Lux Perpetua

“I imagined banks differently,” Vinyl Scratch murmured, examining the room. “Where do they keep the money, Shining Armor?”

“Devil only knows,” Shining Armor responded in a low voice, trying to hide the torn sleeve of his jacket. “Maybe in the basement?”

“No, I looked: there's no basement here.”

“Must be in the attic.”

Seated at large tables, young ponies and donkeys of indeterminate age were busy aligning rows of numbers and letters on sheets of parchment. All, without exception, bowed their heads and stuck out their tongues slightly. Shining Armor thought that the task must be terribly tedious. It seemed nonetheless to absorb the workers. In one corner, an aged pony was seated on a stool, sharpening pencils. His pace remained slow.

“Please come into my office, gentleponies,” announced Adler Vivaldi.

Adler Vivaldi the Minotaur, Banker and Business Representative was written on the door of his office. Shining Armor had to admit that Adler Vivaldi didn’t look old at first site. Although his once dark mane was gray and he had long beard that respectively showed his age, the minotaur gave the impression of very strong individual. Shining Armor noticed on his, muscled arms and proudly protruded chest old wounds, which indicated that Banker Adler Vivaldi had lived interesting life.

The banker cautiously closed the door to his office. He smoothed his long beard, which was well-maintained despite ink stains here and there, then adjusted the jacket that was buttoned with difficulty.

“You know, Miss Vinyl Scratch,” he said, sitting behind an enormous mahogany table that groaned under the weight of heaped scrolls, “I imagined you very differently. I've never had pleasure to meet you in person but I heard some of your music. Arrival of the Parasprites. Personally I liked the recording of your concert in Ponyville the best.”

“Arrival of the Parasprites? I am not the author,” Vinyl Scratch responded, red with anger. “I've never created any music of that title!”

“Oh. Excuse me.”

“If we could perhaps move on to serious matters,” Filthy Rich interrupted. “Time is wasting while you discuss unnecessary subjects. I have serious problems, Adler.”

“I was afraid of that,” the Minotaur banker responded, shaking his head. “Remember that I warned you, Rich. I told you three days ago not to invest money in that rancid fish oil. What difference does it make that the price was low? The nominal price is not important. What is important is the resale profit. The same for the rose essence and the wax, and the damned cotton cord. What possessed you, Rich, to buy such shit? In cash, no less, instead of paying reasonably with a letter of credit or exchange! I told you, the cost of storage in Canterlot is expensive. In a span of two weeks it will exceed three times the value of the goods. And you...”

“Yes,” Filthy Rich moaned quietly. “Tell me, Vivaldi. I what?”

“You, you assured me that there was no risk, that you'd sell it all within twenty-four hours. Today you come back to see me with your tail between your legs to admit you're having trouble. You haven't sold any of it, have you? And the storage price went up, eh? Ah, that's no good, no good! Do I need to get you out of this now, Rich? If at least you had insured your merchandise, I would gladly send one of my scribes to discreetly burn your warehouse. No, my friend, the only thing we can do is take things philosophically and say, 'it all went to shit.' That's commerce: win one day, lose the next. In the long run, what's the importance of the money spent to buy fish oil, string, and rose essence? Not much. Let's speak instead of more serious matters. Tell me if I should sell the mimosa bark, because the offers are beginning to stabilize at five and five sixths.”

“Huh?”

“Are you deaf?” the banker asked, frowning. “The latest offer is equivalent to five and five sixths. I hope that you came back to get rid of it, because you will not get seven, Rich.”

“Came back?”

Vivaldi smoothed his beard to dislodge the breadcrumbs that were clinging to it.

“You came in an hour ago,” he replied calmly, “with the order to hold until seven. To sell at seven times the initial purchase price, this would be 2 bits and 45 coppers per pound. It's too expensive, Rich, even in such a favorable market. The tanners have already agreed amongst themselves to freeze the price. I'd bet my horns that...”

