Elder Oswald took the Flashlight with bemusement, looking the knurled black metal tube over. It was the medium version, barely six inches long. He tested the sliding button on the top, saw it did nothing, then sensitive fingers noted both ends could be rotated, one end larger, the other with a recessed metal ring. He thumbed the dial on the slightly larger end slowly, and it lotused open, revealing the bright light within it, first a dot, then becoming a bright beam that drew attention for its intensity in the smoky darkness of the tavern.

When he pushed the button forward, the beam steadily widened, until the Eternal Light attached to the crystal emerged fully from the concave crystal, lighting up the entire tavern with bright, steady, unwavering electrum Light, drawing murmurs of surprise and astonishment from all those around.

With one hand, he withdrew the Light, then spun the iris closed, shutting off the illumination completely. He slowly unspun the other side, smiling slightly as it fell open and revealed another small crystal, also glowing brightly, attached to the cap.

“Magnetic. There’s a small space inside for placing interesting things, like a hook and line, tinder, a small vial, some coins, and so forth. As it stands, it is also air-tight when closed completely, and will float in water. The grip is hydrophobic and repels water, so it will remain dry in almost any situation. You’ll find it is quite sturdy and durable, and though I’d not use it as a club, it will give a fist some rigidity.

“Also, a continuous light source on demand. There are several lenses that can be purchased for it, but they are extras. That is the middling size, intended for general use and ease of carry. There is a smaller version that is very slender, for concealed carry, and a larger one that is much brighter and might be usable as a club in an emergency.”

He deftly screwed the cap back on, and the light faded away, but the quiet delight on his face was probably a better advertisement than a dozen salesmen. “I think I will want one of each of the other sizes, and the lenses, too!” he smiled in appreciation for its utility.

“Well, then, let’s talk about trade and compensation, subjects I am sure you are an expert on…”

His smile was unfeigned as he bent forward, his eyes glittering sharply. “I am indeed, and I drive a hard bargain, Magos.”

“I ask only a fair one, Elder. I am not greedy, although it may not surprise you that there is considerable demand for these.”

“I may even be able to improve upon the design and suggest some improvements,” he countered.

“You will be compensated fairly for any more advanced designs you care to make that we put into production. The overriding rule now is getting them into the majority of hands, not making special custom Lights for those with wealth. A startling viewpoint to many, many people, I know.”

He actually laughed softly at that. “I have seen what happens to those who hoard too much wealth, so you’ll not see me dithering over pyreal, Magos. A fair price, well enough for me, especially since I can see where you might charge a fair purse for something so well-made and clever.”

“Everyone needs to earn a living, and getting things which help us into the hands of those who need them is a fine way to do so. Now, I imagine you’ve hoarded your own reserves of things for this very moment, knowing it would come and wanting to be able to establish yourselves in the face of the relatively greater wealth of the south. Knowing our lack of mining, I imagine you’ve been stockpiling ores… and Briggs has a Floating Furnace available to you, so likely it’s been smelting things around the clock ever since he came here.”

“Lass, that boy has stacks and stacks of ingots of all types in Stonehold’s vaults, waiting to be brought out for use. There’s nothing in the south he can’t afford, and you can believe he wants to go on a buying and selling spree!” Master Oswald confirmed after only a moment’s hesitation.

“Did he go with great locks or simply a multi-ton door?” I asked with interest.

Master Oswald slapped the table between us lightly. “Hah! He did both, of course!”

“Of course he did.” I just rolled my eyes and leaned forwards. “Okay, let’s get our economic heads together and try to work out something where everyone is happy and nobody shafts one another, because that’s not a good way to start off any relationship.”

“That is entirely what someone seeking to take advantage of someone else would say, Magos,” he countered lightly, leaning forward nonetheless.

“If I am going to take advantage of you, I will say nothing, do it, and you will thank me profusely for doing so, in all likelihood. I am not a merchant, and greed is not a defining characteristic of mine. On the other hand, I am extremely aware of the power of money, the necessity and power of wealth, and I loathe being taken advantage of by others who do nothing of benefit but claim that profit is its own reward. Do not mistake my willingness to deal fairly with lack of knowledge of potential wealth foregone. If you attempt to play on my goodwill to shift money earned from those who need it to yourself, I can and will be a brutally difficult person to deal with.”

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He only held my gaze for a moment before inclining his head slightly. “Well, an altruistic financier. I have truly seen everything in life now,” he mused at me.

“Suckering the greedy into only getting fair profits is a fine intellectual pastime. You should practice it sometime.”

“An interesting sort of game. How does one go about playing it?”

“Information, usually. Artificial or natural shortages in one place driving up windfall profits in another, supplies controlled to raise prices and line one’s pockets, taxes evaded, wages skipped or withheld, payments delayed. Front-running the shortages to even out the flow of trade, starting up or diversifying buying so one force doesn’t materially affect markets and you have alternates, unleashing the tax collectors, unionizing the workers, and just plain robbing fools who keep your money for themselves are all on the table.

