smelter at the southern hearths, of Grunta
“I work the southern hearths turning ore into silver cakes. I mind my own forge and let the young ones bicker.”
Things Walter had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Ascension, at Vespers
The heat at the southern hearths was fierce today. It bakes the damp from my old bones, but my throat is thick with ash. I wiped my hands on my apron and sat for a clean draught of ale, but the young lads will not stop shouting about late wages.
Nota scribaeThe man sighed heavily before every sentence and left soot on my table.
Saint Mark's day, at None
I told Jan Milk-drinker before Lent he could use my tin pitcher for a single night. Today is the day I use it to honour my late father, Martin, who died three winters ago. I asked for it back and the boy made another excuse.
I only need it a little longer, Walter. It is just a cup, there are others in the brew-house.
It was my father's. A boy like you would not understand respect for an old man's memory.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
We are all waiting for the Easter coin that never comes. Bread is too dear to buy with promises. I watched the guards trading dark looks again. William blames young Jan for what happened to Michael on the march, but the boy took a halberd to the gut.
He fell asleep on the watch, Walter. Michael paid the price for his negligence.
the Thursday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
Nicholas the Maw asked after his crucible again. I mean to return it, I truly do, but I found one last use for it on my shift. It weighs on me to keep another man's tool, especially when my own pitcher is kept from me.
One last use? You said that a fortnight ago. Bring it to the dormitory tonight, Walter.
the eve of Ash Wednesday, at Compline
Lent begins tomorrow. Jan Milk-drinker asked to borrow my tin pitcher to fetch ale from the brew-house. I told him he may have it for tonight only. John says I am a fool to lend anything to these young whelps.
They do not respect good tools, Walter. You will see.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the dormitory amid terrible snoring.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
They shout because they have breath to spare. A day with my heavy hammers would quiet them.