After half a day of trudging through the desert, the group finally spotted the spirit coin farm. From the outside, all that could be seen was a high wall. It was still some distance off, but the group appreciated a landmark in the featureless ocean of sand.

“How exactly does a spirit coin farm work?” Jason asked. “Spirit coins don’t grow on trees, do they?”

“You really don’t know?” Mose asked.

Mose Cavendish was the elf who fired off the vortex bomb of fire and wind against the sand elementals. The fight had instilled a sense of camaraderie in the group, with Jason acquitting himself well enough to dispel the group’s earlier dissatisfaction.

“Jason is from another world,” Humphrey said. “You should get used to explaining things to him.”

“Another world?”

“That’s right,” Jason said.

“To answer your question,” Humphrey said, “spirit coins do not grow on trees.”

“I guess that would be a spirit coin orchard,” Jason said.

“Another world, as in a whole other world?” Mose asked.

“That’s right,” Jason said. “So where do spirit coins come from?”

“As in, not this world?” Mose asked.

“It’s an alternate universe,” Jason said.

“An alternate universe?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Jason said.

“Not that big a deal?”

“I think you broke Mose,” Humphrey said. “He’s just repeating words, now.”

“Am I ever going to hear about the spirit coins?” Jason asked.

"They make them out here in the farms," Humphrey said. "They have these special moulds that cause magic to crystallise. It's a delicate process, though. Changes in the ambient magic can ruin whole batches, which is why they have the farms out here. No activity, no life. Very stable ambient magic.”

“There must be interesting ramifications of pumping more and more coins into the economy,” Jason said.

“The Magic Society manages all of that,” Humphrey explained. “It’s the main source of their political power, and the reason it’s important the Magic Society stays politically neutral.”

“Like the Adventure Society,” Jason said pointedly.

“Yes,” Humphrey said. “It doesn’t always work out that way.”

Gabrielle wandered closer to join their conversation.

“Did you know that spirit coins are Greenstone’s largest export?” she asked. “Most people think it’s the green stone, because of the name, but it’s actually spirit coins. Especially the lesser ones. The farms out here in the desert produce almost three percent of the lesser coins used worldwide.”

“I did,” Humphrey said. “Most of these farms are operated by my family or the Mercers. Under Magic Society regulation, of course.”

"Of course," she said, lightly slapping her own head. "This coin farm is Geller-something, isn't it?”

“Geller-Seven,” Humphrey said.

“How does that work, though?” Mose asked. “I mean, a whole other world?”

“Get it together, Mose,” Jason said.

“Get it together? Your very existence fundamentally reshapes my understanding of reality.”

“Try going through that while a bunch of people are trying to eat you,” Jason said.

“Is that some kind of metaphor?” Mose asked.

"No," Jason said. "No, it isn't. Why is so much of the spirit coin farming done in this region? Wouldn't it be easier to have more localised production?”

“It’s because of the low magic,” Gabrielle said. “Most areas in the world have too high a magical density to produce lesser coins. The smallest denomination they can manage is usually iron rank, or even bronze rank in highly magical areas.”

“So why not just make iron coins the basic currency?” Jason asked.

"They're too valuable," Humphrey said. "The values of spirit coins aren't arbitrary. If a farm can produce a thousand lesser coins at a time, the same size farm could only produce 10 iron coins or one bronze coin.”

“And higher-ranked coins aren’t very useful for everyday life,” Gabrielle said. “Almost all the magic devices in a home or business run on lesser coins. Lamps, showers. Higher-rank ones would burn them out.”

“Some larger infrastructure works on more powerful coins. The loop line, for example.”

“The conditions in which you can locate a spirit coin farm are hard to come across,” Gabrielle added. “Finding a low-magic area with the kind of stability you get out here in the desert is rare. Somewhere as liveable as the delta, so close to the desert here is perfect. Greenstone was founded because it was such a perfect place for low-end spirit coin farms.”

“Even then, there are no guarantees,” Humphrey said. “Volatile weather can affect the ambient magic enough to ruin whole batches. Same if a monster spawns nearby, or some adventurer runs around using abilities. That’s why we won’t be allowed near the spirit coin farm itself. They’ll make us wait outside the walls.”

