## Chapter 468 — Work Before Adventure

Morning lay warm over the Lifegiver's garden. The stream moved beside the beds, and the climbing vine by the path had been tied back with ordinary cord. One bed leaned around an old root. Another carried a line of seedlings whose spacing would have offended the Lifegiver of an earlier season. She was digging when Ian appeared. A stubborn root crossed the bed beneath her spade. For a moment her attention sharpened in the old way, the whole problem available to be made compliant. Then she shifted her grip and dug around it. Ian smiled at her and walked over to embrace her, pausing to check she was all right with it. The Lifegiver straightened, dirt on her hands and one knee, and gave him a small nod before opening her arms. He hugged her.

"How's my favourite fertility goddess doing?"

"Favourite?" She looked at him over his shoulder. "I had not realised I was competing."

The embrace remained warm and brief enough to belong to both of them. When they separated, she wiped one hand against her working clothes and looked back towards the half-dug bed.

"Reasonably well. My sister answered. She says the road is hers, she is choosing to continue it, and we are not to search for her." Her mouth tightened. "Our brother received the same instruction. He criticised my drainage afterward, which I assume means he survived hearing the word *no*."

Ian let the embrace loosen fully.

"Rude, as expected. I'm glad your sister reached out, I assume you gathered I met her?"

"I gathered that you reached her. I did not decide for myself whether she invited you, whether you annoyed her, or whether she needed you. She omitted those parts."

She wanted the missing pieces; she did not invent them. Ian explained.

"I was not invited. I sat before her next road and waited for her. She then asked me to join her, as an invisible observer, as she walked one of her previous paths—both the way she chose and the way not chosen." He paused. "I don't know if I helped, but I think briefly being there did. I did restock her apple supply."

The Lifegiver's face changed first at the apples.

"Of course you did."

She planted the spade and rested both hands on its handle.

The Lifegiver shifted one hand on the spade. "And you supplied apples because apparently divine uncertainty now requires provisions."

Ian went on.

"I think she was struggling a bit with the fact that sometimes her choices had no measurable difference in outcome to the alternative, even if she looked generations down. My attempt at helping was to say: you are the keeper of ways, not the chooser of ways." He smiled at her. "I was quite pleased with that. Your sister got it, I think. It wasn't a magic phrase to fix everything, though."

He hugged her again.

"I think she'll be fine."

The Lifegiver accepted the second embrace, though this one she ended first.

"*Keeper, not chooser* is irritatingly good," she said. "It also sounds like the sort of phrase one could spend a century using badly."

She bent to retrieve the spade.

"I will settle for walking, choosing and possessing apples. *Fine* can wait until she says it herself."

"Now it's time to put your mortal slave to work in the harsh fields of life." He smiled at her. "And we can talk whilst we do, and maybe there'll be chocolate."

"Slave is inaccurate. Debtor is available, with an offensively generous schedule." The Lifegiver indicated the next stretch with the spade. "And these are not harsh fields. They are three beds with stones in them. I could remove every stone by deciding they were elsewhere. I am choosing to find them personally objectionable instead."

She handed him the second spade.

"Chocolate may improve working conditions. It will not reduce the debt."

"I do not really consider myself a slave." Ian nudged her shoulder with his. He got to work beside her, and for most of the first bed they simply worked. Stone came up. Roots did not cooperate. The soil beneath the surface had compacted more than it appeared from above, and the old root forced them to make the bed slightly crooked.

Towards the end of it, conversation returned between the sounds of metal entering earth. The Lifegiver watched Ian lever out a flat stone and said, "You have a house now in a world where almost anything practical could be made easier by wanting it. I am curious which things you still choose to do badly."

"I enjoy the simple things. It's less complicated, it's warm and loving. I have been quite restrained on just willing everything I want." Ian smiled at her. "I did summon a hairbrush, though." His baldness made the beneficiary of that obvious. "My relationship with power is, I imagine, quite different from that of someone born into it and possessing knowledge and sight that I don't directly have. But you seem to enjoy this work?"

The Lifegiver looked at the root they had failed to persuade into a straight line.

"Some of it. I dislike stones. I dislike bending badly and discovering the complaint in my back is entirely deserved. I particularly dislike roots which have arranged themselves without consulting the bed I later intended to put above them."

She drove the spade in beside the root and used her weight instead of authority.

"But I dug this. The ground did not become correct because I was present. That is… useful."

A strand of dark hair had fallen across her face. Ian brushed it back behind her ear.

"I don't know how that must be, given what you are. For me, brushing her hair, doing simple things grounds me compared to this limitless power I have in this reality. I need it, I think. It might be different for you, but it still sounds like it's good."

The Lifegiver was quiet long enough that the next sound was Ian's spade entering the soil.

