## Chapter 483 — Ordinary Work

The Lifegiver had dirt beneath her fingernails and a root refusing to come free.

She knelt at the edge of the newest bed with one knee pressed into warm soil, working a fork beneath the root while water moved through the channels nearby. Moss had claimed part of one stone border. A flowering vine had reached a support she had not chosen for it and was flourishing there anyway. Farther back, one bed remained visibly crooked because she had left it crooked.

“Of course you do.”

She changed her grip. The root came loose with a wet tearing sound and brought half a clod with it. She pressed the disturbed soil back around the neighbouring growth with her fingers, then found the edge of something harder beneath the bed. The fork scraped stone.

The Lifegiver frowned and reached for the spade.

Ian appeared a little way away. “Hey there. Are you free?”

She looked up from the half-exposed stone, then at the spade in her hands. “Free enough. I was losing an argument with geology.” The stone remained exactly where she had found it. “If you are here to work, I still have plenty for you.”

Ian gave her a hug. “Yes, but not just work.”

The Lifegiver returned it, leaving a faint smear of garden soil against him, and ended the embrace herself after a few seconds.

“How have you been?”

“Uneven.” She glanced across the beds. “One day I worked until I hated the spade. The next I did almost nothing here at all. The garden survived both offences.”

She had answered prayers and left others alone. She had been angry at people for refusing things she still believed would have helped them. Moss had continued spreading regardless. None of it had arranged itself into a neat improvement.

“So. Mostly alive, busy, occasionally furious, and not especially transformed.”

“That sounds like a normal, balanced life.”

The Lifegiver laughed. “Balanced is generous. I prefer *not currently ruining anything important*.”

She set the spade beside the buried stone and drove its edge into the soil. Ian put his hand on her shoulder. “I'd love to.”

“Good.” She shifted aside to give him room. “I have already tried being patient with it. So now we dig around it until one of us can move it.”

They began to dig.

Ian worked one side while the Lifegiver took the other. Compact soil clung beneath the stone's edges, and roots crossed its upper surface. Thin strands could be eased aside; thicker growth forced them to slow down and work around it. The stone kept widening as the earth came away.

After several minutes they realised they had uncovered the shoulder of a substantial boulder.

The Lifegiver sat back on her heel and stared at it. “Oh, that is offensive.”

She wiped her forehead with the back of one wrist, adding another streak of dirt. Ian's side had exposed a deeper edge; hers had reached a point where the boulder narrowed enough that leverage might eventually matter. They dug farther beneath it until the stone shifted by a fraction.

The Lifegiver stopped. “There.” Her hands closed around the exposed side. “Ready?”

“Ready, boss.”

She grinned. “Terrible choice of title.”

The Lifegiver braced one foot against the firmer edge of the bed and pulled. The boulder moved with a wet grinding sound, resisted, then shifted again as loose soil collapsed underneath. For several seconds the work was inelegant and stubborn; then the stone rolled free and landed beside the bed with a thump that scattered soil over both of them.

She straightened and looked from the boulder to the hole. “I win.”

“I am defeated.” Ian bowed his head.

“As you should be.” She nudged the stone once with her boot, crouched beside the hollow and began drawing loose soil back into it. “Come on. Victory does not fill the hole.”

They continued until the first bed was done. The hollow disappeared beneath loosened earth, useful roots were settled back, and the damaged edge was rebuilt by hand and rake. When they finally stopped, the boulder lay outside the bed and the worked ground looked ready rather than excavated.

One bed of the debt was complete. Thirty-three remained.

The Lifegiver sat on the freed boulder with both hands dirty to the wrists. Ian rested nearby while the tools lay where they had last used them.

“I went to the island on the opposite side of the world to the main continent. The life there is... vigorous.”

The Lifegiver turned towards him. “*Vigorous*.” Interest sharpened her expression. “That is a suspicious word from someone who can visit almost anywhere.” She picked a fragment of root from beneath one fingernail. “What did it try to eat?”

“I think the correct answer is... yes. I assume you've visited before over the aeons?”

“You assume too much.” She rested her forearms on her knees. “I have known life in a great many parts of this world. Prayer reaches strangely. So does need. So does my own attention.”

Her gaze moved beyond the garden for a moment. “But *visited* is a more specific claim. I cannot honestly tell you that I remember standing on that island and looking at it as a place. Aeons are not a tidy travel journal.”

