blacksmith of Horany, of Horany
“I fix the picks and wedges the hewers break down in the dark. It is just me and the fire.”
Things John Smith had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at Vespers
The tongs slipped again today and I dropped a hot wedge on my boot. Sakra. The third time this week the iron has fought me. It is a sign. I know the cross is still under my bed, but there are soldiers on the road to Sedletz. Does heaven expect me to walk into a Cuman's arrow just to lay a piece of iron on an altar?
Nota scribaeHe wiped soot on his apron three times during the telling.
the eve of St George, at Sext
A wagon of refugees came through this morning. They say the Hungarians are taking whatever isn't nailed down in the villages. I reckon the king's brother has no care for us working men. I told young Jan to keep his head down if the levy men come. I won't see him marched off to fight someone else's war.
I'm keeping my head down, don't you worry. If they want someone to fight the Hungarians, they can ask the nobles.
the third day of Easter week, at None
The foreman brought me four shattered wheel rims before midday. Bloody hell, how do they drive the carts down there? My father Bohuta would have boxed my ears if I ruined iron like that. 'Strike it while it knows who's master,' he'd say. I had to use his old tongs to get the shape back in.
Nota scribaeDictated at the water trough.
the Friday after St Gregory, at Prime
Every time I bank the fires, I think of Emma. She went off to Prague a year ago and I haven't heard a word. If she hadn't brought me broth when the fever took the camp, I'd be in the ground. I hope the city treats her better than this stony place did.
I made it to Prague, John. The air is foul but the work is steady. Keep your fires burning and mind your lungs.
Praise be. You always were braver than the rest of us.
Candlemas, at Terce
I pulled the oiled rag out from under my pallet this morning. The iron cross is still heavy. Three winters since the fever broke and I made my vow to the Virgin. I meant to walk to Sedletz today, but the roads are ice and the mine needs picks. Heaven's wrath will fall on me for this delay.
The Virgin understands ice, John. Wait for the thaw. A broken leg won't help you carry that cross.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke very slowly and stared at his hands.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Heaven expects you to look where you drop your iron, John. I'll share an ale with you tonight and we'll forget the Cuman arrows.
Easy for you to say, lad. You didn't make the promise. But aye, bring the ale.