## Chapter 441 - The Roof Is Still Leaking

The Reed and Wheel key changed hands for the last time the morning after Lethira's assessment.

Caswick turned the little iron key once between her fingers and checked the room entry in her ledger. The common room was between useful hours: breakfast had thinned, lunch had not begun, and one carter near the window was making bread and cheese last longer than either deserved.

"That's everything," Lethira said. "We're done with the room."

Caswick drew a line through what remained of the booking and put the key aside. "Good luck with the roof."

Lethira smiled. The Reed and Wheel remained an inn they liked, and Caswick remained Caswick. The difference was smaller than the iron key suggested: no room upstairs was theirs now.

Outside, low cloud had gathered over Merrowford. The first rain found her before she reached the western gate: light, cold drops that darkened the road without yet softening it. By the time the old tree near the entrance to the holding came into view, the rain had settled into something patient.

The house sat beneath the mature trees as it had on every viewing, low pale-grey stone and dark timber under a roof that had disclosed its faults before sale and now felt no obligation to be embarrassed by them.

Lethira unlocked the front door and went in.

The temporary pieces from their first day were still doing their jobs downstairs: table, chairs, lamps. The broad hearth remained cold under Vale's warning about the chimney. Upstairs, the south-west room announced the weather with a small wet tap.

Lethira followed the sound.

A bead of water had gathered at the old stain. It swelled while she watched, released and struck the bare floorboard below. Another began forming in the same place.

"Yes," Lethira told the ceiling. "We know."

She went downstairs, took one of the temporary kitchen bowls and put it under the drip. The next drop landed inside with a quieter sound. She checked the surrounding plaster with her fingertips, then the wall below. The wetness still matched what Vale had found: local, inconvenient, and no more dramatic for now than the roof had promised.

Rain continued through the afternoon. Lethira walked the outside of the house while it was falling, because water had become more informative than another dry inspection. Runoff reached the ground where she expected. The lower corner of the holding grew wetter. The stream beyond the rear room found a little more voice. She did not climb a wet roof to confirm that roofs were high.

By the time she came back in, the bowl had caught five drops.

On a scrap of paper she wrote four words in Common.

**roof**

**chimney**

**broom**

**bucket**

The first two had already cost them professional opinions. The last two had become urgent only after Lethira had walked half the lane into the entrance hall on her boots and borrowed one of their eating bowls as building equipment.

She wiped the floor with an old cloth, checked the back door after a gust pressed rain against it, and left the rest alone. The bowl tapped occasionally upstairs. By late afternoon she had learned everything the rain was going to tell her without taking the roof apart.

---

The rain passed during the night.

By morning the surface of the damp stain had begun to dry, while Merrowford's tradespeople remained entirely available to discuss the fact that it would become wet again.

Lethira took Vale's written note into town. At the records-and-contract shop, the same grey-haired intermediary who had handled the sale read the roof and chimney lines, then gave her the names of two local roof crews and a chimney cleaner. She did not offer another inspection or a philosophy of ownership. She simply told Lethira which crew was likely to take a small western-road job soon and which one was booked nearly a week ahead.

Lethira spoke to both roofers before deciding anything.

The first wanted to patch the visible leak, wait for the next rain and see what happened. Lethira thanked him for his time and left. Vale had already told them where that path went.

The second crew could inspect that afternoon. The roofer who came to the holding was a compact human woman with weather-reddened hands, accompanied by a younger man who carried the ladder and most of the tools. She read Vale's note before asking to see the damp room. Upstairs, she crouched beside the stain, looked at the wall, then went outside and studied the south-west roof from the open rising ground.

"I'm going up," she said. "No reason for you to."

"I wasn't planning to compete with the person I'm considering paying."

The roofer gave her a brief look, apparently decided this was satisfactory customer behaviour, and climbed.

The inspection took longer than the conversation afterward. The visible trouble stayed where Vale had placed it. The south-west section had reached the point where another local patch would buy inconvenience, not a repair. The covering needed to come up across the affected area. Damaged pieces could be replaced; the structure beneath would be checked as it was exposed; anything softened or unsound would be shown before the scope grew.

