Chapter 14 -Things Brewing

The transition in the Coronet's management had wrought a number of improvements, especially in the coffee. Gone were the days of tilting the cup up and waiting a second for the 'liquid' to detach from the ceramic and slide down the cup. No longer did the flavor constitute a crime against humanity nor was it so strong you had to swallow before it dissolved your teeth. Hells, you could even leave the spoon in the cup for a few seconds without any noticeable pitting or scarring. In fact, one could claim it actually tasted pretty good without being screamed down as a madwoman. It wasn't going to unseat Madame Jahar's or the Crooked Cactus anytime soon, but it was definitely drinkable.

The downside was that this coffee did not cut through a cheap wine and ale hangover like the old stuff did. And this was one of those mornings that required such potency. After the second cup and still feeling the ache behind her temples, she seriously started considering walking down to Clove Alley and getting a good cup of Calishite coffee, the kind that was as sweet as it was strong, with such a heady scent that you were awake even before you tasted it.

Unfortunately the job required her to stick around, forcing her to make do with Bernard's brew. At least it'd knifed the worst of last night, even if it hadn't quite dropped the beast rampaging around her skull. As she rubbed her brow, she thought for perhaps the sixth time this morning that she might have overdone it just a bit. But after everything of the last day, she needed to cut loose a little more. Just too much to deal with, so she'd fallen back on an old remedy. Banish the demons with drink and dance.

Yoshimo had been an able companion in the quest once she'd fully disabused him of his wild notion that he was actually going to get into her breeches. Once he'd settled into amused flirting, the two of them had run a couple of tables and fleeced a few unsuspecting marks. She'd had a tremendous amount of fun with a drunk nobleman who was more interested in her breasts than his cards. Which was foolishness in the extreme. Now, she did have very nice breasts, but they were not worth the coin he lost staring at them. Hells, for all that coin, he could have had quite a few sets of breasts to stare at. And do much, much more to.

Thank Tymora men were dumb.

His generosity fueled the rest of the night. Many bottles of wine were followed by lots of dancing. The bard had been good, and after a while moved from performer to partier herself. She had been a riot, drinking and dancing into the wee hours of the morning. They'd probably still be dancing if Bernard hadn't run the both of them off. Of course, she'd had to get up. No sight of Keto this morning. Girl was probably still blissfully sleeping it off.

She was working on her third cup of coffee and watching the stairs when she heard familiar voices. Turning in her chair, she saw Aleria and her companions emerging from a back hallway. The hallway that used to lead to the gladiator pits. Which had been shut down, considering that the new owner once fought in them. Even with that mystery, her headache sufficiently smothered her curiosity enough she simply waved as greeting.

Aleria said something quickly to the others and made her way over to her table as the others headed for the stairs. The tall woman's face was pink from obvious exertion, the sweat on her brow and darkening the neck of her heavy tunic confirming it.

"Good morning," Aleria said with a nod. And not just a nod, but a big, bright, cheerful grin. The knight was happy it was morning. This wasn't fair. She'd drank enough coffee to deal with people, but nowhere near enough to deal with this.

"Good morning to you as well," she said with as much cheer as she could manage, papering a smile over her hangover. "Aren't you all up early?"

"We were just getting a little training in to start the day," Aleria added, stretching out her arms and rolling her shoulders. "I find it helps to at least start the day on the right foot. The fates of course, often times have other plans for the rest of it."

"Words to live by," she said, sighing inwardly as she realized how true that statement was. Here she was, battling the beast of a hangover romping through her head while Aleria stood there brimming with vim and vigor. Gods be flung into a screaming hellpit, she was actually one of those morning people. Wonderful. Just wonderful. It was official, she was the fates' new whipping girl.

Aleria's smile quirked slightly, followed quickly with a fractional arch of the eyebrow. She must have let a little too much slip in her tone. "Truly," the knight replied before nodding at the heavy metal carafe at the center of the table. "That coffee?"

"Yes." She admitted. Ancient, near blood born rituals of hospitality came to the fore. "Would you care for some? It is decidedly passable."

"Only passable?" Aleria replied with a strangely crooked grin.

"I'd rate it about middle of the pack for the city," she said. Few people really cared about coffee, but she did and cared little if others knew. "Good, but nowhere near ready to challenge for supremacy." She saw the arched eyebrow and grin from the paladin and returned it good measure, throwing in a broad shrug for no extra charge. "Hey, I'm from Calimport. We are… rather particular about our coffee." Her people's obsession with the coffee bean and its proper roasting and brewing was already a thing of legend.

