Beers and Beards

Chapter 14: Pete the Dwarf

“So.” Doctor Opal asked as she applied some poultice to the swollen eyes of the dwarf in front of her. “What did you do this time?” She was sitting at her usual spot in the mess hall. There were no emergencies in any of the mining camps, and she was having her usual afternoon sweets. A half-empty tankard in front of her smelled faintly of lemons.

Pete smiled sheepishly at her. “I ran into a door.”

“With both eyes?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. She daubed some more poultice and Pete winced.

“With both eyes.”

“Does this have anything to do with why Balin set fire to that awful dung trough you two have been working on?” Opal held down a smile on one side of her mouth. Her close-cropped white beard twitched as she fought a full grin. This afternoon had been quite the spectacle. The trough had been an inferno, with flames roaring nearly ten meters high. Balin had been lucky to not get seriously burned. That hadn’t stopped him from prancing around the trough screaming “BURN YA TIARA DAMNED DUNG HEAP, BURN!” It had been an entertaining sight for the few dwarves that had been around to see it happen. Most were going to come back from their daily mining expedition to find nothing but a pile of smoking wood and some antsy goats. Balin probably should have let the unigoats out before he lit a bonfire next to their stables, but he clearly hadn’t been in his right mind. Thankfully nothing else was damaged.

“Kind of…” Pete looked downcast, the near blinding optimism of the past few months gone from his face. “I messed up a little.”

Opal laughed outright at that. “A little! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Balin that upset, and you’ve been moping like a broke gnome since you got here! What happened?”

“I wasted a lot of our time. The trough did what it was supposed to do, but I didn’t realize what I needed was already available.” Pete looked completely crushed, as he clenched his fists a few times. “I cost Balin a lot of time and effort, all because I thought I knew better than everyone else. I should have just ASKED.”

“Yes, ever since you recovered you have been a bit standoffish.” Opal nodded, as she reached over and grabbed a strawberry off a plate. “All ‘the beer is bad’ this and ‘there’s a better way’ that. It has been a bit grating.” Pete flushed, an amusing sight with two black eyes.

“I’m sorry. I thought…. I don’t know what I thought.” Pete looked lost as he rubbed at his neck. “I have all these ideas and all this knowledge, but I can’t use half of it.”

“Because everyone would thump you for trying?” She had gotten a good thump or two in herself over the past several months. There had been that disaster with the molasses, and don’t even get her started on the noodle incident... Opal shuddered, no need to remember that!

“No. I just don’t quite know how to do most of what I want to try. I’m wasted without a chemistry kit, or a brewery or winery to work with.” Pete grumped, thumping his forehead on the table. “I feel like I have this great opportunity to do good in the world and I’m just not cut out for it.”

“Now you’re whining Pete, not a good look on you.” Opal tutted. “Besides, that’s a bit quixotic isn’t it?”

“I know.” Pete’s voice came out muffled from his face down position on the table. “Can you tell me ‘Peter, Peter pumpkin eater, hit the world and make it cry?’”

Opal laughed. “What?”

“It’s something my wif – it’s something someone very important to me used to say. It was my battle cry for when things started to go pear shaped.”

“Well Peter, if it will make you feel better. ‘Peter, peter, pumpkin eater, hit the world and make it cry!’” Opal delivered the line with all the panache she could, laying a hand on Peter’s head and peering imperiously down at him. Then she couldn’t stop herself from laughing till she nearly fell off the bench.

“Thanks Opal, that did help a bit.” Pete smiled back at her.

“Hahaha! Why a pumpkin eater? Was that your job back where you came from? It’s no Title I’ve ever heard of!” Opal wiped some tears from her eyes as she continued laughing.

“It’s just a rhyme, don’t worry about it. “

“Well Peter, if it’ll make you feel better, I did hear Balin got a Blessing out of your little escapade.”

“That’s nothin much…” Pete groused.

“Nothing much!” Opal stared at Pete agog. “It can take decades of hard work to earn a Blessing! It’s something every mortal strives for! A mere six or seven months of hard work for a Blessing is nothing!” She patted Pete on the shoulder. “Balin will realize that when he calms down. He really came out ahead in this whole thing.”

“That does make me feel a bit better.” Pete took a deep breath. “You’re the best Opal.”

“Of course, Pete. Now begone, I want to finish my snacks in peace.” Opal shooed him away.

“Doctor’s orders?”

