miner in the silver pits, of Kuttenberg
“I shift more rock in a day than older men do in a week. I pay my way.”
Things Paul had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
Tuma Mason owes me back pay from Easter and he knows it. He gives the best seams to Walter's crew out of spite, just to keep us at each other's throats. I shift twice the stone they do, but the German bastard keeps my silver.
Nota scribaeHe shouted this so loud my ears rang, tapping his thick fingers on his belt.
the second Tuesday in May, at Vespers
I know Walter is gathering his men for a fight on payday. I am not going near the alehouse until I know if they are waiting in the dark to ambush my shift. If they want a brawl, my fists are ready.
the Wednesday after Easter, at Sext
The air in the lower levels is foul and the rock is getting harder. I keep my silver-flecked ore in my pouch so the ceiling holds. If anyone tries to borrow my lamp or my wedges today, I will break their jaw.
The air is bad enough without you barking in the tunnels. Just swing your pick.
Nota scribaeHe refused to unclench his hand the whole time he spoke.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
Before Lent I gave Walter a fine wooden spoon to carry word to my mother Sibyl in the south. He took my payment and never left Kuttenberg. My mother cannot read, and now she will think I died in a cave-in.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Prime
My shoulders ache, but I cut through more stone yesterday than any other man in my crew. I earn my silver with sweat and I do not need anyone telling me how to hold an iron pick.
We all swing the same iron, lad. Save your breath for the digging.
Nota scribaeDictated before his shift. He smelled strongly of cheap ale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will get your groschen when you dig clean ore and stop fighting in the tavern.
Give me a decent vein and I will dig you clean ore, you thief.