Chapter 60: Petey First Dates Part 2 (Patreon)

“That red armour really brings out your eyes, Emerelda.”

“Thank ya Pete.” Emerelda posed in her red gambeson. “Red and crimson are all the rage right now.”

“Is it because of the Lord?”

Emerelda nodded. “That’s part of it. It also looks great!”

Pete had invited Emerelda to drinks at the Grand Market earlier in the week and she had happily obliged. They were seated at the open air beer garden hosted by the Honourable Guild of Brewers.

They spent the next hour discussing their love of the brew and all the places they’d been to drink. Emerelda had actually traveled to several different cities in Crack to try their beers. She described them as ‘Kinda all tha same’. Pete was very careful in his own description to always talk about his love for beer in the general sense. Eventually he got to his main purpose for inviting Emerelda out.

“How do you like your Whistlemug?” He tapped the plain metal tankard provided by the garden.

“Aren’t they great? I have two now, and almost nobody has more than that.”

“Why is that?”

“There is a limit on one per customer.” Emerelda sighed. “You have to sign your name. They keep a register of all ‘official owners’. I think it’s crazy, but they’re always sold out, so it can’t be too crazy.”

“Huh… I was interested in grabbing another one. My name shouldn’t be on the register since I won it from the city.”

“That’s possible.” Emerelda nodded. “I can take you to Whistlemop’s stall. He has a small space in the central square of the Grand Market.”

“That sounds great, let's go."

The Market was full of knick knacks and oddities both magical and mundane so a little window shopping was unavoidable. Pete spent nearly thirty minutes at a stall that sold talking objects made by an [Animist].

“By the Gods, why would you want a talking coaster?” Emerelda guffawed.

“Because I could hand them out? I’m not allowed to put up posters so I need to get creative for my advertising.”

“What’s advertising?”

“Hmmm… think of it as forced word of mouth. It’s getting the name of a business out into the community through more direct means.”

“Well, a coaster that screams ‘DRINK A GOAT’ every time you put a drink on it would get attention.” She chuckled.

They eventually found their way to Whistlemop's, which was a rather familiar wagon converted into a more permanent stall. The sides were filled with Whistlemugs, and the side was adorned with the slogan: “Whistlemop’s Fineries” with a newly painted “and Whistlemugs” beneath it. A large line had gathered, and a pair of plate armored dwarves kept the crowd at bay as Whistlemop himself handed out mugs. A gnome beside him was checking IDs and putting names down in a ledger.

As they approached, Pete folded his beard up into a fashionable leather gorget and pulled his skull cap down. He completed the makeshift outfit with some goggles and a long leather jacket.

Emerelda raised her eyebrows as he donned the disguise. “What’s with the getup?”

“I’m doing some market research on Whistlemop, and I don’t want others to know.”

“Why not?” She looked him up and down and bit her lower lip. “It makes you look mysterious.”

“Dwarf of mystery, that’s me. Want to be my femme fatale?” He said the last while twirling his moustache.

“Does it involve a little mayhem?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“A little chaos, a touch of bloodshed, maybe a murder.” Pete said and sidled closer.

Emerelda laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. “Then count me in!”

The two waited in line while sharing stories about their childhood. Emerelda was born and bred in Minnova but was well-traveled. Pete shared what he could, but tried to keep the topic on Emerelda.

Pete kept an eye on Whistlemop while they chatted. Every time some silver and a mug were exchanged his finger twitched as though he was counting. At one point there was a commotion as a dwarf whose name was already on the register started a fight. He was quickly subdued by the guards and then escorted out of the market. Nobody complained, and a few even cheered. Then it was Pete’s turn.

“Name and ID please.”

“Peter Roughtuff.” Pete handed over his newly minted ID.

Nearer the wagon Whistlemop seemed to twitch a bit at the name “Peter” and glanced their way. He calmed a bit at the name “Roughtuff” and barely gave Pete a cursory second glance.

“[Verify Authenticity]. That will be 5 silver.”

“Guh. Aaron’s Arse.”

“Is there a problem?” The gnome looked down his nose at Pete and adjusted his glasses.

“Nope. Just thinkin’ how much I’m looking forward to this.” Pete ground out through clenched teeth. He moved up to Whistlemop who handed him a glass.

“Thank you purchasing this one of a kind Whistlemug!”

Pete coughed and lowered his voice to a gruff tone. “Thankee.”

“Now move along please so I can serve the next person.”

“Congrats on yer success. ‘Ow did ya come up wit tha idea?”

Whistlemug seemed annoyed but quickly turned on a bright smile.

“It was luck, really, I needed something to drink from and had a similar object handy. I used it for my drink, and realized how perfect it was. Now, please move along, I have many customers to serve.”

Pete stalked away and passed the mug to another dwarf in the line.

“Hey, are you sure!?!” The stranger exclaimed.

“Merry Christmas.” Pete growled as Emeralda ran after him.

“What?” Said the confused, but overjoyed dwarf.

“Did you figure out what you wanted?” Emerelda asked as she got alongside.

“Yeah. I need to see a gnome about a dog.”

“Why a dog?”

“It’s a surprise. At least, he’ll find it surprising.” Pete removed the costume and smiled with his teeth.

“Ooooh, that’s a mean look. Do it again!”

The two of them shopped for a while longer. Before they separated Emerelda agreed to meet again the next week for dinner at a local cafe, and to pass on a message for the pro drinkers. They were all invited to the grand opening of the tavern.

—

“I ship the gnomess more.” Lunara said around a mouthful of sweets as she stretched in her black chaise lounge chair.