“The merchant Total Sum offers 2.15 bits!” shouted a strident voice from outside the office.

“Six and a sixth,” Vivaldi calculated swiftly. “What shall we do, Rich?”

“Sell!” Filthy Rich cried. “Six times the purchase price and you still hesitate, by the plague?”

A second creature, wearing a yellow hat and covered in an overcoat that resembled an old sack, arrived in turn in the office. After a second of staring at the creature, Shining Armor concluded that it was a goat.

“The merchant Filthy Rich recommends not to sell before seven!” goat yelled, before wiping his nose with his sleeve and immediately departing.

“Ah, ah!” the Minotaur banker said eventually, after a long delay. “A Filthy Rich orders me to sell, but another Filthy Rich, on the contrary, asks me to wait. Interesting. What shall we do, Rich? Will you settle the matter before a third Filthy Rich orders me to start exspedition in serch of Daring Do and Sapphire Stone, eh?”

“What is that?” asked Vinyl Scratch, indicating the thing dressed in a green hat that was standing motionless in the doorway. “What is it, by the plague?”

“A young goat,” Shining Armor replied.

“It must be,” Vivaldi confirmed drily. “It's not an old troll. What it is, is of no importance. Come, Rich, I'm listening.”

“Adler,” said Filthy Rich calmly, “I implore you: don't ask questions. Something terrible has happened. Know and acknowledge that I, Filthy Rich, honest merchant from Ponyville, don't have the slightest idea what is going on here. Tell me every detail: everything that's happened over the past three days. I beg you, Adler.”

“Interesting,” said the banker. “I understand that what with the commissions I collect, I must respect the wishes of my clients. Listen, then. You appeared in my bank three days ago, completely out of breath. You made a deposit of 1,000 bits and requested a promissory note of 2,520 payable to the bearer. I gave my endorsement.”

“Without collateral?”

“Without, because I like you, Rich. You are an honest trader.”

“Tell the rest, Adler.”

“The next morning, you rushed in and insisted, making a ruckus and stamping your hooves, that I open a line of credit in Fillydelphia branch of my bank for the substantial amount of 3,500 bits. The beneficiary was to be, if I recall correctly, a certain zebra named Zinzi. I opened this credit.”

“Without collateral,” Filthy Rich repeated, hope rising in his voice.

“My fondness for you, Rich,” the banker sighed, “ends at 3,000 bits. I required a written statement stipulating that in the case of insolvency, the Rich's Barnyard Bargains will belong to me.”

“I'm never going home,” Filthy Rich said mournfully, adding decisively: “I'll take out a loan to buy a ship and become a pirate.”

Adler Vivaldi scratched his ear, watching him suspiciously.

“Hey!” he said. “You recovered the letter and tore it up a while ago. You're solvent. Nothing surprising about that, with such earnings...”

“Earnings?”

“Indeed, I forgot,” grumbled the banker, “that I'm expected to be surprised by nothing. You came out far ahead with the cochineal, Rich, because you see, the upheaval that took place in Baltimare...”

“I know that already,” Filthy Rich interrupted. “Indigo fell and cochineal rose. And I got some money. Is that right, Adler?”

“That's the truth. You have an account with me for 6,346 bits and 80 coppers. Net, after subtracting my commission and the amount of tax.”

“You paid the tax for me?”

“Shouldn't I have?” Vivaldi asked, surprised. “When you came in an hour ago, you settled up neatly. One of my clerks already brought the sum to the town hall. About 1,500, because the sale of the goods from Ponyville to that Griffon merchant was of course included.”

The office door burst open with a bang to admit goat wearing an extremely dirty hat.

“2.30 crowns!” he shouted. “The merchant Money Worth!”

“Don't sell!” Filthy Rich cried. “Wait for a better price! Both of you, go back to the market at once!”

The two goats greedily seized the copper coins tossed to them by the Minotaur banker and disappeared.

