Beers and Beards-Chapter 24Book 4: : A Pressing Situation

My morning routine was pretty cut and dry at this point. I woke up in the Liminal Inn, had a bath in the hot spring – a bit more cramped now that we were serving guests – and then enjoyed a delicious Bran made breakfast – scrambled hash with white sauce and boiled eggs. Then I had a little chat with Annie, Team Brightstar, and the rest of my family, which now included none other than the Herders!

I gave Ironbellows a cheery wave as he dashed by to bring breakfast to a pair of plucky looking gnomes. He spared some time for a nod, but that was all I got before he was gone.

Annie and I had finally decided that we couldn’t run something this massive by ourselves. So we’d approached the only other clan with some say over the whole thing – the Herders. We bandied about several different ideas until Ironbellows came to us with a proposal.

The Herders would become a branch clan of the Goldstones, fully absorbing into the clan over a few centuries. Not as a subsidiary, like we’d been doing with the Pots, but as full members.

It was a stunning proposal, as it would essentially mean the end of the Herder clan. They would take on the Goldstone name, take on our traditions, and accept Annie as their Matriarch. And in return they wouldn’t even count as core clan members! However, Ironbellows and his wife were eager to do it. As was the rest of the Ironbellows clan. They proclaimed that becoming part of a clan with a God blessed interdimensional brewery and dungeon had more meaning for them than any clan pride.

Plus, the whole thing was pretty much Jean Herder’s legacy anyways, so it wasn’t like they were throwing their past away entirely.

We’d hummed and hawwed over it, and even gotten in touch with Annie’s father, Jeremiah, back in Minnova to get his opinion. His advice had been pretty much what we’d been thinking; the Goldstone clan would take centuries to rebuild anyways, so a massive influx of clan members right when we needed it most, while risky, was the only way we were going to capitalize on the dungeon while I was still alive.

I left it up to Annie's discretion, and she eventually agreed. She even invited her father back into the fold, and he was due to arrive in a month or so.

After breakfast, it was time to step out the door and into Tree, with Lady Laurelstone in tow as my guard. We had the door to the Inn placed in a busy market square in the Boughs, where it was easily accessible by customers. We’d considered leaving it in Root, but there just wasn’t enough traffic down there to make it worth it.

The trip to the brewing academy on Kododo was quite pleasant, the sun now a welcome and warm addition to my daily routine.

Of course, today was not routine in the slightest.

It was cider day! Well, apple pickin’ day, technically, but between my various Abilities, we’d have some cider pretty darn quick.

A grey robed journeyman dwelf greeted me at the entrance to the administration pumpkin when we arrived.

I’d gotten tired of thinking of the various elves as beast-elves, human-elves, et cetera, so I’d started calling them dwelves, helves, gelves, and belves, depending on their base template. Dwelves were dwarf elves, helves were human elves, gelves were gnome elves, and belves were beastfolk elves.

“Hullo Master Brewer,” the waiting journeyman bowed over a clutched fist. “I greet you on this most auspicious day.”

I cringed at hearing the traditional greeting for a Greybeard being directed at me. “Good mornin’ Brewer Juniper, how’re you this mornin’?”

“All’s well Master Brewer, we got all the equipment set up in the orchard, and I’ve sent the morning students there to help and learn.”

“Good! How are our numbers?”

“About a dozen.”

“Excellent. I’ll go get things started.”

He nodded and withdrew into the pumpkin, while I wandered down to the orchard followed by Lady Laurelstone.

There were indeed a dozen brown robed students waiting patiently beneath the apple trees, along with a few plainclothed elves and a single human woman.

When I saw the woman I snorted, then burst into full on laughter.

“Mirelda! You made it! What are you wearing!?” I asked around choking guffaws.

The blonde-haired woman scratched at her ear. “The gentle-dwarf at the front said it was required. Dwarf tradition or something.”

“Johnsson did?” I choked. “HA HA HA!”

She was dressed in a simple tunic and leather pants today, and looked quiet relaxed, with just one thing out of place – a chest length and extremely bushy false beard. It was, in fact, the beard I’d used once to disguise myself while following Whistlemop around. How had Johnsson gotten a hold of it?

A few of the brown-robed dwarves were snickering too. They shut up when I sent them a stern look.

I wiped a tear from my eye. “It suits you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t actually have to wear it, do I.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“Heh. No. Johnsson was just yankin’ yer chain. There’s nothin’ traditional about brewin’ cider for dwarves anyway. I told him you were coming so he musta planned this. He’s my cousin-in-law, y’see.”

“It’s itchy.” She grumbled, rubbing at her ear again. She comsidered for a moment, then shrugged. “Well far be it from me to eschew dwarven tradition. Besides, I think it looks good on me.” She flicked the beard with her hand and it tickled her nose. She sneezed.

I made a mental note to thank Johnsson later. The whole point of this exercise was to help Mirelda get out of her depressive funk. It was the first time I’d ever seen her outside of the Briar Rose, and I was happy to see that she wasn’t withdrawn.

In fact, as she broke into conversation with a couple apprentices, who happily offered her beard care advice, she was looking downright happy.

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Excellent.

As Joseph had said so long ago, we Earthers needed to stick together.

Speaking of which, it was about time to invite all the Chosen together to chat; see how everyone was doing, and talk about the Great Game. According to Joseph’s timeline, it was just about half over now, and we still hadn’t found Aaron, Yearn, or Solens’ Chosen.

I pulled out my notepad and added a note, then grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Attention everyone! Thank you fer comin’ to our first cider brewin’ day at Tree Brewing School!”

There were hearty cheers and raised fists. And one tossed dwarf. I waited until he landed before continuing.

