Sky-Whale Ale

Leaving Home

Sky-Whale Ale Brewing Brothers Limited, the finest ale this side of the Prodigious canyon. That’s what the two brothers who ran the business would exclaim to passersby each day. 

They really believed in their product.

“You wouldn’t know your left arm from a chanka’s ash—”

Basil stumbled at the tail end of his insult. This lanky gentleman was upset at his stout brother Malcolm for getting him drunk, and was trying to argue that he was not the drunkest of the pair. 

They really believed in their product.

“Heh, I sure know the difference of… of between— hick— the special extra strong bottles I made for you and… and— and!” said Malcolm.

Malcolm, still in his shiny grey suit, gave his brother a dumb smile, pointed at his beer— of normal strength— and proceeded to drink some more.

Basil scowled. “I need some air.”

These hammered brothers stumbled out of their large caravan pitched behind their business. The stars above twinkled and danced brightly against the blackness.

Basil opened up a book and started writing in it.

Malcolm laughed. “No business when you’re drunk!”

“Why not?”

“Because you always yell at me about having to redo everything in the morning when you do.”

Basil stared intently at his pencil. Finally, he threw both the book and pencil on the ground. “Stop being right!”

“Wish you’d say that more.”

The two laughed and laid on the ground to look up at the night sky.

“Hey, why do we stay in Whitehaven?” asked Malcolm.

“Mal, where else would we go?”

“Somewhere,” he said with conviction, “Somewhere not here. I’m bored of here.”

“We’re not going out to the coast. Business is way too competitive out there, ” He opened his book again, as if to say that was the final word.

A storm brewed in Malcolm’s mind that brought the wildest smile to his face. He turned to face his brother, who was still ignoring him. He’d have none of that and snatched the book away from Basil.

The expression on Basil’s face went from startled, to confused, and finally to that of disapproval. 

“No,” Basil stood up to get back into the caravan.

Malcolm indignantly stood up, “Why not!?” 

“I’m not going to give up readily available water and my home for one of your schemes.”

“Hey, you basically said it yourself, brother!” he said, taking his brother under his wing. “The competition gets thinner the farther west you go. So, what we need is to explore the poor, thirsty towns of our wonderful Istoki desert!”

“I hate you,” said Basil.

“You want to hate me, but you can’t help but love me.”

“Ah, skret…”—he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply—“No!”

“So we leave in the morning, then, eh?”

Basil groaned and fell back into his blankets in the caravan. Malcolm looked at the old wagon.

“Yep, we’ll do alright grandma, don’t you worry about us.”

The sun came up over the easterly horizon early. It’s golden rays bathed the world. 

Malcolm woke up just as the sunlight touched his eyes, eager for this new day. He took a shower out back, knowing it might be the last they could expect to take for some time. He did all this while his brother slept.

He unlocked the back door to the brewery, walked in and breathed in the smells of brewing. He got a glass of water, guzzled it down and refilled it for poor Basil. On his way back out, one of their employees came in.

“Mornin’ Jerry,” said Malcolm. He threw Jerry the keys.

“What’s this?” Jerry asked.

“Going on a business trip, you’re in charge.”

Back in the caravan Basil was just opening his eyes. He could feel his head throb. I’m going to murder that brother of mine…

“GOOD MORNING BROTHER!” shouted Malcolm.

Basil shot up and slammed his head. He grimaced at his brother.

“Quit pouting and help me load up the wagon.”

There were crates piled high with their top-notch beer, and a few of their so-so beers, too.

“What?” said Basil, peeking his head outside, “Are we leaving any for the shop here?”

“No, they’ll make more. You’ve got to bet it all to really win big,” said Malcolm.

Basil and Malcolm hitched up the second wagon to theirs and loaded it up.

As they packed, it caught the attention of a young woman. “Good morning, boys. Heading to the other side of town with all this?”

Malcolm threw a case aside and theatrically stuck up a single finger, “Oh no, miss. We’re going on a grand adventure! A... humanitarian effort, you see? To bring good Ale to the thirsty masses of the Istoki!”

