How Beer Saved the World

by Phyllis Irene Radford

  “As if I would do anything wrong!” Coyote protested.

  “I know you far too well,” Alice Mary said.

  <<>>

  “So.” Michael the Archangel, Defender of Earth, peered deep into the tankard Alice Mary had poured for him. “Coyote. Were you aware of this growth after you drank the beer?”

  “The most I felt was annoyance at an itch on my shoulder, until I’d drunk a couple of mugs and Alice Mary knocked it off of me.” Coyote’s voice was quiet. Alice Mary noticed a faint haziness around his right hand as its shape wavered between firmly a hand one moment, shading into gray/black/white paw the next.

  On Coyote’s other side, Ullr, the taciturn Norse god of hunting and skiing who was Coyote’s fighting partner, stirred. The icicles that clung to the fringes of his shirt faintly jingled as he moved, glistening more than usual in the summer heat but still intact, not melting. “I saw nothing out of the ordinary while we fought,” he said.

  “I had to drink quite a bit to see anything,” Alice Mary admitted.

  “And yet—” Michael sniffed the mug. He looked over at one of the masked Holy People and handed her the mug. She sniffed the beer and took a sip. The mask hid her expression but her deep, slow, contented sigh suggested her enjoyment.

  “There is power in this brew,” she pronounced. “A subtle power, but power nonetheless.” She drank again. Another deep, long, satisfied exhale, followed by a discreet wiping of foam off her lips by one gloved hand. “Ah. Delicate and tasty. Alice Mary, the fruit nicely conceals the depths in this one. Coyote, you said pouring this beer over the globule killed it?”

  “Utterly.”

  “Then we need to cover the hobgoblins completely with beer.”

  “Alice Mary, have you the ability to brew enough beer both to fortify our army and drown the hobgoblins?” Michael asked.

  “Not alone,” Alice Mary admitted.

  “And this beer’s power might come from Alice Mary's skill only, not what she put into it,” Coyote added. “At best, it would take a god’s help for her to brew enough.”

  “If we can get a deity to create an everlasting flow of Alice Mary’s beer… There are certainly enough deities of beer out there to be able to do this,” Michael snapped. “Deities, saints, demigods—”

  “But only Alice Mary created this particular brew,” Coyote said.

  “True, true. Perhaps the aid of Arnold of Soissons—”

  “Or Metz,” an anonymous friar down the table from Michael interjected.

  “The Saints Arnold,” Michael said heavily, “might well provide us with the ever-flowing brew if they bless it, Alice Mary.”

  “And what if your Christian blessing eliminates the positive properties of Alice Mary’s magic?” Bear growled, rolling her heavy, fur-mantled shoulders and huffing slightly as more ursine characteristics slowly transformed her already part-bear human form into full Bear shape. “Dare we take that risk?”

  “I would think we run into that risk with any deity not directly tied to beer,” Michael said. “Whoever helps Alice Mary has to be dedicated to the beer.”

  “That we can do, and help is on the way,” Coyote said. “I spoke to my Mesopotamian friend and she will be here shortly to help Alice Mary. I doubt her assistance will cancel out Alice Mary’s own power. In any case, quantity is the issue if we want to immerse the hobs.”

  “Even if we could get enough beer, how would we drown them?” Bear asked.

  “Drown them—there’s a thought. We just need a container. An ever-renewing container.” Coyote grinned wickedly. “A cauldron. Ever-renewing. Friends, I need to speak to one who does not ally either with us or the Kraken.”

  “It depends upon who it is,” Michael said.

  “Our lady Ceridwen.”

  “Ceridwen—hmm. Yes. I approve,” said the masked Holy Person who’d tasted the beer. “I have had dealings with her of late. She will be friendly.”

  “I agree. But even if we decide to drown them in Ceridwen’s ever-renewing cauldron, how are we going to get the hobgoblins in it?” Michael asked.

  “Leave it to me,” Coyote said. “That I can handle.”

  A falcon flitted across the room, dropping a tiny clay tablet into Michael’s hand. He glanced at it and smiled. “Alice Mary, good news. Your brewing help has arrived.”

  “Then I’d best go brew.” Alice Mary hurried out of the chambers.

  As she entered the garden courtyard, Alice Mary noticed that her little corrugated aluminum brew shack had surprisingly—or not so surprisingly, given the typical state of affairs at Monalba—transformed from metal to clay and tripled in size. Light poured out from every window, and the walls glowed as if the sun shone directly on the golden-brown adobe.

