Chapter 229: Book 3: Chapter 72: Final Format

I stared at the elderly white-haired gnomess standing before me, my mouth agape with awe.

“You really did it?” I asked, my voice filled with hope.

“Of course I did!” She said smugly, holding up a manila envelope. “Who do you think I am?”

“Vanillatart of Muffin and Tart Attorneys at Law?”

“Damn straight!” She adjusted her blouse proudly. “If there’s a [Lawyer] in this city with half my winning caseload, I’ll eat my bonnet!”

And she had a big bonnet.

“I still can’t believe you managed to do it in a month.” I shook my head. “I thought it would take years!”

“What do you take me for, young dwarf? All the Ordinances were clear, and your own behaviour unimpeachable.” Vanillatart sniffed. “And with Harmsson pleading guilty, they had no choice but to accept my move to dismiss. You’re still on the hook for that mess, but that mess was what saved you in the end. I was able to get it to count as ‘in aid of the Crown’ and that did the ticket!”

I sighed. “Harmsson didn’t need to do that. He could’ve plead insanity or somethin’.”

“He didn’t need to put me on your case either, but here we are. And insanity wouldn’t work with all the [Telepaths] the courts have access to.”

I shuffled uncomfortably at the reminder of why the wizened old legal wizard was here. “Well, either way, thank you fer yer help.”

She gave me the old baleful eye. “Hmmm… just so long as your Bran keeps those egg and cheese things coming, I’ll consider us even.”

I smiled. “You mean the quiche? Of course.”

“And don’t let any guards or city officials in here without my say so!” She added with a harrumph. She then turned on a spiked heel and stomped out of the office and to her room in our Manor. She’d shown up on our doorstep one day with a note from Harmsson and announced she was now ‘my attorney’. My protests about already having an attorney were quashed by said attorney giving his professional recommendation that I replace him.

Hard to argue with that.

She’d been staying with us for nearly the entire month, and her nest in our library had now reached Kirk’s own looming height. When she wasn’t scouring the kitchen for food, she was out dealing with our legal woes.

And there were a lot of legal woes.

First were all the dwarves that I’d put into a sticky situation at the beerfest. Then there were the fines from the city. Then there were the charges from the Crown. Then there were penalties from the Guild. And let’s not forget the venue itself, which was… less than pleased.

I lost my deposit.

Annie slumped into the couch as soon as Vanillatart was out of sight. “Ugh. What a weight off!”

“Only one of many.” I flopped down on the floor and made stone angels. “But that’s the worst of it. I think we’ll be fine.”

“Nothing about this is fine.” Annie muttered. “This is all crazy. I never should’ve left Minnova.”

“But then you wouldn’t ‘ave been center stage for the biggest event of this century, possibly this millenia!”

“Biggest event!?? Pete, the Goldstones are going to be on every noble’s Feud list for as long as we exist!”

“Not if Schist has anything to say about it.” I shook my head. “There’s a fire under that dwarf.”

“How’s he doing?” Annie asked with concern.

“Mmm… he came by and chatted while you were out canoodling with my brother. We talked about stuff. He’s managed to patch things up between Harmsson’s faction – well, his faction now – and the Duke. Him helping quell the riot in Greywall definitely helped. Harmsson was a good populist, but Schist is popular. All it took was his say-so and ten thousand angry citizens went home to bed.”

Annie shivered. “I’m still thankful for all the security we installed. That could’ve been bad.”

When the city had arrested Harmsson to great fanfare, the mood in the city had been dark, especially among the recent immigrants and the citizens of Yellowwall. When he’d been sentenced to death for high treason… the city had exploded.

In some cases literally, as the industrious and furious gnomes made their displeasure known.

The marching protestors hadn’t quite managed to tear down our storefront defenses, but our neighbours hadn’t been quite so lucky. Some city-provided [Stoneshapers] had managed to fix the worst of the damage, but Greywall still bore the marks of that particular protest a month later.

