Beers and Beards

Book 3: Chapter 50: Goats

Mcbuttle wrung his beard in flustered embarrassment. “I don’t know how she got away! I’m so sorry!”

Annie looked equally embarrassed. “It’s alright. It’s your rosebush she’s eating. Penelope! No! Bad Goat!”

*Bleeeehhh* [Translated From Primma Donna Goat] “Hush! Do not disturb a lady while she’s eating.”

“So this is the famous Penelope?” Tourmaline, who was currently in the guise of Wreck, said. “I can understand why you call her a princess.”

“‘Cause she’s so cute?” I asked, moving forward to give Penelope a pat on the head. The lovely goat gave me a mutter in return and turned her head to get scritches on the base of her horn. She didn’t stop eating though.

“No. Because she’s as egotistical as any princess I’ve met.”

Opal rounded on her [Butler]. “Mcbuttle, why is there a goat eating mother’s prize rose bushes?”

Mcbuttle blanched. “I don’t know, milady! She’s a big white unigoat! Somebody should’ve seen her come in!”

“The protective enchantments didn’t catch her?”

“They’re not set for animals, or the cats would set them off constantly…” Mcbuttle hung his head.

Opal sighed. “That will need to change, clearly. See what you can arrange.”

Mcbuttle scratched his head. “Yes, of course. What shall we do with the goat for now?”

“Want me ta cook ‘er, Opal?” Bran grumbled.

Opal waved the comment away.

“I’m so sorry, Opal, we can pay for the roses.” Annie muttered.

“No, it’s fine. We should’ve taken better care of your little princess. I’ll make a complaint to the gate guard. You head out, and we’ll talk later, okay? Thanks Annie.”

“Of course Opal.” Annie leaned forward to give Opal a hug and did the same to Tourmaline.

Tourmaline stiffened, but accepted the hug. “I’ll see about getting you into the Lyceum,” she said. “Sometime in the next two months should work. I’ll let you know the next time we talk.”

We said our goodbyes, got a solid hornbar on a complaining Penelope, then carted her, literally, back home – sans Bran. We sat in silence for the first stretch; there was a lot to think about.

As we made our way through the gates of Redwall, Annie turned to me. “I’m sorry Pete. I know you don’t like Harmsson, but Wreck needs our help. You know what they’ve been saying about nobles at the Goat. She is a noble, and all of this could have a serious impact on her. I just… need to help her.”

I scratched the back of my head. “You two were really close, huh?”

Annie nodded. “Aye. She helped me adapt to life in the mine, and was the one who got me out of my funk and encouraged me to get out early. It’s thanks to her that I designed that minecart oil. Balin helped too, of course, but none of it would’ve been possible without her.”

Annie had escaped the reform mine early thanks to a minecart lubricant of her own design. It gave me the idea to make gunpowder, so in a way Tourmaline was responsible for us getting into the Thirsty Goat.

I flicked the reins on Penelope to make her go faster. She complained, but acquiesced.

“Then I guess we’re helping. Nothing overt though,” I cautioned. “I don’t want anyone asking questions, and definitely don’t tell Bando about it. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. Just… share stuff you overhear and that should be enough. Definitely don’t trust or pass on anything Bando tells you.”

Annie bit her lip, then blurted, “What should we do about Sam and Drum? Didn’t you say they’re working for Harmsson?”

I chuckled ruefully. “I’m surprised ya didn’t say somethin’ about it right away.”

“I know you have a similar relationship with Sam as I do with Wreck. What should we do?”

I thought before answering. “There isn’t much loss in telling her who they are. They can take care of themselves, and she probably needs to watch out for them. Especially since I suspect they were the ones that went after her [Detective].”

Annie started in her seat. “You think so?”

“Aye, Drum had a nasty wound. Richter healed it up, so we can ask him if it looked duck related. It\'ll be impossible to prove though, so don\'t pass that on. What in Barck’s Green Pastures is a duck anyway, and why were you lot freakin’ out about it?”

“A duck is a waterfowl slightly larger than a unigoat. They aren’t monsters per-se but they share certain characteristics, like an affinity to mana and can even form a core. They’re just as vicious too, and ply the waterways and sewers all over North Erden. They’re a nightmare for travelers.” Annie shivered. “I can’t believe someone was keeping one as a pet.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Our conversation lapsed back into silence. In a short while Annie and Balin started chatting about their next work-out session, and I had some time to myself.

There was just so much that could go wrong here. While we weren’t technically spying, I could see some overzealous true believer like Bando thinking it was spying. Not to mention I still wasn’t sure that Harmsson was in the wrong. There absolutely were

problems with dwarven society that needed a mix up.

But I drew the line at serious violence, which seemed to be the approaching endgame for everyone right now. Harmsson talked nice about his Great Charter and the Octamillenial March, but there was no way the old guard were just going to lay over and take it.

For now, I’d just think of it as gossiping with an old friend. Which, of course, Wreck was. Plus, having her in our court could be helpful in the long run.