“Yes... Where was I, then?” Vivaldi wondered for a moment, toying with the abnormally large amethyst crystal that served as his paperweight. “Ah yes... I was up to the cochineal bought with my promissory note. The letter of credit that I mentioned earlier, you used to buy a large quantity of mimosa bark. You bought a lot, but at a good price: 35 coppers a pound from Zebrica broker, that Zinzi. The galley docked at the port yesterday. That's where it all started.”

“I can imagine,” Filthy Rich groaned.

“What is mimosa bark good for?” Vinyl Scratch couldn't help but ask.

“Nothing,” Filthy Rich groaned sadly. “Unfortunately.”

“Mimosa bark, Miss DJ,” the Minotaur banker explained, “is a tanning substance used in the manufacture of leather and other fabric...”

“Somepony was stupid enough,” Filthy Rich interrupted, “to buy mimosa bark from overseas when one can acquire it for next to nothing from Equestrain oak.”

“That's just where the Diamond Dog is buried,” said Vivaldi, “because the Unicorns Against Nature Degradation organization threatened to set a plague of rats and parasprites over the land of Fillydelphia if the destruction of oak trees is not stopped immediately. The pegasi council from Cloudsdale support the UAND. It must be said that the pegasi council and UAND plea was represented by none other than the famous Fluttershy. It is well known fact that Princess Celestia has weakness for the bearers of Elements of Harmony. In short: a complete embargo on Equestrian oak came into effect yesterday. The price of mimosa is climbing. You had the benefit of good information, Rich.”

Outside the office door e came the sound of hoofsteps. Goat wearing a green hat burst breathlessly into the office:

“The venerable merchant Total Sum...” the goat managed to say, “orders me to repeat that the merchant Filthy Rich from Ponyville, is nothing but a savage hairy-eared swine, a speculator and a swindler, and that he, Total Sum, wishes for Filthy Rich to contract scabies. He offers 2.45 bits. This is his final offer.”

“Sell,” Filthy Rich concluded. “Go, little one, run and confirm. Calculate, Adler.”

Vivaldi grabbed a stack of parchment and produced a Minotaur abacus, a veritable marvel. Unlike those used by ponies, the Minotaur abacus was shaped like a latticed pyramid. Vivaldi's abacus was crafted from golden filaments upon which small uniform prisms cut from rubies, emeralds, onyx and black agate, moved. The banker deftly manipulated the jewels at the top, bottom, and sides.

“This will be... hum... hum... Less cost and my commission... Minus tax... Yes... 15,622 bits and 25 coppers. Not bad.”

“If I've calculated correctly,” Filthy Rich said slowly, “that will make a net total of... I should have...”

“Precisely 21,969 bits and 5 coppers. Not bad,” comented Adler Vivaldi.

“Not bad?” Vinyl Scratch yelped. “Not bad? With that kind of sum, you could by a whole village or a small castle! Never in my life have I seen that kind of money!”

“Nor have I,” said Filthy Rich. “But let's not get carried away, Vinyl. No-pony here has seen that money and we may never even see the color of it.”

“How is that, Filthy Rich?” the banker said, scowling. “Where do you get such sorry thoughts? Total Sum will pay in cash or with a letter of exchange. Total Sum's money is good. What's wrong, then? You're worried about the losses from the purchase of your stinking fish oil and wax? With such profits, you can easily cover those losses...”

“It's not that.”

“Then what?”

Filthy Rich bowed his head and cleared his throat. “Adler,” he said, staring at the ground. “Chapel is sniffing around.”

The Minotaur banker clucked his tongue.

“It's not good,” he said, “but it's not surprising. You see, Rich, the commercial information that you used for your transactions also has political implications. No-pony suspected that these things would happen in Baltimare and Fillydelphia. Not even Chapel, and Chapel likes to be the first to know. Now, you can imagine that he's racking his brains to discover how you had access to this information. I think that he must already know. As do I.”

