Chapter 140: Book 2: Chapter 47: Copper and Gold

Book 2: Chapter 47: Copper and Gold

The note took a few hours, and then a few more. Annie stopped for the dinner rush, and in the late hours of the night, finished the first draft.

“It’s… fine. I guess.” I read over it for the fifth time. “But it really could use a bit more pizazz.”

Annie shook her head and yanked the page back. “No. No pizzaz! The Lord is as straight-laced as they come, and any pizzazz is likely to throw off Blackbeard.”

“Prophet Barnes will appreciate it.”

“Maybe… but Barnes is already on our side no matter what, right?”

“Yeeeees. I hope.” I gave Annie some side-eye. I’d told her the full extent of my relationship with Barck earlier this month, just to head off any more friction and make sure she didn’t get blindsided. She hadn’t been very happy about it, but she’d admitted that she had guessed something like that was going on

I was still keeping the ‘Annie is the First Brewer’ thing a secret, though. That one was coming with me to my grave.

“Are you sure the reference to goatherd pie is clear enough, while still remaining anonymous?” Annie asked, giving the note a pensive look.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to remain anonymous. Barnes has eaten here and Penelope is delivering the beer. The goatherd pie thing is just in case.”

The judging was a blind taste, where the judges wouldn’t be told which beer came from which brewery. It was ostensibly to help prevent bribery, but in this case it hurt us twice. First, a fancy ad-bedecked cask we’d prepared was now useless, and second, everyone would probably be able to guess which one was us anyway. We had a reputation, after all.

The contest reminded me of one of the most famous events in wine-making: The Judgment of Paris. In 1976 a pair of wine merchants decided to hold a blind wine tasting with many of France’s top wine judges. The purpose was to drum up business for the show-runner’s wine school, but really it was meant to prove once and for all that french wines were better than the upstarts from California.

So when the American wines beat their French counterparts in every category, it set off shockwaves in the wine world. Bordeaux and Burgundy, move over, the new king of wine was the Napa Valley!

It had the side effect of propelling other North American wines into the public consciousness, and it was likely that our own winery wouldn’t have done so well without it.

They made a movie about the event with Alan Rickman called Bottle Shock. It was one of my and Caroline’s favourite movies.

I tapped my fingers on the paper. “No, the pie is fine. But do we really need to butter Blackbeard up so much?? What you wrote there would seriously turn me off.”

“No, it’s just right. Think of him as Browning on a bad day.”

“Ew.”

“Yes.”

We were interrupted by knocking at the door, and Kirk stuck his head down. “Hey bossman, Copperpot’s here to see you.”

“Alright, I’ll be right out. Annie, I think it looks fine. Do you want to write up the final version?”

Annie pulled her beard. “No. I’ll ask John to do it. He’s getting bored at home, and he does beautiful quillwork.”

“Quillwork!?”

“It’s traditional.”

—

Copperpot had bags under his eyes.

“Pretzel and beer?” I asked, as I plunked into the seat across from him

“Barista brew? Please.” Copperpot sighed and took off his beanie. It was the first time I’d seen him without. The gnome had a bald as bald could possibly be baldspot; I could practically see my reflection in his head. He rubbed at his temples and groaned.

“You know, you shouldn’t get high on your own supply.” I said as I hopped up to pour him a whistlemug full of pick-me-up from a keg behind the bar. We weren’t offering the barista brew for sale yet, it was still slated to be revealed at the same time as us winning the contest, but we’d been doling it out as ‘taste trials’ to our most avid gnomish customers. It was helping build hype, and if there was one thing the hyperactive pro-drinker Beatbox was good at, it was hype.

Rumbob had declared the drink ‘ho-ho-horrible for his heart’ and sworn to never touch it.

“I don’t know that saying, Peter, but I’ll assume it means not to over-imbibe on a stat-altering substance of my own design. Alchemists usually say ‘don’t ask for your own flask.’”

“So, why do you look like you’ve been dealing with assassins and sabotage attempts all month?”

Copperpot gave me a withering look. “Because I HAVE been dealing with assassins and sabotage attempts all month.”

I tutted. “Shouldn’t the Mine corporation be dead in the water at this point? You’ve taken over their mines, using my money I might add, and hired or scared away most of their workers. Nothing too over the top there, I hope?”

Copperpot took a deep dreg of his Barista Brew and sank back into his chair. “Ahhh, that hits the spot. No, anyone who abuses general workers during Corporate Combat would find themselves in the black books of every gnome in Crack. We all know the drill during a hostile takeover. Most could see the depth of the dive and are already working at other companies by this point.”

I shook my head. “Feuds are so much better.”

“I told you, Feuds are so much better now. They used to result in the complete annihilation of entire clans.” Copperpot frowned. “Especially Blood Feuds. Honestly, this entire thing with the Mine Corporation is the messiest affair I’ve ever been involved in. It’s far too expensive and dangerous for how amateur it’s been.”