“If you aren’t an arse, none of it is necessary. When it is, I’m not one who is afraid to be underhanded if you are, too. My job is to raise the floor, not raise your ceiling. I’m not doing this to make you rich, I’m doing this to improve lives.”

“Ah, noting there’s a famine, hoarding the wheat and preparing to sell it for multiple times its value, only for a caravan to come through unloading tons of cheap wheat and suddenly your hoard is worth a fraction of what you paid for it?” Master Oswald rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I admit, that would be a very amusing way to pass one’s days.”

“Stealing from those profiting unlawfully is often quite rewarding, too, although it can make you some great enemies. Of course, if they escalate matters, well, society is usually better off without them regardless.”

“Great wealth is one of the loftiest goals that can be achieved by mortal men in life,” Oswald pointed out. “There will always be motivation for greed.”

“I agree to the latter, but will correct the former. Great wealth is one of the basest goals that can be achieved by mortal men. It ranks right up there with harems of sexual partners, obesity from overeating of delicacies, constant drunken revelry, and drug-fueled dreams of profound meaning. Great wealth of its own does nothing for nobody. Money at work, moving constantly through the system, is what betters everyone. Accumulating it in one spot? It should immediately be removed and used.”

“You must come from a strange place, to look so oddly upon the accumulation of wealth. Is not the very gear you wear wealth accumulated?” he pointed out reasonably.

“Is Regret?” I replied, equally reasonably. He paused at that thought. “I am not accumulating wealth and letting it sit. It is all being put to work generating things which increase the floor for people. The fact killing undead and growing wheat are different aspects of that resolve is hard for some people to digest, but you don’t grow wheat if undead are rampaging through your fields, burning them and slaughtering your farmers.

“Gold sitting in a chest or on brazen display for the benefit of your ego is doing nothing. If I want a grand palace of my own, I will build it for myself, and I have better things to do with my coin than heap it up as a testament to my own ability.”

“What of natural accumulations, then?” he asked quietly. “Tracts of land, buildings, ships, goods, facilities?”

“That is what a proper tax law code does. Those who earn and own more and more are taxed at a higher and higher rate, until it becomes self-defeating or potentially catastrophic to be the center of so much wealth. You reward the smaller player, and you tax the larger ones to give the smaller ones room to grow. Wealth transfer is one of the primary jobs of a proper government. The trick is getting honest government workers in the face of the amount of money the wealthy are willing to pay in order to evade paying their proper taxes back to the society which enabled them to rise above their fellows.

“Unlimited wealth income and accrual is a surefire way to ruin any society in the long run, and the discourses and proofs are it are soundly embedded in any economic course of study, and have been for thousands of years.”

“I am something of a professional at not paying taxes,” the Green Hunter admitted lightly. “Or perhaps my removal of certain impediments to society could be seen as repaying my debts thereto?” he offered easily.

“Justifying your actions with fallacies is still a fallacy, Master Oswald,” I reminded him quietly. “You profit from society by not following the rules everyone else does, yet paying your fair share to support that society would hardly impoverish you at all. The only excuse you might make is if you were to charitably give the money to public causes to ensure that it is spent wisely and efficiently… or, you know, to off the parasites of society without compensation for doing so, perhaps even repaying their victims in some atrociously noble and heroic manner.

“That’s how Good works, Master Oswald. And you know what? Those societies tend to be the most productive, efficient, and beloved places to work and live in the world, and everyone around them tends to get hellaciously envious of it, not understanding how just by having reasonable laws, reasonable people, and not letting greed and self-interest in the short-term dominate your thinking is amazingly productive over the long run.”

“And those who cannot do that organize armies and try to take by brute force what they cannot manage with culture and lifestyle?” he conjectured.

“Or they steal in the night, blame others by day, and basically attempt to tear down those who have more than they do. I’m sure the mindset is well-known to you. The Viamontians carried it about them like a shield against common sense.”

He grunted at that, a flicker of old experiences crossing his face. “I’ll not dispute that. Their comeuppance was long due, if what you and your Princess have said about back home is true.”

“Oh, it definitely is. In fact, I could probably go back and check up on them now,” I added as an aside.

That earned his instant interest. “You… could return to Ispar?” he asked in fascination, leaning forward.

“Possibly and probably, but not definite, yes.” Plane Shift was a Valence V I hadn’t grabbed for yet. “As you might elect to do, if your path leads you in that direction.”

He looked down at the spiral notebook in front of him, his expression turning even more thoughtful as he realized the implications. “I think that I shall be reading this very carefully, indeed.”

“Indeed. Now, on to some planning, and while we’re doing it, what’s the situation in Zaikhal? Her Highness will be running home tomorrow, and we're thinking of literally blowing through the place…”