Book 3: Chapter 25: Lucky Jean's

Book 3: Chapter 25: Lucky Jean's

We spent the next few days tweaking the exact recipe for our salty gose. There were a few extra steps beyond just adding yogourt at the boil, like mixing a proper starter and testing different yogourts to get a good strain of bacteria. A bad strain could make the sour taste like vomit, and we really didnt want that, even though it would technically bring our sour closer to the taste of standard Sacred Brew!

Bran and Darrel continued to bring us salty dish after salty dish. We ate so much salt it was an assault to our senses. It was enough that I felt like a saltier dog than Kirk! And when we finally got an unsalted dish I turned somersalts. It got to the point that everyone else was avoiding the office, because Id pepper them with puns to celebrate the season of the Octamillenial.

I could do this all day, but Annie would get sour. Nyuck.

All good things must come to an end, and soon a few different attempts were awaiting fermentation. I got Whistlemop to make us a series of carboys large glass jugs so we could do some small batches, rather than wasting the full tank space on possible duds.

Carboy brewing really took me back to my college days, just sitting in the garage and shootin the shit with Caroline or my business buddies. Talking about Nirvana and imagining we were cool.

We also made our first Light Brew, using the Ancestral Seed Master Brewer Schist had gifted us. Annie actually wept tears of joy when we made it and set it to ferment in one of the cooled tanks. It would take at least a month to ferment, but it would be worth it!

In the end we had five different sour goses and five plain jane goses fermenting against the wall.

Of course, things didnt stop just because we had competition stuff to do! The regular beers still needed to be brewed and bottled, the tavern still had to be run, and everyone else still had their lives to live.

While everyone did the day-to-day, I spent some time drying out my precioussssss hops in the oven. I washed my hands in gollumy glee as I watched them baking. Wet-hops, as fresh hops were called, werent the best for brewing unless they were fresh, fresh, and I didnt want my first experience with them marred by improper storage.

As for my brother, he was finally going to become *sniff* a real Kinshasa adventurer! Which was why one fine morning I found myself giving him a fashion once-over, before he went to do the practical test against the shellback. His team had passed the written test with flying colours, so only the battle with the beastie remained.

Ach, Pete. Stop with tha bloody theatrics!! Balin grumped. Argghh! Quit it!!!

He tried to shuffle aside as I applied some of the old spit and polish to his golden armour.

We need you looking your best today Balin! Youre going to be impressing the judges with your armaments, skill of arms, strength of arms, and your fancy armour! Thats a lot of arms, so Im lending you a hand to go with them.

... yer daft, ya know that?

Shuddup and turn to the left. How did you get gravy oil on magically apparating plate!?

Balin muttered, but turned dutifully to let me get at what looked like the remains of biscuits, gravy, and fried chicken. Bran had been experimenting with fried foods recently, from fried chicken, to fried goat, to fried mushrooms. Since we were still the only ones really using deep-frying, he considered it an edge in the saltiness competition.

Personally, I could eat fried food all day, especially now that the brews were getting halfway tolerable with Annies Goldstone Bitters.

I finished dusting him off, then considered the gleaming God that stood before me. I averted my eyes. Ugh, Tiaras Shiny Golden Teats yer so godsdamn pretty in this armor.

Balin twiddled his handlebar moustache proudly. Aye, that I am.

Are you sure we cant come and watch?

Balin shook his head sadly. Itll be a couplea hours, and theres no audience allowed. Lotsa reasons fer that.

Ah well. I guess Richter, Johnsson, Aqua and I can go on our little jaunt in the meantime. Well come and meet you at the guild when were done. Annie will be meeting us there too. Then we can all go crash an axe-throwing range or something.

Youll stay safe? And bring yer warhammer with ya.

Relax! Were just going to tha pub. And you have that fancy [Party-Finder] thing to sniff me out if something happens.

Yer goin to yer competitors pub. Balin chided. It could be dangerous.

Eh, I dont think theyll try anything with the eyes of the entire city on them. Richter learned a defensive spell, just in case, and well all be armed.

Where is it?

In Yellowwall, not far from Deepcore Dungeon, actually. Theyve been focusing on servin adventurers.

Balins brows furrowed with thought. But lotsa adventurers wont be able ta vote. Only Kinshasan residents can.

I snickered. Seems like it's in the bag.

They made it to tha second round, they must be good brewers

Oh, no doubt. But the first round was just a general test. The voting thing was unexpected, and may cost them.

