The Stakes Part 1

The first wooden stake went into the ground at seven-fourteen in the morning.

There was no ceremony. No brass band playing royal anthems, no delegation of Crown ministers, and no cheering crowd gathered along the roadside to mark the occasion.

Just the dull, rhythmic impact of an iron mallet striking seasoned timber.

THUNK.

The sharpened pine stake sank several inches into the damp morning earth.

THUNK.

Another blow drove it deeper, anchoring it firmly in the subsoil.

THUNK.

The survey assistant stopped, wiped his brow, checked the carved notch near the top of the stake, and stepped aside. Painted across its flat face in crisp black lettering were three simple notations:

BNR

0+000

C/L

Samuel Wright stared down at the freshly driven timber for several seconds.