market sweeper of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am a simple day man. I sweep up the world's dirt and wait for word from the east.”
Things Fritz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Compline
Another day, another cart of horse dung and butcher's waste. The young pups like Robert get the heavy lifting, but I get the cobbles cleaner than any of them, God willing. My knees ache in the damp, though. If only I had a proper bed instead of straw.
Nota scribaeDictated from a pile of straw. He smelled strongly of rotting cabbage.
the third day of Easter week, at None
William is a fool for fretting over the bailiff and the militia muster. The watch won't care if he has his padded jack or not. They have bigger worries with all these soldiers on the roads. I just wish one of those soldiers was my brother Hynek coming home.
Easy for you to say, Fritz. You've got nothing worth taxing or taking.
Easter Monday, at Prime
I asked Gilbert again to take a message east. I know Hynek is in Hungary, and I just want him to know I am alive. Stislav used to carry word for a penny, but since they locked him in Sedletz, nobody will help a poor sweeper.
St Gregory's day, at Vespers
I am still fixing up this old shovel handle. Gilbert's drawknife is a fine piece of iron, perfect for the job. I know he wants it back, but I just need it for one more day. A man cannot work without his tools.
Give it back, Fritz. You've had it since Candlemas. You don't even chop wood.
God willing, you shall have it tomorrow. Just one more knot to shave down.
Nota scribaeThe man mumbled something about a shovel, though he clearly had no wood to carve.
Candlemas, at Terce
My knees are stiff and the wind is bitter. I borrowed a drawknife from Gilbert today. Elishka used to let me keep my gear safe by her hearth, God rest her soul. Now I have to keep everything strapped to my belt or it walks off.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Sweep it clean, old man. We'll handle the real work for the foremen.
Youth is a fever that cures itself soon enough, lad.