In the weeks that followed, Benj immersed his apprentice, Taft, in the intricacies of baking. He guided Taft through the nuances of following recipes, adjusting quantities for larger batches, mastering unfamiliar tools and techniques, and managing the oven's heat. As Benj was in the midst of explaining the corrections needed for a particularly tricky recipe, the bell at the front of the bakery rang, signaling a customer. He was surprised to walk through the kitchen door and find Brahm standing there looking impatient.

"Good morning, Brahm," he greeted cordially, "What brings you in?"

"Morning, Benj," Brahm fidgeted with his hat, "Is Sephus around? I need a quote for a cake."

"Sephus isn't in, but he rarely knows anything when he is," Benj used his favorite cliche for moving things along. "What kind of cake are you looking for?"

"A wedding cake." Brahm said awkwardly, "I suppose white. Enough for maybe fifty people or so."

"Well, congratulations!" Benj said with a smile, "Who's the lucky goat?"

"Ha, very funny," Brahm replied unenthusiastically, "Her name is Mel, and she's a girl."

Benj's heart sank, but he masked his disappointment with a forced smile. "A cake for fifty will range between five and fifteen silver talents."

Brahm whistled. "That's pretty steep."

"I know," Benj said, struggling to stay calm. "They take a lot of time to make. I could ask Sephus about a discount, but I already know his answer. When do you need it?"

"Two weeks," said Brahm, "but I need to know the exact price."

"How do you want it decorated?" Benj asked and then explained the various options.

"I'll have to check, but at the very least, it will be five marks per person," Benj calculated silently. "For fifty people, that's... five talents."

Brahm agreed to the price and left.

Benj returned to the kitchen, where Taft was engrossed in a recipe book.

"You're in charge today." Benj hung up his apron. "I have some errands to run." It was a trick Sephus would always use whenever he wanted a day off. Hand over some unearned responsibilities and leave. It didn't matter how well Taft managed the kitchen; he had some feelings to sort out, so he made his way to the Golden Stag.

Pushing through the double doors, Benj took a seat at the bar.

"Benj," the bartender, Tegan, greeted.

"Tegan," Benj replied.

"What'll it be?" Tegan asked, pulling out a glass mug and inspecting it with exaggerated care.

"Dark ale," Benj ordered.

"How dark?"

"The darkest," Benj replied, "And spirited."

Tegan poured a measure of clear liquid into the mug, then topped it off with thick, dark ale from an old barrel. Benj downed it in one go, setting it back on the bar.

"Another?" Tegan asked.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that was a mistake," Benj slid the empty mug away, "I'll take a regular ale."

Tegan filled a fresh cup with cool amber ale from his largest barrel. "You're in here early," he remarked.

"I've got a lot on my mind," Benj admitted, taking a long sip of the ale.

"Anything I can help with?"

"You already have." Benj raised his glass in a toast to Tegan before taking another sip.

"I've got something that might cheer you up," Tegan said. "Come with me." Benj, feeling the effects of the ale, followed Tegan to the back of the tavern.

They passed shelves of preserves and sacks of potatoes until they reached a large, hissing contraption.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"What's this?" Benj asked, awed by the gleaming metal beast.

"This," Tegan said proudly, "makes the spirit."

"How does it work?" Benj asked.

"You put your mash in there," Tegan gestured to a round covered vat. "Heat it up from underneath," he traced the path of some winding tubes, "and it goes up, around, and down through here. Cold water cools the steam, turning it into spirit that comes out there."

"When did you get this?" Benj marveled at the bronz monster.

"A few seasons ago," Tegan said. "A master distiller needed money more than he needed the spirits. He taught me how to use it. I'm getting better at it. Do you want to try my latest batch?"

Back in the tavern, Tegan set three small glasses before Benj, each filled with uneven shades of silver spirits.

"I made one of these," Tegan said, "The other's from the Parquist Distillery in Royal City, and the third is a surprise. Two are free, but you owe me six marks for the secret one."

Benj agreed and sampled the spirits, giving each a thoughtful evaluation. "This one," he said, pointing to the left, "tastes common. Compared to the others, it's not that impressive."

"And the others?" Tegan implored.

"This one," Benj said, indicating the right, "is smooth, complex, and excellent. The one in the middle," he sipped, "is interesting. It has more flavor than the others and tastes kind of like distilled ale. Is this distilled ale?"

