“By a vote held by the council of Greybeards, Riverside Brewery and Thirsty Goat Brewery were found not criminally responsible for the riot that occurred within Redwall Grand Market on the 1st day of the 5th month following the joint sales of Burning Brew and Dragonator. In accordance with the Ordinances of Kinshasa, Volume 1, Section 5, Subsection 10, the aforementioned breweries will be fined for damages incurred by the city and local businesses. The amount shall be determined at a later date, but shall not not exceed 60,000 Gold at a ratio of 2/1 for Riverside Brewery. If unable to meet their obligations, the owners shall be subject to no less than 100 years in a Kinshasa penal reform mine or until they are able to provide the required gold.
Health and Safety Auditors have determined that the aforementioned brews do not classify as a risk to the populace under normal circumstances, and the Thirsty Goat Brewery and Riverside Brewery may continue to sell them so long as a warning is properly affixed to Burning Brew’s label.
Gods bless the King and Kinshasa.”
Annie read the fancy letter, written on vellum and sealed with red wax, with a trembling voice. When she was done, she collapsed into a chair, breathing heavily. We all knew it was coming, and the mood around the Thirsty Goat had been black for the past couple days as we awaited the Greybeard’s judgment.
The Redlip Riot as it was being called, had resulted in mostly material devastation. The Guard had quickly quelled the worst of the fighting, and Annie and Schist had managed to rally the sober to hold the line against the agonized drunken horde. I’d made it through quite handily, so for now I just added the day to the list for CPTSD therapy with Aqua.
The amount roughly matched what we’d been told to expect by our [Lawyer]. The fine would go towards repairing the city streets and shop fronts as well as the Healer’s fees. Apparently the transient traders and bazaar merchants would be getting a significantly reduced amount, and wasn’t Whistlemop unhappy about that.
Not that I’d seen him much lately. He was angry at being ‘abandoned’ and I was angry about the lack of hired guards. We’d talk again, eventually. Like adults.
Aqua wrapped an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “It’s okay Annie. We have more than enough to cover that amount, it’s not like it was back then. You’re not going to a penal mine, and nobody died.”
“We get lotsa practice,” Johnsson said. “And we’re hardy.”
“A lot of Vitality crammed into an itty bitty package.” Kirk agreed.
Johnsson growled and Kirk growled back.
“That much will wipe out everything we’ve made in Kinshasa.” Annie groaned. “But you’re right, it’s just Gold. We can be thankful to Barck for our luck that nobody got seriously hurt.”
I carefully didn’t point out that all the new brews were by Barck’s design, so it was really his fault in the first place.
“You do realize that the Thirsty Goat coffers don’t have enough to cover that large a fine. We’re going to need to dip into my personal funds.” I grumbled.
A myriad of angry glares lanced into me.
“Which is fine! I’m just sayin’...” I finished, lamely. “I don’t have infinite money.”
“I’ve been hearing that every mine in Crack is using Boomdust now.” Johnsson said accusingly. “And I see Whistlemugs everywhere. How much money do you have?”
“Enough…” I prevaricated.
“It doesn’t matter. How is ‘dis gonna impact ‘de contest?” Richter asked. “There’s no way it won’t.”
“I think it’ll be worse for Riverside than us,” I said, happy to change the subject. “They have more to lose. We’re newcomers, and outsiders at that. Plus, it really was the Burning Brew that set things off.”
“I wish I had your optimism, Pete.” Annie sighed. “I just hope my father doesn’t hear about this.”
“Oh, Malt probably sent him a message via [Herald] the very next day.” Johnsson put in unhelpfully.
“For now, let’s lay low.” I raised my hands, trying to calm the situation. “We do have enough to cover the fine, and our brew was a proverbial hit. I think Schist is overestimating how much people like spicy food, and it’s gonna cost him. The worst is over, so let’s just go to the Goat, have a pint, and wait for this all to blow over.”
I was interrupted from any further pithy remarks by the pitter patter of feet as Bando burst into the office. He gasped for breath for a moment before shouting, “There’s an inspector from the Brewers Guild! You’ve been summoned before the Masters!”
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Aqua slapped her hand to her face.
“Idjit.” Johnsson remarked.
Our escort turned out to be a Journeyman Brewer serving directly under Guildmaster Monk. He gave us just long enough to change into nicer clothes, then marched us out to his unigoat cart.
The trip to the Brewer’s Guild ran right through Food Street. The destruction of only a few days prior was nowhere to be seen, and the cheerful atmosphere of cutthroat hawkers and eager buyers was back in force. The only reminder of that event was the glare from the occasional trader who recognized us as we passed. I was able to ride with my head held high – we didn’t do it – but Annie shrank down into herself.
“Keep your head up, Annie. You don’t want to look guilty, that’ll be blood in the sand.” I murmured, elbowing her in the side.
“But… so many of them suffered because of us!”
I nodded my head at a torn up tent. The merchant beneath it was haggling with a customer. “Did you personally tear that up?”
