Beers and Beards

Book 2: Chapter 53: Pete's Miniature Remembrance

I’m pretty sure there was a party.

I say pretty sure because someone broke out the Barista Brew - probably Copperpot - and I got blitzed and then drunk on Liquid Gold.

I must have drunk a lot, because while I find the Liquid Gold tolerable, it’s still a bit low on the ABV side. And while I could play around with sugar adjuncts and dry malt extracts to increase alcohol content, I was still doing my ‘slow but steady’ schtick.

Which was why I was now seated in an absolutely trashed Thirsty Goat Pub drinking some of Bran’s hangover caudle special - this time made with Barista Brew. Everyone else was still either unconscious in the brewroom, stashed in an alley somewhere between here and the arena, or in a tangle of limbs in a bed somewhere.

I distinctly remembered kissing Emerelda at some point. Her bright red beard had been done up in curls much like Annie favoured, and her green eyes had been bewitching…

I touched my finger to my lips, I hadn't kissed anyone but Caroline in a long time. Caroline always tasted like her favourite mint toothpaste. Emerelda had tasted like beer. I groaned as a sharp pain ran between my temples.

“You doin’ alright, Pete?”

Bran puttered over and examined me. Then he thwacked me on the back. “Looks like you’ve finally joined the ranks of the best of the best!”

I moaned again, then replied, “just the best of Minnova so far.”

“You’ll do well in Kinshasa too! Or I’m a gnomish uncle!”

I perked up at that. That’s right, we were headed to Kinshasa! “That sounds capital! Eh? Eh?”

Bran frowned. “Aye, that’s the name of tha capital.”

I deflated. “Sigh. What about you Bran, have you decided about what you’re going to do?”

Bran looked hedgier than a gated community, by which I guessed the answer was no.

“I’m still thinkin’ Pete. I’ll be comin’ with no matter what, but…”

“Hmmm, what if I had a way to help you decide?”

Bran brushed off his apron and sat down beside me. He pulled up another mug of caudle and drank before raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a bit hard to explain. I got a new Ability." I began.

“Ah, a Milestone for winnin’ the contest? I didn’t get anything.” Bran frowned even harder than usual. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, well, not really. Anyways, I think it’ll interest you as soon as I get it working right.”

“What’s it do?”

I pulled up the Ability I’d received upon winning the competition and read it over.

[Pete’s Miniature Remembrance] - As an Otherworlder, you have memories of things and places that have never existed. Homesickness can be just as bad as any illness, and this Ability will help to assuage that pain. Allows you to create a miniature object made primarily of Matter. The object must be a previous Possession of great personal significance to you, and one that you have intimate knowledge of. Once summoned, the object will last for an hour.

This ability can be used once an hour.

“It’s... personal,” I finally said.

“Ah, don’t want to share? But why - ” Then his eyes widened. “Unless ya mean!”

I nodded, and held my finger to my lips.

“Ach! Congratulations, Pete! A lot of personal Milestones runnin’ around the place these days! First Annie, now you!” He slapped me on the back again.

My headache spiked. “Agh! Stop doin’ that!”

I read the Ability over again. It was weird; how was I supposed to use it? Did it just let me create something out of nothing? That seemed within the purview of Tiara, Goddess of Possessions and Matter, and it also seemed overpowered. That intimate line had better not mean this thing could only pump out sex toys.

I held up my hand and said, “[Miniature Remembrance]!”

Nothing happened. I frowned, gave Bran some embarrassed side-eye, cleared my throat and said, “[Pete’s Miniature Remembrance]!”

I held a pose for a moment, and incredibly -

Nothing happened. Again.

“Ya know you don’t need ta say it out loud.” Bran opined.

I thumped my fists on the table. “Why does everyone keep saying that!? I’m not the only one, everyone says their Abilities out loud!”

“Och, I dunno.” Bran scratched his beard. “It was something my mum used to say a lot. It sticks with you. I think its 'cause shoutin’ Ability names during combat is a good way to get your head caved in with an axe.”

“Are you planning to brain me with an axe, Bran?” I asked with arched eyebrows.