The trees complicated access. One of the bank-stabilising trees would have made staging easier if cut back.

"Those are restricted," Lethira said. "Work around them."

The roofer looked at the ground again, changed where she intended to stage from, and moved on.

Lethira paid for the inspection and reserved the next sensible dry-weather slot for the proper south-west repair. If opening the roof exposed a larger problem, the crew would stop and show her before adding work. A fixed price for hidden damage interested her less than seeing what the opening actually revealed.

The chimney cleaner came later.

Lethira had kept the hearth cold. He spread old cloth around it, examined the flue from below, went outside to look at the stack against the roofline and trees, then returned with soot already on one wrist.

"Heavy high up," he said. "Something loose as well. Mortar, likely. I'll know when it comes down. Pot's low for the roof and trees, but clean first. No point blaming wind for what soot can manage on its own."

"Clean it first," Lethira said. "Then test it. If you still dislike the top, tell me what you would change."

He booked the cleaning for the following morning and chalked a small mark on the hearthstone to remind anyone tempted by an evening fire that it was still waiting for him.

When the door closed, Lethira stood in the front room with Vale's note, a roofing agreement, a chimney appointment and the peculiar satisfaction of having paid several people to tell her that the house remained exactly as imperfect as advertised.

Then she went back into town for a broom.

The broom led to a bucket, two cleaning cloths and a length of line. None required consultation. The broom was straight. The bucket held water when the seller demonstrated it. The cloths were cloths. Lethira paid and tied the smaller purchases together.

She was taking the western market road back when an awning full of furniture delayed her.

The joiner's yard stood open to the street. Tables occupied the deep shelter at the front: some pale with new work, others darkened by years of hands, meals and whatever had been placed on them by people who had not expected the marks to become part of a future sales pitch.

Lethira stopped.

A man working a plane at the back of the yard looked up, wiped his hands and came over. Sawdust had settled into the lines beside his nails beyond washing.

"Dining table?"

"Eventually."

His eyes moved to the broom over her shoulder. "Starting smaller."

"The roof is ahead of the table in the household hierarchy. The broom has achieved immediate promotion."

He accepted this and asked about the room.

Lethira had not brought exact measurements because she had not intended to buy furniture. She could describe the kitchen and front room well enough to eliminate anything absurdly large. The first table he showed her was new, rectangular and well made. Four people could sit at it generously. Six would fit when needed. Its joints were clean, its top broad, its surface almost unmarked.

She pressed one corner, checked the legs and ran a hand over the edge.

Good table.

Nothing in her wanted to take it home.

The second was narrower and older. One stretcher had been replaced with newer wood. A long shallow scar crossed one end of the top, too deep to sand away without changing the whole surface.

Lethira leaned against it. Nothing moved.

"What happened there?"

The joiner followed her finger. "Came out of an eating house near the ferry road. Closed last winter. Seller said cleaver. Seller wasn't there when it happened."

"So the table has an unverified heroic past."

He looked at the scar. "The table has a cut in it."

That improved the table considerably.

The third stood on trestles and could be taken apart easily. Practical. Handsome enough. Lethira imagined coming downstairs half-awake and finding the same table where it had been the night before, then returned to the repaired one.

She ran her fingers along the replacement stretcher.

"How long will you hold this?"

"Until tomorrow afternoon without money. Longer with a deposit."

"Tomorrow afternoon is enough."

He marked the underside of one corner with chalk rather than drawing across the visible top.

Lethira stepped away before liking it became ownership by momentum.

The chairs were more difficult. A row of them occupied one wall inside the yard. The joiner told her to sit rather than judge them by their backs, which was sensible and therefore irritating. The first put her knees slightly too high. The second had carving exactly where her shoulder blades objected. The third was comfortable for half a minute and then pressed behind her legs.

The sixth was plain, broad enough through the seat and angled gently through the back. Lethira settled into it and found no immediate reason to move.

"That one fits you," the joiner said.

"Yes. Which is inconvenient, because I'm not buying one chair for a two-person house."