Aleria grabbed the opposite seat and waved to one of the waitresses for another cup. "I see. It certainly has gotten better though, hasn't it?"

"Goes without saying," she said with a snort. "Seems the cook finally grinds the beans properly. They still…"

"Overroast them? Not enough to ruin them, but still leave a slight charred taste?" Aleria interjected with that same knowing smile.

"Yes…" she replied, eyeing the grinning paladin. "How do you…"

"Who do you think taught the cook to grind the beans properly? Or to prepare them… almost… correctly?"

She sat back and gave the paladin a very searching look as another cup appeared. Her silence stretched through Aleria lifting the carafe, pouring a cup and even her first sip. It shouldn't have surprised her so much. She'd seen her drink coffee previously. But the thought that she took the art seriously was just a little… well, it didn't fit. A lot of things didn't fit with her, even after watching her as long as she had. She'd claim the hangover as an excuse, but she really had to stop letting this woman surprise her like this. It was starting to get annoying.

Aleria put the cup down and pushed back some hair still damp with sweat. "Sime, I grew up in the largest library in the world. Considering the prohibition against magic in the library proper, the monks, readers and visiting scholars needed something to keep them going in the pale hours."

"Well, that makes sense," she said, her brain finally reengaging. Seeing a little piece of the puzzle, she decided to probe a little further. "Yet somehow, I find it hard seeing you laboring hard amongst all those books."

"I do not much look the part, do I? That aside, I did spend a great deal of time in the stacks. And in the inn that serviced the library. That's where coffee and I were introduced." She lifted her mug and gave it a look. "Well, to be truthful, Imoen started it. We were twelve. She … acquired a carafe and the two of us drank the whole thing in the back."

"A whole carafe. At twelve?" She laughed.

"Oh, I know." Aleria chuckled as well. "I was wound up, but Imoen?" The chuckle grew to a laugh. "She vibrated. Speaking so quickly you couldn't tell where one word ended and the next begun."

"I've been there," she said, remembering when as a little girl she'd done much the same. She'd been swinging on the wall hangings. The thought still brought a smile to her lips, even remembering how terrible she'd felt afterwards. "And even with that, it got its claws into you, didn't it?"

"That it did," she nodded and took another drink from her cup. Looking down at it, she sighed. "I am still not getting through to her."

"Doesn't measure up?" she said, hiding a smile. She knew that look, she'd worn it dozens of times after drinking a cup that just wasn't right.

"Oh it's alright. Just not…"

"Not the way you want it. Once you start making it, it's so hard to drink anyone else's." She smiled. It was just nice talking to someone who appreciated the fine art of coffee. "Who taught you?"

"My Father. He very much enjoyed his coffee." Her smile turned bittersweet. "He was not a man much for luxuries, but it was one he indulged. An 'addiction', as he called it, he picked up in the South. Every afternoon, after lessons, he would make some." She shook her head and took another sip. "We would sit in his study and discuss what I had learned before I went to join the Wardens for weapon training. Sometimes, we would just sit and read, a good cup of his coffee by the seat and a good a book in the hand. I miss that…." Her words trailed off with the familiar sigh of old memory.

"I know the feeling. Mook makes the best, best I've ever had. And a large cup of that and one of her overstuffed chairs?" she laughed softly. "Aleria, it's a small slice of paradise."

"Well then, I am even more glad that we saved her life," Aleria said, smiling genuinely if sadly.

"So am I," she smiled back at her. Watching Aleria stare into her cup like a window into the past, she received a fuller understanding of the knight's words from the previous evening. Wanting to ease a little of the pain carved into even her obviously well practiced mask, she offered, "You know, my coffee isn't quite as good as hers, but I do make a good cup. After this is all over, I will have brew some up for you."

Aleria lifted her head and an eyebrow, returning suddenly from the past. "Oh?"

"After all you've done for us, I think you deserve proper coffee. The way it should be made."

"Thank you Sime." The smile on the knight's lips was deep and genuine.

"The least I can do for someone who enjoys coffee as much as I do." She smiled back. "Now, as much as I'd love to sit and drink coffee all day, we should get a move on. It will take some time to get you and Jaheira ready."

"Quite right," she said with a quick nod. Draining the last of her cup, she stood. "Allow me to go and prepare. We shall be down in a few minutes."

"Right."

"Thank you for the coffee, Sime."

"Quite welcome."

