Chapter 81: Highs and Lows

Chapter 81: Highs and Lows

I underestimated the power of advertising in this new world.

I already saw how successful it could be with my little speech in the arena. I should have been ready for the absolute shitshow that descended upon the Grand Market. But even I couldn’t have expected the massive event that struck the city like a wave. It was a zoo, a deafening explosion of demanding exuberant dwarves and gnomes desperate to try a new take on an old cultural favourite. The fact that Midna was going to judge the words of every person in the city was icing on the hype cake. Things settled down after the second day, but there was still a near constant line.

The verdict was in. Our beer was smoother, clearer, fizzier, and more fun to drink. Since dwarves mostly drank as a social exercise, the fun factor pushed it over the edge.

We sold out in four days.

After the first day, Whistlemop hired some additional hands to sell beer while the brew-crew bottled a fresh batch of Ass-Blaster in the brewery. The new batch didn’t get to bottle-condition properly - that really needed a whole week - but it was good enough.

We started the feud with over one hundred thousand bottles. By the end of the first week we’d sold over one hundred fifty thousand litres of beer.

Our profit was insane.

Annie was walking around in a fugue state, her body unable to determine if it was overjoyed or over-stressed.

Whistlemop began randomly giggling whenever he thought no-one was watching.

Balin developed a nervous twitch trying to keep thousands of dwarves from overrunning Whistlemop’s cart every hour of the day.

Johnsson and Richter were complaining that one more hour of racking bottles and they would file a worker safety claim with City Hall. Even John was rubbing his wrist and complaining about aches from non-existent weather.

Bran delivered an ultimatum regarding staffing, and hired Beatbox’s daughter Lemontwist full-time.

Aqua was... cheerfully Aqua.

As for me?

It was glorious.

This was so different from the radler. Did some dwarves give us the old death-stare when they passed by? Sure, but there were always going to be luddites. This time there were no fights, no angry declarations of war, no shaved beards. The general consensus was that Ass-Blaster was strictly better than True Brew. We even got a few requests to release a non-flatulent variety for the more... discerning dwarf.

A request we were desperately happy to answer. Unrefined lily-leopard liver oil was expensive!

The Thirsty Goat was on the lips of nearly every denizen in Minnova.

—

“Ok Annie, I think that’s the last of the boxes!” I called.

“Good! We need to hurry back!”

I set the box of bottles down in Whistlemop’s cart and stepped out. It was still early morning, which meant the crowd was only a few dozen dwarves deep. I recognized some of them as regulars, but most were new. In the back of my mind the ‘influence’ quest was buzzing up like a slot machine. It was slower now, but at this rate I was still likely to hit one million dwarves by the end of the year.

I looked up at Whistlemop, who was standing on his usual podium next to the cart. He was still selling his Whistlemugs, and even had a ten percent special on for dwarves that bought an Ass-Blaster with a mug. “How’s it going, Whistlemop?”

His face practically glittered. “It’s going well, Pete!”

“That’s good to hear! I wanted to chat later about a new idea.”

“I’d love to, but I have to make some preparations.” Whistlemop gave a savage smile. “I’m going to make a bid on a main store in the Grand Market.”

I whistled. “Can you really afford that?”

Whistlemop laughed. Then he cackled. “Do you know what our profit margin is on your beer and my mugs? Let alone the value of the Whistlestops or the possibilities afforded by my glass business? We’re severely limited by the size and location of my cart. We need to expand.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I nodded. “Do you need me for it?”

Whistlemug waved me away. “It’s just math, and finances. I can handle it -” His gaze grew stormy and he pointed off to the right. “But I won’t handle whatever that is. Annie!”

Everyone’s attention snapped to where Whislemop was pointing. A contingent of dwarves in brown and black armour headed towards us. Their beards were done up in ornate knotwork, and the smell of onion preceded them.

It was the Honourable Guild of Brewers. They marched with Malt at the head, and stopped a bare stone’s throw away from the cart.

“What do you want, Malt?” Annie demanded. She stood atop Whistlemop’s little riser, having taken it over when the brewers arrived. She stared down at the assembled brewers in contempt. There were over two dozen, and I only recognized a few of them. There was Malt, Drum, mutton-chops, greenbeard, the ginger twins, and even... Jeremiah Goldstone?! Annie’s gaze swept over her father and he gave a weak wave. She brushed it off and nailed Malt with another glare. “Did you come to try and mess with our operation? I’ll have you know that we’re prepared to fight if necessary!”

“Calm down, calm down, young Goldstone.” Malt chuckled. “So fiery. She got that from her mother, didn’t she Jeremiah?” He glanced back at Jeremiah, who nodded, a smile flickering briefly across his face. Malt frowned and looked back at Annie. “We aren’t here to fight you.”

“No? What then? If you want more time, we refuse to give it to you.” Annie crossed her arms.

At this point we were gathering a crowd. The two dozen dwarves in our line had ballooned to nearly a hundred, and more were collecting as fast as their stubby legs could carry them. The brewers clustered together, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention.

She smiled back at the truth in my words, and I brought my hands behind my back to hide my bleeding palms.

—

Jeremiah Goldstone awoke in his chair as water splashed against his face. His eyes rolled and he sputtered. “Wha-who?” He tried to stand, but stumbled, still half-drunk. He looked around wildly, and recognized the environs of Drum’s pub, the Rusty Battleaxe. The last thing he remembered was coming here after the surrender and burying himself in alcohol.

“Drum!” He roared, water dripping from his beard. “What in tha Nether is this?” The building was empty of patrons. How long had he been out?

A figure stepped into his vision, and Jeremiah gasped as though struck in the heart.

“Pete?”

“Hello Jeremiah. I think we need to have a talk, dwarfo-a-dwarfo.”