She looked back at Ian. “So if everything there appears determined to eat everything else, you may have found something interesting to show me rather than somewhere I already know.”

Ian smiled at her. “Next bed?”

“Yes.” The Lifegiver slid from the boulder and moved to the next marked strip. The soil looked easier until the first cut exposed a dense mat of fine roots just below the surface. She set the spade aside and knelt with the fork. “One finished. Thirty-three left. Come on, gardener.”

“Yes, boss.”

She gave him a look over the root mat. “You are doing that deliberately now.”

The second bed was slower. Fine roots had woven through the upper soil so densely that pulling simply tightened the tangle. The Lifegiver worked in sections, lifting and separating what could be redirected, then held up one particularly stubborn clump.

“This one has opinions.” She set it aside carefully and looked towards Ian. “Your turn, subordinate.”

Ian blushed slightly at the term and took his turn. The Lifegiver noticed, smiled to herself and went back to the bed.

Ian loosened the roots a little at a time. The work rewarded patience: clear the soil first and a knot separated; pull too early and several strands became one problem. The Lifegiver shifted closer after a while and pointed to a thicker root disappearing beneath the edge.

“Careful there. That one belongs to something I actually want to keep.”

“Sorry.” Ian worked around the root she had mentioned, loosening the earth beside it until the strand could remain where it was.

The Lifegiver pressed soil back around the exposed section and resumed work opposite him. For a while there was little to say. They separated roots, loosened earth and checked the bed until the last dense section had been worked through.

“Done?”

The Lifegiver ran two fingers into the soil near the preserved root, checked another patch, then stood. “Done.”

No boulder marked the second bed. There was only properly loosened earth and the plants they had chosen not to damage.

“Thirty-two.”

“Not bad, for your subordinate.” Ian smiled at her.

The Lifegiver's eyes narrowed with amusement. “You are enjoying that word far too much.” She set the rake down and stretched her back. “Two is enough before we start making stupid mistakes because we're tired. Thirty-two still leaves me plenty of opportunities to boss you around.”

Ian blushed. “That sounds great.”

“Is there anything else you'd like to do?”

The Lifegiver looked over the garden before answering. The two finished beds, the freed boulder and the abandoned tools could all wait. She pointed towards a shaded patch beside one of the water channels.

“Yes. Sit there for a while. I have food. You can tell me more about this murderous island while we eat, if you want. And after that, perhaps nothing.”

“That sounds great. Yes, please.”

She carried the tools clear of the beds and joined him in the shade. Bread, fruit, cheese and something cold to drink waited beneath a cloth near the water channel. The Lifegiver arranged the food between them and settled against a warm stone.

They ate for a while. Water moved quietly beside them, and from here the two new beds were almost indistinguishable from the rest of the garden.

Eventually the Lifegiver glanced towards Ian. “All right. Tell me about the most ridiculous thing you saw on your vigorous island.”

Ian told her about the animals, not about who had been with him or why they had gone.

He began with the enormous three-toed plant-feeder, shrubs barely reaching its knees and each step carrying through the ground. Then came the armoured shoreline hunters, large enough to look formidable until a much heavier predator came out of the shallows, cracked one open and ate it.

The Lifegiver stopped chewing.

Ian continued: the second shoreline predator which displaced the first over its kill; the horned animal at the nesting hollows; the immense flyers capable of taking substantial prey from the water and, in at least one case, deciding that people might be prey as well.

Then the pack hunters. Three of them had followed a retreat, divided and attacked from separate directions. Good arrows hurt them. Good arrows did not necessarily stop them.

The Lifegiver's food remained forgotten in one hand.

Ian moved on to the estuary, its massive grey grazers and the river predator which erupted from the water and seized one by the leg. The grazer escaped by kicking hard enough to make the attacker release. He described the armoured swimmers buried beneath beach sand, the sea predator which attacked one anyway, and the tidal creature whose claw had cracked stone.

He saved the lagoon for last: something so large that animals which had already distorted their sense of scale looked small beside it, broad-bodied and ridged-backed, standing in water that reached only partway up its flanks while it fed on another sizeable creature.

When he finished, the Lifegiver sat quietly for several seconds before looking at him.

“I withdraw my earlier suspicion. *Vigorous* was extremely restrained.”

“You must've been drunk when you gave that place life.”

She gave him a long, level look. “I was not drunk.”

