Late afternoon frost began to silver the rim of the greywater ditch as Kezra knelt on the cold cobbles at the southeastern corner of the washhouse parcel.
Her fingers were stiff inside her wool gloves. But her movements were measured, deliberate, and unrushed. Across the yard, the two laundresses remained seated quietly on their bench by the farrier’s forge. It watched with wide, curious eyes. Ten paces to her left, Master Ulvan Dret leaned on his ivory-tipped cane, his fur cloak gathered tightly around his neck. His watery hazel eyes tracked every motion of her hands. Yseld stood motionless beside the ditch, her hickory staff planted firmly, her gaze sweeping the surrounding castle walls to ensure no stray sentry crossed the outer edge during the sensitive posture phase.
Beside Kezra, Fellis Dain held the boundary sighting rule perfectly level, his knuckles white against the dark ash wood as he steadied the brass-wrapped spirit bubble. “Posture is true north, Kezra. Zero degrees, zero minutes. The four corner stakes are plumb to within half a line. Depth reference locked at eight spans into native hard speckled granite.”
Kezra drew her iron chisel and small copper-headed mallet from her leather belt pouch.
Under the First Survey statutes, certifying a newly surveyed parcel needed three physical boundary strikes at the cardinal anchor points. Meanwhile, the bonded survey notebook rested open upon the ground, its thick parchment pages attuned to the local bedrock deep ring. The copper head of the mallet was specifically balanced to…