“Doctor’s orders, shoo!” Pete made his way out of the mess hall, a spring back in his step. Opal watched him go and tapped her finger on the table. She hoped Pete got some good luck soon. At the same time, her stomach hoped that Pete and his unending supply of sweets recipes would be stuck in this prison for a long, long time.

---

I could always trust in Doc Opal to make me feel a bit better. She was the smartest dwarf in this whole mine, and it showed; she was right, of course. Our time hadn’t been a waste. Balin had gotten a Blessing, and I’d spent the last six months learning everything I needed to know about my new life.

I’d made some new friendships with Tim and Wreck and Sam, and I wasn’t going to let a little thing like ‘wasting the past six months of my life’ get in the way of all that. Besides, the saltpeter mine would run out one day and I had proven that there was another way to get it. That was more than enough for me!

I paused for a moment, as something else Doc Opal had said kicked in. I have been a bit standoffish. Maybe it’s because I see dwarven society as a bit backwards and stuck in tradition. The part of me that’s still Pete from Canada feels like the old guard needs to ‘move outta the way’! That’s the wrong way of looking at it. In many ways dwarven society is a lot better than what we had back home. I shouldn't be judging it, I should be doing what I can to fit in first. I’m a dwarf now, and I need to dig deep into my heart and fully become the dwarf my mother raised me to be!

No need for self-delusion though, my mother was a newfie hippie, not a dwarf. Love ya mom, wherever you are.

I could start by laying off the 'bad beer' and 'bad BO' complaints. It doesn't endear me to anyone and doesn't further my goals. It was time to take a different tack. Rather than solving this as an outsider, I would work from within the system. My original plan had been to go to Annie's and start a revolution in beer. That plan needed to change. I would start slow and take my time getting to know the dwarven brewing process. I'd make a few small changes and get the dwarves interested in the possibility of different brewing methods first. Just like Annie had thought, even a small thing like better carbonation could be a big change without being a 'revolution'.

Your charisma has increased by 1! New charisma is 11!

My feet bumped against a door, and I realized that my musings had brought me back to my cabin. I couldn't hear anything inside, but I knocked just in case.

“Hey Balin, you in there buddy?” There was a moment of silence before a forlorn voice came through the flimsy wood.

“Aye, Pete. Come on in.”

“Listen, I wanted to apologize for stringing you along the last few months. I really thought this was the only way to get what I wanted.” I swung open the door and stepped inside. It was dark so I flicked on the light, a small solstone hanging from the center of the ceiling, and opened the shades. Balin was curled up on his bed, facing the wall.

“Nah, I overdid it Pete. I’m sorry. I should ‘ave been happier ‘bout getting a Blessin. I was just a bit miffed that I spent half a year scrapin goat shit fer nuthin.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think the time was wasted. The mine won’t provide enough Potassium Nitrate if my plans take off.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the trough was a good proof of concept, and we can say it works fer sure.”

“That’s good ta hear. What’s next?”

“I asked Tim to get us some charcoal and gave him what spare silver we had. He’s running some supplies for Grim.” Poor Tim, it’s been weird having a beardless dwarf around. Everyone else has been avoiding him since he started shaving it, and I feel a bit bad about it. It got cut during the Radler brawl, and I guess the loss drove him a bit crazy. Maybe a year or two or ten will help him get over it, and he’ll regrow a good old-fashioned dwarven beard. I brushed my own and shivered at the thought of losing it.

“That’s good. Is there enough silver left fer the rest?”

“I think so.” The silver came from our ‘pay’. Each month we were all given a small portion of our earnings to spend on personal items. The rest went to our indenture.

“Well, let’s talk about the next plan then.” Balin turned and slid out of his bed. I looked at his face.

Then I started to wheeze, guffaw, and then laugh the deepest belly laugh I’d had all year. I could feel my anxiety and worry melting away with that laughter. Balin stood there, dumbstruck as I laughed and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” He demanded, grabbing a mirror. “Arrrrggh, me face!”

“You only have half an eyebrow! And your moustache! I laughed harder.” One of Balin’s eyebrows had been scorched clean off, and the other only had half remaining. His handlebar moustache looked like a burnt candle wick.

“This is all yer fault Pete! Annie loves my moustache!”

“Hey, I didn’t start the fire! You did, and she ‘loved’ your moustache! Past tense Balin!”

For the second time in a day I was chased by my friend, but this time it was all in fun.

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