"It is different," she said at last. "I never had a life in which the world could refuse me because I was merely too small to move it."

She nudged the old root with one muddy boot.

"This can be wrong according to my plan without being wrong. I can leave it. I can work around it. I can be tired and continue tomorrow. I dislike several parts of that."

"I like some of them too."

"Then let's finish this bed, and start the next. Chocolate between bed two and three, I promise."

The Lifegiver gave him a suspicious look.

"That is a labour agreement I will enforce."

They finished the first bed and began the second. The Lifegiver had become better at not correcting Ian's work merely because she could make the line straighter. Once, she started to reach towards a clump of roots with more than her hands, stopped, swore softly in a language older than Common, and fetched the fork instead. When the second bed was far enough along to justify the promised break, he passed her a 100 g bar of dark chocolate infused with mild chilli pepper.

"Oh, the chocolate is for you, my goddess." Ian smiled.

The Lifegiver broke off a square and tasted it. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then heat arrived after the sweetness. She stared at the chocolate.

"This is extremely rude chocolate."

Another second passed.

"It waits until I have decided it is trustworthy."

She ate the rest of the square.

"I approve. The agreement may now be interpreted as permitting chocolate before the completion of bed two."

Ian laughed.

"I shall work on under such terrible conditions." He smiled at her.

They did. The second bed was worse than the first: more stones, a knot of roots and one patch of clay-heavy soil that clung to the spade in thick slabs. The Lifegiver preferred it. She did not say so immediately. She simply worked with more concentration. Ian glanced at the dirt, then at her, and realised he was lingering in his gaze a little. He refocused on the work. The Lifegiver noticed. Her attention travelled briefly down her own mud-marked clothes and back to him.

"I am covered in soil," she said. "I assume that has become fascinating."

Ian brushed some mud from her cheek and paused.

"Yes, the mud," he said, not sure how truthful he was being even with himself, and continued working.

The Lifegiver touched the cleaned patch with two fingers, looked at the dirt now on Ian's hand, and returned to the bed. Whatever else she might have thought, she did not make it a question. The third bed went faster. By then they stopped getting in one another's way. By the end, three new beds sat beside the older garden in different degrees of crooked competence, one diverted around the root they had both refused to remove.

"I enjoy this work, and the time with you, a lot."

The Lifegiver rested both hands on the top of her spade. Mud had dried in a line along one forearm.

"I enjoy you being here," she said. "Your value with a spade remains moderate."

Her mouth moved.

"That may be why I trust the claim."

She looked over the three beds rather than at him.

"You have come here when I was dangerous, when I was miserable, when I had questions. Today I had dirt. I would have had the dirt if you had stayed home."

She picked up the fork.

"I prefer that."

Ian handed her a glass of fizzy lemonade, chilled as if straight from a fridge, and made one for himself. He took a sip. The Lifegiver accepted hers and drank cautiously after the chilli chocolate. Bubbles caught her by surprise.

"Your people have found a way to make water argumentative."

She drank again.

"Sharp, sweet and cold. Better than it deserves to be."

"Yes, some things we do quite well. I assume your brother won't believe anything I say about your sister, but she was doing okay, I promise, and it is her choice, where she is, and each step down her path."

The Lifegiver turned the glass between her hands.

"He will believe that you said it. He may not believe the conclusion you attached to it."

Her expression tightened briefly at the thought of the Sun Father.

"He stopped searching when she told him not to. So did I. That matters more than whether either of us enjoyed stopping."

She took another drink.

"You saw her. She chose to bring you into one of the branches. She chose to answer us afterward. I have enough to leave her road alone."

"Sometimes you need two spades, sometimes just one."

The Lifegiver looked down at the two spades leaning against the bed.

"That is annoyingly applicable."

She tapped one handle with her foot.

"I have spent a very long time assuming that if I own the stronger spade, I should be the one digging."

She finished the lemonade instead. Ian put his hand on hers.

"You seem in good spirits. It's nice to see. If I see your sister again, I shall let you know, or she will."

The Lifegiver turned her hand beneath his until their palms met.

"Tell me if you see her. If she writes first, I will survive the insult."

Her eyes moved over the beds.

"And yes. Today is a good day. The garden helps. You help."

Then, with a faint return of old pride, "I would also have managed without you."

"That's the best way to be. Otherwise I'd become a cure, and I am unsure how you'd apply me to you if I were your medicine." Ian grinned.

The Lifegiver laughed.

"The dosage alone would be intolerable."

She withdrew her hand only to reach for the lemonade again.

"Company is simpler. Occasional labour. Suspicious chocolate. No prescription required."

Ian nodded and sat with her for a little while longer, slowly drinking his lemonade. They sat on the low edge beside the beds. The garden continued to need things neither of them did. A small insect landed on the rim of Ian's empty glass and left again. The stream kept its own direction. After a time, the Lifegiver said only, "This is nice." Ian stood.

