Stonemasons Of Distinction

 

It's been one year since Stonemasons Of Distinction was revealed to subscribers of my Patreon. It's about twenty eight years since the letter headed Stonemasons Of Distinction was used to capture a stone lion mascot. In any case time to reveal it to those outside the circles who know/ pay money!

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Stonemasons Of Distinction

The porter was neither welcoming nor suspicious. Still, we had a van, and a letter inviting us to repair a statue, and business cards saying we were Stonemasons Of Distinction so he got out his keys and let us into the college.

Maybe in a couple of years this wouldn’t work, every visitor logged on the system, verification of identity online. Or maybe it would, the number on the business card would get answered by a company secretary who would vouch for us, and the one on the letter would get a grumpy acknowledgement that we were expected. More technical, more sophisticated, but no less vulnerable to those who were dishonest.

He was with us all the way, no chance for any nonsense. There it was in the Lord Hill Wing, the smooth marble of the Griffin, upright, claws outstretched.

“Looks in good shape to me,” he said.

We explained as we strapped boards around it, brought in the trolley. The wings, big, heavy pieces of stone, only attached at a narrow point. The slightest crack, microscopic, and it could be all over.

He nodded in agreement, as indeed he should, it was true enough. Just not the whole truth.

There’s someone delivering food at the lodge, and a couple of students with complaints, so the porter opens the gates and waves us through. It’s evening but not that late. It’s not unreasonable for us to still be working.

We use planks to make a ramp to get the boxed statue into the van, and though it’s not steep it takes all of us to get it up there.

And we’re away. We make the calls to tell the people waiting by the phones that we’re done, and inviting them to the finale.

We’re not going far, though in the cramped streets of the city it takes a while. Into the car park. The boxed statue down the ramp and up the lift.

The whole team is here, everyone who knows, maybe twenty people. Together we get it up the last flight of stairs to the roof.

Take the box off as the sun dips down leaving us in twilight. Then waiting, watching. As the wings shift slightly, the beak flexes, the claws grasp. Ready for flight.