Brewer King 36 (Patreon)

Clothing was an indication of status and San’s status was that of a foreign savage. His tattered winter coat and trousers given to him in Forest River had seen better days. Between the hard traveling and fights against inhuman monsters, the leather coat and pants were on their last legs. San still had an extra pair of trousers in his gear, but he had been whisked away from Densa’s Senta Temple before he could grab a change of clothing.

As he was technically working for the Sol Suvanis Baron and would be a legitimate business man, Donsval had decided San needed a makeover. There was not catchy upbeat music as San was pulled out of the meeting room and rushed straight into a boiling hot bath.

A pair of iron haired older women, trusted individuals, stripped him naked, tutted about his clothing, and looked him over in the most appraising manner possible. San wasn’t a shy person, but their gaze held only judgement. He would have cracked a joke about the coldness of the room, but he feared the old women would not be pleased with any kind of levity.

He was at least allowed to bathe in private. San luxuriated in the hot steaming water. His understanding of history was that such things were indeed a luxury. There were no water heaters and everything had to be boiled, the wood chopped, the water carried by buckets, and then lugged up to the bathtub itself. It was a minor logistic feat that required organization and labor just so that one person could feel clean.

He noted that the water was a filthy gray and brown color as he got out of the tub. But for the first time in weeks, he felt clean and properly human. There was a small highly polished metal oval that acted as a mirror. San looked at his warped reflection, barely recognizing the man that looked back at him.

He had been fairly hefty when he arrived to the world. Six months of drinking and depression had its effects on his body, but with the hundreds of miles trekked, the hard labor of the farm and the battles, along with the bonuses given to Leveling; San was back to his physical prime nearly a decade previously.

The women seemed to know when he was done and they marched in while he stood there naked, carrying clothing and gesturing him to allow them to dress him. They didn’t say a word to him, their mouths set into a permanent frown and their eyes betraying nothing.

The fashion of the Baronies hadn’t been something San paid attention to. He had seen the robes of the higher ranked people, with their long sleeves and long hems, but for the most part it was the general day to day laborers and soldiers clothing he had seen the most of.

The clothing the women brought him seemed to be a middle ground between general commoner attire and high ranked official. He was given clean undyed underwear and an undershirt, then made to put on what appeared to be a crimson dyed oversized pair of shortcuts that were cinched to his waist with cloth cords and ended at mid calf. Over that was a long sleeveless tunic of fine cloth dyed a muted gray that also fell to mid-calf length. Finally came a thick robe of black wool trimmed in blue.

The robe was heavy and the sleeves tapered at his wrists, not the long and wide sleeves of the rich or high ranked. It was comfortable. Around his waist the women wrapped a thick sash of blue fabric and over it they looped a leather belt.

The cloth was all very well made, San saw as he inspected his clothing. The underwear was soft linen, the layer over that felt like cotton, and final layer was wool.

San inspected himself in the mirror again, rolling his shoulders and letting the clothing settle on his frame.

“Looks good,” he said to the women. They only stared at him and then left the room. A moment later they came back with his old clothing, from the looks of it freshly washed and dried. He wondered about the latter, how did they dry it so fast?

From the pile of clothing he took his hiking socks and boots, both freshly cleaned and put them on. The women stood there silently as he picked up the rest of the stuff they had taken from him. He hadn’t parted with his wedding ring or the necklace with Mary’s he wore around his neck.

The wrist watch from his grandfather went back on his wrist. It was still a good thing to know how much time had passed, even if this world had longer days. Twenty eight hours to Earth’s twenty four.

He paused as he looked at the watch, turning it over he read the old inscription on it’s back.

To Edward, May God watch over you.

He had always asked his grandfather who Edward was. From what he gathered from his own father, Edward was just a British soldier his grandfather had looted. It was always an interesting thought, that his grandfather had lived a violent life in a different land. He had always been the boisterous and beer brewing old man of San’s memories, but there was a time when he was solidly against British rule in India.

