Alric had been forced to step outside.

  He was at a cobbler’s, getting his two new staff members’ feet measured for proper working boots. When they unwrapped their feet from the cotton wraps they used in place of shoes, the smell had driven him out with the brisk certainty of a bouncer who did not care what sort of establishment this was supposed to be.

  It reaffirmed his belief that this world treated stink as an art form. He had endured worse, of course, but never in an enclosed space where the air had nowhere to go and he had nowhere to run. He stood in the street, taking a moment to breathe, and tried to think about the interview process for the pair. Mara and Hal.

  Mara had been a seamstress, well, an apprentice at least. She had been doing well until the place she worked at was caught in a fire and never recovered. She had been taking odd jobs ever since, and that had been three years ago.

  She was thinner than she should have been. Not starving, but close enough that her collarbones showed when she shifted. Her hair was tied back in a practical braid, light brown in color. She wore cloth over her hair tied back.

  Her cheeks were slightly hollow, and she kept pressing her lips together as if worried they might say the wrong thing. Her dress had been brushed down carefully, though the fabric at the elbows had worn thin.

  Hal had been a farmhand who had been let go. His previous employer had given no real reason. They had met while both were unemployed. Mara’s previous partner had left after she failed to find work, and she had said she was grateful to have met Hal.

  Hal had the broad frame of a labourer that sat awkwardly on him, as though he had not been able to keep up with it. His wrists were thick and his forearms marked by work, yet there was a leanness to him that suggested missed meals rather than discipline. His skin was deeply tanned, his hair short and slightly lighter than Mara's but the typical brown he had seen in the city. A beard grew unevenly around his jaw.

  Alric had found the interview deeply strange. They had discussed personal details without hesitation when asked and even when not asked. What unsettled him most was that when he asked how they felt about making beer, both had been prepared to accept immediately. They had not even discussed pay at that point. It had left him uneasy.

  He had also been quietly noting markers of heavy poverty. It was clear Monica had them clean up for the talk, but too many signs still stood out. Mara’s hair was long and with thin patches where her scalp struggled. Alric wondered if it was because she kept her braid too tight or something else.There were issues with teeth and fingernails as well. He did not judge, he could not, but he realised this would be more complicated than he had first thought.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the cobbler stepped outside. “So what’s ya spendin?” he asked, scratching his shoulder.

  “Erm, how much does it cost for something like mine?” Alric said, lifting his boot.

  The cobbler continued scratching, crouched down, and began examining it as if it were a rare animal that might bite. He turned Alric’s foot at odd angles and nearly put him on the ground twice. Alric endured it with the resigned patience of a man learning that commerce in this city was performed at close range.

  “About eight silver. But you’ve got fancy leather soles and a lot of nails. Don’t need all that. If you let those go, it’s two silver a pair. Proper workman boots. Them’s boots for walking far,” he said, pointing at Alric’s footwear.

  Alric nodded and handed over the four small silver coins, balking internally at the price while keeping his face composed. Money, he was learning, was less a number and more a series of rude surprises. They would need to collect their boots the next day.

  When he turned back toward the shop, he found Mara and Hal blinking rapidly at him. The cobbler went inside. Mara turned away, her eyes shining. Hal’s reaction was quieter, a soft, “We will never forget this.” Alric was taken aback.

  “Right. Well. There’s hot stuff when we make beer and I can’t have you burning your feet. Let’s go,” he said, aware the moment had become painfully awkward.

  As when he had taken them to buy clothes, and now to the cobbler, they walked without asking questions or offering comment. He found that unsettling.

  On the way to the warehouse, Alric returned to the moment outside the shop. He leaned forward slightly. Something still did not fit. The price had been high. Was that why people were always glancing at his boots?

  He straightened, thinking he understood. Boots were a marker of wealth. No, that was not it. He leaned forward again, noting that wealth showed more clearly in dyed cloth than leather. A good pair of boots lasted, what, ten years? He straightened once more.

  Boots were an indirect marker of health.

  That still did not explain the weight of their gratitude. He hunched forward again. They had nearly been brought to tears. Why? Because he had bought them ten years of good feet? Not quite. Good feet meant movement. Movement meant health. Feet mattered more than he had realised.

