## Chapter 486 — Things Everyone Knows

Lethira lay on her back beneath the covers, Ian beside her, while the western holding settled into the quiet sounds of night.

For a while she said nothing. Then she turned her head towards him. “You realise that I keep assuming you know ordinary things until you suddenly demonstrate otherwise.” A faint smile appeared. “Is there anything else embarrassingly basic I should discover before I start teaching you properly?”

“Probably.” Ian smiled and moved closer. “You can be teacher again tomorrow.”

He kissed the cheek facing him, then added, “I’m sorry I was a bit of an idiot earlier.”

“Briefly,” Lethira said. “I was quite specific.” Her expression softened. “You already apologised. Next time, tell me before curiosity wins. I am not accepting an entire evening of extra apologies because you have decided one was insufficient.”

“Accepted. Now, please hold me whilst I fall asleep here and in my reality.”

Ian turned and pressed his back against her.

Lethira shifted behind him and wrapped an arm around his middle. “Accepted,” she murmured. “Go to sleep, my love.”

“I love you, Lethira.”

“I love you too.”

She kissed his hair and held him while sleep came.

In the morning, Lethira woke first, eased herself free without disturbing Ian more than necessary, dressed and went downstairs. Yesterday’s lesson sheet remained on the table with the date written across the top and space beneath it for money and measures. The island map lay folded at the far end. She put water on to heat and set out a second chair.

Ian woke to the empty place beside him and looked at the gap longingly before dressing and going downstairs.

“Morning,” Lethira said. Steam rose from two cups beside the lesson sheet and a small collection of coins. “Teacher is prepared.”

Ian walked over and hugged her where she stood.

“Good morning. Breakfast first?”

Lethira leaned into the embrace. “Good morning.” Then, “Yes. Breakfast first. I refuse to discover whether you become a worse student when hungry.”

“Sit down, my love. I’ll get it.”

“Very well.” She obeyed with exaggerated solemnity while Ian got breakfast. Lethira moved the lesson materials away from danger and watched him work.

“Teacher approves of this arrangement.”

They ate together.

“What would you like to do after my education?” Ian asked.

“The builder,” Lethira said. “I want to speak to him about the bathhouse plan. If he can draw the existing footprint, show the eastern repair and the drainage, we can take something sensible to the town office instead of asking them to approve an idea.”

She looked at him. “Unless you had something else in mind.”

“No, my love, whatever you want.”

“Then I want breakfast, your education, and the builder. In that order.” A slight smile touched her mouth. “I am enjoying this complete authority over dangerous decisions.”

Ian smiled. Lethira returned it and squeezed his hand once.

When they had finished eating, Ian looked at the coins.

“What’s up next to learn? I think I’m broadly ok with coins, copper, thin and heavy silver and small gold. Although, is there anything above small gold?”

“There are larger gold coins,” Lethira said. “But do not imagine a tidy ladder that continues forever.” She picked up one of the small gold pieces. “For familiar local crown issues, this is roughly ten heavier silvers. Other gold varies by weight, issue and condition. Larger pieces exist because sometimes carrying a bag full of smaller ones is inconvenient, not because everyone agreed the world needed another perfect step.”

She put the coin down and drew the lesson sheet back towards her. “Weight next. Eight drams make?”

“Eight?”

“A handweight.”

Ian nodded.

“Half a handweight is four drams. A quarter is two. Those fractions are common enough that nobody will think you strange for using them.”

“Is there a scale above handweight?”

“Yes. Sixteen handweights make a stoneweight. Sixteen stoneweights make a burden.”

Lethira wrote the two larger units beneath the first, leaving room beside each for its number. With the names set out together, she ran a finger down the short column before returning to the handweight at the top.

“Stoneweights are useful for larger cuts, bundles and trade goods. Burdens for sacks, stores and heavier loads. Above that, people normally say how many burdens unless a particular trade has its own convention.”

She tapped the page. “And this is Merrowford practice. Do not go to another kingdom, insist their measures are wrong and blame me.”

“Got it.”

“That is enough weight to survive a market. Distance.”

“Yes, miss.” Ian smiled.

