parish priest, of Kuttenberg
“I am a priest here in Kuttenberg, a trade like any other that requires patience and proper tools. I keep the church roof up and hear endless petty weeping.”
Things Father Ernest had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Compline
The king's brother has left soldiers everywhere, and the price of altar candles climbs every week. The sexton burns them as if wax falls from the clouds. I must review the accounts tonight, read from the fine breviary I am keeping safe, and go out into the dark air to clear my head.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this while putting on his cloak to leave by the back door.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Sext
It has been three months and Father Paul still holds my silver chalice. It is theft, plain as day. A man cannot serve the altar properly when his fellow clergy act like footpads on the Prague road. I want it back before Whitsun.
I have told you I am having it polished by a reliable man, Ernest. Do not be so hasty.
Speaking of holding things that belong to others, my calf-bound breviary is still on your reading table.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Terce
I have told Christine for the third time that she may not pray for Captain Michael to suffer a rotting death. It is wholly irregular. I told her to bring the prayer written out on parchment so the archdeacon may see it. Let us see if she can manage that.
My brother Matthew lies in the dirt at Nicopolis because of that coward. The Lord will hear my prayer whether I can write it or not.
Nota scribaeThe father smiled thinly to himself after saying this and tapped his fingers against his lips.
the third Wednesday of Lent, at Vespers
The armourer's maidservant, Anna, came again to complain about the fishwife Sybil and the housekeeper Christine. I gave her three Our Fathers and sent her out. If the Lord wanted me to judge the price of carp, He would have made me a fishmonger.
You did not even listen, Father. Sybil gave me short measure, and it is a sin to cheat the poor.
Candlemas, at None
Father Paul asked to borrow my best silver chalice for the feast. I let it go to him, expecting it back by evening. Meanwhile, Father Clement left his calf-bound breviary in my hands. The illuminations are too fine for Clement's eyes. I shall hold onto it for a time.
I only meant for you to look at the gilding, Ernest. I need it back for the morning office.
I am still admiring it, Clement. God grants us patience.
Nota scribaeHe spoke very slowly, tapping his index fingers together the entire time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The night air is very good for the health, Father. A warm hearth waits for those who walk in the cold.