woodworker at the lumber yard, of Kuttenberg
“I haul timber for the Kuttenberg mint. It's bloody useless work when you lack the right tools.”
Things Fritz Wagner had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Compline
The roof of my shed has a hole you could drop a pig through. When it rains, it falls straight on my blanket. I told my landlord to mend it, and he told me to sleep under the bed. Bloody useless.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. He spilled ale on my ink horn.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Heinz Schwarz says he is walking barefoot to Sedletz to pay a vow. Bloody useless, if you ask me. Hand the priest a groschen and keep your boots on. God doesn't care about a hauler's feet.
A vow is a vow, Fritz. Though my feet are already regretting it.
They'll regret it more when you step on a rusty nail.
the Tuesday after Saint George, at None
Master Hans gave me the worst props to haul today, dragging them all the way to the Italian Court. If I had my own iron nails and a decent adze, I wouldn't be doing the work of a bloody mule.
You'd have nails if you paid for the saw you ruined, you clumsy fool.
The blade was rusted through! Ten groschen is robbery for a broken piece of tin.
Nota scribaeHe waved his hands so much he nearly struck a passerby.
the Thursday after Easter, at Sext
Saw my sister Berchta by the baker's today. Turned down an alley so I wouldn't have to speak to her. If my father asks about my tool pouch, I'll have to tell him I lost the nails he gave me.
I saw you hiding, Fritz. Father is already asking why you don't visit.
the first week of Lent, at Terce
Andrew Alder is a tight-fisted old boar. He still refuses to hand back my bag of iron nails. I lent them to him before Saint Martin's, and just because his rusted old crosscut saw snapped on a knot, he holds my nails hostage.
You swing a saw like a blind drunkard. Ten groschen, Fritz, or no nails.
Just pay him, Fritz. We need those nails for the new scaffold.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Sleep at the tavern, lad. It's warmer and the ale is closer.