Lethira’s eyebrows rose at *miss*, but she let it pass. “Ordinary people use practical descriptions constantly. A short walk, half a morning, beyond the bridge. But there are fixed measures when precision matters. You already know the road-mark from the cave survey.”

Ian asked about the survey pace and how builders would describe something like a door height.

“A survey pace is a fixed measuring length,” Lethira said. “It came from an ordinary pace, but proper measuring does not depend on whichever person happens to have the longest legs. Roads can be estimated by pacing; proper work uses marked cords, rods or chains.”

She added to the page. “Four thousand survey paces make one road-mark. One survey pace is four handspans. One handspan is eight fingerwidths.”

For a moment she held her hand over the written measures, fingers spread. Then she withdrew it, leaving the figures unobscured. “Builders use marked rules and cords. If someone describes a doorway as two paces and three handspans, that is a measurement, not a special kind of door.”

Ian nodded.

“That gives you ordinary length well enough,” Lethira said. “Area and capacity are where life becomes less elegant.”

“I’m looking forward to us occupying a bath.”

Lethira laughed. “Area exists. Surveyors and land clerks calculate it when they need to. Ordinary people are just as likely to describe the sides, boundary stones, frontage or how much ground can actually be worked. A builder planning our bathhouse will care about length, width, depth, how much water it takes to fill, and whether the drain carries it away.”

Ian observed that liquids probably had their own measures and that a cup or barrel was unreliable unless it meant a standardised vessel.

“Correct.” Lethira looked pleased. “Merrowford uses fixed trade capacities. Four measure-cups make a jugmeasure. Four jugmeasures make a pailmeasure.”

She wrote the capacities beside the lengths, then drew a line between the two sets of figures. Below them she left room for the dry measures.

“Market inspectors keep standards, and reputable merchants use marked vessels. Larger casks are usually described by how many pailmeasures they hold. A *barrel* can still mean a particular trade container, so I would not buy liquid on the promise that it is ‘one barrel’ unless I knew whose barrel.”

Ian said his own country had once been full of similarly complicated systems before mostly standardising them.

“We mostly standardise too,” Lethira said. “Merrowford can insist that a merchant selling in Merrowford agrees with the town standard. That does not mean another town, kingdom or trade has never invented a different one.”

She leaned back. “Civilisation has discovered that confusing measures are annoying. It has not always agreed on the cure.”

“What next?” Ian asked. “Time was just... no conversion possible, so far.”

Lethira considered that. “We use bells, dayparts and tighter reckoning where people need it. Your bracer gives you Merrowford time in a form familiar to you, but I would not assume the divisions it shows are what everybody here would call them.”

The line for time stayed unfinished. After the tidy columns of weights and lengths, it left a conspicuous gap on the lesson sheet.

“OK, let’s move on to dry weights.”

“Dry measures, mostly.” Lethira wrote another short ladder. “Eight grain-scoops make one grainmeasure. Four grainmeasures make one sackmeasure. The sackmeasure is fixed. The actual sack is not.”

She mimed levelling the top of a vessel, drawing her hand across an imaginary rim. “For trade, you fill the standard vessel and strike it level. Do not heap it, compress it or decide generosity means pushing more grain into the corners.”

Ian nodded.

“I feel as well educated as an eight-year-old now, thank you.”

Lethira laughed. “That is generous. You are at least less likely to embarrass yourself with a butcher, builder or grain merchant.”

She gathered the coins together and set them beside the folded island map. The lesson sheet stayed between them on the table as she sat back in her chair. “We should stop before education becomes unbearable.”

Ian kissed her cheek.

“I don’t think I can imagine you unbearable.”

“You have not seen me trying to explain something obvious to somebody who insists on being wrong.” She looked pleased despite the warning.

Ian smiled.

“Maybe because I can’t imagine arguing with you.”

“You told me I was an idiot. I think I agreed. I'd not call that an argument. In fact, I think *this* is more of an argument.” Ian chuckled.

Lethira laughed. “Fair. Yesterday I told you that you had been briefly an idiot, and you accepted the judgement. That is a very poor argument.” She considered him. “This, apparently, is our first serious dispute: whether we have ever had one.”

