Chương 65: Chapter 63 – Week 2

Alric sighed, looking down at the note in his hands. It was from Pavise, explaining that they had run out of beer the previous night, late enough that little harm was done. The day before had been the city's off day, so Alric was not surprised. Beer shortages, he had learned, only became emergencies when people were awake to notice them. He handed the note to Vale.

"Send him a reply. Tell him he needs to manage it. Keep twelve casks a day aside for the city's off day." The paper made a faint rasp as Vale took it. It had been a week since the festival was announced, and Alric had expected these kinds of teething problems. Systems always bit back once they realized they were being relied upon.

"Can't we release some of ours?" Vale asked, already reaching for paper.

"We could, but we also need it if we have a bad beer day or something," Alric said with a shrug. Outside, a cart rattled past on the road, announcing itself to anyone who might have forgotten carts existed.

"If we run a stockpile for him, the carters will collapse. Can you imagine delivering an extra sixty casks the day before?" He glanced at Vale, who began noting it down with the air of a man quietly glad he would not be one of those collapsing. Alric turned over one of the receipts. It was a note from Denner, listing nine taverns and one inn that were not guild affiliated.

"Any ideas how to reach these?" Alric asked, holding it up for Vale and Seren.

"I'd say we send Brannick," Seren suggested. Alric nodded. The problem was delicate. He did not want his staff seen out in the city after what had already happened. Brannick, however, was an adventurer, not an employee, and had an easy manner that suggested he could walk into trouble, nod politely, and walk out again with trouble convinced it had misremembered him.

"If he's up to it," Alric said. He handed the note to Seren.

"They'd need to come here, though. Think they'd bother?"

"I think so," Seren replied, with the calm certainty of someone who had already pictured it happening.

"Alright. Do it. No harm in it," Alric said, which was not entirely true, but close enough for planning purposes. Across the city, a tavernkeeper wiped down a tankard with a cloth of questionable cleanliness. The wood beneath his hands was tacky with old spills, the sort that had once been wiped and then negotiated with. He frowned at the empty seats. It was early, but it was not usually this quiet. Two customers sat inside, drinking and speaking in low voices, as if the nearby furniture was listening.

When they rose to leave, the barman waited until they were gone before stepping out to collect the tankards. A sharp sound cut through the street. He looked up in time to see a man turn away, others sneering as they passed, their faces arranged with the care usually reserved for bad smells. He looked down. Spit darkened the ground near the table legs. A draft stirred the smell of old beer and ash. He blinked and looked back up. A few people frowned as they passed.

Others did not bother hiding their expressions, apparently deciding that manners were a guild-affiliated expense. Deciding it was safer for the day, the tavernkeeper quietly locked his doors and closed the bar, leaving the room to its silence. At the Adventurers' Guild, the morning was slow. A fire crackled low in the hearth, producing warmth without enthusiasm, while most of the staff lounged about in various states of readiness that suggested they were prepared for nothing in particular.

A man drifted over and tried to start a conversation.

"I heard the brewer himself set that fire." An adventurer studied him for a moment.

"Sure, friend. Makes sense. Who doesn't start a fire in their own yard?" He snorted.

"Here's what you do. Go ask a guard. Ask which tavern they'd send their mother to. They know the story better than we do."

"This is what, the third one this week with that tale?" someone else said, pushing a mug aside as if rumours took up space. The man shrugged.

"Well, it's just a rumour, right?" he asked, suddenly less confident.

"Course it is," the adventurer said with a yawn.

"Just like how beer that isn't sour makes you sick, I'm sure you were about to tell me that one too. I've drunk buckets of the stuff. Never had a problem." Alric stepped out of the staff wing. Heat from the boilers pressed against the cooler air of the corridor as people moved to their designated spaces, the building exhaling steadily like a creature resigned to work. Mara and Lessa were chatting amicably as they weighed and prepared grain bags for the day.

The scales creaked softly, protesting the responsibility placed upon them. Without proper weights, they were still using an older grain bag as a reference. It was crude, but workable for now, which described most things that functioned. Only the brown ale required mixed grains, so they weighed that separately. It took conscious effort for Alric not to stare at Lessa. He was glad to see her back to her old self again, she was apparently very close to her family and had struggled through the adjustment.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Hal had just started the first boils. Steam gathered along the beams overhead, testing the wood's patience. Alric would need to draw more water soon. He noticed Battery shuffling past, Seren close behind with a tray. Curious, Alric slowed to watch. The routine was familiar now, but something caught his attention. Seren sat Battery down and made him eat before anything else.

His porridge was thick, with butter, milk, honey, fruit, and nuts. Alric realised he had not had nuts in his own bowl that morning, or for the past week for that matter. Battery was eating better than he was, which felt correct in ways he did not care to examine. Battery charged the station as usual. The hum of the stones settled into a steady pitch, like a tired animal finding its breathing. He seemed to be improving, or at least the work took less from him.

Even so, he allowed Seren to guide him back to his room afterward. Alric felt a small stab of guilt, then pushed it aside. It was the boy's dream, after all, and dreams were notorious for being demanding employers. He turned back to the boilers. Hal and Jory moved steadily between them, lowering the grain bags with the confidence of men who trusted ropes more than theory. Alric nodded in approval.

Nearby, Henry and Jase were steaming casks, rolling others that hissed faintly as boiling water met wood and lost the argument. Vale approached from behind, holding a slip of paper.

