Beers and Beards

Chapter 41: Rough and Tuff

“Dunno how ya can stand that.” Balin muttered. He was drinking some ale from a repurposed teacup, and I think I saw the barista shudder every time he took a sip. A passing waiter gave Balin a sharp look, before he sniffed loudly and started cleaning a table.

“Well, Balin, we need to take a moment.”

“Couldn’t we do it at Annie’s? Why’d you choose this place?” He waved his hand, gesturing at the inside of the gnomish café.

“We should make a battle plan before we go see your future father-in-law, Balin.”

“Oh… I didn’t think of that.”

“Of course not, that’s your best dwarf’s job! Your job is to be hopelessly and foolishly in love. Also, I didn’t choose to come here, I just followed my nose.” I finished off my cup of coffee and gave thanks to Tiara that coffee existed here. “This is the life.”

“It’s not bad. Better’n a mine.”

“Really? I figured it wasn’t your… cup of tea.” I pointed at the slightly foamy tea cup.

“Harr harr.” Balin took another sip. “A fire an’ a comfy chair beat a hard bench and cold stone.”

While I had been following Balin, agog, the scent of coffee and pastries had overwhelmed my every sense, grabbed hold of my appetite, and seduced me across the street into a quaint little Gnomish café called ‘Joejam Cuppa’. We’d bought our drinks, slumped down into a pair of plush leather recliners, and relaxed after our long journey. We’d also taken the opportunity to use their washroom and change our clothes. Grim had let us keep the fancy suits, and Doc Opal had fixed all the tears and cuts as a going away present. A small wash up in the sink and we were a pair of fiiine lookin’ dwarves.

That’s right, a sink, with running water. And a toilet; a flushing, porcelain throne. With a bidet. I sat upon it and was for a brief moment the king of all I surveyed. It was Glory. I forgave all the Gods for every slight and every wrong that had been done to me since I arrived on Erd. Indeed, I had sold my soul for running water and a flushing toilet and would do it again in a heartbeat.

“One sec while I refill this.” A couple other gnomes had come and gone, and I didn’t want to overstay our welcome. Besides, one cup wasn’t enough.

I made my way up to the front, got a fresh cup of chocolate gold and sat back down. “Alright Balin, Iet’s talk about what we’re going to do at Annie’s.”

Balin looked up from where he was nose deep in a tart.

“Mrmph?”

“You wanted to introduce yourself to Annie’s father as a carpenter, right?”

“Mrhmhm.” He nodded, his mouth still full of pastry.

“Do you… still want to do that now that you’re a [Knight]? I’m absolutely not the dwarf to deny a fellow dwarf’s dreams, but has your new Title changed anything?”

Balin thought for a while and turned his head from side to side while he chewed. He swallowed and licked his lips before he answered.

“I’m… not sure Pete. I still want to, but I dunno if it’s tha best I could do fer Annie.”

“Captain Morris did say that you were gifted at fighting. I… don’t know enough about Dwarven society to tell if that’s more or less appealing to a future father-in-law than a carpenter.”

Balin clicked his tongue a few times. “Well… carpentry is often a business fer tha whole family line. It makes good money. Sons learn from their fathers, and daughters from their mothers, and tha whole family earns silver cuttin’, shapin’, and installin’.”

“That sounds a lot like my world too. Families are even given the last name ‘carpenter’. I’m guessing it’s respectable?”

“Aye, it is. At tha other end o’ tha beard, becomin’ an adventurer or a famous warrior makes that family line in tha’ first place.”

“So… adventuring is more prestigious and valuable. Assuming you don’t die.”

“That’s tha hard part.”

“Don’t die Balin.”

“I’ll try fer yer sake Pete.”

We clicked our cups in a mock toast.

“I’m your best dwarf Balin, but I don’t think I want to say anythin’ that may push you one way or the other. My advice? Ask Annie before you make any serious decisions. She’s the one who will suffer the most if somethin’ happens to you in the dungeon.”

“Aye…” Balin’s brow furrowed.

“Can’t hurt to introduce yourself as a titled [Knight] though. I could be your squire!”

Balin held his nose up, imperiously. “Fetch me mah arms squire.”

“I can’t milord! They’re already attached to yer torso!” We both chuckled a bit.

“What about you Pete? Now that I know yer… you know, I understand why ya knew all those weird foods and drinks. What are yer plans?”

“That depends…” I sighed. “I had this grand dream of sweeping in and making massive changes to the brewery, but there’s no way that’s gonna fly. I’ve learned my lesson on that. I think I’m just going to introduce myself as a hard worker, and do what I can to earn some trust.”

Balin snorted. “Addin’ lemons ta beer is one thing Pete, dunno if you have that much to teach a real brewer.”

I held up one hand with all my fingers showing and quirked an eyebrow. Balin looked at it quizzically. “Wha’s that?”

“The number of different brews I’ve made.”

“Five brews? Tha’s pretty impressive Pete. We only really have tha two, so that might be worth something. There might be a bit o’ grumblin,’ but if they’re good brews, it could be worth gold.” Balin sipped his beer thoughtfully.

“Not five. Five hundred.”

Balin spat his beer all over my face.

“Five hundred brews?!” He passed me a napkin while he goggled at me. I wiped my face clean then glanced down at my shirt with trepidation. Thankfully, my beard had kept the suit safe. It would have been awful to show up at the brewery in beer stained clothes.

“Yes. Give or take.”

“Pete… what in tha Nether were ya?” Balin’s eyes grew even wider in his awestruck face.

“I was a master brewer. Famed throughout the land.” Well, that was a bit

“By tha firmament, yer not jokin’...” He whispered.

