Jason was sitting in a meditation pose on one of the cloud palace’s open terraces when Rufus wandered along with his parents.

“This is Jason,” Rufus said.

Jason turned his head and opened one eye to look before springing lightly to his feet.

“Gabriel and Arabelle Remore,” Rufus said.

“So this is the Jason Asano I’ve heard so much about,” Gabriel said.

“You have?” Jason asked, surprise clear on his face. “Most people only pay attention to the big names, you know? Staedtler, Moranse; the ones with all the fancy glazing techniques, the overdone vases that no one ever actually uses as a vase. I mean, seriously. If the form overwhelms the function, what’s the point, am I right?”

“Glazing?” Gabriel asked in confusion.

“I know, right?” Jason asked. “The true enthusiast understands that it isn't about the flashy finish but the craftsmanship of the underlying product. Every aficionado who truly knows their business understands that the real collectible is also the most practical. They don't go for the weird oversized bowls or the fancy jugs with artistic flourishes that compromise volume. They know that solid, economical designs are what really endure.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, “but what are you talking about?”

“Pottery,” Jason said. “That’s why you heard about me, right? And I can tell you that the rumours are true: I have the best clay to coin ratio in Greenstone. You want practical, affordable earthenware, then I’m your guy.”

“Pottery?”

“Oh yeah,” Jason said enthusiastically. “I’m not just about the pots and bowls, either. You want the inside skinny on the industry, then I’m your man.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, giving the Remore’s an assessing look, then leaned in, conspiratorially.

“Because your Rufus' family,” Jason said, “I might have a little inside tip for you.”

“I think there may have been a mistake,” Gabriel said.

“No mistake, my friend,” Jason said, giving Gabriel a pat on the arm. “You want the inside scoop? The hidden truth the other earthenware merchants won't tell you? You can forget the vases, my friend. The bowls, pots, pitchers, planters and jugs. I know they're all the fancy, eye-catching stuff that the ordinary collectors go for. And those big-name potters, they're more than happy to feed them the dross while keeping the real goods for themselves.”

“What is happening?” Gabriel asked.

“The future is happening,” Jason said. “Not just the future of pottery, as if that wasn’t exciting enough, but the future of beverages themselves!”

“Beverages?”

“Oh, yes, my friend. I know it seems like everyone stores wine in bottles these days, but take it from an industry insider: amphorae are coming back in a big way.”

“Amphorae?”

“That’s the stuff,” Jason said. “These aren’t your grandmother’s amphorae; they’re not just for wine anymore. Milk, tea, juice, liquor, Bovril.”

“Bovril?”

“Oh, I forgot you don’t have cows, here. Lizard Bovril? Forget the Bovril, focus on the amphorae. I realise that every good collector has an amphora or two squirrelled away somewhere. They’re always an addendum, though; a punctuation point in a piquant pottery poem, but I’m here to tell you, friend, that amphorae are about to explode onto the scene that will make vases look like little dishes people use for hard candy!”

“I really don’t understand what’s happening,” Gabriel said.

“Of course you don’t,” Jason said, moving next to Gabriel and slipping a sympathetic arm over his shoulder. “Even as we speak, the potters of the world are hidden away, crafting amphora after amphora for the bonanza to come.”

Gabriel pulled himself away from Jason, which did nothing to dampen Jason’s enthusiasm.

“I’ve very clearly missed something in this situation,” Gabriel said.

“Of course you have,” Jason said, “but that isn’t your fault. It’s these so-called industry professionals, collection agents and gallery owners. They know the truth, but will they tell good, honest collectors like you? No, they won't. It's a conspiracy, my friend, an amphora conspiracy to keep you out of the game until the market explodes and they hold all the cards.”

“I’m very confused,” Gabriel said.

“Of course you are,” Jason told him sympathetically. “Some poor, innocent pottery enthusiast can’t be expected to understand the market nuances and industry secrets. That’s surely why Rufus brought you to me, right?”

“Oh, I definitely brought him here for this,” Rufus said.

“There you are,” Jason said. “Clearly you’re a gentleman of insight and means.”

Jason leaned over to Rufus.

“He is a man of means, right?” Jason whispered.

“Oh, yes,” Rufus said and Jason gave Gabriel a beaming smile.

“Insight and means,” he said again. “A man who won’t miss an opportunity literally hidden away from the more ordinary collector. Let me paint you a picture. A workshop, filled with secretive but capable apprentices, all under the direction of an experienced and rakishly handsome man with almost months of experience. Rack after rack of amphorae. No bowls, no pots, no jugs. Just one amphora after another, poised for that market shift, ready to explode in prominence.”

“Are you trying to get me to give you money?” Gabriel asked.

“It’s not about money,” Jason said. “It’s about showing those with an iron grip on the industry that we can bust open their artificial scarcity! And also money. You drop seven or eight gold spirit coins now, and a few years down the track, you could very well have made some of it back!”

“Could?”

“Hold on, I have a pamphlet here somewhere.”

“Pamphlet?”

Jason patted his pockets absently, then his face lit up as he remembered and he plucked a pamphlet out of the air, shoving it into Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel looked warily at the cover.

“Step one, collect underpants?” he read.

“Oops,” Jason said, snatching back the pamphlet and shoving it back into his inventory. He then pulled out a fistful of pamphlets and started leafing through them, reading to himself as he went.

