Beers and Beards

Chapter 73: Waiting the Week Away

Waiting for beer to ferment can drive a dwarf crazy. Thirty-two hour days didn't help.

It’s like putting on a pot of water to boil. You can’t help but stare at it, desperately willing it to boil faster. Fermentation is like that, but with a lot more crusty Kr?usen.

So we waited, and kept ourselves busy during the time the pub wasn’t open. Every morning Balin and I woke up and had a simple breakfast of goat sausage, eggs, and oats. Balin would run to schmooze with Annie while I schmoozed a cup of coffee at Joejam’s café.

I would arrive mid-morning to help Bran do prep work in the kitchen while Johnsson, Richter, and John cleaned. Annie did paperwork, Aqua ran errands with Tom (whom I still hadn’t been introduced to), and Balin did preventative maintenance.

Then we all met for lunch in the pub while Bran served us a delicious new meal every day.

Today was Beet and Goat stew with Garlic-bread.

Yesterday was Fried Chicken with Fries and Gravy.

Tomorrow was Beans on Toast with Braised Goat.

After that we had the early afternoon to do whatever we wanted. It didn’t really equate to a break though, since there was just so much to do.

A week thus passed.

—

“No, no, no!”

My voice echoed through the room, bouncing off the myriad glass surfaces in an odd fragmented reverb.

“Look, the neck of the bottle here needs to be reinforced, or the Whistlestop will break it when the pressure gets high enough!”

Whistlemop and I had decided that Whistlestop was a good name for the Lightning-stopper bottle-topper. I didn’t care enough to tell him ‘no’, and the name had a certain poetry to it. In return, I got a concession that we would not be naming everything in the brand Whistle-whatevers.

Ralph took the bottle back and turned it around. “Hrm. Ma son designed this one. Looks like he was cuttin’ tha thickness of the glass to improve the flow. If you make the opening too small it’ll be damn hard to drink.”

“It’s fine, trust me! Drinking from a bottle works fine, even if the neck is really small. As long as you can fit a finger in, that’s good enough.”

Ralph brought the bottle to his lips and stuck his tongue in it. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Yer funeral.”

“My gold too.”

Ralph grumbled as he moved along. Whistlemop replaced him, walking over to poke me in the side.

“Our gold, thank you very much.”

“Our gold. How is the investigation goin’?”

Whistlemop gave a simultaneous sigh of long suffering and relief. “Oh, swimmingly. The [Psychometer] was able to get witness testimony from the mugs that a Blessing was used on them. Combined with testimony from other witnesses, I am off the hook and can re-open my shop.”

I frowned. “That may not be a good idea if whoever did it is still out there.”

“I’m not too concerned. The city promised me a full-time [Guard], and I hired a [Wizard] to flesh out my personal security.”

We shared a fist bump, which was the dwarven societal equivalent of a high-five. “May I recommend a new limited-edition Whistlemug to ‘Commemorate the Grand Market Riot’”?

Whistlemop gave a high-pitched laugh. “Hah! That’s a little too mercantile even for me! I don’t think City Hall would appreciate it.”

“Ah well, it was worth a try. Any word on my experiments?”

“Yessss…?” Whistlemop tasted the word, his anxiety obviously spiking.

“That bad, huh?”

“One of the protective cases cracked when the bottle inside exploded. It cracked Pete. That glass was capable of holding a mushfolk.”

I shrugged. “Now you see why I wanted it to be that strong. Do you have anything more to inspect here, or can we move to the warehouse?”

“I didn’t believe you! It sounded ridiculous!”

“Uh huh.” I gave Whistlemop the barest sliver of my attention as we made our way through the shiny new glassworks. Rows upon rows of translucent glass bottles were stacked along the walls, awaiting the New Brew.

Soon. But first, it was time to see which priming sugar ratio won my little science experiment.

—

“Beer’s not allowed in tha Library, Pete.” Richter hissed at me.

“Pshaw, the librarians don’t care so long as you don’t spill it.” I wave a hand in dismissal. “I’ve seen a half-dozen other dwarves drinkin’ in the last week alone. Someone even broke out a keg.”

“Oh. I nevah noticed.”

“Of course not. Your eyes are always stuck deep into whatever book you’re reading. Sometimes you need to look up and appreciate the world around you Richter.”

“I cahm to tha library ta study, not look around!”

