scribe at the Italian Court, of Kuttenberg
“I copy field-slates into the great parchment ledgers at the Italian Court. It is an art requiring steady hands, though my eyes grow tired.”
Things Robert Baker had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
Godfrey Lane still has my best oak-gall ink. He wastes it scratching out furious petitions to his landlord Ralph about a leaking roof. That ink cost me good groschen, and I need it for the merchant contracts. God's nails, the sheer insolence of my fellow townsmen.
Nota scribaeDictated with a stained finger pointed squarely at the empty air.
the third day of May, at Sext
Edmund the head clerk gave me a heavy slate to copy today. I remember when that arrogant pup carried water for us. I could take the night-shifts and earn twice the coin if I had a proper reading lamp to see the parchment.
You have no lamp because I kept it. You botched the Easter ledger, you blind old fool. Admit your incompetence.
It was a loan out of Christian charity! Give it back, you opportunistic liar.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
Roger Clark bellows that I took a padded jacket from him and pawned it. The man is an absolute fool. He owed me silver groschen. When he did not pay the silver, I took the gambeson as lawful collateral and pawned it. A man must settle his debts.
I bought those jackets to rent to the town muster! You deceitful whoreson, I will have my gear back.
Nota scribaeHe spoke loudly, making sure everyone at the baker's stalls heard him.
the feast of St Gertrude, at Prime
I saw young Joerg Schneider skipping his pottage again today. I reckon the boy owes coin to a whore or a dice-roller. And Hynek Turner stands guarding his door from that hired hand Christopher like a dog at a bone. Fools, all of them. I mind my own ledger.
Keep your nose to your parchment, old man. You know nothing of my burdens.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
Out of pure Christian charity, I lent my fine brass reading lamp and calipers to Lambert White so he could finish a late shift. A tool of that quality costs a month's wage and was made by a master. I expect it back before Sunday mass.
You lent a brass lamp to Lambert? You might as well have dropped it down the deepest silver mine in Bohemia, lad.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before answering questions.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The roof drips straight onto my bed, Robert. A man must petition his lord. You will get your ink when Ralph sends a mason.