"I have to return now, giver of life. But I'll come back, of course." He opened his arms.

The Lifegiver put down her glass and stepped into the offered embrace.

"I know," she said against his shoulder. "Go home to Lethira. I have enough garden to occupy me without my labourer."

Ian kissed her forehead and disappeared. For a moment the Lifegiver remained beside the empty space. Her fingers rose to the place he had kissed, then dropped again. She picked up Ian's empty glass, considered making it cease to exist, and instead set it beside the tools. Then she took up the spade and went to inspect the next bed.

---

At the western holding, Lethira's morning had begun with the first cart. The grass was still damp when it came through the northern turn. The smaller yard cart negotiated the mature trees exactly as the earthworker had predicted, its load of clean brown soil sitting low enough that neither wheel threatened the soft outer edge. Lethira watched from beside the marked bank while two workers walked the turn and a third guided the horse. The first load did not make a bank. It made a broad stain of new earth over the grass. That was correct. The crew spread it across the marked footprint, widened the base where the earthworker had moved her stakes, and compacted the layer before a second cart arrived. By the third load the shape had begun to emerge. By the fourth, Lethira had stopped feeling the need to watch every wheel. The old tree remained untouched. The stream-side ground remained untouched. The approach was scuffed but firm. One of the workers caught her checking the edge for the third time.

"Still beginner enough for you?"

Lethira looked at the low spread of earth.

"Almost disappointingly so."

The worker laughed and went back to the cart. Once the rhythm was established, Lethira left the crew with the warnings they had already heard and walked into Merrowford. The Guild board had changed only slightly since her last visit. The raised B-rank charcoal notice remained too far away to fit the afternoon she expected to share with Ian. A newer B notice sat lower on the board: repeated night damage at a mill south-east of town, sacks missing, boards torn, scraping beneath the shed and movement reported inside an old sluice-side culvert. The rank came less from the suspected animal than from the age and condition of the stonework around the old channel. Brannock supplied the rest when Lethira asked. The miller was Deren Vos. Damage had occurred on four nights out of six. Nobody had been hurt. No blood had been found. A blocked gap had been reopened from beneath. The last person sent to look at the culvert had heard movement inside and decided his inspection did not require crawling into unstable stone.

Lethira approved of him immediately.

"How far?"

"Most of a morning if you walk like an ordinary person," Brannock said, then looked at her. "So less for you."

Lethira left the notice where it was for the moment. She still had the house, the earthworks and an aide who had not yet returned.

"I may come back after midday."

Brannock's eyes narrowed. "Does he vote now?"

"On jobs he has to walk into, yes."

She bought bread on the way home, along with enough simple food to make lunch without turning the day into another market trip. The new bank had grown while she was gone. It was still low, broad and distinctly unheroic. Lethira approved of that too. Near midday, Ian appeared discreetly in Merrowford and walked out to the holding. When he came up to her, she was standing where the firing line would eventually begin, looking at the fresh earth.

"Hello beautiful."

Lethira turned. Her face warmed before the answer became words.

"Hello, gardener."

She crossed the last few steps and hugged him, then glanced towards the bank.

"We have dirt. Also, possibly a job involving a mill, a culvert and something which likes grain."

"Oh, that sounds great. Shall we get to it?" Ian reached for her hand.

Lethira took it.

"After lunch. I am not walking south-east on an empty stomach merely because something under a mill has poor manners."

She gave him the short version of the Guild notice while they gathered food: repeated shed damage, missing grain, old stone channel, movement below, B-rank because old wet masonry made even a modest creature capable of producing an expensive disaster.

"Still interested?"

"Of course. Maybe a picnic first? Or on the way?"

"On the way." Lethira packed the bread, cheese, smoked meat and apples into a small bag. "If the mill is as unpleasant as the notice suggests, I would rather eat before I smell it."

"Lead on, my love."

Their route took them through Merrowford before turning south-east. This time Lethira stopped at the Guild instead of walking past it. She took the B-rank notice properly, Brannock entered her acceptance, and Ian remained what the records already said he was: Lethira Dawnleaf's unranked aide, participating under her responsibility rather than acquiring a rank by proximity. The road beyond town passed through worked fields and wetter ground where old drainage lines still shaped the verges. After a while, Lethira chose a grassy rise beneath trees and sat where the road remained visible without running through the picnic. They picnicked. The food required no discussion: bread, cheese, smoked meat, apples, water. Lethira ate with the uncomplicated appetite of someone who had already spent a morning walking between a work site, a town and home. She told Ian the bank had risen another layer while she was gone, that the workers had not damaged the trees, and that she had managed to leave them unsupervised without civilisation ending. Then she asked about the Lifegiver.

