Beers and Beards

Book 3: Chapter 64: Lords and Ladies

Book 3: Chapter 64: Lords and Ladies

The two noble ladies sat in the drawing room of Bentley Manor. Tourmaline was in her usual disguise as Wreck, wearing a simple set of nondescript brown leather. Opal was dressed in a blue and silver hauberk that set off her white goatee nicely.

A half-eaten platter of snacks lay on the table between them as they chatted.

“I heard about the riot, but I hadn’t heard that they were censured by the guild.” Tourmaline said. “What happened next?”

Opal shook her head. “From what Annie told me, they and Schist are required to hand over all the new brewing techniques they designed for the contest. They’re also required to give an additional 10% of their income to the Guild for the next century as a penalty, and are forbidden from brewing Sacred Brew for the same time frame.”

“... Does that mean they won’t be able to brew at all?” Tourmaline’s face didn’t show a single crack, but her tone betrayed her worry.

Opal grinned. “The Guild also announced that Sacred Brew and ‘beer’ are now considered separate entities. They petitioned for a revision to the Ordinances and it was granted. Only Guild [Brewers] are legally allowed to brew Sacred Brew or sell beer publicly, but amateur brewers may now legally brew beer.”

Tourmaline sat bolt upright. “Is that possible? Is it even possible for amateurs to obtain the necessary ingredients?”

“I have it from a good source that a certain book is currently circulating the market. It teaches how to get the required yeasts, and includes a basic primer on safe variants of pineweed for flavouring.” Opal sighed. “Said source taught me the basics. At length.”

Tourmaline raised an eyebrow. “Now that is certainly news… Is Pete selling the book? So soon? I can’t imagine all the Master Brewers are happy about that.”

“Actually, it’s being sold by the Greybough Consortium. There’s a fairly large protest in front of the elven Embassy right now. It helped force the Guild's hand.” Opal tittered.

“How did Pete manage that?”

“He partnered with the Ambassador from Awemedinand.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than the current state of the city, Tourmaline.” Opal sighed again, and drank from her tankard. “Any news from Whitewall?”

Tourmaline nodded. “The riot has drawn the attention of the Greybeards. Grandfather was talking about it. They were focused on the Blacksmiths before. I doubt this news will help when it reaches their ears.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Opal drew in her breath.

“The King will be happy about it, though.”

“The King? Really?”

“Yes. He was hoping to use the contests to mix things up with the guilds. Based on your news it looks to be succeeding. Harmsson’s faction was using the contests to rabble rouse, so I’m glad something good came from them.”

“Speaking of Harmsson.” Opal frowned. “Pete says that he’ll be at the big beer festival he and Schist will be putting on. Their ‘beerfest’.”

“Why?”

“Pete invited him. Though he claims it was Schist’s fault.”

Tourmaline frowned. “When I asked them for news of Harmsson, I didn’t want them to put themselves in his way.”

“Oh, they know.” Opal frowned. “Annie says that between butting heads with the Guild, their alliance with the Pot Corporation, and the riot, they’ve ended up fairly closely aligned to Harmsson’s Great Charter. And they like what he’s been doing for Yellowwall. They aren’t allying with him, but Schist gave the okay for him to come and make a speech at beerfest.”

Tourmaline tapped her fingers on her chair’s arm. “That will interest Grandfather. He’s been wanting to meet with Harmsson incognito. Neutral ground like a festival could be good for that.”

“The Duke wants to meet with Harmsson??” Opal gawped. “I thought he hated him.”

“Hmmm… after Pete told me about Lord Blackbeard's alliance with Harmsson, the movements of many smaller nobles have become clearer. Harmsson’s reach in Administration is quite deep. Grandfather thinks Harmsson actually has a good chance at enacting real change, especially for the gnomes.”

“Isn’t Harmsson just an opportunist? Why would he actually change things?”

“Grandfather thinks Harmsson is a true believer. Too many of his early projects had a real positive impact, and he seems to be adept at tricking the nobility into helping their ‘lessers’. That’s why he wants to meet him.”

Opal’s expression turned musing. “I can send the information on to Annie. Do you want to let Harmsson know the Duke will be there?”

“No… I think we should leave it as a surprise. I don’t want Harmsson getting ideas.”

“Speaking of ideas…” Opal’s tone grew hesitant. “Do you have anything new for Lady Barnes? For your… mother?”

Tourmaline shook her head, her jaw taut. “No… the latest potions I’ve designed will destroy the poison, but will probably kill her while she’s still so weak.”

“The [Healers]…”

“The poison is resistant to it. They can’t do anything.”

“Oh Tourmaline….”

“Grandfather is still being pressured to remove her as his heir, but he won’t do it while she’s still alive.”

“The Blackbeards?”

“Yes.” Tourmaline thumped her fist onto her armored knee. “Damn them! I just know they were involved in this somehow! Mother and their Patriarch never saw eye to eye.”

