Alric was annoyed. Scaling up cider production was fine. Numbers could be solved. Space could be solved. Even labour could be solved, usually with coin or time. Managing two sets of casks, however, was irritating in a way that resisted solutions. He had those from the Adventurers’ Guild and his own, identical in shape and size but somehow determined to behave like entirely different species.

  They had done what they could to clean and boil them as thoroughly as possible, but there came a point where responsibility ended and hope began, and Alric disliked relying on the latter.

  He had received an overly sweet letter from the guild master, signed off with a string of o’s at the end. That was concerning. It might have been cultural, or it might have been enthusiasm attempting handwriting. Either way, it lingered in the mind longer than it should have. Excessive friendliness, Alric had learned, was often a sign that something expensive was about to happen.

  The guild master had requested that some of the cider be watered down. The guild had planned to sell it as hard cider and soft cider. At present, he had thirty six casks of what would be called hard cider and fifty of the soft. He had pushed to get at least half finished before the festival, but this was all they had managed, and they had worked hard for every drop.

  In total, it came to sixty one casks of hard cider. He had expected to produce over a hundred, but now they would be peeling less furiously. A further thirty one casks were quietly fermenting at different stages. They should be finished with the apples and peeling within the next week at least. With the festival only a three days away, it was time for the main delivery.

  He had cleared space in his item box earlier. He replaced the seals with bungs on the casks that had just made it in time and began shifting them, one after another, with the dull satisfaction of moving problems somewhere else.

  “All right, I’m heading out,” he said to Hal and Mara, who were pressing apples. They nodded with smiles that suggested exhaustion had already made peace with them.

  It was starting to feel cooler. Not cold yet, but there was a nip in the air, the sort that regarded fingertips with professional interest. He considered his cloak, then decided against it, noting that this was the time of year when people began wearing winter clothing less for warmth and more for reassurance.

  The city was already changing. Bunting appeared where laundry had been. Old banners were dusted off and rehung, some proudly, others with the air of objects dragged reluctantly out of retirement. The city had the look of something trying very hard to be welcoming while quietly hoping its guests would not stay too long.

  The Adventurers’ Guild had spared no effort. Banners were cleaned and repaired. The normally dusty building almost sparkled. Barrels had been placed at corners and along the walls, as if the guild were laying claim to space by simple weight of wood.

  Few things establish authority faster than putting heavy objects where people might trip over them.

  Alric had been told to head to the adventurers tavern. He noted that it looked cleaner and seemed to have some new furniture. When he approached the barman, the man did not even blink. He lifted the bar flap and avoided eye contact, walking with Alric down to the deeper cellar rather than the storage room. This was where Alric had searched for usable casks before, but all of that was out of the way now.

  “You want it there?” Alric asked, pointing. The barman nodded in response.

  “I’ll go get the guild master so he can square up with you. You can unload for now though,” he said, leaving.

  Alric stacked cask after cask of hard cider, then soft cider, then his stout and ale. He had kept beer production going while his staff handled the cider. He had not mentioned this to the guild yet. He hoped it would pass unnoticed, which was rarely a sound business strategy but often the only one available.

  Dull, loud booms echoed down the stairs just as Alric finished.

  The guild master appeared at the foot of the stairs, filling the space as if the cellar had been designed with more modest ambitions. He studied the casks slowly, one hand on the wall, smiling with the deliberate care of someone following instructions.

  “O brewer,” the guild master said warmly, “you have exceeded my expectations.”

  He stepped closer. Not aggressively. Just enough. This was a particular kind of closeness that did not threaten violence so much as the rearrangement of personal boundaries.

  “And may I say,” the guild master continued, tilting his head slightly, “you look… well. Strong this evening.”

  Alric blinked. Once. Then again.

  “Uh. Thanks,” he said, leaning back without quite realising it. “So. It’s thirty six casks of the hard, fifty of the soft, and, um, twenty casks of what you called my premium beer. Ten stout and ten ale.”

  The guild master nodded slowly, as if each word mattered. “Excellent. Excellent.” His gaze lingered a moment too long before he straightened. “We will sell the beer for you, I take it? It should move well. We can settle that at the end.”

  He gestured vaguely with one massive hand. “When you bring more, come straight here. Make Gil sign for it. We will total everything together, yes?”

  Alric nodded. He was acutely aware of how small that gesture felt.

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  The guild master recorded the numbers carefully, then pressed his seal into the page and handed it over. Their fingers did not touch, but it felt close enough.

  “This festival will be something special,” the guild master said, lowering his voice just slightly. “I do hope you attend. It would be… a shame if you didn’t.”

  Alric swallowed. “Er. If that’s all, I should be going.”

  He was already halfway up the stairs by the time the guild master exhaled.

  “Wait, I—” the guild master stopped himself, rubbing his face once.

  “Uh. Boss?” the barman said carefully, standing at a distance.

  “Forget what you saw,” the guild master said, waving a hand without looking up. “I’m trying something.”

  He turned back to the casks, studying them with renewed focus. This would be enough.

  He did not notice the barman looking down in horror realizing he had suggested this as an off the cuff joke and the guild master was taking it seriously.

  Not long after, greenhorn adventurers were seen carrying casks outside. The barrels were positioned as makeshift bars as they began shouting, “We got cider! Best in the city!”

