*Bing!*

Stat Increased: [Strength]!

Your Strength has increased by 1! Your new Strength is 17.8!

Four exhausting hours later, and we were just about done with our trench. I swept the sweat from my brows and pounded Joseph on the back.

“I’m impressed you kept up with us Joseph! I’ll need to re-re-revaluate my opinion of elves after this!”

Joseph was one of only six people left in the trench, including myself, Johnsson, Richter, and two of Micah’s friends who'd also spent some time in a penal mine.

The rest were variously laying face down in the mud or groaning on the street above us.

Joseph didn’t even need to wipe sweat from his brow. “Yea, it’s one of the big benefits of bein’ a plant. I don’t get tired. I do lose energy, and I’m gonna need to imbibe a lot of sun and nutrients after this, but I can keep going ‘till I wilt.”

“Well, don’t do that!”

“I’m not planning on it.”

We shared comradely smiles. There really was something about toiling in a hole for hours on end that brought people together. I still didn’t trust him, but I was starting to like him.

With our task done, it was time to start our hour-long walk home. I wanted a hot bath, both to wipe off all the grime and the feeling of listening to Harmsson talk. I’d never had the misfortune of meeting any of our Prime Ministers in person, but I had to imagine that was what it was like. If I could scrub the folds of my brain with soap I would.

We parted with Joseph as we stumbled our way into Greywall; he was going to rent a unigoat and ride the rest of the way back to Redwall. Before he left he made me promise to put aside some of the first bottles of gose. I was more than happy to agree, and also promised him a solution for the export problem soon; I already had an idea percolating!

We passed three sets of protesters on the way home. The first was some of the other volunteers, who'd set up on the thoroughfare from the main gate to Greywall. Then there was one group set up outside an Octamillenial contestant’s Blacksmithing shop, and another outside of our very own Thirsty Goat. At least the [Brewers] were a bit more subdued than the [Blacksmiths]. They mostly just loomed, smelled of onions, and booed at me in particular when I passed.

And they certainly weren’t impacting our sales! The place was jumping when I stumbled in, my compatriots in tow.

All I wanted to do was go to bed, so when I saw a face I recognized I groaned.

“Ya don’t need ta look so happy ta see me, me boy!” Sam said. He and Drum had taken over the table by the fireplace again, though this time they’d come alone.

“Hah! I actually wanted to talk to you! Just… tomorrow or somethin’.” I walked up to fist bump the pair. Drum had a bandage around one arm, and was favouring it. Sam’s usual scruffiness was even scruffier than usual. “You two’ve seen better days.”

“It’s hard work doin’ what we do.” Drum said, his face stiff. “I praise Barck that we’re even alive, and long for the good old days of brewin’.”

“Eh, it’s not that bad.” Sam said, waving the concern away.

“Yer not tha’ one that got ‘is arm bit by some fool noble’s – “ Drum cut the rest off and glanced around the pub. “Next time ‘yer goin’ through the door first.”

“If ya didn’t want ta get bit, ya shoulda given yer other arm ta be a chewtoy.” Sam said, pointing to Drum’s silver arm. Drum snarled, and the silver limb morphed into an axe. He dragged it threateningly along the table.

“Oy! Don’t you be wreckin’ our stuff!” I admonished, smacking Drum on the helmet. He blinked, growled, then morphed his limb back. He drained his mug and slammed it onto the table, then stalked over to the bar to get it refilled.

“But really, how’ve you been doin’?” I asked. “You sleepin’ properly? Takin’ care of yerself?”

Sam’s face softened. “Aye, that I have, son. I’ve seen better days, but no poncy nobles are gonna be the end of ol’ Sam.” He struck a pose.

“Glad to hear it. You doin’ any bagpiping these days? We could use another bard here. The last one’s been playin’ the perennial hit Gold, Gold, Gold, on repeat.”

“What’s wrong with that? S’ a good one!”

“Eh… it can get a bit old after a while.”

“I can see why you’d think that. There’s always good ol’ Gold, Gold, Gold, Gold if’n it’s botherin’ ya. Ask ‘em ta sing it next time, any bard worth their silver knows it.”

“... thanks Sam.”

“Happy ta help!”