“We are all students of life, Richter. No dwarf is an island.”

“Tha’s a stupid sayin’ and ya should be embarrassed ya evah came up wit it.“

I sputtered. “I didn’t - you can’t - whatever…” I held out a beer bottle filled with amber liquid. “Drink this.”

He took it from me and turned it this way and that, observing it. “What is it?”

“Beer.”

“Aye can see dat. What’s it in?”

“It’s a beer bottle.”

“A what, now?”

“A bottle is a piece of glassware with a wide bottom and a fluted top, it is commonly -”

“Ah get dat, Pete!”

I chuckled. “It’s something Annie and I have been workin’ on. More importantly I want someone that actually likes beer to drink these two bottles and tell me how they taste.”

“Who doesn’t like beer?” Richter muttered as he grabbed the bottle. “Why naht ask Balin or Annie?”

“We were already scheduled to meet today for our study session on magical diagrams, and I wanted to thank you for your time! I can promise that you’re in for a treat!”

“Yer more than welcome Petar. I got ma Blessin’ doin' dis, so I got no issue tutorin’ ya whenevah.” He fumbled with the Whistlestop while he talked, but quickly figured out how to operate it. “Huh, neat.”

I jerked as I realized my mistake; Richter had never opened a bottle before! “Richter, WAIT!” I dove on top of the books on the table, blocking them with my body.

*POP*

*PSSSHHHHHHH!!!!*

“Argghhh!!!”

“SHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

“SORRY!” Richter and I chorused. He glared at me, his face and chest sopping wet. I had the good sense to be bashful; that was totally my fault.

“Let me… go get a towel for you.” I stood up and handed him my cloak to catch any drippage.

“Ya do dat.” Richter grumped, then sniffed the open beer bottle with curiosity.

—

“Okay, I’m dry. You’re dry. The table’s dry. That beer is probably extra dry. Let’s do this.”

“If tha librarians complain I’m leavin’ you out ta dry.”

“Fair.”

I popped open my own bottle of beer with a practiced hand, releasing the pressure slowly to avoid another ‘a-pop-alypse’ . The familiar ‘psshhh’ of escaping carbonation was music to my ears.

“Yer pretty good at dat.” Richter noted.

“Thanks. Cheers!” I held my bottle out and he clinked it with his own.

“Cheeahs!”

I pulled my head back, and drank.

I’d chosen the bottle with the highest ratio of priming sugar - ratio number six - which was the highest after the other ones had all exploded. Three total had gone *KA-BREWIE!!* and another two had exploded when I’d shaken them in their protective shells. I tossed ratio seven just to be safe.

The higher ratio meant it would be slightly sweeter and have a higher alcohol content than regular beer, but I wanted that anyway. Richter had ratio number four, which would be closer to that ‘authetic True Brew taste’.

The beer foamed up as I tipped the glass, exploding onto my palette like electric fuzz. It sparkled between my tongue and teeth, foaming as it went down my gullet. It was my first time drinking a heavily carbonated drink in over a year and I almost choked on it. Beside me, Richter actually did sputter, foam freckling his orange beard.

The beer was just as sour and gritty as I remembered. I swished it around in my mouth to appreciate the mouth-feel. It was a little over-carbonated, and the higher alcohol content had affected the taste rather severely. It still wasn’t ‘good’ but it was certainly better. The bittering agents was my biggest complaint, and I had no control over that.

All in all, an excellent attempt. I was a bit sad that my quest to make a New Brew didn’t complete; I probably needed to brew it from start to finish. First, though…

“How is it?”

Richter had a stunned expression on his face, and was staring at the bottle.

“Pete… this is just beer.”

“Yeaaahhh?”

“It’s just… REALLY GOOD BEER!”

“Oh?”

“It actually explodes in mah mouth! Ah can feel it cracklin’ on ma tongue and fillin’ ma stomach.”

“That’s right! It - ”

“The fizz comin’ out o’ tha’ bottle brang wit it tha scent of tha Brew and draws me closer, daring me to taste tha Pinnacle o’ delights within!”

“Yeah, you can -”

“Then tha flavour of it! It’s got tha’ cleanest taste of any brew I’ve ever had! There’s no metallic aftertaste from tha pewter mug, or a slight taste of wet wood. Each sip tastes just like the last! It flows from tha glass like tha Great Waterfall roars from tha Pinnacle!”