“Er, no. But you’re right, I think we all just like sayin’ them aloud. Helps focus intent. Take my [Cookbook] Ability; it needs me to think about the recipe I want. Sometimes I’ll even say the food too.”

I snapped my broad fingers. “Intent! That might do it.”

Bran’s face grew cheery. “Well, then! Go ahead!”

The description said the item needed to be personal and one I knew intimately. The first thing that came to mind was the one item I knew in and out and had kept on my person for years. I could easily see it in my mind’s eye. I even closed my eyes to better imagine it.

I put my hand out and intoned, “[Pete’s Miniature Remembrance].”

Something soft and leathery plopped into my open hand and Bran hiccuped. I opened my eyes and smiled widely.

There on my open palm was a plain brown leather wallet. It was wrinkled with age, but shiny and well cared for. To my surprise it seemed to be full to bursting. The silly thing had gotten so massive by the end that my physiotherapist had forbidden me from carrying it in my back pocket anymore.

I grinned. “Hah! It worked!”

Bran craned his neck to get a better look. “It really made somethin' out of nothin’! Those kinds of Abilities are always powerful. Easy to abuse. So… what is it? Looks like a leather satchel of some kind? What are those strange things inside?”

I thumbed open the first compartment and saw to my delight that all the usual credit and debit cards were sitting exactly where they should be. It looked like my subconscious intent considered them part of my wallet. What immediately surprised me was how big it was. I could see how Bran would mistake it for a satchel. It was easily larger than my fist, and I had broad hands. I knew I was a shortie now, but this really drove it home.

“Pete? What is it?” Bran asked again, more insistently.

“Oh, sorry! It’s a coin holder, and… business card holder,” I finished uncertainly.

“Those are some of the oddest business cards I’ve seen. What’re they made of?”

From his perspective they would indeed look odd. They had fancy logos and bright colors, and were clearly not made with paper. There was a driver’s license in there somewhere too; the photo had always irked me - my eyes were too close together and my ears were too big.

Before Bran could ask any more questions, I flipped over the center divider to the second page of cards. That was where I kept all my gift cards with fifty cents left on them and my Costco card and-

My breath caught in my throat. The pounding in my head grew to the level of tap dancing elephants.

Bran whistled. “Well, that’s a pretty painting, Pete! I’m impressed! I’ve never seen one so lifelike! Huh, it looks like a pair of human women? Why would ya have - Pete? Pete, you all right?”

I didn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear him, as my world narrowed down to the small slip of paper in the picture window. A photo of Caroline and Sammy smiling in the summer of ‘14. Caroline was still young - beautiful and full of life, and Sammy had chocolate ice-cream coating her face with a look of delirious joy.

It was the first time I’d seen their faces in over two years. I’d forgotten some of the finer details, like that crease between Caroline’s brow, or the mole on Sammy’s cheek. I reached out and touched the picture, my fingers trembling. I could hear Sammy’s voice calling, “daddy!” and Caroline’s soft “Pete.”

“Pete?”

Bran’s voice pulled me back, and I looked up at him. My fingers pulled back unbidden. “Whazzat?”

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

He looked hazy, and I realized with shock that tears were streaming down my face and soaking my beard. “I *sniff* I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

Bran gave me a concerned look, but stood. “Aye, I’ll leave it to ya.”

He wandered back into the kitchen with a frown on his face and left me to my memories.

—

An hour or so later, I was jostled out of my thoughts by Bran tapping me on the back.

He coughed, and gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry to interrupt you, Pete, but you have a visitor. He said it was real important.”

I stared blankly up at him, and then my gaze fell on the dapper grey-suited figure beside him. The figure slowly swam into view and I squinted. “Silverpen?”

“Yes, Brewer Roughtuff. It’s me! I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time, but it really is very urgent.”

“Oh… Oh. OH!” I was suddenly wide awake. “Right! Come sit down, sorry, sorry.” I brushed my arm across my eyes and swore as my bracers scratched my eyelids.

Silverpen plopped down beside me, depositing a clipboard on the table as he did so. “It’s quite alright. I can understand that today’s a very emotional day for you. I saw the contest by the way! Congratulations!!”

