Chương 50: Chapter 48 - Building

Alric had just finished signing a contract with Moreen. The process had been administrative, which was to say that it involved a great deal of paper, several seals, and a man whose entire job appeared to be making sure that nothing happened too quickly. Grain should start arriving next week. After that would come germination, and then they could return to making beer. He had roughly ten days to wrap up the building work. It felt like no time at all.

The walk from Moreen and Sons back toward the warehouse district gave him just enough distance to feel the pressure settle in properly. The streets were still wet from meltwater, boots leaving dark prints that vanished almost as soon as they formed, as though the city preferred not to commit to remembering where anyone had been.

Winter had not finished yet, but it had loosened its grip, and the city had begun to move again in that restless, impatient way it always did when it suspected hardship might be over and was prepared to be offended if proved wrong. Approaching the new warehouse, it positively hummed with activity. Not noise exactly, though there was plenty of that, but a layered vibration of work being done: stone on stone, rope against timber, shouted corrections that overlapped and corrected themselves mid-air.

People moved around the open roof with no concern for safety, balancing on beams and scaffolds as if gravity were more of a suggestion than a rule. Alric winced slightly as he made for the entrance, his eyes tracking a mason who stepped backward without looking and somehow failed to fall, apparently through long practice at not doing so. He resisted the urge to tell anyone to be careful.

Experience had taught him that this only encouraged people to demonstrate that they had been managing just fine without advice, usually for many years, and that gravity was unlikely to start taking suggestions today. To stay out of the way of the construction workers, he moved over to Stromni, who was standing beside the installed boiler.

This was the new pot, with the upgrades, set into corrected stonework designed to hold it in place permanently, or at least until someone with sufficient confidence and a large enough lever disagreed. The stone around it was still pale and raw, dust clinging to every edge. The distribution barrel now stood in front of it, also raised, its copper surface already dulled by fingerprints, splashes, and the sort of casual contact that suggested it had been accepted as part of the furniture.

Opposite the completed outcropping, a second stone section was under construction, the rough outline of it visible beneath planks and stacked blocks that had not yet decided what they were going to be. Stromni had his arms folded, his stance solid in the way of someone who trusted the ground beneath his feet more than most things in the world, and who had learned that if the ground was going to betray you, it would do so without warning.

"Good ta see ye, Alric. I, erm, need ta mention somethin'. The original boiler back at my forge? It took a tear while I was workin' on it," Stromni said, his gaze fixed somewhere just to the side of Alric's shoulder, as though the information might escape if looked at directly. Alric waved a hand dismissively.

"Good to see you too. I'm only expecting grain next week, so no need to worry about it." He paused, then frowned slightly as he turned his attention back to the newly installed pot, running his eyes along the seams with the expression of a man who had learned to look for problems before they introduced themselves.

"Any idea what caused it, though?"

"Couldnae say. Might've been the hammer. Might've struck it wrong while I was settin' the bottom plate," Stromni replied, still avoiding eye contact, which suggested he had already conducted the internal argument and lost. Alric hummed under his breath.

"I wonder if it isn't from winter. We ran it pretty hard." He rubbed at his hair, fingers catching on dust he hadn't realised was there, which appeared to be the prevailing theme of the building.

"You know, Strom, how would you feel about working here two days a week? I'll pay you. I'd like you to go over everything. Make sure it all works right, that nothing's wearing too much. Small improvements. That sort of thing." He kept his tone careful and neutral, as though he were asking about the weather rather than proposing a change to how the entire operation functioned, because experience suggested that tone mattered more than the words themselves. Stromni finally looked at him.

The dwarf was quiet for a long moment, the sounds of construction filling the space between them. A hammer rang out. Someone laughed. A rope creaked overhead in a way that implied it was working harder than it had planned to today.

"Y'know, lad, that's the second most absurd thing ye've suggested," Stromni said at last.

"Can I think on it a bit?" Alric shrugged and nodded. He had expected as much, and in truth would have been suspicious of a faster answer.

"Speakin' o' the most absurd thing," Stromni added, frowning slightly, "I need ye ta come tae my forge tonight so we can check on it." A shadow passed overhead, broad and slow. Both men stepped back instinctively from the open roof as an empty barrel descended on ropes, swaying gently as though uncertain where it was meant to land and hoping someone else might decide first.

Another worker hurried in, calling instructions, and began guiding it into position beside the installed boiler pot with practiced movements that suggested he had done this often enough to have questions about it's dignity.

"I dinnae like that at all," Stromni muttered, pointing upward.

"One wee beam holdin' it." Alric followed his gaze. The beam in question looked sturdy enough, but only just, and only if one did not think too hard about the weight it was currently responsible for, which Alric immediately did. He nodded as the barrel was settled onto a wooden arm designed to swing barrels into place, a design that relied heavily on optimism and proper timing. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"This is far out of my wheelhouse," Alric said.

"The merchants' guild insisted on handling it."

"Aye. Well, I wouldnae trust it. This whole thing needs a proper frame on the roof, so ye can lift what ye need, bring the barrel in, then lower it clean," Stromni said, sketching the shape of it in the air with a thick finger, as though the building might take notes.

"Well, build it for me. You'll have two days a week after all," Alric said with a grin. That earned him a scowl.

"Still thinkin' on that." Alric's attention drifted back to the distribution barrel. Everything he designed seemed to leak, eventually. Not catastrophically, not all at once, but in the quiet, persistent way that turned minor issues into long-term expenses. He pointed at it.

