Chapter 4

  Three days felt like three weeks. I spent the time preparing everything with obsessive precision. The embercaps dried properly, their orange caps fading to a dusty rust colour whilst their heat concentrated into something more stable. The pepperroot tincture sat in a sealed jar, dark red and potent enough that opening it made my eyes water. The ashwillow bark steeped exactly thirty minutes before I strained it into a clean bottle.

  Now, on the morning of the fourth day, I stood before my workbench with everything laid out like a surgeon's tools. Twelve dried embercaps in a ceramic bowl. Pepperroot tincture in its jar. Ashwillow infusion in a bottle. My copper brewing pot, freshly cleaned and inscribed with containment runes I'd spent two evenings perfecting. And five pounds of cavern barley, soaking in purified water.

  I pulled out my notebook and reviewed my final recipe one more time.

  Fire-Belch Ale - Final Recipe

  Base: 5 lbs cavern barley, standard ale fermentation

  Primary fermentation: 7 days

  Additions during secondary fermentation:

  - 6 embercaps, crushed (start conservative)

  - 2 oz pepperroot tincture

  - 4 oz ashwillow infusion

  Containment runes: Triple-layer, slow release

  Expected yield: 10 bottles

  Expected effect: Controlled fire exhalation upon belching, 30 seconds duration

  The scientific method meets magical brewing. Marcus Chen would have approved, even if he'd never imagined applying it to literal fire-breathing ale. I started with the base. The barley had soaked overnight, softening enough that I could mash it properly. I drained the water, added fresh, and began heating it slowly over my small brazier. Temperature control was crucial. Too hot and I'd kill the enzymes, too cool and they wouldn't activate.

  My hand hovered over the pot, feeling the heat rise. No thermometer. I'd learned to judge temperature by touch and instinct. When the water reached what felt right, just hot enough to be uncomfortable, I added the barley. The mash smelled earthy and slightly sweet as I stirred. Steam rose in lazy curls. This part was familiar, comforting even. I'd done it dozens of times whilst learning, perfecting the base before attempting anything fancy.

  Sixty minutes of stirring, maintaining temperature, letting the enzymes convert starches to sugars. My arm ached by the end. The liquid had taken on the right golden colour and the taste test confirmed sweetness. I strained the wort through muslin cloth into my fermentation vessel, a ceramic jug with a narrow neck. The spent grain went into a bucket for the Hall's pigs. The wort needed to cool before I could add yeast. I set the jug aside and began the second phase. No point wasting time.

  I crushed six of the embercaps in my mortar, the dried caps crumbling to rust-coloured powder that still radiated warmth. The smell was sharp, almost peppery, with an underlying heat that made my nose itch. Six would be conservative, enough to create an effect without overwhelming the brew. The pepperroot tincture came next. I measured exactly two ounces into a small cup, the liquid so dark it looked almost black. Opening the jar made my eyes water instantly.

  "That smells like dragon piss."

  I turned to find Brakka poking his head through my curtain, grinning.

  "How would you know what dragon piss smells like?"

  "I wouldn't. If I did though, I reckon it'd smell like that." He pushed through fully, eyeing my setup. "So you're really doing it? The fire brew?"

  "Started this morning. Base wort's cooling, then I add the yeast."

  "And the fire bits?"

  "Secondary fermentation. Week from now." I gestured at the crushed embercaps. "These provide the heat, pepperroot triggers the release, ashwillow binds it all together."

  Brakka picked up one of the whole embercaps, turning it in his fingers. "Still warm even dried. How much heat are we talking? Like spicy food hot or actual fire hot?"

  "Actual fire. Small flames, controlled by the runes."

  "Brilliant." He set the mushroom down carefully. "I want to test it."

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  "What?"

  "When it's ready, I test it first. You're the brewer, you need to watch what happens. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? Bit of heartburn? Singed tongue?"

  I stared at him. "You could burn your throat out."

  "Nah. You're too careful for that. You've measured everything three times, haven't you? Written it all down in that notebook?" He grinned. "I trust you. And think of it this way, if it works, I get to be the first dwarf in Clan Durn-Kahl history to belch flames. That's worth a little risk."

  The earnestness in his voice made me relent. "Fine. You sip it slow though. And you stop if anything feels wrong."

  "Deal!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "Knew there was a reason I liked you. When's it ready?"

  "Ten days minimum. Maybe twelve if the secondary fermentation needs extra time."

  "I can wait ten days to become a legend." He paused at the curtain. "Oh, and Nadra says the whole Hall's talking about this. Half think you're brilliant, half think you're going to burn the place down."

  "What do you think?"

  "I think you're brilliant and you might burn the place down. Makes it more exciting." He left laughing.

  I shook my head and returned to work. The wort had cooled enough. I added my yeast slurry, watching it settle into the golden liquid. Within a day, fermentation would begin in earnest. The waiting started now. I cleaned my workspace, putting everything away except the fermentation vessel. That stayed on my workbench where I could monitor it. The embercap powder went into a sealed jar. The tinctures got stored on my shelf.