"I think she's doing well. She seemed good and said she was okay. I tried to reassure her about her sister, as best I could. Then we worked on three beds. From what I can tell, she genuinely enjoys the normal work with gardening."

Lethira tore a piece of bread in half.

"I can believe that. The first time I met her, she could barely look at a living thing without wanting to improve its chances. Stones are less demanding."

She tore another piece from the bread.

"If she still digs on days you are elsewhere, then yes, she probably likes the work."

"Yes, she's quite calming to be around. Unlike her brother."

"Her brother makes being questioned feel like standing in sunlight with nowhere to put your shadow." Lethira bit into an apple. "The Lifegiver was not calming when we first met her either. Warm, yes. Close enough to know things she had not been invited to know."

She chewed, then added, "Mud may suit her."

"Only my ability to perform labour." Ian smiled at her.

"That falls under your debt. If she begins improving you by teaching you which end of the spade goes into the ground, I will permit it."

"I remain the only one guilty of attempted bribery."

Lethira gave him a dry look.

"You introduced chocolate before the divine restraint was secure. History will judge you."

They finished eating, packed the remains and stood.

"Shall we see what the culvert brings?"

Lethira settled her bow and checked the road ahead.

"Yes."

The mill announced itself first by water. A diverted channel ran beside an old grey-stone building whose timber upper work had been repaired more often than rebuilt. The wheel still turned. The storage shed sat near the channel, lower boards patched with fresher wood. Damp ground between the structures held footprints, spilled husk and the indistinct marks of regular work. A broad-shouldered human man came out from the mill as they approached.

"Guild?"

"Lethira Dawnleaf. This is Ian, my aide." She showed the accepted tag. "Do not show me the inside first. Show me where you found the damage outside."

Ian followed her lead. Deren Vos pointed out the torn boards, the place sacks had been stacked, and the channel-side ground where he had found fresh scraping. Lethira ignored the trampled yard at first and worked along the edges where fewer boots had destroyed the sign. Something low and broad had come from the water side more than once. The marks repeated. There were scratches where a repaired board met older timber and drag marks where grain had been pulled rather than carried cleanly. The culvert itself ran beneath part of the old stonework. Water occupied one side; the other held a narrow raised shelf of debris and mud. The opening was large enough for a person to enter bent over, though Lethira had no interest in proving it. Several stones near the mouth had shifted. Mortar had washed out along one seam. From inside came a scrape, then a hard little clicking sound.

"That is not masonry," Lethira said.

She stayed outside the opening and changed her angle. Ian looked down the culvert from his current position, curious but not getting in the way. The darkness swallowed detail past the first few body lengths.

"Can you see anything moving from there?" Lethira asked.

Ian looked without omnipotence. At first there was only reflected water and the rough inner curve of stone. Then something moved sideways across the dry shelf: a curved dark plate, pale segmented legs beneath it and a pair of long antennae testing the air. The creature was broad and low, somewhere between an oversized beetle and a freshwater crab, and it retreated before the whole body came into view. Ian described to Lethira what he had seen. Her expression sharpened.

"Hard shell. Pale legs. Antennae." She crouched near the edge of the damp ground. "Tunnel sheller, perhaps. Or something close enough that I am treating the underside as softer until shown otherwise."

Ian glanced at the man with them, then at Lethira, trying to imply whether his proximity was a concern. Lethira followed the look.

"Deren. Back by the shed for a moment. You can watch from there. If I need to ask something, I will ask."

The miller did not argue. Once he was farther away, Ian said, "I'm guessing we need to find out if it's one or a hundred, can we do that by scouting outside, or is entering the only real option?"

"Entering is the last option." Lethira pointed upstream. "If they are using the culvert regularly, they have to reach it somehow. We look for disturbed banks, shell, droppings, tracks, other openings. Then we watch the mouth."

She stood.

"Wet stone belongs to the creature that already knows it. I would rather learn from outside."

Ian nodded. Lethira went upstream first, moving slowly enough to read the ground instead of merely covering it. The channel bank carried ordinary footprints nearer the mill, then fewer. A little beyond the most worked section she found a shell fragment caught beside grass: dark on the outside, pale within. Farther again, roots had pulled away from old stone and opened a second narrow gap. There was another shed shell near it.

"What do you think they are?"

"Tunnel shellers." This time Lethira was certain. "Common enough in old wet works. The small ones are E-rank vermin. Hard above, soft underneath, unpleasant bite, good climbers when they have enough stone to use."

She touched the shell fragment with one finger.

"A broodmother can be D-rank and much larger."

The old stones beside the root gap moved her attention away from the animal.

"This is the part I dislike."

"Unstable?"

"Possibly." Lethira stood and looked along the retaining line. "Some mortar has washed out. Roots are carrying load in places they were never asked to carry. The shellers may have widened gaps, or they may simply have found damage that was already useful."