“Then tha sufferin’ wasn't because of you. Even tha Greybeards didn’t think so, or they would’ve found us guilty.”
“They’re making us pay 20,000 gold!”
“Up to, in civil liabilities, but you probably would’ve been willin’ ta pay that regardless. If anything, it’s nice havin’ a maximum. I’ll repeat, what happened with the riot wasn’t our fault. We may have accidentally instigated it, but we didn’t do it. Besides, we tested the Dragonator plenty, and the worst we got was Johnsson projectile vomiting all over Bando.”
She gave me a long hard stare. “This really isn’t affecting you, is it?”
I shrugged. “Actually, civil proceedings are practically comfortable. Ya get called into court every once in a while when you own a successful business; everybody wants a slice of yer pie. I stopped keepin’ track after the third time we were sued fer false advertising.”
Annie stared at me. “That many? For what?”
“We were sellin’ a beer called ‘God’s Own Dunkel’, and some chucklebuck made a huge kerfuffle over it. Sued us fer ‘falsely claimin’ the beer belonged to god’. It got thrown out, like most of tha rest, and everything after that was just noise.” I waved the memory away, like a bad smell.
“Just most of the rest?”
“Eh. We lost a couple. One over some rotten beer and another from a neighbour that claimed our heavy delivery vehicle traffic was against zoning and causin’ ‘em poor sleep. I did feel bad about that last one, but we got better insulation fer his house and paid out tha nose fer rezoning.”
Annie gave me a sideways glance. “You know, we've only really ever talked about business. You never talk much about your past.”
I gave her a wink. “I’m trying something Aqua mentioned. It’s helping.”
“Maybe I should get some therapy too…” She mused as we arrived at our destination. We hopped out of the cart and triapsed into the Brewer’s Guildhall. It was much like the Guildhall in Minnova – an imposing stone edifice with an adjoining beer garden. If there were two big differences, they were the lack of a raised seating area for the Masters in the beer garden, and the addition of a big statue of the First Brewer on the threshold.
The first brewer was… unremarkable. His beard was done up in the knotted traditional style, and he wore the heavy robes of a Master Brewer complete with an onion in his pocket, but otherwise he looked like any other dwarf.
“Do you like onions?” I asked Annie nonchalantly.
“Wait here.” Our escort stopped us and went to report in. Even the front foyer was similar to Minnova – it was all mine deco, with careful thought put into making the space feel like a cave. From where we were standing we could see a kiosk covered in bottles with eager customers purchasing their beer for the day.
“Right this way.” Our escort announced, returning. We followed him down a side tunnel and down a ramp into the bowels of the guild. There wasn’t any brewing happening here, it was all administrative and beer storage, so there wasn’t much to see other than a multitude of grey and brown robes. And yep, just like Minnova, it reeked of onions back here.
I gave Annie an angry glare as I held my nose shut.
“What?? It’s not like I force them to keep onions in their pockets.” She protested. Follow current novᴇls on novel※fire.net
We were brought to a room I recognized, since we’d been in it before. It was the conference chamber where we’d come to share our bottling tech. Our journeyman escort knocked at the door and announced, “Brewers Goldstone and Roughtuff,” then pushed us through.
The inside was anticlimactic. A simple square space hewn from the stone with a large circular wooden table in the center. No artwork, windows, or anything that could be remotely distracting was anywhere to be seen. One wall was taken up by an enormous blackboard, which was currently blank.
A ring of two dozen dwarves sat around the table, giving us the stink eye, a bottle of Burning Brew and another of Dragonator before each. A couple of them had bright red lips and teary eyes. Malt was in attendance as well, rosy red lips and all. I spotted Master Blunt and gave him a nod, and he frowned but nodded back.
Master Brewer Schist was here too, looking shamefaced and standing right next to the door. Annie and I stepped up beside him.
“Howdy ol’ fishin’ buddy. Are they bitin’?” I asked sotto voce.
Schist snorted. “Harder than a gam of shaleshark.”
“Why, does gam gam have sharp dentures?”
“If you two are quite done, I’d like to begin.” A feminine voice enunciated from a dwarfess sitting beneath the blackboard. The voice set off every warning bell in my head at once. It was a voice that was used to being obeyed, and brooked no argument. It was a voice well known to middle-managers and front-of-store staff everywhere.
“Point of order, Guildmaster Monk.” A portly dwarf to my left said. “We haven’t been joined by Master Sprout yet.”
“They’re late, and we won't be waiting any further.” The Guildmaster rose to her feet. She was wearing standard black Master’s robes fitted loosely to her stocky dwarven frame. Her ensemble eschewed any armor besides an ornamental gorget and a set of silver bracers, and she had hair as white as Malt’s own. It was done up in a short white ponytail, and her beard was a close cropped chin strap rather than the traditional braided affair. “We’re all busy dwarves, so I’d like to begin. Any objections?”
The room echoed as a couple dozen voices shouted, “Nay!”
“Then,I call this disciplinary hearing for Brewers Schist, Goldstone, and Roughtuff to order!”