Brewer King 37 (Patreon)

“She’ll not bite, lad,” Pavano said as San stood by the entryway.

The world seemed to be holding its breath. The sounds of the busy street outside was muted, the cold wind blowing down the street lost its bite, and San could feel the thundering of his heart as his hand hovered over the latch to the apartment that Pavano had rented for Endaha and the children.

He had faced monsters and creatures of horror, but now he couldn’t move. Another man’s wife, another man’s children, that was what Pavano had said to him not too long ago. Love? He didn’t know what he felt for Endaha, she was practically a child, or would have been in his world.

The little he knew she was about eighteen years old, already a mother of two, with one miscarriage. She was from a completely different culture than his own, she was more importantly another man’s wife.

Azios pushed open the door before he could react. The boy practically shoved him aside as he barreled into the room beyond. San stood there, mouth agape as he saw Endaha standing in the center of an open room, breastfeeding little Kovass.

“Hi,” San said, fumbling for words.

“Adventurer San,” Endaha said, nodding her head in greeting. “You’ve returned as promised.”

San straightened his back and gave a slight bow to her, not knowing why. “I said I’d be back. I’ve come back.” He stood there, not knowing what else to do. He walked up to her, she stepped back slightly and then stopped herself. San looked down at little Kovass in her arms. The dark hair newborn looked up at him, his eyes unfocused.

At less than two weeks old, a baby could barely see two feet in front of them. San remembered from all the baby books Mary and he had read. He looked at the baby, noting that he looked healthy even after traveling three days on wagon during the winter.

San made a mental note to look for more nutritious food for them. “I’m glad to see you and the children are doing well,” he said, stepping back to give them space.

“Pavano’s been kind to help us in this strange city,” Endaha said, her formal expression slipping a bit. “It’s an ugly place, too many people and it stinks.”

San chuckled. “I know what you mean, but sadly the Exonaris komai isn’t as it used to be.”

Endaha’s face fell at that remark. She looked down at Kovass at her breast and stroked his head. “You saw the grazers?”

“Yes,” San said. “What happened?”

“Ilagio,” Azios said, his voice dripping with anger. “He killed what couldn’t be taken or eaten.”

“Why?”

“Because he is a raging asshole,” Azios said, still angry.

“He claims you all died and that the battos would see the grazers as a free meal. He had the soldiers kill them and then tried to take our woollys by force.”

San clenched his jaw, glancing to Pavano.

“Aye, Zomia backed us up there.. We made an agreement and he was trying to stiff us on it, but you can’t go against the Healers or Senta’s Cult like that. Thankfully, Havatair regained consciousness as we were leaving, otherwise we’d have been forced to follow on foot.”

“Wanna go find Ilagio ourselves and hang the fucker?” Elgava asked, standing at the threshold. She had her hand on her short sword.

“We see what Bostarion says first,” San said. The idea of revenge, of killing a man was something that San had never thought of before. Yet now if Ilagio had stood before him, he would have strangled the life out of him. Had he changed that much?

San set down the satchel and his bundle of clothing. He sighed, taking in the apartment. It was fairly large, with three rooms; a common room, and two bedrooms. He noticed there wasn’t a kitchen or anywhere to prepare meals. Then again as the building was timber with wattle and daub walls, he didn’t want to imagine an open flame in the confines of the apartment building. Perhaps there was a communal cooking area.

“Well, we survived the battos and strange monsters, I guess we’ll be able to survive this city,” San said. He smiled at Endaha and ruffled Azios’ hair.

“Ey, this city chews up more people than the Hanged King’s Forest,” Elgava said. “People think it’s safe here, that they can let their guard down, but there’s plenty of monsters here too.”

“What will you be doing?” San asked Elgava. The former soldier shrugged. She leaned against the wall with her arms folded, the days of hard travel and little food left the woman lean and hard. Her face was narrow lines and high cheekbones, chapped and and redden from snow and travel.

“I’ll sign up with the Corvanus Cult come Midwinter,” she said. “After that, I dunno. I’ll have to go hunt for void horrors, I guess.” She frowned and looked down at her simple, travel worn clothing and battered short sword. “I’ve got a Level, but I’ve got nothing to my name. I’ll need to gear up, find others to work with, and then go hunting.”

“You don’t get support from the Barony?” San asked.

“Adventurers are independent contractors,” Pavano said. “They adhere to the local laws, but their loyalty lies with the Corvanus Cult, not with the Baronies.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my brigandine,” Elgava muttered. “That’s a lot of sars right there.”

