hewer at Saint Wenceslas shaft, of Kuttenberg
“I am the finest hewer in the deep rock, plagued daily by fools and leeches dragging at my purse.”
Things Fritz the Gob had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday after Ascension, at None
By Saint Barbara, the muster is upon us and I am still in a thin mining tunic! If Geoffrey Chandler does not redeem my thick padded jack from the pawnbroker by Sunday, I will break his jaw. I paid good silver for that gear. I am not catching a Cuman arrow for his drinking debts.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. He shouted the entire time and spilled ale on my parchment.
the second Tuesday of May, at Terce
Menhard is weeping about his iron digging spade again. He gave it to me in pledge for three groschen to cover his rent. Ay, he paid the coin back, but I waited days for it. I am keeping the spade for my trouble. A man who cannot manage his purse deserves to lose his iron.
Dietrich will turn me from the gates tomorrow without it! I will starve, Fritz, I swear it by my mother's grave.
Give the lad his tool back, Fritz. A debt paid is a debt paid, even down here.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The air in the deep shaft is thick enough to chew, but I pulled good stone for Dietrich today. When I hauled myself back up, young Oswald was crying for a needle to mend his torn rags. I told him to patch it with mud. I am not lending him a thing to lose in the straw.
The rocks tore my sleeve open, Fritz, I only asked for a rusted needle.
Nota scribaeHe spent half an hour boasting of his pick swing before we came to the matter.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Walpurg lies in her sickbed upstairs, coughing her lungs out, but she never forgets to demand her two pennies for the cellar. The place stinks of sour ale and Standa's unwashed feet. A master miner like me should be sleeping on a proper feather bed, not down here with these miserable bastards.
My feet smell like honest work. You snore loud enough to shake the floorboards.
Pay your two pennies or sleep in the muddy road, you loudmouthed ox.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Vespers
The King's brother has his soldiers on the roads and the council talks of a muster. I bought a fine, thick padded jack to keep my ribs safe from arrows. Geoffrey Chandler begged to borrow it to show his cousin. I lent it to him, like a good Christian.
You were blind drunk, Fritz, and you threw it at him outside the alehouse.
Nota scribaeHe was entirely in his cups when he told me this and could barely stand.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your voice down, Fritz. The broker said he needs another week, and you drank half that coin with me anyway.
I drank my own coin! Bring the jack to the cellar or bring a healer.