Edwin went to fetch water before I finished wrapping the cloth around my foot.
I heard the bucket lightly strike the doorframe and raised my head.
Thomas was still sitting at the table, examining a small tool beside the window.
For a moment, I expected him to get up.
He didn't.
That was the change I'd bought.
Not the absence of work, nor a well-stocked house.
A few moments when Thomas could remain seated without leaving some other need unattended.
When Edwin returned, we ate some of the barley and carried the tools to the lumber mill.
I'd already thought about what we'd do.
We needed usable wood, dry firewood, and something we could offer without waiting for someone to bring us a broken object.
I pointed beyond the clearing.
—We can look for fallen logs.
Edwin looked in that direction.
—For what kind of work?
—Separate what can be used. Sell some of it, perhaps.
He adjusted the axe in his hand.
—Sell it to whom?
The question made me stop.
I'd shown him the water, the house, and the division of the materials.
I still hadn't explained what I'd done with the piece of wood.
Thomas looked at me, but didn't answer for me.
—There's another way to sell it —I said. —Through the same power that brought you here.
Edwin went still.
I heard myself say it and realized how simple the sentence sounded.
—The wood disappears —I added. —In exchange, I get a little more of the gold I use to summon people and buildings. It isn't money I can use to buy food from the neighbors.
He looked at the axe, then at the lumber mill.
—And how much do you get?
I told him what had happened with the first batch.
Eight hundredths.
Far too little to summon another man, even though the piece itself had had real weight.
Edwin frowned.
—Then we need to choose what we can afford to lose.
—Yes.
He pointed toward the pines.
—And know what we're allowed to take.
I felt irritated before recognizing where it came from.
I wanted to end the conversation and start.
We finally had another man, two axes, a workshop.
It was difficult to look at all that wood without feeling as though we were standing still because of questions.
Harl had asked us the same questions.
—Let's talk to Ben —I decided.
Thomas began putting away the tool.
—You stay —I said. —Edwin and I will go.
He looked at me, then placed his hand on the bench.
—Show him the way carefully.
I took the splinter where I'd written the names and tucked it close to my body.
I didn't know whether I'd need it.
I wanted something to remind me to ask before promising.
Edwin walked at a pace I could keep up with.
He didn't know the route.
When we reached the first fork in the path, he waited for me to point.
It still felt strange to be the person who knew where to go.
We found Ben outside, beside a pile of wood leaning against a low shelter.
He raised his head when he heard us.
His eyes passed over me and stopped on Edwin.
—Another one?
I nodded.
—This is Edwin. He's going to work with us.
Edwin greeted him.
Ben looked at the axe, then toward the direction we'd come from.
—When did he arrive?
—Yesterday —I answered.
It was true.
The next question might not have such an easy answer.
Ben wiped his hands on his clothes.
—Harl said there were only two of you.
—There were.
There was a brief silence.
I could have invented a journey, a boat, a place where Edwin had come from.
I couldn't choose a lie before Ben changed the subject.
—The door's still good.
I looked at it.
—Good.
Edwin didn't know about the door.
I gave him a brief explanation, and he nodded before asking about the wood Ben was sorting.
The conversation shifted to something the two of them seemed more comfortable discussing than I was.
I explained what we were looking for:
Material to work with and for fire, somewhere we could gather without disturbing anything someone else was keeping.
Ben listened.
—I have some wood that needs to be moved from one place to another. If you want to do the work, we can talk.
He pointed behind the shelter.
We went to look.
It wasn't a fallen tree waiting for whoever happened to find it.
It was sections of an already-cut trunk, left on low supports.
Some were covered; others had been exposed to water.
There was a narrow path between the pile and a passage leading down toward more open ground.
—This is mine —Ben said. —I've had it separated for a while. I need to clear the passage and store it properly before the rest gets ruined.
Edwin examined the material without immediately moving anything.
He touched one end, looked at the supports, and walked toward the place Ben indicated for the new pile.
—Whole or separated?
Ben showed him what he intended to keep as larger pieces and what could become firewood.
I followed their gestures.
That wood had an owner, a purpose, and a job that needed doing.
It was far more concrete than the entire forest.
We negotiated beside the pile.
Ben didn't offer coins.
He offered part of the usable wood as payment, along with food on the days we worked there.
The division would be made beforehand, so we wouldn't argue at the end over which piece belonged to whom.
I pointed toward a piece that looked good.
—That one too?
He shook his head.
He chose another, smaller piece.
I didn't accept immediately.
Edwin asked to examine it.
He found a damaged end and showed how much would have to be discarded.
Ben added another piece.
I looked at Edwin.
He gave a small nod.
—And food for Thomas —I said. —He'll be staying at the workshop.
Ben pressed his lips together.
—I'm not feeding people who didn't come to work.
I felt my face grow hot.
Thomas had repaired his door.
I almost said it.
I stopped because the door had already been paid for, and I knew that wasn't the same agreement.
—Then one more piece of wood —I answered. —So we can trade it for what he needs.
Ben looked at the pile for a long moment, then pointed to a short piece he hadn't separated yet.
Edwin checked it again.
We agreed.
I repeated the entire arrangement before we started:
Which pieces would remain Ben's.
Which would be ours.
Where everything would be stacked.
What could be cut and what couldn't.
Food for the two who would be doing the work, with no promise of payment for Thomas.
Ben let me finish.
Then he pointed toward where we should begin.
The work didn't look anything like what I'd imagined when I'd pointed toward the forest.
There were no falling trees or piles growing quickly.
There were pieces we had to turn before we could even get a grip on them.
One support gave way and forced us to stop.
