Alric had just finished stuffing the charcoal filter. He held it out with satisfaction, noting it felt heavy. It was a thick tube. At its widest, he could just wrap his fingers from both hands around it. It held that diameter for most of its length, then tapered quickly until the exit hole was about the size of a coin. Inside were layers of boiled sands, gravels, compressed cloth, and charcoal. In his hand, the copper felt cool to the touch and smooth, while still retaining the lumps left by the hammer that made it.

  Excited, he moved over to the water barrel, eager to test it. He lined up a pot, pulled the bung, and in his mind let it rip. There was a little splashing at first, but it took a moment for the contents to become saturated. The water began to drip, then slowly ran into the pot. He watched it carefully, noting the lack of sediment and the clearer water. Outwardly he smiled. Inwardly, he was doing an air punch. He filled a second pot the same way. Satisfied, he could now make a real beer.

  Moving outside, he discovered a new problem. Juniper, bog myrtle, and yarrow. How much? He sighed, deciding to wing it for now. What he lacked in precision, he would make up for in enthusiasm. He added three handfuls of crushed herbs to each teabag, tied them off, and got to work.

  The wort was soon boiling with the help of the magic stone. Alric sat by the pots outside, enjoying the light and a cool breeze as the wort took form. He glanced at the funnel he would need to use, annoyed but knowing it would be one of the last times. He refused to let it spoil the moment. That thought came back to bite him the next day.

  Alric bent over and sniffed by the liquid seal. Yes. Soapy air freshener. Bad. He sighed. This could not be put off any longer. He decided today would be a proper brew day. He got to work collecting all four pots, even the ones he used for his own kitchen, determined to make five different batches with different ratios of herbs.

  Once he had boiling wort, he turned his attention to his side project with the barrel. Taking a hammer and chisel, he began to pry a small hole in the bottom. He found the work slow and tedious, and he lamented not having a drill. He also glared at the packed earthen floor he was forced to lie on, but it would be worth it if he no longer needed to use the funnel or fuss with small bung holes.

  A few days later, Stromni walked through the front door. He looked at the abomination of a project Alric had been working on in horror. In front of him was what could very generously be called a platform, with a barrel on it, pipes jutting out at odd angles, some trailing onto the floor. The barrel was propped up on a cask, stabilised with pieces of rotting wood salvaged from the shelves.

  He blinked, taking it all in. “Alric!” he called, trying to understand. Alric strode over with a wide grin on his face.

  “Lad! What is this? Barrels are expensive!” Stromni said, bending to look more closely.

  “All right, let me explain how this works,” Alric said. “Whatever you pour in through the top collects at the bottom, then moves through these and into the casks. You can fill six at once. It leaks all over the place, but it works.” He grinned, gesturing to the different parts of the arrangement.

  “Aye, but lad. Barrels are expensive. Couldn’t you have used a washtub or something?” Stromni asked, frowning.

  Alric shook his head. “See the openings to these?” He tapped one of the copper pipes. “They sit this far off the bottom. Most of the sediment settles below and doesn’t get into the beer.” He said it proudly.

  Stromni shook his head, still staring at it.

  “Oh. I do need a carpenter though. This platform needs to be strong and made properly. Do you know one?” Alric asked.

  “Aye, I do. I’ll bring him around, but don’t let him see that barrel. You do the strangest things, Alric.” Stromni glanced aside, noticing long yellow strips hanging from what looked like old meat hooks or something similar. “And that?” he asked, pointing.

  “Dish from my homeland. Something we call pasta. It needs to hang for a while.” Alric glanced at it. “This city seems to do four dishes. Stew, soup, something on a stick, or a sausage I’m not brave enough to eat.”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Stromni scoffed a laugh. “Aye, I know that feeling well, lad. I make my own forge bread to remember the tastes of home. That is not for today though. Today we drink beer.”

  Alric nodded and headed to his room. He returned with two mismatched tankards while the dwarf continued studying the pipes and barrel with an air of quiet disapproval.

  “Listen, don’t get your hopes up. Tomorrow’s batches will be better, I think.” Alric said. Stromni nodded and followed Alric to the six casks quietly resting nearby. Alric poured one and set it aside. The herbal smell was far too strong. He could tell already. He poured a second and passed it to Stromni, who sniffed and drew his nose away.

  “Outside, I think, lad,” he said, and the two moved outdoors.

