smelter in the crushing shed, of Grunta
“I break ore all day and never see a penny of it. If it's not the foreman docking my pay, it's the older blokes taking my tools.”
Things Maurice the Hound had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Simon the Bull is still laid up with fever and I'm doing the breaking for two! My arms are falling off and Zdenyek keeps looking at my boots. If he touches them I swear I'll tell the bailiff. I haven't got the coin for new ones!
St. George's day, at Compline
Jitka wants her fifteen groschen today! Fifteen! Where in Christ's name am I supposed to find fifteen groschen when I was docked a week's pay? Jarda is up in heaven drinking ale with the angels and leaving us to rot in the bailiff's gaol!
Stop your wailing, lad. We all signed the slate for Jarda. You'll pay your share like a man.
Jitka is away in Prague visiting her sister, maybe she'll forget.
Nota scribaeHe paced back and forth so quickly I could barely dip my quill.
the morrow of St. Gregory, at None
Gilbert fell asleep at the bellows, the ore was ruined, and he told Foreman Edmund it was me! Edmund took a week's wage! A whole week! Somebody ought to beat him bloody! He slept! I saw him! I'm ruined and he's drinking my coin!
Watch your mouth, you little shit. You didn't tend the heat. The foreman knows a liar when he sees one.
You were snoring! I heard you over the crushing!
Nota scribaeHe was jabbing his finger at my chest the entire time he spoke.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Terce
How am I supposed to work? Jan Milk-drinker took my slag-rake and Baldwin bullied me out of my bellows-pipe! They cost me a month's sweat! I need them back! You can't just take a man's tools and pretend you didn't!
I only borrowed it, Maurice. Keep your breeches on. You'll get it back when I'm done.
It's a better pipe in my hands anyway. You barely have the breath to blow out a candle.
Candlemas, at Prime
Poor Jarda died of the flux in the night. God rest his soul, he taught me the furnace. But now Jitka says we owe his drinking slate because we stood surety! I don't have the coin! I'm going to starve in the cold!
God rest him. He owed me two pennies, but I suppose I won't see them now.
If Philip the carter shows his face at the burial, I'll break his nose.
Nota scribaeDictated in the crushing shed. The man was weeping over a heavy slate.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Calm down, Maurice. I don't want your stinking boots. They're half holes anyway.