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Book 3: Chapter 62: Beer Goggles

“Master Brewer Schist!” Her voice was wrinkly with age, and had the cultured tones of an Academy graduate. “What concerns me the most in all of this is your behaviour. I expected something like this to happen eventually, the Administration has been carelessly flaunting our traditions and craft such that it was inevitable, but I never would’ve imagined that it would be you standing in front of me. Master Stein, would you please list the Guild Ordinances these two breweries broke?”

An extremely short black-haired dwarf went to the front of the room and began writing Ordinances down on the board as he read them out. There were… quite a lot of them.

“Sale of unapproved brew.”

“Using unsanctioned brewing techniques.”

“Inciting a riot via promotion of excess consumption.”

“Sacred Brew not meeting Guild standards.”

“Unsanctioned use of Guild property.”

“Lack of regulation onion attire.”

I’d read the Guild Ordinances a dozen times by now, so none of the listed violations were a surprise to me. The bigger surprise was that nothing had been done about us until now. Many of those Ordinances could apply to everyone in the brewing contest.

The Guildmaster stared at us impassively as the violations were listed off, then drummed her fingers on the table in the following silence.

After an awkward minute of coughs and shuffling, she spoke. “In total, fifty businesses, one major thoroughfare, and – at minimum – ten thousand gold worth of city infrastructure was damaged. Over one hundred injured, requiring over twenty hours of time from the [Healers]. What do you two have to say for yourself?”

She asked it in the general sense, but her gaze was firmly locked on Schist.

“Maria…” Schist began.

“Don’t you Maria me! You will refer to me as Guildmaster Monk!” The Guildmaster snapped back with the venom of a woman scorned.

Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh.

I stepped back and tried to blend into the wall. Beside me, Annie did much the same.

Schist coughed and tried again. “Guildmaster Monk. We’re all aware of the ongoing tension between the Administration and guilds. As a long-standing Master of the Brewer’s Guild, I’m thankful the Guild has not chosen to take the same tack as the Blacksmith’s Guild in this matter.”

The Guildmaster scoffed. “Those fools are playing right into the Administration’s hands. We can see the runes on the wall, it’s clear that these ‘Octamillenial Events’ are an attack on the guilds’ power and prestige. We’ve been content to let it pass us by before taking any action.”

She nodded at Malt before continuing. “Additionally, information provided to us from Guildmaster Malt has kept the touch of the Guild light on the newcomers from Minnova. However, your actions have forced our hand! We cannot allow such incidents to continue without throwing the guild into chaos! No less than five Master Brewers handed in a request for your resignation as a Master Brewer, Schist!”

Now it was Schist’s turn to scoff. “Are any of them in the room right now? Would they care to make such a request to my face!? Not one year ago I proved myself the best damn Brewer in Kinshasa!I was brewing for centuries before any of you even thought of churning Ancestral Seed! ” He turned a baleful glare on the assembled Master Brewers, and they quailed back.

There was another moment of tense silence, but nobody spoke.

The Guildmaster slumped back into her seat with a sigh. “You see? Even we are divided. Fractious and stuffed full from a life of indulgence and fattened by our own brews. Too cowardly to be more than boats on a river, content to be swept away down Darkwater.”

One of the Master Brewers, a portly dwarf with a blonde dovetail beard, squeaked hotly, “Guildmaster – !”

“Be SILENT, Master Faucet!” Monk smashed a fist on the table. “If you are unable to stand up for your own convictions, I WILL NOT DO IT FOR YOU!”

The dwarf shrank back into his seat, his face red and puffy. Those seated next to him scooted their chairs away slightly, trying to distance themselves from him with literal distance.

“We cannot deny the allegations.” Schist began. Annie flinched, and I held back a groan. Our defence! “However, everything we did, we did for the good of the Brew! So much has changed in Crack since the First Brewer brewed. There are more gnomes! The East is now fully settled! The dungeons have become little more than ancient storehouses of the Gods ripe for us to loot. I can go out, right now, and have my leg lopped off and replaced with a working limb of metal and magic. And yet, in all that time, our craft has not improved one iota!”

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“It has no need for improvement!” Master Faucet scoffed. “The Sacred Brew is perfect! Blessed by Barck himself and kept pure by generations of our Ancestors!”

“Barck is the God of Innovation you DAFT FOOL!” Schist spat. “If you think he’s truly happy with it, you’re welcome to wait a few years and get his opinion from a [Prophet]! If he’s even willing to answer, you know how he is!”

Another Master held up their hand, and Guildmaster Monk pointed at them. This time it was a red-haired dwarfess with an Eastern accent.

“Master Schist, we all appreciate the hard work you’ve done as a Brewer. Can you tell us why

you decided to throw it all away on what appears to be a whim?” She asked, pointing vaguely in my direction. “And not even for a Feud! Just a simple wager against someone who isn’t even a Master Brewer??” Her voice was terse and full of confusion.

Schist looked in our direction, and a sad smile crossed his face before he turned back to the circle of Masters. “Before I answer your question Master Mcgrist. How many of you have started using the bottling system presented by the Thirsty Goat earlier this year? And made changes to improve sanitation as recommended by Brewer Roughtuff?”

