Alric reviewed the numbers. From the cider, he was going to clear nearly five gold. He realised it had come from the more sour, misshapen apples that had arrived early. The later apples would be sweeter. The cider would improve. This suggested that the problem was not going to go away on its own.

  He remembered tasting it before selling to the adventurers’ guild. He had thought it good, which for him was high praise. The guild master, however, had developed a curious expression the longer he drank, a deepening scowl that seemed to suggest the tankard had personally offended him. Despite this, he had bought all of it. Alric shrugged. It never paid to worry about what other people were thinking, particularly when they were armed and buying in bulk.

  That settled a few upgrades he already knew were necessary. Still, the business, the staff, the people involved. They had done extraordinarily well. He was damn proud of them, and that was a thought that made him mildly uncomfortable, as it came with responsibilities. He ought to do something. The question was what.

  He tapped the table thoughtfully. The cat, sensing weakness, ignored him.

  Food, then. Food was safe. Apple pie, perhaps. It was admittedly odd to drink apples while eating apples, but the world was full of worse ideas, and he didn’t have the right spices anyway. Honey would have to do. He sighed and decided this called for a small celebration. Apple pies, and cider from the cask he had already sampled, which had so far not tried to murder him.

  On his way from the office to the kitchen, he noticed Hal and Mara chatting as they rolled the adventurers’ guild casks. He would have liked to steam them, but without a steamer, rolling them with boiled water was all he could manage. It was not elegant, but it was effective, which he was increasingly learning counted for more. Still, he was glad to see them taking his standards so seriously now. He wondered what had changed in them, then pushed the thought aside and approached.

  “Listen,” he said, approaching. “We’re having a small celebration this evening. The three of us and Stromni. The sale was a big one, so don’t get too tired, all right? Hal, can you let Stromni know?”

  They both nodded with enthusiasm, the sort usually reserved for meals that did not involve peeling fruit.

  Alric smiled as he headed for the kitchen. He would like to buy them something. What, though? An increase was always welcome, but that felt impersonal. Maybe an increase and a new mattress. That made sense. He would look into it.

  He began rolling dough for the apple pies.

  Later that evening, Alric laid everything out. The pies were misshapen but tasted all right, which was to say they tasted better than they looked and had not collapsed under questioning. Not quite what he wanted, but good enough. He had set the cider cask in cold water, although he had no idea whether this achieved anything beyond making him feel industrious. The water, at least, was clean.

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  He watched Mara carry tankards of cider out to her family, who were still peeling apples for him, they would be tripling the number of peelers as of tomorrow to try get the adventurers as much cider as possible before the festival.

  He considered inviting them, then dismissed the thought. They were a little afraid of him, and there was nothing he could do about that.

  “Well, ain’t you miserable?” came a familiar voice.

  “I’m just trying to match a dwarf I know,” Alric said, offering his hand.

  Stromni nodded gravely. “Aye, you’ve got a way to go yet, lad. You’re lacking a proper scowl.” He demonstrated, producing an expression that suggested the world had personally disappointed him. This drew a laugh. “I do need to thank you, though. For the merchant contact.”

  Hal and Mara joined them as Stromni began pouring.

  “Didn’t cost me anything, Stromni, so think nothing of it,” Alric said, watching the cider flow. Stromni nodded.

  “Mara, go easy on this. Sip it. I’m warning you,” Alric said as he passed out the tankards.

  Mara eyed it sceptically.

  “All right. Eat and drink,” Alric said, raising his own tankard. They tapped and drank.

  “Hm,” Alric murmured. It was good cider. Clean, sweet, and dangerously agreeable. He had only once had craft cider at a brewers meet and this exceeded that.

  “Poh. Wow. Lad, this is,” Stromni said, giving the tankard a sideways look, as though expecting it to make a sudden move.

  “I know, right?” Alric said. “It tastes like fresh apple and pretends to be your friend. Then it robs you on the way home.”

  Stromni nodded solemnly.

  “It barely tastes strong at all,” Hal said.

  Mara shrugged and downed hers with enthusiasm.

  “That’s why it’s dangerous,” Alric said. “Nearly twice as strong as a strong beer, by my guess.”

  Stromni nodded again. Hal blinked at his tankard, then continued drinking, apparently deciding that this was a problem for the future.

  “Eat a pie as well. It was a lot of work,” Alric said, steering them toward the food.

  The pies were as misshapen as the apples and burnt in places, having to make them in a fire added a wild smokiness that was questionable, but no one complained, which Alric took as a success.

  “Anyway, any cider we make is sold. It gives us some money for improvements,” Alric said, glancing sideways at Stromni. “Which means we’ll need something smithed.”

  The scowl appeared immediately.

  “I’m going to drown, lad,” Stromni said.

  Alric raised his hands. “We’ll be making cider for another month and a half, maybe more. There’s no rush.”

  Stromni considered this, so Alric continued. “I want a big copper boiling pot that can fill a barrel in one go. I want a wagon-sized copper wheel on the side so we can tip it straight in.”

  The scowl deepened. Hal and Mara glanced over, already picturing it.

  “I haven’t got a tenth of the copper you’d be needing, lad.”

  “I know. I’ll order the copper from Moreen, if that’s all right,” Alric said. Stromni shrugged.

  “I’ll need to speak to Moreen anyway. We need far more grain for winter,” Alric added, despite the many bags already hanging from the rafters. He knew how quickly they would vanish.

  Stromni hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Lad. How do you make such good booze, but not understand the most basic things?”

  Alric tilted his head.

  “You can’t brew in winter. Everyone knows that.”

  There was a long pause as Alric’s brain began to spin up.

  His estimates for grain went out the window. He would need double it, perhaps triple.

  Alric looked at Stromni and smiled. It was a dark smile, and it was sharp.

  Some time later, empty plates basked in the sunset. A small family headed home, rubbing sore fingers but carrying heavy copper coins, knowing they would eat well again. A half-empty tankard of cider caught the last light of the day.