“What are you doing here? Drum! DRUM!?” Jeremiah tried to stand, his eyes wide with panic, but his legs weren’t listening to him. His mighty frame heaved with exertion and a vein popped up on his nearly bald head. He managed a single tottering step, but then the world spun, and he fell to the ground in a heap.

“DRUM!” He screamed.

“Drum’s finishing up with some stuff out back. Just you and me, Mr. Goldstone.” Pete grabbed a bar-stool and pulled it in front of Jeremiah, taking a seat. His voice grew sarcastic. “Or should I call you Master Brewer Goldstone?”

“I-I-don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” Jeremiah moaned. “I need to-to go home, Pete. I can’t talk right now.”

“You do have poor communication skills recently. Can I get you a glass of water to help you sober up? When was the last time you were sober, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I can’t remember...” Jeremiah licked suddenly dry lips.

“Does this jog yer memory?” Pete tossed a small black vial up into the air with one hand. Jeremiah’s eyes followed it, watching with a hypnotised gaze as it spun and sparkled. Pete caught it in his palm with a *smack* and Jeremiah flinched away as though struck.

“I’ve been wondering why you did it.” Pete said. “Drum tried to explain, but I need to hear it from you.”

Jeremiah continued to look around the pub, anywhere but at Pete. “H-how do ya know Drum?”

“He’s a friend of a friend.” Pete drawled. “Yer avoidin’ the question, Master Brewer.”

There was a moment’s awkward silence, broken only by Jeremiah’s ragged breathing.

“I... I swore an oath. To the Gods and upon my ancestors.” He began, nearly whispering. “I kept that oath fer four hundred years. Even after ma’ wife died and I only had Annie, I still kept ma’ oath. To protect tha Sacred Brew that my parents and my ancestors crafted with love and devotion. To uphold the tenants of the Guild in the face of all opposition." His voice cracked. “I swore an oath.”

“THAT’S IT!?” Pete bellowed, and smashed the bottle on the floor.“You betrayed our trust, your daughter’s future, for some stupid OATH?”

“I HAD NO CHOICE!” Jeremiah’s voice cracked in anguish. “What more do ya want of me!? You’ve taken me brewery! Me daughter! My life’s work! Would you see me be forsworn before tha Gods too? To sully tha’ unbroken honour o’ my ancestors? Just - just leave me be - *sob* - damn you!” He began to weep.

Pete’s face slowly changed from disgust to concern as Jeremiah fell apart before him. The straightforward Mr. Goldstone, the backbone of Thirsty Goat brewery, reduced to a blubbering mess.

“Was it really worth all this?”

“Aye, it was.” Drum interrupted, coming in from the back door. “Jeremiah Goldstone was always an honourable dwarf. No better dwarf around. Better than me, that’s fer sure.” He pointed his silver hand at Pete, which morphed into a shining shortblade. “Better than you too, eh!?”

Pete hissed. “I never would’ve chosen my job over my daughter. And don't think I've forgotten your part in all this Drum!”

Drum grunted a laugh, his hand changing back to a silver fist. “See, that’s where yer wrong, Pete! Brewin’ ain’t just a job, or even a way of life fer dwarves like us. It defines our family goin’ back thousands of years, an unbroken line o’ duty and trust. It seeps into us from tha moment we’re born and never leaves us till tha day we die. Browning made Jeremiah choose between his family or what makes him a dwarf.” He nodded at Jeremiah, who lay weeping. “A choice like that would break a stronger dwarf than Jeremiah Goldstone.”

Pete glowered, but didn’t gainsay him.

Drum walked over to Jeremiah, and lifted him up. “Aye, and Browning was wrong, to force that choice. He should have asked one o’ us ta sneak the oil in. To test yer loyalty like that was a step too far. I speak fer all the Honourable Guild o’ Brewers when I say we’re ashamed, Jeremiah.” He pulled Jeremiah into an embrace, then sat him back down in a chair and turned to Pete. “I’m not a [Counsellor], Pete. I don’t know how to make this better.”

Pete groaned and stood, walking over to the fireplace. He rubbed his head in his hands for a few minutes as the three waited in agonizing silence. Occasionally he paced around and swore while pulling at his beard. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh and spoke. “I don't see why this is my responsibility. Jeremiah, it’s going to be painful, but you need to tell Annie.”

Jeremiah looked up with terror. Pete patted his back. “Broken trust is hard to regain, but honesty can patch the cracks. Annie needs the support of her father. If Drum can understand, then I know Annie will too.” He chuckled darkly. “She may want to beat you around the head for a while, but I think deep down you probably want that. Throw yourself on your daughter’s mercy, Jeremiah. She’s a strong dwarfess. She doesn’t need you to destroy yourself to protect her from the truth. If you keep walking away, one day you’re going to look back, and she’ll be gone.”

Jeremiah looked deep into Pete’s eyes. The eyes of a father that had forever lost his only child. Jeremiah took a deep breath, steadied himself, and nodded.

“Oh, and one last thing. [Basic Slash]!” Pete pulled back an arm and punched Jeremiah in the nose. Jeremiah toppled off his chair with an *Arrghh!* Drum stepped forward in shock, then gave Pete a wry look.

Pete nursed his slightly bruised knuckles. “Wow, that is cathartic!”

—

“Are ya sure I shouldn’t be in there, Pete?” Balin grumped. “I can hold him down while she kicks.”

Balin and I sat camped in the alleyway behind the Goldstone compound. The sound of screaming and smashing bottles came from within.

“No, they’re long overdue for some father-daughter bonding time. He's just lucky everything turned out alright. I think everyone would be a lot more angry if the brew had actually failed.” I took a long deep drink from a bottle, then gagged. “Ugh, this stuff still tastes like shit.”