It had been the reason he had left his homeland. Supposedly he had been wanted for murder or something, possibly the wristwatch that San had been given when he died was spoils from that conflict.

His grandfather had fought and killed in his youth. Yet he had managed to settle down, find a wife, and have a family. San looked down at the watch and felt that his life was going in the inverse of his grandfathers. He had a family and had settled down, but now he was living a life of violence in a world full of monsters, magic, and strange beings.

San shook his head and strapped on the watch. There was a small pocket stitched into the inside of his robes and San stashed the rest of his belongings within. A lighter, the compass, a few copper sars, and various other things he had been carrying.

His sword, dagger, and utility knife had been all left with his belongings. Also the gems he had taken, stuffed deep within his bags.

“From a distance you could almost pass for Imperial,” Donsval said. The big man entered the room and the two women bowed before scurrying out.

“I suppose that’s the point,” San said, looking at himself in the mirror again. “Passing for Imperial, right?”

“Yes,” Donsval set down a leather satchel. “I’ve drawn up the Letters of Approval and have created a Identification Seal for you. With it you can do business within Sol Suvanis. You can’t own property or land, but you can rent and lease, if you have the patronage of a Landed, you can own things in their name.”

“Do the Exonaris count?”

“They would count, yes.”

San nodded.

“I have included several seals of recommendation to smiths that are trusted. You say you need to build these… stills.”

“Yeah, anyone who can work copper would be awesome.”

The man shook his head. “There are several, but you’ll wish to speak to Mastersmith Sanos. He can keep his mouth shut, but will overcharge you. Here is a list of warehouses and buildings that fall into the category of what you require.” He handed San a sheaf of paper.

“I can’t read,” San said, looking down at the illegible scribbles. He hadn’t seen much writing in this world, the mage’s tome he still carried had been the only thing he had found. Books appeared to be a costly expense and literacy in this world was similar to what it was in his own world hundreds of years ago.

“It matters not,” the man said, sighing. “All of these properties are held by a single company. Bring these documents to the Tower Property Company on Harbor Road. It is easy to find.”

San nodded.

The final thing was a sack of sars that clunked heavily on the table. San looked at the bulging sack.

“This is the bounty of the batto queen, split in five ways. One for the Baron, one for the Mage, and the rest for the three of you.”

“The Baron gets a cut?” San asked.

“There is also payment for you and Bostarion within it, a total of a forty sars for your service,” Donsval continued ignoring San’s question. “Another two hundred sars for retrieving and bringing back the gems and another two hundred sars for ridding the land of this invisible scaled monster and the white furred creatures.”

“What about Elgava?” San asked.

“She was in the service of the Baron at the time. It was her duty.”

San frowned at that, but said nothing.

“It’s a total of sixteen hundred sars, in silver and copper. Only Recognized Merchants, Traders, and the Baron are allowed to carry gold.”

San looked at the coins and felt a little cheated. Twenty sars for risking his life, and only sixty or so sars for bringing back what would be worth tens of thousands of sars? He sighed, working for the government in any world was a bad idea. At least he had all the gold that he had collected off of the white furred creatures.

“The gold you collected will have to be exchanged at a Money Changer on Gold Road. They will take the Baron’s Fifth there.”

San sighed. It seemed Histoa had mentioned the gold to the man too.

“I think we’re set then,” San said. He stuffed the papers and seals into the leather satchel, along with the sars. Donsval looked miffed at his treatment of the documents.

“When times permits and things settle down,” Donsval began, “I wish to talk to you about where you come from.”

“Okay,” San said, a little hesitant.

“You carry items that we have not seen and although they are not magical, they appear to be.” The man looked at San’s wrist where the watch was.

“Yeah, if you’re gonna ask me how they’re made, I don’t know. I’m just a brewer, not an engineer.”

“It is still a conversation I wish to have,” Donsval replied. He nodded once and walked out of the room. San watched him leave, letting out a sigh.

