day labourer at Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I haul timber and stone for a daily wage, saving every groschen for the future I intend to have.”
Things Alan Fletcher had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
I spoke to the porter in the upper town again before the bells rang. Two groschen slipped into his palm, and he swore he passed my message through the kitchen grate to Lidka. If she knows I am coming for her, I can bear the hauling for another month.
Nota scribaeThe young man was pacing so fast while speaking I could hardly dip my quill in time.
the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Prime
Standing on the steps of Saint James this morning, waiting for Mikesh’s boy to bring the slate, is a misery. Nicholas Fisher groaned the whole time about his brothers and their strip of land, right in my ear. I only care if I am chosen to haul. The rest of this squabbling is nothing.
It is good grazing land, lad! You would know its worth if your head was not stuck up in the clouds.
Did Mikesh pick you? The boy passed me over entirely this morning.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Supper was another shouting match that drove poor Agatha and Beatrice to tears. My father Denis calls my wages vagrant's coin, but it is honest sweat. Gerda stared at her pottage rather than speak up for me. He had Lidka locked in that house, but he cannot lock up my heart.
I only want peace in the house, Alan. Do not drag me into your father's wrath.
Nota scribaeDictated with one hand constantly clutching a leather pouch at his belt.
Mid-Lent Sunday, at Terce
Bread is dearer this Lent, but I will not eat if it means spending what I have saved. Let the soldiers eat the town bare, I will still keep my pouch tied tight. I have a priest to pay once I steal Lidka away from her master.
God's wounds, you'd starve yourself for a girl you cannot even see? At least protect your coin from Frantishek.
Candlemas, at None
Adam Thatcher is a complete fool. I watched him lend his good broadaxe to Frantishek White right after the mass, and now he is whining that he cannot get it back. If these men had anything real to fight for, they would not weep over tools.
He swore on the Virgin he would return it by sundown! It is my livelihood, you arrogant pup.
I only borrowed it for the yard. I'll bring it back when I've finished chopping the timber.
Nota scribaeHe laughed rather uncharitably as he dictated this judgment.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
She is beggar's blood and you are a fool throwing your hard wages at a gatekeeper!
It is my own wage to throw, father.