“Interesting.”

Vivaldi glanced at Vinyl Scratch and Shining Armor, wrinkling his nose.

“Interesting? What is interesting are your associates, Rich,” he said. “A musician mare, a Royal Guard and a merchant. A begining of a bad joke or a great scam. My congratulations. Miss Vinyl Scratch travels everywhere: she frequents royal courts, parties and no doubt knows how to keep her ears open. Royal Guard? A bodyguard? A scarecrow to keep away the debtors, or just informant from her majesty court?”

“Your conclusions are too hasty, master Vivaldi,” Shining Armor replied coldly. “We are not associates.”

“And I,” Vinyl Scratch continued, flushing, “do not eavesdrop. I'm a DJ, not a spy!”

“One hears things,” the banker said, grinning. “Many things, Miss Vinyl.”

“Lies!” the mare shouted. “It's not true!”

“All right, all right, I believe you. Only, I don't know if Chapel will believe you. But who knows, perhaps we are making a lot of noise over nothing. I will tell you, Rich, that Chapel has changed a great deal since his attack of apoplexy. Perhaps the fear of death crept into his heart and forced him to ask questions? This is not the same Chapel. He has become friendly, sympathetic, calm and... even honest, in a way.”

“What are you telling me?” said Filthy Rich. “Chapel... honest? Friendly? It's not possible.”

“I'm telling you the truth,” Vivaldi retorted. “What's more, the Church actually faces another problem in the Lux Perpetua project they have.”

“How is that?”

“The Lux Perpetua must burn everywhere, as they say. Altars devoted to it must be erected throughout the land. Many altars. Don't ask for details, Filthy Rich: I am not a follower of those kind of beliefs. But I know that all the priests, including Chapel, are concerned only with altars and fire. Grand preparations are in motion. Taxes will increase, for sure.”

“My word,” said Shining armor. “Small consolation, but...”

The office door opened again to reveal the goat in a green hat and rabbit fur garment that Shining Armor already knew.

“The merchant Filthy Rich,” he reported, “requests the purchase of bowls. The price is secondary.”

“Perfect,” Filthy Rich said with a smile, which more resembled the distorted face of an enraged wildcat. “Then buy lots of bowls. The will of master Filthy Rich must be obeyed. What else should we buy? Cabbage? Juniper oil? Iron stoves?”

“And,” the goat produced parchment  from his fur coat, “the merchant Filthy Rich requests 30 bits in cash to pay for a jug of wine, a meal and beer to drink. Three scoundrels have stolen his purse at The Pink Grotto.”

“Ah! Three scoundrels,” Filthy Rich repeated, emphasizing each word. “I say, this city is teeming with scoundrels. And where is the venerable merchant Filthy Rich right now, if I may ask?”

“Where could he be? At the west bazaar, of course,” the goat replied with a sniff.

“Adler,” Filthy Rich said in a dire tone. “Don't ask any questions. Find me a very heavy and solid cane from somewhere. I'm going to the west bazaar, but I can't go without that cane. There are too many scoundrels and thieves over there.”

“A cane, you say? That can be arranged. But something continues to nag at me, Filthy Rich. I will not ask any questions. I will not ask, but I will only guess, and you will confirm or deny my suppositions, all right?”

“Guess away.”

“That rancid fish oil, the rose essence, the wax and the bowls, the damned cotton cord, it's nothing but a ploy to divert the competition's attention from the cochineal pigment and the mimosa and confuse the market, isn't it, Rich?”

The office door opened to admit goat without a hat.

“Oxen reports: everything is ready!” it pealed loudly. “He asks if we can pour!”

“Pour!” bawled Filthy Rich. “Pour immediately!”

“By Star Swirl, beard,” exclaimed Adler Vivaldi, after the goat had closed the door. “I don't understand! What's going on here? Pour what? Pour it into what?”

“I have no idea,” Filthy Rich admitted, “but business must go on.”