Chương 160: Chapter 155 - Named Spirit

Construction did not stop when Maggie began to heat. Every time Alric and Stromni had run Maggie, they had done so when the building was clear, and it was just the two of them; now, however, they trusted her, not fully but enough. That was the part Alric kept noticing. No one went near the still, though. A line had been scratched into the stone around her, further out than Alric had first thought necessary. Once Maggie had been running for an hour, he had decided Stromni had been right.

Inside the line, the heat pressed against skin and clothing until every breath felt borrowed from an oven. Outside it, the heat was merely unpleasant. The workers had accepted the boundary quickly. They stepped around it while carrying timber, tools, and iron. Some even seemed happy about it as Maggie warmed the entire building. Maggie had earned that much trust. She stood packed nearly to the limit, the access hatch sealed and the loading trough put aside. Ten barrels of red wine had gone into her that morning.

All twelve heating stones had brought the great copper body up, and eight still glowed beneath her now, holding the heat steady. It was no cautious half-run. They were asking everything of her while men worked nearby, yet no one appeared perturbed. That is probably a good sign, or they just don't know. They will soon, though. The first washback had almost reached its full height. Its great staves stood bound by temporary bands while the proper ironwork was fitted around them.

The second was still only marks in the floor. The washbacks had been a double-layered design Alric had come up with. There were two barriers: an inner for mash, a gap, then a second. The reason for this was that the gap could be filled with water, hot rocks, or stones. Anything to insulate and control the temperature. By winter, they should be able to ferment here rather than bringing everything over in barrels.

Grain could arrive, be malted, kilned, crushed, mashed, cooled, poured into the washbacks through troughs, and left to work without borrowing half the brewery. Maggie was starting to look less like an impressive problem and more like a piece of a real distillery. Stromni came down from the raised platform beside the washbacks, wiping both hands on a cloth that had stopped being clean several days earlier. His beard was tied back tightly, though a few strands had escaped near one cheek.

"I'm surprised by something," Stromni said, hooking the cloth through his belt and lifting his pants by his belt; he stopped beside Alric.

"Hmm?" Alric said, shifting away from the worst of the heat. Stromni looked across the room toward the workers before turning back to Alric.

"Ye haven't brought Vale here," Stromni said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Thought he'd be standin' in that corner by now, counting every drop and looking ill." Alric nodded at him. Stromni lifted one eyebrow.

"I keep meaning to show him, then something happens, I get distracted and…" Alric said, looking toward Maggie as if Vale might somehow be hidden nearby with a ledger and nervous expression.

"Then I forget." Stromni's mouth moved beneath his beard.

"Ye forgot the man who counts your money and doesn't know ya spending it here?"

"Hmm…" Alric said, lowering his hand, considering it.

"Vale passes me the profits, which then go in my item box, no one asks past that." Stromni waited.

"He knows we made brandy, but that was the prototype still," Alric added, though his confidence weakened while he spoke.

"Does he know how much we make now?" Stromni said, looking toward the lined-up casks. Alric's gaze followed, toward the empty casks waiting beside the condenser line.

"No, but we've sold nothing, so I'm sure it will be fine," he said with a shrug, clasping his hands behind his back. Stromni nodded slowly.

"Aye. That should be fun, lemme know when ya bring him, wan' ta see his face."

"I will bring him tomorrow," Alric said, watching the copper arm above them. That seemed to satisfy Stromni, or at least amuse him enough that he stopped asking. Alric watched the workers for another moment. The nearest pair were fitting an iron band around the washback. Beyond them, another man was measuring a support post while arguing quietly with the foreman. The guards stood near the river doors. No one was close enough to hear without making an obvious effort. Alric lowered his voice.

"I need to ask, what do you know about mana leaf?" he asked, leaning closer to Stromni. Stromni's expression changed at once. The amusement remained for half a heartbeat before caution pushed it aside.

"Not much," Stromni said, turning slightly so his body blocked the nearest worker's view of them, his gaze shifted to ensure no one could overhear.

"Common enough, dependin' on where ye are."

"Where does it grow?" Alric asked, keeping his eyes on Maggie.