“No, quite serious. Alcohol was my life.”

“Weren’t ya human? How long did humans live on yer world?”

“Same as here.”

“How did ya make so many brews then?!”

“I just… tried everything.” I began counting down my fingers. “Stouts, pilsners, lagers, ambers, coffee ales, amber ales, IPAs, goses. That doesn’t even take into consideration the nearly infinite number of adjuncts that can be added to the wort.” I glanced up at Balin, whose chin was about to hit the floor. “You should close yer mouth Balin, you look like a beardfish.”

He closed it with a *clack* and leaned over the table. “Pete, ya can’t just waltz into Annie’s brewery and say ‘I know more beer recipes than there are master brewers in all o’ Crack!”

I paused for a moment, arrested. “Wow, that few?”

“It’s a closely guarded family business. Most o’ tha brewing families have been around fer thousands o’ years!”

“I mean, I knew that, but I didn’t realize it meant there were barely any brewers.” I waved my hand dismissively, pushing the discussion aside. “Well I realized I couldn’t just waltz into the brewery, which is why I stopped here to discuss this before I suffered an ‘axe-iddent’.”

“This is serious Pete. Yer a walkin’ fireball waitin’ ta go off!”

“I know,” I sighed, “between the Radler, the ginger beer, and everything with Tim, I’m not going to make waves if I can avoid it. I think I still have the potential to make Annie a lot of money, even with small changes to start.”

Balin sat back in his seat and took a deep breath. “Ar\'right. You’ve put some thought in, I can see that. Now, how do we introduce ourselves?”

“I was thinking… as kin?”

“Really?”

“If you’re okay with it. I… don’t really have any attachment to my family name.” I felt myself flush a bit and hid it behind a fake cough.

“If you want ta be a Roughtuff, Pete… I’d be happy to have ya. No, my ancestors would be proud ta have you.” Balin teared up a bit, and we shared a handclasp over the table.

“Peter Roughtuff,” I mused, “It doesn’t sound too bad.”

“We’ll need ta get it recorded at city hall.” Balin grinned.

“We can do that eventually, first let me tell you about some of my ideas for the future prosperity of the Roughtuff clan.”

“Nothin’ too grand to start, right?”

“Nope! I want to start with bubbles!”

“Bubbles?” Balin asked, quizzically.

“It’s something that Annie was already working on. There’s barely any carbon dioxide in the local brews. The beer in the mine barely had any.”

“Ah. I did notice that tha beer in tha mine had less bubbly than usual.”

“There probably isn’t that much in the first place. There’s a lot of reasons for that, and I’m pretty sure I can guess some of them based on Annie’s unfortunate accident.”

“Really?”

I glanced around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. The building was a bit busier now, and the staff were studiously trying to stay away from our table. I leaned in and lowered my voice anyway. “Yeah, I know some of the history of beer, and dwarven beer seems to be quite similar to my world’s original method.”

“How can ya tell?”

“The flavour, the body, the carbonation, and some of the stuff Annie said. I’ll tell you one thing, when we get to her brewery, I can almost guarantee there will be a bunch of giant open vats that they use for primary fermentation.”

“Words, Pete, make this easier for me. What’s tha problem?”

“The old methods for beer result in a mostly flat beer. It’s why everyone was so amazed by my pilsner glass. The narrow shape let what little carbonation there was create a head, which isn’t usually visible.” I missed that glass. Grim had never given it back. Apparently they’d decided it was not worth any more fighting in the camp. I needed to go get another one here in town.

“How are ya’ goin’ to fix it?”

“There’s a few methods. Annie had the right idea for one of them.”

Balin smiled brightly. “She is a smart one!”

“That she is, but there are a dozen errors she could have made. I had to custom design lots of fermentation vessels, so I can help her make it work.”

Balin whistled. “She may not be allowed to.”

“Maybe, but it’s something that I can do that is more Annie than me.” I tapped my finger on the side of my nose.

“I see. You’d be usin’ yer knowledge, but everyone would think it was Annie.” Balin nodded his head. “Smart.”

“Right? If that succeeds, I can get Annie to put in a good word with her dad.”

“After that?”

“I want to improve the clarity of the beer.” I pointed into Balin’s cup. “Do you see the stuff left on the bottom of the cup?”

Balin peered into the cup. “Aye, that’s tha body o’ tha beer. It adds some chew to it.”

I shuddered. “That’s not supposed to be there, and can make the beer far more sour than it needs to be. It should really be filtered after fermentation or dealt with before it gets into the wort. That’s a small change that can massively improve the body of the beer without affecting the flavour too much.”

Balin tapped his fingers on the table as he thought about it. I finished off the last of my coffee as he did so. It was no Tim Hortons, but it would do; Joejam had a loyal new customer. Oh caffeine, how I missed you.

“I think that might work Pete.”

“I put a lot of thought into it. I’ve got a few other ideas, but they can wait. I’ll need Annie’s dad to trust me first.” I sighed, lamenting that I couldn’t simply grab the reins of power.

“What are some of those ideas?” Balin asked, as he chewed on the crud at the bottom of his cup.

I shuddered again. Ew. “Well, branding would be a good start.”

“Branding? Like goats?”

“Same idea. I noticed that there’s a maker’s mark on most of the beer casks, but nothing that really said ‘THIS BEER WAS MADE BY THE GOLDSTONES’.”

“What would that do?”

“A few things, but most importantly, it would help me bring something to this world. Something I didn’t notice in the streets while we were walking here. Something more dreadful than even boomdust.”

“What’s that?” Balin leaned in, his voice quivering in trepidation.

“ADVERTISING.”