“How do they stop monster spawns?” Jason asked.

“They don’t,” Humphrey said. “If one appears too close to a farm, you just have to eat the loss.”

“So, how did you get here?” Mose asked. “Do you have some kind of ship that can cross between universes?”

“Still with this, Mose?” Jason asked. “A cannibal summoned me by accident.”

“Are you just making things up now?” Mose asked.

Jason stopped short, his whole body frozen. His face turned pale, visibly shaken.

“You got me, Mose,” Jason said. “I guess I always knew this day would come. This whole thing is an elaborate ruse. I’m actually a failed actor using an array of magical devices to fake being an adventurer from another world.”

He shook his wearily hanging head.

“Nothing for it now but to walk off into the desert, alone.”

“What is happening right now?” Mose asked. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Don’t worry about him, Mose,” Humphrey said. “Just remember that if you’re talking to Jason and you get confused, he’s probably up to something. If you’re talking to Jason and you’re not confused, then he’s definitely up to something.”

“Well that’s just hurtful,” Jason said.

The walls of the spirit coin farm were five metres tall, made from yellow desert stone. The gates were small, clearly not designed for a lot of traffic. Outside the gate was a fairly large area of tiled ground, scattered with desert sand. The sole feature of the tiled area was a gazebo, providing shade for adventurers to wait in.

It was around an hour after they arrived and Phoebe went alone through the gates that she came back. She had another person with her, and a trio of wagons running behind.

The wagons were the non-magical, heidel-drawn variety, and were longer, wider and definitely heavier than other wagons Jason had seen. They were all constructed from sturdy metal, to the point of looking like old-timey train cars. Each wagon took eight heidels just to move at a crawl. The narrow wheels looked like the exact wrong thing to take onto sand, and the wagons seemed generally useless for desert travel. They stopped in the middle of the tiled expanse and the adventurers left the gazebo for a closer look.

“You’re going to like this,” Humphrey said to Jason.

Each of the wagons had two people on it, who got off and moved around behind them. The back of the wagons folded down into a ramp, down each of which slid a vehicle. They looked a lot like the airboat Jason had ridden on with Clive, and Jason’s face lit up with glee.

“Some kind of sand boat?” he asked.

“We call them sand skimmers,” Humphrey said. “They operate on magic, obviously, so they have to be wagoned out of the farm before charging them up.”

“Don’t want any loose magic in your spirit coin farm?” Jason guessed.

“Exactly,” Humphrey said.

As they drew closer, the people unloading the wagons paused to greet ‘Young Master Humphrey.’ Jason opened his mouth to start off about disproportionate class systems, then stopped himself, shaking his head in self-recrimination.

“What is it?” Humphrey asked him.

“It’s nothing,” Jason said.

“Really?” Humphrey asked. “Since when do you hold back an opinion?”

“Humphrey, opening my mouth wide enough to fit my foot in it already cost us a healer. It’s past time I learned to keep it shut.”

“It wouldn’t be you if you didn’t go into a rant about something,” Humphrey said. “Just let it out.”

Jason looked at Humphrey, warily.

“Look,” Jason said. “It’s just that you were born as the employer of these people, and they were born to work for you.”

“Just so you know,” Humphrey said, “these men earn more money than an iron-rank adventurer.”

“Really?”

“They work in a giant money workshop,” Humphrey said. “That makes loyalty important. Also, they have to work in the middle of the desert, which deserves fair compensation.”

“Do they live out here?” Jason asked.

“While they’re working, yes,” Humphrey said. “They do stints out here, then go back to their families with all the money they made. After working the farms for a few years they gain a small part ownership. In our farms, at least. The Mercers don’t do it that way.”

“That’s the rub, isn’t it?” Jason asked. “If your family decided to screw these people over and leverage them into working for cheap while using draconian measures to keep them in line, what would stop you?”

“Basic decency,” Humphrey said.

“And there’s the real problem,” Jason said. “The line between benevolence and oppression falls wherever your family says it does. That’s real power. What happens when Thadwick Mercer is running his family operations?”

“They wouldn’t put him in charge,” Humphrey said.

