Chapter 31

Plan of Acquisition

There was no better place to polish Ashlee’s mash paddle than the central fountains in the garden. I received the occasional spray of water when the wind blew, but I didn’t mind. The cloth I used was new. It wicked away the blood and gore from the dowels with ease. New stains on the wood simply saturated old stains. For an hour, I suffered wonderful memories.

I was smiling wistfully when I heard the click of boots approaching down a corridor of the gardens. I set the paddle across my lap and folded the cloth away. Abigail entered. She gave a small wave, a small smile, and took seat beside me.

“Where is everyone else?” She said.

“Down at my tavern on Rue St. Kinni,” I said.

“How was it?”

“It was pleasant. Something bronze rank adventurers would be safe exploring; long enough to make silver rank adventures gruntled. We had a blast. But it’s brought up fiercely wonderful memories and I feel shaken.”

Abigail let out a deep breath and said, “I’m so sorry, Ethan.”

“I’d like to thank you,” I said. “It has been a painful few days, but this dungeon lager has been a welcome event. Please relay my thanks to Hawkin.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear it. He’s worked hard on that beer. He’s got five hundred more gallons of it.”

“Has he? That seems an awful lot for such a unique beer—although it tastes silver made.”

“Does it?”

“Yes, but the experience is odd. It doesn’t taste of anything tangible. It tastes of experiences, of memories, of moments in time. It’s an odd thing. Have you ever come upon a smell that took you back to your childhood? In your case, imagine the aroma of a freshly baked fig pie. You’d probably remember bygone days in Salindune.”

“Happens all the time,” Abigail said.

“Now imagine that happening without the aroma of fig pie—the memories are the aroma; are the flavor.”

“Sort of like day dreaming?”

“Yes, that’s a fair mark on the matter. It’s almost like drinking a daydream. Instead of malt, I tasted the day my mother introduced chocolate to me for the first time. Emphasis on the day, not the chocolate. I tasted the month before spring more than twenty-some years ago. My mother had just returned and she had with her a block of chocolate. That day was filled with her boisterous excitement. She was overjoyed and I helped her make chocolate filled pastries after sundown. It was as if Hawkin knew me on that day—bottled that day and took the paint from it.”

“What about the flavor of the beer though? He used a dark lager recipe to brew it.”

“I’m having a difficult time communicating that it did have flavor, but the flavor wasn’t what you and I are used to. Sensations of salt, sugar, bitter, acid, and savorous. None of those things composed it. My senses were filled with memories that should not have flavor, but did.”

“I’m quite intrigued,” Abigail said at last.

“I’m also intrigued, especially about the five hundred gallons you mentioned he’s brewed. I propose that I buy the entire lot from Hawkin. The loot of the dungeon is mediocre for any gold rank adventurer, but the experience and complexity of the monsters warrants a high price. Please relay to Hawkin that I’d like to purchase every available barrel of this beer for one thousand five hundred gold per barrel.”

“That’s got to be record breaking for a silver rank Brewer.”

“Perhaps so, but I don’t make the offer because I want five hundred gallons of his beer. I plan to sell the beer for upwards of six gold per pint. I’ve made innumerable correspondence with acquaintances far and wide who already scour the world for ethereal Brewer’s ingredients. They will pay handsomely for the beer itself when I let them know I’ve some for sale. Heavens, I’ve got a messenger from the Alik family in my mansion.”

“I heard,” Abigail said. “I didn’t believe the rumor until now.”

“How open do you think he will be to my offer?”

“He sells goblin spit beer to goblins and orcs for almost nothing. His goddess wants him to move his beer to market, so yes, I’d say he’s going to be open to it.”

“I’d certainly like to meet him,” I said. “One thousand five hundred is a lot. It would be a shame not to meet the man behind the beer.”

“From what I know about him, that might be tough. He’s a private man.”

“He’s made contracts with the orcs and goblins though. Why not with me directly as well?”

“He’s not the one to have done that. Thrush is the one who’s sold his beer as far south from his camp as Omes Arbor. Thrush is the one who contracted the supply of beer to the orcs and goblins.”

“Ah. Thrush.”

“The very one.”

“Could I meet with him then? Would that be easier?”

Abigail tilted her head in thought. “He’s not a Brewer, so he can’t portal to Lavenfauvish.”

“I’ll portal there then, by your beer.”

“That’s a firm “no” from Hawkin. He’s asked me to respect his privacy when it comes to bringing others there via Brewer’s Portal attribute.”

“If he does agree to my price, how will he deliver the beer then?”

“Not by me, that’s for certain. The weight of more than ten barrels coupled with portaling so far would take too much energy from me. I would be exhausted for a day and a half.”

“There are ways that we could efficiently transport these beers,” I said. “But from our conversation it looks as though we’ll have to trade by sea.”

“That’s something to consider,” Abigail said. “I’ll discuss things with him and get back to you.”

∞

Abigail and I spent much of the afternoon discussing Hawkin, Thrush, and eventually the Oude Brewer’s Competition. We were enjoying a lovely cherry sour ale when friends and acquaintances entered the sun room that overlooked the city.

Butlers preceded the arrivals. Erik came to say hello to Abigail and she was soon burdened with different versions of our adventure by everyone at once. Erik, by far the best storyteller, painted the experience of our dungeon exploration with passion.

“…and you should have seen Mr. Riggvelte,” Erik said. “His fists ironed out monsters as though they were mere wrinkles. All well and good, I must say, but I'm surprised he wasn’t lashing opponents with a soft tape ruler.”

That brought out good natured laughter from everyone which was then stoked when Riggvelte responded with, “I do carry one on me at all times but it’s for emergencies in case I get hemmed in.”