The Lifegiver picked up her bread again. “And I am not accepting sole responsibility for every excessively enthusiastic mouth on an island I have already told you I do not remember visiting.” She took a bite, chewed, then allowed her expression to betray her. “Although I admit the stone-breaking tidal thing sounds like somebody became carried away.”

Ian chuckled and smiled at her. “So yeah, quite an interesting place. Not one I fancy spending the night at, however.”

“Sensible.” The Lifegiver looked towards the beds as if comparing their inconveniences with an island where shoreline, forest and sky all hunted. “I like sleeping somewhere that does not require deciding whether the lake, beach, forest and sky are all separate categories of predator.”

They let the joke fade. She made no immediate demand to see the island herself and resumed eating after a while.

“Day visits sound sufficient.”

“Would you like to go somewhere next time I visit?”

The Lifegiver stopped with the last piece of cheese halfway to her mouth. Her eyes wandered over the garden before she answered.

“Yes. Somewhere that isn't mine.” She ate the cheese and brushed a crumb from her fingers. “Not another divine place. Not somewhere somebody needs me. Somewhere people are simply getting on with whatever they were doing before we arrived.”

Her expression turned faintly amused. “Food would be good. Possibly music. I would like to see what people do when nobody is praying at me. But I reserve the right to decide I hate your suggestion.”

Ian laughed. “Sure, let me think of a few ideas for next time.” He smiled at her.

“Good. I am curious what you decide counts as somewhere ordinary.” The Lifegiver's smile returned. “That may be more revealing than the place itself.”

“Oh, a test. A classic trap of the divine.” Ian smiled and nudged her. “What do I get if I pass?”

“You assume there is a prize.” She nudged him back with her shoulder. “If I like your choice, I will eat the food, listen to the music and refrain from complaining for at least part of the evening. That is extremely generous by divine standards.”

Her eyes brightened. “If you fail, I will complain in detail.”

“Then I shall try extra hard.”

“I expect nothing less from my subordinate.”

The Lifegiver finished the last of her food and leaned back on both hands. They stayed there until she eventually looked towards the tools.

“We should probably clean those before either of us becomes lazy enough to leave them exactly where they are.”

Ian blushed a bit at *subordinate*. “Let me do that.”

He picked up the tools and cleaned them, rinsing soil from the spade, working mud from between the fork's tines and wiping the handles before bringing them back.

The Lifegiver checked the fork first, turned it once, then took the spade. “Acceptable.” Her expression gave away the joke. She set both tools beside her. “Thank you.”

A beat passed.

“Subordinate.”

“I think you're enjoying that almost as much as me.” Ian looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Perhaps.” She folded her arms, doing an unconvincing job of looking dignified while dirt still marked one side of her face. “It is useful to discover which titles produce interesting reactions. And you did choose *boss* first.”

The teasing had not left her face.

“I admit my guilt. I hope the interesting reactions are pleasing.”

The Lifegiver studied him, plainly deciding how much satisfaction to admit. “They are. Especially because you keep giving me reasons to use the word again.” Her smile sharpened. “That makes the experiment very easy to repeat.”

“I enjoy the term a little too much.”

“Ah.” She picked up the cleaned fork and rested it across one shoulder as though presiding over an exceptionally small kingdom. “That explains several things.”

The pose lasted only a few seconds before she carried both tools back to their place beside the beds. “I shall try not to abuse this terrible authority. Much.”

Ian made a slightly sad face, then moved over and hugged her. “Time for me to return, before I become trapped in your authority.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I'll come back soon, with somewhere for us to go.”

The Lifegiver put both arms around him and held him firmly for a few seconds. “You are escaping while you still can.”

She drew back far enough to look at him. “I'll be here. Possibly exercising my terrible authority over something less cooperative.” Her gaze moved towards the two finished beds. “And I will expect somewhere interesting. Not dangerous-interesting. I have heard enough about your island.”

She squeezed him once before letting go.

Ian waved and returned home.

---

Late-afternoon light lay across the western holding. Lethira was behind the house near the old bathhouse footing, sleeves pushed back and a short piece of chalk in one hand. A measuring cord ran between two pegs, and several stones had been marked along the newly exposed edge.

She looked up as Ian approached. “You're back.” Her gaze travelled briefly over him. “And you've been digging.”

Lethira set the chalk on the nearest stone. “The builder came while you were away. We finally looked properly at this.” She nudged one of the exposed foundation stones with her boot. “Most of it is usable. One section on the eastern side needs replacing, and he wants the drainage opened before we build anything over it, but we do not have to start again from bare ground.”

