Small Beginnings (3)
Beer mugs lay scattered around a corner table in the inn's hall. Anyone glancing over might mistake it for a pile of empties the staff had dumped there. The tabletop was crammed with more mugs, a small plate of dry jerky wedged between them. And who the hell was pounding booze like that from morning till now, using just a few strips of jerky as a chaser? None other than that dwarf from yesterday's city hall fiasco, gnawing away at the meat.
"You gonna take that to the dwarf? Is he really one of our customers?"
"Yeah, he is. Hurry up and help!"
A customer, sure. The guy was parked there bold as brass. But why our inn of all places...?
I headed downstairs first, snatched the oak keg the staff were struggling with, and hauled it back up. Straight to the dwarf's table.
"That's right. Beer tastes best straight from the keg... Huh?!"
The dwarf caught sight of my face as I set it down and spat out his jerky in shock. A strip bounced off me and hit the floor.
"We're old pals, right?"
"Y-you... what the fuck are you doing here...?"
"I'm the innkeeper."
"What?!"
The dwarf jolted up from his chair in a panic. I stepped in front, blocking him.
"Where you think you're going? Finish your drink first. I hauled this heavy bastard over here— you can't just bail. Got the money for it?"
"Who you calling broke? If I didn't have cash, I wouldn't have come in!"
"Then keep drinking. What happened at city hall yesterday stays there. Long as you're paying for your booze here, no one's touching you."
The dwarf glared daggers at me for a moment, then slunk back onto his chair. Not many places to drink this early, and ours was the best anyway. Sure, other inns dotted the city, but none matched our beer's quality. Mollo hooked us up with premium stuff at a premium price— brews even local merchants couldn't source, shipped in bulk thanks to his connections.
The dwarf popped the keg lid barehanded and chugged like he was scooping from a well. Dwarves were second-to-none among drunks. Hell, they said if two dwarves fought till they bled out, they'd eventually pass out too sloshed to keep swinging—lapping up the blood splatter like it was booze. Rumor had it dragons outdrank even them, but funny thing: no one alive had ever seen a dragon tie one on.
In the brief moment those thoughts crossed my mind, the dwarf was already refilling his third mug. Good—drink up. Pay up, and drown in it or take a bath in the keg for all I cared.
I watched him a second longer, then turned back to grab paper and pencil. Time to jot down the ideas I'd been mulling since yesterday.
"We're back! Ugh! What the hell is that?!"
Marim, fresh from a delivery run, spotted the dwarf chugging and let out a shriek.
The dwarf wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grumbled. "That? First dwarf you've seen, half-elf?"
"Yeah, first one. Thought you lived underground and couldn't stand daylight. How're you slamming drinks in broad daylight?"
"What? Listen to this big-eared runt flapping her gums."
Marim wasn't one to take that lying down. She slammed her bag down and planted hands on hips, ready for a scrap.
"Runt? Ever hear 'stumpy shit-sack'? That's for short, fat little shits like you, old man! Who's talking height?!"
"You little...!"
Sparks flew between the dwarf, itching to draw his hammer, and Marim, bending low like she was about to blink. Couldn't let a customer brawl with staff in my own inn, so I cleared my throat loud.
"Ahem!"
They both whipped around to me. I shook my head at the dwarf. Fresh memory of yesterday's beating must've stung—he grimaced like he'd eaten shit and gulped his beer.
With him backing down, I turned to Marim. "Marim. Go upstairs and wash up."
"Tch... fine..."
She shot the dwarf a glare and stomped up the stairs.
"Stumpy shit-sack...? Fuckin' hell, what kinda bullshit is that."
The dwarf muttered, crunching jerky.
The staff had all gone upstairs to tidy the second- and third-floor rooms. Business was booming these days—full house was the norm. Lunch rush would bring a steady stream of overnight guests, so prepping ahead was key.
Left in the hall: just me and the dwarf.
He drained the keg dry, let out a massive belch, and slid off his chair. "Goddamn... gotta head back for real now. Show up empty-handed, and those pricks'll lose their shit..."
Mumbling something incoherent, he glanced around for staff to settle up. No luck—they were upstairs. Grimacing, he shuffled over to me.
I set aside my pencil sketch and waited.
"How much?"
"Forty silver."
"F-forty...?! Bullshit! I ain't no slime—where do you get off ripping me off like that?!"
I jerked my chin at his table. Mugs everywhere, keg looming like a monument.
"You scarfed all that and forty silver's a steal, no?"
"Urgh..."
He rummaged in his pouch and tossed a gold coin on the bar. Dwarf gold—intricate markings I'd never seen, not the kingdom's revenge king stamp.
"Hey, asshole... what am I supposed to do with dwarf gold...?"
"Then what—dwarves carry orc gold instead?!"
"If you're hitting human cities, exchange for kingdom coin first! Gimme something else."
"That's all I got."
"Great..."
Dwarf gold outshone kingdom stuff in purity and heft—standard math didn't apply. Cash drawer check: not enough change. Left him there, hit the third floor safe, hauled out a fat money pouch. This oughta do. Grabbed the scales from the shelf too—bought 'em just in case, gathering dust till now.
Back downstairs, dwarf was on tiptoes peering at the paper I'd left on the bar. My rough sketch of the bathhouse for the back lot.
I sat, weighed the coin while he stared holes through the design, dead serious.
"Fucking heavy. Kingdom gold? This one's worth four easy..."
Compared weights, tallied fair value, bagged the change—mix of gold and silver, since dwarf coin tipped scales heavy.
"Here—your change. Weighed it right in front of you, no scam."
I slid the pouch over. He pocketed it, eyeing the paper.
"What's this? Bathhouse?"
"Huh? How'd you know?"
"Obvious. Even your shitty sketch screams it."
Dwarves were master craftsmen. Their gadgets ran on wild principles no other race could dream up. Architecture? Untouchable—dwarf builds lasted millennia without a crack. Mining cities proved it. So yeah, he clocked my doodle on sight.
"Hmph... just dig a hole and stack stones? Nah, won't cut it..."
He squinted, beetle-black eyes scanning every line.
Was gonna shoo him off to finish in peace, but... held off. Dwarves ruled construction. Free critique from one? Rare score.
"If you're doing it like this, better... apply what I had in mind right here... Oh ho! That'd work!"
Muttering and nodding to himself, he looked up.
"Hey! Human! Building a bathhouse?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"This way? You'll tank. Guaranteed flop."
Anyone else, I'd say mind your business and fuck off. But dwarf word on builds was gospel. I waited quiet.
He clammed up after that.
"What? Spill it. Why flop? How to fix?"
No dice on prodding. Then, out of nowhere:
"Human. You got money?"