Ian kissed her.

“Do we get to make up now?”

Lethira kissed him back. “I suppose we should. It would be irresponsible not to.” Her mouth curved. “Fortunately, I am willing to forgive you.”

“Oh, I asked the machine to create an image of you. I’m curious how accurate you think it is. The reality machine said it was very close.”

Ian produced two five-by-seven prints on the table.

“As you know, I experience this in written form, but it's nice to have something to imagine more accurately.”

Lethira picked up the first image, then the second. For several moments she said nothing, comparing the two faces before turning her attention to the smaller details.

“That is disturbingly close.”

She touched the printed hair. “Too dark. Mine is more ash-brown than this. And apparently your machine believes I own considerably more jewellery than I do.” Her fingertip stopped at the ear cuff. “That part is fair.”

She compared the clothing next. “Believable. Not exactly mine.” Then the bow. “That is wrong. Much too short.”

Ian waited.

“The face is very close,” she said at last. “And the build. Close enough that I understand why you wanted them.”

She looked at him. “But keep in mind what they are. Machine-made images of me, not photographs.”

Ian smiled.

“Plus you look lovely in both of them, so it felt real to me.”

Lethira’s expression softened. “I will accept that compliment.” She put the images carefully beside the lesson sheet. “And I am glad it feels real. If you have to imagine me from writing, I would rather the imagined woman resembled me than some improved stranger.”

“Shall we go see some builders?”

“Yes.”

They left the holding together and walked into Merrowford.

The builder’s yard held stacked timber, stone offcuts and a workbench covered by the organised disorder of a working trade. The builder recognised Lethira when they arrived.

She explained what they wanted: the existing footprint, the eastern repair, the drainage and enough of a rough plan for the town office to understand that they intended to rebuild a household bathhouse rather than invent an entirely new structure.

“Show the water in and out,” the builder said. “That is what they will care about first.”

“I can do that.”

“How long might it take you?” Ian asked.

“Tomorrow for a filing plan if I draw from what I already saw. The day after tomorrow if you want me to check the old drain before I put my name on it.”

Lethira answered immediately. “Check the drain first.”

“Good. I’ll come tomorrow morning and open the old run. If nothing unpleasant is hiding underground, I’ll bring the plan the day after.”

Ian squeezed Lethira’s hand.

“Thank you.”

She returned the pressure while the builder made another note. “Better to find bad news before somebody builds a wall over it,” he said.

“That was easier than the lesson,” Lethira said when they left.

Ian asked what else she wanted to do in Merrowford.

“The Guild?” she suggested.

He wanted something less dramatic than house-sized island creatures.

The Guild hall was busy enough that nobody looked surprised to see them. Notices filled the boards in layers of chalk, pins and rewritten dates.

One B-rank notice concerned repeated trouble near a charcoal burner farther east: enough damage to suggest something more than ordinary wildlife, but far enough away to consume most of a day just reaching the area.

Another involved a road courier who had failed to reach the next posting house. His horse had returned with the saddle intact and one pannier missing. The notice asked for the courier and packet to be found without assuming attack, accident or desertion before evidence justified it.

“Interesting,” Lethira said. “Not a cheerful little outing.”

The lower boards were more varied.

A merchant wanted two guards for a barge carrying oil, pottery and worked metal downriver for one day before another crew took over. No specific threat. Ordinary pay.

A land clerk wanted armed escort while re-establishing boundary stones between two farms arguing about a hedge. The notice explicitly instructed the guards not to decide who owned the disputed ground.

Four iron-bound crates needed recovering from a wagon that had gone over a steep roadside bank. Driver and animals were safe. Contents to be kept dry.

A riverside warehouse wanted a night watch because small quantities of expensive dyed cloth were disappearing without forced entry. The owner suspected human theft and wanted observation before accusing workers.

A travelling herb factor wanted two days of escort into foothill gathering country. The factor knew plants; guards were expected to watch the surroundings rather than develop opinions about botany.

A quarry owner wanted a side-track surveyed before loaded carts used it again after runoff shifted markers and removed parts of a retaining edge.

There was a sealed-package run to a northern Guild post, registered adventurer responsible counter-to-counter.

