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Book 2: Chapter 10: Talking Shop

“So you truly think Whistlemop himself will hire me?” Asked the finely dressed, but slightly wide gnome following closely behind me. We may have turned Bimbleberry down for working at the brewery, but I was absolutely not going to throw away such an incredible find right while we were expanding. As for goatboy… eh, we could do without - he insulted Penelope, so he could eat Aaron’s Arse.

“Oh absolutely. Your resume is impeccable, and you’ll fit in perfectly at the emporium.” I stepped aside as a trio of Dwarves wearing the badge of the Highwatch trundled past on unigoatback. I gave them a customary closed-fist-to-the-chest salute and they nodded in acknowledgement. The Highwatch was responsible for guarding the roads in Crack against monster and bandit attacks, and it was dangerous but important work.

“I admit that I was surprised to learn that you are partners.” Bimbleberry shook his head. “There are very few co-owned dwarven and gnomish businesses even in a relatively egalitarian city like Minnova.”

I coughed; the history of our relationship was fraught. If theft, assault, battery, kidnapping, confinement, and coercion could be so simply described as fraught. “Yes, well, he’s a good business partner, but you’re right that we haven’t really advertised that fact.”

“I should have realized since you were selling your drinks out of his cart. I simply assumed you were renting it from him and helping him sell bottles!”

“The bottles were my idea actually.” I gave a self-satisfied smile as the Main Street of the Grand Market came into sight ahead. Then I frowned. Speaking of bottles, I could see one in a ditch ahead. I’d noticed a good number of them on our walk here and that… was going to be a problem.

City of Minnova Ordinances Chapter 56, Section 3, Subsection 9 stated that any garbage in the city from a business or party that exceeded 800 kilograms was the responsibility of the business in question. I was willing to bet that a pencil pusher in City Hall was busy counting every bottle picked up by the city cleanup crew, waiting for it to hit the magic 800 kilos. Then we’d be in trouble. Some of those staid sticks at City Hall were just the kind of Dwarves who’d be annoyed by my changes to the Sacred Brew and would have an axe to grind.

Our return program was going well. But when a hypothetical party of Dwarves walked drunkenly through the street (and were not picked up by the guard and shipped off to one of the reform mines) they tended to leave a mess. It was probably best to get ahead of this problem before City Hall madeit my problem.

“Everything all right?” Bimbleberry asked at my side.

“Take a note that we need to deal with those cast-off bottles.” I pointed at the offending glassware.

Bimbleberry looked about to say that he did not, in fact, work for me yet, then shrugged and pulled a notepad out of nowhere. “Bran brings meals every day you say? Fully comped?”

“Yes. I’ll have him prepare extra just for you. That’ll help make Whistlemop partial to you. He likes the food too.”

Bimbleberry flashed a grin. “Most excellent.”

—

We walked into Whistlemop’s Emporium of Fine Goods and Beer, and there was the jingle of a bell over the door. The place was packed, mostly by Dwarves clamoring over the various kinds of beer being served on the first floor. It was mostly ours, but Whistlemop had refused to go exclusive. A few gnomes were sprinkled throughout, especially on the second floor where Whistlemop sold his glass alongside odds and ends from Greentree. We were greeted at the door by The Mop himself wearing his godsawful rainbow suit.

“Greetings, and welcome to my emporium! Thank you for - oh… it’s you. Good morning, Pete. How was the audit?” Whistlemop gave a knowing smirk.

I glowered. “The audit was just peachy

. Did you get Silverpen as your auditor?”

“No, it was a Dwarf by the name of Jackson. He was pretty easy to give the run-around. You got Silverpen?” Whistlemop asked with surprise in his voice.

“Do you know him?” I moved aside to allow a few Dwarves out. They nodded thanks as they passed, though one stopped with a shocked expression and pointed at me. His fellows dragged him out. I was a bit of a minor celebrity in the drinking community following the Feud and the drinking contest.

“He’s the only gnome working for City Hall. He got in on a loophole he found in the Ordinances, and they closed the loophole in an emergency update.” Whistlemop shook his head. “A crying shame. We could use more auditors like him and less like Jackson.”

“Huh, yeah. He was really good at his job.”

“What brings you in today?” Whistlemop glanced over at Bimbleberry in curiosity. Bimbleberry stood to attention at the attention.

I looked around the zoo. “This place is getting a bit too busy for you to be wasting your time greeting people at the door Whistlemop. You need a front of house.”

“I don’t -” Whistlemop hotly began. We’d had this argument before, but things had changed.

I wagged a finger as I interrupted. “You do. There are a million things to do and manage, and you’ll never get it done if you keep trying to micromanage your shop!”

“But how will people trust my products if they don’t meet with me.” Whistlemop whined.

“We’ve been over this! That’s what the brand is for!” I began and paused as I realized we were gathering a crowd of curious Dwarves. “Let’s finish this in the office.”

Whistlemop sighed. “Yes, let’s.”

The three of us made our way to the basement, which contained a massive storage cave as well as Whistlemop’s - and my - office. The room was lushly appointed with a couch, several plush chairs, a somewhat large coffee table, thick carpeting, cozy yellow lighting, oh - and a small forgotten work-desk tucked in a corner. Smoked-glass windows gave us some privacy from prying eyes.

Whistlemop picked up a plate from the table as we entered. “Scone?”

Bimbleberry instantly brightened to the level of the sun. “Made by Bran?”

“Of course. Emma dropped my breakfast off this morning.” Whistlemop nodded, and used a small knife to cut a trio of orange and green flecked scones in half.