He looked at the satchel filled with the things he would need to set up another brewery and distillery. He didn’t feel the same excitement and worry that he had years ago when he started up King Brewery.  There he had done it on his own, he had taken all the risk and all the reward had been gained from his sweat, blood, and tears.

The Barony wanted what he could make with his Power. They wouldn’t let him fail. San supposed that the safety net was a good thing, but it also felt like manacles being locked onto his legs. He was now an agent of the Barony, for good or ill.

San sighed. He picked up the satchel and his clothing.

***

“If you weren’t head and shoulders taller than everyone here, I’d have thought you were some Imperial Merchant,” Pavano said as San exited the keep. The old man was sitting on the edge of a fountain, a man in marble staring into the far horizon while soldiers toiled beneath him.

“The clothes make the man,” San said, feeling the weight of the words. He was now technically a Barony merchant, without the rights and freedoms one gained as a citizen or Landed, but for all whom it concerned, he had the papers and seals to prove he could do business.

“Hetvana Cultists would claim vanity is their prorogative,” Pavano said, hopping to his feet. The man looked San up and down again and a grin appeared on his face. “You’re coming up in the world, lad. A scruffy foreigner overpaying Saggaris to follow her caravan and now this, a merchant of Sol Suvanis.”

“I can’t technically be a merchant,” San said. “I don’t have citizenship. Although I can use the Exonaris name to further my goals.”

“Always good to have one of the Landed on your side, even if its in name only.”

“Well, I’ll see if Azios wants to help out. At least until his brother returns.”

“Giving the Landed a copper sar only makes them want the whole silver,” Pavano warned.

“I’ll need someone who knows the city and can sweet talk the devil into bed,” San said, eyeing Pavano.

“Many a woman can vouch for my silver tongue, lad.”

“I’d rather not know about that, Pavano.”

“Come one, let’s be gone from this place. All these rich fools only make me want to rob them blind.” The old man barely hid the sneer as a portly man and young lady walked by, they held up their noses and looked annoyed at seeing Pavano in his commoner dress. They clocked San’s foreigness and their noses went up higher.

“Yeah, this place sucks,” San replied. He looked to the sky and saw that the sun was heading toward evening. It had been a late morning start with being hungover and now the day had passed in negotiations and bathing. San felt his stomach rumble with hunger. For all the gifts that Donsval bestowed on his, food hadn’t been one. “Let’s find a place to eat, with the rest of the family.”

“Family,” Pavano muttered and shook his head. “Come on, lad. I’ll show you around. With those clothes, you’ll be robbed once you step out into the real White Tower.”

“We walked through White Tower last night,” San said. He paused shaking his head. It really had been less than a day since they arrived. The issue with the mercenaries at the gates, meeting Densa, then meeting the Young Baron, finding where the woollys had been stabled, and finally ending up meeting Saggaris again. “Seems different in daylight.”

San looked at the buildings as they passed out of the richer part of the city. The cobblestones were rougher and well worn, the lamps that lit the streets were bird shit covered poles that hadn’t seen a lantern in years, and the homes were the wattle and daub that the farmhouse had been made of.

He glanced at the three story timber framed buildings. The Exonaris household had been roofed with thatch, but here they used wooden shingles. People, horses, woollys, and wagons filled the streets, a different sight from when evening fell. People talked, went about their business or hurried home, San watched as Guards and Levy soldiers wandered through the town, their armor bright and shiny.

“I’ll need a smith to look at my armor too,” San said. “It’s been through a lot.”

“Aye, Elgava and Bostarion have been filling my ears with your adventures. Hardly seems real,” Pavano said. “That cuirass wasn’t fitted to you, but with a proper smith we’ll get it snug to your frame and you’ll barely notice you’re wearing it.”

“The pauldrons, gauntlets, and leg armor aren’t mine,” San said.

“Until the Guards come for them, they’re yours,” Pavano remarked. “The pay for risking your life and killing a batto queen is pure woolly shit.”

“You heard?”

“No, I know that shitheel Donsval. He’s the money man of the Baron. He’ll pinch every copper and shake out every coin purse for the gold dust.”