"Think you can do something about the leaks that come through this thing all the time?" Stromni crouched, peering closely at where the copper pipes emerged. He ran a thumb along one seam, then sniffed his fingers out of habit, as though they might offer an opinion.

"I can do better than this, but stoppin' it entirely means tar, and ye dinnae want tar in yer beer." He straightened and gestured toward the empty space behind the distribution barrel, where stone had yet to be laid.

"Also, Alric. Ye left this space open at the back?"

"Yes. Space for a third boiler. I want to run with two first, see what problems that makes, then get a third," Alric said, waving a hand as though the decision were minor, which it was not, but pretending otherwise seemed polite. The current design formed a rough cross. The casks ran out the front in a neat line, gravity doing most of the work and appearing quietly pleased about it. Up to three boilers could pour into the distribution barrel at the centre, each feeding into the same controlled point.

"Lad," Stromni said slowly, eyes widening, "how much beer d'ye want ta make?"

"Well, Stromni, think of this three-boiler setup. Now make another one over there, and another beyond that. Nine boilers in total." Stromni blinked, his mouth opening and closing once without sound, as though the words had arrived faster than his thoughts.

"Lad, how much beer d'ye think the city can take?"

"We don't think about this the same way," Alric said, lifting a hand.

"Most taverns need a cask a week. Some want two. But you're thinking in one kind of beer." He raised fingers as he spoke.

"Lager. Ale. Stout. Porter. Bitter. Exclusives." Stromni's eyes widened further, having apparently decided that widening was still an available option.

"We supplied one hundred and fifty-three bars, taverns, and inns through winter," Alric continued.

"If I build three stations like this, with three boilers each, that's two hundred and seventy casks a day. We work four days, then stop. There'll be beer in every tavern." Alric grinned. Stromni closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and nodded slowly, the nod of a man accepting that the world was larger than he had previously budgeted for.

"Well, lad, I'd like ta see it," he said, blinking as he looked around.

"This place looks like ye kicked a bee's nest, y'know?" Alric smiled. The alley beside Stromni's forge was quiet, the snow dulling the city's noise. Alric knocked softly, breath fogging in front of him. Lantern light spilled under the door, warm and steady, the sort of light that knew how to keep a secret. He couldn't help feeling this was proper cloak-and-dagger work. Part of him approved. Another made a note that this was probably not a healthy instinct to encourage. The door opened a crack.

Stromni peered out, eyes sharp, then waved him inside. It shut behind him with a muted thud, as though the building intended to remember it. Inside, the forge was already lit. A metal box reinforced with wooden beams lay in two halves on the workbench, one side drilled through with neat, deliberate holes.

"Here?" Alric asked. Stromni nodded. Alric used the item box to place the sword atop the wooden frame. It sat slightly off-centre. It wasn't Stromni's fault, he had only seen the sword twice, but the dwarf scowled all the same and nudged the wood into better alignment, because some things deserved to sit properly even if they were terrible ideas.

"Right then. We need ta see if this works," Stromni said, retrieving a metal rod from nearby. Alric took it. The metal looked like copper, but redder, its surface dulled by heat and handling.

"Hold that against the side o' it, then press the heatin' stone tae it." Alric did as he was told. At first, nothing happened. Stromni sighed softly.

"Lad, it won't work if ye don't charge the sword at least a bit first," he said, tapping the pommel with a knuckle. Alric nodded. He touched it with a finger and opened the flow just slightly. The sword responded immediately, light blooming along its length with an enthusiasm that suggested it had been waiting. He withdrew his hand before feeding it any more. Stromni glanced around the forge, then gestured to the rod. Alric pressed it against the blade. The metal began to glow faintly.

When he pressed the heating stone to it, heat surged at once. He pulled it back sharply, setting it aside and sucking on his fingers where he had burned them. Stromni shook his head.

"At least we know it works now. How d'ye want ta handle it goin' forward?"

"Honestly? Seal it forever. If someone has to smash the box open to find it, I'd rather that. We can pretend it's just some magic iron tool or something. Can you make it look like a toolbox?" Stromni nodded.

"Ye never want ta see this thing again?" he asked, brow raised. Alric nodded.

"Well, lad, ye'll need ta leave it here. I'll make it a sheath and fix it proper so it stays put. I'll leave a place where ye can press yer finger tae charge it." He paused.

"It'll be just us who know, aye?" Alric nodded again.

"If that's it, I'm going to head back." Without thinking, he brushed his fingers against the pommel and drew mana back. The sensation hit him like a full-body sourness, sharp and unpleasant, as though his nerves had collectively tasted something they did not approve of. He shuddered, lifting one foot reflexively.

"Ugh." Stromni laughed softly.

"Well, aye. That's all of it then, lad. Can't say why, but this thing scares me." Alric nodded. He felt the same. In a different part of the city, a conversation was being held about Alric.

"His building was in the warehouse district apparently. We found it empty." Said the man with mud on the hem of his cloak"Ridiculous! How do you make beer without fire! Is this how badly the city is run now?" The man waving his hand; the man wore a many piece outfit primarily dyed bright purple. A colour favoured by the innkeepers guild.

"He's probably skipped the city, post some people at the gates to watch for grain. If he's here, he'll need grain so just follow any grain wagons, we just need to find him before the tavern keepers do." He said looking out the window into the darkness The man with the dirty cloak nodded and left.