She stood, checked the joints, and asked whether others could be made to the same pattern and height.

"Yes. Same pattern. Wood won't promise to look identical."

"Ian still needs to sit in it."

"Bring him."

Lethira wrote down the price for a set and which chair had fit her. She did not buy it.

At another yard she found chairs she liked more and tables she liked less. A second-hand stall near the market had a small cupboard with sound shelves, doors that closed properly and handles carved like leaves. The handles were a little too pleased with themselves.

Lethira liked them anyway.

She left the cupboard there too.

By late afternoon she had accumulated a broom, bucket, cloth, line, a roof booking, a chimney appointment, three table possibilities, several chair notes and an unreasonable opinion about leaf-shaped cupboard handles.

The lane had dried at the edges by the time she reached home.

The broom went against the entrance wall and immediately earned its keep. The bucket replaced the kitchen bowl upstairs. Downstairs, the temporary table acquired the repair papers and furniture notes.

Lethira sat with them for a while before she involved Ian.

The roof work was already arranged. The chimney cleaner would come. The house had required those choices from whichever owner happened to be dealing with them, and Lethira had no interest in turning every necessary repair into a meeting.

The permanent furniture was different. They had already agreed, on the first day they owned the place, that the temporary things would be replaced by objects they chose rather than by another exercise of power.

She spread the three table notes out.

"I have arranged the chimney cleaning, held the proper roof work for the next good dry window, bought us a broom and promoted a bucket to roof duty. I also found a table I like and, with extraordinary restraint, did not buy it."

Her finger rested on the note for the older repaired table.

"There are three worth seeing. One is new and sensible. One is old, solid and has a scar somebody claims came from a cleaver. The third comes apart easily and is probably the practical choice. I found chairs separately, because apparently chairs are vindictive."

She looked at the temporary table beneath the papers.

"We said we'd choose the real things together. So tell me, my love—do you want to start with the tables, or the chairs?"

"Tables. It's the main piece; the rest has to conform in some fashion."

Lethira's eyes went back to the three notes. She slid the new table's note aside first.

"This one is well made. I don't want it."

The trestle table followed after a little more consideration. It could be dismantled and moved easily, which was a virtue in many lives and not one she particularly wanted from the centre of this room.

The repaired table remained.

"This is the one I kept going back to. The cleaver story may be nonsense. I like that somebody repaired the stretcher properly and left the scar alone."

She tapped the price. "The joiner is holding it until tomorrow afternoon. Do you want to see it before we decide?"

"Only so I can help decide on the chairs. It sounds like my Lady has exercised table authority."

Ian smiled at her.

Lethira regarded him over the paper, then drew a short line through the other two notes.

"Table authority," she said, testing the title. "Fine. I accept the office."

The repaired table stayed in the centre of the page.

"I'll tell him tomorrow. And the scar stays. If the table has managed to survive an eating house, a cleaver of uncertain historical reliability and a replaced stretcher, I'm not buying it in order to make it look unused."

She gathered the discarded notes into a stack.

"The chairs actually require you. I can tell whether they're sound and whether I like sitting in them. Your knees are your own jurisdiction."

She pulled out the note for the plain chair at the first yard. "I have a favourite."

"Unless you're going to sit on my lap each time to support extensive testing, I'll just test the one you like and unless I hate it we'll just get a few the same if this world supports consistency?"

Amusement moved slowly across Lethira's face. She looked down at the chair note before answering.

"The joiner can make the same pattern again. Same height, same proportions, same construction. The grain will differ, and hand work will leave small differences. I don't think either of us needs six chairs that could be mistaken for one another in darkness."

She folded the note once. "You try the one I liked. If you hate it, we keep looking. If you don't, six gives us room for guests."

Ian glanced briefly at whatever of Lethira's behind was visible, contemplating lap sitting for a moment.

"Would you want all 6 chairs out all the time? I think 4 is fine, so we need to have somewhere to keep the other 2. Probably not an issue for today."