A workshop wanted an apprentice’s tool chest recovered after it was left on a hired cart moving through three villages.

The missing-chickens notice was still there. They passed it.

A small caravan wanted an additional westbound guard in the morning. A miller needed a sealed replacement gear carried from Merrowford, valuable and awkward rather than especially dangerous.

One marked-immediate notice concerned an elderly relative missing on the road to friends in an eastern town. Another party had already taken it.

“Good,” Lethira said, before looking back over the open notices.

“We have to wait a day or two for a reply from the builder, so we could take something for a day or a night? Unless there's anything from Aelira or Mirelen due to happen that you need to be around for?” Ian paused. “I'd quite like to go on a boat, but not if you don't want to, or can't.”

“Nothing fixed,” Lethira said. “Mirelen said she would send word, but that is not the same as knowing when. I am not sitting at home waiting for it.”

She looked at the barge notice. “I do want to be back tonight. The builder is coming tomorrow morning to open the drain.” A smile appeared. “But I like the boat.”

“We can always return from the destination ... more quickly ... than normal, so even if its outbound journey is a day, we can be home for bed?”

He smiled mischievously.

“Plus I’m going to enjoy seeing how they react to me playing the role of aide.”

“If the handover point is somewhere you can bring us home afterwards, yes.” Lethira gave him a look. “And you are going to enjoy that far too much.”

She took the barge notice from the board. “You may be my terribly obedient unranked aide while I perform the difficult B-rank duty of preventing pottery from falling into a river.” Heading towards the Guild desk, she added, “Let us see whether it is still open.”

Ian took her hand and squeezed it.

“Let’s.”

Brannock confirmed the contract remained open. One guard had already signed and the merchant still needed one more. The cargo was exactly as listed: oil, pottery and worked metal. No known specific threat.

Ian could accompany Lethira under his existing aide record, but he did not count as the second contracted guard.

Lethira signed.

Departure was from the south quay before midday, payment on completion at the handover point. The guards were expected to remain with the cargo, assist the crew when safety required it, and deter theft or attack. River judgement belonged to the captain unless immediate danger overrode it.

As they left, Ian asked, “Is this job D or E?”

“Low D,” Lethira said. “The vessel is leaving town and the contract expects the guards to deal with ordinary armed trouble if it happens. An E job can generally leave and report genuine danger. This one is paying us to help the crew continue.”

Ian observed that the extra guard was probably unnecessary with Lethira present, and that the mismatch between their capabilities and the job was part of the amusement.

Lethira did not object. “I like jobs like this. Not every contract needs to test us. It is useful, we get paid, and we can come home without nearly dying.” She looked sideways at him. “And yes, being overqualified means we may actually enjoy the river.”

They walked out of the Guild hall.

“Plus the island probably gives way beyond rank B excitement.” Ian headed with her towards the quay.

Before the contracted boat crew came into view, he released Lethira’s hand and dropped into a more subordinate position and demeanour.

She laughed under her breath but recovered before they reached the crew.

The barge waited at the south quay beneath a working clutter of rope, cargo racks and crew. Oil jars sat wedged in frames; pottery occupied covered stacks; iron-bound crates held the worked metal lower and nearer the centreline.

A broad-shouldered captain recognised the contract in Lethira’s hand. His eyes moved to Ian. “Your aide?”

“Yes,” Lethira said. “He comes with me.”

“Keep him clear while we cast off. After that, put him where you like as long as he stays out of the crew’s way.”

For one brief moment Lethira’s professional expression almost failed.

Ian nodded and resisted smiling.

Lethira turned to the crew. “Understood.”

She boarded first. Ian followed, observing the vessel discreetly and waiting to see how far she intended to take the role.

Once the crew began casting off, Lethira pointed to a safe stretch of deck.

“Aide. Stay on this side until we’re clear of the quay. Don’t get between crew and a line.”

“Yes, ma'am. Shall I take your pack?”

Ian remained exactly where she had told him.

Lethira paused. “Yes.” She handed it over. “Thank you.” Then she turned towards the river as if nothing unusual had happened.

Ian held the pack and let the job begin.

