Alric used his item box to place the fifth barrel of vinegar-to-be. Hal was quick to set wooden wedges to hold it in place against the wall, tapping them in with care. Alric found himself quietly impressed. None of the work was complicated, but his staff were learning quickly. They had boiled the wrong grain only once, and even then it had been noticed and dealt with before it could become a lesson that lasted all day.
“And onto the last one for today?” Hal asked, smiling.
Alric nodded, and Hal straightened before heading over to Mara, who was minding the boil.
Alric watched them for a moment. A few days of regular bathing and decent food had done more than improve morale. They stood a little straighter now. Even their boots were worn with something approaching pride, which Alric had come to recognise as a dangerous sign that people were beginning to feel human again.
Something moved.
Alric’s eyes drifted upward, scanning the rafters. For a moment he saw nothing, which was unfortunate, because then it moved again.
It was a rat. Or rather, it was a Rat. It had earned the capital letter through longevity, confidence, and a size that suggested it had been promoted several times on merit alone.
Alric emitted a scream that was calm, controlled, and in no way panicked, the sort of sound that would have caused woodland creatures to stop and take notes.
Mara and Hal were beside him almost instantly. Alric pointed. The Rat looked back at him with the steady gaze of something that had survived a city and intended to continue doing so.
Hal seized a broken length of shelving and waved it with intent. The Rat considered this development, decided it was no longer worth the ceiling rent, and bolted for the door. Hal pursued it with enthusiasm and disappeared outside.
Alric took several deliberate breaths. Mara assured him the creature was gone before he spoke.
“Cats,” he said. “We need cats. At least three.”
The warehouse relied on open fermentation. A rat could spoil an entire barrel, make people sick, and cost a month of work even if discovered early enough.
Mara frowned. “Don’t cats just run away?” she asked as Hal returned. “Couldn’t we get ratters to come by when we see signs?”
Alric shook his head.
“Cats run if they don’t have a territory. We keep them inside with the doors shut for a few days, let them settle. Cats we can manage. People standing on barrels, knocking sand into them, that just invites more problems.”
Mara glanced at Hal. He caught the look and turned away.
“I’ll speak to the ratters,” Hal said. “They usually have cats to sell, though most folk think it’s a scam. You wanted three?”
Alric nodded, and Hal left at once.
The problem was manageable. Alric moved around the space, gathering cloth to plug the bung holes on the barrels. It would show disturbance and keep fur out.
He joined Mara by the pots. She stirred the four boils destined for the distribution barrel. Normally, copper pipes fed six casks. For now, they had dug a pit in front of it, holding the vinegar barrel, all six pipes leading into it. A mound of soil sat nearby for when the pit needed filling.
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“The stones holding?” Alric asked. “Need me to refill them?”
Without looking up, Mara shook her head. “After this boil, Mister Alric.”
He nodded, smiling.
The stones had become a different sort of problem. Between them, Mara and Hal could barely manage to refill one stone and had needed a nap afterward, too exhausted for more. Alric had not thought about it. He’d even filled them for his bath without effort.
It was convenient. It also meant that without him present, production stopped.
That realisation had unsettled him briefly, until he remembered he currently had only one customer, who expected a visit every two days. It was a problem, certainly, but one that could wait its turn. Alric added it to the growing list in his head, which was beginning to resemble a ledger written by someone with very little interest in optimism.
Hal returned. “Ratters will sell us three mouser cats. One large copper each. No guarantees they’ll stay. They’ll bring them tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” Alric said, satisfied. “I’m used to cats. You’ll see.”
They nodded and returned to their work. Mara continued managing the boils.
By late afternoon, the barrel was finished. Alric stored it and carried it with Hal to its resting place.
“Your item box makes this easy,” Hal said, setting the wedges.
“It does,” Alric agreed, placing the barrel. Privately, he noted it as another tether. He had an idea to address it, but it would wait for more staff.
“Yo ho ho!”
Stromni arrived with a massive lump of iron slung over his shoulder. Everyone grinned. This meant beer.
“You sure you want to do the tasting today?” Alric asked.
Stromni set the iron atop a shelf. It resembled a blunt mace without spikes.
“Aye,” he said. “Quite sure.”
They shook hands. Stromni handed over two lengths of rope.
“I thought this would take longer,” Alric said, winding the rope around the thicker end.
“It didn’t,” Stromni replied avoiding eye contact, lifting a piece of charcoal.
They worked together, Hal holding one rope tight with Alric while Mara uncoiled the other. Stromni traced the path, marking where the iron would be ground away. When the ropes came free, a spiral rose along the bar in charcoal.
“Still weeks of grinding,” Stromni said.
“I know,” Alric said, admiring the evenness of the untouched section.
“Aye. Speaking of work, let’s see yours.”
They moved to the waiting casks. Stromni set the iron aside.
“You’ve talked enough about it,” he said.
Tankards were fetched. Alric poured short measures for himself, Stromni, and Hal, and a full one for Mara.
They clinked cups. Alric raised a hand as Mara drained hers in one go, finishing with her familiar satisfied sound. Stromni stared, then laughed.
“I’m impressed. You like his beer that much?”
“I like all beer about the same,” Mara said.
Stromni paused, reassessing.
They drank. Fruity, bitter, full-bodied. Strong. Alric judged it around six percent.
Hal spoke first. “That’s good. And I’m realising I don’t know anything about beer.”
“That’s why we compare,” Alric said.
Stromni nodded slowly. “Closer to dwarven brew than human. Might be better. Might not. I’d need both in hand.”
They moved on. The stout poured dark and creamy. Mara finished first again.
Stromni exhaled. “This wasn’t an accident.”
Hal nodded. “If everything I’ve had counts as beer, this is my favourite.”
Stromni chose the ale, Hal favoured the stout. Mara hovered nearby favouring quantity.
The bitters followed. Good, but not loved.
Alric finished his cup. “The best beer’s worthless if you’ve no one to sell it to.”
Stromni considered that.
“Can’t you sell to the adventurers too?”
“I plan to. Taverns and inns though. It’s going to be slow.”
They nodded.
Preferences were chosen, full tankards were poured. Mara received another, stopped only when Hal raised a hand. She began singing shortly after her fifth and was led away by Hal.
“I’ll start with batches of three,” Alric said.
“Could I buy a cask?” Stromni asked, tapping the stout. “Friend visiting in winter.”
“I don’t sell to individuals,” Alric said. “I’d rather just give you one.”
Stromni thanked him.
“I want the cask back.”
Laughter followed.
Days earlier, Stromni leaned on his counter speaking to an adventurer.
“No iron,” he said. “Won’t have any for a while. Take this one instead.” He gestured to an unclaimed shield.
The adventurer shook his head. “Good work, dwarf, but uncollected gear feels cursed.”
Stromni shrugged.
“I’ll go get a wooden shield for now.”
After the man left, Stromni returned to the barstock and continued folding it, sparks rising with each hammerstroke.
I had planned on going back to the 3x a week cadence, for now though, im comfortable keeping up the 5x a week. If something changes, I'll mention it here.
If you enjoying Alric’s story, you'll probably enjoy The Quiet Alchemist, launching March 6. Drop an early follow.
