Brewer King 38 (Patreon)

San awakened, confused and disorientated by his surroundings, or lack of surroundings. Darkness enveloped him, no lights, no sounds of vehicles, and none of the white noise of the fan that Mary always insisted on keeping on. Still air was bad air, she’d always say. Therefore she had kept a fan on, even during the coldest of winter nights.

He was cold, but it wasn’t a painful or hard kind of cold, it just was. It permeated the darkness and he could feel it prickling at his exposed lips and face. The air he sucked in was chilled, but not terrible. It was far warmer than the nights he had spent traveling from Forest River and the days they trekked back from the Haunted Fortress.

With that thought, the memories and adventurers he had been on in the last month came flooding back. San lay there on the hard floor of the apartment that Pavano had rented for them and took slow breaths. He wasn’t in Seattle anymore. He wasn’t in bed with Mary.

Elgava’s snoring reached his ears. The heavy uncaring sleep of someone who had nearly emptied an entire gallon amphora of wine they had brought back from the Market. He lay there for a moment more, the sounds of other people sleeping reached his ears. Pavano’s slow breathing, Bostarion’s slight wheezing, and Azios’ steady deep breaths.

It felt as if they were still camping outside the walls of White Tower. If not for the hard wooden floors and the slight creaking and groaning of settling wood, San would have imagined they were still traveling.

Fire was the ultimate fear. It was why there was no heating in the apartment, it was why there was no kitchen in which to prepare food. San understood the reasoning, but as they were still fairly unprepared for city living, he hadn’t thought about getting extra blankets or bedding.

If they had Havatair’s magical brazier perhaps they could have spent a decent night without the cold seeping into everything. Even Endaha and Cassa and the baby were still using San’s tent to sleep in, along with his sleeping bag, pad, and their own bedding. Elgava and Bostarion both had made off with San’s emergency blankets, having gotten used to them in their trek from the batto caverns. He could hear the crinkling of the fabric as they shifted in their sleep. Pavano had a thick sleeping pad, claiming his old bones couldn’t sleep on the floor anymore, and even Azios had several blankets he had taken from the farmhouse to warm himself in.

San looked up into the darkness above him. The sounds of the others sleeping brought a sense of peace and calmness to his mind. Ever since arriving into this world San hadn’t been alone. He could not say the same about his old life back in Seattle.

It wasn’t that his parents, Mary’s parents, or his own siblings didn’t care about him, but his own depression had cut off all ties with everyone. Would he ever get home? Did he want to go home? San didn’t know. But in this terrifying world of monsters and strange creatures, San had companionship. He had people he knew he could count on, who would stand beside him in a fight, who would risk their lives for him and for whom he would do the same.

He wasn’t alone. That’s what mattered the most.

San took in a long breath, memories of Mary flittering through his mind. She would have loved it here. She would have loved being in this world, even with all the dangers.

He wiped his eyes and pulled his tattered blanket around him.

***

“We deal in iron and steel, citizen,” the wiry man said. He pushed up a pair of spectacles and peered at Azios and then Pavano, but his eyes stopped on San. “The Baron has use make the guns and swords the Guards use and we’re the best at it. We don’t make copper pots.”

“Well, Donsval directed us here,” San said, looking down at the man. They had made their way into the industrial section of White Tower. It was along the Red River and San was impressed by the scale of things.

He had come to find a blacksmith, the image of which had been shaped by too many fantasy games and bad sword and sorcery movies. Instead of a massive muscular smith hammering away on iron, stripped to his waist in the cold winter air, they arrived to a large warehouse that thundered and boomed with the hammering of metal and curses of men working around hot fire.

San could smell the heavy smoke and hot iron in the air, the rhythmic thumping of trip hammers seemed to vibrate the air as the massive several ton hammer slammed down upon red hot ingot of iron or steel. Smiths rushed about, more than two dozen from what San could see, carrying fuel, more iron, and tools as the more experienced hammered at metal or shoved them back into red hot forges.

The man they spoke to was named Hanova Sonos, the owner of Redside Iron Works. He occupied an office with a view out upon the factory, a sheaf of papers before him and with ink stained hands. Donsval had said he was a mastersmith, but to San he looked like a bureaucrat.

