Every good idea needs an incredibly worse idea

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Aleksei stood, looking over the last of his project in the biting snow. Most of the workers were huddled under large tent, near a fire, but not the bookman. He was looking over the large crane he had overseen the construction of that morning. It was anchored firmly to the ground, and three angled posts spread the load of the thing over a large wooden platform, to prevent it from sinking into the ground. The beam itself was reinforced with parts from the metal tube he was working on. A pulley with a large set of chains hung from the end and ran to a loop at the other end of the arm, and down to another pulley at the base, and from there all the way to the shore were it would hooked to a huge winch, two of the largest plow horses he could find in the county tethered to it, waiting.

He checked the chains again, they had been dug under the five foot face of a woman that the horn used to rest on. Everything was ready. The cart was in place, again modified by Aleksei's own design with springs to absorb some of the weight of the face.

He makes a gesture, and the horses are goaded, and start walking, pushing against the winch. Slowly, oh so slowly, the face starts to lift, pulling out of the frozen ground. Thank the gods for the snow, it would actually make it easier than pulling out of the mud. When he sees the chain start to strain, he holds up a hand, and cries out "HOLD!", farmers pulling the horses to a stop. Men come over and start chipping away the frozen mud, slowly freeing it from the ground.

Again the horses start up, Aleksei making sure everyone but himself in out of the way of the face. If that thing fell on anyone, it would be death. He just trusts his out reflexes, and someone has to watch the chains.

Two feet in the air. Two and a half. His hand shoots up again, stopping the horses. This time, men hook ropes into the chains of the face, so they can stabilize it in the air. The signal to start is made again.

Three feet. Three and a half feet.

Four feet.

Five feet.

Six. Seven. He stops the horses, and the cart backs into position, and slowly, the men guide it over the cart. The winch is wedged into place, and the horses removed, and reversed. Slowly, they start to lower the damn thing on the cart. Safely in place, he unhooks the chains, and starts to process of covering it, and placing guards on it. He slides into the passenger seat of the cart, and over sees the ride back into town himself, all the way to Burnie's office.

At this no one beat him to this one.