smelter at the ironworks, of Grunta
“I keep the upper furnace hot while the ash blinds me. It is honest sweat, but a man is robbed blind by blacksmiths and fools who cannot keep track of their own gear.”
Things Claus had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St George, at Compline
Tomorrow is St George's day, and the bailiff comes for Jitka's fifteen groschen. Fifteen groschen! Because we were fools enough to put our marks on a slate for Jarda. The man is rotting in the earth, and I am the one paying for his ale.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the floor after saying this.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
William the Greaser is crying like a beaten child about his iron tongs. He bought a new pair, and gave the old ones to me freely. Now he wants them back because he dropped his in the slag. A good pair of tongs costs ten groschen, and I am not giving them up for his clumsiness.
I lent them to you to move a hot pig of iron, you thief! Give them back!
You handed them over. A gift is a gift. Buy another.
the Tuesday after St Matthias, at None
Jitka has called in the slate. She owes her master, so now we must pay for Jarda's surety. Everyone is pawning their gear. Simon the Bull is shivering with fever because he stood in the rain, and Osbert is ready to kill Philip the carter over spilled ale. This whole camp has gone mad.
My bones ache, Claus. Have some pity.
I have a master to pay, lads. The slate must be wiped clean before I go to Prague.
the first Friday of Lent, at Prime
I need my brass lamp back, Zdenyek. You borrowed it for the dark shed, and now I am stumbling blind at the upper furnace before the sun is up. You only needed it because you pawned your own to pay for Jarda's surety. I want my lamp and my pry-bar, today.
How am I to work the crushing shed in the pitch black? Have a heart, Claus.
A heart does not light the furnace, Zdenyek. Return it or I will take it from your hands.
Nota scribaeDictated loudly outside the boarding shed while chewing on a piece of black bread.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
We buried Jarda. The flux took him fast. He taught half of us the furnace, and we were proud enough to stand surety for his guild fees and his tab with Jitka. Seven of us put our marks down. Now he is with God, and the German masters at the mint still want their silver.
He was a good man with the bellows. God rest him.
I do not know how I will find the coin for Jitka if she asks for it.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed himself with a soot-stained hand.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We all signed it, Claus. Stop your weeping and open your purse.
I told you all it was a fool's errand. A dead man buys no rounds.
Keep your smug mouth shut, Gilbert.