hired hand at the market, of Kuttenberg
“I lift what they tell me to lift and take my wage. A man who cannot work starves.”
Things Stephen the Townsman had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
The foreman at the mint had me hauling stone all day. My spine feels like a hot iron is driven into it. I need my brass lamp back from Michael. It is dark in this cellar and I cannot see to rub salve on my joints.
Nota scribaeDictated through gritted teeth. The man shifted his weight constantly from foot to foot.
the Thursday after the feast of St Pancras, at Compline
Martin picked another fight with a German merchant by the square today. Young blood boils over nothing. If Master Humphrey were still here, he'd have boxed his ears and set him to digging. Now we have soldiers everywhere and bread is dearer, and no steady wages.
The German called me a dog, Stephen. I won't let that stand.
Save your strength for the work, lad. We need the coin more than the pride.
the Wednesday of Easter week, at Sext
A bad week. I stood in the rain for two hours before they picked men for the carts. Jacob asked to hold my coin purse while I worked. I told him he'd pawn his own boots if he could walk on water. I keep my purse tied tight.
I only meant to keep it dry for you! You wrong me, Stephen.
the feast of St Gregory, at None
I lent my best brass lamp to Michael during Lent so he could mend his cart, and now the bastard won't give it back. Claims I owe him rent. A man's lamp is his own. How am I to see in the dark with my back aching?
Let it be, Stephen. Fighting him won't heal your pain.
Nota scribaeHe asked that the last part about his back be struck out, but the ink was already dry.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Prime
Cold today in the market. I thought of my sister Milada. She died of the winter fever in the year ninety-nine. She used to make a thick stew when we pooled our pennies. It kept the chill out of our bones better than this hard bread.
She was a fine woman. I courted her once, you know.
You did no such thing, you lying sack of shit.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Pay the twenty groschen you owe me for your lodgings from Easter, and you shall have your lamp back.
You took advantage of me, you whoreson thief.