Down inside the dry drainage trench of the underground mason’s workshop, Kezra Venn knelt on the exposed dolomitic limestone floor. The stone beneath her knees was freezing cold, smooth as slate where ages of ancient slurry had polished its surface, but fully free of earth-shaking shearing. She held her hardened steel sounding rod vertically against the bedrock, its polished chisel tip resting in a natural depression between two chert nodules.
Paxa Sel stood on the trench lip above her. She held the brass air-lamp so its golden light bathed the stone floor and lit up the graduations on Kezra’s sounding shaft. On the workshop floor, Fellis Dain had already anchored the main survey line at the northeast corner pier. He used his uninjured right hand to draw the braided cord taut across the sixteen-pace width of the room.
“Ready on the north baseline, Kez,” Fellis called down, his voice hushed under the heavy stone vault. “Zero offset at the doorway spreading joint. The compass bearing aligns with true polar north within two minutes of arc.”
Kezra raised her brass mallet. “Sounding the basal eight paces of the dolomitic stone base,” she announced quietly. “First test point: center trench, northern side.”
