It was early morning. Alric had just finished his gruel and was moving toward the warehouse, already wary, when a loud banging struck the door. Grain? He had been expecting it, but not so soon. In his experience, anything that arrived early usually did so with bad intentions.

  He went to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. The moment he did, Stromni stepped inside and pushed it shut behind him.

  “Listen, lad. I brought the carpenter. Just put the barrel away first, then we talk.” He pointed at what he clearly considered an artisanal abomination. Alric nodded, intrigued, and did as he was told. Stromni watched closely, the way a man watched someone defusing a device he had helped build. Alric pulled the barrel into his item box.

  Alric was about to speak before Stromni cut him off looking a little sheepish “So, Alric. I’m… I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. No one can know what they don’t know. Your background ain’t your fault. Us outsiders only got each other. So I was thinking, let’s hit the town. I’ll take you to the better taverns I know. You’ll see what you’re up against. What do you say?” He did not quite look at Alric, only glanced his way, as if apologies were things best handled from the corner of one’s eye.

  Alric’s shoulders dropped. He had not realised how tightly he had been holding himself.

  Alric smiled broadly. “I’d like that a lot. It won’t be the last time I miss something obvious,” he said.

  “Aye. I only saw it afterward too. Same thing happened to me when I got here. Let’s sort the carpenter first, lad. He owes me favours, so let’s get it done.” He nodded toward the space where the barrel had stood, now mercifully empty. Alric nodded back.

  Some time later, Alric sipped his fourth beer in the fourth tavern. Yes. More air freshener. He sighed and set it down, trying not to shudder. His tongue felt like it had fur.

  “I don’t get you, Alric. You make good beer, but you don’t like beer? This is the strongest beer I know of in this city, and believe me, I’ve looked,” Stromni said, peering at him and noting the disappointment Alric made no effort to hide.

  “It’s not the strength, though I still think this is light, just so you know. It’s… do dwarves put something in their baths to make them smell nice? Where I come from, juniper’s used that way. This tastes like I’m drinking dirty bathwater,” Alric explained.

  The effect on Stromni was immediate. His laughter came so suddenly and from such an unexpected direction that beer sprayed from his nose. Alric watched him without comment as he recovered. He maintained only a blank stare which seemed to amuse the dwarf further.

  “Lad,” Stromni said, still struggling, “you can’t say that here,” he added.

  Alric glanced around. This was the loudest tavern yet, but no one had overheard. One group nearby slapped each other on the back, another burst into laughter, and all of them seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely, which suggested that if this was bathwater, it was bathwater people had grown very fond of.

  “Well, lad, if you don’t know what they used to flavour your beer, nothing can be done,” Stromni said, wiping a tear from his eye.

  “I do know, though. It’s a herb, called hops,” Alric said, still feeling a trace of bitterness, though he suspected that might have been wishful thinking.

  “Eh? Hops? Never heard of it. Can you describe it?” Stromni asked, turning more serious in the way men did when presented with a problem that might involve walking.

  “Of course. It’s a small green cone, grows on climbing vines, smells sharp and bitter if you—”

  Stromni lowered his drink. His face went through several expressions in quick succession, confusion first, then disbelief, then something closer to weary understanding. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow breath, the sort reserved for moments when the world finally lined up, and the result was inconvenient.

  “Right,” he said at last. He picked up his beer, drained it, then took Alric’s and did the same. “We’re leaving.”

  Alric rose, confused but trusting Stromni, which was becoming a habit. They began walking up the road together.

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  “Lad. I was going to ask if you were daft, but we both know you are. If you know what this thing looks like and what it’s called, then the adventurers’ guild can get it for you. We’re going there now.” He paused, then added, “We aren’t done drinking, though.”

  Alric was startled, but felt a small, unexpected satisfaction at knowing where that road led.

  The thought of the adventurers’ guild sent a brief shudder through him. He realised then that Stromni had connections among them, and that going together would be far less daunting than going alone, which was comforting in the way that learning your executioner had a friendly cousin was comforting.

  “How does it work with them?” Alric asked.

  Stromni shook his head. “Never made a request before,” he said, which did nothing to reassure him.

  They passed a tavern Alric recognised, full of adventurers. He had walked this route before. Ahead stood a large stone building, oddly out of place for its surroundings, as though someone had dropped it there to see what would happen. Wooden shutters were thrown open, torchlight spilling out into the night air. Alric noted the strange hours.