And considering he was hundreds of years old, that was quite the statement.

“If it’s so amateur, why are you finding it so hard to win?” I took a sip of some Barista Brew of my own. I’d been finding a small amount of it to be a lovely pick-me-up after the evening rush. Aqua was becoming more obsessed with it than Richter with his Liquid Gold.

“I don’t know!” Copperpot actually whined, then thumped his fists on the table. “We had to fend off another two attacks on the brewery, and one at each of the new mines. Nothing as sophisticated as that first one, but enough that I have my best teams working double and triple overtime. It’s running our coffers out fast. I don’t understand how they’re affording it!!”

He growled and grumbled then took another sip of Barista Brew. Then he drained the entire mug in deep gulps and pounded it down on the table.

“Ano- *hic* - nother!” He shoved the empty whistlemug back to me, and I let it wobble as I raised an eyebrow. “... please," he finished.

I rose to refill the mug as he continued complaining.

“The last two mercenary teams weren’t even from Minnova. One of them was actually a fairly decent adventuring team from Kinshasa. Not named adventurer level, but good enough. We got one free request out of letting them go, but they couldn’t tell us anything about who’d hired them. Are you sure Ambermine is still holed up in Mine Manor?”

I finished the pour and sat back down. Copperpot went straight to chugging as I considered his question. “I walked by last night and during my afternoon walk; I know you got those reports. Ambermine is still holed up in the manor. If he’s left, it’s been when I wasn’t around, or he has an Ability to fool mine.”

Copperpot banged his mug back down on the table again.”By Aaron’s Fancy Freckled Arse!! How is he doing it then! Nobody‘s come or gone!! Diamondmine hasn’t left either! They could be using commstones, but again, the expense!”

I shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe he has a wealthy backer in Kinsasha?”

Copperpot bit a few of his nails. “Maybe… but who would support a failing gnomish business? Why? What would they gain out of it? And who.”

“Who knows.Ask your fancy covert ops teams.”

“I did!”

“Ah, tough break then.”

Copperpot sipped at the dregs of his mug and sighed deeply again. “Only one more week and everything will become significantly less hectic. If Liquid Gold and Barista Brew explode, we’ll be able to expand and improve liquidity fast enough that the Mine Corporation won’t be able to touch us.”

“That’s not good enough!” I snapped, my vision flashing red for an instant. “He needs to pay, not just go bankrupt in luxury.”

Copperpot flinched back. “Well, obviously it isn’t enough, Peter, but we need to do what we can. If he wants to stay hidden up in his hole like a dwarf in a freschie, we’ll just have to remove the mine supports around him.”

We sat in angry silence for a while as we considered. Copperpot was vibrating and inattentive, by which I assumed he’d gotten a bit too ‘blitzed’.

The crux of the problem was money. Even my own supply was not inexhaustible, and we had no idea how deep the Mine Corporation's coffers were. As long as they could just keep paying for people to harry us, we were stuck playing defense for who knew how long. Copperpot had hopes they would lay off after a successful launch, but I was pretty sure he was still applying rational thought to Ambermine and Diamondmine’s actions.

They didn’t sound rational to me. This sounded like a ‘break my bones to make my enemy bleed’ kind of situation. A situation that I just… didn’t want to deal with.

I wanted to brew and have fun with my friends and save beer. It still had a lot of saving needed, and I was the only one who could do it. Well, Annie was on the right path now, so there was at least one more. Plus, all this red rage or whatever goatshite was crimping my style; I just didn’t have the time for it.

I needed to delegate. Money was the problem, so who did I know that was good with money? [Flash of Insight].

Copperpot twitched as I began to chuckle, then guffaw, then pound the table with paroxysms of laughter. “Har har har! I know exactly how to handle the Mine Corporation and their mystery money! Corporate Combat is technically illegal, but we can't go to the guard, right? Tell me, how do you usually cook your books to hide those expenses?”

Copperpot frowned. “That’s a trade secret, but likely close to what you're imagining."

Non-existent workers, padded bonuses, and bribes paid out as ‘material expenses’, and so on and so forth. Marketing was still somewhat foreign to the guild and family business dominated Crack, but their tax and accounting practices were practically labyrinthine. It was why they had yearly audits. Usually they had a long time to prepare, and if Whistlemop was any indication, hiding money was part of the game. But if this was amateur hour and the Mines were playing fast and loose with a lot more money than they should have…

"What happens if someone is stupid enough to get caught in an audit?"

"Nobody gets caught. Anyone who would, deserves getting crushed."

"Hehehe. Crushed. Such a lovely word. I'm crushing on it right now."

“Did you have an idea?”

My grin was wolfish. “Oh yes. I know someone who technically doesn’t owe me a favour, but would love to do their job if I pointed them in the right direction.”

“Who?”

I told him. Then he began laughing too.