Chapter 79

Little Spuck

Abigail

In the beer cave beneath Hiccup’s mansion, he and Erik could not place the beer I described to them. Even my Collector’s Journal showed nothing, not even an image of the beer.

“Grafth is Oblivion ranked,” I said. “Could it be that the brewer was also oblivion rank?”

Hiccup blew a raspberry and shook his head. “There’s no such brewer beyond diamond rank.”

“That we know of,” said Erik.

“They would hide at such an impossible rank?” said Hiccup, to which Erik and I shrugged.

Over a crisp ale with marshmallow white foam, we hypothesized what beer Hawkin and I had shared. When there was nothing left to discuss about the matter, the topic of conversation turned to Thrush’s recent delivery.

“I am quite pleased with everything,” Hiccup said. “I was expecting half what Thrush delivered.” He rubbed his hands at that.

Behind us, in the deep shadows of the cave, butlers held lit candelabras while others stacked barrels of Hawkin’s ethereal beers—not that the candles added much light against what the barrels threw.

“Back up,” said Erik. “This highly ranked beer inspired you and Hawkin to break your respective ranks by brewing beer by hand? Without the aid of Brewer skills?”

“Seven more days of fermentation,” I said. “We’ll see what happens.”

“You might be advancing to diamond rank,” said Hiccup. “We’ll have to celebrate.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

My companions raised their eyebrows at each other and nodded.

Suddenly, Erik startled. “Ah! Speaking of brewing, I drank that goblin spit beer.”

“Oh no!” I said, grimacing. “I couldn’t ever try one again.”

“Well it was better than my gravy beer and chunky beer. In fact, I saw something in it so I decided to clone it.”

“I believe you're missing a crucial ingredient,” said Hiccup. “Unless you…” He gulped.

“Yes, I did try using my own spit. Didn’t work, but my experience brewing strange beer helped. Remember that stout I told you about? The one I brewed with okra?”

Hiccup shook his head. “I do.”

“I’ve been working with a farmer nearby. Name’s Ed. He cultivates various strains of okra. All right, let me start from the beginning! Obviously I’m going to enter next spring’s Oude Brewers Competitive. I wanted to brew something that would turn the judges inside out this time. All of them! I thought okra would do the trick. Anyway, Ed has three strains of okra: Little Spuck, Big Slip, and Super Ooze. The closest I could get to cloning goblin spit beer was by using the Little Spuck cultivar. The other two produced slimy beers that were too difficult to drink. They turned the beer into long strings of melted cheese.”

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In the shadows, one butler dry heaved. Riggvelte whispered harshly. One other dry heaved. Someone—probably Riggvelte—sharply snapped their fingers.

Erik withdrew a bottle of beer from his inventory. “This is it. It’s different from goblin spit beer, but it was as close as I could get to cloning it. Technically it’s a different recipe; however, I decided to pay respect to the one responsible for the sudden surge of goblin spit beer in Lavenfauvish.”

Erik passed me the bottle. It was cigar-shaped. The bottom wasn’t flat, it was rounded, and the bottle would have to be laid on its side. The label, a thick sheet of cloth pasted on the glass, was decorated with sheaves of wheat in the corners. It read: Slime-tooth’s GoblinSpuck, Cloned by E. Skullander.

Riggvelte was by Hiccup’s side in the next instant, slightly bowed. Hiccup motioned for the bottle which I passed to him. Riggvelte popped the cork, poured himself a thimble’s worth and tasted the beer. He held onto the corner of the couch as though to brace himself from fainting.

“This is a beverage beyond my knowledge,” mustered Riggvelte against what was probably a burgeoning urge to cough. “I estimate that these might be the best to serve this beer in.” With that he withdrew a silver tray with 3 squat mugs upon it. The mugs looked like squished tankards. “Eighters,” Riggvelte called them. He poured Erik’s beer into all 3. I felt myself blanch as an eighter was passed to me.

Hiccup raised his eighter. “To Abigail’s potential advancement.”

I watched my body raise my eighter and clink it with Erik’s and Hiccup’s. I locked off airflow through my nose and dove into the foam. My lips landed on the rim and I tilted the eighter up for a sip.

To my absolute relief, the beer tasted fair. It was easy to tell that the beer was silver rank, with only the texture holding it back. The malt was green-brown, and the hops offered a hint of fresh cut grass and hard cheese rinds. It was a savory beer for sure. The liquid almost refused to behave like water. It stuck together and the tongue had to break the liquid into manageable gulps. But against authentic goblin spit beer, it was fun!

Erik must have deciphered delighted surprise from my expression. “You like it!”

“I don’t know if I’d say I like it. I have to be honest, I’m traumatized by my few experiences of goblin spit beer.”

Hiccup smacked his lips and squinted at the ceiling. “It’s…a novelty beer? Do you know what I mean? Something a bit fun and extraordinary.”

Erik laughed long and loud. “I think I will; I think I will enter this beer into the Oude Brewers Competitive!”

“This must have been difficult to brew,” I said.

“Figuring out the recipe put me behind schedule, but otherwise I can brew it as fast as any other beer.”

I bit off another gulp and realized, “It's like drinking bubbles of beer!”

“That’s what it is!” said Hiccup.

“Is it really that easy to brew?”

“Same as a crisp ale, or a gush ale, even a strong ale, yes,” said Erik.

I examined the contents of my eighter. “Would the goblins like this?”

“Humans would,” said Hiccup. “Beer collectors have been making the pilgrimage to Green-fin down at the pier to try Hawkin’s goblin spit beer. I’ve sent butlers to escort some of our guests there! And I’m glad. I’ve grown quite fond of the goblins since meeting Barnacle-eyes.”

“But would the goblins like something like this? Maybe we could help Slime-tooth. He wouldn’t have to suffer so much supplying so much goblin spit.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” said Erik. “Here, take a few bottles. Give ‘em to Slime-tooth and see what he says. I’m sure he and I could come to an arrangement of some sort. He’s the one that’s being worked to death?”

I nodded. “Oh Erik, would you be willing to see if we can help him? I feel like it’s a thing of life and death for him. He’s like a father to Barnacle-eyes. I know him. He’s such a kind thing.”