A small smile appeared. “So the bathhouse has survived its first encounter with reality.”

“Oh, that's good news. Do we need to get permission from the town before going much further?”

“Yes.” Lethira crouched beside the footing and brushed loose earth from one of the old stones. “Not for inspecting it or opening the old drainage so we know what we're dealing with, but before we actually rebuild.”

The requirement was already part of what they knew about the holding. The old footprint might be reusable, but bathhouse work still needed filing and a drainage plan, and direct discharge to the stream was expected to be refused.

“So the next sensible step is the town office with a rough plan. Existing footprint, household bathhouse, where the water comes from and where the waste water goes. Then we find out what they actually require before paying anyone to build it.”

Ian nodded and embraced her. “Missed you.”

Lethira's arms came around him at once. “I missed you too.” She rested her cheek lightly against his hair, leaving the chalked stones for later. “You smell like soil.”

Ian clicked his fingers and magically cleaned himself. The last traces of garden soil disappeared from clothes, skin and hair.

“I'm not sure the clicking helps.”

“No.” Lethira brushed her thumb across the now-clean front of his shirt anyway. “But I think you enjoy pretending it does.”

“Should we ask the builder to draw up a rough plan? As good as my maps are... I think I'd prefer someone with local knowledge who has probably submitted projects to the town office before.”

Lethira looked back at the footing. “Yes. That is better.”

The builder had already seen where the old drain ran, which section of foundation had failed and how much of the existing footprint could be reused. Turning that into something the town office recognised was different work from sketching what they wanted the rooms to feel like.

“He knows what they expect to see, and he will know which parts need actual measurements instead of us writing *bath goes roughly here* and hoping the clerk is charitable. We can tell him what we want. He can turn it into a plan somebody can build from and somebody else can approve.”

“Good, let's do that. If that's okay with you?”

“Yes.” Lethira stood and brushed dust from her hands. “It is our bathhouse. I want the plan done properly, and I would rather pay someone who already understands the town's requirements than discover them by making avoidable mistakes.”

She glanced once more at the exposed stones. “So we ask him for the rough plan, then take that to the office before anything permanent starts.”

“What would you like to do with the rest of the day, my love?”

Lethira considered the range, the footing and the other small jobs waiting around the holding, then smiled. “I want to stop working.”

She took his hand and started back towards the house. “And I think you owe me one of those beef burgers you described.” Her expression turned interested. “We have bread. We have cheese. We can buy or mince the beef properly rather than relying on your explanation from the Reed and Wheel.”

She squeezed his hand. “I want to find out whether reorganising perfectly good meat was actually worth all that enthusiasm.”

“I believe we need to get the chuck cut of beef.” Ian then produced a traditional cast-iron hand-cranked meat grinder.

Lethira stopped at the table and stared at the machine.

“Then we need to use this, I think—I have never actually made it from scratch, but let's give it a go.”

Ian considered the recipe from memory. “A little salt and pepper... Other stuff is optional. I think some people put an egg in to help bind it, or a small onion for taste—but I think we should slice onions on top, not inside. So maybe a small egg.”

Lethira picked up the grinder and turned the handle once. The screw and blades moved inside with a dense series of metal clicks.

“*Chuck* did not translate into anything useful. But if you mean a particular part of the animal, we can ask the butcher for a cut suited to mincing instead of pretending either of us knows what your Earth butcher calls it.”

She set the grinder back down. “And I vote we make the first ones simple. Beef, salt, pepper. If they fall apart, then we can start blaming the absence of egg. I would like to know whether I actually like a beef burger before we improve it into something else.”

“Chuck is apparently the best part of the animal for this. It's from the shoulder.”

“Shoulder I understand.” Lethira turned the grinder handle once more, watching the screw draw an imaginary piece of meat towards the blades. “We ask for beef from the shoulder suitable for mincing. If the butcher recommends something slightly different because that is what people here actually use, I am inclined to trust him over a word neither of us can translate.”

“Let's head to Merrowford. I'm hungry now.” Ian playfully pretended to bite Lethira's shoulder.

She jerked away just far enough to make the attempt fail, laughing. “Absolutely not. You may eat the beef.”

Lethira picked up her outer layer and glanced towards the grinder. “We should probably leave that here until we possess something to put through it.” Then she opened the door. “Come on, hungry man.”