“You know, I’d really like to -”

Richter stood on his chair and held his bottle up into the air.

“Tha clear crystal o’ the bottle gives me a full view o’ the wonders I will soon drink, their precious flavours beggin’ ta be imbibed. No dwarf has evah drank it’s like, and I dare any dwarf to claim themselves its equal!”

I looked around nervously; we were gathering a crowd. “That was really poetic, but you should probably -”

“I declare this the GREATEST BEER IN ALL O’ MINNOVA! NAY, ALL O’ CRACK!”

*Ahem*

—

“Ah can’t believe ya got us thrown outta da library.”

“ME!? It was your Gods-bedamned soliloquy!”

Richter sighed and collapsed onto the stairs. “Aye, it was. That was an incredible bottle o’ beer Pete.”

I pulled out my notebook. “You had ratio number four. Would you say it tasted similar to a regular brew?”

Richter looked at me like I was a crazy person. “Did ya not hear me?”

“There were a lot of adjectives that don’t play nicely with my nice, neat, scientific process.”

“It tasted... Like normal, but better.”

“Go on.”

“Do you… have more?”

—

“Hey Aqua. Drink this.”

“Wow, hello to you too, Pete.” Aqua looked at the already opened bottle in her hand. “What is this?”

“Just drink it. It’s beer.”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

“No…?” I hedged.

“Just because you believe it’s true, doesn’t mean it’s actually true.”

I bit my lip. “Richter said he would kill everyone in the brewery for another taste of it.”

Aqua’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Richter said that?”

“I’m still on the fence about whether that’s a good thing.”

“Richter is mellower than a cat in a sunbeam. It must be good.” Aqua peeked in through the opening. “Is that.. sparks?”

“It’s carbonation fizzing out through the bottleneck. You have sugar ratio number three. Are you going to drink it or not?”

“Fine, don’t rush me!” She took a sip. Then a dreg. Then a chug.

Wow, Aqua could drink! She must have been taking lessons from Tania during opening hours!

She finished and wiped her lips with her arm, splattering fizzy beer all over her well-groomed blue beard.

“How was it?”

“MORE!” She grabbed my shirt.

“AHHHH!!!”

“AAGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

—

I burst into the tenement room, my shirt torn and filthy. The armour, it did nothing!

“Pete?” Balin asked. He was sweeping up the space Whistlemop had occupied until this morning. The little bugger took up a surprising amount of room. Though I guess a gnome wasn’t that much smaller than a dwarf. I still had a nagging subconscious mental image of gnomes as knee high, instead of the chest high they actually were.

“You need to hide me, Balin! They’re coming!”

“Who’s comin’?”

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

“No! Don’t - “ I hissed, but it was too late.

“Who is it?” Balin asked, walking up to the door.

“It’s Aqua and Richter, is Pete there?”

Balin looked at me with questioning eyes and I made a chopping motion across my neck.

“Erm… No. I haven’ seen ‘im.” Balin said, robotically. I rolled my eyes. There was a brief pause.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

“We know you’re in there Pete! We just want to talk!!!”

I whimpered and started piling chairs against the door.

Balin tried to stop me. “Hey! Don’t break those, I spent a long time makin’ them!”

“It won’t matter if we die today! Hurry and help me!” I continued tossing furniture against the door, which was making increasingly loud banging noises. Unnoticed behind me, a brown bottle rolled out of my hastily dropped rucksack and rolled across the floor. Balin picked it up.

“What’s this? Hey, it’s tha bottled beer ya were talkin about!” He levered it open with a *pop* and the banging on the door grew more frenzied. “Smells real good! Can I try?” He took a sip.

“Balin!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!”

—

Bran looked at me with concern as I despondently peeled erdroot beside him.

“What happened to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You ok?”

“I think… I’m a doomed genius.”

“Uh huh. Well, yer holdin’ the peeler upside down, ‘genius’”

“Ugh.”

There was a patter of feet on the floor as Annie burst into the kitchen. I moaned and dropped into a curled-up fetal position. “Not you too! I’m out of bottled beers!”

“Are you still moping about Aqua’s prank!? Get over it, I need you!”

She grabbed me by the arm and pulled.

I pulled back. “What! PRANK!? That dirty little MINX!”

“There’s something wrong with the brew!!!”

I was up and running in an instant.