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Book 3: Chapter 35: Odd Couples

“They have good teamwork.” Copperpot said.

I nodded. “Aye. They practice together in the mornin’; they both lost their families to monster attacks and they want to be ready in case somethin’ ever happens again.”

Balin and Annie began circling in different directions, sandwiching Draconis between them. The dwarf, who was still wearing his trademark red lizard leather pants and belt, struck a pose and breathed a small spout of fire into the air. We all cheered at the theatrical taunt. It worked too, as Balin darted in and grabbed at the wrestler’s feet. As Draconis went to bring an elbow down on Balin’s head, Annie dashed in with a lariat and connected with his neck, bringing him and Balin down to the ground.

The trio fell into a tangled pile and everyone in the room rose to their feet, whooping. Our shouts turned to groans as Draconis somehow managed to put Annie into an armbar, with Balin locked between his knees.

“Arghhh! Give! Give!” Annie shouted. Balin seemed a bit choked up, and was just flailing an arm instead, his face turning blue.

“Ach! It was a good fight, eh!” Draconis said, jumping to his feet. ‘Yer a pair of naturals!”

“Not me.” Annie whoofed. “But Balin is an Adventurer.”

“Oh, are ye?” Draconis said, given Balin another look. “Aye, I can see it. Are ya registered ta enter Deepcore yet?”

Balin answered in between heaving gasps for air. “Aye, just passed tha’ test. We did a few forays inta Whitewall, but didn’t run into much other than some sandfleas.”

Draconis gave him an enormous slap on the back, and to his credit, Balin didn’t fall over.

The rest of the evening pretty much went like that. Draconis was a great guy, affable, larger than life, larger than the average dwarf, and he loved our beer. We actually had to run screaming for Darrel’s elemental to come douse a fire Draconis lit when he got a taste of the gose. He was not only ready and willing to pitch our beer for the round, he offered to do it for the entire competition. Balin wasn’t the only one to get back-slapped that night, as Johnsson had welts by the time we were done pounding his backside!

During a lull in the evening entertainment, I took the opportunity to read my new Ability.

[Rapid Aging] - Making good beer takes time, and this lets you do it faster. While focusing on a non-magical food or drink, you can cause its time to pass faster at a rate of your choosing. You may cause it to experience between one day and one year of time. This ability cannot affect sentient beings.

This ability can be used once an hour.

It was nothing really exciting; a time-saver more than anything. I strongly suspected old human Pete would’ve been all ‘sweet, I can make pickles in seconds’, but dwarf Pete was a bit less concerned about time; I had lots of it. Pity about the non-sentient beings tag; It was easy to picture blood as a drink, and that would be a kick-ass Ability for fighting monsters.

At least time wouldn’t be an issue for any future competition brews. I could also speed our lagers along, but I kind of wanted to let them ferment normally the first time as a control.

We arranged a ride home for Draconis late in the morning via a sleepy Bando, then all went to bed.

—

Big things were happening in the Thirsty Goat, and I wasn’t just talking about the enormous pile of goat dung Penelope had left in my boots sometime during the night.

Our brewing had gone well this extremely-late-morning, with several full tanks of salty beer now fermenting happily away. We were actually nearing full capacity on beer, and I wasn’t sure what we’d do if we maxed out. Perhaps I’d be using [Rapid Aging] sooner than I’d thought!

In the afternoon I finally took the time to meet with Whistlemop and make things up to him. I let him vent for a while, promised him more of my time, and then changed the subject to food. That made us both hungry, so we set up in the raised section of the pub and got to work. I really had been, well, not avoiding, but not making him a priority lately. It turned out that among the many tasks I hadn’t been doing, the paperwork for the business I part-owned with him was one of them.

“And then sign this one.” Whistlemop passed me another sheet.

“Gods, this is worse than working with the auditor.” I moaned. “You hear that? You’re worse than Silverpen the Auditor!”

“And you deserve it, now sign it.”

“I said I was sorry! And not without reading it first!!!” I took the page and began scanning it. It was a fairly standard bit of paperwork to release additional gold from our corporate funds into the glassmaking business. The trick was to find the devil in the details.

