Chapter 61: Petey First Dates - Denoument
Pete leaned back in his chair and took a deep drink of beer. He made a pained smile. “That red armour really brings out your eyes, Emerelda.”
“Thank ya Pete.” Emerelda posed in her red gambeson. “Red and crimson are all the rage right now.”
“Is it because of the Lord?”
Emerelda nodded. “That’s part of it. It also looks great!” She curled her beard and continued. "Honestly, I was surprised when you asked me out for drinks. I know we talked about it at the competition, but I'm usually the one that asks."
"Truly? A beauty like you?" Pete scoffed. "I'm surprised there aren't more dwarven gentlemen beating at the gates"
“Nah, I’m usually the one beating them.”
Pete and Emerelda shared a chuckle. They were currently seated in a busy beer garden hosted by the Honourable Guild of Brewers. The space was a large open-air collection of tables located next to the Guild’s Main store. The Guild actually had one of the permanent buildings on the Grand Market’s main street - a single story affair with an enormous beer cellar. A raised private booth alongside the garden stated ‘Master Brewers Only’.
They spent the next hour discussing their love of the brew and all the places they’d been to drink. Emerelda had actually traveled to several different cities in Crack to try their beers. She described them as ‘Kinda all tha same’. Pete was very careful in his own descriptions to always talk about his love for beer in the general sense. Eventually, he got to his reason for inviting Emerelda out.
“How do you like your Whistlemug?” He tapped the plain metal tankard provided by the garden.
“Aren’t they great? I have two now, and almost nobody has more than that.”
“Why’s that?”
“There's a limit on one per customer.” Emerelda sighed. “Ya have to sign your name. They keep a register of all ‘official owners’. I think it’s crazy, but they’re always sold out, so it can’t be too crazy.”
“Huh… I was interested in grabbin' another one. My name shouldn’t be on the register since I won it from the city.”
“That’s possible.” Emerelda nodded. “I can take ya to Whistlemop’s stall. He has a small space in the central square.”
“That sounds great, let's go."
The two finished off their drinks and headed into the center of the Grand Market.
The Market was full of knick knacks and oddities, both magical and mundane, so a little window shopping was unavoidable. Pete spent nearly thirty minutes at a stall that sold talking objects made by an [Animist].
“By the Gods, why would you want a talking coaster?” Emerelda guffawed.
“Because I could hand them out? I may not be allowed to put up posters, so I need to get creative with my advertising.”
“What’s advertising?”
“Hmmm… think of it as forced word of mouth. It’s getting the name of a business out into the community through more direct means.”
“Well, a coaster that screams ‘DRINK A GOAT’ every time you put a mug on it would get attention.” She chuckled.
They eventually found their way to Whistlemop's, which was a rather familiar wagon converted into a more permanent stall. The sides were filled with Whistlemugs, and the side was adorned with: “Whistlemop’s Wonders” and a newly painted “and Whistlemugs” beneath it. A pair of plate-armored dwarves kept the large crowd at bay as Whistlemop himself handed out mugs. A gnome beside him checked IDs and put names down in a ledger.
As they approached, Pete folded his beard up into a fashionable leather gorget and pulled his skull cap down. He completed the makeshift outfit with some goggles and a long leather jacket.
Emerelda raised her eyebrows. “What’s with the getup?”
Pete pulled out a hand mirror and checked his beard. “I’m doing some market research on Whistlemop, and I don’t want others to know.”
“Why not?” She looked him up and down and bit her lower lip. “It makes you look mysterious.”
“Dwarf of mystery, that’s me. Want to be my femme fatale?” He said the last while twirling his moustache.
“Does it involve a little mayhem?” She fluttered her eyelashes.
“A little chaos, a touch of bloodshed, maybe a murder.” Pete said and sidled closer.
Emerelda laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. “Then count me in!”
The two waited in line while sharing stories about their childhood. Emerelda was born and bred in Minnova but liked to travel. Pete shared what he could, but tried to keep the topic off of his past. Emerelda was chatty, witty, and just a bit fond of violence.
Pete kept an eye on Whistlemop while they chatted. Every time some silver and a mug were exchanged, his finger twitched as though he was counting. At one point, there was a commotion as a dwarf whose name was already on the register started a fight. He was quickly subdued by the guards and then escorted out of the Market. Nobody complained, and a few even cheered. Then it was Pete’s turn.
