hewer and townsman, of Kuttenberg
“I am a hewer when Mikesh actually gives me a tally, but right now I am stuck hauling dirt because I am too generous with my gear.”
Things Adam Thatcher had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The second Tuesday of May, at Terce
Old Hugh Field is still bleating about that rotting padded jack he shoved on me. Kurva, the thing was moth-eaten! I pawned it at the ale-house because it was worthless as armour, and now he wants me to pay for his fine. He can whistle for it.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the ale-wife's cellar. The declarant was rubbing his temples.
The Friday after Easter, at Sext
Another morning freezing in the mud at Saint James, and that coward Mikesh just sends his boy with the slate. Not a single tally for me. Andreas and Fritz are whispering about the Hungarians again, but I am more worried about starving to death before the soldiers get here.
Laugh all you want, Adam, but when they hand you a spear and send you to the walls, you will wish you had that padded jack.
The Monday before Palm Sunday, at Vespers
If Alan Fletcher talks about that maid Lidka one more time, I am going to break his nose. Jingling his pouch and dreaming while the rest of us are trying to drown our sorrows in peace. She is locked in the upper town, lad, she is not thinking about you.
You are just sour because you have not two groschen to rub together, Adam.
I tried to tell him about my brother's land dispute, but nobody listens.
Nota scribaeThe declarant was heavily into his cups and crossed his arms tightly across his chest throughout the dictation.
The feast of Saint Gregory, at None
My back is broken from carting dung and stone. I am a hewer, kurva! But I cannot hew without my broadaxe. Frantishek White swore he only needed it for a few days of work. Every time I ask, he whines about the weather. I want it back.
The roof is delayed, Adam! Blame the rain, not me. You will get it when the timber is cut.
It has been weeks! I am losing groschen every day because of your bloody roof.
Candlemas, at Prime
A cold morning, but God is good. Frantishek White begged me for my best broadaxe to finish some hewing work. I lent it to him, being a good Christian. It cost me a month's sweat, that axe, but a man must help his neighbours, aye?
You will regret that, Adam. Never lend a good tool.
Nota scribaeDictated before work.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You miserable whoreson. I gave you that jack out of charity so the bailiff wouldn't strip you bare. Make it right, or I'll find a man to beat it out of you.
Try it, Hugh. You gave me rags.