Chapter 120

Next in Line

(Hawkin)

Brewer’s Reputation: 398

Construction resumed. Heavily armored men and women hauled more wood to the edge of the bridge that nearly reached the opposite bank. Others had to use Abigail’s Third Hand attribute ales. The armored ones were a boisterous lot, heaving and grunting with no reason, it seemed, than to make it a competition between each other on who the strongest and loudest could be. They were the most carefree of the adventurers.

The evidence was there that Wayan was unlike them all.

We resumed our seats upon the boulders on the water. Having exhausted herself, Ellette sat upon her father’s knees and leaned back upon his chest. She ran her sleeve under her eyes.

Ashore, Abigail threw a wondering glance my way. I waved a hand to say that everything was all right.

“That was very brave of you to speak up for your dad,” I said.

Wayan tousled her hair. “She’s the bravest kiddo I know. Love her to death.”

“You're a…slave?”

“Ellette sees it that way, and I suppose that’s mostly true. My father was a Maceman and his income came from dungeon crawling. He would go through mace after mace after mace, and because he didn’t want me crawling with him, I became a blacksmith so that I could forge his weapons.”

“I have much respect for blacksmiths. I spent all my coin on an axehead before coming up here.”

Wayan kissed the top of his little girl’s head. “My father was proud.” His face, mean—only because of the revealed weight in his heart—showed defeat. “Then he joined a guild so that he could access private dungeons with much more valuable loot. They made him sign a contract which would have him split his loot for ten years.”

“Ten? Ten years?”

“There was also a stipulation: If my father should ever fail to relinquish seventy percent of his run’s worth of loot—no less than 80 gold coins—the guild would modify the contract in whatever way they saw fit.”

“That sounds…Your father agreed to that?”

“He did. He had some friends who’d joined the guild, and they’d hit their marks, always. Their success was enough to convince him that the loot was worth the risk.”

I rubbed my chin. “You’re here now, so I’m guessing the dice didn’t roll in his favor.”

“His friends were seasoned adventurers with an inventory to show for it. They’d gotten off to a good start. But my father was too eager to profit and went in alone one day. He became diseased after a nasty encounter with an imp mage and fell ill. He began to miss his quotas. The first modification made by the guild was to extend the contract by twenty years.”

I rolled the stone, which Ellette had made Wayan give me, in my hands. It looked like a crumpled ball of melted glass. The surface was matte and black like it had received the soot of a flame. Geometric faces revealed a deep green in certain secrets of light.

Wayan sighed, and his armor rustled. “A sick man can only do so much…Less and less as the years pass by…Still remember the day he asked me for help. I’d never seen my father cry before.”

“And the blacksmith became the crawler.” I hefted the stone. “Selling this wasn’t enough to break the contract?”

“It’s a level five dungeon core. It fetches a good price, but it’s only the beginning of the animate dungeons. In short, selling it wouldn’t help much. Might knock off a few years at best. Since I started crawling for him, I’ve been hitting my marks and then some. But my family can’t last for thirty years in that contract. My father needs special care now, and I can’t afford to keep him at home with us. Ellette is left alone day after day. She cooks for herself and…” He cleared his throat, and on his second attempt to continue he said, “…often eats alone. I want to change our lives. We don’t have the land to bury the core. But I’ve fought through your ethereal dungeons…All it took was one sip to get there.”

“You're lucky this isn’t higher than a level five core. That’s at the max of my skills.”

Wayan clenched his fist and smiled. Ellette seemed to fill with hope. Her eyes came alive and she smiled up at her father.

“Oh, wow, I would be forever indebted to you.”

“Well, let’s not repeat the past. I’d be happy with just a thanks.”

“We plan to go through it ourselves mostly and charge adventurers a fair fee per run. And with your reputation, we could pay off my father’s contract in no time.”

Stone in hand, I prepared to begin by using my level 2040 Brewer’s Bubble skill.

