Chapter 115

Even Worse

Melting snow dripped from every timber and slate roof of Lavenfauvish. Compared to the wilderness of the north, it was much warmer. The sun was out and it was almost perfect weather for the annual Oude Brewer’s Competition.

Corylus and I yapped away as we walked from his home to Burdock avenue. After flashing our tickets to the ticket masters, we were admitted through.

We popped through the first Sheltering Bubble, which connected to another, which connected to another, and so forth. Each Sheltering Bubble connected to the next which made it snake along the avenues like a giant soapy caterpillar. With the occasional wind that made the bubbles tremble, it could be said that the soapy insect walked the streets.

Corylus looked magnificent in formal tunic and coat. He was the very picture of spring. His fabrics were dyed creamy yellow. Details were baby blue. Elder women eyed him. Corylus must have known this for he carried a persistent blush.

Booths, representing breweries, lined the streets on either side. Performers filled the middle like a paused cavalcade. People and few monsters crowded every booth, lining up to get a pour of ale. Not more than 40 feet in, we came upon the hop trellises that arched beneath the Sheltering Bubble, so dense that the sun was only a sparkle through the hops and leaves.

We passed by drunken fighting on raised platforms. All manner of attribute beers were consumed by everyone. As we continued on, I heard the occasional bottle break. Each shattering of glass only interrupted our conversation for a moment.

Corylus and I, arm in arm, talked about plants. I’d caught him up on my purple asters, the planting I’d done, and what I had in mind to accomplish before spring officially arrived.

Within the hour, we passed by the center of the festival along a parallel boulevard where the judges’ tables were. The judges were employed with drinking beer and making notes. One judge had just sipped a ruby red brew. Their eyes glowed demon red for a moment. Then they floated up from their seat. A ball of darkness manifested around them that began sucking light. The attribute only lasted a moment because the judge floated back down to their seat and their eyes lost the glow. Spectators clapped and chattered. The other judges were so preoccupied with their own beer, they didn’t seem to notice the event.

We met Eric Skullander only a few minutes later. He was with Hiccup and Riggvelte. I sensed something odd about Hiccup. It occurred in the back of my mind that he seemed nervous, perhaps skittish. If I looked hard enough, I would have said that Riggvelte sported an admonishing look to him. Eric—already drunk—soon asked that we all meet up later to hear the Oude Brewer title results.

Corylus and I went on to find comfort in a parchment paper plate of salted bread twists with dips of various honey mustards. I was delighted with the one that tasted of horseradish and pepper vinegar.

We walked as we ate, ducking when a line of flying Brewers soared above our heads.

Salted bread twists made us parched, so we browsed the festival once more and decided upon the first booth to try.

Brewery Martch was based in the city of Martch, east of Omes Arbor. They had a bottom fermented beer on tap with the Cactus Fizzle foam. Three different hops had been employed and, while quite hoppy, I thought it was mighty fine for a silver rank beer.

Moments after we’d had our first sip, one of Corylus’ acquaintances approached him. I left them to talk for a few minutes and took in the sights. Couples leaned toward each other as they yipped and giggled back and forth. Women in peasant dresses danced down the boulevard as they carried trays filled with sloshing vases of beer. Men with empty tankards followed them, singing an old folk song of courtship and the promise of good crop yields.

Throughout my next bite of food, throughout my next exploration of new breweries, throughout the spread of dazzling performances, I couldn’t help but wish that Hawkin were with me. How fun it would have been to share this with him. I wanted to take him to one of my favorite breweries. I’d tell him I was excited that they had a booth this year. I wanted to see what food he would grab. I wanted to see which performances he admired. There were so many things I saw myself doing with him. I spent most of the festival wondering what he’d like, where he might like to go, and what he might think of it all.

When the sun made its first falling move, Eric Skullander ran into us again.

“There ye two are,” he said. “Hurry; decisions to be made!”