“Well, we have sars,” San said as he dropped the sack of coins that Donsval had given him. “That’s for Bostarion, you, and I. Then we have the gold.” San looked to Pavano.

“Aye, I got a friend who’s a [Goldsmith], Leveled. He checked the gold links you gave me and says they’e not pure, but good enough. He says the entire thing is worth about two golden sars, but selling it under the table, he’ll give us two thirds of what they’re worth. So we’re looking at maybe two thousand six hundred sars from the man.”

“We collected six other bracelets in our journey,” San said. “But Donsval wants it exchanged at a legitimate place.”

“There’s no legitimate places in White Tower,” Pavnao said. “What he wants is his cut from the exchange. Between the Baron’s Fifth and the taxes and exchange rates and not being a certified Merchant or Trader, you’ll be lucky to get half of what those gold pieces are worth.”

“Six golden sars is still a lot,” San said. “That’s twelve thousand sars.”

“I could get some decent gear with three thousand sars,” Elgava replied. “I could get some good wine with three thousand sars.” She grinned at the thought.

“Ey, don’t go counting sars you ain’t got in your pouch,” Pavano said.

“Aye, there might be a blood price on Ilagio’s head if we kill him,” Elgava said, nodding her head. “Being Landed and all.”

San frowned at the continual mentioning of killing Ilagio. It had only been minutes before that he had wanted him also dead, but as his blood cooled and logic prevailed; he was the foreigner here and Donsval’s words echoed in his head. He had no rights or protections; the only thing that he had going for him was the Barony’s need for the Courage he could create.

“There’s enough daylight to go see the man about the warehouse or go see the exchangers about the gold,” Pavano said.

“Gold,” Elgava replied.

“Warehouse,” San said. “We need to know what we’re working with, the prices, and we’ll need to see about a smith to make the items I need.”

“Aye,” Pavano said.

Elgava cursed. “Bring back wine when you return,” She said. She tossed her pack on the floor and began to unroll her sleeping gear.

“Make yourself at home,” San said, smirking. Endaha looked annoyed as Elgava pulled off her boots and stuffed a wadded up shirt under her head.

“I’ve done enough walking around,” she said.

“It’s good you’re staying,” San said. He walked to his pile of armor and his pack, unstrapping the crossbow and pistols. He looked at the battered weapons, wondering if there were people who could do maintenance on them. He would also have to get more lead and shot, along with more bolts for the crossbow.

The steel cuirass and leg armor gleamed up at him. He didn’t know who the leg armor, pauldrons, and gauntlets had belonged to, but since no one was asking for them back he had taken ownership of them. The cuirass taken from one of the dead Nox mercenaries was battered and scratched, there were dents and bits of rust beginning to mar its surface. His father had always told him to take care of his tools, in this world the armor, sword, and other weapons were now his tools.

San strapped the sword to his belt, along with the dagger, and handed the pistol and crossbow to Elgava, who wordlessly took them.

“It’s your money you’re also protecting,” San said.

“I know, I know,” the woman muttered.

“Is there trouble?” Endaha asked.

“There’s always trouble, m’lady Komai,” Pavano said. “Cities are the worst.”

“Azios will be coming with us,” San said.

Endaha looked at the boy and shook her head. “No, he stays.”

“I need his Komai status to back up my position,” San said. “I’m a foreigner and even Donsval’s paperwork won’t do much for me, unless its backed by a Landed.”

Azios puffed up his chest, grinning. “I promised to show you around too, San.”

“That you did, buddy,” San said. He dug around in his pack again and took out the revolver. There were only two rounds left in the weapon, but he had been saving the shells when they were expended. Hopefully he could figure out a way to reload them in time. He slipped the weapon into his robes and then looked at Endaha. “He’ll be safe and we’ll be back.”

She nodded, bouncing Kovass lightly in her arms. The newborn’s large eyes locked on his for a moment before they began to close. San couldn’t help but feel the sudden ache in his chest as he looked at the young boy. Why did he look so much like little Sanjay?

***

As they headed to the warehouse, San noted that gentrification didn’t just occur in his own world. Wherever there were poorer people who could be pushed out and richer ones with the money to spend it happened.

San wondered about the real estate market within White Tower. This was a world of wars and raids, of monsters and horrors. Real estate within the walls of White Tower had to be at a premium, as there was a finite amount. It wasn’t as if he could purchase any of it anyway, the joys of being a foreigner.

“Only citizens can own property,” Pavano said when San asked. “But you have to be Landed to own land, and Komai to own large tracts of land. A citizen can become a Landed, if they buy enough land, but a Landed can’t become Komai.”