They set off for Merrowford.

“Your Warden reactions make you safe from me eating you.” Ian smiled lewdly. “At least in the carnivorous sense. But after dinner...”

Lethira gave him a sideways look and kept walking beneath the western trees. She left the unfinished sentence alone for several steps, then her fingers found his hand.

“I understood the distinction. And I am still going to make sure you eat the beef first.”

Ian held her hand as they continued into Merrowford. The road gradually thickened into town around them: fenced plots, sheds, close-set houses and the evening movement of people finishing work before supper.

The butcher's shop was still open. A broad board outside carried the day's remaining cuts in chalk, though nothing on it attempted to translate itself into *chuck*.

Lethira glanced towards Ian. “Shoulder beef suitable for mincing. I think we can manage that without explaining burgers to the butcher until after we've successfully made one.”

Ian squeezed her hand. Lethira squeezed back and led them inside.

The air inside was cooler, carrying the clean metallic smell of cut meat beneath sawdust and herbs from somewhere farther back. The butcher looked up from the block he was wiping and recognised Lethira before his attention moved to Ian.

“Evening.”

“Evening,” Lethira said. “We want beef from the shoulder, something with enough fat to mince well.”

“Mincing it yourselves?”

Lethira glanced at Ian, amusement returning. “Apparently.”

The butcher disappeared through the rear doorway and returned with a broad shoulder cut, seams of fat visible through the darker meat. “This will do. Better than the lean pieces if you're grinding it.” He set it on the block. “How much do you want?”

Ian cheated, abusing his omnipotence just enough to know how the amount he wanted would be expressed in the local measuring system. For two burgers of roughly six to eight ounces each, the local answer was eight handweights of beef.

“Eight handweights, please.”

The butcher nodded, set the shoulder cut on the scale and trimmed it until the balance matched. Lethira watched the exchange, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“You did not know that measure when we walked in.”

Ian blushed. “I did not want to end up with half a cow or enough for an ant.”

“That is probably one of the more defensible abuses of omnipotence.”

The butcher wrapped the beef and tied the parcel closed. Lethira paid and tucked it under one arm. “Come on. Before you decide measurement itself is an intolerable limitation.”

They stepped back into the evening street.

Ian looked towards her. “What do you use if you want a weight smaller than one handweight?”

“Drams. Eight to a handweight.” Lethira shifted the parcel under her arm as they walked. “Half and quarter handweights are common enough for food. Drams are more useful when the amount actually needs to be small—spices, medicines, pigments, things like that.”

Her mouth curved. “You could also have asked me before consulting omnipotence.”

“Sorry. I panicked a bit, realising I had no idea about such things. We can spend some time between eating and eating having you teach me some of this stuff, if you'd like.”

Lethira gave him a sidelong look. “I noticed that second *eating*.” She squeezed his hand. “And yes. I would like that.”

She thought for a moment about what he actually meant. “Measures, money, names for cuts of meat—the things everyone here learns so young that we forget they need explaining. You have picked up a great deal just by living here, but there are gaps because nobody knows to tell you.”

A small smile returned. “I can teach you some of those. Between activities.”

Ian smiled at her. “Thanks, teacher.”

They headed home with the wrapped beef between them. By the time the holding came into view, evening coolness had reached the trees. The exposed bathhouse footing still showed pale chalk against stone behind the house.

Inside, the cast-iron grinder waited on the table.

Lethira set the beef beside it and looked at Ian. “Teacher says we wash our hands first.”

Ian followed her instruction and washed his hands, then found a sturdy edge where the grinder could be clamped securely.

“We need a bowl or something to catch the stuff coming out of here.” He pointed to the perforated end. “Then, I think, we dice the beef and feed it in here.” His finger moved to the funnel above. “That's where someone with excellent muscle strength turns this.”

Lethira looked from the grinder to him. “Convenient.”

“That's my guess, anyway.” Ian was relying on something he had seen rather than done himself.

Lethira fetched a broad bowl, placed it beneath the outlet and tested the clamp with both hands. The table complained before the grinder moved.

“That part seems convincing.”

She unwrapped the beef and brought over a knife and board. “If it needs to fit down there, we cut it small enough that neither of us has to force it.” Her eyes moved to the crank, then deliberately to Ian. “And apparently I have already been assigned the difficult job.”

“I am but a weak human.” Ian shrugged pathetically. “I'll do the dicing, though.”

