Beers and Beards: A Cozy Dwarf Tale

Book 4: Chapter 4: A Good Year

I awoke upside down.

A notification was blinking before my eyes.

Quest Complete: What’s all the Fuss About?

How was it?

Reward: You Got To Drink Elven Wine

I swiped it away.

The sky was ground. Why was the sky ground? And so far away?

With a lurch, my brain readjusted and I felt an immediate immense surge of vertigo. I was hanging by my ankle suspended much, much too far above the ground. I admit that I screamed, but at least I didn’t soil my pants. I also desperately activated [Lucky Break].

My screams were met with laughter, and I felt a tug on my leg. The ground lurched farther away and I screamed again. Thankfully, the moment was short before I was pulled back up to a platform by a rope attached to my leg. A trio of elves surrounded me as I stood on shaky feet, Joseph among them. They were giggling.

“Wha… wha’ happened.” I asked, my throat parched and cracking.

“You drank the wine, then drained the glass. Then you started ranting and weeping, and then you ran out. We had to catch you, but you were quite difficult to keep hold of. So we tied a rope around your ankle and dumped you over the side. It’s how we usually deal with drunks.”

“I prefer getting tossed.” I moaned, heaving. I moved away from the edge of the platform, which helped stop the world from spinning.

“I’m guessing you liked it?” Joseph laughed. His two companions patted him on the shoulder then ran off down the walkways.

“It was…” My brain was still foggy, but as I tried to remember, the memories came rushing back. I felt tears well up and dribble down into my beard, but I let them fall, unabashed. “It was the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted. It was rich, and full bodied. With dark berry tones and hints of vanilla. Tart, but not dry. Sweet, yet not overpowering. It was ambrosia.”

“That good?”

I turned a baleful eye on him. “Ya damn well know what I mean. That was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. How tha’ hell was it made??”

Joseph’s eyes crinkled. “That’s proprietary.”

“What does it matter if no one else can make it?” Godsdammit, I wanted to know how that nectar was made! If Barck had elven wine, why tha’ hell did he anything else? “And it could have possibilities for beer brewing!”

Joseph waved me back to his office and I followed on stumbling feet. I practically plopped down onto my chair, then grabbed the empty glass next to it and scanned it desperately for any drops left on the surface. I licked it to make sure, much to Joseph’s amusement. I noted that he’d gone and hidden the bottle. Bastard.

“Perhaps if you went to the Winery and asked, Master Romero would be willing to share. You are the Forefather of Brewing. Perhaps that would mean something to him.”

I flushed. “I’ve been hearin’ that from some of tha’ craft brewers. Can’t say I like it. First Brewer is a way cooler moniker.”

Joseph shrugged. “We can’t control how people perceive us. While the First Brewer may have invented the Sacred Brew, you are undoubtedly the one that made it available to everyone.”

I raised a shaking finger in his direction, then took a moment to try and orient it. “Hey, Greybough Consortium is the one sellin’ all the brewin’ books.”

“That’s a legal fiction and everyone knows it, Pete.” Joseph chuckled. “But I am serious about the chance to meet Romero. I’ll even put in a good word for you.”

I looked down at my shaking hands and actually, seriously, considered the offer for the first time. Seeing all the different architecture at the embassies had really driven home how little of this fantasy world I’d seen. If they were offering up a chance to travel on the company dime, why was I so quick to say no? And all I had to do was teach some dwarves and elves how to brew beer? It sounded like a great idea. One I should be all over.

But, we’d just had a whole grumble about how tired everyone was of all the chaos and drama. While it would undoubtedly be fun, there’d also be meetings with elvish nobility and possibly cranky dwarven locals.

But… I looked back at my shaking hand, and closed my eyes trying to recall the taste of that glorious wine.

“It really sticks to you, doesn’t it. I still remember my first taste.” Joseph’s voice came from far off.

“Aye…” My voice and thoughts trailed off as my mind wandered back to that singular perfect moment.

Joseph made polite noises about an appointment, which I barely registered as I plodded out the door with promises to get back to him later in the week. I moved forward one step at a time, barely registering where I was going. Thank goodness I’d set [Wayfinder] at the entrance, since I couldn’t even see straight, let alone navigate all the signage.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

When I was out on the street, I had to stop and sit for a while, as the chaos of Redwall traffic was a bit too much for my addled wits. When I could finally think straight, I headed back to City Hall to get Penelope.

She was impatiently thumping her horns against the door of her kennel when I arrived, and she nailed me with an angry eye. *Baaaahhhh!!!* [Translated from Primma Donna Goat] “How dare you abandon your princess in her hour of need!?”

I groaned. “Yeah, yeah, sorry Penelope. I’ll give you a goat treat when we get home, not that you need more ya greedy guts. I can barely get tha harness around you anymore!”

She sauntered out and paused as she passed me, giving a mighty sniff. *MAAAAHhh!!* [Translated From Prima Donna Goat] “WHAT IS THAT MOST HEAVENLY OF SCENTS!?”

“Nothing.” I backed away.

*Baaahhh!!* [Translated From Prima Donna Goat] “Are you cheating on me with other alcohols??”

I patted her on the head and rubbed where she liked behind the ears to try and distract her. “Don’t worry about it, Penelope. It’s nothing. I swear, you’re the only one for me.”