“Can you make it candy apple flavored!” said Ellette. “I heard your beer tastes like candy. My dad loves apples, so I was wondering if you could make his beer flavored like candy apple.”

“I can brew something like that, sure.”

With apples plucked from the Gift #1 ethereal plane, and ethereal ingredients, I brewed a master beer. I forged a label into the shape of a teardrop squash. Outside of requiring Dellia’s name on the label…

“Do you have a name for it?” I said.

“Face Basher!” said Ellette. “That’s what Grandpa calls his favorite Mace. It was the first one that Dad ever made. But he names them all Face Basher!”

I completed the label; yet, the beer was incomplete.

[Dellia Lucerne’s Ethereal Dungeon #6, Face Basher: Requires one Minion Master.]

“I’ll be right back.”

I sipped from the master beer and entered the ethereal plane. Considering Ellette, I employed my Modify Ethereal Plane skills to modify the light, color, texture, and atmosphere. Each skill improved to level 124.

With such alien colors, I did my best to make things seem apple-ish. The atmosphere now held speckles of micaceous luster, like the freckles on the bottoms of some apples. The light was somewhere between dawn through a window pane and of firelight at the bottom of a glass.

Arriving at the floating rocky core was a simple matter of swimming over.

[Minion Master Level 02.]

[Your Minion Master skill has gained a level.]

The pores of the rocky core perspired a muddy slime. The slime coalesced and took the shape of a horror. The slime hardened into a creature that rose to its feet as slime dripped from it. It had long drooping limbs, with a nose that drooped just as long. In the middle, its belly opened and revealed canines. The thing slammed belly first onto the rock and spread itself out as though for a hug. The grating of rock could only be its teeth against the core. When it lifted its belly, it spit crumbs of gravel at its feet. In just a few moments the beginning of a tunnel had been bored.

I couldn’t help but watch the horror bore further into the core as the core expanded on the other side. Just when it delved into the shadows of its own tunnel, I heard the sound of dry heaving, like a cat about to vomit. The floor of the tunnel was hit with a wet splash before some new creature thrashed in the liquid and squealed. I heard the sound of slapping flesh. Then the new creature emerged from the tunnel. It looked like the trunk of an elephant but with lamprey teeth. It rose like a snake and sniffed the air like a dog.

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I returned to the creek and held up the new beer. “Face Basher.”

Before handing it over, I frowned. What would the master beer of their dungeon mean for them? It’s not something they could clone, which means they would run out of it quickly. And will they be the only case like this? Would I be brewing Ethereal Dungeon beers for others too?

“Dad, I think he wants us to pay,” said Ellette.

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “I’m trying to figure out a few things. Yours is a unique situation. This is the master beer for your dungeon, and what I’m going to do is keep it on one of my other planes with the rest of the master beers I’ve brewed. In the meantime I’ll clone-brew as many bottles as your inventory can hold.”

“Shouldn’t I hold on to the master beer?” said Wayan.

“You wouldn’t be able to access the dungeon again when it runs out. If I keep it, I can clone-brew as much as you want. I don’t think there are any other brewers capable of that yet. There will be, I’m sure, but it may take some time.”

“How would I get a hold of you once I run out?”

“We can figure out the logistics later once the tavern is up and running. How about that?”

Ellette was now beaming and almost bouncing. How funny was it that one of my beers brought such happiness to someone who didn’t really care about the beer…

In under a minute I cloned Face Basher and filled their inventory with as much as they could comfortably hold.

There was a light in Wayan’s eyes now. “You know, I’m actually not much of a drinker. I’ve got a massive collection of beers from crawling. Been weighing down my inventory for some time now. The collectors have been all over me about them. I’d love to gift them to you and your lady.” He nodded toward those that were working on the bridge; toward Abigail. “I think she might have actually brewed one of them.”

After a minute of chatting, Wayan and Ellette gave a final thanks and splashed across the creek. They headed down to the bridge. Wood supports were beginning to be removed.

I motioned for the next person in line. Another dungeon crawler splashed into the creek. His face looked to have been permanently beaten rough like he’d had experience against Face Basher.