“But Komai and Landed all seemed to be used interchangeably,” San said.

“Aye, used to be Komai was a real big deal. They ran the small villages on their estates and gathered up men and soldiers for the local barons and higher nobility, but these days they’re slipping from power. The Exonaris are an example, they’ve got good land, but not enough people to run it. They can’t compete with other Landed who own shops and run businesses on the side, trade, mining, etc.”

Opening a brewery and a distillery in a market he had no clue about was a foolish thing, San knew, but he also understood that there was almost no risk. The Barony would have the Courage and even if he failed at the business, they would still make he brew for them. Even if that meant he was in chains, in a dungeon.

Plus there had been no discussion on the cost of making Courage or the price we was going to sell it to them. With the Powers he had gained from his levels in combination with the right gear and set up, he could begin flooding the entire city with the drink within weeks.

Brightly painted shops stood beside more run down buildings, with paint chipping and some wooden shingles missing. San noted men working on one of the three story buildings that seemed to be the default housing template. He paused watching as the tunic wearing mean, heaved buckets, wheelbarrows, and wagons of sand, clay, water, and wattle as they rebuilt walls or replaced rotting timbers.

The speed and skill they showed was impressive.

“How much does it cost to build a house?” San asked as Azios and he watched.

“A lot,” Pavano said. He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I’m not sure, maybe forty thousand sars for one inside White Tower.”

“That’s a lot,” San said.

“Everything within the walls are probably three times what they would cost outside of the walls,” Pavano replied, answering one of San’s unspoken questions. “Safety costs sars.”

San nodded and they continued on down the street. People moved aside for them, bobbing their head in a respectful manner when they saw San. It took him a moment to realize it was due to the clothing he was wearing ,the sword he was carrying, and being led by Pavano. He nearly laughed as he realized the clothes did make the man in this place.

Azios looked up to San, his face nearly concealed in the hood of the oversized rain jacket he was wearing. San had to admit the Gore-tex jacket was pretty pricey in his own world and would be entirely irreplaceable in this one.

“He we are,” Pavano exclaimed as they reached the end of the street.

San looked around, noting that the building was a corner location, the intersection between the long street they had been walking on and a busier road that bustled with industrial goods and materials. Woollys, horses, and mules pulled, carried, or dragged material down the wide road, beyond that the smell of foulness wafted up, the stench of food processing areas, and beyond that he could see the Red River flowing.

“It’s a good location,” San said. He could see an aqueduct of some sort rising over the low buildings, bringing river water to the businesses and buildings around them. They were also located at a higher elevation than the river, the street sloping gently down toward the water as it transitioned from a street to docks where fishermen, river cargo ships, and other crafts were loading or unloading.

Beyond the Red River San could see the other side of White Tower. The city was split in two by the Red River, with a pair of massive stone bridges that spanned the wide slow moving river and smoke rising from the chimneys of houses and businesses across the river.

San stood there for a moment marveling at the site. Sure, it was nothing compared to Seattle and the other cities he had seen in his life, but it was still a wondrous sight. He might not have traveled through time, but he looked out upon a world that was bustling along in this world, living as well as they could.

“Pavo, you old woolly,” a man cried out.

San snapped out of reverie and looked to see a stout man with a shaven head and wispy beard exit a door from the warehouse. He wore colorful tattered robes and carried a shortsword at his waist.

The man looked to San and Azios, his eyes flickering to the sword at San’s waist.

“Herokov,” Pavano exclaimed, a wide smile splitting his beard.

“What brings your old ass bones here,” the man demanded. He leaned against the door, arms folded, but also ready to pull his weapon if needed.

“You still own this crumbling warehouse?” Pavano asked.

“Aye, I’ll not let it go until Senta herself drags my soul from this world,” the man replied. He looked at San again, his eyes narrowing. “You licking the boots of Merchants now, Pavo?”

“It’s where all the sars are, my boy,” Pavano said, strutting up to the man. He clasped him on the shoulder and grinned. “This here is my friend, San Magekiller. He’s come to ask about your warehouse and wishes to rent it from you for the winter.”

“Magekiller, huh?” The man looked San up and down. “You an Adventurer, boy?”

“No. I’m a brewer,” San replied.

“A brewer?” The man turned to Pavano and scowled. “A bit late to try making wine or beer, don’t you think?”

“He’s got a new drink, something not seen in the Baronies,” Pavano said in a not so quiet whisper. From a small pack he wore across his back, Pavano pulled out a bottle of clear liquid.