  Alice Mary stepped inside, eyes wide as she took in the huge fermenting vat, easily four times the size of the biggest one she possessed. The combined scent of yeast and fruit almost overpowered her with its heady, rich aroma. And presiding over the vat was a dark-eyed, dark-haired woman with elaborately braided hair and kohl-lined eyes. When she looked up and smiled, the warmth projected from her smile rolled up and down Alice Mary’s lanky frame. The Lady gestured and a smaller version of Herself stepped up to oversee the vat.

  Without thinking about it, Alice Mary dropped to her knees as the Lady glided toward her. Her sheer authority compelled it.

  “Come, come,” the Lady said, taking Alice Mary’s hands and lifting her back up to her feet. “You should not be kneeling in my presence. If anything, I should be the one kneeling to such a talented brewster.”

  “I—I—Lady—” Alice Mary stuttered, beginning to realize just who this Lady was. “I—I am but a lowly practitioner of the craft of brewing.”

  “My name is Ninkasi, the Lady Who Fills the Mouth,” she said. “And I say that your practice is anything but lowly. Your brew is exquisite.”

  Alice Mary swallowed hard, the old self-effacing habits of her pre-superhero days reasserting themselves. Praise from Ninkasi, the Sumerian goddess of brewing? “I—well—there’s not much to it.”

  “Your touch is—shall we say, magical?” Ninkasi’s eyes twinkled with a private glee. “Worthy of respect in its own right. Come. We have much brewing to do tonight, and little enough time to do it.”

  Alice Mary frowned. She smelled that the proportions of fruit to barley in this mix were just slightly off. “We need to add more fruit,” she told Ninkasi.

  “Tell me and I will make it so,” Ninkasi responded.

  Alice Mary took a deep breath, and began to recite ingredients and proportions for this particular recipe.

  <<>>

  That night and the next morning passed in a flurry of brewing, roasting, mixing and fermenting. Alice Mary and Ninkasi worked quickly, Ninkasi’s divine touch speeding up the fermentation process (albeit with a bit of experimentation to discern just how much they could speed it up without ruining the magical mix). It seemed as if Alice Mary’s whole world was subsumed in a yeasty haze of barley, hops and fruit, nearly thick enough to make her drunk just breathing the air.

  Whenever they amassed enough beer to fill the small garden courtyard with jugs, Coyote whisked it away.

  “The battle goes well,” he told them at one point in the afternoon. “Keep brewing!”

  They kept brewing.

  Sunset and darkness approached, close to the time when the forces fighting for the Kraken would withdraw for the day. Coyote’s visits to restock the forces slowed, or so it seemed when Alice Mary scanned the results of their latest batches stacking up high in the courtyard.

  Then Coyote appeared, absent-mindedly half-human, half-coyote, driving a sledge pulled by great black and tan foxhounds yoked in hunting couples. On it squatted a fat, shadowy cauldron. The nothingness that projected from it repelled Alice Mary, and even Ninkasi frowned, troubled, at it.

  “Pour every bit of beer you have left into this cauldron,” Coyote said.

  They scurried to fill the cauldron. Surprisingly, th
e vessel grew until every last drop of beer Alice Mary and Ninkasi had prepared filled it to the brim.

  “Help me,” Coyote said to Ninkasi. “Don’t touch it!” he warned Alice Mary. “Superhero though you may be, you are still mortal, and this cauldron is a danger to mortals.”

  “What are you going to do with this?” Alice Mary asked.

  “Come and see. But no!” he cautioned as she would step up on the sledge with him and Ninkasi. “Not even this close, not for you.” He whistled again, and a black horse with white spots across its haunches appeared. “Come see.”

  Recognizing Coyote’s favorite mount, Alice Mary slipped onto the Appaloosa’s back. The hounds leaned into their harness, baying as if they'd just spotted a fox. The cauldron moved slowly at first, then began to fly, lifting off of the ground as the seven couples of hounds started to gallop, their voices blending in an unearthly call to the hunt. The Appaloosa gave pursuit, pushing off gracefully from levade to capriole, then began to gallop as if he were still on the ground. Alice Mary grinned and hung on. Sky-riding the nameless Appaloosa by herself was a rare treat, something she'd only been able to do three times before. Coyote rarely shared this mount.

  At last they reached the battlefield. Rather than stopping behind the lines, Coyote drove the pack through the troops.

