It hadn’t taken Ambrosia long to get the hang of Zeltiva’s geography. If one moved out toward the bay, they eventually ran into the docks. Zeltiva was built around those. Without the docks and the trade that brought, Zeltiva was nothing. But Zeltiva did have the docks, and it did have the trade that brought, and so it thrived.
Ambrosia made her way down to the docks quickly. The first few ships she stopped at had no alcohol of any sort to be bartered for. Every ship kept their own store of grog to keep scurvy at bay, but that was it. It wasn’t the most mind-blowing of drinks, but it had a special place in her heart. It had kept her from dying on her trip to Ravok, and the flavor had grown on her even more on the trip to Zeltiva.
She had moved down several piers and still had no luck when finally a familiar ship could be seen over some of the smaller ships around it. Ambrosia would recognize that ship anywhere. It had been there the day she and Madeira had gone searching for Tessa, back before Ambrosia knew she was dead. That day had been her first experience with murder. She had wet her hands with blood and had felt no shame for it, only relief, satisfaction. The ship in question was The Golden Hand, captained by one Captain Barsala, if Ambrosia’s memory served right.
Making her way down the pier, she wandered up the gangway. Few people were out and about on the deck, so Ambrosia followed familiar steps to where the captain’s quarters were. She knocked and let herself in to the cabin when the man inside offered an invitation.
His eyes flashed in annoyance when she entered, not because of who she was but because of who she was not. Barsala had obviously been expecting someone, and Ambrosia was not that person. He said as much. “You’re not who I thought you were. Quick, let me know what you want, so I don’t waste anymore of my time.”
He was about to say something else, but something flashed almost imperceptibly behind his eyes. “Wait. We’ve met before. I know you from somewhere.”
Ambrosia nodded and smiled. “We met once before in Alvadas. I came looking for any leads on finding my missing sister.”
Barsala’s eyes brightened. “I remember. Alar.”
She nodded again. “Ambrosia.”
“Ambrosia. Did you ever find her?”
Ambrosia nodded again and pushed any thoughts of her sister out of her mind. There would be time to mourn for her, but it wasn’t now. Right now, she needed to do her job, so she could eventually get the funds to get back home. “Eventually, yes. I did.”
“That’s wonderful news. So what fine fortune brings us back together today, two years later and half the world away?”
“I happen to be working at a tavern here.”
“Not that shithole with the gods-awful beer, the kelp stuff.”
Ambrosia smiled. “The one and only.”
“I can’t stomach the stuff.”
“You have refined tastes, Captain. I don’t blame you. I can barely handle it. But we’ve got a problem there.”
Captain Barsala raised his eyebrows, so Ambrosia went on.
She almost mentioned the ruined stock of beer, but she knew sounding desperate would only make the prices go up. “Some people have been complaining about the taste of the beer. We were hoping we could add something else to the menu, maybe wine of some sort, something for people with a more refined taste.”
Captain Barsala’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t getting my Godspirit, Miss Alar.”
“Goddesses, no. I would dream of separating you from that. I said more refined tastes. No one who frequents our bar has that discerning of a palate, and certainly no regulars have that deep of pockets. I’m looking for something we can buy off of you in considerable bulk, something by the case.”
Barsala nodded. “I might have something for you. It’s low quality and been sitting in my hold for too long. It’s nothing to write home about, but for those who don’t know any better, it’ll taste decent, and it’ll get them drunk.”
“That sounds right up our alley. How much?”
“A golden miza a bottle.”
Ambrosia laughed. “We both know nobody who drinks kelp beer is going to pay that sort of price for a drink.”
“What price sounds fair to you?”
“A silver miza.”
“One silver?” He was incredulous.
Ambrosia shrugged. “You’re the one who said it was low quality.”
“Not that low of quality.”
“You also said it’s been sitting unused for a while. Make me an offer, Captain.”
“Four silver mizas, and I’ll go no lower.”
Ambrosia shook her head. “Two. You and I both know you’ll still be making a hefty profit. Two, or make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“Fine. Three silver mizas.”
Ambrosia nodded and held out her hand, sealing the deal with shake of the captain’s large hands. “Excellent. Tell you what. We’ll buy a bottle of something nicer off you, too, if you’ve got it, something from Bluevein.”
Barsala nodded. “I’ve got a few bottles of Blood.”
“That will do just fine. Thank you, Captain. I think the tavern keeper would like to talk to you about setting up a steady supply. I know it’s not a high price item, but the steady requirement it has will likely bring you a decent profit.”
He nodded. “I’ll send someone by to talk to her.”
Ambrosia handed over the immediate necessary coin and took a case of wine with her. It wasn’t a long trip back to the Kelp Bar, but a dozen bottles of liquid got heavy. Her arms kept getting tired; and her hands, cramping. She was forced to stop and set it down several times along the way before straining her muscles against it again.
When she arrived, one would have thought she was a war hero, someone who had saved the entire nation, with the cheer that rose up for her. Wine went all around, and it was drunk with gusto. Despite the flavor of the new beverage, Ambrosia heard several complaints throughout the night that it wasn’t beer. Once, she caught Willie making a face at his mug of it.
“What’s wrong, Willie?”
“This drink, Ambrosia…”
“Wine.”
“Yeah. This wine. It tastes…” He searched for the word. “Good.” He shrugged at that and looked back down into his mug again. “I don’t like it.”
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by Ambrosia Alar on September 1st, 2020, 2:39 am 