“Donsval a fool with too much sars in his pockets,” the man said. “If you’re looking for cooking pots, there’s a coppersmith, Eldaro, three blocks down from here. He’s the a brazier and pot maker.”

“I was hoping for copper pots in an industrial size,” San said. “Fifty gallons or so, along with copper pipe.”

“Sweet Senta, what are you planning on cooking? A whole person?” the man replied.

“No.”

“Well, as I stated, we’re an iron and steel works. If you need iron or steel, coem back. Otherwise, get out for I’ve got more work than a healer after a battle.” The man promptly ignored them and returned to his paperwork.

Pavano shrugged and they left the office and exited to the street. San cleared his throat, the smoke was heavy in the air as scores of towering chimneys billowed out smoke from dozens of other warehouses that were in the metal working business.

It wasn’t just metal working that occupied the industrial area of White Tower, there were also potters, tanners, and other very noisy and foul smelling industries that lined the Red River. From what he could see the industrial waste, along with human waste, was being flushed out into the river, in long yellowish green unnatural streaks in the slow flowing water.

San was just glad that the warehouse and aqueduct that they were using was upstream from the industrial areas. At least the cold wind was blocked by the large buildings and there seemed to be an excess of heat provided by all the forges that raised the temperature in the area.

“Have you ever seen so much metal?” Azios asked.

San had to stop himself from smiling. For all the industrial capability and work being done, it was probably just a fraction of what a steel mill back in his world could have produced in an hour. He had to admire the entire enterprise, though. There was a lot of organization and skill that had went into setting up the dozens of massive waterwheels that powered the trip hammers and various other tools. The logistics network designed to bring in materials, workers, fuel, and then ship out the product was very impressive.

There was dozens of massive wagons hauling charcoal that stopped at every warehouse and scores skinny kids probably Azios’ age that rushed out and began tossing sacks or wicker baskets or even just buckets and shovelful of charcoal from the back of the wagons. They were all filthy, covered in black from head to toe.

“Apprentices,” Pavano said, seeing where San was looking. “You start at the bottom and work your way up. One day they’ll be smiths themselves.”

San nodded. “If they live that long,” he said.

“Smithing is still good work. Plenty of small villages and komais would love to get their hands on a White Tower smith.”

“It’s true,” Azios said “We had a smith twenty years back, my grandfather’s brother. He was a drunk, supposedly, and died in a fire during one winter. Father said it was the height of the Exonaris power. We were well thought of in those days.”

The boy shrugged and watched as the skinny kids worked while the wagon driver and a foreman talked and laughed beside the woollys pulling the wagon.

“Let’s find this coppersmith,” San said.

Pavano led the way, as if he already knew where to go. Azios and San followed, distracted by the work and the things going on around them. San stopped as he watched a squad of Baron Guards and a dozen smiths pull a bronze cannon from a warehouse. The officer and warehouse foreman were shouting orders, nearly contradicting one another as the cannon was lifted into the back of a heavy wagon.

San wondered how much the mortar they had abandoned at the batto cavern had cost the Barony. The thought of salvaging it crossed his mind, but that would require a lot of time, effort, and more than himself to retrieve it. Not to mention that there would be monsters to contend with.

Eldaro’s workshop was a small workshop tucked between two larger workshops. There was a large copper pot mural on the wall and an odd silence coming from the workshop.

San pushed his way into the shop and stopped at the sight before him.

A big man held a short sword and had it set upon a thin man’s shoulder, the look of rage and anger creased the big man’s face.  The thin man looked defiant and wasn’t flinching at the exposed blade.

“You say that again, you little shit,” the big man hissed. San spotted two other men toward the back of the room, they noticed San before the big man did.

“Tell Panchavi Sominia to stick his dick into a woollys asshole and leave me the fuck alone,” the thin man snapped back. “I already paid him back what I owed and I’ll not be harassed every fucking week for woollyshit claims of fucking interest. You think I’m some dipshit yokel from a komai that can barely count to eleven with his dick in his hand? I know what a fucking contract is, I know what fucking interest is, and if Panchavi claims he’s a business man he’ll know he’s in the fucking wrong. Either he’s dumber than the imbar he grows or you fucks are trying to shake me down for more sars without his knowledge. Shall I go and ask the honored Landed if his goons are on the level?”

The big man glared and the two other men stirred.

“You’ll not be able to say much without a head,” the big man said.