“Church of Om; not a lot of hope for that catching on. Shelving unit assembly. Wicker versus rattan furniture selection guide.”

He looked up at Gabriel. “Sorry mate, just a second.”

Jason resumed sorting through the pamphlets as Gabriel searched his still innocent-looking son's face for any hint of explanation.

“Basic guide to yoghurt,” Jason continued. “Woven rug care in 5 easy steps; I’ve been looking for that one. Blue Oyster Bar, that one’s for Rufus. Oh, here we go; basic guide to amphora selection.”

Jason handed over the pamphlet as he shoved the rest back into his inventory.

“Note that the pictures show each amphora at the same size,” Jason said, pointing. “That’s just to make use of the space on the pamphlet, where obviously any given amphora can come in any size. For clarity, you’ll note that there’s a standard reference pear in each picture.”

Gabriel looked at Jason like he was some kind of madman.

“Reference pear?”

“That’s industry standard,” Jason said. “I thought you said you were a collector?”

“I am not a collector!”

“Then why did you say you were?” Jason asked, anger and confusion splashed across his face. “Are you just here trying to dig up industry secrets? I told you about my slave workshop!”

“Slave workshop?”

“Indentured servants, whatever. Oh, this is a shocking turn up.”

“I thought you were an adventurer.”

“Oh, it’s always like that, isn’t it?” Jason said. “You kill a few hundred monsters and suddenly all people see you as is an adventurer. Let me tell you, mate, adventuring is just a job. Pottery is a vocation.”

Jason yanked the pamphlet from Gabriel’s hand.

“Forget this,” he said bitterly, stormed over to the terrace railing and vault over the side, dropping out of sight.

“So that was Jason,” Rufus said mildly. “Next we’ll head to the guest wing lounge and dining area, where I’ve had some lunch prepared.”

“Dear,” Gabriel said.

“Yes, my love?” Arabelle asked. She had remained silent throughout the encounter.

“What just happened?”

“We just met Rufus’ friend, dear,” she said. “Don’t be judgemental.”

“Judgemental? The man was a loon!”

“He’s from very far away,” Arabelle said. “He’s bound to have some idiosyncrasies.”

“Idiosyncrasies? He tried to get me to invest in a pottery workshop staffed by slaves! He wouldn’t stop saying amphora and I still have no idea what Bovril is.”

“I think it’s a local delicacy where he comes from,” Rufus said. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I have food waiting.”

“Yes, do come along, dear,” Arabelle said and set off with her son, Gabriel trailing after.

“You set this up,” Gabriel accused Rufus. “This is for jumping off the ship in front of all those people, isn’t it?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, Dad.”

“You actually made pamphlets?” Gary asked.

“Yep,” Jason said. “Eight of them. There's a simple ritual to print images, so the real issue was finding the right card stock. For a good pamphlet, it has to be nice and thin, but firmer than just paper. Durable, with a good feel in the hand.”

They were sat around a banquet table in the guest wing lounge and dining area. It was Jason’s full team, plus Gary, Belinda, Jory, Phoebe, Emir and his chief of staff, Constance.

Emir was laughing as Rufus led in his parents.

“You!” Gabriel said, pointing at Jason, making Emir laugh all the harder.

“Sit down and eat, Gabe,” Emir said. “Always a pleasure, Bella. You can sit next to me.”

“Keep your hands off my wife,” Gabriel said, sitting down.

“Connie, always a pleasure,” Arabelle said, sitting next to Constance.

“Bella,” Constance greeted. Emir’s usually reserved chief of staff seemed a little more relaxed than normal. Only a little, but it stood out.

“Lovely to see you again,” Jason said and made introductions around the table. When introducing Rufus' parents, he referred to Rufus' mother as an esteemed adventurer, venerated by kings and heroes. Gabriel, he referred to as some kind of teacher.

“I have a question,” Gabriel said to Jason.

“Just one?”

“How much of what you were saying to me was a lie?”

“All of it,” Jason said. “I was lying through my teeth. I’d probably mistake a kiln for a rustic barbecue and use it to cook sausages.”

“I’m a gold ranker,” Gabriel said. “I can see right through your aura.”

“Rude, but okay,” Jason said.

“Why couldn’t I tell you were lying? It should have been in your aura.”

“Oh, that’s a technique from my world called the Stanislavski system,” Jason said. “To grossly oversimplify, it's about becoming the person you're pretending to be in the moment.”

“It’s a formidable tool,” Arabelle said.

“Especially when you run around making high-ranking enemies, the way Jason does,” Gary said.

“What are you talking about,” Jason said. “Everybody loves me.”

“Speaking of which,” Emir said, “I was hoping you could help me with something, Jason.”

“Oh?” Jason asked.

“I thought I might take the opportunity of all these new adventurers arriving to try and bait out the Builder cultists and I had an idea that makes use of your flair for pompous melodrama.”

“Pompous melodrama?” Jason said, as laughter spread around the table at his hurt expression.

“That’s your problem?” Emir asked. “Not being used as bait for evil cultists?”

“No worries there, mate,” Jason said. “Evil cultists are kind of my thing.”

“Evil cultists are your thing?” Phoebe asked.

“Jason has a lot of things,” Gary said.

“I’m versatile,” Jason said.