"Places without much mana," Stromni said, scratching the side of his beard.

"Old cuts, poor ground, dead seams around mines sometimes. Places where mana's thin or gone. Never had reason ta care beyond that." Alric took the small notebook from inside his item box. The cover had begun to bend from being used too often. He opened it, found the page holding his wickleaf notes, and wrote beneath the last line. Grows where mana is absent. He stared at the words. The plant rejected mana. It pushed it away even after drying.

The harsh portion seemed to move into oil if salt was involved, while the lower water fraction accepted mana weakly once separated. Now Stromni said it grew where mana was absent. That felt relevant somehow. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Plants grew where they grew for reasons no one had asked them to explain. Soil, water, temperature, other plants, animals carrying seeds, farmers failing to notice something useful beneath their feet.

But if mana leaf grows where there is no mana…

"Lad," Stromni said, tapping one thick finger against the edge of the notebook. Alric looked up, his eyes wide.

"Not here, lad," Stromni said, glancing toward the washback workers.

"None can read ya writing, but don't, just don't." Alric followed his gaze. One of the carpenters had climbed onto a low platform and was hammering wedges into place. The man was nowhere near them, but the still house carried sound strangely. Hammers vanished into the roof while quiet words sometimes travelled along the stone. Alric closed the notebook.

"You are right," he said, slipping it back inside his item box. Stromni gave him a firm nod.

"Aye. Better ta talk where people make noise sometimes, they are just builders, but ya can't be too careful." The thought did not go away, but it could wait until the cellar. Alric turned his attention back to Maggie. The copper was hot enough that the air around her shifted faintly. The plates had darkened since the first tests, losing the bright newness that had made the still look almost decorative. Repairs and added braces marked the places where they had learned something.

The collection vessels waited in order. Cooling water rested in the worm barrels. Everything was behaving.

"This is much easier," Alric said, crossing his arms and grinning. Stromni looked up at Maggie.

"Aye," he said, rocking back slightly on his heels.

"Still work, but it ain't guesswork every breath." Alric nodded. That was the difference. They had not decided Maggie was safe because they had grown bored of being frightened. They had opened her after every run, checked the plates, replaced seals, tightened braces, checked how much the copper moved under heat, and learned which sounds meant expansion rather than trouble. They could run with the workers here because Maggie had proven herself and because Stromni trusted his own repairs.

"She is easier to manage than I thought she would be," Alric said, watching the steady glow beneath the belly.

"Course she is," Stromni said, lifting his chin toward the still.

"She's my pride and joy." Alric turned to him. Stromni kept looking at Maggie, he wore a bigger smile than Alric typically saw. Pride burnt fiercely in his eyes.

"You said something like that before," Alric said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"I thought you were tired."

"I was tired," Stromni said, shrugging one shoulder.

"Wasn't lying." Alric looked at the still again. Maggie stood taller than anything in the room should have stood. The upper curve of her neck caught the light from the river openings. The copper arm stretched toward the thumper on its braces, solid now rather than worrying.

"Lad," Stromni said, spreading one hand toward her.

"Redbeards don't get ta make things like this." Alric's smile faded slightly. Stromni spoke without bitterness, which somehow made the words cut a bit deeper.

"Work like Maggie goes ta old shops," Stromni continued, closing his hand around his belt again.

"Families with old halls, some name names, great-grandfathers who built for kings. Ya know the type. Redbeards fix things mostly, kettles, pots, roofs, make tools for folk who don't ask where we learnt."

"And now you built Maggie," Alric said, turning toward him. Stromni's chest rose beneath his folded arms.

"Aye," he said, looking up along the copper.

"Now I built Maggie. Dwarves live for this sorta thing, lad." Alric let him have the moment. A hammer rang against iron from the centre of the room. One of the workers swore, shook his hand, and was immediately mocked by the man beside him. Stromni glanced over, confirmed no one had broken anything expensive, then turned back.

"That reminds me," Alric said, stretching.

"We need a name." Stromni frowned, glanced at him, then shifted his gaze back to Maggie.