She did not touch the stone.

"We find out how many are using it before we make them run through it."

Ian smiled. Lethira found more fragments, then droppings containing grain husk and plant fibre. The same narrow routes had been used repeatedly. By the time she returned to the first opening, there was no credible version in which the mill had one lost sheller.

"Established," Lethira said. "More than one."

Ian waited. Lethira called the miller back only long enough to ask for a handful of barley. She scattered a few grains near the second opening and made a small pile farther out on open ground. Then she withdrew. One sheller emerged after a long pause. It was roughly the length of a human forearm, broad across the shell, with six pale legs beneath dark green-brown plates. Its antennae swept constantly. A second set of antennae appeared behind it, then a third. Lethira watched rather than shooting.

"Three visible. None a broodmother."

"More grain, or more time?"

"Time first. We already know they want grain. If they take it back, that tells us something."

She settled into stillness.

"And if something larger is below, the smaller ones may make room for it."

Ian and Lethira waited. Another sheller emerged with a scar across one plate. Then a smaller one. A sixth appeared from the culvert side rather than the root gap. They fed in short bursts, some carrying kernels towards cover. Then the rhythm changed. Two of the smaller animals backed away from the opening. A heavier scrape came from below. Antennae appeared first, longer than the others. A broodmother edged forward, almost twice the width of the ordinary shellers, its shell rough with old mineral staining and one chipped plate. When it shifted its weight, the body beneath the shell had the low mass of a hunting dog. Lethira's eyes stayed on it.

"There she is. D-rank, if she behaves like the ones the Guild knows."

Ian tried to look at the mother without moving. The broodmother came half out, tasted the nearest grain and remained wary. Its thicker forward legs found purchase beneath the roots without difficulty. It did not charge. It did not need to. Ian's eyes flipped between Lethira and the brood. Lethira caught the movement in the corner of her vision.

"You may be impressed later. At the moment I am standing very still while insects eat barley."

She counted again. Six smaller shellers now, plus the broodmother. Two known openings. Old stonework between them. "I'm guessing you can't shoot seven arrows at once. If you take the mother out, the others look a lot lighter, so even if they flee, they're less likely to disturb the culvert? Could you get her and the bigger ones at once?"

Lethira's bow remained down.

"Not seven. And I do not want to begin with killing her at the mouth of the culvert."

She indicated the open ground with her chin.

"If they panic inside, they may wedge themselves into cracks or start digging through the weakest places. I can kill the broodmother quickly enough if she is clear of the stone. I would rather make the whole brood choose open ground first."

Ian nodded. Lethira looked at the barley, then towards the yard. She had enough space for a cleaner shooting lane if she drew them farther from both openings. "I could move to the culvert, assuming a human would make them not run that way?" Ian paused. "Sorry. You know what you're doing." He smiled.

"Stay where you are." Lethira's answer was immediate. "If you block the culvert, they still have the root gap, and I do not want my unarmoured aide standing beside the part of the structure I least trust."

She glanced at him once.

"You can be useful by not becoming another moving obstacle."

Deren brought more barley when she asked. Lethira laid a sparse trail away from the openings and a larger pile in open ground, then withdrew to a position with clear lines and nocked one arrow. Ian waited. The shellers came out slowly. One smaller animal followed the first kernels. A second joined it. Then a third. The scarred sheller came farther than before. Lethira remained still until the group had committed to the open pile. The broodmother took longer. She emerged, stopped, swept the air with her antennae and advanced by increments. Several paces opened between her and the old stone. Lethira raised the bow. She waited for the broodmother to turn enough to expose the seam beneath the forward plate. The arrow entered there. The broodmother collapsed almost where it stood. The smaller shellers broke in every direction. Lethira's second arrow took the scarred larger animal as it lifted to cross uneven ground, striking the pale underside before it reached the roots. Then she stopped shooting.

One sheller fled into the long grass near the channel. Another ran beneath stacked timber and out the far side. Two went upstream. One hid under an overturned board until the miller shifted near the shed, then abandoned that shelter as well. None returned to defend the brood site. Lethira watched the last movement disappear. Only when the yard had been quiet for a while did she lower the bow.

"Good."

She approached the broodmother carefully, confirmed the kill and checked the larger sheller beside it. The first arrow had gone where intended: under shell, not through it.

"The smaller ones chose distance once she fell. We do not need to crawl under the mill killing them one at a time."

She looked at Deren.

"Do not block the gaps tonight. Move every loose sack away from that wall and clean the spilled grain. If some are still inside, let them leave."

The miller frowned. "And the culvert?"

"Needs somebody who understands old wet masonry better than I do. The shellers used the weakness. I cannot tell you they created it."

She indicated the washed mortar.

"If you repair the boards and ignore that, your next problem may not have legs."