Most of the Master Brewers shouted “Aye”, excepting Master Faucet and a few others.

Schist nodded. “Most of you. I can tell you why; it saves an incredible amount of time, it’s quite lucrative, and it results in better beer. Are there any objections to that? Or are you all lacking so much in the craft that you can’t tell gold from pyrite?”

“Now see here Master Schist! Are you calling the Sacred Brew pyrite!” Master Faucet objected hotly.

“No, you idiot! I’m making a metaphor! The point is, you’ve all already seen the positive in the changes proposed by the Thirsty Goat!” Schist cracked back. “This contest was the first time, and perhaps the last, that I stretched my legs as a Master and saw where my skills could take me! Most of you haven’t felt the need yet, but you will, just give it another couple centuries. Maria knows what I’m talking about!”

“Pfah! Mushy talk fer Mushfolk!!” Faucet sneered.

“You’ve got a head harder than diamond, Faucet!”

Schist and Faucet began to bicker, in slowly raising volume.

Several of the Masters had begun nodding along with Schist as he spoke, and I felt some weight come off my shoulders. Our hard work, and Guildmaster Malt’s hadn’t been for nothing. The Guild was primed for change, and just needed a little push.

I glanced at Annie and gave a little waggle of my head. Her lips firmed and she nodded. It was time to make our pitch.

I held up a hand.

“Brewer Roughtuff, I’ll take your statements later.” The Guildmaster stated curtly over the din.

“I actually had a question?”

“That was a question. But you are young, and it is the wont of youth to ask foolish questions, I will allow another.”

“Is what we made actually Sacred Brew?”

Monk gave me a curious look, and pulled at her beard. “By the Guild Ordinances… It would be difficult to say. Did you use the Ancestral Seed provided in a direct line from the First Brewer to the Thirsty Goat Brewery?”

“... No?”

She gave me a blank look.

“I made my own.”

“You… made your own Ancestral Seed.”

“Aye.”

“You made your own Ancestral Seed. The gift imparted by our Ancestors.”

“Yes?”

She picked up the bottle of Dragonator beside her and sniffed it. She then took a small sip and shivered. “Ugh, I can’t get used to it. Let’s assume I accept your preposterous claim that you didn’t use the proper Ancestral Seed, and I’ve read the reports on your brewing apparatus, you certainly didn’t use the traditional Brewing techniques to make this. And the bittering agent is different as well…”

“She invented tha bittering agent.” I pointed at Annie, who smiled nervously.

At this point several of the other Masters had caught on to the topic of our conversation and were listening in.

Annie and I had both agreed that springboarding off of Master Schist was going to be our best bet for getting the ‘It’s Not Sacred Brew’ plan to succeed. Especially after the Redlip Riot. Who cared if the Guild said we couldn’t compete as Brewers anymore? If they did, they’d have to nail Schist to the wall too, because he’d never let them censure us while he got off scot free. And Schist was the most popular Brewer in town – it’d be an even worse riot than Redlip.

The Guildmaster placed the bottle of Dragonator down with distaste. “Then tell me. If you didn’t make Sacred Brew, then what did you make?”

Schist was eyeing me with a ‘what the hell are you doing?’ look, but I ignored him and continued, raising my voice to address the crowd. “What Master Schist was sayin’ was true. The skills of the Master Brewers have stagnated. Of all tha crafts in Kinshasa, ours is the only one that only allows a single recipe. Fer all their faults, the Blacksmith’s guild allows their smiths ta create more than just a single sword. Can an [Alchemist] be considered a Master if they only ever make one potion? Can ya truly call yourselves Masters if you’ve never actually contributed to tha growth of yer craft?”

“Now see here, Brewer!” Master Faucet shouted. “My clan has been providing Sacred Brew to the dwarves of Kinshasa for millenia! If the guild Ordinances didn’t allow it in this space, I would demand a Feud for your slander!”

“And Kinshasa no doubt thanks you fer yer service. But that was tha city. How have ya furthered the craft of Brewing? Have ya found a way to improve the carbonation? Ta reduce the failure rate? Since I arrived in Kinshasa I’ve invented several machines that I’ve shared willingly with you all, and that I know many of you use. Even the one piece of equipment I know fer certain every dwarf in here approves of – the Whistlemug – was invented by a gnome! Not a [Brewer], A gnomish [MERCHANT]! What have ya done fer Brewin’ that can match that!?”

Master Faucet flinched and collapsed back into his seat. The Master Brewers were similarly struck dumb, and I sent a silent thank you to Whistlemop. I’d have to make things up to him soon.

Monk spun her hand in circles. “What is your point, Brewer Roughtuff?”

“My point, Master Monk, is that perhaps these events are an opportunity fer tha Guild to grow. A King has no throne without a Kingdom and to be first means nothin’ if there’s no second. The best way fer us ta respect our Traditions and the Ancestors would be to make the Sacred Brew one among many. What we made was not Sacred Brew, it was just beer, brewed by [Brewers].”

Everyone clapped.

Okay, actually, the room devolved into screaming and shouting and the axes came out. But a dwarf can dream.