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Obsidian the troll delivered Lotte's note a few hours after Hanna and the Patrician arrived back at the palace. They'd closeted themselves in Vetinari's room for his version of pillow talk, a quiet discussion over a map spread out on the bed covers. There was a good deal of talk about trust that Hanna found hard to swallow. The Patrician was a politician who normally trusted no one and, she'd always assumed, was not particularly trustworthy himself. She was troubled when she left the Patrician writing calmly at his desk, a smile on his face.
After she read the note Obsidian brought, she slipped out of the Palace and headed back to Ansbach. There was nothing about expulsion of the brewers from the guild, only mention of Saltlik's plan to brew something new. A medium sized brewery, Saltlik's produced one of the better non-Ansbach beers. Its best seller was called Razorback, a favorite at dwarf bars. If any Ankh-Morpork brewery could come up with a beer to rival Ansbach, it was Saltlik's.
"Vhen are they doing it?" Hanna asked.
"Day after tomorrow," said Lotte. "Vee have…" she smiled slyly at her sister. "Sources."
Hanna strode the length of the brewery's main floor, head bent, thinking. Lotte told her as much detail as she knew about what Saltlik planned but it was third-hand information.
"And vhat do they plan to brew this beer out of?" asked Hanna. "Veeds? Old boots? Used paper?"
"Vorse," said Lotte. She told.
Hanna stopped pacing.
"You're sure?"
"That is vhat ve vere told."
Slowly, a smile blossomed on Hanna's face.
"It's too beautiful."
"Vhat is?"
Hanna put her arm around her sister's shoulders and they walked for awhile, talking quietly.
**
The executive committee of the Brewers Guild gathered round a small meter on Kettle No. 1 at Saltlik's brewery. No average kettle, this one was so large that it could boil sufficient quantities of water to serve tea to a rugby league.
Saltlik himself, a wiry man with fleshy lips, polished the meter with his apron, then motioned for the men to step back. Mr. Beezle, who'd arrived at the brewery earlier than the other guild members, was in the background with notebook and pencil at the ready.
"Gentlemen," said Saltlik. "We have planned this new brew for some time, and we welcome this moment to begin with guild support this crucial stage of the process. As you know, we have dispensed with some of our usual ingredients in favour of a local version of maize." He held out his hand, and the brewers ooh'd and aah'd a small kernel of corn in his palm. "This grain will help us brew a beer to rival anything the foreigners can produce, and at cheaper prices."
The guild members applauded. Saltlik bowed. "As you can tell by the heat, gentlemen, we already started the fire. The rest..." Saltlik paused dramatically, "…is to come. Would you like to do the honours, Mr. Jocko?"
The guild president positioned himself a few feet away at a wall of dials and levers. The rest of the committee leaned forward. Mr. Beezle took a discreet step backward.
When Saltlik made the sign, Jocko turned one of the dials on the wall. A sound like the deflating of a balloon whined from the kettle. The guild members concentrated on the meter.
"As you can see, gentlemen," said Saltlik, "the meter is showing the rising temperature in the kettle. In a few minutes, the contents will reach sufficient heat to begin malting the maize kernels, which we will use for the rest of the brewing process. My assistant Mr. Capshan developed this mashing method."
The committee members nodded their approval at the seemingly brow-beaten man who stood at Saltlik's shoulder.
"He estimated that the process could take twenty four hours," said Saltlik. "However, I suggested that a small amount of oil in the kettle would speed things up. We are brewers, after all, not vintners." The guild members chuckled at this bit of professional humour, then turned back to the meter. The needle, moved by steam from a tube connected with the kettle, showed that it was hot inside indeed.
Jocko had developed a healthy sweat but didn't bother to wipe his face. It was part of the business. "A question, Mr. Saltlik," he said. "What is the quantity of water suggested for—"
Behind the hiss of steam, there was a small pop.
Saltlik looked at his assistant, who checked several of the gauges and tubes that protruded from the kettle.
"Must be a small air hole in one of the hoses, sir," he said.
There was another pop.
"Find it and fix it, Mr. Capshan," said Saltlik. He smiled at the guild members. They looked uneasy. "Nothing to worry about gentlemen."
Pop.
"It is surely just--"
Pop.
"—only a--"
Pop. Pop.
"—minor malfunction in the--"
Pop. Pop. Pop.
"Mr. Capshan!" hissed Saltlik. The assistant was running around checking the equipment. He gasped.
"What is it?" said Saltlik over the rising volley of pops.
"I think the water meter is broken, sir."
"So?"