  Stromni led him around to what had to be the front. A wide opening was flanked by a set of western-style saloon doors. Alric barely had time to take it in before Stromni pushed through confidently. The doors swung shut behind him. Alric followed more cautiously, easing one door open and muttering a quiet “excuse me” as he entered, in case the building was listening.

  Inside was an open space just past the entrance. What served as a reception counter was set behind iron bars. Whether they were meant to protect the staff or the patrons was unclear. Alric had half expected a cute clerk, but instead found a man with very little neck and half an ear. Stromni was already leaning on the counter. Alric hurried to join him. Alric tried to hide his disappointment when looking at the receptionist.

  While Stromni spoke, Alric looked around. Rough-looking men and women filled the tables, wearing scraps of armour, mostly leather. They watched by looking everywhere except at him and Stromni. It felt deliberate, and unsettling, like being ignored by professionals. On the far side of the room stood a broad, circular staircase, waiting patiently for trouble.

  Shaking off the distraction, Alric stepped closer as Stromni gestured to him.

  “So,” the receptionist said, his voice unexpectedly soft, “you can describe this plant you’re looking for?”

  “Oh. Sure. It’s a—” Alric began, taking out paper and charcoal as he spoke. He sketched as best he could, which was to say bravely, then turned the sheet sideways and handed it over.

  The receptionist glanced at it once and winced. He looked over his shoulder. “LARUS.” He turned back with a smile. “This will take a moment.” Then louder, “LARUS, MOVE YOUR ARSE.”

  A lanky adventurer sauntered into view, looking bored in the way only someone who regularly faced death could manage. The receptionist passed him the drawing. He stared at it briefly, then turned it over and took the charcoal, sketching a far cleaner version.

  “This the thing? Grows in hedgerows, aye?” He handed it back.

  “Yes. Yes, that’s it. That’s hops. I need a lot of this,” Alric said, turning eagerly to the receptionist. Alric’s excitement at solving a problem that had been bothering him clearly evident.

  “How much is a lot?” the man asked.

  Alric grinned. “How much does this buy me?” He held up a gold coin.

  Silence spread outward from him. The kind that came not all at once, but in stages, like sound carefully reconsidering its options. Alric glanced behind him. A man in scale mail stared at the coin, beer spilling unnoticed from his cup, possibly marking the first time alcohol had ever tried to escape him.

  Then the room erupted. Noise crashed in from every side as bodies surged forward. Alric backed into the bars, heart hammering. Hands snatched the drawing from his grasp. He let out a small squeak, which had no chance of surviving in the general enthusiasm.

  “WHAT’S THE RACKET?” a voice boomed, louder than the rest, the sort of voice accustomed to being obeyed. It was the kind of voice that considered shouting its first language and only begrudgingly spoke others.

  A heavy step shook the stair. Then another.

  Alric looked up. On the stairs stood the largest man he had seen in either life. Even at a distance, he seemed close to eight feet tall, a mass of muscle with almost no neck at all. Alric found himself wondering what such a man ate to keep that size, and whether he enjoyed it putting up a fight.

  The drawing made its way up through the crowd, passed over many heads. The giant snatched it, sneered at Alric’s attempt, then turned the page over. His expression shifted.

  He looked to the receptionist. “Client in a hurry?”

  Alric shook his head. The receptionist glanced at him and did the same. The big man never looked at Alric at all.

  “Lowest rankers. No exceptions. We open this tomorrow.” He turned and carried the paper with him as he climbed the stairs again, each step echoing hollowly.

  Only then did the room seem to breathe again. Alric noticed that when the man had spoken calmly, the silence had been so complete that shouting had not been necessary at all.

  Still pressed to the bars, Alric felt a brief pressure at his fingers. He looked down and behind to see the receptionist holding his gold coin.

  “We’ll be in touch,” the man said, smiling professionally, in the way institutions smiled when they had already won. The coin dropped into his fist.

  Something yanked Alric sideways. He stumbled, then found himself outside, Stromni still gripping his wrist.

  “Lad, if you’re going to drop gold, can we do it somewhere the worst that happens is I get punched?” Stromni said, before doubling over with laughter. “That was the worst place you could have picked.”

  The tension broke. Alric started laughing too.