smelter at the crushing shed, of Grunta
“I am just an honest man trying to earn my wage in the dark, brother. The times are hard, but I keep my head down and do my part.”
Things Zdenyek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
I swear on my life, brother William, the padded gambeson you bought for the town muster is safe. I only lent it to a fellow in town to get the stuffing properly aired out. The grain prices are eating us alive, so let us just be patient and trust our friends.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his hands together furiously the entire time he spoke and looked at the floor.
St George's day, at Prime
The bells are ringing for St George, and Jitka's fifteen groschen are due. God rest Jarda's soul, he taught us the furnace, but this debt is a heavy cross. I had to scrape every penny and pawn my own gear, brothers. We all must make hard sacrifices.
Sacrifices indeed. Jarda taught us well, but I am sick of paying for the ale he drank while he rots.
Nota scribaeDictated at the boarding shed just as the day shift was waking.
the Wednesday after Easter, at Vespers
Claus, my friend, you know I covered your shift at the furnace when you were deep in your cups. Keeping your iron pry-bar a while longer is only fair trade. A man cannot work rock with his bare hands, and we must help each other.
I need my pry-bar, Zdenyek. I do not care about the shift, give it back before I tell Edmund.
the second week of Lent, at Terce
Working the night shift blind is a fast way to lose a hand, brother. Claus asks for his brass lamp back, but he works in the sun! I have no light of my own right now. I only ask for a little Christian charity to do my honest work.
You had a clay lamp of your own before Lent. What did you do with it? Give me my brass lamp back, I need it for the early mornings.
My clay lamp broke, friend, smashed to pieces. Have some pity on a man working the crushing shed.
Nota scribaeThe word he used was not 'charity' at first.
the day after Candlemas, at Compline
Poor Jarda took the flux and died. Up in heaven there is no ore to crush and no foreman yelling. We stood surety for his heavy debts with Jitka out of pride, and now she wants her silver. A heavy blow for honest men just trying to live.
He owes what he owes. The landlady won't care that he's dead when she comes collecting from us.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aired out? You whoreson, I need that coat for the muster or the bailiff will fine me. Fetch it by Sunday or I will break your jaw.