It was the whiskey bottle he had poured Courage into. The bottle didn’t contain Courage as he had used all he had left when they headed to the batto cavern, but he still had some distilled moonshine left over back in the komai.

“What the hell is that? A glass bottle filled with water?’ the man asked.

“Not water, Herokov. Moonshine.”

“Looks like water.”

“Have a taste. It’ll burn its way down your throat and to your balls, if you still have them.”

Pavano unscrewed the cap and handed the man the bottle. With a glare, Herokov snatched the bottle up and took a long pull of it. San would have laughed at the shocked expression in his eyes and then the immediate explosion of moonshine across the cobblestoned street before them. The stout man began raggedly coughing and Pavano neatly grabbed the bottle before he could drop it.

“Hetvana’s cunt man, what is that!” he demanded, tears running down his cheeks and still coughing.

“A drink of Adventurers,” Pavano said. “Moonshine, made in honor of Corvanus, goddess of madmen and horror destroyers.” Pavano took a long pull from the bottle, smacking his lips and exhaling dramatically. “It’ll put a fire in your belly and get you drunker faster than you can say ‘Hetvana’s Cunt’.”

Herokov wiped his eyes, glared at Pavano and pulled the bottle from his hands. He gingerly sniffed at it, winced, and then took a long pull from it. His eyes widened again and he took a long time swallowing, but when he did, he blinked and let out a short cough.

“It just tastes of burning,” he said.

“Moonshine, practically burns the evil out of you,” Pavano said.

The stout man chuckled and glanced back at San and Azios. “You make this?” he asked.

“Yes,” San said. “I’m a brewer. I can make beer and other distilled drinks.”

The man looked down at the bottle again and took another pull from it. This time he didn’t react. “Let’s talk,” he said.

***

“As a production facility, it’s not terrible,” San said as Pavano, Azios, and he left the warehouse. “It had access to water, there’s an industrial road that can bring us fuel, we can send off the spent husks and grains to the stockyards down the road for a tiny re-compensation of funds, and there are other warehouses holding all the unsold imbar in White Tower.”

“See, Pavano knows best,” the older man said, grinning.

“It’s nearly falling apart,” Azios said. “That man knows nothing about keeping a building maintained. Kovass would kick his ass if he lived in the komai.”

“Ey, Herokov’s a good man. That building is all that he has left to his name. Rents it out to cover his taxes and fees, but won’t let go of it. Plenty of rich Merchants have tried.”

San nodded. Although the building was fairly run down, Herokov had put up a hard sell to allow them to use it. He would remain in the building, as he had no where else to go and they would provide him with a moderate supply of what San brewed and addition to monthly rent of three silver.

The price was fairly cheap, according to Pavano. The Suvanna trade blockade had the unfortunate side effect of no one wanting to rent warehouses for the usual high prices as imbar wasn’t being allowed to be traded with the Empire.

If it hadn’t been for the gold that San had obtained and the sars he had been paid for killing the batto queen, the Exnoaris family would have been devastated by the lack of imbar trade. It was the major cash crop of the area. How other families were being effected by the lack of trade niggled at San’s mind. There was Orbaris’ family of the Alkavarea komai, who were farmers and relied upon the imbar trade.

“How much imbar is being stored in White Tower?” San asked. “How much would it cost us to buy?”

“Ah, we’ll have to see at the markets,” Pavano said. Azios brightened up.

“Can we get Kovass something?” he asked.

San paused and dug into his pocket, pulling out a handful of sars. He handed him half a dozen copper coins. “You did well; keeping your family safe, Azios. It’s not much, but right now its all that I can offer you. Buy something for your niece and nephew.”

Azios gladly took the coins and grinned up at him.

“You need to know how to count sars,” Pavano muttered. “I could buy a day’s worth of cheap wine and bread with two sars.”

Pavano took them down more streets and through some alleyways. San took note of the businesses that were opened, most of the buildings within the walls were housing, the same three story timber structures with wattle and daub facades housed everyone. The only difference between neighborhoods and streets were the colors that the buildings were painted. Most were the dull white and brown, but richer neighborhoods had their buildings in a variety of colors.

Men in cuirasses and pot helmets strode the streets, they carried short swords, a small billy club, and a cudgel as they patrolled the streets. Their cuirasses were painted in red and white, the Barony colors, and like any patrolling cop, they looked bored and tired.

Craftspeople worked out of street level floors of the three floor buildings. There weren’t the usual glass shopfronts that San was expecting, instead the walls were painted with icons and Imperial lettering that told of what they did. Even without knowing how to read, San understood what each shop was. There were seamstresses, cobblers, furniture makers, weavers, and various other occupations that were needed. San figured these were the light industrial jobs that didn’t make much noise or cause much pollution, as there were housing above each of the shops.

