guard at the Horany mines, of Horany
“I stand watch at the mine adits, freezing half to death and breaking up brawls. My chest is raw, and the royal paymaster forgets we exist, but I keep my eyes open for what falls in the mud.”
Things Godfrey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Friday before Whitsun, at Vespers
May the Devil take widow Bohushka and her wretched thatch. It rained all night, and my pallet is soaked through. I cough up green phlegm every morning. If any kind soul crossing the meadow finds five handfuls of chamomile, I beg you bring it to the adits before my lungs burst.
Nota scribaeHe hacked terribly while speaking. I fear he will not see the autumn.
the second day of May, at None
Ralph will not shut his mouth about his sister Elishka in Caslav, nor about that missing iron dagger. He and Lawrence were glaring over the brazier again today over Benesh. It makes my head pound. I just want a moment of peace to warm my hands without listening to old men grumble.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The royal paymaster has not been seen since Lent, and we are left with empty bellies. But God provides. I found a fine iron wedge dropped in the mud by the shaft today. Slipped it right in my pouch before the foreman saw. My fingers are faster than his eyes.
Careful, lad. If the captain catches you lifting tools, they will stretch your neck at the gallows.
Nota scribaeHe looked over his shoulder no less than four times while admitting to this theft.
the feast of Saint Gertrude, at Terce
Vashek and I played dice through the night watch. The captain was snoring off his ale. I saw Vashek win that carved bone die from Ralph fair and square on Martinmas, no matter what Ralph claims. A good throw is a good throw, and Ralph is a sore loser.
the morrow of Candlemas, at dawn
Standing in the muck at the mine entrance checking these bloody passes is freezing work. The wind cuts right through my tunic. I asked Lawrence to swap places so I could stand by the fire, but the miserable statue just stared at the treeline. Curse Bohushka and her damp shed for this chill in my bones.
Watch the trees, boy, not the fire. The fire will not keep you alive when trouble comes.
Nota scribaeDictated before his shift. The lad was shivering so hard his teeth rattled.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Pay a groschen more in rent and I might look at the roof, you little thief.
I pay enough to not drown in my sleep, you old witch.