four boils per boiler. One station of three boilers. Alric wanted three stations. He would need six mages to power that. Stolen novel; please report. He did not have six mages. For now, that joined the growing list of things that were not today's problem, a list that showed no signs of becoming shorter.

With nothing better to do, Alric fetched Vale's ledger and took the seat beside the charging station, where Battery apparently ate his breakfast. The chair was still warm, which felt more significant than it should have. He paged through it, looking for patterns. He wished desperately for a way to sort it, but the paper stubbornly refused, as paper often did when faced with ambition. The shifting, warped script gave him a headache. With a sigh, he returned the ledger to its place. The problem was simple.

He was bored. And this was what he had wanted. He had worked to separate the warehouse from his magic and his presence. It was not there yet, but as it drew closer, he found himself questioning his role more and more, which was an excellent use of time if one enjoyed that sort of thing. Just as Alric was about to make his boredom someone else's problem, the perfect target walked in. Vale came through the staff section and began noting something in the fermentation area.

A cask bung popped softly nearby, releasing a brief breath of scent before resealing itself, as if the cask had merely needed to sigh. Alric stood and followed the clerk with interest. Vale noticed almost immediately and became visibly uncomfortable. That did not bother Alric in the slightest. If anything, he made it more obvious. Alric continued to trail him as Vale compared the sheets Seren had given him to the records to the casks in front of him.

The paper whispered each time Vale turned a page, sounding faintly judgemental. Vale glanced at him now and then but said nothing. Eventually, he seemed to reach a conclusion.

"Two hundred and forty-six casks, Mister Alric," Vale said, wearing a smug smile.

"Hm?" Alric replied, now interested.

"This week's throughput," Vale said, the smile fading into annoyance, as though the number itself should have done better.

"Ah. I see. We haven't been pushing, you know."

"I know. We just don't have the casks. Can we really not get more?" Alric shrugged.

"It was the same problem through winter. If you can get me good quality casks, I'll buy them." Vale clicked his tongue.

"I'll speak to the Merchants' Guild. We need at least another hundred. Two hundred would be better."

"Go for it. Just keep in mind we have to check each cask individually before we say yes or no," Alric added, because experience suggested that wood could lie. Vale nodded with a sigh. He turned toward where Hal and Jory were working the boilers. The water was heating. Condensation ran down the copper in slow lines, tracing paths that would never be the same twice. A faint smile crossed his face as he watched the steam rise.

"You know, this place really is obscene," Vale said, his smile widening as he stared at the boilers.

"What do you mean?" Alric asked, his brow lowering.

"To make the kind of money you do, a noble would need easily thirty times the staff you have." Vale gestured toward the boilers.

"You're ruthless," he said. The way he said it made it sound like a compliment. His smile stretched into open admiration, directed entirely at the boilers, which did not care. Vale lingered there, content in his own world. Alric slowly and carefully backed away, the way one did from people who were enjoying themselves too much. He moved toward the germination section, where the grain rustled faintly as someone shifted a tray. Mara was sewing another bag, the pile beside her already substantial.

Lessa was raking grain in the larger trays, the teeth of the rake making a steady, dry sound that suggested order was being imposed whether the grain liked it or not. Alric made a point of not looking at her for too long. If he did, he would start imagining her on the cover of a farming magazine or something equally unhelpful, and there were already enough unhelpful things in his head. Something else caught his attention. Mara and Hal wore dark, near-black aprons. Lessa and Jory, their juniors, wore grey.

Henry, Stephen, and Jase now wore leather. Alric did not remember authorising that change, though it made a certain sense. Seren still wore white. The system, it seemed, had been paying attention even when he had not. He heard the rumble of cart wheels outside and moved to look. One of the carter teams had arrived, as always working in pairs. The carts rattled as they slowed, protesting the stop. Henry passed them casks, which they loaded onto the new carts. The partitions kept the casks upright.

Alric had asked for that, and the carters seemed enthusiastic about it, judging by the easy pace of their movements and the smiles they always wore, much like now. Typically, three teams departed in the morning. All returned the carts, but one team made a second run, rotated fairly between them. Alric remembered they earned six large coppers per trip. An inn meal cost four small coppers. To the carters, this was good money, and good money had a way of making difficult work feel reasonable.

A faint melancholy settled over him. Depending on dilution, he earned anywhere from six large coppers to two silvers per cask. The numbers sat uneasily once he held them still, as numbers often did when asked to explain themselves. Alric blinked. That was probably why Vale liked the boilers. To him, they ate grain and spat out silver, and did so without complaint. As if drawn by the paperwork, Vale appeared beside the carters as the delivery slips changed hands.

He checked each page, the paper bending slightly under his fingers. He asked a question, received a pointed answer, and nodded. Vale turned back toward his office, still reading as he walked, leaving the warehouse to continue doing what it did best.