There was dirt caught in the wood, water running down inside my sleeve, and Edwin telling me to move my hand before one end could come down.
He was stronger than I was.
That didn't make every movement safe.
The first time I tried pulling before we'd agreed on the movement, the piece twisted between us.
Edwin let it settle.
—Wait until I tell you —he said.
The sentence reminded me of Thomas beside the mud.
I nodded, embarrassed.
We started again.
Ben helped with the sections where two adult pairs of arms made a difference.
I was responsible for smaller pieces, clearing the passage, and keeping the materials that couldn't be mixed separated.
When we stopped to eat, my hands were trembling slightly.
The food was simple.
I didn't know the name of one of the roots in the stew and asked.
Ben answered, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to recognize the plant growing from the ground based on that alone.
I ate everything.
So did Edwin.
We returned home before the work was finished.
We agreed to come back the next day.
The portion of wood meant for us remained separated on Ben's property.
I didn't count it as received.
Thomas had kept the fire going and gotten some light work done at the workshop.
He'd cooked some of the barley for himself and left the rest stored.
I told him how the day had gone.
He listened without seeming offended that Ben hadn't included his food.
—You needed to eat —I said.
Thomas pointed toward the clean pot.
—I ate.
I still wanted to argue about an injustice he seemed to understand better than I did.
Edwin sat slowly on the bench.
—We'll finish tomorrow, if nothing goes wrong with the larger pieces.
He didn't say it as a promise.
He looked at his hands, opening and closing his fingers.
For the first time, I saw in him the exhaustion I already recognized in Thomas.
The next morning, we divided another portion of the barley and returned to work.
I knew what to do in some parts.
Not all of them.
Edwin had to correct me less, and Ben came to help when we called for him, without waiting for us to try lifting what we couldn't manage alone.
We finished in the afternoon.
The passage was clear.
Ben's wood was stacked where we'd agreed, separated from the wet ground.
He checked the pile and the cut pieces before pointing toward our share.
—You can take that.
There was enough wood to require more than one trip.
I stared at it, pleased in a way the System's numbers still hadn't managed to make me feel.
Edwin measured the distance to the path.
—We'll take it in parts.
My satisfaction diminished slightly.
We ate before beginning the transport.
Then we carried what we could, left the rest separated with Ben, and made the trip to the workshop.
Thomas met us at the edge of the clearing.
He didn't try to take the heaviest part.
He showed us where to put everything and cleared space beneath the roof.
On the second trip, I was slower.
So was Edwin.
We brought everything in before dark, with enough breaks for me to grow impatient with them and then be grateful for them moments later.
The pile looked smaller at the lumber mill than it had on Ben's property.
Perhaps because I could see what needed to come out of it.
Thomas separated pieces that could be used for small repairs.
Edwin pointed out the best ones for firewood.
I brought the splinter where I recorded our materials.
Only after we'd made that division did I look for the System.
There was some usable wood that we hadn't reserved for immediate construction or fire.
I placed my hand on a batch within reach and examined the offer.
The value was higher than the first sale.
I showed the physical amount to Thomas and Edwin and explained what it would yield.
They couldn't see the numbers.
They looked at the wood.
—How much of this pile do you want to give up? —Thomas asked.
I looked at the total.
I'd thought about using a larger portion.
The Blacksmith was getting dangerously close to what I could afford, and the idea of increasing the balance pulled at me even though it didn't solve the problem of iron or who would work with it.
Edwin pointed to one of the pieces.
—That could make a handle. No reason to make it disappear now.
We moved the piece aside.
I checked the value of what remained in the batch.
Six tenths of a gold.
The material conversion offered six units of wood.
I had one hundred and thirty wood in the System.
I needed to preserve the possibility of using the gold, but not at any cost.
I checked the firewood we'd set aside, the pieces saved for work, and what I was actually about to give up.
I confirmed the sale of that batch alone.
The wood disappeared.
Edwin stared at the empty space.
It was the first time he'd seen it happen.
My balance changed to one hundred and fifty point sixty-eight gold.
The wood remained at one hundred and thirty.
I wrote it down.
The result seemed small compared to two days of work and all the trips.
But the sale wasn't everything we'd received.
We had both eaten while working.
Thomas had used part of the reserve.
And there was still physical material beneath the roof.
I almost added everything into a single calculation.
I couldn't.
I made separate lines.
Then we gathered the tools and went inside the house.
The barley was lower in the container.
Thomas prepared the meal with what we'd set aside for that night, and Edwin washed his hands before sitting down.
There was a new scrape near his thumb.
—When did that happen? —I asked.
He looked at it.
—Carrying something. Nothing serious.
I recognized the urge to accept that answer too quickly.
I brought water and the cloth before sitting down.
Edwin tended to his hand.
I didn't need to turn it into an order.
During the meal, Thomas asked whether Ben had more work.
—We didn't arrange anything else —I answered. —We just finished this one.
He nodded.
Edwin rested his spoon.
—He knows we can do it now.
That was true.
He also knew there were three of us.
That one was a boy.
That Thomas was still sparing his arm.
And that the two men needed to eat and rest like anyone else.
We weren't a workshop capable of taking every job.
But we had wood someone had given us as payment, tools stored away, and a completed job with no debt to the person who had requested it.
Before going to sleep, I returned to the lumber mill to check the cover over the pile.
Edwin came with me.
We adjusted a piece that had been left too close to the edge.
When I stepped back, I could see the division we'd made:
Material for work.
Firewood.
And space for what didn't exist yet.
That wood was ours.
For the first time, I knew who we'd received it from and what it had cost to bring it there.