"You got me!" Tegan threw his hands in the air. "I've been trying different things, and you know what I thought? I thought, why hasn't anyone tried distilling ale? So I tried it, and it foamed so much I had to stop, clean everything off, and wait until it went flat to try again. What you are drinking now is the first success out of three attempts."

"It's good!" Benj took another sip. "What are the other ones?"

"The common-tasting one on your left is from Royal City," Tegan revealed. "And the one you owe me six marks for is Sorte Diamante. Very expensive and very good."

As Benj tried capturing the flavor of the expensive spirit, Tegan explained the intricacies of distilling. "The trick is, treat every spirit like a woman, and she'll be good every time. You get the temper first—vile and poisonous. That's the first to get distilled. You'll want to dump that out. If you drink it, your teeth will fall out. After the temper is burned off, her heart comes next; that's the good stuff. After the heart, it'll distill, but it turns into the arse-end. That's what you want to avoid."

"How do you know when it's the arse-end?" Benj asked.

"Because it tastes like arse!" Tegan roared with laughter. The two friends enjoyed the joke, their laughter echoing through the empty tavern. They continued talking until patrons began filtering in, marking the time for Benj to go.

"I have something important to say," Benj declared.

"What's that?" Tegan asked.

"I know what I have to do," he said firmly. "And I'm going to do it. How much do I owe you?"

"Eleven marks," Tegan said.

Benj dropped a handful of coins on the counter. Tegan took eleven marks and slid the rest back. "Keep it," Benj said, struggling slightly as he left the tavern.

Instead of heading home, Benj walked towards the flower shop where Mel worked. Despite the wisdom of avoiding conversations with love interests while intoxicated, he was too inebriated to care.

"Mel!" Benj called out as he stumbled into the shop.

"Benj! What brings you here?" Her face brightened.

"I think I'm drunk," Benj admitted. "I came to buy you a flower, but since you'd be the one selling it, I think I'll take my business elsewhere." He turned to leave.

"You don't have to go," Mel said, "What better place to buy me a flower than where I work?"

"Do you often help people buy flowers for you?" Benj asked.

"More than I'd like to admit," Mel said with a smile. She was so easy to talk to, even now, that it gave Benj a bitter feeling in his stomach.

"Like Brahm?" he swayed slightly.

"How did you—" Mel began.

"Are you going to marry him?" Benj cut her off.

She looked at him, unable to respond.

"Well, congratulations," Benj said. "I just wish you would have given me a chance. Maybe you would have found that we could have liked each other."

"I do like you," she said, meaning like a friend. "It's just complicated."

"Not as complicated as—Never mind. It doesn't matter," Benj said, his voice tinged with defeat.

"Not as complicated as what?" she asked.

"Listen," Benj said, his heart pounding in his chest, sobering him. "It might not make a difference, but I like you a lot. I don't want to marry you right now, but I don't want you to marry Brahm in case we decide to later on in life."

Mel looked stunned. "That's very sweet of you. Let's promise to always be friends."

"I don't know," Benj said. "On the one hand, I would love to be your friend. On the other hand, friends wouldn't let friends marry Brahm. He isn't a good person."

"I think it's already too late for that," Mel said despondantly. "I was going to tell you about it, but I never got the chance."

"It's never too late," Benj said, allowing hope to rise and die in one brief crescendo. "But I wish you the best. Let's forget this conversation, okay?"

"Sure," Mel said. "I don't even know why I'm standing here talking to you."

"Perfect," Benj gave a perfectly real-looking smile. "I'll see you around."

"Ahem," Mel cleared her throat. "You still owe me a hug."

"There are people who'd pay good money for that hug. Maybe I'll sell it and buy a bakery," he continued walking.

"You wouldn't," she said, crossing her arms.

"Maybe I will, and maybe I won't. I'll see you around." He continued walking until he left the village, his mind a swirl of thoughts. He found a rock ledge, climbed up, and jumped off, repeating the process over and over.

"Always remember," Tegan had said with a serious expression on his face. "You have to cut it off while it's still good. If you get any of that arse-end into your batch, it'll spoil everything."

He thought about Mel, and he thought about leaving. Why should he stay here? What was there worth staying for? He backflipped off the ledge and angled backward towards the ground. Again, he climbed up, jumped, and skidded to a stop until his already tattered shoes fell completely apart. He made a decision, "I'm getting new shoes, and then I'm leaving." So he picked up his shoes and walked home.