“Tragic.” Lethira slid the board and knife towards him and took the crank.

The first pieces went down awkwardly. Neither knew yet how quickly the screw wanted to take them, and Lethira stopped once when a strip of fat folded against the funnel. Then the mechanism caught properly and ground beef began pressing through the perforated plate into the bowl.

Ian kept dicing and feeding until the shoulder cut had become a substantial mound of minced beef and fat. By then they had found a rhythm: smaller pieces disappeared cleanly, thicker strips needed a slower turn.

Lethira stopped and flexed her fingers. “That is considerably more meat than it looked like before we attacked it.” She leaned closer to inspect the bowl. “All right, burger expert. What happens next?”

“Some salt and pepper to taste. I'm not sure, so just a pinch of both, I guess.” Ian did the same and started mixing it into the mince.

“We need something to form the patties on. A chopping board will do.”

He looked towards the stove. “High heat on some kind of pan, with a bit of oil or fat to stop it sticking? I'm struggling here with my non-cooking experience.”

Ian formed four patties, rotating them between his hands to round them off. He preferred two thinner patties per burger to one thick one.

Lethira inspected them on the board. “Two each?”

The choice made sense once she saw it: more browned surface and less thick meat to cook through.

“We also need something suitable for turning them...” Ian cheated and held up a stainless steel fish slice. “Do you have things like this here?”

Lethira took it and examined the broad flat metal end. “Yes. Not exactly this shape. We have flat iron turners for cakes, fish and things cooked on a griddle. Usually shorter and heavier than that. Caswick uses one all the time.”

Her eyes moved to the suspiciously perfect stainless steel. “This one looks as though it came from somewhere with better metalworking and worse restraint.”

She fetched their heaviest pan and set it on the stove. “For the rest, your guess sounds reasonable. Hot pan, a little fat. We can start with one patty before sacrificing all four to your memories at once.”

“Okay, let's wait for that to get hot. Probably just cooked through is sufficient. I don't think it will take long.”

Ian waited until Lethira told him the pan was hot. Then he added a little fat and the first patty, squishing it slightly with the fish slice. It caught immediately with a sharp hiss.

After thirty or forty seconds he flipped it and did the other side. The underside had browned well, but the middle still looked soft where the edge had split.

“Maybe another cycle?”

“Yes. Briefly. Both sides again. The outside looks right, but I don't trust the middle yet.”

The smell filling the kitchen had already improved her opinion of the experiment. “If the first one survives, we know roughly what the other three want.”

“Plate, please.”

Lethira slid one across. Ian gave the patty another brief cycle on both sides, lifted it onto the plate and used the side of the fish slice to cut it in half.

Steam escaped. The meat had cooked through, still moist inside with no raw colour left between the browned surfaces.

“That looks right.” Lethira picked up one half carefully, waited just long enough not to burn her fingers and took a bite. Her expression became more interested almost immediately. “Oh.”

She chewed, swallowed and looked at the remaining three patties. “Yes. Cook those.”

“We need to get the onions cut and probably fry them in the same pan so they cook in the juices. Onions can take longer, can't they? Plus we need some fairly thinly sliced bits of cheese, as hopefully your cheese will melt if we leave them on the patties for the last cycle.”

Ian pondered, attempting to invent burger recipes in real time. “And sliced bread to make a sandwich-type thing from, as we don't have buns.”

Lethira looked from the halved test patty to the onions and the hot pan. “Yes. The onions will take longer than those thin patties.”

She cut one onion into fairly thin slices and shaved the cheese into pieces which would soften quickly. “We can cook the onions first, keep them warm, then do the remaining patties in the same pan. Cheese near the end.”

She glanced at the loaf. “And bread I understand. We can toast the inside faces in the pan afterwards if there is enough fat left.”

Lethira slid the onions towards Ian and moved the cheese away from the heat. “Onions first.”

Ian nodded and put the onions into the pan, frying them in the first patty's juices and the remaining fat. They softened quickly at the edges and began taking colour.

“Do you think the remaining three will fit all at once, or shall I do two, then one?”

“Two, then one.” Lethira looked from the pan to the patties. “All three would fit, but only if we crowded them. I'd rather give them space and keep the heat where we want it.”

The onions had begun to smell sweeter. “We can keep those warm while the first two cook, then do the last one. It is slower, but we're not feeding an inn.”

