Eventually I decided to unpack. It didn’t take long. While my suitcase was large it was still only a suitcase’s worth of possessions, and it wasn’t a struggle to find a home for everything. It was about mid-afternoon by then but my body, working on a skewed time frame, was not yet hungry. I had some light reading to do while I waited for my body to decide it was time for a meal, as someone had left some literature in my dorm room. There was a book titled Money Maketh the Man, a collection of assorted writings and essays by Jeremiah Guyard. I already knew the book well and had studied it religiously. In addition, there was a pamphlet titled What to do when you know the world is wrong. It was small and seemed to be the sort that would be passed out to people on the street, inviting them to come to one of the Church of Mammon’s many meeting houses. Leaving this in my room seemed like a wasted effort considering I was already a member of the Church of Mammon. The final piece of literature was more helpful, a small booklet with a far drier title: Church of Mammon Headquarters New Starter Information. While possibly the least interesting read of the three, it did include a map of the campus. It also wasn’t a particularly long read so, when I’d read as much as I wanted to about the minutiae of claiming Divitaetion expenses, I decided to go for a wander. I took the booklet with me, just in case I couldn’t find my way back to my room.

My wandering didn’t take me far, and I ended up sat in the courtyard. It was a little busier now than before, as a small army of people crossed it. Most looked like they were leaving for the day. Not everyone working at the headquarters of the Church of Mammon were acolytes like me, and therefore didn’t live at the headquarters. My stomach grumbled. Evidently it was time to eat, so I went to the dining hall Isambard had mentioned earlier. As I went to open the door it opened itself towards me. I stepped back to avoid it and a short woman came out.

Verity Pour.

“Oh hello.” She said in her still surprising accent. Before I could say anything, I heard a loud rumbling. Verity looked away.

“Did you not just eat?” I asked.

“No I…” Verity refused to look me in the eye. “I don’t have any money.” Ah, she didn’t have an identity card yet. The dining hall was open to all workers in the headquarters of the Church of Mammon but acolytes living at the headquarters received their meals for free. Since Verity had no dollars and no identity card, the food, which I could smell from the door, was unobtainable. I thought for a few moments. I wasn’t sure I wanted to trouble myself with this woman’s problems, but I did have a few questions for her. Questions such as why Tom Beckman was so interested in her, far more interested than he was in me apparently.

“Come with me.” I said, “I’ll talk to the staff.” Verity re-entered the dining hall and I followed after her and carried on deeper in. Along one of the longer walls of the hall were a number of stations, manned by various people and serving various foodstuffs. I picked up a tray and Verity followed suit. We picked our food. Verity took a while to decide. Actually it was more like she was debating whether she wanted to accept my generosity, and it was very generous of me to help her like this, so I didn’t rush her. Eventually she made her selection and I took her to the end of the hall where a small line was forming to pay or, as was more likely for acolytes, simply register what they had taken. When it was my turn I motioned for Verity to follow me. I showed the man at the register my card, which he scanned.

“Also,” I nodded towards Verity, “She doesn’t have an identity card yet. Can you put her meal on my account.”

“Actually sir,” the man at the register smiled apologetically, “You identity card hasn’t been registered to work here yet.” I suppressed the panic that statement inspired.

“What? But it works for the doors!”

“It’s a different system sir. I’m sorry but you’ll have to pay normally for today.” I sighed and took out my credit card.

Slightly poorer than I was a minute or so before, I walked off to find a place to sit. Verity continued to follow me. Isambard had called this room the dining hall but it was closer to a canteen. It wasn’t much larger than the one back at the London headquarters. Still the food looked good, which was important because I was going to be eating it every day for the foreseeable future. I found a free seat, the room wasn’t too crowded, and sat down. Verity hovered awkwardly. I waved a hand to the seat opposite me and, after a moment more spent fretting, she sat in it.

“Thank you.” She said softly.

“You’re welcome.” I said. I’d have to speak to someone about getting my identity card registered for the dining hall and, more importantly right now, I’d have to make sure to remember to claim this on expenses when I could.

But I had more immediate issues to address, namely the short woman sat in front of me.

“So why is Tom Beckman so interested in you?” I asked. Perhaps demanded would be a better word for it, because Verity flinched when I asked her that.