  So that was why everyone kept staring at his boots.

  The realization settled, and he lifted his chin, suddenly attentive to the ground beneath everyone’s feet. His gaze moved left and right as he began looking at people’s boots, drawing quiet connections between footwear and what it said about the person wearing them.

  Behind him, Mara and Hal watched their new employer hunch forward and straighten repeatedly before walking on with quiet confidence. They exchanged a brief look, said nothing, and followed.

  Alric approached the warehouse with a slight pep in his step, pleased to have figured out one of the world’s minor mysteries, unaware of how strange he looked. He unlocked the door and opened it.

  “All right, let’s get the rooms sorted first,” he said, leading them inside. The room had once held hammocks, but now there was a double bed, a chest of drawers, and a washbasin. The sight prompted another line of thought.

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  “Put your things down, then we’ll talk,” he said, gesturing to the room. They inspected it in silence and placed their new clothes on the bed before returning. Alric worried it might not be to their liking, then decided to press on.

  “Some of my rules will seem strange to you. We make beer here. The biggest rule is that everything needs to be clean, always. And I do mean always. That includes us. We bathe daily. For now we use the wash tub. I’ll get a spare eventually, but I can’t stress this enough. Everything has to be clean,” he explained.

  Both blinked at this, then nodded, in the way people nodded when they didn’t quite believe you but were willing to see what happened next.

  “I can heat the water easily enough. I’ll show you that later. Let’s start with how this all works. We’ll begin over here,” Alric said, pointing to the malting section.

  At present he used bedsheets to keep the grain moist, suspending them from shelving. Afterwards, he sorted the grain into his teabag brewing method. As he explained the process, the pair nodded but did not ask a single question. He decided to prompt them.

  “Can you think of any improvements to this?” he asked, gesturing to the station.

  They studied it for a moment before Mara spoke. “Can I reinforce the sheets with some twine? Make them stronger?”

  Alric nodded. It was a good suggestion.

  “What about a fishing net underneath?” Hal added, looking below the frame. “Give it extra strength.”

  “Both of those are excellent suggestions, and we’ll do both,” Alric said. “Other than bathing daily, I’m not precious about ideas or equipment. If you think of an improvement, suggest it. I might not use it, but I’ll explain why. Always. All right?”

  The pair seemed to gain confidence from this. Both stood a little straighter and smiled, as if they had just been informed that their thoughts were not, in fact, a punishable offence.

  Their lesson was interrupted by heavy banging on the warehouse door.

  “Look around for now. I’ll answer questions in a minute,” Alric said, heading toward it.

  As he opened the door, he was greeted by a smiling dwarf holding up five liquid seals.

  “Why do I have the city’s grumpiest dwarf always smiling at my door?” Alric asked, extending a hand.

  “I’m the only dwarf,” Stromni said with a mock scowl as they shook. “And I’m finally done with these bleeding things.” He held the liquid seals up as if presenting trophies from a war no one had asked him to fight.

  Alric nodded and walked with him to the fermenter shelves, where Stromni set them down. He glanced sideways at the new staff.

  “New staff members,” Alric said. “Be nice to them.” He showed Stromni where to place the seals. Stromni nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his beard as if it had to fight its way through habit.

  “So I’ve got a week off now, do I?” Stromni asked, eyeing the pile of seals he had been churning out for days.

  “You do,” Alric said. “And you know what? You get to start a new and exciting project with me.”

  Stromni scowled at once. “I’ve got other work, you know.”

  Alric gestured quietly to three casks set apart from the rest. “How many of those other customers are inviting you to a beer tasting tomorrow? And it’s the kind of beer I like.”

  Stromni glanced sideways. That told Alric enough, and he allowed himself a smug grin. Sometimes, bribery was simply called hospitality and everyone pretended not to notice.

  “I need something made of iron,” Alric said. “It’s going to be big, a pain to make, and you’ll probably grill me on the cost. So we’re going to build it in pieces.”

  That caught Stromni’s attention.

  “If we can’t make the first part, I’ll need to rethink the whole thing. So we start with the hardest piece first. Let’s go to the well and I’ll try to explain,” Alric said, already leading the way.

