It was his first hopped beer, which made it important in the way that all first things are important, regardless of whether they turned out well or exploded. This one, at least, had smelled good when he made it, which was encouraging. He had high hopes for it, and also planned to show Stromni what he meant when he talked about the kinds of beer he knew, a phrase that had lately begun to sound suspiciously like a challenge.

  He planned to make three more, using different amounts of hops, to get a better sense of its character.

  He looked across the shelves he was using for fermentation. Twenty-four casks sat there, quietly aging, doing the sort of patient work that casks had been doing since the invention of patience. The one he had just set aside was a one-off, made to test the hops the adventurers were steadily bringing him, usually wrapped in whatever had been closest to hand at the time. Herbs hung drying from the rafters above, giving the place a smell somewhere between a forest and a witch’s pantry. He had also expanded the malting section, adding places to hang bags so grain could germinate without wandering off or becoming philosophical about it.

  All in all, it was starting to feel like a proper brewery. Or at least like something that could convincingly explain itself as one if asked.

  Feeling pleased, Alric set about toasting some malt so he could make properly hopped beer with different character for him and Stromni to try. He could not use open fire in the district, as the warehouse authorities took a dim view of flames near large quantities of flour, oils, alcohol, grain, and cheese. The heat stones worked well enough, producing a dry, even heat in the pots. There was also a small fireplace in the kitchen that he was technically allowed to cook with, and he intended to try that too, purely in the interests of knowledge, and because he was curious whether flame and smoke might add a flavour he liked.

  The place was slowly filling out. There was now a workbench in one corner, and beside the distribution barrel sat a table where he could boil the wort in the pots and pour it off. The table had recesses cut for the heating stones, which had seemed like a good idea until he tried it and noticed the wood beginning to brown in a way that suggested enthusiasm but not longevity. That design would not work. Stromni had said he would look at it when he had time, which currently he did not, being busy making liquid seals. He had even made a special tool that, according to Stromni, allowed him to make them faster. Alric suspected this was true, although Stromni also had other clients and a professional relationship with time that was best described as flexible.

  The real problem was casks.

  He had run out of them.

  Two empty ones sat by the distribution barrel, looking reproachful. These would become hopped beer later.

  With the pipes, he could technically run a batch of three, but that felt pointless. Batches of six made sense. Three was the sort of number you used when you wanted to feel busy without actually committing to anything. It was, in fact, an excellent excuse to do nothing.

  Accepting this with good grace, Alric went to the kitchen and made pasta.

  He had been delighted to discover that pasta was possible in this world. It required labour, yes, but it improved any stew by a measurable amount. Flour, eggs, water, and time. Civilisation, really. He smiled to himself as he worked.

  He did not know the proper denominations, or what shapes one was meant to make. He simply rolled the dough very flat. It was lumpy and grainy in places, but it dried well and only needed water later, which he felt covered the important points.

  Two days later, Alric was walking up another road on the lookout for taverns. He had lost count of how many had rejected him outright. Many were interested in his strong beer. All of them said it was not sour, but that it was strange. Four offered to try it, but none would take his casks. He was forced to decant into theirs.

  It came down to him not wanting their casks, and them not wanting to pay a deposit for his. The deposit was three silver, exactly what it cost him to buy a cask.

  The decanting annoyed him. He agreed to it to see how the beer would fare, but pouring from one cask to another flattened the flavour, and whatever lived in those tavern casks had clearly been there long enough to feel entitled. The beer would spoil faster. He sighed, which even he realised was becoming his default state.

  He began walking toward the boundary wall to head home. He had not sold much beer, but that was no reason things would not improve in time. On his way home, he noticed the adventurers’ guild. It was a large stone building with a tavern that served both inside and out, which meant there were always people there and at least one argument happening at any given moment.

  Figuring he had little to lose, other than perhaps a limb, he decided to speak to them and see if it interested them. He tried to stand a little taller and made his way around to the back of the building where the tavern was. He went too far once and had to double back through another alley, but eventually reached the counter.

  “Hail, friend. Interested in a bad brew?” the barman said with a grin that suggested confidence in the claim.

  Alric laughed and looked him over. The man was clearly an adventurer, missing two fingers on one hand, with scars across his knuckles and a thin one through an eyebrow, the sort of person who considered danger an inconvenience rather than a warning.

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  “Hail. What if I told you I could sell you good beer?” Alric asked, returning the grin.

  The man tilted his head.

  “Going to use an item box. That alright?” Alric asked. The barman merely gestured to the counter.

  Alric brought out two casks, one of the strong beer and one of the watered-down ale. The barman took a tankard, poured, performed the customary spit, and considered it.

  “Tastes more like what I had in a small coastal town out east,” he said after a moment. He drained the rest. “Stronger, though. I like it. Bit high-brow for us.” He nodded toward the tables of adventurers.

  “Tell you what,” Alric said. “Take it and serve it. If it doesn’t sell, I’ll buy it back for what you paid. You lose nothing.”

  The barman shrugged. “No skin off my nose.” He moved on to the lighter beer, tasted it, and nodded. “This one’s good too. Easier to drink. Been a while since I had something that wasn’t so sour.”

  “Well then,” Alric said, keeping his tone casual, “how much do you want?”

  “That depends on the price,” the barman replied.

  “The beer itself isn’t dear,” Alric said, tapping the lighter cask. “Five large coppers for this. A small silver and two large coppers for the strong.” A cask would yield around eighty drinks. They could price it as they liked.