Ian smiled a little. Lethira caught it as she stood.

"What?"

She knew before he answered; that was visible in the amusement already reaching her face.

"Caught red-handed."

"Yes. You are very poor at hiding when you enjoy watching me work."

She did not linger over the compliment. There was still a shed to check. Ian followed her, holding her hand when convenient. She accepted it naturally between tasks, fingers closing around his for a few steps and releasing whenever she needed both hands. Inside the shed, old damage showed more clearly. Grain dust had worked into cracks near the wall. One older board carried deep scoring below the newer repair. Lethira checked behind the remaining sacks, under a low shelf and along the floor line nearest the culvert. They found husks and one more small shell fragment, but no living sheller. By the time she stood, the miller's instructions had become simple enough to repeat once and leave with him.

"Move the grain. Sweep the wall. Leave the exits open tonight. Tomorrow, check before anyone closes them."

She wrapped the shell fragment for the Guild.

"Back to the guildhall?" Ian asked.

"Yes."

She gave Deren one final warning not to enter the culvert himself, then turned back towards the road. Ian squeezed her arm and they headed back. The return to Merrowford was quieter. The mill had an immediate answer and a separate structural problem. At the Guild hall they waited their turn. When Brannock was free, Lethira set the wrapped shell fragment and accepted contract tag on the counter.

"Tunnel-sheller brood. Six smaller observed, one broodmother, probably more not seen. Broodmother and one larger animal killed after baiting them onto open ground. The rest dispersed. Shed clear when we left. A broodmother means there may be eggs. The culvert was not safe enough to inspect."

Brannock wrote.

"And the stone?"

"Needs inspection before anyone seals the openings. Washed mortar, shifted blocks and root pressure. I cannot attribute the underlying movement to the shellers."

Brannock's pen paused, then moved to a different line.

"Active brood suppressed. Nest clearance deferred pending structural inspection."

"Good."

Brannock closed Lethira's immediate contract and attached the required nest clearance to the structural referral. Outside the Guild, the market was still open around them.

"Home, or do we need any supplies from town?"

Lethira made one practical sweep of the nearby stalls and dismissed them.

"Home. We have dinner, and I bought what we were short of this morning. Anything else would be shopping because we happen to be standing beside shops."

She adjusted the strap of her bow.

"I also want to see what several cartloads of earth have done while we were gone."

"Home it is." Ian kissed her cheek.

They left Merrowford by the west road. The holding showed the work before it showed the house. Fresh wheel marks crossed the northern approach. Farther upslope, the pale stakes now surrounded something that had stopped being theoretical. Several loads of clean soil formed the beginning of the backstop. The workers had spread the base wide and low, compacting it in layers instead of building height too soon. The old tree remained untouched. No rut wandered towards the stream. Lethira walked one edge, checked the shoulders and then returned to the intended firing line. "My view of the superiority of Elves has been slightly impaired."

Lethira looked from him to the bank.

"By humans putting dirt in the correct place?"

Her mouth curved.

"Your theory was fragile."

She gave the bank one last look and headed towards the house. Ian followed her inside, and they had dinner. The meal was simple: potatoes, onion and smoked meat in the broad pan, with bread beside it. The open window carried the stream and the cooler evening air. Their day had contained three divine garden beds, cartloads of earth, a picnic, a mill, a brood of tunnel shellers and enough walking that neither of them needed to invent another purpose for the food. Lethira finished first and leaned back in one of the new chairs.

"I am tired," she said, sounding satisfied with the cause.

"I enjoyed the Guild job, although I was more decorative than useful."

Lethira considered that.

"You saw the first sheller from an angle I did not have. You noticed the miller when I was concentrating on the bank. You asked sensible questions."

She took a drink.

"After that, yes. Considerably decorative."

Her gaze moved over him with deliberate appreciation before returning to the table.

"You also stayed out of the unstable culvert when told. I prefer that to an aide inventing a heroic contribution because standing still feels insufficient."

"The desire to do little things—summon a light orb to see in the darkness—it's tough to control that."

Lethira nodded once.

"A light would have let us see farther. It might also have sent the shellers deeper before we knew what they were, and Deren would have learned that my unranked human aide can produce magic nobody has recorded him having."

She gathered the nearest empty plate.

"Today, leaving the dark alone was part of the work. Tomorrow it might simply be dark."

"Are there such things as hidden or lost dungeons, labyrinths, cave systems and the like in this world, optionally with monsters? I think Isha and Thomas may have been into something vaguely like that. I think I recall one—Karrick Gate? And there is Ironvein Hill?"

Lethira stopped stacking plates.

"Yes. Though those names do not all mean the same thing."