“Heh. Thanks! You know, as a fellow beer fan, I should tell you that there's something special coming down the pipeline!”

“Ooooh, do tell?” Silverpen leaned forward. The last time we’d met he’d asked for my autograph as a pro-drinker, and I’d happily obliged. It seemed he was still a fan.

“I can’t tell you too much, but maybe consider being in the Grand Market tomorrow right after midday?”

He nodded. “I heard the bards singing about it at Joejam’s. I’ll be there.”

“Sooo, what brings you here?” The last time I’d seen Silverpen I’d sicked him on Ambermine. I’d crafted an elaborate story about an ‘acquaintance’ that could use a practice audit, and figured Silverpen’s nose and Abilities would quickly ferret out a rat. It was, of course, a nice little [White Lie]; the bugger absolutely did need an audit, and we were acquaintances. I’d assumed that Ambermine would send Silverpen away, but all I really needed was for the highly professional auditor to get Ambermine in his sights.

“Well, Pete. I don’t know how to tell you this. I know you wanted my help, but I have terrible news.”

“Do tell?” I sipped from a fresh cup of pick-me-up and raised an eyebrow, indicating the mug to Silverpen.

“No, thank you - not right now. I’m feeling a bit ill. You see, Pete, I think… I think your friend may be involved in some illegal activity.” He said it with such seriousness that I suddenly felt a bit guilty about this. Of course, that was what I’d hoped he’d find, but I schooled my face to shock instead. [Friend: Gnomes] helped.

“Oh noooo!! Not Ambermine! What happened??” I took a sip of caudle to hide a smile that was trying to creep onto my lips.

Silverpen shook his head sadly. “I arrived at MIne Manor earlier this week, and he was most hospitable. He’d been expecting me, and thanked me for coming in early to help him with his books. He led me into his study and gave me access to everything. I admit, I’ve never had a gnomish oligarch be so free with their corporate books. I actually got a Milestone afterwards!”

“Uh?” Caudle dribbled down my beard as I considered Silverpen, slack-jawed. Ambermine had done what??

“Suffice it to say, I was horrified to see many things that didn’t add up, and not a few examples of malfeasance and possible criminal activity. I had to come see you first Peter, but there are some serious allegations I will be required to put forward against Ambermine.”

“Oh. Noooooo. That sounds terrible!” Oh YES! That sounded wonderful!

“According to Chapter 52, Section 87, Subsection 4, Paragraph 3 of the City of MInnova Ordinances, I am a mandatory reporter by law. I’m very sorry Pete. Some of his crimes may be serious enough to warrant placing him before the capital court.” Silverpen looked absolutely crestfallen. I was going to need to make this up to him, but first I needed him out before my mask cracked and I started happy-screaming.

“That’s… you’ve given me a lot to think about Silverpen.” I stood up, and Silverpen did as well. “I apologise that I won’t be able to see you out - I’m still a bit shaky.”

“Of course, Pete, I understand, and-”

“And don’t you worry about Ambermine,” I interrupted his further apologies, and clasped his shoulder. “Sometimes you think you know a gnome… well, don’t you worry about it. We were only really acquaintances anyways. If he did something that bad? Well, maybe we were never meant to be friends to begin with.”

Silverpen gave me one more pained look, then his gaze grew stern. He gave me a serious nod, then marched out of the pub. Probably to go ruin Ambermine’s life! Ahah!

Where was Whistlemop when I needed him for a good villainous laugh? I gave it a go anyway.

“MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Bran stuck his head out of the kitchen window and yelled, “Pete, ya weirdo, quit that! Yer scarin’ Penelope!”

“I’m being evil!”

“Go be evil somewhere else!”

“I OWN this pub, ya billygoat-bearded-bastard! I can be evil if I want to! Now get out here and get what’s coming to you!”

Bran stalked out of the kitchen holding his big cleaver. “Oh? Ya think you’re dwarf enough?”

I smiled viciously. “Oh, absolutely! [Pete’s Miniature Remembrance]!”

Bran paused when he saw what I held in my hands, then gasped.