priest of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“God has tasked me with keeping His house whole, both the souls within and the timbers above. I keep the ledger exact and pray the rain stays out.”
Things Father Clement had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
I stood at the muster today and saw Father Adam in a borrowed tunic. I paid good silver for a stout gambeson for the man, and he has left it with the pawnbroker. The church is shamed by such carelessness. I expect him to redeem it before the week is out.
Nota scribaeDictated while tapping his fingers rhythmically on the parish ledger.
the feast of Saint Stanislaus, at Sext
The spring rains have come through the nave roof again. It is providence that I found nineteen kopy under the altar boards. The widow Kunigunde wept in the rectory today, claiming the silver is hers from her late husband Jarda. I told her God provides for His church first, and she owes arrears.
My Jarda hid that for me! We starved while he saved it coin by coin. Have you no mercy?
Mercy is not found in an empty roof. Confess your arrears are due, and we may speak of a portion.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Vespers
The Marsh brothers, Heinz and Claus, disrupted the solemnities with their shouting over Peter's land. They should spend more time on their knees praying for their sister Alice, whose back was ruined by that carter Geoffrey, and less time squabbling over worldly dirt. I will not hear their confessions until they make peace.
It is not dirt, Father, it is my rightful inheritance, and Claus knows it.
Let it lie, Heinz. The anger does my back no good.
Nota scribaeThe priest was rubbing his temples throughout the dictation.
the third Wednesday of Lent, at Prime
I spent the morning office looking up at the heavy oak timbers of the roof. The streak of rot grows longer. I returned to my desk and ran my finger down the tithe ledger. Half the parish is behind. How do they expect the Lord's house to stand if they keep their purses tight?
Times are hard, Father. The bread is dearer than last year.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
Father Ernest asked to borrow my fine draw-knife to shape some wood for his own parish. It cost me a month's work to buy such a blade. He swore to return it before the bells rang for Vespers yesterday, yet here I sit, unable to trim the rectory timber.
The work took longer than expected, brother. The wood was green. You shall have it by Sunday.
Nota scribaeHe asked me to underline the word 'fine', but I have no such ink.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I meant no disrespect, brother. The pawn was only a brief necessity to settle a certain debt.
A debt of your own making, no doubt. God's army requires discipline, Adam.