“What about people who can’t afford to buy your sunlight?” asked Blood-Axe. “Not everyone in Egilsstaðir is as well-off as we farmers.”

“Blood-Axe, you surprise me!” said Jón. “Have you suddenly grown a heart?”

Blood-Axe frowned. “I’m only asking.”

“I suppose the town could subsidize some light for the poor, if you feel like paying more taxes,” said Jón. “But just between you and me, I think the people who work hardest to make this town what it is—and are rightfully enjoying the fruits of their success—are just a bit more deserving than the indolent slobs who don’t contribute. Why should this town’s most precious natural resource be given away for free to its laziest residents? Don’t those people have the same opportunities to succeed as the rest of us? If they don’t have money to buy sunlight, they have no one to blame but themselves. Who knows, maybe they’ll find living in darkness motivating.”

Blood-Axe’s eyes widened a little. “Why, if I didn’t know better, Jón Jónsson, I’d swear you were running for parliament.”

“Now you’re the one who’s being funny!” said Jón. “No, no, I’m just a humble businessman. So, do we have a deal?”

“I’ll have to take it up with the farmers’ union,” said Blood-Axe, and he went away shaking his head and chuckling.

The farmers’ union loved the idea. Before it could be implemented, though, the town elders had to vote on it. They were sharply divided, so the night before the vote, Jón visited the home of each elder and gave them purses filled with gold coins. They were received without objection, with one exception.

“I don’t accept bribes,” said Bjarni Bjarnason, the eldest elder.

“I wouldn’t dream of offering you a bribe!” said Jón. “This bag of coins is part of my municipal leadership revenue-sharing initiative.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Bjarni said with an imperious sneer. “And I suppose it’s coincidence that you happen to be implementing this the very night before we vote on your proposal?”

“Pure coincidence,” said Jón, smiling innocently.

“I’m sure,” said Bjarni. He looked like he’d eaten a sour piece of fruit.

Jón shifted the purse from one hand to another. “My, it gets heavy,” said Jón, shaking his free hand as if it ached. “Gold, you know.”

Bjarni’s eyes darted to the Jón’s coin purse. “You must think I have no morals at all,” he said.

“Not at all, sir. I think you’re as honorable as they come.”

“Good—then get off my property!” Bjarni shouted. “And leave that under my elderberry bush on your way out,” he whispered.

“Yes, sir,” said Jón.

The measure passed unanimously, and right away Jón began harvesting Egilsstaðir’s light and selling it back to its residents. The endeavor was sufficiently complex that he had to hire an assistant—someone to collect payments and keep track of who wanted how much light and where, while Jón spent his days scooping sunlight from the sky and distributing it to those who had paid him.