Corylus and I jogged after him. We wove through the mass of people. I caught a hundred different conversations along the way. The closer we got to the judges’ tables, the more packed it was. I don’t know why I looked around for Hawkin, but I found myself doing it anyway.

Lady Agav, the head judge of the Oude Brewer’s Competition, stood up. “Stouts and hop-heads! Welcome to the six hundred and twelfth Oude Brewer’s festival of Lavenfauvish!”

The crowd cheered.

“This has been an extraordinary year! I’ll begin with a few numbers. One hundred thousand new brewer quest paths have been assigned gods! Forty-eight new ingredients have been cataloged in the Brewer’s Guide to Magic ingredients!”

The crowd cheered.

“Edmond Duytile of Rivershoal has progressed to Fable rank; please give a round of applause!”

The crowd cheered and peered around to identify the fellow.

“Edmond is not with us at the moment! He’s still recovering from ranking up!”

A man shouted, “more beer for us!”

The crowd laughed and cheered.

Agav gave a jolly nod. “We have seen a fifteen percent increase in entries amongst all categories! Let us begin with this year’s overall best beers, beginning with bronze!”

The crowd pressed closer.

“In bronze we have Yuitton Whit, diamond rank Brewer from Havelstad!”

The crowd must have known it. They cheered in relief.

Just then, Hiccup found us. “Abigail, I have something to tell you.”

“Just a moment,” I said. “Let’s hear the winners.”

Agav continued. “In silver we have Dianis Klifden, gold rank Brewer of the nomadic gray sands!”

The crowd cheered in surprise. It must have been a pocket of Dianis Klifden’s friends that screamed in victory.

“We have one more award to give out! As we are all aware, the title holder of Champion Oude Brewer has been held for sixteen consecutive years by Margaux Rouette, diamond rank brewer from Lavenfauvish.”

The crowd parted around a figure—Margaux. The woman held up a dimpled glass jug of foaming beer. She was beaming and the crowd turned to her as one and clapped.

“This year, we have a new title holder of Champion Oude Brewer!”

Margaux shrieked. She threw her jug to the ground and it shattered. There was silence for a beat before the crowd erupted in cheers.

“I can’t believe it!” I said. “Margaux lost the title!”

“Abigail, I have to come clean about something,” Hiccup said.

Agav continued. “This year’s title champion of the Oude Brewer’s Competition goes to…”

The entire crowd seemed to bite their fingernails as one.

Agav’s next words came to me from a distance. “Hawkin Ballow, silver rank Brewer of Brewery Hawkin, for the masterful and ground breaking production of ethereal stroll number two!”

How was this possible? I turned to Hiccup.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry. I wanted to tell you—the only way I thought I could do this was in secret. That way if Hawkin is upset he won’t blame you. He’ll have me to blame.”

Riggvelte shifted perceptibly.

Agav continued. “Hawkin Ballow is not with us at the moment. In fact we don’t know where he is, nor where his brewery is located.”

A woman in the crowd spoke up. “Hadn’t he just sailed to Lavenfauvish not two weeks ago?—Came from the north, sailed back north.”

“Are there any collector’s journal enthusiasts that can confirm the brewery's whereabouts?” Agav said.

Folks in the crowd began to conjecture on Hawkin’s whereabouts. Some mentioned that his brewery was more north than Omes Arbor. Other folks responded by saying they were from Lunstad and there was no Brewery Hawkin in their city, so perhaps it was located more north.

“Dear?” Corylus said. “Abigail?”

Breathing became difficult. I couldn’t get enough air. I couldn’t swallow. My hands flapped like bird wings. The moment I felt a tear rush down my face, I turned to glare at Hiccup. Then I ran.

I knew how much Hiccup’s career meant to him ever since Ashlee died. I should have known he would have done something like this. Hiccup kept asking if Hawkin would enter the competition. He kept talking about it as if he'd been planning all along to enter Hawkin’s beer, ever since Hawkin acquired one of his silos.

Hiccup betrayed me. Even worse, he forced me to betray Hawkin.