“My, my!”

“Yes, ‘my, my’ indeed. Honestly though,” He grabbed his brother around the shoulders as Basil down from inside the wagon, “ it’s really ‘our, our’. Basil’s great plan, it was.”

Basil made some awkwardly shy noises while the lady “oo”d and “ah”d.

“Well, I wish you good luck on your mission!”

Malcolm excitedly cheered back, “No, no! Wish the thirsty masses a good drink!”

He turned to Basil, and watched him carry the last few cases onto the wagon. Basil turned to him after he’d finished. 

“What…?” Basil was annoyed to ask.

“What was that? I get a lady all warmed up and impressed and you weasel your way back to work!” Malcolm said.

“You chat her up, then!”

“I’m just trying to help you with your infinite shyness.”

“Get the skret in the drivers seat, and let’s just go.”

They nudged each other and burst out laughing.

Basil looked Malcolm, one eyebrow raised, “Humanitarian effort?”

The wagon pulled out of it’s spot and into the heat ahead. The wooden wheels crushed the sand below, and the bottles clanked with each bump.

The Children

The small engine pulled them along through the desert, passing by nothing after nothing. They’d been able to see a town in the distance for the whole day, so they simply pointed at it and kept themselves entertained with a game of chess.

When they played, Malcolm always took out his pocket watch. It wasn’t that they were grand professionals; Basil just took too long to decide his move otherwise.

“What do you think the town over there is like?” Basil asked, holding his left bishop.

“Who knows, maybe it’s all beautiful people with wallets like rainclouds. Maybe it’s a society of inventors, taking refuge and solace. Maybe it’s desert nudists.” Malcolm imagined.

“None of those ideas make any sense whatsoever,” Basil replied.

“Times up, and that’s not true. There could be plenty of things over there.”

“I sincerely doubt that bare sunburnt asses are among them,” he said, placing the bishop down.

The sun was sunken, nearly behind the horizon. An orange glow filled the desert. The brothers were just rolling into town. The town was more of a collection of boards and nails. It was more rundown than a Gearford slum.

It looked abandoned, like an old mining town dried up. Giant tumbleweeds rolled through with the night breeze while Lilith started creeping into view, giving off her eerily blue light. It gave the town a very sinister vibe as if harbouring malevolent spirits. 

A chill ran up Basil’s spine as he took in the sight of this town they found themselves. He couldn’t get over the feeling they were being watched, but Malcolm seemed oblivious to the idea and his constructive criticism. A small fire burned bright casting a dull faint glow over the side of the rickety caravan. 

Malcolm was drowning his melodramatic non existent sorrows in their fine creation; the amber liquid tasted like freedom to his lips. He slumped against the wheel, watching the flames flickering against the wind. It sounded like the wailing of some spectral phantoms, blowing through the town. 

Poor Basil sat on a crate nursing what was left of his ale. A certain unsettling feeling was still eating away in the back of his mind. As he sipped his beer, he tried to read a small adventure book. He wished he had more courage, like the wooden puppet hero of his book.

Malcolm stumbled off to his hammock with a beer in each hand muttering to himself about missing some male friend. That was followed by loud noises inside the vehicle. Likely he banged into a couple of crates of beer, clinking together in large unison. Basil breathed audibly his exasperation, and exhaustion finally started to set. 

He lethargically stammered toward the van, stretching and holding onto his remaining consciousness. Shadows began to dance in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t trust them, and shook himself before crawling into his hammock.

As he laid back in his small swinging cot, it gently rocked him to sleep. He watched the shadows dance across the canvas like the dancing mechanized dolls of Buford Automaton he’d once seen in Gearford.

As his mind slipped, the shadows twisted and morphed into different, more humanoid shapes, getting larger and more defined. Basil shook his head,  trying to determine reality from inebriation. A slight panic set in. He pawed at his brother.

“Malcolm... Malcolm! Someone’s outside! We’re not alone.” he said, the nervousness dripping from the voice.