  The barman nodded slowly. Alric took it as a good sign.

  “But here’s the catch,” Alric continued. “I need the casks back. These casks. The deposit is three silver, which you get back when you return them. After that, you’re only paying for what’s inside.”

  The barman eyed the casks. “You get these blessed by a priest or something?”

  “Something like that,” Alric said. “Everyone needs a few secrets.”

  The barman snorted. “I’ll talk to the boss. Wait here.”

  Alric waited, uneasy but hopeful. When the barman returned, he nodded. “Alright. How much have you got?”

  “Eight strong, twelve ale,” Alric said. To him, that was a day and a half’s work.

  The man blinked. “Item box does solve problems.” He considered a moment. “We’ll take two strong, four normal. Come back the day after tomorrow and we’ll see how it sells.”

  They carried the casks to a back room. It was dusty and smelled foul, but it was not Alric’s concern. Payment followed shortly after.

  As Alric stepped back onto the street, feeling light-headed with relief, he heard a shout behind him. “Alright, boys. We’ve got some good ales in.”

  “Yeah, you said that before,” someone called back. “We’re still waiting.”

  The feeling ebbed, but he kept walking. He ducked into an alley, remembering Tyke’s rule, and sorted his coins. In his hand lay one silver and five large coppers.

  These were profit.

  He grinned.

  He had been putting it off, but now that the business was making money, he could hire staff. He kept walking toward the boundary avenue. Once he turned, he would pass the gate and head down toward the warehouses. His thoughts turned to staffing.

  Nothing he was doing was complicated. To an inn, brewing was tricky. To him, it was a matter of measuring. There was some guesswork, yes, but with the brew-in-a-bag method it came down to matching the grain, matching the herbs, and boiling. Pour into the distribution bucket. That was it. He had made it simple because the difficult part was the research. He did not need skilled labour.

  Stromni had explained that staff were more complicated than that. You were expected to house them, feed them, and clothe them. An unskilled labourer earned six small coppers a day if you were not feeding them. The amount felt offensive to Alric. There was no way out of poverty on that. You could pay weekly, but it was expected you paid for the week ahead.

  There was nothing for it. He could afford staff, and he wanted staff. He would focus on landing more clients and making specialist beers while they kept the warehouse running, collected orders, and handled the rest.

  He would have liked to walk straight into the slums and find an unemployed couple, but that felt like a good way to get stabbed. He wished there were something he could do about the place, but it was far beyond his means.

  So that left speaking to someone. Who, though?

  Moreen came to mind first. He thought about the staff he had seen there. They were all highly competent, but it felt too much like a corporate environment. He had lived that once already and had no desire to repeat it.

  That left Stromni, and Stromni was out. He was many things. A great craftsman. A loyal friend. A social butterfly was not one of them.

  The inn?

  Maybe. Berrin had mentioned families struggling to make coppers stretch. That seemed like the only option. Alric glanced up at the sky. It was just before sunset. Monica, Berrin’s wife, would likely still have time.

  He shrugged. It had been a whimsical day. The adventurers’ guild had been a whim, after all. He turned around and headed back toward the gate, then toward the inn.

  Entering the inn, he saw exactly who he was looking for. Monica smiled at him from behind the counter. He had always thought of her as the inn’s mother. If anyone knew people he could work with, it would be her.

  “Why, hello, Alric,” she said warmly. “Good to see you again. Did you get your herbs in the end?”

  “I did, thank you,” he said. “I actually came to see you. I need to ask you something.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh? You haven’t been in the city long. Surely it’s too soon to be looking for a wife?”

  The effect on Alric was immediate. “W-wife? No, no, no, no, no. Nothing like that. I’m far too young,” he said, waving his hands in a fluster.

  “Oh, but poor Ruth,” Monica said with a mock sigh. “She’s been so hopeful, you know.”

  The idea hit Alric like a bucket of cold water. In his mind, he was nearly forty. Ruth could be sixteen at best.

  “No. No. She can do better. Nothing like that,” he said quickly. “Besides, trade isn’t stable or anything.”

  Monica laughed and waved a hand. “Ruth is promised already. I’m teasing you.”

  Alric let out a long breath, earning another smile from her.

  “So,” she said, leaning on the counter, “what’s really on your mind?”

  “I need some staff,” he said. “Preferably a couple.”

  “You’d employ women?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “Of course,” he said. “The female adventurers scare me more than the men. I respect that.”

  She snorted softly. “Fair enough.”

  “Nothing I do is skilled labour,” he went on. “I’ll train them from the ground up. So if you know anyone who needs a steady hand, I’d appreciate it.”

  Monica nodded, thoughtful now. “I know plenty. I can think of three couples without trying. Jobs are scarce. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

  “Just honesty,” he said. “They’ll be sleeping next door to me. Anything else I can work with.” He paused. “I know that’s asking a lot.”

  She considered him for a moment, then nodded again. “I can think of two who might suit. Come by tomorrow, mid-morning.”

  Alric nodded. “Thank you.”

  Monica did not let him go immediately. She asked him a few more questions, all delivered with an easy smile. Had he met anyone yet? Was there someone he had his eye on? If there was, had he thought about meeting her parents? Alric offered a series of awkward denials, none of which seemed to satisfy her. Only once he stepped back out into the street did he realise how tightly he had been holding himself. He drew a slow breath and shook his head. Monica, he decided, was starting to frighten him a little.