The thirty-day moratorium on Structural Cement had ended. Elias, surrounded by thousands of neatly stacked, pre-fabricated components, felt ready to begin the final sprint on the cantilever foundation.
Just as he was preparing the final batch of legal, but slow-curing lime mortar, the dusty child returned with a letter from Duke Vesper.
Elias tore open the seal, his eyes scanning for the next administrative trap. The letter was short and sickeningly polite:
Baron Thorne,
I applaud your success in meeting the preliminary Royal Mandate requirements. To ensure the final structure—a matter of national prestige—meets the highest standards of craftsmanship, I have taken the liberty of assigning you a Royal Master Mason, free of charge, to oversee the aesthetics and traditional integrity of the stone-laying.
I trust Master Foreman Bartok of the Mountain Hand will be a valuable addition to your team.
Sincerely, Vesper.
Elias crumpled the letter. "No! A Master Mason? That's not a gift, Kaelen, that's a sabotage by tradition!"
Before Elias could fully process the threat, Bartok arrived. He was a powerfully built man in an immaculate, heavy leather apron, carrying a magnificent, custom-made chisel. He smelled faintly of granite dust and immense self-importance.
Bartok surveyed the manicured, pre-fabricated yard, the standardized scaffolding, and the precise measurements, and his lip curled in immediate disgust.
"This is an atrocity, Baron," Bartok announced, his voice booming. "You treat noble stone like common firewood. Where is the respect for the material? Where is the hand-cut beauty? This is the work of peasants."
Elias forced a smile. "Master Bartok, we are focused on structural optimization and cost efficiency. Every beam is standardized to ensure fast assembly."
Bartok scoffed, pointing at a stack of Elias's lime mortar sacks. "And this slaked sludge? For a bridge of national importance? We will not use this pale imitation! We must use Traditional Granular Cement, hand-ground and cured in the kiln for two months! It's the only way to ensure the spirit of the bridge endures!"
Elias snapped. "The spirit of the bridge is irrelevant! It needs to support 20 tons of siege equipment! Traditional granular cement costs ten times more, and the curing time will add another two months to the schedule!"
Bartok simply crossed his arms. "I am the Royal Master Mason. By decree of the Duke and the Royal Artisan's Charter, any structure of national importance must be approved for aesthetic and material purity. If I do not approve the foundation, the Royal Treasury will not pay the final commission. And I do not approve of cheap haste."
Elias was trapped. He could use his lime mortar and risk Bartok vetoing the final payment, or he could use Bartok's expensive, time-consuming materials and guarantee a massive financial and temporal failure.
Bartok immediately began his reign of anti-efficiency.
First, he ordered the abandonment of the standardized lime mortar. Instead, he forced the workers to hand-grind the aggregate again, spending three days sifting the sand for imperfections.
Then came the stone-laying. The foundation required massive stone blocks to be sunk into the mortar. Elias demanded the miners place the blocks quickly to save time.
Bartok stopped them. He insisted that every block be placed with a slow, almost ceremonial reverence.
"No, no, you brute!" Bartok bellowed at Gark. "You must sing to the stone! It must rest in its final position with honor! This is not mere stacking; this is the marriage of rock and binder!"
Elias watched Gark, the hardened lead miner, awkwardly mumbling a made-up tune while gently nudging a two-ton granite block into place. The process took twenty minutes per block, where Elias's schedule allotted five.
Kaelen approached Elias, his face a picture of grim resignation. (Internal Monologue: "I thought the Baron was mad for efficiency. This man is mad for slowness. The one is a scourge on my time, the other, a scourge on my sanity. The Duke has found a truly terrible weapon.")
"My Lord," Kaelen whispered, "We are falling behind. At this pace, the foundation will take three weeks instead of one. Our funds cannot sustain this artistry."
Elias, watching his clock and his gold tick away, realized he couldn't fire Bartok, and he couldn't speed him up. He had to use Bartok's own massive ego against him.
Elias walked over to the Master Mason, who was currently criticizing a stone's "lack of visual warmth."
"Master Bartok," Elias said, bowing deeply. "You are an artist. I, a mere engineer, am unworthy of your skills. However, I have noticed a design flaw that only a true Master could solve."
Elias pointed to the visible, external surface of the cantilever foundation—the part that would be exposed to the elements.
"The wind-shear on the gorge is immense. We need to cut a subtle, decorative pattern into the exposed stone—a pattern that looks beautiful but also subtly diffuses the wind velocity across the surface, reducing drag." Elias invented the term "Wind-Shear Diffusion Pattern" on the spot.
Bartok's eyes lit up. A challenge! An opportunity for art to prove its superiority over mere science!
"A Wind-Shear Diffusion Pattern? A concept of elegant defense!" Bartok roared with delight. "This requires individual genius, not standardized templates! I will personally oversee the cutting of every single exterior block! The miners' work is beneath me!"
Elias had done it. He had successfully lured the Master Mason into dedicating his slow, painstaking efforts to the aesthetics of the exterior blocks, which were not critical to the foundation's immediate structural integrity.
"Yes, Master Bartok. Your artistry is vital to the surface finish," Elias said, bowing again. "Meanwhile, I will use Gark and the men to pour the non-visible interior blocks with my faster, if less honorable, mortar. We must utilize all resources efficiently, you see."
Bartok, drunk on the idea of his "Wind-Shear Diffusion Pattern," immediately began sketching complicated, hand-drawn schematics for the exterior stones, completely ignoring the fast-paced, unceremonious pouring of the vital interior counterweight.
Elias turned to Kaelen, his greedy smile back in full force. "We defeated the artistic sabotage, Kaelen! We just isolated the inefficient variable! Now, get Gark! We have a foundation to pour before Bartok notices we're pouring the bulk of the cement without singing to the rocks!"