I sat down to join Sam while Drum returned with a full mug and some pretzels and mustard. Sam reached up for one and Drum batted his hand away.

“So, why are you two here?” I asked, then lowered my voice. “And what’ve you really been up to?”

“We’ve been rolling with a fellow by tha name of Thad Harmsson.” Drum said. “Have you met ‘im?”

“Hah! I knew it!” I almost shouted. “I was just at one of his rallies! I actually shook his hand!”

Sam and Drum exchanged glances. “And what were ya’ doin’ there?” Drum asked.

“Aye. Thought you’d stay clear of stuff like that.” Sam added.

I pointed to where Bando was draped unconscious over a bench. “That youngin’ there, Bando, has been getting himself involved in Harmsson’s little political mess. I went to make sure he was stayin’ out of trouble, find out fer myself if things were on the up and up. His mum is worried sick that he won’t come home one day. I was actually going to contact you and see if you’d take him under yer wing.”

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“So ya met Harmsson, eh? What did ya think?” Sam asked, an odd timbre to his tone.

“I don’t like Harmsson, sorry, he’s slimy. He’s doing good fer the city though, so I can forgive ‘im his personal foibles. For now. Why?”

“He asked us to see if you were on the up ‘n up.” Drum admitted. “You lot from tha Goat were actin’ suspicious enough that he wanted us to look into ya.”

SHIT!

No, that wasn’t quite vehement enough for the situation.

BY ALL THA BLOODY BITS O’ THA GORRAM GODS!!!

“Argh. I really didn’t want to be on his radar! And now he’s sending the goon squad after me!?”

“His what?” Drum asked, confused.

Sam waved the question off. “How’d ya get involved with tha greenskin, Stannard?”

I sighed. “I ran into him when he was courting Raspberrysyrup. He wants to poach her to play music for the Elven King.”

Drum choked on his beer. “That’s a bad idea! Don’t get involved with royals! ‘Specially Kings or Queens! You tell that lass to avoid ‘im like e’ was beardless! ‘Cause he is.”

Sam nodded. “So that’s tha how. But why was he with you all at Yellowwall? Seems a strange place fer an elf.”

I pursed my lips. “Is this an interrogation? It’ll cost at least ten gold if you want to bribe the innkeeper for information.”

“Hah! Damn right!” Sam guffawed, opening his purse to pass me ten gold. “We’re just checkin’ that Stannard isn’t yankin’ you around.”

I pocketed the cash. “Eh, I don’t trust him, though he seems nice enough. We got to talking at Berry’s, and he really likes the changes I’ve been making to the Sacred Brew. He thinks it could catch on up above. Then Bando came and invited us both to help with the Yellowwall project, and Joseph thought it would be interesting. So a bunch of us went, and now we’re tired.” I said the last bit with emphasis, slumping down on the table.

“He likes your beer too, eh? Seems like yer popular; I heard about you advancin’ in tha contest too. Congrats on making it into tha next round, me’boyo!” Sam slapped me on the shoulder. Drum frowned. “Dunno how you’ll get yer beers up above. It’s illegal ta’ ship Sacred Brew outta Crack ‘cept to a few dwarven enclaves in tha South and tha northern enclaves.”

My upper lip must have grown stiff, because Sam’s laughter turned into a look of alarm.

“Yer not really thinkin’ of it, are ya?” He asked.

“Ehhh, freein’ beer has always been one of my dreams. I think everyone in the world should have the opportunity to drink it. One of the reasons I’ve been making so many changes is to make it more palatable for other races. It’s worked out great for the gnomes, why not the elves? Or humans, or beastfolk, or even dragons?”

Drum guffawed. “And here we were thinkin’ we were tha revolutionaries! You’ll have difficulty keepin’ yer head on that path, boyo!”

I rapped my fingers on the table. “I’m not too sure. The Brewer’s Guild didn’t fight too hard when we introduced the Sacred Brew to gnomes. If I take things one small step at a time it should be fine. And I have a plan.”

“Ach.” Sam ran his hand through his beard. “Tha Brewers are happy s’long as you can make ‘em gold. Problem’ll be with regular dwarves. All it’ll take is tha right Specialized rockhead who hates the idea enough to make yer life miserable.”