She knew Ironvein from Merrowford's side: an abandoned mine which had turned out to conceal construction old enough and strange enough that the Guild closed it rather than treat it as a place for adventurers to keep exploring. Karrick Gate belonged to Green Road's later travels; Lethira knew they had worked in old underground municipal structures there, but she had not been present and did not pretend to know the whole shape of it.

"Natural caves exist. Old mines. Buried works. Abandoned roads under newer roads. Places built for one purpose and later inhabited by things which care only that the hole is dark and dry."

Her expression sharpened with interest.

"Hidden does not mean arranged for adventurers. You are unlikely to find a polite sequence of increasingly difficult rooms leading to treasure."

Ian closed his eyes. He asked the reality engine: Are there any substantial dungeons or labyrinths in the surrounding, say, 100 miles of Merrowford, ones that are hidden or have hidden lower levels? The answer came back organised around four strong matches. Ironvein Hill was the first: close, already known, already dangerous, with sealed and inaccessible portions beyond what Green Road had entered. The engine strongly discouraged treating active ancient machinery and uncertain System functions as recreational exploration. The second was the old quarry dungeon south-east of Merrowford. The Guild knew its upper structures; lower natural fissures, abandoned workings and older passages extended farther, much of them unexplored. Mana interference and poor stability made the place dangerous even without extraordinary monsters.

The third was different: an unrecorded limestone cave system roughly forty miles north of Merrowford, hidden behind a seasonal water-cut in a wooded ridge. Several vertically separated passage systems extended for miles around an underground stream. Most inhabitants were ordinary cave creatures; at least one deeper territorial predator would probably fall around C-rank by Guild standards. No ancient machinery. No settlement. No recorded Guild entrance. The fourth lay farther south-east: an abandoned human mine whose recorded workings ended before a concealed lower breach into much older artificial structures. Dungeon-like mana had accumulated in part of the lower levels. Several D-rank creatures occupied accessible galleries; a larger territorial creature deeper down could make a full exploration B-rank work. "There are four nearby, it seems. A limestone cave system is… whatever the hell forty miles translates into. I have no idea how you measure distance; this is quite embarrassing. Just less than twice the distance from here to the Wood Elf village. To the north."

Lethira looked increasingly amused as the sentence failed under incompatible systems.

"Twice the distance to the settlement I understand. Keep forty miles for your maps."

She sat again.

"What else did it tell you?"

Ian shared a square of dark pink parchment. The four summaries appeared on it in neat text, surrounded by a border of barely visible, tastefully drawn Elves and humans kissing among flowers and small hearts. Lethira stared at the border before she read a single word. Then she looked at Ian.

"Your machine has approached field intelligence with dignity."

She read. Ironvein received a quick dismissal as a recreational choice. The quarry interested her more, but it came with known history, known hazards and a Guild relationship already complicated by what Green Road had found there. The abandoned mine farther south-east had a different problem: a lost settlement could still have descendants, claims, records and people who cared what happened beneath it. She read the limestone entry twice.

"This one."

Her finger rested beside the line describing the hidden water-cut entrance.

"Natural cave. No ancient machine waiting to recognise somebody. No abandoned human settlement attached to it. Still monsters, still bad ground, still enough unknown to make a first survey useful."

"Your machine knowing where a hidden entrance is does not make the ridge ours. I would want to know whose land it is on, whether hunters or foresters already use the area, and what the Guild expects if someone finds a substantial site nobody has recorded."

She looked again at the page.

"And if we go, we go as though it is a cave. Rope. Light. Food. Water. Marking cord. Notes. Enough spare equipment that turning around remains boring rather than embarrassing."

"Either is good for me. I think we should…" He cleared his throat. "…optimise the travel time, but otherwise we should do it properly. I can, of course, prevent real danger and injury. This would be way beyond anything I have ever done, but it sounds interesting, and we can take notes for the Guild—assuming it isn't outside the Merrowford Guild's authority?"

"What do you think?"

Lethira kept her finger on the limestone entry.

"I think I want to go."

She had spent more than a century walking unknown ground, following signs and entering places because someone eventually had to find out what was there. A hidden natural cave within reach of Merrowford appealed to that part of her immediately.

"But I do not want to appear at the entrance because your machine already told us where it is and then call the result exploration."

She thought through the compromise.

"Shorten the useless road. Leave us enough ground to find the ridge, read the approach and locate the entrance ourselves. Your protection can stop us dying or being badly injured. I still want wet stone to be slippery and poor decisions to remain poor decisions."

The Guild question was simpler.

"We ask Brannock before we leave. The old quarry proves Merrowford sometimes handles work well beyond the town, but it does not prove every ridge within your hundred miles belongs to this branch. If the site is outside their authority, she will know who should receive the report."

She slid the pink parchment towards herself again.

"First trip is a survey. Find it. Map the accessible route. See what lives there. Come home with enough information to decide whether going deeper is sensible."

