Joe wandered into town, feeling the packed dirt road beneath his feet. The sun was still fairy high in the sky and there was plenty of work to be done still in the day.

No coffee.

That though resonated through him. Yet he touched the unroasted beans in his pocket. Could he make his own coffee? A feeling of excitement filled him, his heart racing at the thought of bringing coffee to a new world. Of filling a new people's step with pep. Could he bring them the joy of caffeine?

He walked through town till he spotted the only three story house. It was surrounded by a white picket fence and had its own garden growing out the back with high walls protecting the garden itself. Small spikes topped the garden wall but no the houses wall?

They took chicsum seriously in this town.

Joe opened up the picket fence and strolled up to the porch. A chubby looking man in robes sat on a rocking chair with a pitcher of lemonade on the table, ice cubes just starting to melt in the heat.

'Yo, are you Flanno?' Joe called out.

The man blinked, looked down at Joe's bare feet and then back up to his face. 'I'm...Mayor Flannigan.'

'Ripper. Alright so I'm looking to purchase some land...and maybe some shoes. You the bloke to talk to about that?' Joe asked.

Flannigan paused and dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. 'I might be. Chicory Harbour is a desirable sea side port without much room for new farms. I suppose we might have something.'

With a heave he pulled his considerable bulk, which was admittedly half muscle, not all fat, and went back to the house. 'Hang here, I'll bring it out to you.'

'Thanks mate.' Joe said.

Flannigan came bustling out with a pile of papers. He slid them across the table to Joe. 'So all the low land farm sites are taken. I can sell you something...up the mountain.' His hand twitched for a second.

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Joe stared at the mountain that rose swiftly up from the edge of the farmlands. 'Any neighbours?'

Flannigan checked his documents. 'Just one. Not too far from the block of land. I can sell you five acres for say....ten gold dubloons?'

Joe pondered. 'What about previous owners, no dodgy drug dealers or people growing illicit crops huh?'

Flannigan paused, and sweat beaded on his brow. 'No...nothing of that sort. Old goatherder used to live there, his shack should still be intact.'

'And ten gold dubloons huh, no room to move on that? I'll be an active member of society.' Joe said.

Flannigan swallowed. 'Uh...well if you were to be a contributing member of society, we could maybe go as low as five gold dubloons? Always keen to build the town up.'

Joe whistled and looked at the nice house, the walled off garden. 'I like you Flanno, most rich mayors wouldn't still get their hands dirty in the garden. I'll take that deal, just give me a sec to read these legal documents.'

Flannigan waited, sweat running down his forehead.

Joe nodded. 'Seems pretty standard. I'll take it.' He pulled out five gold dubloons and placed them on the desk. With each jingle of his coin purse, Flannigan twitched.

'Do you reckon you could throw in some sandals.' Joe asked.

Flannigan gulped. 'Yeah...here take my spares.' He pulled a pair off the bench under the deck. They were slightly too big for Joe but with some careful strapping he made them work.

'Cheers mate. I'll go check out the property.' Joe said wandering off.

Flannigan exhaled a sigh of relief.

'Oh one thing.' Joe said clicking his fingers. He turned around and pulled out a coffee bean. 'You seem like a learned man. Have you ever seen one of these before?'

Flannigan went white as a ghost. 'No....never.'

Joe frowned. 'Ah well, would have been too easy otherwise.'

'Have a ripper day, Flanno!' Joe called out, leaving the porch with a land ownership deed, and a roughly sketched map.

Flannigan spent minutes watching the man walk off down the street. He gathered himself, dabbing his brow and taking deep calm breaths. When he was certain the man was gone, he leapt from his chair and rushed around the back of the house.

He turned over a small rock to pull out a key. With trembling hands he unlocked a padlock on the garden's entrance. The thick stone walls were tipped with iron spikes. A net hung across the top of the walls, woven from hemp. He then spun dials to enter a six digit number. He put his hand up to the handle and a resonant pulse echoed from him into the door.

He slunk inside, shutting the door behind him. He shuffled up to the centre of the garden where a single plant still grew, tiny and surrounded by larger chicory plants, this smaller tree, barely more then a shrub had red berries starting to form. Flannigan breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall.

Had the capital sent this man? Was he some sort of wandering cultivator. Or worse, was he a lucky idiot?

Flannigan looked up at the sky. No one brought more trouble than a lucky idiot. That was all he needed with Harvest Festival coming up.

He paused.

'....Flanno?'