  They knocked mismatched tankards. Not wanting to have Stromni go first, Alric sniffed quickly, took a sip, and swallowed. He shuddered at once. It felt like trying to drink shampoo while emptying a can of air freshener into his mouth. He turned the tankard over, poured it out, and scraped his tongue against his teeth.

  Stromni spat the beer out, then looked at it thoughtfully. “Aye, well, I can’t drink that. You overdid it on the herbs. But lad, it’s not sour?” he said, glancing at Alric, whose shoulders were scrunched tight.

  “Yes. Cleaning the water properly did that,” Alric said, still visibly uncomfortable.

  “Well, I think that’s part of the problem. Without the sour, the herbs come through too strong. You said tomorrow’s batches have less herb?” Stromni asked. Alric, impressed by his stoicism, nodded.

  “Yes. I made five different ones. Much less herb. Different amounts of herbs, but about the same grain.”

  Stromni nodded, seeing the sense in it, and handed the tankard back.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Alric. Chin up, lad. Took me years to learn to swing a hammer properly. Tomorrow will be better.” He smiled, reassuring.

  Alric nodded gratefully and walked him back to the main thoroughfare. As he returned to the warehouse, he could not help feeling bad for having Stromni taste such a failure. Even so, the feedback was too valuable to ignore.

  It was the following evening when Stromni returned. He did not announce himself at first, instead moving over to the completed barrel and studying its design. Alric noticed and came over.

  “Hail, Alric. Still reckon labour would have been cheaper than this.” He looked over the barrel. All six holes now had copper tubes attached. The entry was packed densely with cloth, and he could see the tubes leading off to six different casks. The platform still needed to be raised, of course. Liquids did not flow uphill. But the concept was clear enough now.

  “Good to see you, Stromni. It will pay for itself many times over with that kind of thinking. This is fast. I pour wort and walk away.”

  The dwarf shrugged and handed Alric a much nicer tankard that matched his own. Together, they moved over to the five resting casks with the different herb ratios.

  Alric poured them each a small measure from the first, lightest one. The smell did not immediately fill the air, which was a good sign. They knocked tankards and took a sip.

  Alric’s first thought was that this was the least awful beer he had tasted so far. Not good by his measure, but that might simply be because the herb flavours were so muted. He noted that Stromni did not spit it out, as was the local custom.

  Stromni looked at the cask. “Oof. That’s feisty, but bland. Lad, I’m not going to sip and comment on each. I’m going through them and will tell you what I think at the end.”

  He began moving through the ales, tasting each in quiet thoughtfulness. Alric tried to keep up, but as the amount of herb increased they grew progressively worse to him. He sighed. Stromni, however, returned to some more than once. He tried the third one three times.

  Stromni stepped back, set his tankard on the shelf beneath the casks, and studied them.

  “Well, lad. This one.” He tapped the third barrel along. “Best I’ve had in the city so far.” He glanced at Alric with a grin. “But you sure like strong beer, eh?”

  “Thank you. That makes me happy,” Alric said, then hesitated. “But Stromni. This is strong?” He raised a brow. By his reckoning, it was closer to a diet beer than anything else. Even light by light beers standards.

  Stromni tilted his head at him.

  “Alric. I’ve watched you stumble along this far, and I’ve always seen you know what you’re doing, even if you do it strangely. But how do you not know something so basic? You make the best beer I’ve had here and don’t know what strong beer is?” His irritation grew as he spoke.

  Alric opened his mouth, searching for words. Stromni looked away. His hand went to the broken metal band in his beard, turning it before he spoke again.

  “I know we all have our circumstances, Alric. Yours must be stranger than mine. I’m not going to pry. You’ve never pried into mine. But lad, you really are very strange.” He looked back with a complicated expression.

  Alric closed his mouth and nodded. It was true enough. In this world, he was strange. He sighed. “Well, if you like it, take the third cask for yourself, Stromni. As thanks for your help, and for the help to come.”

  “You sure, Alric?” Stromni asked, though his hands were already reaching for it. “Then I thank you. I’ll enjoy this later.” He lifted the cask off the shelf with surprising ease. “I’ll be off then, lad. I’ll bring the carpenter around tomorrow. And again, don’t show him that barrel.”

  He tucked the cask under one arm, to Alric’s surprise, and walked with him to the thoroughfare before taking his leave. Returning to the warehouse, Alric felt the disappointment settle in again. The gaps in his understanding were simply too wide.

  (Just saying, Kleya called it on the tastings back in chapter 17, the rest of you are slacking.)