Lethira caught the direction of the glance. One ear angled towards him, but she said nothing as she sketched the table as a rectangle and put four small marks around it.

"Four out. Two available. I don't want six chairs permanently arranged as though we're waiting for a council meeting."

The upstairs narrow room was a poor answer. Carrying chairs up and down the steep stair whenever friends came would convert hospitality into a recurring test of balance, and Lethira did not intend to furnish the possible guest room with spare dining chairs before it had a proper bed.

She looked towards the stair, then across the downstairs rooms. The permanent table would settle more than a sketch could.

"We can see what space is left once the table is here. If two can sit against a wall without becoming obstacles, good. If not, we find somewhere sensible."

Her pencil paused over the note.

"Ordering six together would give the joiner the best chance of matching the wood as well as the pattern."

"Let's buy six. You're strong enough to carry two in one hand and me in the other probably, and if we're entertaining nightly we can always change our minds."

"Anything else to consult your attendant/aide/apprentice on?"

One eyebrow rose at *probably*.

"Of those three titles, aide is the only one Merrowford has put on paper. Attendant is self-inflicted. Apprentice currently means you survived one onion."

She turned over another sheet and wrote six beside the chair note.

"Six. Four living at the table, two wherever the house permits them to behave."

The other household questions had accumulated without becoming urgent. Lethira brought out a shorter list: cupboard, lamps, bedroom, bathhouse.

"The cupboard is not urgent. I found one with leaf-shaped handles and have given myself until tomorrow to decide whether I still like them when they aren't directly in front of me."

She pointed lower. "The lamps are temporary at present. The bedroom is usable, but I don't want the temporary bed becoming permanent because replacing it requires thought. And the bathhouse is still only an idea attached to the old outbuilding footprint. I haven't inspected that properly since the purchase."

Ian made a small glowing light orb float above their heads.

"Lamps are not a priority."

Ian smiled.

Lethira looked up at the little sphere washing steady light across the ceiling, then struck **lamps** through on the list.

"Agreed. Permanent lamps can lose the race."

"Bathhouse feels like an adventure with my stages, whereas bed is something we use every day. And we use it now, so it is the priority."

Lethira put the pencil beside **bedroom**.

"Bed first. That outbuilding has been down for three winters. A future bathhouse can wait until we've found somewhere we actually want to sleep."

The temporary bed had proved the room could take something broad enough for both; a permanent frame and mattress had to fit the room as it stood.

Lethira turned the paper over and began with the practical parts she already knew.

"Solid frame. Room underneath to clean. Quiet enough that ordinary movement doesn't announce itself downstairs. I don't want enormous carving for the sake of proving somebody could afford a forest."

She glanced towards the stair. "And it needs to leave us actual walking room. How large do you want it?"

"Large enough to accommodate a stretching elf without casting me out, small enough that I'm never too far from you."

"The house is not a palace, it does not need to test my focal range from one side to the other."

Lethira's pencil hovered over the blank page. Her smile came and went before she drew a rough rectangle.

"That I can work with."

The bedroom had two windows, the stream audible beyond one side, and enough space for storage that did not yet exist. She pictured the temporary bed there, then something made to remain.

"Broad enough that I can stretch without declaring war. Narrow enough that reaching for you doesn't become navigation."

She adjusted the rectangle slightly.

"Do you care about a headboard?"

"I think a headboard is sensible. I also know where ultimate authority lies."

One eyebrow rose.

Lethira wrote **headboard**, then beneath it **not ridiculous**.

"The authority appears to lie with the person holding the pencil."

She set the pencil down. A headboard made practical sense if they wanted to sit against it. She wanted one that did not tower above the bed or put decorative carving where shoulders would meet it. More importantly, she wanted a frame whose joints could survive being a bed, not merely being admired as furniture.

"We should look at finished ones first," she said. "Old ones if they're sound. If everything with history is also cracked, loose or full of insects, then we have one made."

"If we can find one with character, let's do that, if not, get one made."

"Good. Old first. Not merely old."

She wrote that down.