“Name and ID please.”
“Peter Roughtuff.” Pete handed over his newly minted ID.
Nearer the wagon Whistlemop seemed to twitch a bit at the name “Peter” and glanced their way. He calmed a bit at the name “Roughtuff” and barely gave Pete a cursory second glance.
“[Verify Authenticity]. That will be 5 silver.”
“Guh. Aaron’s Arse.”
“Is there a problem?” The gnome looked down his nose at Pete and adjusted his glasses.
“Nope. Just thinkin’ how much I’m looking forward to this.” Pete ground out through clenched teeth. He moved up to Whistlemop, who handed him a glass.
“Thank you purchasing this one of a kind Whistlemug!”
Pete coughed and lowered his voice to a gruff tone. “Thankee.”
“Now move along please so I can serve the next person.”
“Congrats on yer success. ‘Ow did ya come up wit tha idea?”
Whistlemug seemed annoyed but quickly turned on a bright smile.
“It was luck, really, I needed something to drink from and had a similar object handy. I used it for my drink, and realized how perfect it was. Now, please move along, I have many customers to serve.”
Pete coughed, his face growing red under the goggles. “How can I get ya some fan mail?”
Whistlemop’s smile grew strained. “My clerk handles all mail. Please give it to him.”
Pete stalked away and handed the mug to another dwarf in the line as he passed by.
“Hey, are you sure!?!” The stranger exclaimed.
“Merry Christmas.” Pete growled as Emeralda ran after him.
“What?” Said the confused, but overjoyed dwarf.
“Did you figure out what you wanted?” Emerelda asked as she got alongside.
“Yeah. I need to see a gnome about a dog.”
“Why a dog?”
“It’s a surprise. At least, he’ll find it surprising.” Pete removed the costume and smiled with his teeth.
“Ooooh, that’s a mean look. Do it again!”
The two of them shopped for a while longer. Before they separated, Emerelda agreed to meet again the next week for dinner, and to pass on a message for the pro drinkers: They were all invited to opening night at the completed brewpub.
—
“I ship the gnomess more.” Lunara said around a mouthful of sweets as she stretched in her black chaise lounge chair.
“I prefer the blue haired one!”
“Emerelda is more his style.”
“Yer all wrong!” Barck huffed. "His true love is obviously -."
"THE GOAT!" An elderly woman cackled with gummy teeth.
"Yeaarrnn…" The assembled Gods moaned.
—
The two of them, the giant and the goof, stood in front of the building. The plaque upon it read: The Rusty Battleaxe. They stepped aside as a dwarf was tossed out of the building and rolled across the street into a ditch.
“Are you sure this is the right place?”
*ho ho ho* “Only one place called tha Rusty Battleaxe with an owner named Drum around here, Pete. He owns tha only brewpub in town. At least until yers is done.”
“I think that makes him the competition.” Pete frowned.
“Aye, and you were in tha top ten o’ tha drinkin’ contest. That also makes you a target.”
“A target!?” Pete ducked as a table sailed through an open window. Most dwarven buildings didn’t bother with glass, so there was no real damage done.
“Aye, a target. Tha Honourable Guild of Brewers don’t like us pro drinkers. You almost made the top three, and that’s going to put you on their shit list. Drum is one o’ tha enforcers for the old fusspots. It’s why he runs this brewpub. It lets him keep an ear to tha pulse o’ tha city, especially its undesirables.”
“And I'm undesirable now.”
“Aye, and new competition to boot.”
Pete sighed. “Sam said I should come to Drum if I needed help. I trust Sam, so… let’s do this.” He bounced from foot to foot and sang something about the ‘Eyes of a Tiger’ before stepping through the door.
The building was a large open space, with a stairway leading up to a second row of seating. A chandelier covered in solstones lit the entire space, and several dozen tables were all full of laughing, jostling, fighting dwarves.
Pete had to yell to be heard. “IS IT ALWAYS SO NOISY?”
*ho ho ho* “YES!”
The pair made their way to the bar, which was staffed by a gruff looking dwarf with a shaggy black beard and an unruly mop of black and silver hair. His face was etched with scars and a black eyepatch covered his left eye. His left arm had the telltale silver sheen of a magical prosthetic. As Pete approached the bar, the hand made a *shing* sound, and morphed into a pick. The sharp point smashed a hole into a new keg before the bartender stopped it with a spigot.