  “Make way! Make way!” he bellowed, as Ninkasi steadied the rocking cauldron and Alice Mary rode escort behind them.

  At last they stopped. Alice Mary looked around, shocked at the devastation of blasted trees and ripped ground as well as the piles of bodies—more wounded and dead gods and heroes marred by the pustulant growths than of hobgoblins. On one side, Michael frowned at Coyote, the pantheon of the much-thinned ranks of surviving gods and heroes behind him. On the other, gnarled, pale-skinned creatures with big eyes, twisted limbs, and wart-like protuberances snarled. Their leader stood only slightly larger than those he led, scraggly and oily gray hair dangling down his shoulders. A cephalopodan purple and green shape glowed on the top of his helmet, sure sign that the Kraken itself controlled him.

  Coyote bowed to Michael. He unhitched the pack of hounds, talking softly to each dog as he dismissed it. Then he faced the hordes of hobgoblins, unflinching when they began to throw excrescent globules at him. Coyote leapt into the cauldron, yipping defiantly. For a moment he disappeared underneath the surface and Alice Mary’s heart sank. Then his head bobbed to the surface. He laughed, treading the beer, then cupped his hands and drank deeply.

  “I can outdrink your whole army!” he bellowed. “All of you are weak little babies who can’t handle a real brew! Nyah, nyah, nyah!” He drank again. “Waugh! What a fine brew this is!”

  With a roar, the first line of hobs charged the cauldron. Ninkasi leapt off of the sledge and ran toward Alice Mary. The Appaloosa snorted as a squat buckskin mare appeared next to them. Ninkasi jumped onto the mare's back.

  Coyote laughed as the hobs swarmed the cauldron and dove in.

  “Drink deep! Drink deep!” he challenged them, then with a twist ducked underneath the surface. The hobs dove after him. Bubbles rose to the surface. Seconds passed.

  Then Coyote bobbed back to the top. “Ha, where are the rest of you? I’ve drunk them under the surface! Weaklings!”

  More hobgoblins bellowed and charged the cauldron. Coyote yipped gleefully as they mobbed over the edge, plunking in, sinking under. Once again Coyote dove and the hobs followed him. Bubbles rose to the surface.

  Coyote bobbed up again, laughing and yipping defiance as the hobs kept coming. By this time the Kraken leader and a handful of smaller hobs with a similar but smaller device on their helmets tried to beat back their fellows. But they were too few against the determined crowd and were swept into the cauldron with their companions.

  Alice Mary watched, her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out as the hobs kept coming, kept coming, kept coming, scuttling over the edges of the cauldron in teeming masses.

  And then there were no more. The surface of the beer in the cauldron roiled slightly, only half-empty. A single large bubble appeared, then popped, sounding almost as if the cauldron itself had belched. Coyote had disappeared during the last great crush. Alice Mary slipped off of the Appaloosa to run forward but Ninkasi slid off of the buckskin to hold her back.

  “Wait. It is not yet done.”

  Even as Ninkasi spoke, damp chills came over Alice Mary. Darkness rose from where the hobgoblins had come.

  “Hold!” Michael commanded.

  The sky seemed to split in front of them, and the Kraken appeared with a loud boom that echoed throughout Alice Mary’s body. Its purple and green tentacles momentarily appeared to fill the sky before they were dwarfed by a globular, gnarled purple, green and gray head with a brown beak. The tentacles writhed and twisted around each other to form a foundation, obscenely three times taller than even Michael, who stood twelve feet high in this manifestation, until the gelatinous head rested firmly on its teeming, crawling, intertwined base and assumed a humanoid shape.

  “What have you done with my army?” the Kraken roared, lashing at Michael with one tentacle.

  Michael brushed away the tentacle easily with his lance. “Why, they—”

  The cauldron belched again, even louder this time, sending Coyote flying to land at Michael’s feet. Coyote shook himself, grinning.

  “I outdrank them!” he boasted, burping loudly. “Outdrank—every—single—one.” He swayed and fell over.

  “This? THIS bested my army?” the Kraken raged.

  Coyote emitted a series of farts, followed by a long, drawn-out belch that was a smaller echo of the cauldron's last one. “Well, me ‘n Alice Mary’s fine beer.” He punctuated the sentence with another set of farts, capped by an even deeper burp. “An—an—I’m betting I can out-drink YOU!” he drawled, rolling back to his feet, reeling slightly.

