Chapter 39 Continued (Patreon)

What's this? An odd title for a chapter!

Today we have a special double feature! This is something I completely forgot to add to the chapter when Pete comes through the gates, and is going out to everyone at once. In the print book it'll be added at the bottom of the gate chapter. Thankfully both my patrons and RR are at a good spot for this bit.

What does that mean for all of you? Today is a surprise double chapter day! One chapter now, and another later today! It's a grand total of 3400 words coming down the pipe! That's like, 5% of a traditional book! 

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In a dark space there stood a white stone gazebo and mist rose from several incense bowls surrounding it. A black mountain rose up in the darkness, seeming to touch the sky. A circular marble table sat in the centre of the gazebo, and a group of cloaked figures sat around it in ornate wooden chairs.

“Dark days approach, and none shall be able to stand them.” Said the first figure.

“Woe are we, to be here at the end of days.” Said another.

“Truly, these events shall lead to the death of our world.” Said a third.

Another spoke up, their voice light and melodious. “All know of the dwarf king’s competition. I was disturbed to see it, and more disturbed by the sudden interest.”

“We shall be there to stand against it. Our children shall be the bulwark against this abomination the king has wrought.”

“What word is there of the young upstart? Has she been suitably chastised?” The first turned to look at a silent brooding figure, the tallest of them all.

“She… ‘as not truly recovered.” The tall figure ground out, their respectful tone belying an undercurrent of shame and anger.

“Hmph, it was the will of the ancestors that the explosion occurred.” The first figure bowed his head and clasped his hands. “We are but their instrument.”

The refrain was repeated by all assembled.

“THE WILL OF THE ANCESTORS.”

“At least there are some that stand against the darkness, like that chap Whistlemop!” The second figure piped up.

“Indeed! His wares are how the future should be approached! An innovation that brings forth the colour of the brew and its essence, but does not intrude upon what makes it the True Brew.” The first figure nodded sagely as he regarded the assembly. “Are there any others that bring forth a concern to the Honourable Guild of Brewers?”

“Ma boys caught a beer smuggler.” One figure put in, the sneer evident in their gravely voice.

“Excellent, were they properly dealt with?”

“As we always ‘ave. They won’t be a problem again.”

“Very good.”

Another figure put up a hand and said in a cultured accent, “The cost of Erdroot has gone up by an unacceptable amount.”

“Yes, people are panic buying in preparation for a dungeon break. We will do what we can to manipulate the market.” The first figure said, with more confidence than they likely felt. There was a lengthy pause before he spoke again. “Anyone else?”

“Are we done yet?” A figure that had been gently snoring up until this point, asked in a quavering tone. “Did your wife pack the treacle tarts, Browning?”

“Oh yes, dear Shalea’s tarts are always the highlight of these meetings.” Another heretofore silent figure put in. There was a general murmur of agreement.

“Can we get some lights on in ‘ere?”

“Midna’s mullet, these theatrics are bloody daft, Browning.”

“How did you deal with that smuggler, Drum?”

“Gave ‘is address to City Hall, heh heh.”

“Hah! He’ll be payin’ taxes fer decades!”

A dim lamp was lit in the center of the table, as the first figure pulled back his hood, revealing a grey-bearded and balding dwarf. He sighed the deep sigh of a long suffering friend that has put up with your shit for far too long. “Yes, I have the tarts, Malt. She packed them especially for you.”

Browning put a doily wrapped box on the table and the grumble pulled back their hoods to reveal a collection of ageing dwarves and dwarvesses. One of them pulled aside the wall hanging of a black mountain and opened up a secret door. Bright light streamed in to a bevy of curses and shouts as he called up the stairs, “Bring us a round of drinks, the meeting is breaking up!”

“Aye sir, Master Brewer!” A young voice called back down, and the door was closed again to general relief.

“Fine, I guess we’re done for the night.” Browning moaned, and massaged his temples. “To close, in the matter of Annie Goldstone, the engineering report is available at Pewtership & Pewtership.”

“So it was an engineering failure?”

“Yes and no. Young Annie was so sure of her work that when she had the vats commissioned, she did not get them looked at by an [Engineer]. She was worried about espionage.” Browning frowned, “A foolish consideration. Who among us would dare to change the brewing techniques of our ancestors?”

“Did you know, I heard she put lemonade in her beer when she first got back?” Malt whispered.

“Ugh, foul. Truly?”

“Yes, but she ‘asn’t since.”

The grumble nodded their general agreement around mouthfuls of tart. It was a shame what had happened to her, but hopefully with that young firebrand cooling off, the next few centuries would be just as quiet as the last.