Alric was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples. The boiler was giving him headaches and he did not even have it yet. That annoyed him more than it should have. It felt like getting sore arms from carrying something that was still only a drawing. The problem was casks.

  Casks had been dribbling in slowly from the cooper, far too slowly. He had no choice but to concede and buy used ones. The Adventurers’ Guild had been happy to sell theirs as they no longer needed them, but that was only one hundred.

  If the boiler filled thirty casks a day, with a two week fermentation, that meant three hundred and twenty in circulation, considering the strange six day weeks this world ran on. That assumed he got them back the same day, which he would not. Realistically, he would need six hundred casks in total. He did not have six hundred. He had two hundred and fourteen. More would trickle in, but this was it. It would have to do. That was not even accounting for future repairs and replacements, and this was only one boiler. His thoughts kept trying to add another boiler anyway, like a bad habit.

  He glanced at the note from Moreen’s company. The text began to morph when he looked at it, letters softening and sliding just enough to remind him that reading was still a negotiation rather than a skill. He did not need to read it again. The copper order had been delivered to Stromni. The boiler was coming, regardless of how many casks he had. Stromni was coming over later to discuss the details, and once that happened the problem would become solid, hot, and expensive.

  The headache pressed again, arriving early, like a debt collector knocking before the bill was written. The boiler was not here yet, but his mind was already running heat through it, already lifting and tilting and watching imaginary water go everywhere except where it was meant to.

  The quiet reminded him of the new hire. A dock worker named Henry, whom Hal knew through occasional fishing. He was a massive man who ate like he was not sure there would ever be another meal. Alric suspected this was less gluttony and more memory. Henry was perfect for the job. He moved casks without complaint, and Seren directed him easily. When he was not moving casks, he helped Hal and Mara with cleaning.

  Henry moved through the warehouse with the certainty of something that obeyed simple rules. If an object was heavy, he picked it up. If it was dirty, he cleaned it. If Seren pointed, he went there. This covered most of what the job required. Hopefully they would get time to actually train him to make beer but he seemed content to move heavy things.

  There was only one thing about it that bothered Alric.

  Last night, Henry had announced he had met the love of his life. Alric clicked his tongue. Four days after starting. He briefly wondered if he was doomed to singledom before remembering that he was young and had time. A thought that did not feel young at all, which annoyed him almost as much as the casks.

  His mind turned to the apron system he had invented by accident. He had noticed that Mara, Hal, and Henry had to scrub their aprons hard and often, and that the scrubbing took longer than the wearing. He had bought black ones for Mara and Hal, and a grey one for Henry. Seren said she needed one for writing, so hers was white. Mara’s had a small green ribbon sewn into the strap for winning the wheat beer competition. It had started as a practical solution and turned into something that looked suspiciously like hierarchy.

  Overall, staff cohesion was good. Mara and Hal teased Henry relentlessly because he blushed easily, but he took it well. Seren joined in occasionally, usually with remarks that sounded mild until Henry thought about them later.

  Well there was one spat for staff cohesion. Seren had also introduced numbers. Not quietly. Alric had come back into the warehouse to find chalk marks on the casks and shelves, small symbols paired with neat figures that meant nothing to him and everything to her. Henry had been in the middle of moving one when Seren stopped him with a sharp intake of breath and a look that suggested he had just rearranged the stars. The cask went back exactly where it had been, and Henry stood there, hands empty, waiting for permission to exist again. Seren explained, with visible effort, that the numbers were not decorative. They told her what was full, what was resting, what was waiting, and what could be touched without ruining her day. Henry nodded solemnly and did not touch another thing until she pointed. Alric decided not to ask for a full explanation. Whatever system Seren was building, it was clearly load-bearing.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Each night was growing colder. Cloaks were worn whenever they went out now, even for short errands. He had held a meeting earlier to plan for winter. They had all left to shop for supplies. Work through winter was rare, but everyone needed more blankets, and blankets did not argue with you once bought. At least the boiler would keep them warm during the day, assuming it did not explode.

  Mara and Hal were on blanket duty, while Seren and Henry had gone to buy flour. Seren had taken to making pasta and did so often. Henry carried without asking questions, two tasks he excelled at.

  Tomorrow, Mara and Hal would go to a nearby farm they knew to have two pigs slaughtered for winter meat. Smoked and salted cuts, along with sausages. They understood the process well, or so he was told. Seren and Henry would collect firewood for the kitchen.

  “Hail!” came a voice from the warehouse.

  Alric stood to find Stromni looking around the space with a frown.

  “Good to see you, Alric. Ya given up and fired all your staff, I see?” the dwarf said.

  “Winter prep. Blankets, flour, vegetables. Tomorrow it’s pig farms and firewood,” Alric said, gesturing vaguely.

  “O aye. I need to get a pig as well. Needed one last year, truth be told, but didn’t get round to it.” Stromni nodded at the empty space, as if the pig might be hiding.

  “Well, go with Mara and Hal tomorrow. They know a farmer nearby,” Alric said with a shrug.

  “Aye, I think I will, can’t beat a local for that sort of thing.” Stromni nodded sagely.

  “Anyway, that’s not why you’re here,” Alric said, moving to a nearby barrel and taking out paper and charcoal.

  Stromni followed, then paused when he noticed the aprons. When Alric explained, Stromni laughed and asked if he was raising an army. Alric offered no comment.

  “Can we get back to this? The boiler is giving me headaches already,” Alric said with a sigh.

  Stromni laughed but joined him.

  “Alright. This thing needs to be big. Four spaces on the bottom for heating stones. It needs to fill a barrel in one go. It needs a wheel on the side so we can tilt it easily. And it needs to sit low enough that when it tilts, the lip doesn’t travel far.”

  Alric sketched as he explained, lines firming as the idea left his head and became dangerous.

  Stromni blinked, then glanced at the space it would occupy. “Lad, will this thing fit?” he asked.

  “I think so. We also need another platform, a barrel above the distribution barrel. I use my item box for water, it runs into the boiler, then into the distribution barrel, and finally into the casks,” Alric said, indicating the drawing.

  Stromni gulped at the scale.

  “Lad, that’s a lot of beer.”

  “That’s just one boiler. One day I’d like stations of three, but there’s a lot I don’t know yet. So we start with one.”

  “One problem at a time is all I can manage. Barrels stacked like that, I don’t know if the wood will hold,” Stromni said, pointing.

  “Only one has water at a time. If it goes wrong, that’s on me, not you,” Alric said, waving a hand.

  “Aye. Then the boiler needs a frame. With nothing above it, wood will hold. I’ll deal with the carpenter this time.” Stromni scowled, remembering the press.

  “That makes my life easier,” Alric said with a shrug.

  Stromni studied the space for a long moment. “Lad, this thing’s going to be a pain. My shop is only just big enough. I’m nearly finished with Moreen’s press, and you’ve already stolen me.”

  “Speaking of the press, I’d like a small improvement, if you’re listening,” Alric said.

  Stromni raised a brow and nodded. Alric stepped closer.

  “When the fruit’s fully compressed, the bar doesn’t turn. It turns the whole base. I want a small foot brace here, something you can push against while you turn.”

  Stromni nodded. “Aye. If I do that to Moreen’s, your boiler’s late another week. His is mostly for show anyway. Before next fruit season, I’ll add it.”

  “Anything else while I’m here and you’ve made me miserable?” Stromni asked.

  “More liquid seals. And lager tasting in two weeks.”

  Stromni sighed. “I’ll get another smith to make the seals. With the tool it’s easy now, just takes time. You’re determined to drown me in work.” He lifted his head. “Wouldn’t miss a beer tasting, though.