“You great gormless goat! You think we have time for you to be reading every Yearn-be-damned word! Just sign it!” Whistlemop wrung his moustache, pulling it down his chin until it sproinged back up.

“Bah! You’ve got goat pucky fer brains if ya think I’m singin’ anything you hand me without readin’ it first!”

“Well aren’t they the happy couple.” A voice interrupted from the side, and we both turned to glare at Annie, who was sitting with Balin at a table. They were cozying up together over some beer and biscuits. Team Brightstar was going to make a serious push into Whitehall in Deepcore tomorrow, so they were all taking a day of downtime to spend with friends and family.

“Ach, I’m just happy that Pete’s found someone to love other than Penelope!” Balin remarked, combing his beard in mock appreciation.

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“But Balin!” Annie swooned. “How will we ever break the news to her?? She’ll be heart broken!”

“We’ll need ta find her a billy-prince; nothin’ else can match the sheer manliness of a Roughtuff!” Balin flexed an arm and Annie wrapped a hand around it, making appreciative noises.

I grumbled and ignored the sideshow, though Whistlemop found it hilarious.

“Fine.” I scribbled my signature and motioned for more. “Let’s move on.”

Whistlemop took the next page and passed it to me. While he waited for me to read, his [Butler] Bimbleberry brought him some tea from next door. He thanked her and winked at her. She winked back.

That was new.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Annie and Balin had moved on to doing that heavy beard brushing thing they always did. Over by the bar Darrel and Rosie were stooped together, talking about something in quiet intimate tones. She said something and he chuckled and smacked her on the shoulder.

Gods. It felt like back when I was picking my daughter up at high-school. A bunch of lovestruck idiots, falling all over themselves to prove their virility by wearing their pants around their knees. You wanted to get a squirt bottle and spray them like a naughty cat.

Hmm… Could I get Copperpot to invent me a spray bottle? Did I have one that was meaningful to me? Sigh, no, not even the one I’d used a bunch to brush Sammy’s hair. It was the moment that was meaningful, not the object.

“What did you talk to Copperpot about, Pete?” Whistlemop took this moment to ask, doing his best to look disinterested.

I didn’t buy it for a second. My high Perception made it a cinch to read every single one of his little tells, and I could tell he was very interested.

“We talked about how I’m an out-of-this-world businessman.” I quipped.

Whistlemop rolled his eyes. “Bah!”

The door swung open and a new customer walked in. I barely noticed as I buried myself deeper into my paperwork. I’d let the lovebirds deal with it, or Bando, he was in here somewhere.

I let the world pass by as I read and signed, and read and signed, until a cough broke me out of my reverie.

“Shove off. We’re busy.” Whistlemop snipped. “Come back later.”

“That’s all well and good, mate. But I need to talk to Brewer Peter there. I’ll only need a mite.”

The dulcet tones of Steve Irwin pulled me back from the brink and I blinked up in confusion at the tall elf standing before me. “Joseph?” I said, staring at him in astonishment. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I did say I was interested in your beers, didn’t I?” The elf smiled innocently.

“I thought you would take a few more days.” I muttered.

“Pete, who is this and why is he interrupting the only time I’ve had you alone in weeks?” Whistlemop demanded.

“Awww, you really do love me Whistlemop!” I gave the little bugger the biggest, sloppiest, blown kiss that had ever existed.

He shuddered, moving away from me. “I love money. You’re a means to an end.”

See, I could work with that! It was a way easier relationship than whatever the tha Nether I currently had with Copperpot.

I decided to get things over with and stood up to greet the elf. Balin was still in his seat, contently relaxing, but Annie was straining to overhear what we were talking about. The few patrons we had in the bar didn’t really seem to care, which… was a good thing, I guessed.

“What can I do for you, Ambassador Joseph?”

Whistlemop blanched. “You’re an Ambassador?? Pete, why’s there an elfin, I mean elven, Ambassador here? It’s incredibly dangerous! Anything and everything we do to him can get us in trouble. They’re even more protected than nobles!”

Joseph gave a jolly laugh. “It’s not all that bad. At least as long as I’ve been Ambassador, at least. I heard about… incidents involving the last one.”

