Book 2: Chapter 51: The Last Competitors

Book 2: Chapter 51: The Last Competitors

“Did we just win?” Johnsson asked, peering blearily up at Blackbeard’s image.

“I t’ink we did?” Richter said, rising to his feet. “WOO! FER CRACK AN - “

This time it was me and Annie pulling the half-drunk pair back down to the floor.

“Not a good time!” Annie hissed. “The contest isn’t over! And everyone is going to be pissed about this!!”

“*Groan* Blackbeard was supposed ta be a problem, but this is ridiculous!” I cupped my face in both hands and groaned again. “He loves us too much!?”

Could we escape the arena without being torn apart by angry [Brewers]? It would have been one thing if we’d won after the fact, but Blackbeard’s little show made it look like he wasn’t going to give anyone after us a fair shake.

Down below, Malt was as pale as his hair. “Aheh. That was an excellent joke, Lord Blackbeard! Liquid Gold was that good? I’ll need to try it myself when we’re all done!”

Blackbeard went to reply, but Lord Grafter nailed him with a steely gaze. The naughty young noble shrank back in his seat, much as I had under the force of that glare.

A few fights began in the audience, but Lord Grafter nailed them with that same glowy angry-eyes trick and they stopped dead in their tracks. My kindergarten teacher would have loved that trick.

Prophet Barnes replied to the Lord’s earlier remark as though nothing had just happened, “I think you’re correct, Lord Grafter. It’s impossible ta define a dwarf through the use of our brew, no matter how sacred. This is a noble attempt, though.”

Grafter tapped his fingers on the table in thought. “Hmmm... I prefer Rudd’s take on it, actually. The Red Rage is at least a part of us. Can we really say we’re defined by a metal, no matter how much we love it?”

As the pair continued their conversation the atmosphere in the arena cleared up. We were still dwarf-non-grata, but at least there weren’t several hundred axes aimed in our direction. Just the occasional angry glare and threatening throat-cutting gesture.

“See!?” I growled at the drunken pair. “We haven’t actually won yet! We still could lose!”

“Aye, don’t count your goats before they’re shorn, you two.” Aqua nodded. “And I’m going to go use the ladies room. Want to come with, Annie?”

Annie stood. “To look for an escape route?”

“To look for an escape route.”

“Want me ta come too?” Balin asked.

“Hmmm. Maybe you should.” Annie gave Balin a smile and the three headed to the exit.

“Well, thank you to our completely anonymous brewery for that lovely Liquid Gold! I’d like to call in the next goat please!” Malt’s voice was only slightly quavery.

Penelope obediently puttered out of the arena, though she made one last threatening bite in the direction of Moon over Minnova.

I didn’t have the energy to care. I knew Richter’s behaviour in the library that day hadn’t been completely feigned! Sacred Brew was such a part of their identity that certain dwarves were predisposed to go nuts when they had a better version. It was probably psychological, but I couldn’t discount a trick of biology or something Godly. The Brew had become Sacred somehow, and this could be an insight into how. I had to hope nobody else ever twigged to it, or new brews might become banned, if only to prevent riots.

The next goat wheeled in, this time a plain brown billy with a long beard. The section of the Arena held by Master Caskitt's Full Cask Brewery cheered, but it felt forced. Master Brewer Caskitt was standing on the arena wall pumping her fist to get a rise out of her apprentices, but it just wasn’t working. She was wearing a ruby red set of scale mail instead of her usual black brewer’s armour, and it clashed terribly with her green beard. She turned and flipped me a rude gesture. Damn Blackbeard! I should be feeling happy right now! They loved our brew!!

I decided to focus on that.

Malt went through the same motions as before, pouring and passing the mugs around. The beer this time was the standard True Brew, with the addition of extra... guck. It looked like there was more than the regular clumps of yeast and vegetable matter spinning around in the mugs.

“I’ve never seen a Full Cask Brew before...” I said. “What’s that in there?”

I was met by silence. Johnsson was in the middle of retching while Richter held his beard back, and everyone else had left.

From behind me, a booming voice answered with familiar laughter.

“*Ho Ho Ho*! Full Casks always have extra stuff in ‘em. They claim that it’s the ‘flavour of Minnova’ but they’ve been censured for it by the Guild in the past. I think it’s a load of hooey; I got a bat in my keg once.”

I wanted to ask a few more questions about that horrifying revelation, but we were immediately pulled back to the stage as Malt began reading the new note.

“What makes a dwarf is the hard work and effort we put into everything we do. Whether it’s diving in the mines, hammering steel, or battling our enemies, we are always at one hundred percent. Our ale aimed to capture that feeling. Our workers tirelessly stirred, watched over, and put the sweat of their brows into the beer you see before you. Their muscles strained, their hearts swelled, and their throats sang the praises of Minnova as they did so. We give to you, the Taste of a Dwarf.”

Rumbob snorted. “If it’s a Full Cask, that’s probably literal. I’d be willin’ ta bet there’s actual sweat in that beer.”

I retched. “Ew!!! How did they not have a failed batch with all that contamination??” And Caskitt had been the angriest about me adding stuff to the Sacred Brew! What a hypocrite!!

“*Ho Ho Ho!* I have it on good authority that they have a lot o’ failures!”

“Hah! Take that Icewhite, you sunnovanannygoat!” Annie cheered. “Penelope was right to chew you out!”

“Aye!” Richter and Johnsson shouted.

“Ew. Johnsson, clean your beard.” Aqua passed the drunk dwarf a cloth.

