hewer at the Osel mine, of Kuttenberg
“I break rock in the dark and try not to break my back doing it.”
Things Otto had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Still no word sent west. The roads are thick with the Hungarian's men and no merchants are passing through. I asked Lorenz again to take a message to my old mother near Prague, but he will not hear of it. The woman will think me buried under the rock.
Nota scribaeHe clenched his fists so hard I thought he would strike the table.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Jezhek and Ludwig were at it again last night in the cellar, fighting over a spilled cup. I wish we had more lads like young Jarda. He works hard, keeps his mouth shut, and doesn't wake a man who needs his rest for the morning shift.
Thank you, Otto. Though truth be told I was too tired to argue with them.
It was my cup, and the Rat knocked it over on purpose!
the third Sunday of Lent, at None
Master Konrad sent two men away this morning because their tools were blunt. If you have no iron, you have no wage. Wenceslas gave me a hard look at the muster, but I swear I will give him his pick back as soon as I can buy my own.
A fortnight, you said at Candlemas! I have seams to hew too, Otto. Give it back.
Master Konrad has no mercy. A man has to eat.
Nota scribaeDictated in a low mumble. He smelled strongly of sweat and damp earth.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Bread costs two pennies more than it did before the snow. A man breaks his back at the coalface all day, swallows a pound of dust, and barely earns enough for a dry crust. God preserve us if the harvest is poor.
Amen to that. The king's brother is eating us out of house and home.
the day after Candlemas, at Compline
Christ almighty, the lower galleries flooded today. A wall of black water came out of the dark. I dropped everything and climbed the ladders until my lungs burned. My iron is gone in the deep. Wenceslas lent me a sturdy pick, God bless him, just for a fortnight.
Take care of it, Otto. It was my father's, and I expect it back before the month is out.
Nota scribaeHe was still shaking, though whether from fear or the cold I could not say.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you, I am not walking to Prague to get my throat cut by Cumans. Leave it be, Otto.
A fine friend you are. She is an old woman.