“Name’s Jedrick. Level 2001, newly minted Gold ranked Dungeon Crawler. I’ve been clearing floors since I could walk. Nothing survives this deadly duo.” He kissed an armored bicep. “Yup, no monster has nor ever will stand a chance against me. And let me tell you why, Hawkin.”

Jedrick was the best. Jedrick was an absolute monster. The world better watch out for Jedrick. No one could mess with Jedrick. Jedrick was the smartest, and Jedrick was the fiercest. Jedrick’s friends called him Jedrick the Great. His girlfriends called him Jedrick the Big. Jedrick deserved copies of ethereal dungeons because Jedrick was the Chosen One.

I glanced back at the line of folk. There were quite a few more of Jedrick’s build.

I exhausted myself making quick work of everyone’s requests and needs, making quite a bit of gold in the process. I accepted payment for most everything I brewed. …Brewing for the grievers was heart wrenching…

I went through enough mana beer to ask Abigail for some Drunk Defiance ales. Near the end of the line, beer was sloshing in my belly.

Late in the afternoon, the last in line trudged over. It was the farm boy who’d gotten into a fist fight. His eye was swollen, there was a gash across that eyebrow, and his lip had a small split.

“How’s your eye?”

He slumped onto the rock opposite me. “It’s fine.”

“That cut’s pretty deep.”

“Ain’t nothin’. I need your help.”

“What’s going on?”

“I hail from Nulibi. Bet you never heard of us.”

“You would be right. Where is that?”

“Halfway ‘tween your sea and my sea.”

He had to be joking! Such a distance! I couldn’t keep the astonishment off my face. “Damn, how long have you been on the road?”

“I reckon road may be just beginning for me. Ma and Pa’s village ain't doing too good. O’er years, young’uns just like me been wandering long, long roads to cities, ne’er coming home e’er after. Which means ain’t no new muscle to help till, and ol’ folks come out their retirement to help sheaf the stalks and silo on up the grain. ‘N Jerda says whole village fixin to starve come two winters when the oldest folks fall out their rockin chairs ‘n never get back up ‘gain. ‘N ol’ Missus Maerbelle sighs lots and says sumthin's gotta be done, sumthin’s gotta be done—E’er morning: Sumthin’s gotta be done. Then poor Missus Maerbelle been getting all sort of flak from her ma and her grandma and her great grandma, tellin’ her ‘If you had been poppin ‘em kids out when you was pretty and perky, more farm hands would be running around helping out ‘stead of ol’ people working themselves to death!’. ‘N ol’ man Richard—I strongly dislike ol’ man Richard cause he smacked his Ma once—looks at me like it gotta be me that does the sumthin…Ne’er said that in those words, but you know how eyes and looks can talk. Well his eyes and the way he looks at me does a whole lot of talking that I can see through. I may be one of ‘em rural boys, but I can still read more than words, Mister Hawkin.”

But the boy wasn’t done. He had much more to say. His voice went on with a cadence like a cowbell on a lone cow crossing pasture. It was so much to listen to, to take in, to thread together, that I had to squint to keep track.

There was nothing to do but to halt him with a wave. “Let’s see if I got this right. Your village is having a hard time harvesting grain, right?”

“Mm.”

“Some years there’s too much grain, but there aren’t enough young people who can make the journey to the far away cities?”

“Mm.”

“Some years there’s not enough grain, and your people starve?”

“Mm.”

“And you gave up half of your share this year—a very plentiful year—so that you could come here to see me?”

“Mm.”

‘Why me?”

“Well, I heard you was a rural boy too. But you made a name for yourself. Folk travel a long ways just to see you, not the other way ‘round. I thought maybe if you had the gumption to make sumthin o’ yourself with all your grain, who better for me to learn from than another rural boy? Sure I spoke with ‘em city Brewers on the way up here, but they ain’t have nuthin figured out like you do. They ain’t got no heart for the folk round ‘em.”