“Things must be desperate for Panchavi if his goons are out on their own looking for money. I hear half a dozen of you disappeared on the Trade Road, nothing but torn up flesh in the snow.”

“My brother Poxi was one of those that got killed,” one of the other men stated. He cracked his knuckles and stalked forward. “Move aside, Bunto. We’ll see how much work he can get done with broken arms and legs.”

“Pardon me,” San said, stepping forward. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Who the fuck are you?” the big man snarled, his sword aimed at San’s chest.

San looked down at the weapon, noting the knicks in the blade and the rust scaling on the steel. Whoever the big man was, he didn’t seem to take much care of his weapons.

“Sanjay King,” San replied. “Nice to meet you. I’m afraid I have some business to do with an Eldaro, anyone of you them?”

“Some fucking Merchant,” the third man spat. “Bet he can’t use that fancy sword of his.”

Facing a giant scaled monster, terrible white furred creatures, and some kind of abomination that infected the minds of his friends with misery and pain, the three men before him weren’t all that terrifying. They could still kill him, he knew. He wasn’t immune from bladed weapons or pistol shot, but the fear of his situation didn’t stir within him.

Before he knew it, San’s left forearm was up and it slapped aside the sword in his face. The flat of the blade his his cloth covered army and the man’s relaxed grip released the blade at the strike. The big man looked surprised but that turned to pain and San’s right fist slammed into his sternum.

The man let out an explosion of breath and flew backward, colliding with a table and bouncing off of it. He collapsed to the floor, gasping in pain and trying to breath. The second man looked shocked for a moment, but then grabbed for his dagger at his waist. San stepped forward, clamped his left hand down upon the man’s forearm, preventing him from pulling out the weapon. He slammed his right fist into the man’s jaw. The man staggered back, cursing in pain, his dagger clattered to the floor and a moment later so did he.

Pavano was shouting and San looked to see the old man and Azios pummeling the third man. The third man was on the ground, hands over his head and curled into ball while the two kicked at him. San was going to move to stop them, but instead turned to face the coppersmith.

“Friends of yours?” San asked.

“Definitely not,” Eldaro snapped. He looked to Pavano and Azios. “They friends of yours?”

“Yup,” San said.

“Tell them to stop, would you? Not even Kelgo deserves to be kicked repeatedly in the nuts.”

“Hey, guys. Chill out,” San said. Pavano looked up and sighed, grabbing Azios by the shoulder and pulling him off the man.

“Many thanks, stranger,” the coppersmith said. He walked over to the second man, grabbed his dagger and tossed it on a table out of arm’s reach. He did the same with the short sword and club Kelgo was carrying. “Normally these woolly turds wouldn’t come here, but my apprentices and journeyman are out delivering stuff and my wife is at her woolly of a mother’s place.” The man leaned against a table and looked San and the others up and down. “You a foreigner?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Komai of Exonaris Komai,” Azios said. “I vouch for him.”

“Taking advantage of young komais?” the man asked.

“He is under Exonaris Komai protection,” Azios said.

“Just looking to do some business. I hear you work with copper.”

“Aye, did you not read the sign outside? Eldaro Copper, Honored Citizen,” he said. “How do?”

“Good, good. I’m looking for some copper pots.”

“I would have thought you were looking for weapons, not cookware.” The smith nudged the unconscious bodies of the two men, while the third, Kelgo, groaned in pain in the corner. “What do you need, I’ve got plenty of wares to peruse.” The man jerked his head and lead them out of the shop front.

The coppersmith’s workshop was a smaller version of the iron works they had come from. There was a small forge and smaller anvils and tools scattered along a long workshop. San noted the stacks of hammered copper and brass sheetmetal stacked neatly in four foot squares.

“I’m making a still,” San said. “Do you have paper? Or something to draw what I want on?”

The man pulled out a small chalkboard, using the sleeve of his tunic to wipe off a stick figure drawing on it.

San picked up the chalk and began drawing.

“That’s a lot of copper you’re asking for,” the smith replied, looking at San’s sketch. “It’s gonna cost you about six hundred sars for material alone. Maybe another four hundred for labor.”

“But you can make it?” San asked.