“Aye. And there’s still tha’ problem with exportin’ it.” Drum agreed. “It’s a big dream Pete. Maybe too big.”

“No, I really think I’ve figured out a solution to that. It was something that Ambassador Stannard said that gave me the idea, actually. There’s been two big roadblocks since the beginning. The Brewers Guild has a lock on the production of Sacred Brew, and there’re all kinds of laws against exporting it.”

Sam and Drum nodded. Though Drum seemed more interested in his pretzel.

I sat up proudly. “I think there’s an easy solution to both problems. The rules are all technically for Sacred Brew, so I just need to make something that isn’t Sacred Brew.”

Sam looked confused. “How does that work?”

I pulled a notebook out of my pocket. “I’ll still brew beer, but it doesn’t need to be Sacred Brew! I started this last night, and it should be done by the end of the week. This is the answer to my problem!”

Drum clapped lazily. “Congratulations, it’s a book!”

I waved it. “Hah, this book contains the secret ingredient to solving what ales beer in Crack! Nyuck. It’ll break the hold the Brewers Guild has on beer, and they’ll do it willingly, pulled down from their high goats by the weight of their own egos!”

I passed it to Sam who opened it to the first page.

“Yeast: The Practical Guide to Beer Fermentation,” he read. “By White and Zainasheff. Who’re they?”

“That’s not important. I managed to obtain a copy of a treatise they wrote.” From [Pete’s Miniature Remembrance] but they didn’t need to know that. “What matters is what Sacred Brew is.”

“And what’s that?” Drum asked, dangerously. Ah yes, he’d probably sworn all kinds of oaths about protecting the secrets of Sacred Brew.

I bit my tongue, and rejiggered what I’d been about to say. “It’s a load of secret ingredients, as well as something called Ancestral Seed. All Sacred Brew, going all the way back to the First Brewer, have been using the same ingredients, and using the same Ancestral Seed. That’s what Sacred Brew is!”

“I don’t get it.” Sam said, continuing to leaf through the book. “This looks technical…”

“It is. In fact, it’s technical enough that even I don’t really understand it.” Which was true. It was a book I loved and had read to death, but I’d never really gotten into yeast culturing. I hadn’t needed to. I was now incredibly thankful to good old White and Zainasheff! They didn’t know it, but they were going to help save beer in another world!

“Regardless,” I continued. “With that book, as well as instructions on how to make a bittering agent of our own design, anyone can make beer.”

Drum twigged first. “But without Ancestral Seed or the secret ingredients.”

I gave him some finger guns. “So it won’t be Sacred Brew. We can just call it beer, or ale, or something, and the Brewer’s Guild will be all over the name change because they don’t like all these changes to their Sacred Brew.”

It was a similar trick to how the EU had gotten around the Reinheitsgebot in Germany. Rather than trying to change the law, I’d just make it so that we skirted around the law. I still needed to run it past Richter and Annie, but I was almost positive it would work!

There was a beat, then Sam began to chuckle, and even Drum snickered. Soon the three of us were guffawing, and the other patrons were looking in our direction to see what was so funny.

“That’s brilliant, me boy!” Sam thwapped me on the shoulder again.

“Aye, that may work!” Drum agreed. “I can see me fellow Master Brewers thinkin’ it’s a fad that won’t catch on, and they’ll be pleased that yer showin’ proper deference ta tha Sacred Brew!”

“Aye, I’m real proud of it! Now, have I answered all your questions, fine patrons? If so, I need to hit tha’ cave.”

“Aye. Don’t you worry about Harmsson, I’ll let him know yer me… pal, and he’ll shove off,” Sam said. “And you still haven’t gotten better reinforcements fer that door. You need to do that.”

“... You know, I think I will.” As I stood to leave, I turned to Drum. “And you should get that arm looked at by Richter. He’s a [Healer] now.”

Drum gave me a toast with his mug. “Thankee, Pete. We’ll keep an eye on the Bando boy, make sure he’s doin’ well.”

I yawned mightily and waved goodbye to the old curmudgeons before plodding to the manor house. Sleeeeeeeep. I hoped Balin was doing better than I was, wherever he was by now.