merchant of small goods, of Kuttenberg
“Frankly, I am a merchant of quality, dealing in fine linen and spices. I maintain my standards despite the wretched conditions of this town.”
Things Nicholas Bell had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Frankly, my patience is at an end. Walter has been in Prague since the thaw and my ceiling still weeps. I spent an hour shifting my salt crates away from the drips. A merchant cannot trade wet salt, and my brother expects his payment.
Nota scribaeHe brushed lint from his wool coat the entire time he spoke.
the second day of Easter week, at None
I took a measure of ale at the tavern today and had to endure Kunz von Iglau flashing his silver-hilted belt knife to the barmaids. Frankly, the man is drowning in debt. Real success does not need to show off its blade.
A petty peddler lecturing his betters on wealth. Keep to your flour sacks, Bell.
Lord Kunz pays his tab, which is more than I can say for some who nurse one ale all afternoon.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
The beggars by the church porch are a blight on the street. Lousy Anna and Tattered Else thrust their bowls at me this morning, but I stepped wide. A merchant must guard his purse. I bought a fresh rye loaf from John the baker instead, keeping my business brisk.
Thank you for the custom, Nicholas. Bread is dearer this spring with the soldiers about.
God sees your tight fist, master merchant.
the Wednesday after Valentine, at Sext
I visited my sisters Joan and Marika to tell them about the fine price I secured for a yard of linen. Frankly, I have an eye for quality that most peddlers in the square lack. A man who speaks quickly and thinks faster will always turn a profit.
You talk a good game, brother, but I saw you counting coppers in the corner.
Nota scribaeDictated in the square. He spoke very fast indeed.
Candlemas, at Compline
Walter has ridden for Prague to chase a wool contract, leaving the broken tiles above my room unmended. I must shift my crates of dry provisions again to escape the rot. If I lose my stock, I will have to pawn my coat to pay Benesh. Frankly, it is an outrage.
Just see that my groschen are safe, Nicholas. I backed your cartload in good faith.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Benesh expects his payment indeed, Nicholas. When will you have the groschen?
Frankly, Felice, business requires patience. The margins are tightening.