While Corvin took the key, Sergeant Vane threw his full weight against the iron ratchet bar of the ten-ton screw-jack. The cast-iron gearwork groaned under the huge load, the heavy square threads biting with a rhythmic, metal clink-clink as the four-foot granite block began to rise.
“She’s lifting!” Vane shouted through the steam. “Corvin, get the ash wedges under the shoulder!” Corvin dropped to his knees in the mud, driving two seasoned ash wedges beneath the rising stone to catch the load if the jack slipped.
At three inches of lift, Vane dropped the ratchet, slid his broad arms beneath young Varo’s shoulders. Then he hauled the boy backward out of the trap with one smooth, powerful heave. The crushed wool of the apprentice’s trouser leg was soaked with blood. But the bone was unbroken. The lead collar had absorbed the worst of the impact. Vane wrapped the boy’s thigh in padded linen splints, buckled the leather straps tight. Then he lifted the lightweight apprentice into the sheepskin inside of the timber cradle.
“He’s in the box!” Vane called across the gulf, giving the signal line two sharp tugs. “Varo is secure! Prepare for the first haul!”
The clock on the work-order slate stood at 43 minutes past one o’clock. Minute 80 and 56 seconds on the brass bridge pocket watch as cold mountain runoff carrying splintered spruce poles swirled against the granite bearing-shelf. It sent a smell of wet pine across the three separated copper cones. Corvin Hest, working…