  My notebook came out.

  Fire-Belch Ale - Brewing Log

  Day 1: Base wort prepared. Good sugar conversion, proper temperature throughout. Yeast pitched. Should see activity within 24 hours.

  Embercap powder prepared (6 caps). Tinctures ready.

  Secondary additions: Day 7 or 8, depending on fermentation progress.

  Brakka (the mad bastard volunteered)

  I stared at the last line, then added another.

  System trigger hypothesis: -

  ---

  Seven days passed in a blur of normal clan life and obsessive monitoring. The fermentation started within twelve hours, bubbles rising steadily through the wort. I checked it three times a day, watching the activity slow gradually as the yeast consumed available sugars. The smell changed from sweet to slightly alcoholic, the colour deepening to a richer gold.

  I spent my mornings in the mines with Thorek, who complained less than usual about my distracted swinging. My afternoons were dedicated to the brew, taking samples, checking progress, preparing for the secondary additions. On day seven, I judged it ready. The base ale tasted clean, slightly bitter from the hops I'd added on day two, with good alcohol content. Solid enough to support what came next.

  I heated water in my copper pot, bringing it to a gentle simmer. The embercap powder went in first, stirring until it dissolved completely. The liquid turned faintly orange, and heat radiated from the pot even beyond what the fire should have produced.

  "Careful now," I muttered to myself, adding the pepperroot tincture. The liquid darkened immediately, and the smell intensified to something that made my eyes water again. Two ounces exactly, measured three times to be sure.

  The ashwillow infusion came last. Four ounces of pale grey liquid that smelled faintly of wood smoke. The moment it hit the mixture, everything seemed to settle, the roiling surface calming to a gentle simmer. I let it steep for thirty minutes, maintaining the temperature carefully. The magical components needed time to integrate, to bind together into something cohesive.

  When I finally strained it into my fermentation vessel with the base ale, the colour had shifted to deep amber with orange highlights. Even through the ceramic, I could feel warmth radiating from it. My containment runes flared to life, glowing softly on the vessel's surface. Triple-layer, designed to hold the fire magic in suspension until triggered by the specific chemical reaction of carbonation and stomach acid. Theory, anyway. I'd know for certain when someone actually drank it.

  I sealed the vessel and set it aside for three more days of secondary fermentation. The magical components needed time to fully integrate before bottling. I pulled out my notebook.

  Day 7: Secondary fermentation initiated. All additions made according to recipe. Containment runes activated successfully. Warmth radiating from vessel as expected.

  Day 10: Bottling (projected)

  Day 11: Testing (projected)

  The curtain rustled. Elder Grimda stood there, her amber beads clicking as she moved closer.

  "Heard you bought embercaps from the gardens."

  Word travelled fast in the clan. "Aye."

  "Fire brewin'?"

  "Aye."

  She shuffled closer, peering at my setup with the sharp eyes of someone who'd seen seven centuries of foolish apprentices. "Yer containment runes look adequate. Triple-layer was smart. What're you usin' fer the catalyst?"

  "Pepperroot tincture."

  "Hm. Could work. Could also burn straight through the vessel if you miscalculate." She picked up my notebook without asking, flipping through pages. "You've documented everythin'. That's more than most do."

  "Seemed sensible."

  "It is sensible. Too many brewers work from memory and tradition, then wonder why their batches vary so much." She set the notebook down. "You've got a methodical mind, lad. Unusual fer someone so young."

  I said nothing. How could I explain that my mind wasn't young, rather carrying memories of a completely different life lived to adulthood?

  "The Elders are talkin' about you," Grimda continued. "Not badly, mind. Just curious. You sold brew to Dulric, now yer workin' on somethin' ambitious. They're wonderin' if maybe you've found yer callin' after all."

  "Instead of minin'?"

  "Instead of pretendin' to mine." She gave me a look that was almost fond. "We all know you hate it, boy. Every swing of that pickaxe looks like it pains you. But this?" She gestured at my workspace. "This you do with passion."

  "Does it matter? I'm leavin' in ninety years anyway."

  "Ninety years is a long time to be miserable. And who says you can't come back? Plenty of dwarves venture out, make their fortune, return when they're ready." She paused. "If you become known as a brewer, a good one, you'll have value anywhere you go. That's worth more than clan blood."

  She left before I could respond, her beads clicking down the corridor.

  I sat in the silence, thinking about her words.

  Value anywhere I went. That's what I needed, wasn't it? The system was one kind of advantage. Skill and reputation were things people could see and respect though. Things that would let me make my way in a world where I'd always be slightly foreign, slightly wrong.

  Ten days since I'd started. Ten days of careful measurement, precise timing, methodical documentation. Everything my Earth life had taught me about process and quality control, applied to something that would have been pure fantasy there.

  And in three days, I'd know if it was worth it.