Brandymaster Merton (part 7 of 14)

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 16th September 2007

Characters: Larstad, Merton
Description: Larstad has a near-miss, and meets the Brandymaster of Barley Hills Hold
Location: Amber Hills Hold
Date: month 5, day 26 of Turn 4

Everything ached. And he was cold. Larstad groaned and lifted an arm to examine his head - somehow it was still attached to his head even though it felt as if it had been mashed to a pulp by marauding herdbeasts. As he did so, he bumped his elbow against something hard and smooth.

He cracked an eye open.

His feet were there, attached to bare legs and a naked body lightly covered in hair. He was in something rounded and pale... his eyes wouldn't focus properly. The Smith swallowed, and then wished he hadn't. It tasted as though a tunnelsnake had shat on his tongue.
**I'm in... the bathroom?**

**Drowning.** Larstad forced both eyes open. He was lying naked in the bottom of his bath tub. An empty bathtub, with the plug's chain tangled between his toes. He must have pulled the plug as he'd gone under... Fear hit him like an anvil in the stomach and he gagged -
the brandy had been drugged, and he'd been left to fill his lungs with water. **I should be dead. Shards and shells... what happened?!** He groaned and winced when the sound echoed. **This is worse than a hangover.**

~*~
A little while later the Smith had managed to pull himself up out of the bath and stumble shivering into his bed. The candle in the corner had said that it was only a few candlemarks until dawn, and though he intended to, Larstad couldn't keep watch until the sun had safely risen. He woke up late in the morning with breath that would peel paint and a slightly less painful skull. On the downside, he now knew that someone wanted to kill him.

**Sneaky bastard, poisoning my brandy. Wonder why they didn't come in and bash my skull open while I slept in the bath?** he wondered, slowly pulling on his boots. **How on Pern did I manage to get out of that fix, anyway?** The chain that held the plug in place had been tangled through his toes, but Larstad couldn't remember being able to move his feet. Luck, he supposed. It sent shivers down his spine.

Still, there was work to be done and a thief to apprehend. Larstad poured the rest of the brandy down the drain before finding a coat and stumbling out of his room toward the dining cavern. He felt hungover and the chill that being left naked and wet in an empty bathtub brought hadn't left him. A few mugs of klah later he felt almost ready to take on the world, and decided to start with Merton, the Brandymaster. A drudge took him from the dining hall back toward the ageing room where the thirteen casks of brandy had been stolen, but directed him to a nearby hall instead. "Merton'll be in the distilling rooms, Journeyman. Just knock."

And so Larstad did, and a moment later the Brandymaster answered. His white hair stood out like dandelion fluff and he grinned broadly when he saw who it was. "I wondered when you'd come see me, young man. Do come in."

"Thank you." Larstad stepped inside the distillation room and looked about curiously. Two large copper distillers stood at either end of a room which was bisected by a large table. A full wall was taken up by empty oak casks with shining brass bands, and a pile of chopped wood
- apple, he thought - was piled next to the door. Only one of the distillers was going, and the roaring fire beneath it made the room heavy, hot, and fragrant. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"This is as good a time as any to chat. This is only a first distillation and doesn't require my attention the way a second distillation would. Come, sit!" Merton gestured for Larstad to proceed before him and sit at the table. "I'm old and dislike standing for so long."

The Smith did as he was bid and sat across from the Brandymaster, who continued to smile pleasantly. All that smiling was making him feel surly. **It's just the headache.** "Harrit told me that you lived in the ageing room during the Plague."

"Yes, I did. It was an unpleasant time, that." Merton sighed and folded his liver-spotted hands on the table. "I lived in there for a week, and I still dislike having to shut the door after myself."

"You lock yourself in?" Larstad asked curiously.

"Not really. Only when I'm checking inventory. Otherwise, I stand by the door and let my apprentice load the casks in to be aged, or take the casks from the shelves."

"Harrit doesn't do the inventory?"

"Harrit? No, he never goes in there."

"And you have only one apprentice?"

