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"Can't deny this is intriguing. I've never even thought about how liquor is made."
"Not just liquor. Single-malt Scotch whisky." As we approach a large set of doors, I pull them open and wave for the lass to go first. Every time I've done that, she has seemed a wee bit surprised. "Follow me. You're entering the bowels of the operation."
She smiles and bumps her shoulder into me. "You're enjoying the chance to turn this into a dramatic reveal, aren't you?"
"Aye. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. I like it."
She is an unusual lass, that's for dead certain.
I guide her down a corridor and stop at another large door, though this one is pulled open rather than swung open. It's more like a metal barn door than the interior sort. I drag it open.
Rebecca's eyes widen. "Wow, you're incredibly strong. That thing looks like it must weigh a ton."
"Not literally. But aye, it is quite heavy." I enter the room beyond first and keep a hand on her back as we cross the large, high empty space. I stop us in a spot where small cardboard boxes lie on the floor. And I pluck up a cloth mask. "Dinnae want to inhale barley dust. I recommend wearing a dust mask while you're in this room."
She grabs a mask too and doesn't even complain about it. I despise the ruddy things, but in this case, it's necessary. Inhaling barley dust can't be good for a body. I keep a hand on Rebecca's elbow as we walk around the room and I explain more about the malting process. I point out the sacks of barley, which was grown in the Highlands in an area further west of here. The grain has been soaked for three days in the fresh water from the river, so it's now ready for the next phase.
"For that," I tell Rebecca, "we need to move into another room where a few laddies will be working on the malting floor. That's where the grain is aerated and turned every so often to encourage the barley to germinate."
"Why does it need to germinate?"
"Because that process makes the barley ferment better. Then starch will be converted to sugar and, eventually, become alcohol."
"This is all so fascinating. I had no idea the process of making whisky was so complex and exacting."
I can't deny that I'm enjoying the chance to explain all of this to Rebecca. She genuinely wants to learn. I don't often get the chance to show off my knowledge and expertise. Even in the early days, when I'd been directly involved with every step of the process, I hadn't served as a tour guide the way I am now. It's invigorating.
As I'm leading her across the malting floor, I tell her more about how whisky is crafted. "Every step of the process must be handled with care to ensure every element of the whisky is in the right proportion. Too much or too little of anything might ruin the flavor. What you see here"---I wave toward the grain that's been laid out on the floor---"is perfectly malted. Not too much germination, but just enough."
"Who decides when it's just right?"
"The master maltster."
"And who is that? One of these guys in this room?"
A smoky chuckle draws Rebecca's attention to one of the gents manning the malting floor. Dougal Murray strokes his long gray beard, smiling with an impish gleam in his eyes. "No, lass, I am not the master maltster. Only one man is allowed to take on that sacred duty, and he is standing beside you."
Rebecca swivels her head toward me. "You are the master maltster?"
"Aye."
"Does that mean you visit the malting floor often?"
Dougal chuckles again. "Dinnae know Thane well, do ye? He's been known to sleep on the malting floor just so he won't miss the moment when the barley is perfectly germinated."
"Haud yer wheesht, Dougal. Ye know full well that I only did that back in the days when we didn't have many employees."
"That might be true. But you're still obsessed with finding the perfect moment to kiln the grain."
"No, I'm obsessed with crafting the perfect bottle of whisky." I steer Rebecca away from the malting floor and toward another doorway. "Get back to work, Dougal. Or are you planning to stare at Rebecca's erse instead?"
"Dinnae worry, Thane. The lass is yours."
"She doesn't belong to anyone."
But aye, I would love for her to be mine. I can't do that, though. We both have jobs to do, and romance plays no role in our work. Besides, I'm far too busy keeping tabs on the malting process to get involved with a woman.
