Chapter 62: Thirsty Goat Brewpub

Chapter 62: Thirsty Goat Brewpub

“Come in!” Annie waved everyone through the door. The grumble tumbled in from the lush foyer and gawked.

“Barck’s Beard! What a difference!” Emerelda muttered.

“Welcome to the Thirsty Goat Brewpub!” I stood ready in my best suit, holding a set of menus to pass to the pro-drinkers as they entered. Johnsson and Richter shouted their own ‘hello’s as they rolled in a large barrel from the brew floor.

“What have you got for eats?” Beatbox asked as I handed him a menu. “More than nuts, I hope....”

Each menu item was carefully hand calligraphed with a tiny drawing and a clearly labeled price. A little note at the bottom added: ‘no haggling.’

“No haggling! How am I supposed to get cheap sausages!” Beatbox cried with indignation.

“We are allowed to set fixed prices.” I said with a grin. "City of Minnova Ordinances, Chapter 23, Section 6.” I was proud of all my hard work over the past two weeks. Richter beat it into me at some points, but I now had almost half the Ordinances memorized.

“What are ‘Pretzels’?” Emerelda asked, reading over his shoulder.

*ho ho ho* “Hey Pete, It looks great!” Rumbob exclaimed, as he bumped past Beatbox to run his hand across the long wooden counter. Bran smiled from the other side and nodded at the kegs positioned behind him.

“You're Rumbob right? I’d be happy to pour a drink for tha champion drinker of Minnova.”

“Thank you, I’ll have a mug o’ ale. First round is on Beatbox.”

“Comin’ right up!” Bran placed a barrel up onto a curved holder set in the counter. He popped the cork, shoved in a spigot, then began to pour into a mug. The foggy beer barely foamed as it poured into the mug, and the head was mostly gone by the time it reached the end.

“Excuse you!? Who’s paying?!” Beatbox cried.

“You lost that bet with me last week.”

“Fine.” Beatbox grumbled.

“What is ‘Fish and Fries,” Emerelda muttered as she continued reading, “and how do I not know anything on this menu?”

Chuck grabbed a menu for himself. “Ooh, dese ‘crisps’ look raight tastee.”

“Oh, they are.” In fact, they were damn tasty, if I said so myself. Which I just did. I put them somewhere above Doritos but below ketchup chips. “I also have a little event planned for everyone to christen - er - open this new brewpub.”

“That’s right.” Annie agreed. “We only have the three kegs right now, so we can’t open up to the public yet. We decided to commemorate the opening with a little drinking competition instead.” She pointed to a page on the wall behind a pane of glass. The paper was titled Champion GOATS, with spaces for names beneath it. “Pete says the GOAT stands for Greatest of All Time.”

“Well then, I’d like to be a Goat.” Beatbox said with a giant grin.

“So would Pete!” Balin quipped from beneath a booth table, where he was doing some finishing touches.

“Gods damn it, Balin!” I groaned. “Yer never goin’ to let me forget that, are you!?”

Annie coughed and hid a blush behind her hand. “Aqua?”

“Yes Ma'am?” Aqua popped up from behind the bar, where she had been stocking mugs.

“Could you take everyone’s orders?”

“Sure! We are going to need to hire someone to do it full time though.”

“I’ll put it to Dad.”

“Where is Mr. Goldstone?” Johnsson asked.

“He’s out with his guard buddies again. He said that he’d ‘leave it all to me’.” Annie looked somewhat star struck as she looked around the brewpub.

The new brewpub was greatly changed from the original plain mess hall. The enormous painting of a drunken goat still took up one brick wall, but the rest of the space was completely transformed. Booths lined the walls, and the original long tables were cut down into smaller four dwarf affairs with picnic benches. The benches were much shorter than usual, but still long enough to make them unwieldy weapons; a necessity for dwarven bars.

A framed painting of Penelope was up on one wall with a nameplate, along with a mishmash of paintings displaying the countryside of Minnova. A large wooden bar took up one whole corner, with a kitchen space behind it. The kitchen was completely new, and was made to Bran’s exacting specifications. It was nearly identical to the kitchen at the prison mine, complete with magic-stone oven and walk-in fridge. A collection of finely crafted knives hung against the back wall.

A set of tables in the center of the pub were placed end-to-end in order to make one long table. Rumbob grabbed his now filled mug and pulled out a bench to take a seat. He was joined by the rest of the party as everyone got comfortable.

“This looks expensive...” Beatbox mused as he ran his hands along the fine red leather covering a booth seat. “I thought you were tight for gold.”

“We are, but as Pete says, ‘we need to spend gold to make mithril.” Annie shrugged. “We want to capture a permanent clientele while the city still has its eyes on us. We’re aiming to make a splash!” Her slightly manic smile betrayed her true worry about the state of the brewery’s finances.