“His father is grooming him for exactly that. Doesn’t say much for his father.”

“What about Cassandra?” Humphrey asked.

“She’s going full-time adventurer, like her mother,” Jason said. “Like you, for that matter. Once the next monster surge is done, she’s out of here.”

“How do you know so much about the Mercers?” Humphrey asked.

“I may have been spending some time with Cassandra. Socially.”

“I didn’t think she had much time for young men,” Humphrey said.

“Of course she does,” Jason said. “She just doesn’t have time for boys.”

The workers finished sliding the sand skimmers down from the over-sized wagons. The three vehicles were larger than the airboat Jason had been on. They were all flat bottomed, with a large ring at the back for magic propulsion. There were five seats at the front; one front and centre for the driver, with handlebar controls like a jet ski. Behind were four passenger seats, two by two. Between the seats and the propulsion ring bringing up the rear was a flat area for cargo. This space was already filled on all three vehicles with stacked metal crates.

The person who had come out of the farm with Phoebe on foot was the bronze rank adventurer taking charge of the team. It was another member of the Geller family, named Ernest. The resemblance to Humphrey was clear, with the same height and broad shoulders. Jason didn’t assume a close relation though, as all the Gellers looked like that. Phoebe was an Amazonian goddess almost a full head taller than Jason.

“If we have these things,” Jason asked, looking over a sand skimmer, “why did we walk all the way out here?”

“Because picking you up would be an extra trip to the city for our drivers and we don’t care if you have to walk all the way,” Ernest said. “We use the skimmers to take coins to the city and bring back supplies. If you want to use one yourself, go buy it.”

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Jason said. “How much do they cost?”

“You need the right essence ability to use them,” Humphrey said.

“Boo,” Jason jeered.

“Are you a child?” Ernest asked.

“Mate, we’re about to go flying across the desert in giant magic toboggans. If that doesn’t eke out any childlike wonder, then you might want to check your soul’s still in there.”

“He does have a point, Ern,” Phoebe said, patting Ernest on the arm.

"Everyone just get on the skimmers, please," Ernest said. He shook his head at Phoebe, who flashed Jason a grin.

Ernest and Phoebe took the first skimmer, while Jason sat behind Humphrey and Gabrielle on the second. Mose and the two remaining adventurers took the last one. Three of the workers who had unloaded the skimmers took the front seat in each vehicle. Jason could sense the presence of a single essence from each driver’s aura.

A vulture-like bird came swooping out of the sky, then transformed into a sand-coloured lizard, flailing its limbs in the air as it fell into Humphrey’s arms.

“I’ve had Stash scouting as a bird,” Humphrey said. “I waved him off when we were fighting the elementals. I didn’t want anyone mistaking him for another monster.”

“My familiar wasn’t much good there, either,” Jason said. “Leeches don’t eat sand.”

The driver started feeding spirit coins into a slot next to his seat and the vehicle powered up with an audible hum. Sigils around the propulsion ring lit up and the skimmer floated half a metre into the air.

"Coin-operated," Jason laughed. "I love it."

Soon the skimmers were rushing over the desert sand, hot air whipping into the passengers’ faces. Like the airboat, the sand skimmers’ propulsion rings drew in air from the front to blast out the back. In the arid desert, this dried the eyes out quickly. The drivers all wore goggles, as did Humphrey, who gave an extra pair to Gabrielle.

“What happened to bros before hoes?” Jason called out over the blasting air of the propulsion ring.

“I don’t know what that means,” Humphrey called back, “but it feels like I should respect you less for having said it.”

“That’s fair,” Jason said.

As they rushed along, Jason was avoiding looking forward, to avoid the worst of the dry-eye effect. That made him the first one in the vehicle to spot a fast-moving object approaching from the side. It was another skimmer, but larger than their own. There were at least eight people aboard, with a canvas awning cover to shade them from the sun. It was veering in on an intercept course.

Jason pointed them out to Humphrey, who narrowed his eyes gravely at the approaching vehicle.

“They’re after the shipment,” he said loudly.

“Sand pirates!” Jason exclaimed with glee, breaking into a wild laugh. He threw his arms jubilantly into the air.

“I LOVE BEING AN ADVENTURER!”