At the entrance of the workshop, a mottled wooden sign, barely legible, read "XX Workshop".
Horn could smell the intense scent of lime and stone in the air even before entering the workshop.
Climbing the stone steps and pushing open the iron-edged dull wooden door, a large courtyard was hidden behind grapevines.
The stonemasons were busy in the bright morning light, wearing aprons covered in dust and dirt, their faces smudged with dirt, their hands grimed with mud.
A few stonemason apprentices sat in front of a table, constructing a miniature church using sticks and lime mortar.
At the center of the workshop was a foot-operated stone grinder, where two laborers struggled to pedal, helping a sturdy stonemason apprentice polish stones into architectural components.
"Mr. Casti." A stonemason, appearing to be the agent, walked over, "The master told me to say he's not here if you come."