“Then I would love one, thank you.” Bimbleberry gratefully received a scone and I snatched one from the plate as well. We chewed in blissful silence for a while. Bran’s scone-of-the-day was an onion-garlic-cheese affair, with chives in it. It had a crunchy exterior, but the interior was light and flaky. I closed my eyes and took in a deep sniff, enjoying the heady scent of garlic mixed with cheese. The scones were a tad under-salted for my taste, but I was ruined from years of Earth fast food.

“Any butter?” I asked.

“You would ruin such perfection with condiments?” Whistlemop asked, aghast.

“Just asking.” I grumbled, and finished off my scone in several quick bites. “I don’t have time to sit around though, I have a meeting with Malt after this. Whistlemop, this finely dressed gentlegnome is Bimbleberry, Bimbleberry this annoying blowhard is Whistlemop.”

Whistlemop almost popped. “Blowhard!?”

“See? He admits he’s annoying.”

Whistlemop looked like he was giving serious consideration to stabbing me with his scone-knife. Thankfully I was saved by Bimbleberry.

“Greetings and salutations Merchant Whistlemop. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you. I’m a Titled [Butler], and was in service to Lord Samuel until just earlier this month.” He sketched a perfect little bow.

Whistlemop choked on his scone. “To a Lord!?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to work for ME!?”

Bimbleberry looked down at his scone then up at me. “So long as food like this is included in the contract.”

I nodded and Whistlemop nodded harder. I rolled my eyes at the obvious greed playing across Whistlemop’s features. Then again, it was hard to blame him. A pro like Bimbleberry was a treasure worth more than - well, not maybe gold, but at least silver.

Gold was GOLD.

“Are you pleased with your prospective employee Whistlemop? And do you see what I mean? If you hire competent people like Bimbleberry, and keep your build quality high, then you don’t need to be the one greeting people at the door. Your brand will greet them. If you keep wasting your time with the nitty gritty it’ll have the opposite effect, because you won’t be properly managing the company.”

“Yes, yes. You’re right. Tell me more about your job with Lord Samuel, Bimbleberry. Do you know any other nobles?” Whistlemop waved me away and soon the two of them were chatting like old friends.

I left them discussing ways to go about getting a noble sponsorship, Bimbleberry’s acceptance as the Emporium’s new chief manager a practically done deal.

Next on the list was Guild Master Malt.

—

It was a short walk; The Honourable Guild of Brewers had their own Main Store in the Grand Market. They were our healthy competition, though they only sold beer. They had a large outdoor space apportioned for a beer garden outside, and I admired it as I walked by. It was currently full of merrily drinking Dwarves, and a small sign at the entrance said “no outside drinks allowed”. I frowned at the clear attack on our ale; Thirsty Goat was pretty much the only ‘outside drink’ there was at the moment.

I walked in the front door and greeted the young Dwarfess beside the welcome stand. I say young, but she was probably older than me. She had a fuzzy red beard with wavy hair done up in a bun, and was wearing the brown robe of an apprentice brewer.

“I’m Peter Roughtuff, here to see Guild Master Malt.” I said in my most officious air. “I have an appointment.”

“Oh! You’re, you’re…! Uh, uh - right away, sir!” She said, and almost tripped over her metal-shod boots as she ran into the depths of the store. Time passed, and I looked around the store while I waited, admiring the architecture and deciding if there was anything we could steal - businesswise, I mean.

The Guild was a single-storey building made largely of stone, with several basement levels likely lurking below. This was in stark comparison to the Emporium, which was made in the gnomish style with lots of wood and glass. Other than the walls, the layout was actually quite similar to Whistlemop’s, with a large bar taking up one wall and several display kiosks throughout. One major difference was that kegs lined the walls instead of magic fridges filled with bottles.

The names of different Breweries hung above the kiosks, and I read through some of them with curiosity.

Ruddy Bloodbrews

Stonetusk Brewery

The Sooty Sot

Moon Over Minnova

The Rusty Battleaxe

Marvelous Malts

I paused as my eyes passed over a pair of kiosks where two displays clearly used to be. One was likely for our dear Thirsty Goat, the other held an aged barrel that read ‘Browning’ in a faded script. I smirked.

Au revoir, jerkface.

“I brought him, Brewer Peter!” I looked over to see the front desk Dwarfess pointing Guild Master Malt in my direction. Malt was old, even for a Dwarf, and he walked with a slight limp. His pure-white beard was done up in the traditional style with knots, pleats, and plaits, and he wore the black and brown armored robe of an official Brewer. He also smelled faintly of onions and was completely bald.

I walked over to greet him. “Hello Guild Master Malt!”

We shared a fist bump and Malt regarded me from beneath bushy eyebrows. His quavery voice and demeanor were spry, even if his joints creaked when he walked. “Glad you came on time! So many youngsters these days don’t appreciate punctuality!”

“I didn’t want to waste this opportunity, Master Brewer.”

Malt waved his arm to encompass the showroom. “What do you think? Not as fancy as that Emporium of yours, but it’s stood the test of time!”

“It looks great!” I said honestly, then pointed back at the sign that read ‘Marvelous Malts’. “Is that yours? I thought Malt was your name. Were you named after the brewery?”

“Aye, that’s my family’s brewery. As head of a dwarven clan it’s customary that I use the clan as my name. Did… did you not know that?” He gave me a confuzzled glance.

“Uh, no, I knew that.” I coughed. Right, Goldstone had done pretty much the same, going as Goldstone in public and Jeremiah with family and friends. “I’m here to see you about that thing we were talkin’ about? Could we take this out back?”

Malt gave me a dirty smile. “Are ya invitin’ me out back already, Brewer? I’m afraid I’m a married Dwarf!” He crossed his legs and blinked demurely.

“Yearn’s Yams, you know what I mean.” I grumbled. “Let’s go somewhere private.”

“Hoooeeee!!”

“I’m going to tell yer wife you were flirtin’ with me.”

“Right this way, Brewer Pete!”

“Uh-huh.”