“It helps our chances that Icewhite and Faultless both used True Brew.” Annie grinned. “They taste almost identical. I do agree that Faultless’s is a little more... faultless though.”

I looked around the arena and frowned. “Hey... where did Drum and his apprentices go?”

“There’re sitting right over - “ Aqua started, then paused. “Um...”

“They left while everyone was gettin’ mad at you.” Rumbob explained. “I suspect they’re setting up outside to ambush you lot! *Ho Ho Ho!*”

I frowned. “No... we have a good relationship with them. Something’s up.”

The next unigoat to enter was an old thing. It had grey hair and wobbled as it walked. It really had to strain against the cart, and beside me Aqua gave a low coo. “Ohh, poor thing. It should be retired, not pulling carts.”

“Got to be Crackin’ Brews,” Annie opined. “They’re in as bad a shape as we were a while back.”

Verifying her assumption, the apprentices for Crackin’ Brews rose to their feet and began a choreographed chant. Master Brewer Crackle and his twin sister stood at the front, leading their apprentices through the words. I waved at Crackle, but he didn’t seem to notice. He seemed oddly... tense - even more than I would have expected.

By now Malt had things down to a science. He poured and passed glasses in a blur, then began reading from the note. I got the feeling he was getting desperate to finish things as quickly as possible. This contest was shaping up to become a disaster. Heck, it felt engineered to, and I wondered again about the designers intentions.

“Ahem! Armour, battle, beers and beards. These are things every dwarf knows well. Whether it’s the sweet scent of a handsome noble’s imperial beard, the charcoal musk of a mine, or the deep oily aroma of a brave city guard’s plate, we all know the smell of a dwarf.” There was a chorus of agreement, especially from the gnomes in attendance, passed through the audience.

Malt paused in his reading and tutted his tongue. “I can certainly agree that some of you smell, but I am always wearing the finest of exotic scents from the south. Where was I? Ah, yes - In a world of darkness, it is often the nose that sees the world around you. The nose sees, and remembers. We present to you, the first Scented Brew. All the good taste of True Brew, coupled with a whiff of nostalgia.”

My eyebrows nearly rose above my forehead. Scent was an important part of any brew, and Sacred Brew faintly reeked of bad cheese. Barista Brew smelled a bit better, but that was only because it smelled like burnt coffee and bad cheese. The scent of a beer was usually a combination of the adjuncts, the yeasts, and the wort chosen, so I was curious how they’d managed it without changing the flavour.

The three judges leaned into their glasses and took deep sniffs. Then Lord Grafter leaned back in his chair and held the glass to his chest, breathing deeply again and again. He closed his eyes and a satisfied smile parted his lips.

“Ahhhh...” He sighed, in his deep bass. “Now, this is more like it. Something uniquely dwarf. That’s what I remember the most from me battles. The sights are just a blur, and I've forgotten tha names of nearly all my enemies, but every night I dream of the heady scent of blood, oil, and metal.”

“But how does it taste?” Barnes asked, and took a sip. He nodded. “Hmm... tastes like usual. Would you like to guess the brewery, Lord Grafter?”

Grafter drank as well, deeper than usual. “It tastes exactly like a Crackin’ Brew. And yet, it doesn’t. It may be that the smell is making the taste more nostalgic. I think this is my favourite yet.”

Blackbeard nodded as he finished his. “I find myself preferring the flavour of the Liquid Gold, but this scented beer is unique in its own way. It captures everything I love about living in Crack. It is somehow Sacred Brew, and yet, dare I say, something more.”

“And a much better description.” Grafter clapped. “Bravo!”

Crackin' Brews roared their approval back, and Crackle and his sister hugged for joy. Good for them! And I was going to need to hit up Crackle to figure out his trick; an Ability or magic most likely. It looked like we finally had good competition for first place too!

Malt called for the last unigoat, and everyone leaned forward on their seats as a slate-grey unigoat plodded into the arena. The final contestant - The Rusty Battleaxe.

“Ah, the last of our completely anonymous breweries.” Malt gave a happy shout. “Thank you everyone fer your incredible brews thus far! I look forward to seeing who wins!”

He poured out three drinks and continued, “and now, the final note! These have all been a bigger treat to read than Shalea’s scones! Ha! Well now, this one is quite a bit shorter than the others!”

“Rusty Battleaxe.” Barnes and Grafter said at the same time. Their eyes were scanning the stands, and Grafter’s massive eyebrows were drawn together. He then turned his penetrating stare on the cask, and got the wide-off look of someone using an Ability.

“Dwarves are our beards. This one will put hair on ya, even if yer a slackjawed noble.” Malt read cheerily, but faltered as he reached the end of the very short note. “Um....”

“Well, I never!” Blackbeard fumed. “How dare they!? Grafter, what kind of cockamamy city are you...” The young Lord caught himself, and regarded his glass angrily. “Whatever, let us get this over with!”

WIth that, Blackbeard drank the beer. Barnes and Grafter exchanged glances, but didn’t drink.

“Bah. It’s terrible - I.” With a poomph, Blackbeard’s entire face erupted with hair. Black curly strands erupted from his cheeks, nose, and even ears. He was soon a black puffball flailing his arms on the stage.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then a few titters. And then the arena burst into laughter. Several of the master brewers looked horrified, and I spotted Master Brewer Fault shaking her head in resignation.

“Ooooh, that’s bad.” Aqua said through pursed lips.

I sighed. Could something go to plan just once?