“Where are ya’ all comin’ from?” Barck grumbled.

“I was actually looking for Archis.”

“We all live here too, you know.” Aaron put in.

“At least Yearn hasn’t found us yet.” Tiara added.

There was a murmur of general agreement.

—

The two of them, the giant and the goof stood in front of the building. The plaque upon it read: “The Rusty Battleaxe”. They stepped aside as a dwarf was thrown out of the building and rolled across the street into a ditch.

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

*ho ho ho* “Only one place called tha ‘Rusty Battleaxe’ with an owner named Drum around here, Pete. He owns tha only brewpub in town. At least until yers is done.”

“I think that makes him the competition.” Pete frowned.

“Aye, and you were in tha top ten o’ tha drinkin’ contest. That also makes you a target.”

“A target!?” Pete ducked as a table sailed through an open window. Most dwarven buildings didn’t bother with glass, so there was no real damage done.

“Aye, a target. Tha Honourable Guild of Brewers don’t like us pro drinkers. You almost made the top three, and that’s going to put you on their shit list. Drum is one o’ tha enforcers for the old fusspots. It’s why he runs this brewpub. It lets him keep an ear to tha pulse o’ tha city, especially its undesirables.”

“And I'm undesirable now.”

“Aye, and new competition to boot.”

Pete sighed. “Sam said I should come to Drum if I needed help. I trust Sam, so… let’s do this.” He bounced from foot to foot and sang something about the ‘Eyes of a Tiger’ before stepping through the door.

The building was a large open space, with a stairway leading up to a second row of seating. A chandelier covered in solstones lit the entire space, and several dozen tables were all full of laughing, jostling, fighting dwarves.

Pete had to yell to be heard. “IS IT ALWAYS SO NOISY?”

*ho ho ho* “YES!”

The pair made their way to the bar, which was staffed by a gruff looking dwarf with a shaggy black beard and an unruly mop of black and silver hair. His face was etched with scars and a black eyepatch covered his left eye. His left arm had the telltale silver sheen of a magical prosthetic. As Pete approached the bar the hand made a *shing* sound, and morphed into a pick. The sharp point smashed a hole into a new keg before the bartender stopped it with a spigot.

“Ah need a new keg here!” He called towards a swinging door behind the bar and then faced Pete and Rumbob. “What do you two want? Hmmm…. wait, I know you.”

His hand morphed into an axe, which he thrust in their direction. “Give me one reason not ta gut you hosers, eh? You get one sentence.”

Pete gulped and paled slightly. Rumbob looked jolly.

“Aw, come on Drum. You wouldn’t do that to one of yer best customers!”

Drum snapped his right hand, and his thumb erupted with a small flame. He pulled out a cigar and lit it before taking a long drag.  “That was two. Could have saved us all a lot of trouble if I’d poisoned yer beer ages ago, Rumbob.”

*ho ho ho* “Yer too much of a perfectionist ta mess with perfection.”

“At least you know perfection. Not like these youngins messing with Tha Brew. Who’s tha kid?”

“Hello, Mr. Drum.” Pete stepped forward with a winning, if slightly sick, smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mr. Drum was me dad. What do you want?” He took another pull on the cigar and blew the smoke in Pete’s face.

Pete kept a straight face and avoided turning away or coughing. “Sam sent me, he said you’d be able to help.”

“Oh? Old Sam did, did he?” Drum looked Pete up and down. “How do you know him? Take a seat. Congratulations, you’ve earned a chat.”

Pete and Rumbob sat down at the bar. Another dwarf came up to get a drink, and was rebuffed with a snarl and a tossed mug from Drum. Pete told his story, starting from the time he entered the mine, to the sulfur incident, to his first time meeting Sam, and so on and so forth.

Drum was frowning by the end of it. His cigar lay on the counter, forgotten. Rumbob had joined a party and had the entire table singing a rip roaring naughty song called ‘Twa Bearded Lady”

“So why did ya come to me?”

“I need your help looking into a gnome named Whistlemop.”

“What? Tha merchant?”

“Yeah, I need to know his regular movements and where he lives. Stuff like that.”

“Huh, why?” Drum drummed his fingers on the counter.

“I have… business with him. He kind of stole the Whistlemug from me.”

“Ha! Sucks fer you! Well, he’s been gettin’ a bit too big fer his britches. May be good fer him to get shook up. I’ll need ta look into yer story though. What did you say yer name was?”

“Peter Roughtuff.”

“Right, give me a few days. I’ll need ta check with Sam first.”

“You can get word into the prison mine!?”

“Who do ya think yer talkin’ to? Course I can!” Drum stood up to leave but Pete stopped him before he got too far

“Oh, well in that case. He knows me as Peter Samson. Tell him I said hello.”

Drum paused, his face twitching. “What? Samson? You said yer name was Peter Roughtuff.”

“Aye, I changed it.”

Drum’s face wrinkled. “Why?”

“No real attachment to it. I never really knew me mum or dad, and I’ve made a new family here in Minnova.” Pete shrugged.

Drum drummed his fingers on the counter. Then his face twisted. Then he chortled. Then he guffawed. Then he laughed. Then he roared. He began to beat his metal hand on the counter with glee. “HAW! Never knew! By tha Gods that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a goat’s age! Midna’s Mangy Mullet!! HAR HAR HAR!!!!”

Rumbob came over and watched curiously as tears began to leak out beneath Drum’s eyepatch. “What did ya do?”

“I don’t know?”

---

One more Petey First Dates after this one, and then we continue with the final arc of book 1!!