In a formless non-place beyond the Worths, Wants, and Pains of mortals, four spirits had a sort of conversation. While wholely alien in essence, their concerns were not so unintuitive. Had a human being witnessed and comprehended this, they may have seen something like what follows.
Want of Vision: I offer the shiny pink copper coin! Fulfill your Deal with the old-child-mortal and offer me your bag of wishes!
Strike Three Trades: I offer you my wishes, yet doing so makes me destitute. May I trade you for a set of Wisdoms as well, using our normal arrangement? After this, let us never seek each other out again. (The being's form shimmers, revealing countless eyes on its skin, clothing, and the shadowy interior of its overcoat. Here and there, a gap is present where an eye might otherwise be.)
Want of Vision: Acceptable! (Exchanges and leaves.)
Vision of Want: My Complement is as happy as I've ever seen him. This is the first time in an age he did not idealize me as a satchel.
Longevity of Dolor: Your Pain is increased, yet not.
Strike Three Trades (with a new gap in his innumerable eyes): You are both correct. He has greatly reduced my Worth and made it his own. This was unavoidable, as dealings with such crafty spirits so often are.
Strike Three Trades (continuing): Now, I must propose another Deal with the two of you. Vision, accompany Dorothy Erin Surret-now-Schalks until she returns home, and I shall then speak to you for an hour as men measure them about your beauty, your wit, and your Worth.
Vision of Want: Three hours! (Exchanges and leaves.)
Strike Three Trades: Secondly, Longevity, should you also accompany Dorothy Erin Surret-now-Schalks until she returns home, I shall grant you what Pain I have.
Longevity of Dolor: I'm afraid it's not enough, Strike.
Strike Three Trades: Very well. It will take some time afterward, but I offer you a good measure of Uther Nemo just-Surret's Pain as well.
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Longevity of Dolor (pleased with himself): Done! (Exchanges and leaves.)
Strike Three Trades: Lastly, I must exchange with my Complement.
Trade Three Strikes appears.
Strike Three Trades: My twin, I am obligated to provide a safe journey to a young heroine. Will you do this by our regular terms?
Trade Three Strikes: (Exchanges and leaves.)
It takes some time for the quadrisected parts of Strike Three Trades to reform back into a quivering whole. Upon doing so, he leaves.
---
Want and Worth are as a silken strand to a grand web. Want is a force that pulls toward its object. What one wants, be it a warm meal, clean and attractive garments, or the misery of enemies, one must act to obtain. Worth lies in the desires of many. If you hold what others badly want, you have great Worth.
And so it is that many may have small Want for a shiny pink copper coin. It now falls upon sometimes-Faustian to find the best trade for his possession.
In general, a copper coin is the basest of currencies, perhaps worth several tin coins, but often not. In some worlds, the copper might be worth a good meal or two. Scarcity of a good conductor and cheapness of food in an industrial market might make for a fine trade.
The Spirit of the Deal, striding from world to world, considered the coin itself. The last trade, he knew intimately. Rubbing his thumb over it, he felt the trade before that: it had purchased a single Wisdom, an exchange unprecedented in the bargainer's considerable experience. The third previous trade was from the realm that produced it as reward for the life of a feral sow.
A shiny pink copper coin had some Worth, but in the right circumstance, this particular coin would be very valuable, indeed.
At last, the first Wisdom led the spirit to the market he required. There was a great deal of screaming taking place, and not only because he'd forgotten to reform himself with the acceptable number of eyes.
---
Surret reclined on an embroidered hammock that he'd recently finished, a sheet of woven fiber he'd called palm linen covering him. He'd started on a pillow, now that that project was done. Finding the right material to stuff it with was a bit of a challenge. He was starting to think myna feathers might do the trick. He had no clue what had happened to his old guide and found himself annoyed and concerned in equal measure.
At this point, the young hero felt a very familiar sensation. Desperately, he lunged to grab his spear, bow, woven bag, and palm-linen towel. He succeeded just as the world around him fell apart. He hit the floor in the middle of a hastily-scrawled chalk pentagram. A middle-aged bearded man in stained and torn robes looked at him in a mix of desperation and triumph. In his hand, he clutched a pink copper coin.
"Hero of the Ages!" he exulted, "You return to us in our hour of great need!"
"The End of the World is nigh," the robed man continued, "for the second time this week. Please fix that, it's getting so a sorceror can't get any sleep."
Distant screams and roars grew louder. Surret cursed and rubbed at his forehead.