"For the still, she's Maggie?"

"No. The brandy," Alric said, gesturing toward the waiting casks.

"The barrels and casks need to be marked before we start moving or exporting them. Something burned into the wood. If we export it without a name, merchants will invent one for us, and it will be terrible." Stromni considered that with a slow nod.

"Keep it simple," he said, stroking the lower edge of his beard.

"Alric's Brandy." Alric's face scrunched up immediately, like he just found a bad smell.

"No, I think that's weak, people around here may know my name, but it will just call the wrong kind of attention." Alric glanced at Maggie, considering one he had been thinking for a while, "Redbeard Brandy, I think makes..." Stromni's boot slipped when he tried to turn so fast. He caught himself before falling, boots scraping against the stone. Alric laughed before the dwarf had properly recovered. Stromni pulled himself upright and stared at him.

"That would be stupid," Stromni said. A small drop of spittle hit the floor; he was still gripping his belt as if Alric might try to move the floor again.

"Would it?" Alric asked, still grinning.

"Aye," Stromni said, pointing one finger at him.

"Deeply. Folk will think redbeards made it." Stromni said, tilting his head sharply, still holding out a finger.

"A redbeard did make it," Alric said, nodding toward Maggie. Stromni opened his mouth, stopped, then lowered his finger.

"That ain't the point," he said, shifting his weight back onto both feet.

"Maybe redbeards need something to be proud of," Alric said, gesturing toward Maggie before the rest of the building. Stromni did not answer. The workers continued behind them. Timber knocked against timber. A mallet struck a band around the washback in slow, measured blows. Maggie gave a small click as heat worked through one of the upper plates. Stromni studied Alric for long enough that the silence became uncomfortable.

"When did ye start caring about my people?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. Alric shrugged.

"I don't know if I do in the grand sense you mean," he said, looking over at Stromni. He took in the beard and broken ring for a moment.

"Dwarves make whisky. Everyone knows that, even people who have never tasted dwarven whisky. Dwarven names carry weight." Stromni's mouth flattened, but he listened.

"Redbeards are the dwarves who…" Alric paused to think, he stared at the floor, his hand pulled at a loose thread.

"Got pushed out or aside or refused to behave properly. Mavericks is the word I liked."

"Aye," Stromni said, resting both hands on his belt.

"Some more deservedly than others."

"We are going to sell to a place full of old families, then dwarven names people already trust," Alric said, nodding and watching Stromni's reaction closely.

"Dwarves are probably going to treat us like annoying little rebels anyway." Stromni looked toward the casks.

"So we own it, be it," Alric said, shrugging again.

"We put Redbeard on the barrel. We make it good enough that the name becomes the reason people buy it rather than the reason they laugh." Stromni remained quiet.

"Redbeard Brandy now," Alric said, counting the thought on one finger.

"Redbeard Whisky once the washbacks are working. Maybe something else if we make it later. Redbeard Spirit."

"Redbeard Spirit," Stromni said softly, turning his head toward Maggie. Alric waited. Stromni rubbed one thumb along the edge of his belt. When he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its usual roughness.

"I'd like that very much, lad," he said, giving one slow nod.

"Never thought I'd see the day. If it ain't good though…"

"Then it's cheap, there is always an appeal there," Alric explained or began to when the first drops struck the collection pot. Both men turned. The sound was thin, almost lost beneath the construction work, but they knew that sound. Stromni was moving before the fifth drop landed. Alric followed him, the name and everything beneath it pushed aside by the immediate need to work. Stromni crouched beside the collection line and checked the flow.

"Starting," he said, holding one hand beneath the pipe without touching it.

"Foreshots first," Alric said, grinning as the drops began to pick up speed slowly. The drops became a thread. Maggie was working. There was no shout this time, no terrible dancing, no guard opening the door with one hand on his sword. Stromni smelled the first portion, grimaced, and shifted the vessel. Alric checked the flow, then the cooling water. Behind them, the men continued fitting the washback together. The still house carried on around Maggie.

By the time the sun sat low over the river, seven casks stood in a row, and Stromni had stopped calling the name stupid.