“Uh huh. So I’ll repeat, why are you here Joseph?” I wasn’t the most cordial , but I was still suspicious that tall, green, and handsome was a Chosen. I had nothing to base it on, other than gut instinct, but I wasn’t going to start second guessing my choices now.

“You’re a quarterfinalist, and I wanted to see what you were going to have for sale, yah?”

“Uh huh.” I folded my arms.

“No, quite honest! One of my jobs is to bring different trade goods to the king, and I can say that your brews and outlook are the most likely to succeed at the moment.

I whistled. “You drank the beer of every single competitor??” It was possible, we’d near done it ourselves.

“Of course! It felt like your little city hall put the extra effort in to really catch our attention. There are a few other elven merchants and even some from the human-lands, here to seek out fascinating and interesting new treasures.

I looked at Whistlemop, who returned a ‘What tha hell you doin’ glower.

I shrugged. It was true that I owed Whistlemop my time, but it seemed equally important that I not miss my chance with this high ranking elf who could possibly bring beer to the masses.

I called for a bottle of Liquid Gold and a pint of gose, and a curious Bando delivered them. The lad was staring at Joseph, open mouthed at serving an actual,. real life, elf! Joseph took a swig of each glass, raised an eyebrow, and gave me a huge grin. Whistlemop grumped and asked for some gnomish Barista Brew.

Joseph and I got to work discussing the specifics of elven-dwarf beer trading right then and there. His company had a manifest of goods they were and were not allowed to ship using the magic circle in Blackwall. Unfortunately, Sacred Brew was on the ‘no shipping’ list, which meant that until I could figure out a way around it, it was quite literally illegal to ship beer.

It was a fascinating discussion, and I had to remind myself constantly that this guy was most likely here to try and use me or worm his way into my good graces. And him trying to ferret out if I was a Chosen wasn’t off the menu. Still, I did my best to give him the benefit of the doubt; I hadn’t seen anything nefarious yet. Unfortunately, as the afternoon wore on, more and more patrons filed in until we eventually needed every available seat. Whistlemop stayed, listening in the background and making notes; the opportunistic little gnome had stopped being upset about the situation about thirty seconds in.

Time passed and Bando eventually came to tell me Annie needed us to move to make space for the dinner rush. He had a chipper greeting and lots of questions for Joseph.

I was packing up the last of the papers with Whistlemop when Bando asked the big question, unable to contain himself any further.

“I gotta say, Ambassador Joseph, has tha elf-King put any thought into tha plight of us here less fortunate dwarves?”

Joseph arched an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over the plush and cozy environs of the pub. He diplomatically replied, “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Bando.”

“The less fortunate, like them what’s not born with noble blood, them folk out in Yellowwall, and them’s that ain’t past their two hundredth year!”

Joseph nodded. “Are you referring to that Thadd Harmsson bloke? Yeah, I’ve been seeing his demonstrations around the city. I haven’t been able to make it to one myself yet to see what it’s all about, but I probably should.”

Bando waffled for a moment, and then went all in. “Well, sir, if’n you’d be willin’, I can show you what our life is really like. And you’d earn yerself a real buncha allies here in Kinshasa too.”

“Oh really?”

I was making throat cutting gestures, but Bando continued. “Aye, we’ve got a public works project comin’ up in Yellowwall. Pete’ll be comin’ with. Would you be interested? It’s tomorrow!”

Joseph and Whistlemop both turned curious eyes on me, and I held back a groan.

“Uh… I’m a firm believer of public service?” I prevaricated. “Bando, it’s tomorrow!? Why didn’t you tell me!?”

Bando scuffed a foot. “I just did…”

Whistlemop rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time today, but Joseph seemed genuinely interested. “Ya’know mate, I think that sounds like fun. You tell me tha time, and I’ll make sure to come out in some grubbies ta help!”

Bando’s eyes gleamed with triumph, and I felt tears gleaming in the edge of my vision. This was turning into something much bigger than “Pete and Bando lay pipes”, and I could already feel it in my bones – Rosie Digger was going to murder me.

They’d never find my body, because it would be buried in a closet in the inn, locked behind a ‘do not disturb’ sign.