Ach. Ive been seein those, whatd they call em, votin booths around tha city. Seems like a lot of work fer a one time-thing.

But then they also had a small selection of their own brews! The times, they were a changin!

They had an ale called Golden Brew, which I suspected was a rip-off of our liquid gold. If so, I'd need to do nothing. Half the point of all this rigmarole was to convince the other breweries to try new recipes. I was glad to see it was working.

And they had a signature light brew they called Lucky.

By all tha bits o tha Gods, they had freaking LUCKY!!!

That was what it was called! Lucky! Lucky Lager!!! The buck-a-beer All-Canadian brew of the drunken hoser!

The drink menu says that Lucky grants the Minor Luck Condition. Aqua said as she read over the menu. Thats interesting. It would explain why theyre so popular with adventurers. Minor Luck doesnt really do much, but if youre living on the edge of a knife, it could be enough to be the difference between life and death. I wonder how they do it?

That must be how they won tha preliminary contest back in their hometown, Johnsson mused. Beer that gives you a bit a luck to help find a new gold vein, or survive a hard fight, or craft somethin just a little better? Every dwarf loves a bit of luck. I could see something like that winnin the contest for defines a dwarf if every other brewery just put out a regular brew.

I immediately demanded a whole keg when the red-bearded barmaid came to get our drink orders. I may have been manic while ordering. Kirk and Aqua ordered the Golden Brew, Richter ordered a True Brew, and Johnsson asked for some ice for his bruises. Then Penelope pointed a dainty hoof at the menu and gave a commanding bleat. The barmaid shot us a questioning look and we shrugged as one.

Bring her a Golden Brew in a bowl. Aqua muttered. She was currently seated in Johnssons old spot, Johnsson having decided to hold up the wall next to the table.

As the barmaid left with our order, Richter turned to me with a concerned look. Pete? Why do ya look like a miner who found himself a freschie?

They have Lucky Lager! I squealed with glee.

And?

Its something from back home!

Ah! Yer HOME ya mean? He waggled his eyebrows and pointed at Kirk, indicating what he really meant.

Aye.

Dont you objectify me. Kirk objected.

Richter ignored him. Was it yer favourite brew?

Hah! No, more like least favourite pig swill, but it was cheap and plentiful. A quick inexpensive way to get drunk in college. Ill bet you the dwarven version tastes just as bad.

Conversation ceased as I practically vibrated in my seat. Everyone gave me side-eye, including the bloody goat.

The barmaid returned with a platter of drinks, as well as a bowl of peanuts and some pickles. She was accompanied by an tanned easterner with a bright ginger beard and an even brighter smile. He wore an armoured kilt, along with a leather cuirass, and a set of horn-rimmed glasses. He was carrying a cleaning cloth on his belt, and a fine dagger in a sheath on his hip.

Hallo, you lot. Is that goat yers? He asked, brightly, pointing at Penelope. He had a clear and chipper easterner accent, much like Sams.

*Baaah!!* [Translated From Prima Donna Goat] I am a lady, not some mere that goat!

Yes, is that a problem? Aqua asked.

Nope, Appletina here was just saying there was somethin interestin happenin, yaknow? He patted the barmaid on the back and she nodded.

Aye, a unigoat orderin a brew straight from the menu! It was sure somethin to see!

He gave us a flashing grin. Im Master Brewer Herder, the owner of this establishment, but you can call me Ironbellows when yer drinkin my beer. Welcome to Lucky Jeans! Who might you folk be?

Appletina and Ironbellows were odd names for dwarves. More gnomish, I wouldve thought. I had heard that the gnomes had a bigger influence on the development of the East, so that was one possible explanation.

I pointed at Penelope. Thats, uh, Pen, and Im Peede. Nica ta meet ya. I barely remembered in time that we were technically here incognito. Thankfully, I kept my tongue from betraying our true names.

I held out my hand and we bumped fists. As we did, he gave me a focused look that Id come to associate with someone using an Ability. I managed to hold back a frown; that was pretty rude to do on a friendly first meeting.

He looked from Kirk, to Penelope, to Aqua, to Richter, and back to me, and his smile widened even further. You must be from the Thirsty Goat brewpub! Here to scope out your competition!

Uh Shit! We were made! Abort! Abort! Abort!

Which would make you Brewer Roughtuff, he continued, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, and youre an Otherworlder, arent you.

Six pairs of wide eyes stared at him in shocked silence.

*BAAAAHHH!* [Translated from Prima Donna Goat] He knows too much to live!!