"Just young Gavrin. Well, perhaps he's not so young. I can't imagine that he's much younger than you!" Merton's eyes twinkled. "He's a bright one and has learned quickly. I took him on late after my last apprentice was Searched. Ravelon broke my heart when he died, he did."

"Mmm." Larstad was quiet a moment. Behind him, the copper distiller bubbled and burped. **A double boiler, rather than flame straight on the copper pot. That's an expensive bit of machinery.** He steepled his fingers and scowled at the older man. "Did you steal Lord Thorril's brandy?"

Merton seemed unphased by the direct accusation. "It's as much mine as Lord Thorril's - moreso, I dare say, since Lord Thorril wouldn't know one end of a brandy cask from the other. I did not steal my own handiwork, Journeyman, and I'd advise you not to waste your time looking in my direction."

"And what do you think of your Holder Thorril?"

Merton smiled, revealing the gap between his front teeth. It was too small to be a place for a lost tooth, but too large to ignore. "Are you asking me if I think that Thorril stole the brandy?"

"No, I'm asking what you think of him," Larstad snapped, then mentally berated himself. Merton was old, and likely unable to keep up with the rapid pace of his own mind. It would be unfair to blame the Brandymaster for the ravages of time.

"Well... Thorril is- Thorril is what the Hold needed after the Plague."

He sounded uncomfortable, the Smith thought. "And now?"

Merton smiled again and traced the grain of the wood in the table with a crooked forefinger. "Thorril is a good man, and he rules in the best manner he knows how. Things were... easier before the Plague, to be sure, but sacrifices had to be made for the security of the entire Hold. We cannot think of ourselves as individuals, but rather as cogs in a machine that must work together if the unit is to thrive."

"Perhaps some more than others?" Larstad asked, thinking of Thorril's elaborate desk and fine blue waistcoat.

"We all work together for the benefit of the Hold," Merton repeated stubbornly. It was obvious that he wouldn't say anything against the Holder.
**Pity,** thought the Smith. "Are those new distillers?"

The Brandymaster blinked. "Er, yes. They were replaced after the previous distillers were dismantled during the Plague. Bandits, you know. Well, not bandits... a few dishonest personages who decided to try and profit from our losses. We had so few guards back then, and so many strangers..." "They look rather expensive. Are they from the Vintner Hall or the Smith Hall?"

"The Smith Hall. The Vintner Hall won't barter with us since we aren't officially Crafters." Merton smiled weakly. "They dislike the competition."

"Have they been paid off yet?"

"They were paid off four turns after Lord Thorril was confirmed, although I must say that our product from that time period was somewhat inferior. It took me a while to get used to the quirks of our new machines."

"And now?"

"Now...?" Merton looked confused. "I'm not sure that I understand what you are asking me, Journeyman."

"Of what quality is your brandy now? Are you turning a healthy profit?"

"Well, that depends on the quality of the base wine and the fruits Harrit can procure. Last turn's was a fine batch, if I do say so myself, which is why it's so hard to believe that it was stolen. That represents a lot of marks for the Hold."

"Mmmm." Larstad gave the Brandymaster a languid once-over, from his poufy hair to the scuffed toes of his boots. The heels were worn down at the edges and the bottom of his trousers frayed. "How many marks do you earn, Brandymaster?"

"Me? Tremegi and myself are comfortable, if that's what you're asking." Merton glanced at his boots, then moved them out of sight beneath the table. "I am a simple man, Larstad. I do not require much."

"Do you earn more or less than before the Plague?"

"Well... less. The Hold needs marks more than I do. And I fail to see what this has to do with my missing brandy."

Larstad held his hands up placatingly. "Perhaps. I apologize. So...
if you were going to steal the brandy, how would you do it?"

Merton sighed. "Back to that, then, hmm? I'd use my key and walk in during the night, between guard shifts. Move it to a nearby room and then move it again after the curfew was lifted in the morning."

"And if you didn't have a key?"

The Brandymaster smiled genially, looking as dangerous as a doddering grandfather. "Then I'd steal one."

Last updated on the September 17th 2007

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Brandymaster Merton (part 7 of 14)