Ian did the lone patty next to improve his technique: two rotations, thirty or forty seconds on each side. Between turns he moved the onions around the pan, keeping them away from the hottest patches.

The second attempt went more smoothly. He pressed less, turned it more cleanly and browned the surface without splitting the edge as much. Lethira kept an eye on the onions.

“They're nearly there.”

When Ian reached the final cycle on the patty, Lethira picked up one of the thin pieces of cheese. “Cheese now?”

“Yes, please. Let's see if this works.”

She laid the cheese over the patty. It softened, then slumped over the browned meat. One corner touched the pan and hissed before Lethira caught it with the turner and tucked it back.

“That works.” She moved the golden onions off the hottest part of the pan. “I think we have the important pieces now.”

Ian put the final two patties on. “Bread ready?”

“Ready.” Lethira had already cut four broad slices from the loaf. She shifted the onions into a small dish and left the pan to the beef.

The two patties hissed together. Lethira let Ian keep his own timing and held the cheese ready. “When you get to the last cycle, I'll put these on. After the meat comes out, we can give the inside faces of the bread a little time in the pan.”

Ian reached the last cycle and let her put the cheese on. It softened over both patties while the final side finished cooking. He transferred the meat to the plates, then put the bread into the pan face down to toast lightly and soak up some of the juices for thirty seconds or so.

When he lifted the slices, the inside faces had taken on a little colour and crispness.

Lethira looked at the table. “This has become much more convincing. I assume we build them now?”

“Yes, I forgot tomatoes... We don't have any, do we?”

Lethira glanced towards the pantry and shook her head. “No. We bought onions, cheese and beef. No tomatoes.”

She looked back at the food. “I think we have enough here to discover whether the basic thing works without another trip into town. Bread, meat, melted cheese, onions.”

A small smile crossed her face. “Build one.”

Ian did so and handed it to Lethira. “It might be a bit dry without the tomatoes. There is a sauce very common in my reality I could provide, perhaps after the first bite of the native version.”

Lethira accepted the burger with both hands and found an angle that would let her bite through toasted bread, onion, melted cheese and the two thinner layers of beef. She chewed slowly, looked down at it and took a second, smaller bite.

“This works. I can see why tomatoes would help. Something sharper would probably help too.” She glanced at Ian. “What is the sauce?”

Ian produced a small helping of tomato sauce with a spoon.

Lethira dipped the edge of one finger into it and tasted. Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh. Sweet. Sharp. A little sour.”

She opened the burger, spooned a modest amount across the onions, closed it again and took another bite. The sauce added moisture and cut through the cheese and beef.

“Yes. That improves it.”

Ian made his own burger, applied some sauce, then sat down next to her and ate.

For a while neither of them said much. The first attempt was untidy in the way food between bread often became once onions, melted cheese and sauce started moving independently. Lethira caught one escaping strip of onion with her thumb and ate it separately.

“I understand why this exists.”

The thinner patties had browned well at the edges, and the toasted bread held together better than plain slices would have. Lethira leaned lightly against Ian's shoulder while she ate.

“We should do these again. Possibly after learning how to make bread shaped for them.”

“I've never made them before. This was fun.”

Lethira turned her head towards him. “That may be why it was fun.” She took another bite and wiped a little sauce from one finger. “We were both guessing. The first one told us what was wrong, the second told us what improved, and by the last two we almost looked competent.”

Her shoulder remained against his. “I like cooking with you when neither of us is pretending to know more than we do.”

Ian smiled, content in love and food.

Lethira finished another bite and rested her head lightly against his shoulder while the pan cooled and the smell of onions and browned beef lingered in the kitchen. Her hand found his beneath the edge of the table.

“This was a good idea.”

Ian squeezed her hand. “Very much so.” He finished his burger and started to clean up.

Lethira took the last bite of hers and rose with her plate.

“No, let me, please.”

She stopped, considered arguing, then set the plate back down. “All right.”

Ian tidied the rest, dealt with the dishes and pan, cleared the table, cleaned and unclamped the grinder, and washed his hands. Then he bent down and kissed Lethira.

Her hands came lightly to his sides as she kissed him back.

Ian took her hand. “Upstairs?”

Lethira's expression warmed immediately. “Yes.”

She laced her fingers through his and turned towards the stairs. The kitchen behind them was clean; the bathhouse footing waited outside for another day.

They went upstairs together.

Lethira kept Ian's hand in hers until they reached the bedroom. They disappeared inside, and the house settled for the night.