labourer at the cooper's yard, of Kuttenberg
“I sweep the yards and haul timber from sunrise to sunset just to keep my head above the mud.”
Things Prokop Little had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
Tuma took a terrible fall from the builder's scaffold and bruised his leg badly. Instead of resting, the stubborn fool has locked himself in his room drinking ale. I am working the long shift and cannot leave. I desperately need some stranger to look in on him before Foreman David strikes him from the roster.
Nota scribaeHe waved his hands so wildly while speaking that he nearly knocked over my ink.
the feast of St Stanislaus, at Sext
It rained all night and Walter's cursed roof leaked straight onto my bedding again. I pay good silver for this shed and the stingy bastard will not spend a single groschen to patch the hole. I would find another place, but with all these refugees in town, he would just rent it to someone else tomorrow.
If you do not like the shed, Prokop, you may sleep in the mud. The rent is due by Sunday.
Nota scribaeHe spat on the floor when mentioning the landlord's name.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Sitting at the tavern and having to listen to Reginald whining about the bailiff's muster list. The boy needs to accept what comes and stop whimpering like a frightened child. Every poor man in Kuttenberg has to face the levy, but he and Standa think they can scheme their way out of it.
It is easy for you to talk, Prokop, you are half dead from hauling staves anyway. I have no wish to march.
A few groschen slipped to Peter the clerk is better than catching a Hungarian arrow, you fool.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
Foreman David docked my wages today because I dropped a stave in the mud. The man is a hard master, making us bring our own tools and punishing us for the slightest mistake. I resent the whoreson bitterly, but I need the coin for my cabbage soup too much to speak back.
You should not stand for it! It is just as unfair as my brother Hynek stealing my dirt!
Christ almighty, Anthony, stop wasting good breath shouting over a furrow when there are real troubles at hand.
Nota scribaeDictated at the Lesser Market. The man's tunic was covered in pale wood dust.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
Gilbert Smith asked to borrow my iron wedge today. I told him to go to the devil. Everyone knows the slippery youth pawns whatever he touches. Reginald says Gilbert stole his brass oil lamp, and I believe it. I will not have my tools sold off just so he can cry about his grief.
I only needed it for a day! My poor mother Svatava would weep to see how cruel you are to her only son.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye, I saw him limping. The man needs to put the cup down before he loses his place at the works.
Exactly my thought, Ralph. He is going to end up completely broken and discarded if he keeps on.