"I know this sounds cruel, but is there any way to increase how much we make?"

"Until the third boiler is in, it's difficult," Alric said. He wiped condensation from his hands, which returned almost immediately.

"It's too early for Jory to run them alone. I could sleep late and handle a late boil myself, with one assistant." He gestured toward the boilers.

"That would give us another twelve casks." Vale considered it and shrugged. The decision was not his to make, which was one of the reasons Alric paid him.

"Once the third boiler is finished, we're pushing what, ninety casks?" Alric added.

"Stromni said next week."

"Well, we have seven independents coming this afternoon," Vale said, frowning. Alric considered that.

"They usually take one or two casks a week." Vale nodded.

"Depending on how many commit, we may need a few extra boils."

"Alright," Alric said, stretching.

"I'll speak to Henry. He can start later with me. If he handles the casks, I'll do the boiling." The boiler finally finished. The rope creaked as Jase and Hal began tipping it, sounding faintly resentful but cooperative. The movement was smoother than before. Wort poured into the distribution barrel and began filling the casks below, behaving itself with rare good manners. When the boiler was about half empty, Hal and Jory moved to the wheels and tipped it the rest of the way.

Alric noticed Battery shuffling past again, this time wearing his robes, clearly on his way to the magery. He had just turned away when Henry stopped the boy. Alric moved closer. Henry checked that Battery had all his things, then handed him a small parcel. Alric caught sight of a hunk of cheese. Battery gets a packed lunch? Alric raised an eyebrow. An adventurer fell into step beside the boy as he headed toward the bridge. Battery did not even glance at him.

Alric was not sure whether it had become routine or whether Battery simply did not notice, which in its own way was worse. The next two boils went off without a hitch. The rhythm of lifting, tipping, and sealing continued without pause, the building ticking through its own understanding of time. Despite having overturned his own rule about manual labour, Alric realised he had done very little himself that morning. Vale entered through the doors and gestured toward the yard. Alric followed him outside.

Eight men and one woman stood just off the road, shifting their weight as carts passed behind them, each wheel adding its own apparent viewpoint. Alric stepped forward.

"Hail. I'm Alric, sometimes called the brewer," he said with a small wave. They introduced themselves in turn. Alric noted that the woman ran an inn.

"I'm sure you can guess why I asked you here," Alric said with a shrug.

"Aye. The guilds," said a man in a green tunic.

"No offence, Mister Brewer, but we don't want trouble." Several others nodded, apparently having come prepared to nod.

"Nor did I, honestly," Alric said.

"I wanted to be left alone, but it didn't stop them." When no one replied, he continued.

"They attacked my warehouse and my staff. I'm not here to pressure you, but if you want to take a stand, now's the time."

"Got a family to think of," one man said quietly.

"I understand," Alric replied.

"In the eyes of the guilds, if I sell you beer, you've picked a side." He let the words sit.

"It's your call. They won't ignore you forever." Wind moved dust along the road, arranging it into patterns that suggested time was passing whether anyone liked it or not. After a long moment, three people left, including the man who had spoken of his family. Alric nodded to those who remained.

"Then I take it the six of you want to buy? I can spare two casks each, ale and stout. Delivery will be tomorrow." They agreed, though none of them looked entirely at ease, as if beer had become heavier simply by being discussed. It was late in the day when Hal finished the last boil. Alric had charged the sword for the afternoon and hadn't quite recovered.

"Alright, Hal. You're done," Alric said, waving him off the platform.

"Go bathe and eat." Hal shrugged and moved away, apparently trusting that Alric wouldn't damage his favorite boiler. And Hal had a favorite boiler. Alric prepared the filters and began filling barrels, then moved on to the spare casks. The stones radiated steady heat, untroubled by the idea of rest. He and Henry set them in place while Henry began steaming casks.

"Too easy, huh?" Alric said as they waited for the heat to build. Henry shrugged.

"The work here's good. My back likes this more than dock work." He took a seat on one of the waiting chairs, and Alric joined him, the chair protesting quietly. Between idle talk, they swapped casks, added grain bags, and set the system for the next stage. When it came time to tip the first boiler, it went smoothly, though Alric noted that Henry carried most of the weight, as if the boiler had developed preferences. Like the cats. They cleaned and reset the first boiler, then repeated the process.

The second cleaning dragged, sweat cooling on Alric's back, while Henry stored the filled casks with practiced movements.

"You start late tomorrow, remember," Alric said. Henry nodded. Alric noticed the adventurers watching nearby, their attention drifting in and out like smoke. One of the cats had attracted their attention, tail flicking as it accepted the fuss. Alric sighed. The cats never came to him, perhaps sensing that he already had enough responsibilities or simply that he liked them more than they did him. He headed to his room. He lay down to rest, but a feminine giggle drifted in from the bathing room next door.

Water sloshed faintly, making it clear that sleep was no longer on offer. Startled, Alric abandoned the attempt and almost ran to the kitchen instead. Pavise read Alric's note and passed it to Gil with a frown.

"He says we need to hold back twelve casks a day for the day off. Otherwise he'll run the carters ragged," Pavise said, leaning back, as if the chair might offer solutions.

"He's not wrong," Gil replied.

"They already run like mad every morning. This just turns it into one day of double trips." Pavise nodded.

"This festival is something else," Gil added with a grin, trying to lift his spirits. Pavise smiled in return.

"It is. Just make sure everyone's getting enough rest. We can't afford mistakes."