Merrowford slid slowly away.

The second contracted guard was a square-built human woman in a leather coat carrying a short spear. She had the easy balance of somebody who had guarded cargo before. She introduced herself to Lethira and accepted Ian’s aide status without particular interest.

Lethira did the actual work. She watched the banks, other boats, the cargo and the crew without pretending to know the river better than the people who worked it. When pottery began clicking softly in one rack, she pointed it out before anything shifted far enough to matter. A crewman added another wedge.

“Aide,” she said afterwards. “You may rest there while it is safe.”

The other guard saw nothing unusual in the instruction.

Near midday, the captain looked behind them.

A narrow skiff carrying three men had been holding the same distance for too long. When the barge slowed, so did it. When the channel opened, the skiff accelerated instead of passing cleanly.

The man forward carried a rope and a shortened boat hook.

“Not their first try,” the captain said.

Lethira already had her bow in hand. The other guard lowered her spear.

“Aide,” Lethira said. “Stay behind the cargo unless I tell you otherwise.”

Ian moved as instructed, the game immediately secondary to the work.

The skiff came against the stern quarter.

The hook caught. A rope snapped taut.

Lethira drew and loosed in one smooth movement.

The arrow cut the rope where it pulled against the stern. The severed line fell away with the hook. Before the men in the skiff could recover, she had another arrow drawn.

“Back away.”

The man forward looked at the cut rope, then at the bow in her hands.

They backed away.

The skiff lost distance quickly once its crew decided the barge was not worth climbing onto.

Lethira held the draw until there was no realistic boarding attempt left, then lowered the bow.

The captain exhaled.

“Good shot.”

The other guard rested the butt of her spear on the deck.

“Easier boats.”

The crew recovered the severed hook line where part of it had snagged against the stern and coiled it as evidence for the handover report.

Lethira slipped the unshot arrow back into her quiver. “Aide. You may come out now.”

Ian returned carrying her pack and a spare arrow he had taken from it.

She took the spare and tucked it beside the others in her quiver.

The other guard looked at him. “At least your aide pays attention.”

“He has his uses,” Lethira said. Then, more quietly, “Keep the pack for now.”

Ian nodded, smiling where the other guard could not see.

Lethira caught the expression. One eyebrow moved, but for the moment the game remained inside the work.

The river widened through fields, willows and eroded banks. Ian watched the crew read the water in ways that had nothing to do with adventuring: a sounding pole at the bow, constant small corrections with the steering sweep, heavy crates shifted slightly when the current strengthened.

The second guard asked whether Lethira travelled by river often.

“Enough to know I am not a boatwoman.”

The captain appeared to approve of that answer.

At a small commercial landing they stopped only long enough for papers and fresh bread. Another barge occupied part of the quay and carts waited beyond it, making the guards’ job briefly more about strangers near cargo than anything on the river. Nothing happened.

They departed again.

At lunch, the crew ate their own food while the second guard produced cheese and wrapped leaves.

Lethira looked towards Ian. “Aide. You may sit with me while we eat.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Ian sat beside her, slightly closer than an aide strictly needed to sit, and ate.

Lethira noticed immediately, but for several bites she ignored it with impressive discipline. Then, without looking at him, she shifted one knee against his beneath the edge of her cloak.

“Aide,” she murmured quietly enough that nobody else could hear, “your understanding of professional distance appears to be deteriorating.”

Her face remained perfectly composed as she took another bite of bread.

Ian grinned briefly, curious whether anyone would make assumptions about the relationship, ownership or extent of services implied by the role.

The second guard eventually noticed the closeness and the knee beneath the cloak. One corner of her mouth moved. “Personal aide, then.”

Lethira did not blink. “Very.”

The guard looked at Ian holding Lethira’s pack, then at the space between them, and returned to her food with whatever conclusion she had privately reached.

Ian tried to keep his facial expression professional.

The journey continued.

Two cargo boats passed upstream under tow from the bank. Their crews warned of a fallen tree near the inside of a bend ahead. The branch was mostly submerged rather than blocking the entire river.

