Elysium

“Elysium?” Master Odric echoes. “Why on earth would you pay for a hunk of worthless metal?”

It is three days after my trip into the Saol Eile mercantile district. Although I was happy to see my friends and Mama again, I left alone for Belsie Port with all haste, sending a letter ahead to inform Master Odric that I would be staying for a few days.

Belsie Port rests upon an archipelago only a half day’s sail from Saol Eile, but our kingdom has no jurisdiction there. Instead, Belsie Port operates as a uniquely independent city-state. It has no natural resources or industry of its own, but its geographical qualities make it an invaluable point of access for merchants. Each of Belsie’s six large islands boasts a massive white-capped mountain, visible by ships for miles. The surrounding seas are cool and unusually calm. Storms are exceptionally rare. The ocean currents around Belsie Port flow easily to and from the major waterways, such that it has even borne a popular saying in the merchants’ business, “All currents lead to Belsie.” For all of these redeeming qualities, Belsie Port is a haven for international trade, a refuge from the oppressive harbor taxes of the surrounding kingdoms, and a breeding ground for innovation and invention.

Elysium is one such invention. Developed by a coalition of mages, it is a form of “quasi-currency”—currency that is not backed by silver, gold, or other rare metals; rather, its rarity derives entirely from mathematics. To understand how this works, one must first know the relationship between magic and mathematics. This is a topic with which I know only the absolute basics, so I will hand over the discussion to Lucienne, as she once described it.

“Every magical effect is the result of a mathematic equation, written and executed with arcane runes. A basic healing spell is an equation. A fireball is an equation! More complex spells, like time travel and transmutation of matter, are multiple equations executed simultaneously. The only difference between the Pythagorean theorem and an eldritch blast is that one is computed with mundane numbers; the other computed with arcane runes.

“Just like in mundane math, magic math only works when the equation is correct. Fortunately, if the equation is wrong, nothing happens. The runes just dissolve and you have to start over. But unlike mundane math, which works on a base-10 number system and has a fairly limited array of operations, magic math has a base-42 system and twice as many operations, so mistakes are much easier to make! For every one successful equation, there are millions of defunct ones. That’s partially why new magic spells are so difficult to create, and why most spellcasters only know easily-replicable spells. Most people literally do not have the time to parse millions of defunct combinations to make their own custom spell, and in the field, no one wants to carry around books and binders full of formulas. They just recite the easy, five-variable cantrip that was drilled into their head during Quasimath 101 and don’t bother with anything more complex.”

This was where I started getting lost. I raised my hand. I couldn’t help but feeling like I was sitting in a classroom, even though we were just in Lucienne’s little study. “What does this have to do with quasi-currency?”

“Great question!” Lucienne grinned. “But first. Pansy, you had a question?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“May,” Lucienne frowned.

“Sorry, Teacher. May can I go to the bathroom?”

“Before our next class, I am going to install spikes on my wheels and run you over.”

“Have fun in math class, nerds,” Pansy yawned, and sauntered out.

Lucienne scowled, but I stayed in my seat, and she seemed happy that someone was interested, at least. “As I was saying,” she sighed, “every magical effect is composed of runes. These runes form sequences, which form equations, which produce calculations, which make a result. Elysium is a result. When the equations are run, it produces that physical object—an extremely dense, rounded chunk of soft, dark metal. Easily broken, but infinitely divisible, and almost magnetically attracted to other pieces of elysium, such that placing one piece next to another will cause the two pieces to… zoop! Merge together into a single oblate spheroid. Always an oblate spheroid, too, no matter the volume.

“Now, two things make elysium uniquely suited to be a form of quasicurrency. First, it has a limited, but unknown number of permutations. Its base equation is a variant on the Di’Rossi sequence, which contains a maximum of 32 million variables. Like all arcane equations, only some of those permutations actually result in elysium, but just like there is a limited amount of gold in the earth, there are a limited number of ‘correct’ calculations. At least, theoretically. But for your purposes, it might be best to think of it as a limited resource.

“Second, elysium is a single-use spell with infinite duration. Once it is calculated and executed, it can’t be done again. It can only be circulated and divided. This is almost exactly like a rare earth metal! Once it is mined, it can’t be put back in the earth; there’s no way to generate more gold besides mining more. Similarly, once a piece of elysium is ‘mined’ by running the calculation, that’s it. You have to invent a new equation…”

“...which keeps the supply low and the demand high,” I finish, now in real time.