Schist had been able to quell the uprising with the aid of his allies in the various Guilds and his speech at Scout’s Crossing was something for the history books.

Now a month later, the city limped on as the final events of the Octamillenial approached. Much had been canceled, but the big fair was still on tomorrow, and…

“Is that it?” I asked, pointing at the red envelope that sat on the coffee table.

“It is.” Annie nodded. “The final round of the contest.”

We gave the envelope twin stares of worry. “Do you think it’s just gonna be canceled?” I asked. “Like the Blacksmiths, and the Gladiators?”

“I hope not. Not after we’ve come so far.” Annie’s voice only had a slight quaver. “But I’m going to check privately before announcing it to everyone.”

With a trembling hand she thumbed open the golden seal and began reading. After a moment, her shoulders relaxed with relief. “Oh, thank Barck. They’re letting us finish.” Then her face darkened as she continued to read.

“What?”

She waved me off and continued reading. I tried to read it upside down, but couldn’t quite manage with the fancy calligraphy.

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“They’ve changed the format.” She groaned. “They’ve attached us to the drinking contest.”

“I mean, that’s not too bad. Rumbob’s the future winner, and he’s in here with us! Heck, it could be fun! A big event all about the brewing and drinking of beer? Sounds like a great idea!”

“Except we need to provide half the beer for the spectators.”

I gulped. “Half by ourselves?”

“Yes, in combination with Brazen Bull Brewing. The rules say that ‘a brewery capable of being the best in Kinshasa must be able to make at least that much beer.’”

I took a deep breath and centered myself. “With [Rapid Aging] it should be possible.”

“It shouldn’t be much more than that disastrous beer festival so… I agree.”

“And what’s the actual contest?” I asked.

“It’s a hard one…” She muttered. “It’s somewhat similar to the Minnova contest, with a twist.” She passed me the paper to read and I scanned it. The important bit was near the bottom.

It read, ‘This Octamillenial we seek to bring the dwarves of Crack together. The eventual winner of the contest will represent the apex of their craft, and as such, their beer must as well. Thus, the final contest is to brew a beer that is capable of representing Crack. Unlike the previous rounds, the King himself will be the judge, as He alone holds the right to decide what best represents His country.’

“Thank the Gods we knocked Riverside out, or this would’ve been a shoe-in for Schist. You’re right, it is similar to ‘a beer that represents a dwarf’.” I muttered. “Yet, different. This… I don’t know if I’ll be able to help much, Annie. This feels like it needs the hand of someone that’s been living in Crack their whole life. ”

Annie nodded. “Let’s pass this on to the team and let everyone brainstorm at the faire tomorrow. The drinking contest is on the 16th day of the 8th month, and we’re already at the 2nd day of the 7th, so we dont’ have much time.”

I groaned. “Always a rush. I’ll think about it, but like I said, this one may be up to the lot of you. I can provide the recipe if you provide the patriotism.”

Annie punched me in the shoulder. “Hah! I think you’ll have something ready to go. You sell yourself short.”

“It’s easy when you’re my height.” I snickered. “I’ll go tell Johnsson and Richter. They’re back at the Manor doing chores. You want to tell everyone in the pub?”

Annie nodded. “Aye. And Bran will be wanting this

.” She waggled another red envelope.

“Can we read it first too?” I asked, reaching for it.

She swacked my fingers with the paper. “I don’t think so. Now, get going.”

I got. I had to pass through the pub to get into the courtyard, and it was a tight squeeze. With our pub proving itself a safe place to be during the riots, we were packed to the gills nearly every hour of every day. Bran loved it, considering it a test from Yearn herself of his patience and craft.

The rest of us kind of hated it.

The saving grace was one certain dwarf, who’d single handedly made everything just a little bit easier.

I watched Bando out of the corner of my eye as he wandered through the pub. He had two stacks of dishes and three jugs of beer balanced precariously on his various limbs. A dwarf stepped into his way, and where the old Bando wouldn’t tripped, the new Bando waltzed on by as though the interloper wasn’t there.

