And somehow, everything went to plan.
Of course, said plan required me to spend nearly every waking moment in the brewroom using [Rapid Aging] and casting [Barley to Bacon]. So it was a shit plan.
Why did the shit plans always go to plan? Why couldn’t my plan to spend a relaxing year brewing and having fun go to plan, huh? Care to share Barckie boy?
It was almost as bad as poor Bran, who discovered what exactly happens when you drop something like Poutine on an unsuspecting populace.
A packed house every night. That’s what.
At least I got a point of Dexterity out of it from drawing sigils all day.
All told when the drinking contest arrived a few weeks later, it was practically a relief. All our hard work from the past two years had come down to this.
Annie was dressed in her finest dress armor as she laid out instructions in rapid fire. “Aqua! Get that sign wrapped up! Richter, make sure Kirk and Penelope didn’t leave anything behind, Johnsson, has Rumbob left yet?”
“Aye!” “Yup!” “He left an hour ago!”
As for me, I was biting my nails and checking the time. We were only hours away from becoming the best brewers in all the land. “The Diggers are staying behind to hold up the fort, and I’ve left the runestone to activate the emergency defenses with Rosie. I think we’re set, let’s go, go, go!”
With everything prepared, and our banners all in hand, we made our way to the colosseum. Unlike the Minnova Colosseum, which had been beneath the Casino, the Kinshasa Colosseum was located in the Facilities district of Redwall. That made it a nice little two hour walk, or thirty minute ride by rented goatback.
The problem being, nearly the entire tavern was coming with. Everyone wanted to see the results of the contest, and who could turn down a good show and a chance to see the King?
“Will we all get in?” Johnsson asked with trepidation as we split up to find rental goats. “The King is going to be there, and apparently he’s making a big announcement.”
“I knew he was going to be there to judge, but I didn’t hear anything about an announcement?” I said, choosing a dappled grey Unigoat to ride. It nudged me curiously, then went back to eating hay. “And we have reserved seating.”
“I heard it at the beardy parlour. Mcshave heard it from a patron who heard it from a Council member.”
Aqua rolled her eyes. “Great. More complications. Let’s hope it’s nothing too big.”
“I think it has to do with Lady Barnes and what’s been going on the the Blackbeards.” Annie said. “Opal mentioned there’ve been a lot of emergency closed door meetings of the Council of Greybeards. Something big is going on, sorry.”
We all groaned, but hopped on our Unigoats and headed off.
The trip to the Colosseum was electric. That feeling of a city on edge still hadn’t gone away, and was quite possibly here to stay. The main thoroughfare was packed with people, and we moved at a snail’s pace.
“We’re going to be laaaate!!!” Aqua whined as we finally made it through the gates of Redwall.
“Kirk’s got the unloading handled,” Annie snapped, “and we were only required to provide the beer, not serve it. It’ll be fine, now stop hyperventilating, you’re making me anxious!”
We barely arrived with a half-hour to spare. The colosseum was an almost picture-for-picture copy of the colosseum in Rome, though a lot longer and taller; it was nearly as tall as the church in Minnova! The noise coming from it was practically palpable as the crowd cheered at whatever pre-event show was on.
A massive line snaked down the street. I had no idea if our patrons would make it in, but we could hope!
A series of carts outside the building were selling food. I realized with surprise that they all had ‘Smug Snapper’ emblazoned on the side.
“Isn’t that the restaurant that Bran’s competing against?”
“It is.” Annie frowned. “We should have thought of that.”
“We’ve been a bit busy. And I don’t think Bran would’ve had time. He’s been swamped just making enough food for the Goat.”
“So is that a good or a bad sign?” Aqua asked. “Are they desperate?”
“He never would’ve done it.” Annie shook her head. “I agree that most gnomes wouldn’t want to run around being dwarves. Sorry for, um, being insensitive.”
“Not at all.” Lapis smiled. “I get it all the time.”
Johnsson arrived at this point, carrying a dozen sticks, each spearing through a trio of golden yellow orbs. “Got ‘em,” he announced. “Just as we guessed it would be, it’s fish.”
I rolled my eyes. “Imagine that. What is it?”
“Erdroot battered fried fish balls.” Johnsson said, passing them around. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Upstairs already.” Annie answered, eyeing the fish balls with a glint of hunger. “Go join them. Our seats are in zone 43. Would you like one, Lapis?”
The tiny dwarfess nodded. “Yes, please!”
“Are those all yours?” I asked, pointing to some barrels up against a wall. They all had a picture of a bull emblazoned on the side.
“They are!” Lapis nodded.
“Can I try?”
“Only if you let me try yours! That giant of yers was keepin’ me from it!”
I pulled my own personal Whistlemug out with [Pete’s Miniature Remembrance], and poured some of her beer from a nearby keg. She did the same with ours then waited for Annie to pull some for herself.
“Let’s try these first.” Annie said, holding up her fish balls.
With that, we each took a bite. They were perfectly crisped on the outside, with a thick outer shell of breading. The sauce on them was savory, and it complimented the slightly sweet taste of the breading perfectly. The fish inside was shredded and had a somewhat rubbery texture that complimented the flaky feeling of the breading perfectly. It reminded me quite a lot of a Japanese takoyaki, but deep fried instead of baked.
“I like it, but I think Bran’s going to win.” Annie said with her mouth full. Then took another bite. “It’s really good though.”
“Delicious...” Lapis sighed, tipping her head and resting a cheek on her palm. She closed her eyes and munched contentedly.
“I agree, Annie. It’s good, but it’s not poutine.” I was pretty sure Bran had it in the bag. Voting for the cooking contest started right after the drinking contest ended, so this had to be a desperate last ditch attempt from the Snapper to drum up votes.
I held up my mug.
“Here’s to a good contest! May the best brewery win!”
“Fer Crack and Kinshasa!” Lapis added, and we all tipped our heads back and drank.
Brazen Bull’s beer tasted... identical to our competition entry.
Literally identical.
“This is our CPA!” Annie said with a start, nailing Lapis with an angry eye. “How??”
Lapis gave a smug grin. “Master Brewer Schist was required to present his method for making a beer that was ‘always spicier than the spiceist thing you’ve ever tasted. Those records are available at the Guild.”
“I knew that.” I frowned. “Richter was making a fuss over it. But I’ve been too busy to really look over it.”
“I adapted his method to make a beer that ‘tastes like the last beer you tasted’.” Lapis’s grin somehow grew wider. “So it tastes like every other beer in Crack. It’s hellishly expensive to make, we lost so much Gold, but it will all be worth it. Yer beer is... interesting? I’ve never had anything like it! I dunno how well it’ll fly! Can you imagine the look on those high nobles’ faces when I get made a Lady? Hah!!”
Annie and I gave each other worried looks as Lapis’s laughter echoed through the tunnels beneath the stadium.
We still had this in the bag... right?