Heh. Look at me. Decrying the tyranny of the Lords while setting myself up to take advantage of it at the same time. Hypocrite much, Pete?

But there just weren’t any other options I could see. Tourmaline was a God-approved comrade and dive teammate who was looking out for us, and all she wanted in return was for us to look out for her.

Put that way, it wasn’t too bad.

We arrived at our tavern without anything else catching our eyes, and wandered in. Lovely old Rosie was busy shining the lintel, and she gave us a cheery nod before returning to work.

Balin gave Annie a kiss then begged leave to do his afternoon axe practice.

That just left me and Annie. The rest of the crew were nowhere to be seen, so we wandered into the brewroom to relax.

Of course, for a pair of workaholics, resting on our day off meant discussing brews.

“Alright, Pete.” Annie said, as she plunked into her chair in the office. “I like your imperial brew idea. Do you have anything else?”

“Aye, what about you?”

She sighed. “Not really. Honestly, these themed contests really throw me.”

“I can see that. To answer yer question, Penelope actually gave me an idea.”

Annie raised an eyebrow, “Penelope?”

“Aye. See, we’re up against a larger than life opponent, and that requires a larger than life beer. There’s only one beer from back on Earth that fits the bill. A goat.”

Annie chortled. “They had a beer called ‘A Goat’? Have I told you recently that your old world was weird?”

“Recently? No. Often? Yes. More precisely, it was a type of beer called ‘Ein Bock’, which translates to a ‘A Billy Goat’. Or just Bock, fer short.”

Annie glanced over at a painting of Penelope the something somethingth up on the wall of the office and chuckled. “Penelope would appreciate that. What makes it so special?”

I settled into my chair for a long lesson. “It’s a lager – a Light Brew – from Einbeck, in Germany. Einbeck’s brewers had a lager with a distinctive heavy malt flavour. It was sweeter, thicker, and just more everythin’ than regular Light Brew. They made it by using a heavy amount of barley malt without any other adjuncts. They also used less bittering agent than usual so the malt could really pop

. Oh, and there’s an extra stage during the brewing process called decoction, but I’ll get into that later.”

“You’ve mentioned this Germany place quite often in your stories.” Annie said, taking a seat across from me and pouring herself a barista brew. She offered me some as well and I accepted it graciously. “Were they great brewers, then?”

“No doubt they’d claim they were tha best. It’s true that a lot of tha history of beer is centered around ‘em.” I shrugged. “Part of it is due to a cultural fascination with beer. They were quite like the dwarves in that way, though they were always experimenting rather than obsessing.”

Annie frowned into her beer. “I wish it was like that here.”

“Give it time. Over time, in the nearby capital of Munich, the brewers fell in love with the Einbeck style, and they adopted it with their own darker Munich malts. They couldn’t quite pronounce Einbeck either, so they jokingly changed it to ‘Ein Bock’ – ‘A Billy Goat’. It’s now traditional to put a goat on the label of bock beers. ”

Annie took a sip from her glass, smiling under her moustache. “Should’ve been a chicken.”

I twitched, then continued. “The Einbeck style was lost in a massive fire, but the Munich bock lived on. For the contest, I thought we could try an imperial bock called a doppelbock. There a trippelbock too, but it’d probably be too much bock.”

Annie snorted her brew. “You sound like a chicken.”

I waved my arms like wings. “Bock bock bock!”

Annie sipped her beer. “How does it compare to our current brews?”

“It’s quite literally so thick and meaty that it was used as food.” I pantomimed spooning food out of my tankard and chewing on it.

Annie scoffed. “That’s ridiculous… you’ve managed to get everyone using beer in food, but beer isn’t food. Unless your crazy world managed to do it.”

“No, really! Doppelbocks were invented by monks livin’ near Munich. They had a religious holiday called lent that required ‘em to abstain from eatin’ certain foods. Of course, beer wasn’t food, so they decided to make a beer so thick and strong that it practically was food. They sipped on it to help keep their bellies full, then shared it with the populace in a feast when lent ended.”

“I have heard of dwarves trying to survive on nothing but beer and meat. It never ends well.”

“Well, no. It’s not a healthy way to live.”

Annie hopped to her feet and went over to her work desk before pulling out her notebook. “Sounds good. What do you need to get started?”

“There’s two big hurdles. We don’t have any munich malt, and yeast tends to die off at a high ABV.”

Annie took some notes and nodded for me to continue.

“We have enough unique species of erdroots that it should be possible to get the malt flavour right. I’m thinkin’ a bit of the Umber will give it a slight kick and a darker colour, maybe with some of the Kinshasa Erdroot we used for the gose.”

“Very well. I’ll call around and stock up on every kind of malted Erdroot possible. Do you have a solution for the yeast problem?”

“I think so. Give me a day to work on it, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay. Let’s make the first batch right after we crack the Light Brew.”

We knocked our mugs together, then headed our separate ways. I had high ABV yeast to cultivate!