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“Let the Trial of the Pyx begin!” declares Bourse. Red-breasted guards march the defendant up the aisle to her bench. “Stole a double armful this time, eh? Gold twonies?”

The Pyx’s golden eyes saccade. “I claim sanctuary under the Exigencies Act of 1844!”

Bourse hits clerks with her gavel until they look that up. “‘Serving the interests of Queen and Motherland?'”

“Removing metal money from circulation! It’s archaic! An electronic credit-system would be far less problematic. I’m an agent du change! In a few years I could–”

“Be a billionaire?”

“Not,” says the Pyx nobly, “the kind who spends anything.”