“I need a new keg here!” He called towards a swinging door behind the bar and then faced Pete and Rumbob. “What do you two want? Ugh, Rumbob!?”
His hand morphed into an axe, which he thrust in their direction. “Give me a good reason not ta gut you, eh? You get one sentence.”
Pete gulped and paled slightly. Rumbob just looked jolly.
“Aw, come on Drum. You wouldn’t do that to one of yer best customers!”
Drum snapped his right hand, and his thumb erupted with a small flame. He pulled out a cigar and lit it before taking a long drag. “That was two sentences. Could have saved us all a lot of trouble if I’d poisoned yer beer ages ago, Rumbob.”
*ho ho ho* “Yer too much of a perfectionist ta mess with perfection.”
“At least you know perfection. Who’s tha kid? Hmm… wait, aren't you-”
“Hello, Mr. Drum.” Pete stepped forward with a winning, if slightly sick, smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I'm Peter Roughtuff.”
“Mr. Drum was me dad. What do you want? You get one sentence.” He took another pull on the cigar and blew the smoke in Pete’s face.
Pete kept a straight face and avoided turning away or coughing. “Sam sent me, he said you’d be able to help.”
“Oh? Old Sam did, did he?” Drum looked Pete up and down. “How do you know him? Take a seat. Congratulations, you’ve earned a chat.”
Pete and Rumbob sat down at the bar. Another dwarf came up to get a drink, and was rebuffed with a snarl and a tossed mug from Drum. Pete told his story, starting from the time he entered the mine, to the sulfur incident, to his first time meeting Sam, and so on and so forth.
Drum was frowning by the end of it. His cigar lay on the counter, forgotten. At some point Rumbob had joined a party and the entire table was now singing a rip roaring naughty song called Twa Bearded Lady.
The chorus went:
Her beard is fine and golden brown,
It hangs in curly locks!
The other one is further down,
And quivers when she… walks!
Pete winced.
“So why did ya come to me?” Drum asked.
“I need your help looking into a gnome named Whistlemop.”
“What? Tha merchant?”
“Yeah, I need to know his regular movements and where he lives. Stuff like that.”
“Huh, why?” Drum drummed his fingers on the counter.
“I have… business with him. He kind of stole the Whistlemug from me.”
“Ha! Sucks fer you! Well, he’s been gettin’ a bit too big fer his britches. May be good fer him to get shook up. I’ll need ta look into yer story though. What did you say yer name was?”
“Peter Roughtuff.”
“Right, give me a few days. I’ll need ta check with Sam first.”
“You can get word into the prison mine!?”
“Who do ya think yer talkin’ to? Course I can!” Drum stood up to leave but Pete stopped him before he got too far.
“Oh, well in that case. He knows me as Peter Samson. Tell him I said hello.”
Drum paused, his face twitching. “What? Samson? You said yer name was Peter Roughtuff.”
“Aye, I changed it.”
Drum’s face wrinkled. “Why?”
“No real attachment to it. I never really knew me mum or dad, and I’ve made a new family here in Minnova.” Pete shrugged.
Drum drummed his fingers on the counter. Then his face twisted. Then he chortled. Then he guffawed. Then he laughed. Then he roared. He began to beat his metal hand on the counter with glee. “HAW! Never knew! By tha Gods that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a goat’s age! Midna’s Mangy Mullet!! HAR HAR HAR!!!!”
Rumbob came over and watched curiously as tears began to leak out beneath Drum’s eyepatch. “What did ya do?”
“I don’t know?”
—
Barck looked around.
“You’re all here!? Since when!?”
The various Gods and Goddess looked slightly guilty as he glowered at them.
Midna put up her hand. “Last week?”
“Grrr… you lot have seven other chosen ta watch!”
“But your beard twitches when you laugh!” A small elf girl put in. “And you get all pink when the dwarf ladies comb their beards!”
Barck’s face slowly turned crimson from his neck upwards.
“Uh oh! He’s gonna blow! Scatter!” Aaron jumped up from the leather couch, spilling a bag of nuts as he did so.
“YOU LOT!! BUGGER OFF!!!”
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