She butted me in the stomach, and my breath whooshed out. *Meeh!!* [Translated From Prima Donna Goat] “You dare lie to me varlet? Speak, or forever be ashamed!”

I backed up, holding a hand out defensively. “Penlope, Penelope, I just had a little drink. There wasn’t any to share, or I’d have brought you some, believe me! It was just a sip!”

She advanced on me, glowering, an angry bleat growing in the back of her throat.

“Um,” a voice interrupted. We both looked up. A bruised and bandaged stablehand was standing at the other end of the barn, looking confused. “What’re you doin’ with that goat?”

His voice turned hopeful.

“Are you takin’ her?”

—

The trip home was a bit huffier than the trip here. I kept nodding off while remembering the wine, and Penelope kept getting angry at me whenever I did. I had to hope it wasn’t a long-term thing. Was elven wine addictive? Surely I would've gotten a notification.

I arrived back home and shuffled Penelope to the kitchen and made her Bran’s problem. Then I meandered up to the office in the manor house. Annie was holed up in there with Balin. It was the year 8001 now and it was tax time, so she was putting paperwork in order.

“Hallo Pete.” Balin waved happily as I entered, then his face turned grim. “You okay, brother?”

“Pete?” Annie asked, standing up and walking over to me. She peered into my eyes, felt my forehead, and frowned. “What happened to you?”

“I had some elven wine…” I muttered.

“What, the pointy-ears drink?” Balin grinned. “How did it compare to real brew?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Annie began.

“It was incredible.” I groaned, collapsing into the office couch. I buried my face into a throw pillow. “Better than anything I’ve ever tasted. No beer, wine, sherry, whiskey, rum or liqueur even comes close.”

Balin gawped. “You, Peter Roughtuff. Master of the Unsacred Brew. Lord of Beer. Forefather of Brewin’. You think wine is better than beer.”

I groaned louder. “I knew about ‘Forefather of Beer’. Please tell me they aren’t calling me that other stuff too.”

Balin guffawed, Annie giggled, I briefly, and viciously, considered telling her she was the reincarnation of the First Brewer, but kept my beard straight. Barely.

I made a rude gesture instead. “Honestly, I’m not lyin’, it really was the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted. And Caroline and I shared a $4,000 bottle of ‘04 Romanée-Conti the week after our daughter graduated high-school and left for college.”

Annie sat forward with interest, her humour vanishing with the promise of interesting new alcohol facts. “Ooh, a bottle of what?”

I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling, remembering. “It was a velveteen Burgundy Pinot Noir with notes of cherry. We paired it with a roast veal and mushrooms. I always considered it tha best wine I ever drank, outside of our own of course!”

“We don’t know those words, Pete. What’s a Rhumey Coney? An arthritic rabbit? And an ‘04?” Balin piped up. Annie nodded vigorously, pulling out her brewing notebook.

Ah well, anything to get my mind off… things.

“The easiest to explain is the ‘04. That refers to the vintage, or age, of the wine.”

“So a ‘04 was four years old? That’s quite old for a drink!” Annie said with a note of surprise.

“Um, no, wine and other stronger spirits can be fermented, or aged, for a very long time. The ‘04 stands for 2004. It was closer to ten years old when we drank it.”

Annie would’ve done a spit-take if she could. “Ten years old!?”

I gave her a weak smile. “One of the most famous wines is a set of two thousand bottles pulled out of a shipwreck on the bottom of the sea. They were 1907 Heidecks, and weren’t uncorked until 1997. They sold fer, well, enough to buy a house. Each.”

Annie did some quick math and paled. “Ninety years? Didn’t they go bad?”

I shook my head. “Wine can be aged for up to a hundred years. However, most vintners agree that it’s best to drink it within twenty. Heck, one is often more than enough. The vintage tells more than just age though; certain vintages are considered ‘better’ than others. Perhaps the grape flesh was especially plump, or the grape skins were especially tart. For whatever reason, that year is just tastier, and thus more valuable than others. That’s called a ‘good year’.”

“Enough about gettin’ old. I still want ta know about the arthritic rabbit!” Balin butted in.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

I rolled my eyes. “Not Rheumy Coney. Romanée-Conti. It’s a vineyard in the country of France, and considered one of tha greatest vineyards, if not the greatest vineyard in tha world. It’s from tha Burgundy region of France, and certain wines from that region, like Pinot Noirs, are called ‘Burgundys’. A good year can go fer upwards of, well, way more than I could afford.”

“Greater than yours?” Annie asked, with one raised eyebrow. “I’m surprised you’d acknowledge that.”

“Just because I’m better than many, if not most dwarven brewers, doesn't mean I was the best wine brewer, or even beer brewer back in my world. I would’ve called myself good, better than decent, but not the best.” I lazily flicked at her with a ‘shoo’ gesture.

“And what’s that Pinot Noir you mentioned?” Annie jotted something down in her notebook and gave me side-eye as she did.

I was getting bored of this. I wanted to sleep and remember that wine. “Grapes. Pinot Noir is a type of grape. And Pinot Noir wine is a red wine made with pinot noir grapes. Anything else?”

“Red wine? There’s more than one kind of wine?”

“Aye. Lots of whining these days.” I mumbled.

“Pete?”

“S’not my fault…. go bother Aqua….” I yawned, rolled over, and fell asleep.

To dreams of bungee jumping from elven tree houses, wine glass in hand, while being chased by a screaming goat.