Tuesday Tidbit: Arrival of the Stones

And now the real work begins …

Two days later, all work stopped at midmorning as a pair of bright-colored wagons, each with a seven-bird hitch, rolled up to the mill site. “Marsdaam my witness, a man’d think we was carryin’ lead, not stone,” the teamster declared. Pale mud stained his boots to the ankle. “S’ wet down south, rains to th’ east,” he informed Harald. “But we’re here.”

“You’re here, Yoorst and Marsdaam be praised.” They’d gotten resting wood prepared, so the stones would not sit on the bare ground as they waited for final trimming and cutting prior to being installed. The new imperial gear had fit almost too well, leading to mutters about the floor crashing down on their heads, or mice moving in before the miller did. Harald had made a trip into town and left a donation at Radmar’s chapel, as well as paying the bill at The Empty Barrel. He’d also bought new grain of both kinds for Wulfgar to use. The stone cutter had probably tested a little at Gember’s temple already, but it helped to have some on-site as well.

“Where to?” the scrawny teamster asked, looking around as his associate backed the birds toward the wood on the ground.

“Where he’s going,” Harald said. Wulfgar had appeared from inside the mill. With deft, practiced gestures, the bigger teamster secured the birds and the wagon, then folded back the canvas over the stones. He carried two, the thinner ones. They’d move those first, or at least they usually did. “Are the weight spells still in place?”

“Aye.”

Scavenger be praised, they could move the stones with fewer men. Mak trotted up, slowing as he caught sight of the great haulers. “Go get six men, strong ones. Do not run,” Harald ordered.

Mak touched his forelock and spun around, walking very quickly away from the wagons. One of the near-side birds saw him and hissed anyway. The teamster tugged her rope. “Southern blood,” he grumbled. “Deep-winded but hot-natured.”

Twrrhsss. She snapped at something in the air.

“Told ye.” The man sounded patient and resigned.

Wulfgar and the bigger teamster had folded the bed cover well clear of the stones, and untied the web of ropes holding them steady. Spells on the ropes had helped keep them from fraying, or so Harald had been told once. Harald left the first wagon and went over to help. “I’ll hold the birds,” the teamster said.

“Thank ye.” By the time Harald and Wulfgar had removed the ropes and coiled them as the teamster asked, Mak and the others arrived.

“Three on a side, two in pushin’,” Wulfgar commanded. Two of the apprentices scrambled carefully into the wagon and braced where they could push with their legs against the cradle. “Not too hard or fast. I say when.” The men got ready. Harald and Ceol had told them what to expect. “Now.”

Scrrrape. The stone closest to the end shifted, and two of the men reached in and gripped the wooden cradle around the dark grey stone wheel.

“Now.”

Scraaeeeeeep, and it moved farther. Enough of the cradle extended from the end of the wagon to let the men start taking some of the weight. Harald stayed well clear, up by the head of the lead bird on the hitch, in case he needed to help grab her.

“Keep it moving if you can. End of the restin’ wood.” Wulfgar gave the men a breath to get ready. “Now, now, now.”

Scraaape, grunts and hisses, and the six men carried the stone and cradle to the end of the wood. “Down, down, down, good.” Wulfgar shifted one bit of wood so the man’s fingers would be clear.

The second small stone moved almost as smoothly. Everyone stopped and rested as the teamster moved the wagon and his birds out of the way. The wagon with the thicker stone moved ahead, then backed into place. Two of the birds fussed. “Yoorst my witness, you’ll be sausage before the day’s out,” their owner grumbled.

A third bird hissed, dark blue crest feathers going almost flat. The grey and brown gelding fluttered one wing. The workmen kept well clear as the teamster locked the wagon’s wheels, then checked his birds. One buffeted his head with her wing, or tried to. He gave her a clout to the neck.

“Right. I’m blindfoldin’ all of ’em. You and you, hold ’em as I work.”

Once each bird wore a tan leather mask over his eyes, he settled and stood quietly. The lead bird sat, followed by one of the wheel birds. The others followed, and the wagon tipped forward a little. Harald looked to Wulfgar. He shrugged, and moved to where he could see the teamster’s face.

“Got water?” the teamster asked as he untied the ropes on the stone and began to fold back the canvas over it.

“Aye.”

The man nodded. “Once this is done, wet th’ bed and we’ll push that way. Preservation spell on th’ wood’ll help.”

Harald looked to Wulfgar. The stone cutter shrugged again. He hadn’t heard of it either. Mak got the water bucket out of the mill and handed it to one of the junior apprentices. The teamster pointed. “Up in there, pour the water easy, just enough to wet and to run under the stone.” The boy did as ordered, then handed down the bucket. “This weighs a third again more?” The teamster looked to Wulfgar.

“Aye. Same’s before, be ready for the weight.” The others braced and moved into position. “Now.”

Scrrraaape. The stone and cradle moved farther than before despite the weight.

“Now.”

Scrrrape. Almost a third of the stone cleared the end of the wagon bed, and men took good holds on the wood.

Wulfgar mouthed something, eyes closed, then called, “Now, now, now.”

The stone glided out of the wagon. The men staggered, then steadied and carried it to the resting wood. “Easy, easy, eeeeasy, good.” It touched down. The men moved their hands, and the bottom stone—the bed stone—settled with a little creak.

“Radmar and m’lord Scavenger be praised,” Wulfgar declared.

“Radmar be praised,” the men replied, and Harald made the Wheel.

He’d planned for this, and a keg of ale waited back at the carpenters’ work area by the time the teamsters got their birds seen to. Wulfgar inspected the stones as the others broached the keg. “Yoorst be praised, Gember be thanked,” Ceol declared, raising his tankard.

“Gember be thanked, Yoorst be praised,” came the reply. The others raised their mugs as well, then drank.

The lean teamster nodded and got a second tankard. “Marsdaam was kind, we only got into real mud once, and that only for two hands of sun. Road’s not so bad’s last time I was up this way.”

The other man made the Horns toward the road. “Oh aye! Never want to see a wagon in an axle deep hole again, Marsdaam my witness. Almost lost his load, the shift was more than the preservation spells could stand.”

Toglos blinked several times. “Preservation spells, sir?” he asked.

The man grinned, revealing a handful of missing teeth. “Aye! Once it’s loaded, the spells on the ropes and on the load help preserve the balance and weight from shiftin’. Won’t stop things from movin’ in a big tip like that un’, but keeps it from slowly creepin’ one way or ‘tother.”

Harald blinked in turn. “Never heard of usin’ a spell that way. Huh.”

“Don’ know if other preservation mages do it, but ourn will. That, plus water resistin’ spells on th’ bed and cover, an we’re good for loads.”

The leaner teamster nodded. “Aye. He’ll only do two per wagon, so we got those. Made more sense than spells for keepin’ mice out, or stoppin’ rot in th’ load.”

Harald blinked. He’d heard of spells cancelling themselves out, like a charm for keeping water off firewood breaking on an anti-fire spell. Maybe that was what the mage meant? “Huh. Interestin’.” He drank more ale. Wulfgar thumped in and helped himself before the apprentice at the tap could do it. “Problem?”

“None.”

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