Book 2: Chapter 45: A Month as the Dwarf Lives

Book 2: Chapter 45: A Month as the Dwarf Lives

4 Weeks Until the Octamillenail Brewing Contest

The sound of singing filled the Thirsty Goat, along with the creak of wood and metal. Two shirtless dwarves, one tall with black skin and lean muscles, and the other of average short with a long blonde-and-pink beard and sculpted pecs, worked tirelessly under the gaze of a grumble of dwarves.The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.

Strike your pick, move it quick,

In the length of a candlestick!

In the black, watch your back,

Crack the stone with a mighty whack!

Heave! Ho!

Heave! Ho!

Dwarf be bold, search for gold,

Comb through the rock and moss and mould!

Specks of light, fight or flight,

Steel yourself for a bloody night!

Heave! Ho!

Heave! Ho!

Mortal coil, work and toil.

Dwarven life is a raging roil!

Swing and dig, lazy pig,

Back at home, dance a merry jig!

Heave! Ho!

Heave! Ho!

Richter and Johnson finished grinding up the malt for our first batch of Liquid Gold. When they were finished, they carried the large sacks of grist up the catwalk and dumped them into the shiny new lauter tun. At the same time, Mooney worked the pump to fill the boil kettle with fresh water while Markus stoked the fire.

Johnson leaned over the railing to catch his breath and called down. “Ya know, Pete. I’ve been wondering why we don’t use goat power for grinding the grist. Seems like Penelope could use the exercise. She’s been putting on weight with all the snacks Bran’s been giving her.

Penelope gave him a gimlet stare from where she was sitting in the corner, then continued munching on her bowl of treats.

“Hmmmm... you may have a point.”

*Maaaaaahh* [Translated from primma donna goat] “You would insult a lady’s weight!? For shame, my servant!” She turned to face away from us as we all laughed.

“No, but more seriously, dat can lead ta health problems for tha princess.” Richter admonished. “Someone should take her out runnin’ each morning for exercise.”

“I can do it!” Aqua held up her hand, cheerily. “It can get a bit lonely on my morning walk.”

“Is that when you drink yer espresso?” I waggled my eyebrows.

Aqua flinched. “I don’t drink coffee, nobody drinks coffee, you drink coffee, who told you that, it’s a lie! I drink nothing but beer and the tears of my enemies!”

“I do drink coffee. No denials here.” I held up my hands. “I have it from a most reliable source that you’re a coffee fan.”

Aqua turned pink, then white, then red. “JOEJAM. That traitorous [Barista]!”

“We’re about to start a coffee-beer empire, Aqua.” Zirce tittered. “You can just say you were an early adopter.”

“She could add some hip plates to that shiny silver armour. Show off what a hip - ster she is.” I sniggered.

There was a pause as everyone considered.

“Dat one fell flat, Pete.” Richter admonished.

“Weak. I give it a three out of eight.” Aqua added. “And what’s a hipster?”

“I liked it.” Zirce smiled. “Six and a half.”

“You have terrible taste, sister.” Emma rolled her eyes. “I give it a two.”

“Get back to work.” I hissed.

When the kettle had reached the required temperature, we opened the valve that sent the hot water pouring into our new tun. Richter moved to begin pumping the water through the recirculation pipes. As the mash released its sweet, sweet, wort, it flowed down through the false bottom and into said pipes. They wrapped around the boil-kettle, providing a gentle reheat before emptying back into the tun. That was the RIMS, or Recirculating Infusion Mash System in motion!

There was no need for step-mashing this time, so after 30 minutes of pumping, Johnsson moved in and Richter took a break.

“Aye, with a bit of an off-scent I don’t recognize.” Annie reached down and picked the whistlemug up. She held it to the light and stirred the liquid inside, examining it as it swished and burbled.

“Does this one have any magic effects?” Aqua asked. “Other than horrifying anyone who knows what went into it?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Balin moaned.

“No. I didn’t use my Ability on it, because I don’t actually want the isinglass to combine with the beer. Just the opposite actually. Also, it isn't magical so it probably wouldn't do anything. It should improve the shelf life of the brew a little too; Isinglass is a preservative as well as a magic haze eraser.”

“It certainly looks impressive.” Annie nodded. “If this isinglass is what it takes to get that colour and clarity it may well be worth it. It sparkles more than a gem.”

I tapped the glass, and watched bubbles rise to the top, then pop. “The biggest problem is that bottle fermentation with isinglass is a complete pain, and putting it in the tanks early just isn't working, so at the moment we can only put Liquid Gold in casks.”

“That’s... not ideal.” Annie frowned.