“Aye, I’m the best coppersmith in White Tower. I can damn near make a cannon if I had to.” The man laughed. He set down the chalk board. “Don’t know the measurements you’re using, but I can get the gist of it. Copper pipe will be a bit difficult, but the rest of it, I can do it with what I have on stock. What do you call this?”

“It’s a pot still,” San said, looking down at the simple cylinder drawing. It was as simple as he could make it, a twenty gallon copper drum with a lid and a long copper pipe extending from it. Eldaro had plenty of large copper pots that he already made, a sale to some rich Landed had fallen through as the imbar trade had imploded. He was happy to sell them to San, although Pavano had to haggle for him.

San’s first introduction to distilling had been buying a pressure cooker, modifying it, and then attaching a hose to it to make his first batch of moonshine. A pot still was the simple method to make distilled spirits, although many would say that a reflux still was better.

It all depended upon the spirit being made or what was being distilled. A pot still allowed for more flavor, which was good in whiskeys, but a reflux still gave a cleaner flavor found in vodkas and gins. Imbar was a strange thing, San didn’t know what it really was. It was a root vegetable he understood, but it also had seeds within it, which was similar to a fruit.

Therefore calling it moonshine wasn’t the correct term, as it wasn’t distilled from grains. He could probably get his hands on the barley that was used, but for simple distillation of sugar, imbar was a cheaper alternative. Since it was fruit like, it would fall under the heading of a brandy. Perhaps it was a vodka, since vodka tended to be a catchall in his world. It was made from potatoes or it was made from grains, depending on where it came from.

“I’ll get those pots to you by nightfall,” Eldaro said. He set aside the chalk board.

As they had spoken, the men they had subdued had awakened and left without a word, taking their weapons and scurrying out of the shop.

“Are you going to be all right?” San asked.

“Absolutely. I’m not a pushover. I served in the Levy for ten years, boy. Fought tree fuckers, Suvanna, bandits, monsters, and even my wife’s father.” He laughed at the last. “Plus Panchavi’s a sack of woolly shit and equally as dangerous. He’s old news, drowning in debt and trying to gather up sars like a drunkard.”

Panchavi Sominia, the name caused Azios to frown and barely hold back his anger. He had been the one responsible for taking the Exonaris’ wealth of animals and supplies as the older brother and komai was off to war. Three of his men had been killed by San and Wolfram, with another four being killed by Winter’s Lament on the road.

San set a hand on Azios’ shoulder. Panchavi was someone they would eventually have to deal with, just like Ilagio. Right now was not the time.

“Later,” San said to the boy. He nodded, understanding him. “Thank you for your help,” San told the coppersmith. “If they work well, we’ll order a few more.”

The smith grinned at that. “Excellent. This whole Suvanna holding the passes south is woollyshit. The rich lose a bit of sars in trade and product and the next thing you know, they aren’t paying their debts and sending lawyers to speak for them. Fucking rich bastards,” the smith muttered. “Cold hard sars always speaks loudest.”

San thanked the smith again and they left the shop. The streets were bustling with more men and animals, cargo being loaded and unloaded. San scanned the people, seeing if the men they had fought in the shop were waiting for them anywhere.

“Can we go back to the Market?” Azios asked.

“We need to see the Exchangers,” San said.

“It’s on the way,” Pavano said. “You looking for anything good, lad?”

“I want to get Cassa something. They have those dolls dressed like Corvanus priestess,” Azios said excitedly.

San smiled at the boy, sometimes he seemed like an adult, other times he was what he was. A child. They walked down the street, heading toward the Market.

“What’s going on?” Azios asked as they walked down the wide open streets.

The crowd was abuzz, the trading, selling, and hawking of wares stuttered to a stop as people clustered together and then as if controlled by a single mind, they began leaving the Market Square.

“Pardon, sir. What’s going on?” San asked a short man who was walking by them fast.

He looked annoyed. “The Baron has returned. His banner has been seen! The Baron had returned.” The man rushed off.

“That means the Levy and Guards have returned,” Azios said, a grin on his face. “Brother has returned!”

Before he could say anything, Azios raced off, dodging through the crowds and vanishing in a blink of an eye.

AN- Spent way too long trying to figure out what imbar would be labeled as.  It's not whiskey, therefore not moonshine, but it's not a fruit, so can't be a brandy. the closest comparison is probably beets, which is a veggie.  I suppose it could be really called a vodka.  so he should make a reflux still.