Cam works on the screen flicker problem, determines it will be time-consuming, and in the meanwhile sets up an e-ink grid across his wall, where each of a few dozen screens can display something different and he can do things in massive parallel, or just queue up the first forty pages of a book and have the first one advanced from page 1 to 41 by the time he finishes reading the last. There is a curtain he can draw over the screens to prevent stray faery eyes from gathering debt.
He teaches his boyfriend's dad, and the son thereof, languages on the Bittorrent model. They can mostly sustain the hobby with their own surplus value once they have a good head of steam going and can entertain each other with the languages they're working on.
He fills orders. Fast bugs, conveniently small and normally behaved; things made of metal, of plastic, of anything the faeries like; writing with dead authors including the posthumous works of various Limboites; and of course food. Food food food. Apple tarts and malted Scotch and sushi rolls and rabbit hearts and butterscotch and donut holes, all arriving by pedestrian courier as far away as Aragon still as fresh as if they were made half an hour ago since in fact they were. Faeries sure like food.
Cam considers the ecology. Faery courts are small; faeries are small. They don't need food, just dew, and not much dew. They reproduce seldom... as they count time. Their burden on the food web should be light.
But they do like food. They do want food. And even without Cam they can get it. They have to police their borders for anyone trying to take anything. Not just mushrooms and nuts and berries - firewood, medicinal herbs, pretty rocks. They have obstacles to hunting but nothing actually stops them from throwing a net around a bird in flight and dropping a rock on it to suffocate it, even if they can't shoot it. They can't smoke a beehive but they don't have to, they can walk in, tiny and too fast to see, carrying buckets. They can go to an orchard full of pears and over the course of a leisurely several years from their perspective pluck and eat every single one before a human eye, let alone hand, catches it at being ripe.
They have not yet driven bees extinct. Enough human staples require more cooking than they're capable of that they probably haven't made a big dent in the human food supply even if they've destroyed some orchards that happen to be convenient to courts. But in Cam's future there is such a thing as a wild blackberry, people plant plum groves, unattended nestboxes aren't ransacked for their potential meringues, and all this is true even in Ireland, which is supposed to be absolutely lousy with faeries. Is it just careful land management?
Careful land management by a people who even where literate do not have records of the time when currently old humans were children? By a people whose understanding of theft is mediated entirely by their sense of debt, which understands a slow human's field of vegetables as, maybe not prime real estate - too highly trafficked for paths and therefore for residences - but certainly fair game for what might generously be called gleaning. By a people who would see the consequences of their consumption in a thousand years, if at all.
By a people who number some twenty billion.
Cam remarks to his boyfriend's father, "Your estimate is twenty billion faeries in the world, right? - how long have there been twenty billion faeries?"