"So, we don't know how much water is in the kettle," said Capshan. "If there's not enough water--"
The popping sounds now boomed from inside the kettle.
"What?" shouted Saltlik over the noise.
"If there's not enough water, or--" Capshan looked at the kettle in horror, "no water at all…"
The executive committee of the Guild of Brewers might not have been the most intelligent men in the city but they knew when it was time to make an exit.
"Evacuate!" cried Jocko.
Saltlik held out his hands. "No! Gentlemen! It's only a--"
There was a painful whine from the screwed down lid of the kettle. The guild members made a run for it. Mr. Beezle was already gone. Saltlik and his staff stayed to fuss with the kettle. This was unfortunate because it exploded a minute later.
**
Hanna looked up from her book. The hammock she'd had installed between two oak trees in the palace garden
swayed as she listened to the booming sound pass over and die away. The noise was followed by a series of bangs that sounded like ignited firecrackers.
A few moments later, the Patrician strolled up in the manner of someone who just happened to be passing by and thought it a nice opportunity to stop and say hello.
"What I find interesting," he said as he leaned against a tree, "is that the number of instances of exploding breweries last year, in total, was zero. I'm quite sure because I checked." He flicked a bit of dandelion fluff from his robe. "The instances of exploding breweries since you came to the Palace has been two. It's practically an epidemic."
Hanna bit the inside of her cheek.
"I don't want to imply cause and effect if none exists," Lord Vetinari continued, gazing meditatively at the clouds. "However, I am sensing – and do correct me if I'm wrong – a distinctive trend."
Hanna lost her internal struggle. At least she had the decency to put a hand over her mouth as she snickered.
Frowning, the Patrician looked down at her for a while. Then he grasped the hammock rope and gave it a small tug.
The hammock swung back and forth, back and forth.
He pushed a bit harder.
Hanna was giggling now as she swung back and forth, back and forth.
A small fluffy white object sailed out of the sky and landed on her skirt. Though Hanna was swinging quite fast, the Patrician snatched it up with no trouble and examined it closely.
As the hammock slowed, he popped the object into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully.
"Could use more salt."
Hanna burst out laughing.
**
Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt in the Great Saltlik Explosion. Only Mr. Capshan claimed earnest damage; every time someone spoke to him he made shrugging motions and waved at his ears, the universal sign of sudden deafness. Sick leave saved him from being fired.
The explosion at Saltlik's brewery caused such concern among the beer drinking public that even some dwarf bars started negotiations with the Ansbachers. The whisper campaign mysteriously circulating in the city against all of Saltlik's products also helped.
Daniel Fillwater was not pleased. Jocko could tell by the friendly smile on Fillwater's face. He only smiled like that when he was about to say or do something Jocko wouldn't like. The guild president poured himself a hard lemonade from the bottles kept chilled in a box in the guild's main hall, and sat despondently in his chair, waiting for the worst.
Fillwater took out his monocle and polished it with his handkerchief.
"I had high hopes for the guild on this issue," he said. "High hopes." He breathed on the monocle glass and attacked it with the handkerchief again. "It seems that Plan A has been a failure. Saltlik is finished. And the Patrician…"
Jocko looked around and was not relieved even when it looked like it seemed they were alone in his office.
"…he is obviously a foolish old man dazzled by the mistress he's bought," said Fillwater.
The groan from Jocko was barely audible.
Fillwater put his monocle away. "When last we met, I advised you to do something about Miss Stein. You did not choose to take my advice. It seems a change of method is in order."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"What they did to Saltlik was sabotage."
"We don't know that," said Jocko, worried.
Fillwater glared. "Of course we do. The water in the kettle wasn't siphoned off on its own. The milled corn didn't replace itself with whole kernels. And I doubt the water meter broke itself. It was sabotage. I suggest two things, Mr. Jocko. First, there is a mole in the guild, someone who passed information about Saltlik to the Ansbachers."
"I don't believe it!" said Jocko. "Not the membership. We're brothers!"
"And second," said Fillwater as he leaned back in his chair, "I believe it time that we go on the offensive."
"Plan B?" said Jocko, slumping in his seat.
"Not the Plan B from the guild meeting, Mr. Jocko," said Fillwater. "My Plan B."
**
A few days later, the Guild of Brewers expelled all Ansbach members by unanimous vote. Daniel Fillwater was present for this historic meeting but Mr. Beezle was not in attendance. None of the Ansbachers had been invited.
They promptly met on their own and voted to form the Guild of Ansbach Brewers. This was around tea time.
By dinnertime, rumour had spread through the city that Ansbach had formally seceded from Ankh-Morpork.
++ To be continued...!