Alric was planning the tasting for the new lager. He’d tried it and it was finally ready. It tasted like a good craft lager from his old world, though it was a week late. As it stood, the big copper boiler would be arriving next week, and he was relieved to feel confident about selling it.

  For now, though, he wasn’t allowed to do labour, and he was too terrified to touch Seren’s section. So he opted instead to cook, which felt like a loophole rather than a rebellion. He stood in the kitchen planning it out, turning the tasting into a small staff event. Well. A staff event and Stromni, who might as well be staff, and Seren’s adventurer partner, and Henry’s too. He clicked his tongue. It was a whole meet-and-greet social at this point. Still, to quote Seren, it didn’t do to complain, especially when one was doing it internally. It was opinions on the beer that he needed anyway.

  He looked through his ingredients. He had milk, already pasteurised, and honey he’d intended to use to train Hal and Mara in mead-making. He also had eggs and flour. This meant pancakes, which he regarded as one of civilisation’s quieter triumphs.

  He planned to serve them with honey, and with bacon and cheese. He got to work on the batter. He would have preferred to make muffins, but he had no oven. This world did have ovens, but they were usually limited to inns or communal spaces, used in groups and guarded with a seriousness normally reserved for religious artefacts. He clicked his tongue and added another gripe about this world to the list in his head. The list was getting long and, annoyingly, well organised.

  He quietly made stack after stack. He’d wanted to make crepes, but he wasn’t good enough for that, so he made flapjacks instead and settled on presenting toppings on the side, which felt generous rather than evasive. Cooking pancakes for eight people was no small feat and took most of the afternoon, during which he learned several new things about batter consistency and patience.

  He was just beginning to put them out when people started arriving. Henry, who had a nose for anything food-related and treated it as a survival trait, was the first to notice.

  “Boss, what are these? They look like flaffels,” he said, eyeing them.

  “Where I come from they’re called pancakes. Milk, honey, flour,” Alric explained.

  “Flaffels then. Still, these look fluffy.” Henry took two and made a sandwich of them. Alric didn’t comment, but he noted this was apparently how they were eaten, and resolved not to ask further questions.

  Alric was introduced to Seren’s partner, Brannick, an adventurer who used sword and shield. Stromni knew him too, and the pair quickly fell into talk of weapons. Alric noticed Seren quietly shifting their seats closer together.

  Henry’s partner was named Lysa. She was the daughter of a nearby butcher, but that was all Alric knew. She brought smoked chicken as a small gift, which he appreciated on principle and because it smelled excellent.

  “Right. Time for beer,” Alric said, to general cheer. He noted Seren immediately pushing tankards toward him, which surprised him until he realised she had already decided this was the correct order of events. He began pouring. Everyone received a full one, a quiet show of confidence that made his hands steady.

  Once distributed, everyone knocked their tankards, sniffed, and sipped. No one spat. Alric noticed that too.

  The beer was warmer than he would have liked, the kind of warmth that dulled the first edge rather than ruining it outright, and he resented that he noticed. Still, when he took a sip, it opened cleanly. Not sharp, but clear. Malt first, gentle and rounded, then a soft bitterness that arrived late and stayed just long enough to matter. The warmth blurred the crispness he knew it could have had, softened the snap he associated with a proper lager, but it carried the flavour more generously across the tongue. It tasted finished. Not experimental. Not clever. Just correct. He exhaled slowly through his nose and accepted that, even imperfectly served, it was better than anything he had made before in this world.

  Silence followed.

  Stromni turned his tankard once in his hands, watching the foam settle, and did not drink again for a long moment.

  Alric glanced at Stromni. He normally took his time, but not like this. Stromni shook his head slightly and sipped again. He did it once more, and Alric began to worry. Stromni caught the look and shook his head again.

  “Lad. This is the best you’ve made yet, and I can’t think of anything that tops it.” he said. Something was still being held back.

  Mara had already finished hers and made the satisfied noise that set everyone laughing.

  “I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Hal said. “I just know I want another.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Henry and Lysa nodded in agreement, pointing at Hal.

  Seren shrugged. “I think I just like sweeter things.”

  “You know, this tastes a bit like the beer we get at the guild sometimes. A bit better, I think,” Brannick said.

  Everyone looked at him. He shifted. “What?”

  “We brew the guild’s beer,” Alric said. Brannick’s face changed as the pieces came together with visible effort.

  “Wait. Are you the guild master’s apple demon?”

  “Well, in a sense. But really, we’re all the apple demon. That one was mostly Mara and Hal, though,” Alric said, gesturing. “I wouldn’t mention it. Pavise is trying to keep it quiet.”

  Mara and Hal grinned, which did nothing to help.

  “Oh. Wow. You know him that well?” Brannick said. “Then I have to tell you about the party we had when we first got your cider.” He launched into the story, holding the room with the enthusiasm of someone who had survived it.