“The first step is, of course, picking a fruit.” I gestured at the trees. “All apples have their own flavour, which can overpower a drink and result in a poor balance. As such, a nice mix of apples is best, so we’ve grown a collection of local favourites here.”

One of the dwarfess apprentices put up her hand and I pointed at her.

“Do we have ta pick ‘em ourselves?” She asked.

“Aye. I’ve got some pickin’ tools.” I said, gesturing to long poles tipped with bags and metal prongs. “And no beer until it’s all done, so get to it!”

The dwarves grumbled, but got to work immediately. The elves took a bit longer, as they spent some time trying a few of the apples and taking notes. Mirelda joined them, munching on a big red apple thoughtfully.

“Good?” I asked her.

“Mhm. Tastes like a Gala apple, actually.”

“Aye. Gala’s good fer cider. I really, really, wanted Ambrosia apples, since those were my favourites in BC, but they don’t have ‘em here.” I sighed. I activated my [Lesser Crafter’s Eye] and watched the students work, calling out when my magical vision pointed out bruising from improper picking techniques.

After I spotted the third person pick an apple off the ground and toss it into their basket I made a general announcement. “No ground apples! They’re unsafe, and not good fer cider! Just toss ‘em into the compost buckets! ”

Soon the elves got to work, and just as dwarves had brewing songs, the locals had harvesting music. A sarong’d helf pulled out a tin whistle, and struck up a chord as all the elves began to sing. It was a lilting tune, with a softer beat than most dwarven songs. Still, it was pleasant music, and the dwarven apprentices were soon joining in on the chorus.

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To Gods above and Erd below

We gladly take what you bestow

And thanks we give to Mother Tree

For this bounty given free.

Juice and crumble, sauce and tart,

Hurry up and do your part!

A sip of spring, a beam of sun,

Our harvesting has just begun.

The fruit of labour still stands tall,

Cut the stem and let it fall.

Jam and jelly, sauce and tart,

Hurry up and do your part!

Under a Tree where joy is found.

By picking apples off the ground.

Be careful not to work too fast.

Merrymaking needs to last!

Pie and cinder, sauce and tart,

Hurry up and do your part!

Our baskets full, our hearts are too,

Mayhap this day we’ll ‘morrow rue.

But now we work and merry make,

While we all are still awake!

They repeated the song a few times, with different foods for the chorus, and the occasional ribald pun that made Merelda giggle, and then we were done. Twenty baskets of ripe apples, ready for the press.

I pointed to a nearby contraption. It consisted of a hand crank attached to a large loading basket, and a wide bucket made of wooden slats rimmed with cheesecloth. “The second step in cider making is grinding the apples. This contraption can be purchased at any of the local gardening stores, or via custom order from your favourite workshop. It’s a combination grinder and press. We’re going to grind the apples into pulp, then press it in the basket here.”

“This looks interesting.” Mirelda said, coming alongside and looking over the combination grinder/press. “And quite old-fashioned. I thought that you’d have something more like that fancy setup I saw in the brewing pumpkin.”

“Nah, not worth it if we’re nae doin’ mass production. This is more of a side project fer me; like I said, my end goal is wine.”

Some of the elves’ ears perked up at the word wine and they tossed me curious glances. I cleared my throat. “Anyways, the modern apple press is actually quite different from the original methods.”

“Really? It looks pretty basic, though?”

“You’d think so.” I began pointing out components, all lovingly crafted out of fine wood and steel. “A wooden bucket with wide spaces between tha slats, and a tall screw ta press a lid down on the pulped apples. It’s pretty basic, and yet it’s pretty modern as far as Earth tech goes. Gettin’ tha threads right on the screw requires a certain level of machining. It's simple, but effective.

“What did people used to do?” Merelda asked, watching with interest as some of the students began lobbing apples into the hopper basketball style. The biggest helf was busy cranking away on the grinder, while a few other apprentices swapped fresh buckets out for the pulp.

“Cider is old, like I said, and the earliest Roman and Celtic examples we’ve seen involved a basic mortar and pestle.” I shook my head. “I can’t imagine how long that would’ve taken. For larger batches, we suspect that long wooden troughs and larger mallets would’ve been used.”

“So when did the screw press show up?” Merelda asked, taking a bite of a gala apple, then sputtering as she got a mouthful of beard hair.

I snickered. “Hold yer horses! And speakin’ of which, horses were actually the next stage of apple juicin’. Do you know how horse mills work?”

“Sorta. I’ve seen them, and had to read up on them for some of my period romances.” Merelda picked some beard hairs from her tongue and frowned at them. “How do you deal with these things?”

I shrugged. “Practice. Give it a week and you’ll be a natural.”

Merelda tittered. “Maybe I will. Now, If I remember right, a horse mill was a circular stone trough called a chase with a half-ton stone wheel called a runner that pivoted around a central axis. A horse or ox pulled the runner with a harness and then walked in circles around the trough. The runner then ran over whatever you needed to crush.”

I clapped. “Oooh, good pun. And aye, that’s about right.”

“Of course it’s right.” She sniffed. “I always took my period research very seriously. Getting some of the historical bits wrong can really ruin a story you know.”

“Aye, that it can.” I nodded, then pointed at the press. “Looks like they’re done grinding. Would you like the honor of doing the first press? When it’s done, we’ll take the juice inside and start on the cider.”

“So soon??” She said, in mock surprise. “And so quick! Are we in a hurry?”

I raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Ah, it seemed pressing.” She grinned, then drew up her sleeves and went to help the apprentices ladle apple pulp into the press.

I smiled and nodded.

So that’s what it felt like.