timber setter at the mine, of Horany
“I set the timbers down in the deep shafts to stop the roof caving in. I mind my own business, except when bastards rob me blind.”
Things Roger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Compline
That bastard Jezhek is still laughing in the tavern. A good wool coat is ten groschen, worth a month in the dark. I lent it to him in the freezing rain, and he wagered it at dice and lost. If some strong stranger wants to break his thick skull and get my coin, I'd thank him.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. The man spat twice when saying the name Jezhek.
the feast of St Mark, at Vespers
The rock was groaning loud today in the lower shaft. I cut three new props. You do it wrong, the wood snaps under the pressure and buries a dozen men in an instant. God save us from bad timber and worse diggers.
Aye, the roof sounded ready to come down on us this afternoon. Good work on the timbers, lad.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Stood freezing outside the weigh-house at dawn. Vitek's boy came out with the slate and sent two men away to starve for the day because their tunics were torn. My pick handle is clean and my gear is sound, but the bastard still kept me waiting.
Vitek has no mercy. At least we got put on the slate today.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
Nothing gets the rock dust out of your throat like a cup of ale, even if it tastes like horse piss lately. The bread price is up again because of the soldiers on the roads. A working man can barely feed himself.
I'd drink horse piss if it was cheap enough. The baker wants three pennies for a stale loaf.
Candlemas, at Terce
Richard is still flapping his jaw about the militia camp at Maleshov. It wasn't my fault the barber-surgeon left for Kuttenberg before Andreas died of the bloody flux. The boy fell asleep instead of fetching him. I just told him the truth when he woke up.
You lied to cover your own laziness, Roger. You never even looked for the surgeon, and you let Andreas die shivering.
That whole camp was a curse. We lost good men in the mud for nothing.
Nota scribaeThe man was sour and spoke slowly, looking over his shoulder.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You traded it to settle your ale tab, you shivering coward. Stop whining.
You are a thieving bastard and a liar.