  Alric pulled Stromni aside. “Everything alright?”

  “Aye. Just work,” Stromni said, looking at his tankard. “This really is great beer.”

  “Well, take the cask, then. Maybe it’ll motivate you to finish the boiler sooner.” Alric said, grinning.

  Stromni laughed. “You’ll get your pot, apple demon. Just hold your horses.”

  The awkwardness eased, and the evening passed in good company, with stories from the festival carrying on long after the beer was gone.

  Stromni sat alone in his forge, the copper boiler pot hanging from chains. The tipping wheel still needed to be attached. He sipped the lager. He’d followed Alric’s advice and cooled it in a draft. It was better that way.

  He let out a long breath. He’d drunk beer kept by generational holds. They didn’t come close.

  It should have been impossible, and yet Alric had used the cold as an ingredient. He’d even said that when winter came, he’d make something better still.

  If Alric tried, he could embarrass dwarven tradition. The thought carried both unease and pride.

  One thing was clear. Alric was going somewhere. Stromni wanted to be part of it. Better to stand in the shadow of greatness than let his skill rot away. He had spent his life learning to listen to metal. Alric seemed to hear a song the world itself was playing.

  The boiler pot finally arrived. All hands were needed to assemble it. Chains and rope were brought out, arguments had, and at last it settled into its cradle.

  It felt solid. It didn’t rattle, which everyone agreed was important, though no one could say precisely why without gesturing. Even empty, tipping it was no small task. Alric considered adding a chain or a second wheel. For now, it would simply take two people and a mutual understanding that this was a bad moment to let go.

  All four heating stones fit snugly into grooves worked directly into the copper, their bases touching metal to transfer heat. Stromni ran a hand along the edge with the air of someone greeting a large animal that might one day decide how fast you could run.

  “All right. Water only.” Alric said.

  He’d fitted a short pipe into the water barrel and set it on its platform above the distribution barrel. The pipe didn’t reach the boiler without the filter, something he hadn’t planned for and now treated as an intentional design decision.

  Once the filter was set, the water moved through into the large boiler. Stromni stood by nodding satisfied.

  “Well Strom, you pulled it off.” Alric said standing back with him.

  “Aye. I understand the whole thing now. You’re going to make so much beer. And you said you wanted two or three boilers?” Stromni looked across at him with interest rather than concern, which said more than the words.

  “Eventually, but probably not here. I’m going to need more space, even just for fermenting. I’d want it built out of stone as well." Alric said. Stromni nodded, already filing it away under future problems.

  “Ya need anything else or am I making screws for Moreen or more liquid seals?” Stromni asked with a sideways glance.

  “Well.. since you asked,” Alric began as he got a longer sideways glance “shall I draw it?” he said with a grin. Stromni waved inside to direct the way.

  What Alric drew looked a lot like a garden watering can that had given up on gardening and found religion. The idea was to boil water inside it and use the steam to clean the interior of a cask.

  “Aye I can make this. Its small so shouldn’t be so bad,” he said looking at the drawing and the cask “I aint gonna ask why steam matters so much though.” He said.

  “Well, if that’s all. I’ll be on me way then.” Stromni said and Alric saw him out.

  He headed back inside, the top barrel was draining away when he decided to charge the stones to see how well it worked.

  It took some time for the open boiler to reach temperature, but he was relieved when it did. He was slightly alarmed by the amount of steam, but it found its way out easily enough. Standing too close for long periods would be unwise. Cold air would manage it for now. Summer, he suspected, would have much to say about this.

  He rubbed his jaw thinking about it when the actual problem revealed itself.

  Water from the barrel that carried well water, was dripping into the barrel below that distributed into casks. Contaminated well water would end up directly into the casks.

  “Ahh. We have a problem. A big one.” Alric called them over to see it.

  He had forgotten that every pipe and joint he had ever made leaked, all of it did. He had no material he could trust with it.

  “We could make like a copper shield maybe?” Alric said looking at the problem.

  “We can try with a bucket?” added Hal.

  “A bucket wouldn’t work. The leak will move around whenever I place the well barrel.” Alric said frowning.

  “Why not put it behind the big pot?” Henry said.

  They all turned to look at him.

  “If you don’t want the wet thing there,” Henry continued, pointing to the back of the boiler, “put it there.”

  Everyone went quiet for a moment. Looked at each other. Shrugged. Alric picked up the water barrel in his item box, they lifted the distribution barrel, propped it up on casks, moved the platform. His solution worked immediately. Seren made a note that they would need another platform for the distribution barrel.

  “I wanted to make beer,” Alric said, “but we’re going to need to clean all of this before we do anything.”

  They frowned, nodded, and began dismantling things with purpose. Alric moved to help and was immediately chased off by Mara and Seren with identical looks.

  He sat in his office watching them work, quietly wondering if he was even a brewer anymore, or if he’d become something stranger that occasionally brewed by accident.