Book 3: Chapter 62: Beer Goggles

Book 3: Chapter 62: Beer Goggles

Guildmaster Monk was nothing at all like Guildmaster Malt. Thankfully she was also nothing like Guildmaster Browning. She was severe, yes, and domineering, but she wasn’t demeaning or sarcastic. She was Guildmaster, and we were Guild members who’d been naughty, and that was all there was to it.

It still stung when she arched an eyebrow at us like we were petulant children.

“Master Brewer Schist!” Her voice was wrinkly with age, and had the cultured tones of an Academy graduate. “What concerns me the most in all of this is your behaviour. I expected something like this to happen eventually, the Administration has been carelessly flaunting our traditions and craft such that it was inevitable, but I never would’ve imagined that it would be you standing in front of me. Master Stein, would you please list the Guild Ordinances these two breweries broke?”

An extremely short black-haired dwarf went to the front of the room and began writing Ordinances down on the board as he read them out. There were... quite a lot of them.

“Sale of unapproved brew.”

“Using unsanctioned brewing techniques.”

“Inciting a riot via promotion of excess consumption.”

“Sacred Brew not meeting Guild standards.”

“Unsanctioned use of Guild property.”

“Lack of regulation onion attire.”

I’d read the Guild Ordinances a dozen times by now, so none of the listed violations were a surprise to me. The bigger surprise was that nothing had been done about us until now. Many of those Ordinances could apply to everyone in the brewing contest.

The Guildmaster stared at us impassively as the violations were listed off, then drummed her fingers on the table in the following silence.

After an awkward minute of coughs and shuffling, she spoke. “In total, fifty businesses, one major thoroughfare, and – at minimum – ten thousand gold worth of city infrastructure was damaged. Over one hundred injured, requiring over twenty hours of time from the [Healers]. What do you two have to say for yourself?”

She asked it in the general sense, but her gaze was firmly locked on Schist.

“Maria...” Schist began.

“Don’t you Maria me! You will refer to me as Guildmaster Monk!” The Guildmaster snapped back with the venom of a woman scorned.

Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh.

I stepped back and tried to blend into the wall. Beside me, Annie did much the same.

Schist coughed and tried again. “Guildmaster Monk. We’re all aware of the ongoing tension between the Administration and guilds. As a long-standing Master of the Brewer’s Guild, I’m thankful the Guild has not chosen to take the same tack as the Blacksmith’s Guild in this matter.”

The Guildmaster scoffed. “Those fools are playing right into the Administration’s hands. We can see the runes on the wall, it’s clear that these ‘Octamillenial Events’ are an attack on the guilds’ power and prestige. We’ve been content to let it pass us by before taking any action.”

She nodded at Malt before continuing. “Additionally, information provided to us from Guildmaster Malt has kept the touch of the Guild light on the newcomers from Minnova. However, your actions have forced our hand! We cannot allow such incidents to continue without throwing the guild into chaos! No less than five Master Brewers handed in a request for your resignation as a Master Brewer, Schist!”

Now it was Schist’s turn to scoff. “Are any of them in the room right now? Would they care to make such a request to my face!? Not one year ago I proved myself the best damn Brewer in Kinshasa!I was brewing for centuries before any of you even thought of churning Ancestral Seed! ” He turned a baleful glare on the assembled Master Brewers, and they quailed back.

There was another moment of tense silence, but nobody spoke.

“That was a question. But you are young, and it is the wont of youth to ask foolish questions, I will allow another.”

“Is what we made actually Sacred Brew?”

Monk gave me a curious look, and pulled at her beard. “By the Guild Ordinances... It would be difficult to say. Did you use the Ancestral Seed provided in a direct line from the First Brewer to the Thirsty Goat Brewery?”

“... No?”

She gave me a blank look.

“I made my own.”

“You... made your own Ancestral Seed.”

“Aye.”

“You made your own Ancestral Seed. The gift imparted by our Ancestors.”

“Yes?”

She picked up the bottle of Dragonator beside her and sniffed it. She then took a small sip and shivered. “Ugh, I can’t get used to it. Let’s assume I accept your preposterous claim that you didn’t use the proper Ancestral Seed, and I’ve read the reports on your brewing apparatus, you certainly didn’t use the traditional Brewing techniques to make this. And the bittering agent is different as well...”

“She invented tha bittering agent.” I pointed at Annie, who smiled nervously.

At this point several of the other Masters had caught on to the topic of our conversation and were listening in.

Annie and I had both agreed that springboarding off of Master Schist was going to be our best bet for getting the ‘It’s Not Sacred Brew’ plan to succeed. Especially after the Redlip Riot. Who cared if the Guild said we couldn’t compete as Brewers anymore? If they did, they’d have to nail Schist to the wall too, because he’d never let them censure us while he got off scot free. And Schist was the most popular Brewer in town – it’d be an even worse riot than Redlip.

The Guildmaster placed the bottle of Dragonator down with distaste. “Then tell me. If you didn’t make Sacred Brew, then what did you make?”

Schist was eyeing me with a ‘what the hell are you doing?’ look, but I ignored him and continued, raising my voice to address the crowd. “What Master Schist was sayin’ was true. The skills of the Master Brewers have stagnated. Of all tha crafts in Kinshasa, ours is the only one that only allows a single recipe. Fer all their faults, the Blacksmith’s guild allows their smiths ta create more than just a single sword. Can an [Alchemist] be considered a Master if they only ever make one potion? Can ya truly call yourselves Masters if you’ve never actually contributed to tha growth of yer craft?”

“Now see here, Brewer!” Master Faucet shouted. “My clan has been providing Sacred Brew to the dwarves of Kinshasa for millenia! If the guild Ordinances didn’t allow it in this space, I would demand a Feud for your slander!”

“And Kinshasa no doubt thanks you fer yer service. But that was tha city. How have ya furthered the craft of Brewing? Have ya found a way to improve the carbonation? Ta reduce the failure rate? Since I arrived in Kinshasa I’ve invented several machines that I’ve shared willingly with you all, and that I know many of you use. Even the one piece of equipment I know fer certain every dwarf in here approves of – the Whistlemug – was invented by a gnome! Not a [Brewer], A gnomish [MERCHANT]! What have ya done fer Brewin’ that can match that!?”

Master Faucet flinched and collapsed back into his seat. The Master Brewers were similarly struck dumb, and I sent a silent thank you to Whistlemop. I’d have to make things up to him soon.

Monk spun her hand in circles. “What is your point, Brewer Roughtuff?”

“My point, Master Monk, is that perhaps these events are an opportunity fer tha Guild to grow. A King has no throne without a Kingdom and to be first means nothin’ if there’s no second. The best way fer us ta respect our Traditions and the Ancestors would be to make the Sacred Brew one among many. What we made was not Sacred Brew, it was just beer, brewed by [Brewers].”

Everyone clapped.

Okay, actually, the room devolved into screaming and shouting and the axes came out. But a dwarf can dream.