“Speaking of a splash. Does anyone know anyone that can play live music?” I added, as I brought out some small bowls and distributed them to everyone. "I want to hire someone for the real grand opening. It'll be in a day or two, after the current batch is done."

“I might. I helped a [Bard] get married just last month.” Rumbob said between sips.

“Rumbob knows everybody.” Emereleda quipped, her eyes rolling practically out of her skull.

A single dwarf sat on a bench, nursing an empty mug. He caressed a rectangular object on the table and gazed at it with reverence.

“Yep. It’s all about the butter.” His face turned green.

*urgh* “Aaron’s Arse, I can’t fix this garbage beer fast enough!” Pete ran for the washroom, and made it just in time.

—

Today was the big day. My first time seeing a completed brew in my new life.

“Attention everyone!” Jeremiah said in a commanding tone that echoed around the brew floor. We were all assembled there: John, Johnsson, Richter, Aqua, Annie, Balin, and another blue-haired dwarf that I realized with a start must be Aqua’s father, Tom. All the youngsters were a bit hungover after last night’s party and we collectively winced at Jeremiah’s shout.

“You’ve all worked hard! And that hard work has been rewarded!” He swept his arm around the shining room. “Not a single batch was lost this time. We achieved a perfect brew! Congratulations!!”

There was a raucous cheer. I was really curious about the next step. Usually I would use a beer hydrometer to check for completed fermentation, but that didn’t exist here; I’d added it to my list of necessary items. It was likely that Jeremiah simply went off of bubbles in the Kräusen. No new bubbles meant the fermentation was complete and the beer was ready.

“As is tradition, the first drink will go to Penelope! Long may she live!”

Aqua brought forward Penelope alongside a wide and shallow mug with a goat motif.

“Long may she live!” Everyone intoned reverentially.

“Wait, are we really giving the first drink to Penelope?” I blurted it out before I could stop myself. Gods, the place was called the Thirsty Goat and Penelope had a hankering for beer. The dots were all there, Pete!

“Yes indeed. It has been a secret tradition for Thirsty Goat Brewing to give the first sip of each new batch to Penelope. That’s why our Penelope is the ten-thousand-and-fourth. As long as this brewery stands, there will always be a Penelope.” He scratched at Penelope’s floofy head.

*maaaaah* [Translated from Prima Donna Goat] “Why are you all standing around? Where is my libation, peasants?”

“I think Pete is worried that - “ Balin began with a giant grin.

“If this is another Goat-lover crack, I will END you brother.”

“Never mind.”

The ceremony continued unhindered. A spigot slightly above the floor of the first fermentation tank was opened up and a trickle of amber liquid poured into the mug. Penelope greedily drank it up and gave a happy *maaaah*. Everyone but Balin and I gave a small sigh of relief, and then they broke into a somber, chanting song.

Another batch is done at last.

And so the dice of life is cast.

Bless our brew oh Gods above.

Fill our mugs with gold and love.

A perfect brew is much to ask.

When all we want is one full cask.

Bless our brew oh Gods above.

Fill our mugs with gold and love.

We’ll pop the cork to test the taste.

Then drink it down, none goes to waste.

Bless our brew oh Gods above.

Fill our mugs with gold and love.

The ritual was repeated at the other dozen-odd tanks, and Balin and I were even able to join in on the song by the last few.

“Indeed, a perfect brew.” Jeremiah said, with a slightly sad smile. Both elation and the weight of age played across his face. “Richter and Johnsson, start filling barrels. Balin, thanks for your hard work on those, stay and make sure there aren’t any leaks. Aqua, contact our distributors and tell them the beer is back on. Pete, take Penelope back to her pen then go find Annie. Tom, you and John can take the evening off, you’ve earned it. Annie... come and see me.” He gave me a solemn look as Annie followed him curiously.

I guessed that meant our moment was up; Annie and I were going to have free rein for the next batch. No big changes, Jeremiah had said, but if we could make a clearer and slightly fizzier beer without any explosions, we had his blessing.

I had a plan for that. One that came with a lot of advertising, and wasn’t against any City Ordinances. A plan that wouldn’t break too many traditions and would make a fizzier beer with no risk of explosion. But it was going to cost a lot of money - money we didn’t have right now. The brewpub wasn’t a ‘get rich quick’ scheme, it was a ‘get moderately wealthy eventually’ scheme. I needed a quick cash infusion, and I knew where to get one.

“It’s time to catch a little Whistlerat.” I said menacingly. Ooooh, this body could do menacing really well! “It’s time ta catch a RAT in a trap. Muhahahaha!”

“You okay there, Pete?”

"Just somethin' stuck in my throat! Mu *cough* ha *cough* ha."