She watched the redhead ascend the rear stairs and poured the last of the coffee into her mug. As she drained the last of it, she realized she'd really meant all of it. Aleria was, to say the least, a most interesting woman and she found herself looking forward to getting another chance to chat. She tossed a few coins on the table and headed up herself.

Business needed to be attended to first.

The walk through the city was surprisingly quiet. Part of it could have been the two women with her, but it was also something else. There were less people on the streets, fewer of both beggars and laborers. There were more guards and they were looking more alert. Or at least sober. It was unsettling because it meant the war had reached the city's subconscious and everyone was hunkering down.

They slipped through a series of back corridors and alleys and past the security into the guildhall. After passing a last set of guards, they hit the stairs up to Alia's attic. The trek up the stairs to Alia's workshop was just as long and windy as the last time. And that was not even two days ago. Tymora's left tit, it was only two days ago.

A lot had happened in those two days.

For instance, she was leading Aleria, Knight of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart and her companion, Jaheira, the-almost-certainly-Harper-and-definitely-strongly-opinionated, up the stairs to the inner sanctum of one of the Guild's most precious craftswomen. She was their best armorer and leatherworker, and by the Shadowmaster's very order, she was taking two non guild women to be fitted by her. So that they would appear to be members of the guild. To help her track down those traitors who were selling her guildmates out to bastards who would truck with vampires.

Two days ago, even thinking those thoughts would have given her at least a twitch. Now, perfectly normal. Because, once you've rammed a sword into a vampire and been slapped across the cobbles for the effort, one's definition of normal changes a good bit. On the scale of the Great Desert being a bit parched.

She knocked on the door and waved the other two women in, cautioning them again, "Now, she's a bit… temperamental. But, there's no better in the business anywhere in the city. So, please try to understand."

Jaheira arched an eyebrow and Aleria nodded as they walked in, and she silently shook her head as she followed, closing the door behind her. Looking towards the back of the shop, she called out, "Alia! I have the ladies the Shadowmaster wanted fitted."

There were a few assorted bumps and the sound of something heavy rustling, followed by the unmistakable sound of a very old elf grumbling in elvish. Her elvish wasn't that good, but she didn't need a dictionary to get a rough translation of what she was saying. Actually, she could use one and a notepad. One should never pass up the chance to learn new and interesting ways to curse.

Alia emerged from the gloom of the back of her workshop like some patchwork monster, her long hair a tangled mess and the odd robe she wore half askew. She tugged it straight and adjusted her measuring ropes as she shuffled forward, looking first at Jaheira and then Aleria. She grunted a few times and then stopped suddenly, eyes swinging back to Aleria and fixing on her like they were drawn by magnets.

She lurched forward with surprising speed, enough that the other two women started to reflexively reach for weapons. Alia paid that no mind, instead snatching Aleria's left arm and straightening it. She heard the knight grunt in surprise as her eyes widened in shock.

The old elf was stroking her arm.

No, she was stroking the armor. Her fingertips were tracing the scarlet scales of her armor and her eyes bored in, studying it like a scholar some unknown text. She pulled Aleria forward and hauled her down by the shoulders.

Finally finding her tongue, Aleria demanded, "Pardon me, good woman,"

"Shhh! Studying."

Aleria shot her a glance as the old elf tugged her left arm further down, apparently to study her back. Not knowing exactly what to do or advise, she simply shrugged. Alia was odd and based on her experiences and what's she'd heard, this only ranked as mildly peculiar.

After about two minutes of poking and prodding, of circling and moving Aleria about, she stood back and snorted derisively. "Ancient dragon scale." She sucked a breath through her teeth and shook her head again. "Beautiful scale. Poor craft."

"Poor craft?" Aleria blurted out.

"Poor craft," Alia said flatly and stared up at the knight. Arching an eyebrow, she said, "Alia know. Bind across shoulder. Tight across chest. Ride up in back. Tight in seat. Chafe around knees."

Aleria colored slightly, taking a half step back, both she and Jaheira giving the woman stares that were equally unfriendly and shocked. Licking her lips, looking more like a wolf brought to bay by a mouse, Aleria replied, "Perhaps a little, but nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" Alia growled. "Yes, it functional." She said the word like it was the most hideous of curses. "But where is art? This is… this amateur." She grabbed Aleria's arm and hauled it up in front of her face. She poked the elegant seeming wind of scale that covered her forearm. "Look at this? Poor layering." She let poor Aleria's hand drop and the knight whipped her arm away. "And worse. You pretty. And he can't help being pervy bastard."