  “You? YOU? Insignificant wretch—”

  “Beat you to it,” Coyote slurred, wavering in a circle. “Betcha I can dive in before you do!”

  “You’ll lose that bet!” The Kraken rose even higher on his tentacles. “Drunken fool!”

  Coyote yipped, switching to canine form, and darted off, the Kraken in pursuit. Alice Mary squinted as he galloped toward the cauldron, yipping loudly. Was it her imagination or did the cauldron tip slightly to make it easier for him to leap inside? Nonetheless, he dove in, the Kraken sliding in after.

  Both disappeared under the surface of the beer. Giant waves roiled across the top and threatened to spill over the edge. Two tentacles waved above the surface, and then fumbled for purchase on the cauldron’s rim. Coyote’s sharp, pointy canine muzzle broke the surface and he bit down hard on one tentacle. Coyote and tentacle disappeared into the beer again, followed by the other tentacle.

  Steam rose from the surface. The waves slowly decreased. The beer stilled. Quiet fell over the battlefield.

  And then, with another gigantic belch, the cauldron expelled two figures. The dark, roiling clouds exploded open with a bright crash of simultaneous lightning and thunder, wide enough to admit a limp-tentacled Kraken through a narrow slit. Brightness flashed around them. Then, slowly, the dark clouds softened to pale gray with streaks of white. In the distance, a single warbler burbled a soft call. Silence followed for a few moments, and then a meadowlark answered.

  Coyote landed at Michael’s feet, half-canine, half-human. He looked up, grinned, and emitted a series of long, drawn-out belches followed by a very loud fart.

  “An’ that should take care of the Kraken and his minions. This time.” He hiccupped. “Mighty fine brew our Alice Mary makes, ‘specially with Ninkasi there to help.” He shook himself and rose to his feet, now steady. “And even more thanks are due to our lady Ceridwen for the use of her splendid cauldron, and the cauldron itself!”

  He bowed to the cauldron, and, marvelously, it tipped to him. Then it disappeared.

  “Coyote, Coyote, Coyote,” Michael said, shaking his head. “If a drinking contest was
enough to banish the Kraken and his hobgoblins sooner, why hadn’t you figured it out a few days ago and saved us all this trouble?”

  “Because Alice Mary had not yet brewed this fine elixir,” Coyote said. He snapped his fingers and a fine, gray felted cowboy hat appeared. He brushed an infinitesimal wisp of dust off of the brim, then bowed his head slightly to put it on, nestling the crown down steadily on his head and snapping his fingers when it was settled. “All a matter of circumstances, oh honorable Archangel, all a matter of circumstances coming together.” He strode over to Alice Mary and Ninkasi, offering an arm to each of them. “And now, ladies, shall we go celebrate? Or did we use all the beer in the cauldron?”

  “I think we used it all—” Alice Mary began.

  Ninkasi laughed. “Ah, my dearest lady of Justice, one never pours all the brew! I held one small crock back for just this circumstance!”

  “A lady after my own heart,” Coyote laughed. “And now, let us go celebrate!”

  Alice Mary let herself be swept along. “But how did you keep from getting too drunk?” she leaned over to ask Coyote.

  Coyote laughed. “Oh Alice Mary. Is there ever too much drink for the Trickster?”

  She had to ponder that one for quite some time afterward.

  Beware the Nine

  Laurel Anne Hill

  An icy chill shot through Eleanor, clear down to her bones. She paused at the open doorway to Master Harte’s library. Still as a statue, the Master stood, wearing his smoking jacket and Sunday trousers. The play of light and shadows on his sand-colored hair and mutton chops revealed no vitality, like he was one of them mechanical blokes with fake whiskers and skin. Not only that, the gas-lamp flickering above his portly hulk—barely a good spit away from a bookcase—refused to reveal his right arm. Well, most of it. Did she need spectacles? The steady tick of the mantel clock grew louder than it should. Things was wrong here. Eleanor could feel that in her bones, too.

  Regardless, she ought to serve Master Jeremy Harte his late-night libation although he’d mostly ignore it. ‘Twas one of her duties, one she’d best perform right and proper. Eleanor stepped forward. The beer she carried sloshed a bit. Wouldn’t do to spill spirits on the plush Persian carpet. She gripped her silver serving tray tighter. Blimey. If the Master didn’t fancy brew, why request such a brimming-full tankard? Another shiver crossed her shoulders, it did. What a strange place, Brighton House.