“You came all this way just to learn something from me?”

“My community is aging out, Mister. With what I can learn from you, I could make my village a destination so that families can settle down there instead of leavin’ their homes behind. Then the ol’ folks won’t have it so hard on their backs; and well, I may not look like much, but tell you what—I can be the best there is too!”

Memories came to the fore of some beers that I experienced. The brew could be so good that I would see lands in my mind’s eye. I remembered many times where I had imagined swathes of barley and wheat at various imagined elevations and imagined parts of the world. So many wild images had been born in my imagination, evoked by fantastic beers.

“...What is it you want to learn from me exactly?”

“All ‘em ropes, as they say. Even brought the village Fable Stone with me.” Mally held out a fiercely turquoise stone.

There were other better Brewers to seek out, and I told him as much. There were Brewer’s who dedicated themselves to all the quests laid available to them. I told him what I had heard about Erik Skullander; of course there was Hiccup. I told him about some of my favorite Brewer’s based on beers that I had acquired from local quests. Mally shook his head at every mention of another name.

I would not lose my ground; however, there was one last tactic.

At last I said, “Mally, I understand why it’s so important for you to work only with me, but there’s a lot I’m not willing to do. How about a solution we'd both be happy with?”

“Mm?”

“I have tuns which I don’t use much anymore. I’d be willing to put them on the ethereal tavern when it’s up and running. There’s a man named Evon that I see about once a week to discuss distributing various beers. Evon and I could meet up at the ethereal tavern, and while I’m there, I could spend some time brewing with you. Hiccup, as I’ve mentioned, could help us find the perfect Brewer for you to mentor with between my visits; someone very accomplished, who can give you their full attention.”

Mally paused like a cow lifting its head and bobbing its head to smell a shift in the wind. He finally frowned quite seriously and nodded. He went through his thoughts aloud. He liked that he could travel back to his home, drink the ethereal beer which would bring him to the ethereal tavern, and that he could return home.

Spending some time here and there throughout the course of a month to brew with Mally wouldn’t be so bad. And if I couldn’t fulfill that, I’d have another chat with him—and at least he wouldn’t be displaced from his village because of that.

Mally smiled big. “Lemme show you what I’m workin’ with.”

I followed him out of the creek and over to the wagons. Burlap sacks were stacked in the back of his. He unrolled the top of a half-filled sac, reached in, and cupped barley.

“Do you have a favorite beer style?” I said, handling the kernels he shared.

“I ain’t familiar with no styles, Mister Hawkin.”

With his grains and with melony armadillo hops, I brewed a crisp lager. The quality of the beer hit 06/100 Chimeric, up from the Lesser Chimeric quality.

“I just broke a quality barrier, which means this is my best beer so far. Let’s give it a try.”

Oh, how smooth lagers could be. The chill was like beaded water atop a block of ice under the sun. The aroma was sweet like melons just cracked in half. Faint pine turned the melon green, like moving from cantaloupe to honeydew. The malt was almost like corn cereal, or red quinoa fried into chips. There was a sweetness that was otherwise found in bread baked with poppyseed. I imagined that the barley came from land that sat in the middle of one flat horizon. Some land where the sun dried the grasses, and when it rained it flooded. Some land where herds of buffalo trampled the barley, and the air smelled like crisping cereal in an oven.

I had used one of my newest Gold rank skills: Dual Ribbons. In the hazy light of the beer, which was the color of frosted brown mercury, there were two twirling ribbons of mauve. They hit the tongue like syrups of wholegrain wheeled around grape and fig filling.

Ah!—But it was a good beer!

We named the beer Pluck O’ Nulibi.

And on our final sip, where we lapped up the last of the level 630 Warm Nougat beer foam, a commotion rose from the bridge.

In the creek, Wayan hefted Ellette on his shoulder beside the bridge. Hammer in hand, she helped knock the last remaining support, and the bridge stood. Voices rose in celebration.

…One more steep hill and it was straight to the sea.