  Alric, had rushed home, sat in his office trying to make sense of what had just happened. The barman’s refusal to meet his eyes. The guild master’s sudden change in manner. He did not know whether to feel flattered or concerned, and suspected the correct answer was both. He did not want to judge, but he could not decide whether the man was half ogre or half mountain, and the attention had come from far too close for comfort.

  Alric met his two staff members by the entrance as he locked up. It was festival time. He smiled at them. They had invited him along knowing he was from far away. They had invited Stromni as well, but he had declined.

  The city felt alive. The festival colours were green, yellow, and red. Very few carts or wagons were allowed onto the avenue. They began by walking toward the gate. The crowds were thick and jovial. Music filled the air, overlapping badly as each musician competed with the others. No one seemed to mind. The city wore its smiles easily.

  Hal pointed out some of the festival games. Most involved apples, catching them on hooks or snaring them with ropes. Alric was terrible at these. Mara did a little better, but Hal was clearly the best. He even won a prize, which turned out to be a wooden apple.

  “Right. What are we eating? All of this is on me,” Alric said as strong scents drifted in from the surrounding streets.

  “Not fruit,” Mara and Hal said together. Alric could not blame them. They followed a savoury scent instead.

  “Something on a stick, then,” he said, buying them chicken skewers. They stood slightly out of the way, watching the flow of people pass.

  “Let’s hit a tavern. Maybe try some of the local cider?” Alric suggested, partly to get off their feet. The pair shrugged and nodded as they moved deeper into the city’s heart.

  It was becoming apparent that the crowds thickened toward the adventurers guild, where the music was loudest. The three exchanged a brief, uneasy glance but did nothing about it, settling instead on finding a place to try the local cider.

  They found an open tavern and quickly ducked inside. Alric had expected they would need to try several places before finding one with room, but that was clearly not the case. Despite the festival, the tavern was barely a third full. He blinked and headed for a table in the corner while Hal went to order three half tankards.

  Once seated, Alric glanced around and saw Mara doing the same. Crowds pressed the streets outside, yet the room felt hollow. Neither said anything. Hal returned quickly and set a tankard in front of each of them.

  “Well, cheers,” Alric said as they bumped tankards.

  Alric looked into his tankard and frowned before he even drank. The cider was cloudy, thick enough that light did not quite pass through it. A pale foam clung unevenly to the rim, already collapsing into wet patches. It smelled sharp and earthy, apples overripe and bruised, with something bitter underneath.

  He took a cautious mouthful. It was heavy on the tongue, sweet at first and then abruptly sour, the flavours muddled rather than layered. The bitterness of the peel lingered longer than the apple itself, and there was a faint grit to it, as if the drink had never quite settled.

  Alric swallowed and set the tankard down carefully. He could understand why people drank it, especially in colder months, but it was not something you returned to eagerly. It was sustenance as much as drink, and it explained why the tavern was quiet despite the festival outside.

  Seeing no one close by, he glanced at his staff and found their expressions mirrored his own.

  “That, I don’t think I’d want another,” Alric said, moving his tongue around his mouth.

  “I’m not sure I want this one,” Hal added.

  Mara, true to form, downed hers but failed to follow it with her usual sound of approval.

  They smacked their lips in near unison, uncertain whether to order food.

  “So, uh. The adventurers guild?” Alric asked. The other two shrugged. It was apparently not normally a focal point of the festival.

  “Well, let’s make our way there,” Mara said. “We can stick to fruit juice or something and see what else is on offer.”

  They left the tavern shortly after, their drinks barely touched.

  Heading deeper in, they lingered at festival games along the way, with Hal consistently in the lead. Eventually they drew close enough to see what was happening.

  Most people were having the expected good time. There was singing and shouting, and Alric noticed very tired looking guards stationed throughout.

  Mara and Hal did not notice the guards, only the smiles and laughter of people drinking the cider they had made. Their eyes sparkled, and Alric smiled with them. This was what brewing was meant to do.

  A commotion broke out a short distance away, and the crowd parted with practised ease.

  “Right. We got a blacksmith, an off duty guard havin a go. Place your bets. Place your bets,” called a nearby adventurer.

  The scene was bizarre. Alric noticed city guards moving closer, but not rushing to intervene. Nearby, a senior adventurer pointed out mistakes in the fight while a shorter greenhorn watched and nodded.

  Eventually the blacksmith landed a blow with the force of bent iron. He barely had time to raise his arms in triumph before guards surrounded him. He was manacled and led away.

  “See. The guild master’s apple demon claims another. You’ve all been warned. The cider’s good, but you can’t trust it,” a voice rang out.

  Alric, Mara, and Hal exchanged a glance that said more than words. They turned and quietly left the way they had come, bumping into people still heading toward the guild.

  No one spoke for a while as they rejoined the main avenue.

  “Uh,” Alric began. Both shook their heads. He nodded.

  He led them to a shop he had noticed earlier. They stepped inside a clothing stall and were welcomed warmly.

  “Right. You two need cloaks for winter. I won’t have you working cold, so consider this a gift for all your hard work,” he said, smiling.

  Their eyes lit up as they began looking. Alric noticed they barely glanced at colour and went straight for the cheapest options. In the end, he chose for them when they kept reaching for thinner cloaks simply because they cost less. Once that was settled, he asked Mara to pick lighter ones for her family.

  As they headed back, Alric added, “I think we need to avoid the adventurers for a few days.” He paused, remembering the deliveries. “I’ll do them early, in the mornings.”

  They agreed immediately.