  Stromni followed, watching closely.

  At the well, Alric untied the bucket line and ran two ropes side by side. He fixed the bucket in place. “Watch closely. I’m going to lower it.”

  The bucket descended smoothly, settling into the groove formed between the ropes. Alric raised it again, pointing out how the second rope guided its path.

  “I think I understand, lad,” Stromni said with a sigh. “You always want the strangest things. Let’s go draw it.”

  Alric led him to the office space. It took a dozen drawings to settle the details. Small points took time to land, such as the need for a straight section after the screw. When they were done, Stromni studied the final sketch with a deep frown.

  “How thick is this?” he asked.

  “At the twisted section? About as thick as my arm,” Alric said, pointing to his bicep. He sketched a circle on the page.

  Stromni balked. “Alric, this’ll take all my iron and more. I’ll be folding stock for a week just to get something this size. Then grinding that channel? That’s weeks of measuring and work.”

  “That doesn’t change that I need it,” Alric said calmly. “How much?”

  “Oof. About six small silver,” Stromni said, still studying the drawing.

  Alric counted out eight.

  “You’ll need extra iron for what comes after,” Alric said. “And I think this will take longer than you expect. It’s finicky and complicated. I’ll come by each day or so, just to make sure we don’t go wrong. If it costs more, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Stromni nodded slowly, still looking at the page. “I do appreciate your trust, though, Alric.”

  “Well then. I’d best start folding stock. I’ll be here tomorrow for the beer tasting,” he said with a grin.

  Alric saw him out.

  He returned to his staff. Hal was studying the distributor barrel, its pipes pointed toward the floor. Alric grinned.

  “All right. Shall we carry on then?” he said. The pair nodded and joined him.

  Alric took them through each station, explaining that over the next few days he would have them repeat every process until they understood it. They nodded, growing more confident with each step.

  “All right. Time for a drink then. Let’s see what we make here,” Alric said, leading them to the fermentation section. He took the sample cask he used for tastings, poured three drinks, and handed them out.

  Mara took a small sip, spat, then downed the tankard with a sharp “pahhh!” Alric stared. For a moment, she looked exactly like an old man. Hal took a slower sip, spat, and frowned.

  “Shouldn’t it be a bit sour? Doesn’t taste right,” he said, peering into the cup. Alric sighed.

  The sound seemed to trigger something in Mara. She immediately stepped between Hal and Alric, apologising in a rush. “Please, Mister Alric, he didn’t mean anything by it, he just doesn’t…”

  Hal seemed to read the moment the same way. He winced, straightened, and lowered his head.

  Alric raised a hand to stop them both.

  “You misunderstand. Most tavern owners have been telling me the same thing. That sourness is part of what makes people sick. The well water here isn’t good. I’ll be showing you all of this tomorrow.” He paused. “I’m not cross with you, Hal. If anything, I need you both to understand that I’m not from here. I’m from far to the east. If I’m about to do something the city thinks is foolish, I need you to tell me.”

  He kept his posture loose as he spoke. Both of them relaxed a little. Hal finished his beer. Mara had already downed another before either Alric or Hal finished their first, and Hal seemed not to notice. It was possible this was love. It was also possible it was long practice.

  Sensing the awkwardness lingering, Alric pushed on. “All right. Let’s make some food then,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen.

  Mara studied him for a moment. “Allow me, Mister Alric. I make a good fish stew. Hal likes to catch them,” she said with a smile. Her husband nodded.

  Alric grinned. “All right. The docks aren’t far, so if you’re not working, feel free. I’ll have to show you how to make pasta then,” he said, leading them toward the kitchen.

  ----------------

  Sometime later, a single long sigh came from two people at once.

  Mara and Hal lay back in the wash tub, floating just enough that the water carried their weight. Steam rose gently from the surface. Alric had added a handful of jasmine and citrus rinds, giving the water a faint, unfamiliar scent. Their legs stretched out beneath them. Both wore long, slack smiles, eyes half closed.

  “We do this every day?” Mara asked quietly.

  Hal nodded. “Even in winter.”

  Another long sigh followed, two voices again, perfectly in time, as if they had discovered a new kind of religion and it involved hot water.