smelter at the central ironworks, of Grunta
“I have worked the central hearths for ten winters. A man does what he must, God willing.”
Things Robert had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The heat at the hearths used to warm my bones, but today it only brings a cold sweat. It is just a mild ague that lingers. If I can stand, I can work, so long as Master Tobias does not look too close at my slag.
Nota scribaeDictated between bouts of heavy coughing. He used a soot-stained rag to wipe his mouth.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at None
Havel was asking after that light tapping bar he lent me. I told him I still have need of it to finish the month's quota. My grip is not what it was, and his bar is lighter. I just need it longer.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Heinz and Ernest are squabbling over stolen tools again. It is a deep shame to see. Back in my day, the crew shared everything. Now Master Tobias has everyone terrified for their wages. I pity Denis missing his Sarah, but the rest of them exhaust me.
Denis never shuts up about Kolin. Let him walk back there if he weeps so much.
I would not have to steal if the master did not fine us for every bent rake!
the Friday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
A harsh chill has taken me these past few days. The shaking fever comes and goes, but it is nothing to fear. God willing, it will pass. I will just stay near the secondary hearths where it is warm and keep my head down.
That sounds like the lung sickness, Robert. The same rot that took poor Bynyek.
Do not speak of my brother. It is an ague from the wet spring, nothing more.
Nota scribaeThe man was shivering despite standing in the midday sun.
the first Tuesday of Lent, at Compline
I gave the priest the last of my silver to ensure Bynyek keeps his spot in the churchyard. He was a good man, taken too soon by the furnace dust. We must all meet our Maker, but I pray I earn my own burial.
He was a decent sort. Heaven has no slag to rake.
You paid too much. The fat priest would have blessed him for a few groschen less.
Nota scribaeHe crossed himself three times before speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Rest yourself, Robert. I can take the central hearth again tomorrow. You look pale as a ghost.
Keep your wages, lad. I will be back to my full strength soon enough.