smelter at the ironworks, of Grunta
“I haul more ore than the greybeards and keep the fires hot. A man needs tools to do his work, and I just make do.”
Things Jan Milk-drinker had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Compline
The overseers say the Easter wages are delayed again. How is a man meant to buy his own iron if the King's mint doesn't pay? I'm hauling baskets until my back breaks and all I get is stale bread and soot in my eyes.
Nota scribaeHe spoke staring at his soot-stained boots the entire time.
the eve of Saint George, at Vespers
Walter is making a great noise about a tin pitcher. I only borrowed it to fetch some ale from the brew-house. A man cannot drink like a dog from his hands! He has plenty of groschen for a new one, but he is just being stingy, sakra.
That pitcher belonged to my late father Martin, you little thief. I want it back for Saint Mark's day, or I'll take it out of your hide.
How was I to know? It's just a pitcher. I'll bring it back when I've had my drink.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Saw Thomas the guard and the other watchmen marching past the hearths today. They look like they'd sooner gut you than look at you. I heard murmurs about what they did to the Hungarians. I'm keeping my head down and sticking to my shovel.
Keep your eyes on the fire, boy, and we won't have any trouble.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper, looking over his shoulder.
the Monday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Maurice the Hound was asking after his iron. I just need it for one more rough job at the southern hearths. I haul more ore than anyone here, I can't be stopping just because I don't have the right spike. I'll give it back by Sunday.
You said that last week. Bring it to my pallet before Vespers or I'm coming to fetch it myself.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
John lent me a fine pair of iron tongs yesterday. They're good heavy iron, cost a month's wage at least. I'll return them tomorrow, I just need them for my shift tonight. The fires don't feed themselves, and my old ones are no good.
Tomorrow has come and gone, Jan. Those tongs are mine. Give them back before I break your jaw.
Sakra, John, no need for that. Just one more shift, I swear it on the Virgin.
Nota scribaeHe did not have any old ones.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We're all waiting on the coin, lad. Whining to the scribe won't make the silver melt faster.
Easy for you to say, you've got your own gear.