His brother rolled over, “You’re imagining things, have another beer or... or two. It’ll fix everything, always does,” Malcolm muttered  in his drunken sleep.

“It only helps you, dear brother” Basil retorted, but it was only answered with snoring.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go look without your help,” he muttered. 

Basil looked around for a weapon. The only things handy were bottles. 

“Beer might save us now” he thought to himself. 

Basil made his way to the opening. Outside, the world was still. He met more stillness as he looked around to find the source of his discomfort. His nerves were on edge. His hands shook as he walked around the caravan. He discovered nothing but an uncomfortable silence.

“I guess it was my imagination,” sighing with relief, he turned back towards bed.

A small voice from behind called out to him. He could hear tendrils of words echoing in the back of his mind. 

“Welcome to our village,” it said. 

Basil slowly spun to find the small figure of a child in oversized ill fitting garments. An oversized top hat perched crooked on their head.

“Welcome to our village. We welcome you,” the boy greeted, a sinister grin causing doubt in the very words.

Basil, still a wreck of nerves, felt words regrettably slip out of his mouth, “We?”

The child raised his hands up in the air. 

“We are the village, and we are many!”

Children emerged from all the nooks, corners, and shadows within sight.

Basil lifted the curtain, yelling “Malcolm wake up, you drunk bastard!”

“What?” a bothered Malcolm barked.

Basil’s face was a flustered, deep red, “Get out here... my imagination is acting up, again.”

After the bangarang of activity, the curtain pulled back. Malcolm looked dumbfounded. He could only muster a bewildered, “Oh.” 

“I am the mayor of this village!”

A voice in the distance screamed, “No, I’m the mayor!”

“Shut up, Jeffrey. Now, um...” the kid tried to command a spooky air after that diminishing interruption, ”who are you?!”

Malcolm threw off his nightcap and slicked his hair, “We, fine sir, are an enterprising duo selling fine liquors. We don’t typically sell to younger lads such as yourself, but I think distinguished villagers probably already brew your own ales.”

He was teasing the boy a little, fishing for the bravado of children.

“Why, of course we do. We drink tequila and beer all the time,” he said nodding to the other children who echoed his lies.

Basil got the hang of things and joined in, “So we’ll just rest up for the night, and continue on to a thirstier town than yours, fine mayor.”

The would-be mayor interrupted their slow turn back to the carriage, “Hold on. How much are you selling this...”

Malcolm finished, “Sky-Whale Ale.”

“for?”

“A crate will last your whole village, how much can you pay?”

The mayor barked for the accountant, who whispered the amount to Basil.

Basil’s stomach churned, “Just enough.”

Malcolm pulled a crate out of the mess and pried it open with a crowbar, “Enjoy, fair folk!”

The two stayed close to their cart, hoping the kids would leave them alone. The “mayor” put the crate on a wagon and pulled it through town.

Basil was actually amused, “Those stupid kids. What are they doing all alone like this?”

The mayor stood on the tallest heap in the middle of the city.

“I have got to see this,” Malcolm exclaimed.

As they arrived to the party late, they listened the kid’s speech.

“Orphans of Forgetshire!”

“Orphans?” Basil instantly felt the guilt well up inside.

“Tonight we drink to our first whole year of prosperity.”

Malcolm looked mortified, “Shit, I thought this was just an overgrown runaway group, not an actual town...”

“Drink up and share! Sky-Whale Ale!”

The crowd cheered and the clinking of bottles echoed the one street. 

Malcolm and Basil were busy back-pedaling. It was too late to do it figuratively, so they settled for literally before turning and running.

Basil stopped at the van as Malcolm hopped up in the driver’s seat, “I think I’m going to be-”

He was instantly reminded of what he’d had for lunch.

Malcolm got the engine sputtering and fired up. They drove slowly away from the town.

It wasn’t long before they heard an explosion behind them. A great fireball grew into the sky and the sounds of puking and screaming filled the night as they sped up, moon at their backs.