Opal nodded. “And the Barnse’s have always backed the current King’s attempts to pull power from the nobility and Greybeards. Your uncles…”

“Useless as usual. They wouldn’t want to rock the boat. Ugh, this is all because the King was making noise about mother becoming heir apparent.”

There was a beat of silence as the two finished off the last of the treats and discussed the events of the Redlip riot and the new beers. Tourmaline was especially interested in learning the magic behind Riverside’s spice trick.

The two ladies parted company with a hug, and went their separate ways, each with news to share.

—

The mood around Harmsson’s little campaign office was electric these days. Between the Redlip riot, an explosion at one of the Blacksmiths, the cheating in the Cooking contents, and strong unrest sentiment due to the neglect of Yellowwall, chaos reigned in Kinshasa.

And chaos was good for Harmsson.

At this exact moment, Lord Harmsson was sitting at his desk with one leg propped up. He’d been doing a lot of walking around these days. After meeting with city administrators to finish up the water lines to Yellowwall, and meeting with minor lords to discuss his plans, he was tuckered out.

Because he was an old dwarf.

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Damnit, he’d never even gotten this ancient back on Earth. Now he understood why all the old geezers said to take care of your knees.

Lord Newcastle stood before him holding a sheaf of paperwork. The middle-aged dwarf was just now beginning to show hints of white in his beard, unless it was dyed. Newcastle was a hard worker, but he was also the kind of dwarf who wasn’t willing to wait for what he considered his due. In this case, the respect due to age.

Harmsson would have traded him a white beard for his knees in an instant.

Newcastle gave him a serious look, and Harmsson sighed as he sent everyone else out of the room.

Newcastle activated a magical device to protect against eavesdroppers, then cleared his throat. “The matter with the Blacksmith shop explosion does not seem to have been traced back to us. Everyone is continuing to blame the guild.”

Harmsson steepled his fingers, then caught himself and stopped. Dammit! He was not going to turn into some cliche cartoon villain! “Good. Did the team get out without injuries this time?”

Newcastle snickered. “Yes. No Godsdamn ducks hanging around.”

“Hmmm. I am still not sure I fully believe Sam’s story about that. A duck??”

“Yes! The durn fool had one tied up in his garden. I am amazed it did not eat him.”

Which wasn’t quite what Harmsson meant. A duck? His team gave them the same reverence someone from home would give a bloody croc. He’d need to go look them up one day.

“Any other injuries? I am still quite displeased about that apprentice. He didn’t deserve that.”

“No sir. And we did manage to get him a good prosthetic through secret channels. It shouldn’t be traced back to us.”

“Good, good. I am happy that everyone is still performing to expectations. Do Sam and Drum require any supplies?”

“Yes. Drum was asking for more anti-scrying powder, and Sam needs more Boomdust.”

T“Very well, get on that. Have we found out where the Boomdust came from yet?” It was his best lead on a Chosen other than Raspberrysyrup, though it was always possible that it’d come from her in the first place. He had his doubts though, she didn’t strike him as the type to have that kind of knowledge.

“No. It is buried somewhere in City Hall in Minnova, and Lord Bronzeson just doesn't have the same dwarfpower out there.”

Harmsson sighed. “Damn Blackbeard. He had a simple task, and he miffed it up so completely.”

“I still say you should cut him loose.” Newcastle shook his head. “He is the worst kind of noble.”

Harmsson almost laughed out loud. If only Newcastle was capable of self introspection.

“Where is Lady Viola?” Newcastle asked, looking around. “I had some news for her as well.”

“She’s out with Marigold doing lady things.” Harmsson sighed. Lady Viola was the most competent of his underlings, and it was always painful when she was gone. And of course, he was practically helpless without his lovely secretary Marigold to keep track of his schedule. The elfess was as punctual as she was tantalizing.

“Boxing?” Newcastle asked with curiosity.

“Aye.”

“Tch. I’ll never understand dwarfesses. Give me a good old game of hitball any day.”

“Mmm…” Harmsson hrm'd noncommittally.

There was a knock at the door, and Harmsson motioned Newcastle along. “Anything more?”

“No sir.”

“Very well. Come in!”

A young dwarf entered carrying a letter and a box. Harmsson gave him a small nod. “Good evening, Micah. Mail for me?”

“Aye Lord Harmsson. Bando passed it on.”

“Must be the mail from the Thirsty Goat. Here’s a gold for the trouble.”

“Thankee sir.” Micah swept some sweat from his brow and gave an eager smile. “Anything more you need me to do?”

“Stand there and look sharp for now.”

Harmsson read over the letter once, then twice. His eyebrows raised. “They are actually going ahead with their little beer fest? After the riot? I am surprised the guild is allowing it!”

“Yes sir.” Micah agreed. “Bando is looking forward to it. He says maybe he’ll finally find ‘imself a dwarfess, what with bein’ a part of an up-and-coming clan like the Goldstones. He says they’re gonna be hirin’ a lot more guards this time, and limiting drinks. Schist is makin’ his beer less spicy too.”