Market Street was a bustling place, even as the late afternoon began to settle toward evening, the street was busy and the Market Square was even busier. San and the others paused at an intersection between the narrow street they had traveled down and Market Street.

Here the road was nearly triple the size of lanes within White Tower. There were no woolly, horse, or mule traffic, instead cargo was being moved by men and women pulling or pushing carts. San had seen enough woolly and horse droppings on the other streets to see why they weren’t allowed here.

As it was in the richer neighborhood San had passed through the night before, there were plenty of lamp posts and lanterns to illuminate the street for about half a mile. The shops that lined the streets were tall and narrow, two stories of shops and the third housing for the owners. The design seemed to be to put as much shops into one area as possible.

The smell of the marketplace also hit him, the usual odor of unwashed bodies was dampened by the smell of fresh bread, cooking meat, and other spices and aromas that wafted from the Market Square. San felt his stomach rumbling, as he hadn’t eaten much besides the porridge that he had eaten with Densa earlier that day.

“Never come to the Market on an empty stomach,” Pavano said. “You’ll lose all your sars before you come and get what you’re looking for.”

“We’ll need to get some protein, fruits, and vegetables for Endaha and the baby,” San said. “She’ll need a healthy diet to ensure Kovass is strong.”

“Somethings you say, lad,” Pavano shook his head. “My own mother raised me on nothing but woolly milk, wine, and bread.”

“And see how you turned out,” San replied.

The old man laughed and slapped Azios on the back. “Come on, son. We’ll take a look at what we can get and find an imbar dealer.”

San walked behind them, taking a look at the items being sold or displayed. The permanent shops appeared to deal in finished goods. He saw bolts of cloth, armor, weapons, jewelry, and other goods. The Market Square dealt in traveling traders, tinkerers, and hawkers for food and items. It had a rambunctious flea market air to it, with people jostling one another, others yelling out their wares, combined with stalls cooking food on grills and open fires.

There were a lot more of the White Tower cops wandering around too, their red and white striped armor standing out in the muted browns and white colors of the the commoner tunics and coats. San also stood out, due to his size, his clothing, and his weapon. People glanced up at him, down at his sword, and then at his clothes before weighing the options of bothering him or not.

The clothes really did make the man, San thought again as he strode through the Market Square.

San paused before a mural that displayed scrolls and an open book. It was a bookstore, he realized. He looked to see Pavano and Azios talking with a man selling what looked like roasted nuts in a stall. San opened the well oiled wooden door and entered the shop.

The ringing of a bell nearly caused him to stop and chuckle. San looked up to see a small notification bell ringing as he stepped into the bookstore. Almost immediately a short woman in spectacles appeared. She was dark haired and wore a thickly padded robe of greens and silver embroidered spiderwebs.

“Good day, citizen,” the woman said, a smile on her face.

San nearly chuckled at the citizen comment. He should have gotten decent clothing the first chance he got… then again this was the first chance he had to purchase anything besides cheap wine and an overpriced spot in a caravan.

“Good day,” San repeated. He looked through the shelves and nooks, holding leather bound books and scrolls. The smell was different, but he could still smell ink and the aroma of aged leather. “I’m looking for a primer to learn to read.”

Annoyance flashed quickly across the woman’s face. “Illiterate, are you?” she asked, her voice dropping from bright and cheery to one of rougher speech. “I’m not a tutor and this isn’t a place of learning.”

It was obvious she didn’t like San already. In a world where everyone was mostly illiterate, she should have been used to such a thing. Instead she seemed annoyed and put off by his lack of reading skills.

“I’m looking to better myself,” San said. “There is ancient knowledge locked in books and scrolls, knowledge that could help me become a better man. I’ve lived my entire life in ignorance, only being told what things say and not truly knowing them for myself.”

The woman perked up at that. “Yes, yes,” she said. “The knowledge of ancient Imperials, of great Adventurers, and Generals are all locked away in these books. Learning and growing as a human being is what life should be about, learning as much as you can about everything, that is the goal of Senta and the gods.”

“Knowledge is power,” San said, feeling like an utter idiot in saying it.

“Yes, yes,” the woman agreed.

“I am ignorant and I don’t wish to be anymore,” San said, looking at the woman. “I would like you to help me with that. Whatever you can suggest. If you know a tutor or a person who can teach me to read, you would be saving an ignorant fool.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled as she picked up a book.

“You have sars, right?”