journeyman saddler, of Kuttenberg
“I sew leather tighter than any master in this town. If the winter leaves my fingers alone, I can do a man's work.”
Things Heinz Bauer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Terce
The wind is finally turning warm. My stitching is fast today. If I can just get one saddle finished before dusk, I can pay for a hot meal. They say the soldiers are moving on the roads again. So long as they need their horses tacked, there should be work for a man with a needle.
Nota scribaeThe lad rubbed his left hand the entire time he spoke.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
The lords of Kuttenberg have spoken. Half a threescore groschen, that is what the ruling says. Four months of sweat and that whoreson Thomas Cooper owes me what he owes me. Heinz Fair took my side, though I reckon he just wanted to twist the knife in Thomas for that royal contract. Either way, the coin is mine by right.
The guild protects honest trade, boy. We do not abide masters who cheat their men.
You drank for a fortnight and ruined my best saddle-tree. You're lucky I offered you a jacket.
The wood was rotten to begin with. You know it.
the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at Vespers
I heard Thomas is sniffing around that tanner's widow, Ellen, in the lower town. No wonder he wouldn't pay my wages, he's saving his silver to buy favor where he has no business. The wood I was stretching the leather over was weak. It wasn't my grip. Anyone with eyes could see the rot in the grain.
Ellen won't even open her door to him. It is known.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the saddlers' guildhall. He smelled of small beer.
the second week of Lent, at Prime
Another frost this morning. It settles right in the bones. I tried to stretch the wet leather over the saddle-tree but my fingers seized up tight as a knot. The landlord here says I must pay my slate by Sunday or he'll throw me out. I don't know how I'll manage if Thomas Cooper doesn't give me what I earned.
Come by the yard later. I might have a crust of bread to spare.
It is a bitter cold. Keep near the fire.
the eve of St Matthias, at Sext
Sixteen weeks I agreed to work for Thomas Cooper. I need the silver. It is hard going in the cold, but my stitching is true. A cartwheel took the strength from my hand years ago, but I don't need strength to sew, just a steady eye. I just wish the frost didn't make it ache so.
Drink some hot broth, Heinz. It helps the blood move.
Nota scribaeThe scribe noted the man's fingers were stiff and pale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Don't count your groschen before the master pays them, lad.
If you don't snap the wood first.