“Ach, shame. I liked it.” Newcastle harrumphed. “The rarified taste of a Riverside True Brew with a kick worthy of a unigoat!”

Harmsson carefully didn’t comment. He was managing to keep his disdain for the dwarven Sacred Brew under wraps, mostly by not drinking it if he could avoid it. “What’s in the box?” He asked, pointing under Micah’s arm.

“Bando sent it along sir. It’s a fresh batch of Dragonator!”

Newcastle didn’t bother keeping the disdain from his voice. “Pfah! Slop worthy of pigs! The Thirsty Goat is lucky the dragons left so long ago, or they would surely have fried them for their insolence. Dragonator indeed!”

Well, if Newcastle objected… Harmsson motioned for Micah to pass him the box, and the young dwarf popped it open and passed over a large dark green bottle. Harmsson paused as he looked at it. It reminded him of home. When he’d first seen the now ubiquitous bottles, he’d been suspicious at first of a Chosen’s involvement, but it was just glass made by local artisans,

Harmsson popped the top, again struck by deja vu. It really was like a bottle from home. Smoke immediately poured from the open top and Harmsson stared at it warily. “Is this safe to drink?”

Micah gave a gap-toothed grin. “Aye sir! It’ll knock you out if you drink it too fast, and leave you right drunk, it will!”

Harmsson lifted the bottle to his lips with trepidation. He took a hesitant sip and swished the beer around his mouth experimentally.

It certainly tasted different. He could see why Newcastle hated it – it was too bloody different. It tasted almost nothing like a regular Sacred Brew. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, it had the same smooth texture of a Guinness from back home. He quickly grabbed a nearby glass and poured some of the Dragonator inside. It was quickly occluded by smoke, but the head showed the clear signs of a Nitro brew.

And the taste…

It tasted like a bock from home.

Like home. Harmssons’ face grew dour.

“How popular is this Dragonator?” He asked Micah. “And the Thirsty Goat in general?”

“It’s real popular sir! I’ve even heard tell that they might beat Riverside! And I dunno if you’ve heard, but the Guild has opened up brewin’ fer everyone! I’m makin’ meself a chestnut beer! I’m gonna be the next First Brewer, I am!”

Harmsson frowned. “Is that true?” He glanced at Newcastle, who shrugged.

Micah nodded eagerly. “[Bard’s] are just starting to spread it around now, sir!”

Harmsson chose his next words carefully. “Would you say that the Thirsty Goat has a… large influence… on the local brewing scene, then?”

Micah laughed. “Sir! If this spreads to the other cities, the Thirsty Goat will have influenced every damn dwarf in Crack! Maybe the world!”

Harmsson saw red in his vision, but kept from swearing with herculean effort. “Thank you for the news, Micah. You can go.”

“Yessir!” The eager youth gave a closed fist salute to the chest and ran out, slamming the door behind him.

“Do you think…” Newcastle asked, watching Harmsson’s face with concern.

“Yes! This drink proves it!” Harmsson growled, pointing at the bottle. “It is too big a technological leap. It has to be him! Have Bronzeson investigate Peter Roughtuff, see if he is the one who invented Boomdust. It should be easier to approach it from the other way round. If Bronzeson can not do it, tell him to hire a [Detective]. I want to know everything about Roughtuff before that beerfest!”

“And if he is a Chosen?”

Harmsson’s face fell, and he collapsed back into his chair. He’d been complaining about his knees, but now he truly felt old. The weight of centuries on his back, suffocating and growing day by day.

“I liked him, you know.” Harmson’s voice was weary. “A dwarf after my own heart, doing what he could to improve lives. I was content to let that fool Raspberrysyrup serve as a bellweather, but Pete seems cagey. And he has a real chance at beating me. If… if he is one of the other Chosen…”

Harmsson glanced back over at the bottle of Dragonator. If Pete was one of the Chosen, all the little things suddenly fit into place.

“I’ll send word to Bronzeson.” Newcastle murmured. “Anything else?”

Harmsson frowned. “Last week’s spy report had more to say about that beerfest. Are members of the Council of Greybeards really going to be there?”

Newcastle nodded. “Yes. They’re interested in seeing what all the fuss is about.”

“They never come out of their holes in Whitewall…”

“They are for this, sir.”

Harmsson drummed his fingers on the table and heaved a sigh. “A shame… I was actually looking forward to a fun party. For now, see to it that Adventurers loyal to us get hired to guard the beerfest, and get our people inside. If the Councilmembers do show up, we’ll be poised to strike. And if Pete did invent Boomdust.” Harmsson’s voice grew pained. “Then… we’ll set Ambermine loose during the commotion.”

“What about Sam, sir?”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes. Now, leave me.”

Newcastle bowed his way out of the room as Thad Harmsson silently drank himself into oblivion.