They spoke nary a word the whole ride. Once the screams subsided, they camped to get some uneasy rest. Both of them were dog-tired and guilt-ridden.

The Governess

When they rolled into the next town, they were relieved to see it was a proper mining town with a real main street. The residents greeted them in broad daylight, like normal folk.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen! What brings you to our fair town?”

Malcolm lit up, “A drink, fine sir. We’ll try some of yours, and perhaps you all will give our fantastic brew a try!”

Basil was in the mood for a rest, more than anything, “Can we bother you to point us at the Tavern?”

The man sent them to the center of town, where a classic desert tavern stood. They parked their caravan along the side the building and walked in all stately. They were city folk blessing their little town with their presence. 

The brothers wandered over to the counter.

Basil sat, disheveled, “A shot of tequila, please.”

Malcolm, however, was just getting into business mode, “Good evening barkeep. How’s business been?”

“Most customers I’ve had all day.”

“Well, it’s still early I assume.”

“Yup, most of the men are still out working.”

“Well, how would you like to make their night when they pour in?”

While Malcolm pitched the bartender their product, Basil decided to go for a stroll. He fancied a pickle from the general store.

A lady was finishing up with the clerk, “Well, keep up the good work, Gerald.”

She paused for a moment when Basil entered, smiling intensely. Basil smiled back.

“If you’ll excuse me mister...” she goaded an introduction.

“Linstromm, uh, Basil Linstromm.”

“If you’d excuse me.”

Basil was confused for a moment, not realizing until after some awkwardness that he was still standing in the doorway, “Oh yes, of course. Pardon me, miss.”

She giggled as she passed him. His heart was still.

“That’s no miss, Mister Basil.” the clerk said, interrupting his daydreams.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the mayor’s wife, she is.”

“Oh.”

The Hive

They rolled into the last town of their journey. I was a proper town, but the residents looked weary, like sleep was a stranger and fear, close kin.

A tall, lanky man in a green suit walked up to them, “Hello! Thank goodness you’re here. We had another attack last night.”

Basil answered him, “Attack? By what?”

“Aren’t you the gentlemen sent from the capital? We sent a letter weeks ago.”

Malcolm was rested and back in the game, “Absolutely, excuse our appearance, we’ve had a long trip here.”

“Great. I’ll show you where it’s been coming out from. We were very surprised to only see one of them this time,“ the man rambled on” Still, you know how it is with Goblins. One alone is like getting hit by a train.”

Malcolm and Basil both grew wide-eyed. This was more than they’d bargained for. Basil gave Malcolm a look like “let’s leave this town before things go wrong”. Basil gestured a “stop, it’s cool”.

“Well, here we go,” they stopped at the entrance to a deep and dark cavern.

Malcolm grabbed both suspenders, “Yuuup. That’s just as we expected. We... we’re going to need a few things from our wagon to properly ready ourselves.”

“Oh, of course.”

At this point, more of the town had come out to see their city-slicker saviours.

Basil and Malcolm were in full agreement with the pace at which they walked back to their ride out of this town. The town was insane to think that they could survive a Goblin hive nearby.

Just as they approached their caravan, a small boy walked up to them, disheveled and sodden.

“Are you here to stop the monsters?”

...

Basil looked at the child for a long time.

...

“Yes, son. We’re here to stop the monsters.”

The child surprised a trembling Basil with a big hug.

Malcolm opened up the caravan and noisily rummaged through their belongings. Quite a number of bottles tumbled out the back to make room for his search.

Basil turned to the tall gentleman, “Look, we’re going to need a quiet moment to plan things out. Thank you for showing us to the opening.”

The town went to hide in their homes, scared about what these strange men were about to disturb.

“Okay, I’ve got a couple croquet mallets, our last case of beer, and a handful of books,” Malcolm informed his brother.

“Good thing we never got rid of those,” Basil took one of the mallets.

They carried the sky-whale ale, stuffed into their clothes, mallets on their shoulders, over to the Goblin hive’s entrance.

“Nice knowing you.” Malcolm said to his brother, who just smiled back.