I shook my head at the irony. Here was a dwarf that’d briefly dated a God, and said God couldn’t be bothered to Bless him. Instead, the God of Chaos, Aaron, and the Goddess of Relationships, Yearn had sent down a double Blessing at the same time.

Bando, bless his soul, had avoided the traps for a young firebrand like [Anarchist] and [Seductionist]. He’d spotted where he was weakest and instead combined [Chaos] and [Nether] to become a titled [Pacifier]. The chaos of the pub flowed around him like a stone in a river, and he now had a knack for keeping calm.

Nope! I would not be envious of Bando of all dwarves!

I had my own rewards!

I’d gotten a point of Vitality and Strength each for completing the last round, and a new quest as well!

New Quest: The Octamillenial Part 4/4!

Keep on Winning! You got this! I believe in you!

Finals Won: 0/1

Rewards: [Pete’s Lucky Brew]

Do you accept?

Yes / No

I wanted that reward. A lucky brew? That sounded awesome!

My Gnomish Influencer quest had been completed as well. Now that I knew what Karmic Reversal did, I was quite happy to have another in my back pocket. The next level of the quest finally matched the Dwarven Influencer quest, but I suspected it would take more time.

New Quest: Gnomish Influencer Part 8/10!

The gnomes need your help. Influence 2,000,000 gnomes with your otherworldly alcohol knowledge.

Gnomes influenced: 110,137/2,000,000

Rewards: [Tools of the Trade]

I was willing to bet the reward was an Ability that summoned brewing tools. Would it summon replicas of our brewing facility here, or just the basics, like ladles and measuring cups? Time would tell.

And time would tell. My influence quests were ramping up by the day, and I was going to complete the first levels of the human and elf quests soon.

All in all, things were looking up!

Which is why my mood blackened when I glanced outside the main gate to the courtyard and spotted a pair of guards doing their best to look nonchalant while they peeked through the lattice.

I pretended not to have seen anything and wandered over to the manor. As soon as I was inside I called, “Vanillatart! They’re back!”

There was the muffled sound of swearing, followed by the rapid tapping of heels on wood. Vanillatart arrived sliding down the banister with a furious expression on her face.

“Those numbskulls! They’d better have a good reason for being here after we won that injunction, or I’m complaining to Mcjudge!”

I followed the furious gnomess back into the courtyard and over to the gate. The guards shrank back as we approached and I felt a hint of schadenfreudic glee. I absolutely was not above hiding behind an old gnomesses’s skirts when she earned more in a day than most dwarves did in a month.

“What do you two want?” She snapped.

The guards stepped back, and one took off his helmet.

“Sorry Yer Ladyship. We’re just making inquiries for now. Nobody’s under suspicion.”

“Then if you don’t have a warrant, look somewhere else and shove off!” She pointed out to the street. “Did your mothers not wash your ears? Can you not hear me? Scram!”

One of the guards coloured, and the one who’d addressed Vanillatart held him back.

Vanillatart gave them a baleful eye. “You don’t need to answer anything.” She muttered my way.

I shrugged “Eh, I like to imagine myself as civic minded. I’m a loyal citizen of Kinshasa after all. What would you two like to know?”

The pair relaxed, and one of them pulled out a poster. “Do you recognize this dwarf?”

Sam’s face stared back at me. A perfect facsimile. My high Charisma kept me from gulping, but it was a near thing.

“You don’t need to answer that.” Vanillatart said, watching my face.

“No, it’s fine. I know ‘im, but you probably already knew that. The last I saw him was at the Garden of Graves. Why?”

“He’s wanted for revolutionary activity and a string of recent attacks on nobles. As his next of kin, we wanted to know if you’ve seen him. And encourage you to contact the guard if he shows up. He’s dangerous.”

I laughed. “Next of kin?? What!?”

They gave me twin curious looks and glanced over their paperwork. “Peter Roughtuff, once Peter Samson, son of Sam Barrelbow?”

My mouth dropped open.

“We’re done.” Vanillatart snapped, and carted me away.