"Cromwell? Cromwell the dwarf?"

Well, that was a fun little fact. The oddball armorsmith of Athkatla a pervert? As far as she knew, the man barely left his shop and hated being bothered. Which didn't mean it wasn't true. On the other hand, the woman making the charge was a half mad hermit living in the attic. Who based on the way she'd been measured, probably was a bit of a pervert as well.

Well, they do say it takes one to know one.

"Yes," hissed Alia, oblivious to her observations. "Obvious his work. Poorly done, done to protect yes, but also to show off body." Alia spat. "Talentless hack."

"He's said to be the best smith in all the Coast."

Alia snorted. "Cromwell? He hack. He mountain buggering incompetent. Stupid…" Alia trailed off into what had to be elvish and was certainly not complimentary. "I fix his mistake. Give me armor."

"Just give it to you? Who are you to ask?" Aleria demanded.

Alia drew herself to her full height, her ancient, stooped shoulders squaring proudly. Eyes blazing like suns, she intoned in perfect, clear Common. "I am Aliannath Silverbow! I learned the Craft at the foot of Dannethia the Beautiful, who was the finest student of Kirina the Smith of Myth Drannor. Who are you to question my Craft?"

She felt her jaw drop open. Hells, it nearly dropped off her face. She had no idea who those people were, but she did know of Myth Drannor, so it sounded awfully impressive.

From the look on Aleria's face, she actually knew the names and they were as impressive as she supposed. Once the knight snapped her own jaw shut, she said very politely, "I see. I… did not know. My apologies."

Alia, no Aliannath waved her hand dismissively. "You not know. Now, give me armor. I measure, I fix, I make better. Fit better, protect better. And make Cromwell seethe." Aliannath chuckled darkly and unpleasantly. "He think he so great. Stupid preening dirthumper! Hah! Alia show him."

"Why thank you," Aleria said. "But this is my armor. I rather need it at the moment…"

"Always busy. Know type! Always quest this and hit that! Bah! I talk of Art! You wearing…" She waved her hands distastefully. "You give me armor, I fix. I make right."

"Aliannath," she finally interjected. "We need both of them outfitted for a mission this evening, we don't…"

"Little desert girl, already scratching up nice new armor Alia make for you." Her eyes narrowed and shot her a look that would freeze the desert sun. "Now, you quiet."

"The Shadowmaster…" she said desperately.

"Bah! You tell him I talk of Art!"

"We still…"

"Bah! Bah! Never peace, never time for Art. Fine." She stared at Aleria. "This one brigandine. This one…" She gave Jaheira a quick glance over. "Have right thing." She shuffled into the back and pulled out two heavily wrapped bundles. "This I made for other half breed. Your size. Last one ended up dead, never pay. No one else want, will fit." She thrust the packages into her hands, ignoring the bewildered Aleria and the furious thunderhead of a druid. She leaned in, eyes narrow and voice flat. "Good enough?"

It was a singularly unpleasant experience, bearing the full brunt of her stare. Those ancient eyes bored into her, leaving a trail of the old elf's thwarted passions and the rare flashes of excitement and challenge. She didn't care at all about what she or the Shadowmaster or Aleria wanted. It was the stare of an ancient zealot. And this was her being polite. With little other recourse, she swallowed and nodded. "Um, sure."

"Good." She pointed at Aleria. "Now give me armor, I fix. I make right." She nodded, fiercely. "I have done by nightfall too. Always in hurry, humans." The last bit was huffed in complete distaste.

"I don't…"

She turned that glare on Aleria. The knight met it and then finally nodded. "Very well. I suppose I will be otherwise equipped today."

"Yes yes yes. Armor." Alia said impatiently.

Aleria held up her hands in surrender and started unbuckling the dragon armor. It seemed that Alia had little patience for that, and soon the old elf leapt into the fray, attacking the buckles with furious zeal and vicious commentary about their construction. She even shoved Aleria to a chair to get the scale leggings off and, well, whatever the fancy technical term was for the armored boots. In mere moments, Aleria went from fully armored knight to surprised looking woman wearing a heavy padded tunic that she was pretty sure was called an arming jacket and light breeches.

Alia dumped the armor onto a workbench and trundled back over and plucked at the arming coat. "You wear this?"

"Yes," Aleria said, starting to look worried.

"I make replacement. This… this…" She spat. "Not worthy of such armor. Make from silk. Special design. Much more comfortable. Less sweaty."