The captain prepared early. A crewman moved forward with the sounding pole. Another checked the lashings. The barge took the outer part of the bend where the current was stronger but the channel deeper.

Lethira stood. The second guard did the same.

“Aide. Pack down beside the covered pottery. Then stay there until we are through.”

Ian obeyed.

The submerged branch appeared first as a disturbance under the surface. For several seconds timber and hull looked much too close.

The captain corrected, taking the hull clear of the submerged timber. One oil jar shifted with a dull knock; Lethira steadied the rack while a crewman drove the loosened wedge back into place. Nothing broke.

“That is why I prefer thieves,” the captain said once the barge was straight again. “Trees do not listen when you threaten them.”

The second guard laughed.

“I have met people with similar limitations,” Lethira said.

By mid-afternoon the handover landing appeared ahead: two timber jetties, a warehouse and open ground for waiting carts. Another crew waited with two Guild-tagged representatives.

Once the boat was secure, Lethira looked towards Ian. “Aide. Bring me my pack.”

Ian followed the instruction dutifully.

She accepted it with a nod and slipped it onto one shoulder while the cargo was checked: jars counted, pottery inspected, metal crates matched against their seals.

The severed hook line became part of the captain’s report.

Lethira gave her own account when asked: three men in a narrow skiff, deliberate approach from astern, hook and line attached, withdrawal after the line was cut and resistance made clear. She added nothing they had not actually seen.

The second guard confirmed it.

No cargo was missing. Nothing was broken. Nobody aboard was injured.

“Clean completion, then,” one Guild representative said as he recorded the payment.

“Mostly,” Lethira replied. She glanced at the river. “Someone should probably tell the next few boats that the skiff is working this stretch.”

The representative added another line.

Only when the paperwork was finished did Lethira turn back to Ian. “Your first river escort appears to have been successful.”

Ian lowered his voice for her alone.

“I enjoyed it. And seeing you take charge with the skiff. Shall we have a little walk before teleporting?”

“Yes. I would like that.”

Lethira secured the payment and looked towards the narrow riverside path beyond the warehouse. “And I enjoyed taking charge of the skiff rather more than I probably should have.” She fell into step beside him once they were away from the immediate contract business. “Come on. We can walk some of the way before we cheat.”

They followed the river until the landing disappeared behind trees.

When there was nobody left to see them, Ian took her hand.

Lethira returned the pressure and let their joined hands swing naturally between them.

“I liked today,” she said eventually. Her thumb moved once across the back of his hand. “The lesson, the boat, even your ridiculous commitment to being my aide.” A faint smile appeared. “And I liked that when the job stopped being a game, you knew the difference.”

“Yes. It was fun. I was curious how people would react to a human working for an elf, or being more than her aide. But I also enjoy my role without that.”

Ian held up a slightly damp arrow: the one Lethira had shot through the rope, recovered afterwards through his power.

“This is not quite as nice a present as the island flower, but thought retrieval might be good.”

Lethira looked from the arrow to him. “You retrieved it.” She took it carefully and checked the shaft, fletching and head. “That is a much more practical present than the flower.”

Her smile softened. “And I was curious too. Most people seemed to accept *aide* because the Guild already had an ordinary place to put you. The other guard decided there was probably more to it, but she did not seem especially troubled by that.”

She ran a thumb along the shaft. “I also liked that you enjoyed the role for its own sake. It would be less fun if the entire point were making strangers misunderstand us.”

She returned the arrow to the quiver carefully rather than using it again while damp. “This one can dry properly when we get home.”

They walked until the afternoon began to lean towards evening.

At last Lethira slowed. “I think that is enough honesty about distance for one day.” She turned towards him, still holding his hand. “We should take the unfair way home now.”

They appeared near the stream at the western holding.

After Lethira settled, Ian rose onto his toes and kissed her.

“Home, Mistress.”

Her eyebrows rose. “*Mistress* now?” The surprise became amusement. She slipped an arm around his waist and kept him close. “You are becoming increasingly ambitious with titles.” Her smile sharpened. “Welcome home, aide.”

“An exclusively home title.”

Lethira considered that and nodded with exaggerated gravity. “Good. I would hate to confuse the Guild.”

They went inside together.