I cannot claim to be an expert on how quasicurrency works. Few people, outside of highly specialized arcanists or polymaths like Lucienne, actually do. But I can relate the little I know to Master Odric, and I can roughly translate it into a language we know—economics.

To have this discussion, Odric has invited me to his seaside villa, where we are sharing tea. Despite the differences between us, him being an elderly trading mogul owning dozens of properties and fleets of ships, and me being a nobody from a city slum, he has always treated me like an equal—even as I have just turned down an apprenticeship with him. He listens patiently as I relay Lucienne’s explanation, one white eyebrow raised in interest.

“I can understand elysium’s potential as an alternative currency,” says Odric. “But I fail to see what makes it valuable, or even practical to use. Simply being rare does not make a thing valuable.”

I hold up a finger. “Right. That is what I thought, too. Gold and silver are universally valued, but nobody values elysium.”

“Gold and silver can be shaped, repurposed for useful things,” Odric agrees. “Art, jewelry, component parts of machines. Our eyes are designed to appreciate the beauty of such metals. That is what gives them value beyond mere scarcity. Elysium has none of those qualities—it is a useless metal, can’t be repurposed for anything.”

“And it’s ugly,” I add.

He nods. “It is quite ugly.”

“That is where I think we are both wrong,” I continue. “Elysium is not universally valued— yet. I have a prediction that may seem out of the blue, but I promise you, I have good reason to believe it.”

(The “reason” is that I have come from the future, but I have more evidence prepared than that.)

“Throughout the civilized world, there are but two constants: death and taxes. No one has solved the death issue yet, but what of the taxes? Even after trading their goods here in Belsie, all ships must eventually dock in another harbor, and in that harbor are swarms of tax auditors, vying to fleece the poor merchant of gold. Every port is a bear trap lined with the steel teeth of tariffs. Day in and day out, we conduct our business only under the greedy eye of the crown—lying in wait for the hard-earned gold that it did not work for.”

“Be careful who you pitch this idea to,” Odric warns. “In some jurisdictions, such speech is intent to commit tax evasion.”

“Oh, I don’t intend on sharing this with anyone else. I am telling you because I need your help specifically,” I respond. “I have heard tell that certain merchants—particularly those who dabble in the black markets—are searching for a means to sell their goods in such a way that circumvents taxes altogether. Not evading taxes. Just…not doing anything that subjects them to taxes. Greater minds than mine have analyzed the tax codes of each kingdom around the Belcean Sea, and all have one thing in common: they can only tax what they own. If it was mined, harvested, or produced in that kingdom, it belongs to the crown which owns that kingdom. Such is the engine that drives all of war and politics—that irresistible urge to mine gold and stamp your own face on it.

“But quasicurrency doesn’t come from anywhere. Or rather, it can come from everywhere. The mathematical formula has existed since the beginning of time, and any person in any corner of the world could obtain it. It can’t be marked and it can’t be traced. And since it doesn’t come from anywhere, it doesn’t belong to anyone, except the person who is holding it. It’s completely decentralized.”

“So our current tax structure would have no way of handling it,” Odric muses.

I snap my fingers. “Precisely. No doubt, they will try. But it will be a rocky transition, especially as a newborn currency fluctuates so much in value, and the concept of quasicurrency itself is so complex. Our kings barely understand regular taxation, much less taxation of magic numbers.”

He snorts a laugh. “I can just imagine explaining it to someone like the old Rosencrantz. That miserable snob would fall asleep.”

“What I predict is this. I do not think this system will last for very long. There are plenty of holes in the plot—laws can be rewritten to change ownership of quasicurrency to the place where the calculation was done, kings could hoard scribes and compel them to churn out new elysium, and the currency could become just as heavily regulated as gold and silver. Undoubtedly, anyone who actually uses elysium to evade taxes will be punished severely. But for a very brief time, before the crowns figure out how to wrangle it, the merchants who partake in it can escape any taxation, in any country, for any type or kind of goods. Think of it—millions, even billions of obols changing hands without dropping even a single shilling to the taxman. A shadow economy fully independent of royalty, entirely in the hands of the people who earned it. At least…for a time.”

“That’s treason,” Odric remarks.

“That’s business,” I shrug.

It is dead silent. A crisp autumn breeze rustles through the ivy vines creeping along the veranda. My tea is cold, as Odric’s also surely is, but he still takes a long and thoughtful sip before chuckling to himself.