Ian beamed at her.

"Yes, my Lady."

Lethira's eyebrows rose.

"That title will become less charming if you use it while I am carrying rope through mud."

The pleasure in her face rather ruined the warning.

"Tomorrow, Guild first. Then supplies. Then north, if Brannock gives us no reason to change the plan."

"Yes. I can't wait."

"You can," Lethira said. "You simply do not want to."

She kissed him, quick and warm.

"Neither do I."

Ian stood and moved next to her.

"Now let me do the washing up, as you made dinner." He kissed her.

Lethira kissed him back.

"Fair."

She surrendered the plates and drew a plain sheet of paper towards herself.

"I am making the list while you demonstrate your domestic usefulness. On paper with fewer kissing Elves."

Ian performed his household duties dutifully. Water ran in the kitchen while Lethira made the expedition increasingly real in charcoal. Rope. Two lamps and enough fuel. Chalk. Marking cord. Food. Water. Spare bowstring. Cloth for wrapping anything sharp enough to damage a pack. A small hammer. Something that would keep notes dry. At the bottom she left space. After the washing-up, Ian stood behind her.

"Close your eyes, my love."

Lethira tilted her head back enough to look at him.

"How worried should I be?"

She let the suspicion sit for a moment, then closed her eyes. Ian carefully placed a square of dark chocolate laced with orange flavour into her mouth. Lethira bit down. The dark chocolate arrived first; the orange followed cleanly through it. She opened her eyes.

"Much less hostile."

She finished the square slowly.

"I approve immediately. That is probably worse for your future supply."

Ian pulled one of the several new chairs beside hers and placed his hand on her thigh.

"How is the planning?"

Lethira turned the page so he could see it.

"Nearly done. Most of this is ordinary. Rope, lamps, marking, food, water, spare bowstring, tools."

Her finger moved to the open line at the bottom.

"I still want one rule written before enthusiasm gets underground."

She wrote:

*Turn around while turning around is still easy.*

"That survives your protection."

Ian idly brushed his thumb against her thigh.

"We can appear maybe… or…" He sighed.

"Okay, this is annoying. I can't describe time or distance. You are going to have to tell me at least one distance measurement system. Human, Elf, Dwarf, I don't mind."

Lethira looked at him, then laughed.

"Human. We are using a human town and a human Guild. You may acquire Elven complications later."

She put her hand over his where it rested on her thigh.

"Around Merrowford, longer road distance is often given in *road-marks*. One mark is four thousand survey paces. Maintained roads sometimes carry stones at whole marks, though nobody promises every road has been measured recently enough to deserve confidence."

"Your forty miles is about twenty-two road-marks, if your machine and my estimate agree closely enough."

Her finger settled on the expedition list.

"For tomorrow, put us one road-mark from the ridge. Somewhere discreet. That leaves us enough ground to find the place properly without spending most of the day walking a road we did not choose for its beauty."

Time was less satisfying.

"Towns have bells. Guards, courts and some workshops keep tighter time because they need it. Travellers usually say dawn, morning, midday, afternoon, dusk, a morning's walk, half a day, three days. Ground changes travel too much for a number to become truth merely because somebody measured it once."

She looked sideways at him.

"So tomorrow you may say *one road-mark from the ridge* and I will understand you."

"You're a great teacher." He kissed her ear.

Lethira's shoulder lifted briefly towards the kiss.

"Praise is becoming suspiciously similar to bribery."

Her hand stayed over his. Ian squeezed her thigh slightly.

"Do we need any provisions or anything from Merrowford, or do you already have any of those items I can—" He cleared his throat. "—bring here?"

Lethira read the list again.

"Food and water we have. Cloth too. Spare bowstrings are mine already."

She tapped the remaining items.

"Rope, chalk and marking cord we buy. I want to know what rope I am trusting before either of us hangs from it. We may have one useful lamp; I want two proper ones and enough fuel. The hammer can be local."

She looked at him.

"Your power may provide the shortened journey and the protection. Let the equipment be boring."

"I shall keep my omnipotence in my trousers until required. Discreetly."

Lethira's eyes dropped very deliberately to his hand on her thigh, then returned to his face.

"That is a poor place to store it." Her mouth curved. "Discreetly will do."

"So first thing tomorrow Merrowford, then *one road-mark* appearance from the ridge."

"Assuming Brannock tells us nothing which changes it."

Lethira folded the list once and set it over the pink parchment.

"Guild. Supplies. One road-mark. Then we find the entrance ourselves."

The house had quieted around them. The dishes were done. Outside the open window, the stream moved through the dark beneath the trees, and the unfinished earth bank waited for another day's carts. Lethira looked towards the folded pages, then back to Ian.

"That is enough planning."

Tomorrow, after Brannock, they would go north.