Before anyone could object, Alia had pulled the arming jacket off. Aleria's cheeks flushed scarlet and she tried to fire off an objection. At least Aleria was better dressed than she'd been when assaulted by Alia, wearing a light linen vest under the jacket. Deciding to use surprise as a tool, the elf whipped her measuring ropes off of her neck and around the statue still knight. The ropes flew around legs, arms, neck, waist and chest like quicksilver. "There. I work," she nodded fiercely. She gathered up the pieces of armor and headed towards the heart of her workshop. "You go. Stop bothering."

She chased them out of the workshop, slamming the door behind them. Latches rammed home with booming echoes in the empty, drafty stairwell. The three of them looked at each other, wearing looks of complete surprise.

"That… was an interesting experience," Jaheira said, the first to recover her equilibrium. Taking the designated package from her hands, she arched an elegant eyebrow. "Is she usually so… opinionated?"

"From what I understand, yes." she said, shaking her head as her brain tried to process the last few minutes.

"She is… forceful," Aleria said, shaking her head.

"Did you know those names?" she asked

"Yes. All of the names are famed elven smiths, renowned for their skill in armorcraft. I read about them as a girl. Even she was mentioned." The knight shook her head again. "To think that one of them… working here… in this shop…"

"Stranger things," Jaheira said with a shrug.

"I have seen so much in the last year, meeting a smith of legend shouldn't be a surprise," Aleria replied, chuckling a little hysterically.

"Wow. I never had a clue," she said with a shake of her head. "That would explain how she gets away with what she does."

"Artists," Jaheira snorted.

"What I want to know is what was that string of elvish cursing?" she interjected. "I know a lot of elven curses, but I don't know those."

"It's an ancient dialect," Aleria said, arching an eyebrow. "The most polite of it implying that, well, Cromwell should be… buggered by mining implements."

There was a short shout in elven through the door. All three of them looked at the aging, cracked oak, suddenly remembering the power of elven hearing. After a moment, both she and Jaheira turned towards Aleria. The knight shrugged. "My apologies. High elven isn't really my forte. I'm always getting confused as to whether venarii is transitive or intransitive... anyway... What she really meant is that Cromwell buggers mining implements."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"Well… now that we've got armor for you, we should probably get you to the rest of the team," she said.

"Anything we need to worry about with them?" Aleria said, taking the other bundle and pulling it open. "I would prefer no further accosting today." She pulled out a pair of boots covered in small, tightly spaced iron plates and thrust her feet into them. "At least, these fit."

"And they aren't… green." Jaheira said, looking inside the bundle. Cured, green dyed leather poked out.

"You're at least still properly dressed," Aleria replied, rummaging in the packet and pulling out a cuirass of heavy leather and steel plates. As she shook it out, she got a good look at a wicked looking scar that wrapped around Aleria's left forearm. The wide silver streak stretched from elbow to wrist. "A reminder from my Father's murderer," Aleria said.

Her head snapped up to find two sets of green eyes studying her. Flushing slightly, she shrugged. "Sorry."

Aleria slipped a thick leather bracer over the scar. The stairway was cold, but the ice in her voice that made her shiver. "The scar was a small cost to bring justice crashing down on his foul head."

She nodded. Revenge was something she knew. It was an emotion she understood completely, like the look of cold satisfaction on the knight's face. For all the things she couldn't understand about Aleria, this was something she did. It was strange, but that made Aleria seem just that much more real. More human.

Jaheira nodded as well and reached over to squeeze Aleria's shoulder. "May he burn in the Abyss."

"Indeed. And Irenicus will join him. We will rescue Imoen and get justice for all of our fallen." Aleria said as she reached up to grasp Jaheira's hand.

She kept her peace, letting the two women have their moment. There was no place for her in that discussion. Instead, she busied herself with her own list, headed by the smirking face of that bitch Yzabel. Yes, she'd wipe that smirk off her face. She already had the seed of a plan. She needed Mook's help and access to the old warehouse near the granaries. Then it was just the matter of…"

"Sime?"

It was her turn to snap her head up. She'd been caught staring at mirages. "Yes?"

"While it is still early, should we not be about finishing our disguises?" Aleria asked, adjusting the brigandine cuirass. Jaheira still had her armor tucked under and arm.

"Yeah. This way. And while Wilhelm and Halana are odd, they're nowhere near that odd."

"That is not that assuring," Jaheira quipped.