They descended slowly.

Inside, they lit a small torch. The cave was twisted and windy. It went downwards, sidewards, roundwards, and branched into dead ends and putrid recesses of the underground.

They dared not speak anymore. Around the corner from them, a goblin was creeping.

Malcolm signaled that he’d had an idea. He popped the cap off of a beer and rolled it around the corner. The sweet amber spilled out into a puddle. The noise alone would attract the creature.

Their hearts were racing.

The Goblin sniffed and drank from the strange puddle. It sniffed the air some more and moved far too close to them for comfort.

Malcolm readied his mallet and tried to get the jump on it.

The ferocious beast opened it’s mouth uncomfortably wide to snarl and bear it’s sharp teeth at Malcolm and jumped him, clawing and attempting to bite him.

Basil ran up and cracked its skull with the mallet.

Malcolm pushed the Goblin, still breathing, off him.

A third voice commented from behind them, “You should be dead.”

Basil jumped around to see who the voice belonged to, “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man the government sent. Let’s get to the surface before they come find this one.”

They found their way back to the surface, the day still raging on.

“Who the hell are you boys?”

Malcolm straightened his back and puffed up, “We’re the gents who came to save the town when it looked like no one was coming.”

“Yea, yea. Now, what the hell did you do to that Goblin to make it so easy a target?”

“What?” Malcolm asked.

“Goblins aren’t normally that simple a matter, boys. So you either did something before I came to see you get jumped, or you’re the luckiest sons of guns I’ve ever laid eyes on,” the man said, adjusting his large stetson to keep the light out.

“You don’t look like you’re a city man.” Basil pointed out, almost demandingly.

“They wouldn’t send a city-boy to do a real man’s job, would they? Name’s Croswell. What’s with the question dodging?”

Basil pulled a bottle out of his pocket and tossed it to him, “It drank some of our brew.”

“Well I’ll be. You demon wanna-be’s might just have saved this little town.”

“That was the plan.” Malcolm grumpily insisted.

“Hrm,”  Croswell looked their bottle over, “Sky-Whale ale? A bit fantastical, I like that.”

“So do we rest up for a night first?” Malcolm asked.

“You might need a rest-up, but we’re not afforded anything here. I spoke with the locals and the attacks have been getting more frequent. Something disturbed the hive, just a little bit. Not enough for a full raid, but it could be comin’ soon.”

Basil looked at his adventurous brother, laying, bandaged, in pain. He thought of his adventure novels in which the impossible was the normal course of events.

“So we poison the whole lot and go in, guns ablaze!”

“I thought of conventional poisons, but I wouldn’t want to risk it making it’s way over to the town’s deep walls, which is where your ale comes in,” the hunter explained. 

”You have any firepower?” Malcolm asked.

“You boys really had no idea what you were doing.” Croswell shook his head, chuckling, “Yes. When I was poking around for you I found why they’re so keen on that cavern. There’s a pool where condensation has been collecting for who knows how long.”

“That’s incredible!” Basil exclaimed. There were people who scoured the desert to find such underground sources of water their whole lives to find nothing.

“Indeed. I kind of hate to wreck it, no offense, with beer. This town could have used that water, but I guess safety takes precedent in this situation.”

Home Again

“And the town gave us a huge reward, Croswell got some kind of medal, and our fine brew became known throughout the desert.”

“Wow mister! That’s some story.”

Malcolm smiled, “I told you it’d be a long one. Enjoy the brew, gentlemen.”

A group of gentlemen waved and walked out of Sky-Whale Ale Brewery of Whitehaven. Malcolm flipped the sign on the storefront door to ‘closed’ and walked to the back door, admiring the barrels and crates of sweet nectar. 

The caravan was parked out back, a fire roaring and chairs setup. Basil was leaned back, book in his face.

Basil spoke without looking up, “I already poured you a glass.”

“Thanks brother,” Malcolm said, picking up a glass of crisp water and sitting down to stargaze.

The two brothers breathed deep and smiled to themselves.