“I knew I liked you,” he grins. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with that apprenticeship?”

“Oh, it is tempting.”

“You would be a great asset to me with insight like this. You could travel the world, become a rich woman.”

“If my ideas are correct, I can get rich without traveling the world.”

I manage a weak smile. Turning down his offer does make my heart ache. Though I do not yet have that relationship with him in this life, in my past life, Master Odric was less of my boss and more like my father. A real father, not whatever Edgar Rosencrantz is. I will miss traveling the world with him. I already miss him so dearly that my eyes start to water. Quickly, I duck my head and disguise the tears as something else.

“And…you know that I can’t leave my mother. She needs me.”

He nods slowly. “I understand. Still, if you find a similar opportunity in Saol Eile, you should pursue it. You are very bright, but don’t put all your eggs in one basket with elysium.”

“What do you think about it?”

“This is not the first I have heard of quasicurrency. I know of its potential to circumvent taxation, and many of its advocates wax quite poetic about its capacity for infinite, unchecked growth. Of those I have spoken to, though, you are the first prospective investor with a realistic outlook, and you seem to actually understand the currency, unlike most.”

Pride blooms in my chest. “Thank you, sir.”

“I agree that it will be short-lived. The concept has much potential for fraud and abuse. A fully decentralized economy is a pipe dream, little more…I’m glad you , at least, understand that.”

“What would you do?”

“Me? I wouldn’t touch it.”

“Really?”

“No. Too risky for my age. I want to retire soon, settle down, maybe find a nice gentleman to keep me company in my final days. And I must, of course, be very careful in my investment strategies—my wealth nearly rivals that of the crowns, and they do not take kindly to competition. I will stay my course.”

“Then what would you advise?”

He pauses. “You are young. Naïve. You know nothing about the free market, foreign affairs, or taxation…perhaps you heard about elysium from a grade school friend. Out of pure curiosity—maybe a drunken dare—you buy some. Then tuck it away in a safe and speak of it to no one.”

There is a glint in his eye that I know well. Immediately, I whip out a pad of paper and a pencil, and I start to take notes.

“Keep an eye on the market,” he continues, “though I probably don’t have to tell you that. And keep watch on current affairs. You should have one pamphlet subscription for each kingdom in the Belcean Sea. Watch their crowns. If they raise taxes, make a note. If they speak publicly about quasicurrency, note that too. Most importantly—watch their court mages. When there is new wealth, royals always want a taste. Their mages will try to recreate the equation. They might hire more scribes, or order parchment and ink in unusual bulk. The prices for those may rise well in advance of elysium. When you’re satisfied at the value, don’t buy anything with the currency. Find another investor. Someone desperate and flush with cash; a new heir to a vast estate is always good. Sell for gold, but don’t go unprepared: bring one friend who is heavily armed and one who is a fast runner.”

“What happens…if the law…?”

“Then you have a solid defense: ‘well, sirs, I bought this trinket on an impulse when I was but a young girl, and years later, I can’t believe it’s worth something! Some very kind lord offered me so much money for it. What luck! What fortune!’ ” A wink and a smile. “Though, thanks to advice from a flamboyant old codger, you didn’t spend all of your savings on elysium back then. Most of your money is safely in the merchants’ guild bank account that he set up for you.”

“And how much is ‘most of my money’?”

“Sixty percent. Minimum.”

“I’ll do forty in the bank,” I reply. “Then another forty percent invested directly in a purchase of elysium, and the remainder twenty into paper, pen, and ink companies.”

“My, my, Eloise, you will take this world by the horns,” Master Odric chuckles. “Where on earth did you learn all of this?”

From the best, I want to say. From you. After having told my mother of my regression, I am tempted to tell Odric too. He has treated me with such kindness that I cannot fathom he would treat me cruelly. But before I can make a decision, he continues.

“You know, Eloise, it’s uncanny,” he remarks. “You remind me so much of one of my other clients…same mannerisms, same razor-sharp intellect, and as a matter of fact, also inquired about the purchase of elysium, just about a week ago.”

Now I frown. I was under the impression that I was early to the party, so to speak. “Who?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t say. Normally, I do try to respect my clients’ confidences. But…I have a feeling that you might find this interesting.”

And here he leans forward with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“It was that cunning fourth prince—the young Edgar Rosencrantz.”