I did not sleep well, last night, on the cot in the main construction tent. I dreamt of spiky swamp weeds grasping, pulling me deeper into the mud of the fen.
I watched the sun rise over the walls of Elder Pool. To the south, the sun glinted off the great tower of the Sorceror.
I met this morning with Royal Engineer, Lord Valle. He detailed a number of items on which he wanted my input, foremost among them a concern regarding the ground under which the main entrance and grand facade are to be constructed. He presented a pair of alternate concepts which would be far lighter. I rejected these.
“You are a man who knows what he wants, Father,” Lord Valle said from underneath his heavy brows. He is at least twenty years my senior. When others call me “Father,” I correct them. Lord Valle may use whatever title for me he pleases.
I considered visiting Anthracite before I return to the shrine. However, one is not exactly given a warm reception, arriving without having been summoned. Unless one carries a shopping list in one hand and the reins of a horse in the other, its saddle bags heavy with gold and platinum Wolfs.
I spent some time in the recently excavated sub-basements. They are unfinished, but perfectly square, as one would expect from a project overseen by the Royal Engineer. That space will serve as sepulcher for church leaders of the future. I may ask that my own remains be interred there.
We are a faith who privileges the sun, the snow and a spirit of optimism. Down, in that hole, I ruminated on the fact that, ultimately, we all will lie in darkness.