“Well, I also got some nice clothes and a satchel,” San said, patting the leather pack.

“Good job, lad,” Pavano remarked sarcastically.

“We’ve made a deal for Courage,” San said. He didn’t think anyone would know what he was talking about, even if Ilagio and the soldiers talked about it. For now, his utter anonymity was his protection.

“I figured,” Pavano said. “Be a damned fool if the Barony didn’t lock that down. I thought they would have tempted you with citizenship and even a Landed title. You know how many potion makers there are in White Tower? None.”

“They tried to make me join the Guards or sign up with the Corvanus Cult,” San said.

Pavano spat onto the cobblestone, narrowly missing a man’s boot. The man glared at Pavano. “Donsval for you,” he said. “The man would get the best for a few gold coins and some paper, but he wants things for free. That’s power for you, lad. Those fucks just think they can walk over everyone and force all to do their bidding.”

“Those with wealth and power are the same in any land,” San said.

“So you’re gonna begin making more of it?” Pavano asked.

“Yeah. I just need to find a place and then a smith to make some equipment. I think we’ll have enough sars to rent a place, refurbish it, and buy gear.” San mentally began calculating the expenses needed to set up a brewery. Although he realized that everything he knew was for a twenty-first century set up, not a pre-industrial one.

“I know of a place,” Pavano grinned.

“I need some paper and ink,” San said. “Maybe a chalk board?”

“Why?”

“I need to figure things out. It’s better to write it down to figure things out,” San said.

“Didn’t know you could read,” Pavano said.

“Not Imperial, the language from my homeland.”

“Right. If you want, I know some people who could teach you Imperial. That magic you use to communicate is well and good, but it works better when you also understand the language and how its written.”

San had to agree. He hadn’t had any issues with the Power Many Tongues, it had become something that just was, always on and always translating. He often forgot he wasn’t talking in the language of this land. “I guess I’ll need to hire a tutor.”

“Someone to teach you how to use that sword also,” Pavano said.

San sighed, already seeing his hard earned sars vanishing away. “We’ll need to cash in that gold Elgava has. Donsval knows we have it and he wants the Baron’s Fifth deposited soonish.”

Pavano grunted. “I suppose the Mage was too honest.”

“He’s a good guy. He doesn’t talk much and is kinda strange, but he’s a good guy. Loyal to the Baron,” San said. “He did the right thing.”

Pavano grunted again. “Aye,” he said after a long pause.

“San!” a voice cried.

San looked up to see a figure rushing toward him. He saw the blue of his raincoat and then the figure nearly collided with him. San nearly dropped his bundle of clothing and the satchel; he looked down to see Azios staring up at him.

“You’re alive!” he cried.

San grinned, giving the boy a hug and pulling him off the ground. He struggled and huffed, but hugged him back.

“Pavano tell you he found me?” San asked.

“Yeah, but he lies,” Azios replied.

“Straight to me heart, lad. I don’t tell lies, boy, I only embellish.”

“Ilagio said he’d cut out his tongue if he didn’t shut up,” Azios said.

San snapped his fingers. “Damn it, I forgot about him. I was going to ask Havatair about him.”

“We got it covered,” Elgava said. “Bostarion’s at the keep right now, making sure that Havatair sends us the invitation when Ilagio is hanged. If he’s hanged. Landed are slippery buggers, buying off punishment and claiming their ancestors were awe inspiring heroes of the Barony.” She looked him up and down. “You go shopping, San? Barely recognize you.”

San twirled in the street, the hem of the robes flaring out as he moved. “Like it? The Baron’s money man used it to buy my loyalty.”

“Eh, beats being dead,” Elgava replied. “I guess your little beverage is the talk of the keep now that you’re back. Figured they’d rope you into making it for them.”

“Seems everyone expected that except for me,” San said.

“You’re a slow one, probably due to you being so damn big,” Elgava said. “Well, what are we gonna do now?”

“Feel like investing in a magical brewery?” San asked.