There was enough room in Merrowford to spend a day discovering that age and character were not synonyms. Lethira had no intention of carrying home a failing frame because a seller knew how to describe wormholes romantically.

She folded the bed note once.

"One thing before... Do you want any Elven furniture? I'm human. But not this human, so don't feel the need to meet my aesthetic needs. I'm very taken with the Elf aesthetic..."

Lethira left the paper beneath her hand.

"The Elf aesthetic is doing considerable work in that sentence. Wood Elf is specific. I know what our furniture looks like. If you mean every kind of Elf at once, I wouldn't know what to show you."

Her attention moved through the front room. The stone and timber were human work, and she liked the scarred table partly because it had already belonged to Merrowford before it belonged to them.

"But I know what you mean. And yes. I want some Wood Elf work here."

Her fingers settled on the bed note.

"The table stays. If we don't find an old bed frame we both want, I'd rather ask a carpenter from the settlement to make one than ask someone here to imitate work they haven't grown up making. Maybe a chest later. Shelves. I don't think I can explain the difference properly without showing you."

Ian looked her up and down.

"I definitely like the Wood Elf look and feel."

Lethira went still for half a heartbeat. One eyebrow lifted; one hand settled against her hip.

"That was not furniture."

A beat passed.

"I'll accept it."

She put the bed note on top of the stack and gathered the papers together.

"Tomorrow we claim the table, you sit in my chair, and we look for a bed with a past that hasn't compromised its joints. If that fails, I know where I want the replacement made."

She stood. "For today, I want to check the damp room before dinner."

"Lead on."

Lethira took the steep stair first.

The bucket sat beneath the old stain. No fresh water stood in the bottom. The plaster overhead remained discoloured, the wet edge from the previous day's rain fading back towards the older mark.

Lethira crouched beside it and touched the wall. Dry at the surface.

"At least it knows how to stop when the rain does."

The room had no other permanent purpose yet. The bucket occupied the middle of the floor with the solemn importance of the only object bought specifically for it.

"Before that, I could do a little omnipotence and make the bucket never need emptying to save on housework?"

Lethira looked at the bucket, then towards the outside wall.

"Maybe. Where does the water go?"

"Put the water where it would go anyway. Not sure where you empty it to, but there."

Ian smiled.

"Outside," Lethira said. "Downhill side, away from the wall. That's where I'd throw it."

She put one finger against the bucket partway up.

"Let it fill to here first. I want to see whether we're catching a few drops or half a roof. Once it reaches that mark, empty it to the same patch of ground I would use. After the repair, it becomes a normal bucket again."

She sat back on her heels.

"That saves carrying water without hiding the leak. Do that."

It was done.

"It is done. Now to dry plaster."

Lethira's eyes rose to the stain.

"Careful."

She stood and touched the plaster again. The surface was already dry.

"If you mean changing the evidence before the roof is opened, I'd rather not. Soft plaster, damaged timber, mould—if any of that is there, she should find it as it is."

"I don't want to interfere with that. It's not saving one of us carrying a bucket, which is a bit dull. I could extract the moisture, but is it a big issue?"

"No."

Lethira tested the wall once more, then left it alone.

"It's dry at the surface, the leak isn't pouring through, and the roof crew is coming. We can let this be a damp patch until then."

Lethira looked down at the new bucket and shook her head.

"Unlimited power, and the household miracle is a bucket that empties itself after we learn how much the roof leaks."

"Good. That's excellent house progress for one day, I think."

Ian hugged her.

Lethira folded into the embrace, arms settling around his back. The room smelled faintly of drying plaster and old timber.

"It is," she said against him.

For a while she stayed there. When she drew back, she glanced once at the stain and then towards the stairs.

"I'm done with roofs for today."

She went downstairs to make dinner.

Lethira made something quick from what was already in the kitchen while the glowing orb still lit the room. Outside, evening settled beneath the trees; the stream moved through the dark beyond the back of the house, and the hearth remained cold under the chimney cleaner's chalk mark.

She set two bowls on the temporary table and pushed the roof agreement and furniture notes clear of the food.

Then she raised her voice through the house.

"Dinner."