priest in Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I serve this parish as best I can while the vicar rests, though the burden is heavy.”
Things Father Nicholas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
That lying maid Lene claims I stole her goods. I only kept her chest because she was eavesdropping on the sacred confessions of her betters. The cloth hood was bought with church alms, not her own pennies. Let God judge her insolence.
Nota scribaeHe was sweating profusely while dictating this and kept looking nervously at the door.
the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, at None
The king's soldiers bring ruin to the roads, and bread is dearer than ever. I pray Father Sebastian is not called to the muster just yet. The roads are far too muddy for travel, and a man of his standing should stay warm in Kuttenberg.
The roads matter little to me, Nicholas. I simply wish to have my padded gambeson returned. You have been to Prague and back by now.
It needs a wash, brother. The mud of Prague is stubborn.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
My hands ache from the cold stone of the nave. Vicar David is too frail to leave the heated inner rooms, so I bear the weight of the parish alone. I set up a heavy oak door near the sacristy to keep the draughts away from his quarters.
You do good work, Nicholas, but you look weary. Come share a cup of wine with us.
the Monday after Saint Valentine, at Terce
Copying the parish registers is a noble task, made easier by the fine brass inkstand I borrowed from Father Paul. The ink is still wet on the latest pages, so I must keep it upon my desk a short while longer to ensure the holy records are perfect.
It has been three weeks, Nicholas. Surely the ink on a parish register dries faster than a flooded meadow.
Nota scribaeHe polished the brass inkstand with his sleeve before beginning to speak.
Candlemas, at Compline
The ale debt for the parsonage grows heavy, though we barely drink a drop. It is a trial to keep the vicar's rooms warm when firewood costs so many groschen. The Lord provides, but I wish He provided a few more pennies in the poor box.
We all suffer the winter's bite, brother. Trust in His grace.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You slapped me and stole my mother Katherine's pewter spoon! You know full well what vicar David was doing behind that oak door.
Hold your tongue, girl, lest the bishop hear of your slander against a holy invalid.