“No, but look at it this way! Anyone that wants some has to buy a full barrel! At least until we get get some secondary fermentation tanks!”

“But how does it taste.” Aqua said. “That’s what’s important.”

“Penelope liked it.” Balin said. “She lapped it right up.”

“Penelope’s a lush.” Aqua retorted. “We need a more partial goat.”

“You shut yer dirty mouth, she’s a PRINCESS.” I snapped.

“Is that why she keeps trying to kill Johnsson whenever he fits the armour for the contest on her?” Annie said dryly.

“It’s... unmaidenly. A princess shouldn’t be in a tin-can.”

“Figure it out. You're closest to her recently.”

Balin scratched his head. “Why are we doin’ this in here, anyway?

I narrowed my eyes. “I still can’t tell how much of what happened to Richter in the library was an act, no matter what you lot claim. He’s just not that good an actor. I want to make sure this doesn’t go sideways.”

“I’m drinking it first.” Annie took the opportunity to put the mug to her lips. She took an experimental swallow, and swished the beer between her cheeks. Her eyes widened and she began gulping it down. After an interminable moment, she gasped for breath and wiped her foam flecked beard.

“Sooooo...?”

“It’s so smooth! It’s like nothing I’ve ever drunk. It’s as refreshing as Light Brew but has the flavour of True Brew. It’s easy to drink, and has a crisp aftertaste, like... like... nothing I’ve ever drank before. It feels like it sparkles in my mouth. Pete, this is going to be huge.”

“And the corpse guck?” Aqua asked.

“Who cares. I’m getting more!” Annie ran back into the brewhall. She tripped on Penelope’s bowl, which had been shoved in front of the door. Penelope baahed in protest as Annie rushed past her. Plus one to my suspicions about Richter's reaction.

“I think we may have a success!” I took a sip of the dregs at the bottom of the mug. It went down easy, and we’d finally achieved a clarity I was comfortable with; no sticks in this brew. But the bittering agent was still awful, and the erdroot left a dry and filmy mouthfeel. All told, though? We were going to win this!

–

1 Week Until the Octamillenial Brewing Contest

“I’ve called you all here to announce two things.” Bran smiled widely.

We all looked up from the feast he’d prepared. He stood at the head of the table with Doc Opal on his arm. She’d been dropping around the brewery a lot the past few weeks. In between all the prep for the contest, and practice brews with Copperpot, I’d been too swamped to pay her any attention, though.

An entire roast lamb sat on the table, the scent of clove and basil wafting from it. The meat was perfectly cooked, with a slightly pink colour and fall-off-the-bone texture. The platter was filled with its juices, which ran down into a bed of roasted erdroot. The flavour was absolutely divine, with that spicy/tangy taste that could only be found in well-cooked mutton. Every single one of us had gravy dribbling down our beards, and Richter and Johnson paused in the middle of fighting over one of the racks.

“The first big piece of news is we’re getting married,” he announced, deadpan.

It took a beat, and then we all began clambouring at once, and bits of lamb sprayed around the room as we shouted. Tankards of Liquid Gold splashed as we raised them in a toast. We’d been drinking a lot of the stuff recently.

“Congratulations!!” “May Yearn Bless you two!” “Bran, you old goat!” “Huzzah!”

Opal and Bran basked in our cheers, then Bran put his arm up to catch our attention.

“I’ve been speaking to her father, Magistrate Benton. He tweaked Lady Sif’s arm, and they agreed to let me formally propose to Opal.”

Bran beamed. Opal beamed. The rafters beamed. Nyuck.

“When are you two gettin’ married?” I asked.

“It’ll depend. On a few things, actually.” Bran grumbled. “It’s... complicated.”

“Tell me about it.” Annie sighed. She and Balin were still planning their own wedding. Apparently it was quite common for dwarves to have a ‘short’ courtship of a couple years or five. During that time they each got to know the other’s clan, and then they would decide together which clan was the better fit. In Balin’s case, it was easy - there wasn’t really a Roughtuff clan. But there were still a lot of traditions to maintain and rites to observe to honour their respective Ancestors and the Gods.

Whodathunkit? Dwarves and tradition. I’d never run into THAT before.

“As for the second news...” Bran’s eyes became uncharacteristically uncertain. “I met some nobles at Opal's. Then things got to movin’ and I made a few meals at her place. Then some other stuff happened - “

“Get on with it!” Johnsson shouted, banging his fork on the table.

And so Bran dropped a bombshell. “Bah! Here’s tha short of it. The Grand Lord of Minnova has invited me to become his personal chef. He... he wants to hire me full time. It’s the highest position a chef can have! But... I’d need to leave the Goat.”