“He’s going to be teaching me… Divitaetion.” she said, still softly.

Tom Beckman was going to be teaching her? But he was far too important to be wasting his time teaching someone the basics of Divitaetion! If he was going to be teaching anyone then his time would be far better spent training someone far more advanced, like me! Me, the person who had been transferred halfway across the globe to study under him!

Verity hesitantly began to eat as I fumed internally.

“Why is he teaching you? What makes you so special?” I voiced the questions that had been swirling around inside me ever since I’d seen her.

Verity had something in her mouth and continued to chew. Eventually she swallowed.

“He thinks that I’m important.” she said, and then a couple of seconds later, “And Richard Guyard seems to agree.”

“You’re lying.” I said on reflex. For the first time Verity looked up and dead into my eyes. She wasn’t lying, but that just raised further questions! “You met Grand Elder Guyard?” Verity nodded. “What is he like?” My curiosity surpassed my indignation. Verity finished another mouthful.

“Friendly.” She concluded, and took another bite. Honestly I’d been hoping for more information. “Please…” she spoke again, this time without prompting from me. “This is all so new to me…” At that I relented. There would be time later to work out this woman’s secrets. I began to eat my own food.

“Your accent…” I began again, “You’re not from around here are you?”

“No,” Verity shook her head, “I’m from Warrington.” I’d never heard of it. “It’s between Liverpool and Manchester.” she explained. I had heard of them.

“I’m from London.” I offered, “Well actually I was born in Kent, but I spent most of my life studying at the Church of Mammon in London.”

“Most of your life?” Verity echoed. “You spent all that time studying Divitaetion?” I considered my answer.

“Not exactly. I began studying at the Church of Mammon when I was…” I tried to remember, “five, but that was just ordinary studies, like a boarding school.” Exactly like a boarding school actually. Based on the booklet left in my room the headquarters here in Los Angeles didn’t have a school attached to it like the one in London. There probably was a similar institution in the city, but elsewhere. “We learnt all the basics there: maths, economics, accounting…”

“That’s an unusual curriculum.” Verity commented. “For a five year old.”

Was it? They all seemed pretty important to me.

“Anyway, not everyone who studied at the Church of Mammon as a child went on to study Divitaetion.”

“So who got to study Divitaetion?”

I stopped to consider my answer.

“Those who were worthy.” I said.

“I’ve been hearing that word a lot here…” Verity looked pensive. “Worthy… you all just mean rich, right?”

“Not rich…” Another thing I had studied from a young age were the teachings of Jeremiah Guyard. To an outsider it would certainly seem that the Church of Mammon worshipped money, but they were missing the true beauty of its teachings. “Those who are worthy are those who can be trusted to use the gifts of Mammon well.”

“And by gifts you mean money.”

“Of course, it is the gift from Mammon that gives order to the world and grants us our amazing powers.” This woman was persistent “Or are you one of those hypocrites who claim that money doesn’t matter?” I chuckled slightly. I’d heard many pithy phrases over the years. Money can’t buy happiness. It’s better to give than to receive. Can’t buy me love. All of them were lies peddled by a world that couldn’t bear to face the truth.

“Of course it matters…” Verity murmured. “Do you think I’d choose to be poor?” There was a long silence. I couldn’t say anything in the face of Verity’s expression. I could barely look her in the eye. We did not speak after that. I finished my food and stood up. As I walked away I heard Verity murmur “Thank you” again.

I did not respond.

I was sat on my new bed staring at the television on the wall. It wasn’t on. I was replaying the conversation with Verity in my head over and over again. I couldn’t get that look on her face out of my head. For a moment there she had been filled with grief and anger in a way I’m not sure I’d ever seen before. There was a depth to the sadness in those eyes that I couldn’t fathom.

But people suffered all the time. People went without all the time. That was the order of the world. There could not be those who have without there being those who have not. That was the gift Mammon had given humanity in the form of money. With that we had an order. We knew who was worthy because they had much worth. No matter how much they suffered, if someone was wanting then it was because they were not worthy. If they were worthy then they would claw their way out of that situation by any means necessary, right?

I’d heard these words of wisdom over and over again for many years, and had repeated them to myself, in some form or another, just as often.

And yet that evening they didn’t bring me much comfort, as Verity’s face continued to float around my head.