ore hauler at the Saint Barbara shaft, of Kuttenberg
“I drag the heaviest baskets in the dark for Master Bynyek and get nothing but bleeding gums for it.”
Things Lamprecht the Hog had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second Tuesday in May, at Vespers
My mouth tastes of copper and blood all day. If I do not chew some raw onions soon, my teeth will rot straight out of my skull. The market hags will not give me a single one on credit, and Master Bynyek still has not paid our Easter wages. If anyone has spare groschen for onions, God will reward you.
Nota scribaeDictated while spitting blood into the dirt outside the tavern.
the third day of Easter week, at Compline
Mathes will not stop badgering me about his heavy mallet. I need it to make my ore quota, else Bynyek will fine me blind. I will give it back when I am done. Christ almighty, you would think I took his firstborn son instead of a block of wood and iron.
You have had it for weeks! How am I supposed to hit the rock with my bare hands?
Use your head, it is thick enough.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at None
Old Wenceslas just took a fine of ten groschen at the tally scales, all because Jezhek the Gob is a lazy whoreson. I snorted so hard my nose bled. Wenceslas cannot control the boy, and Wilhelm just whines about his pawned brass lamp. I miss Milada's thick Sunday pottage.
It was a very good lamp, and I cannot see a thing without it.
Nota scribaeThe man breathes heavily and wetly, like a broken bellows.
the second week of Lent, at Terce
Every time I see Jezhek's smiling face in the galleries, I want to strangle him. The careless pup took my best iron wedge last month and flat out refuses to hand it over. That tool cost me a month of sweat. Saint Barbara give me patience before I cave his head in.
I told you, I lent it to a digger on the lower level and he hasn't come back up yet.
the day after Candlemas, at Prime
Poor Milada is dead of the chest fever. God rest her soul, up in heaven she won't have to pour ale for us filthy lot. But her rat of a nephew just called in all our tavern slates the moment she was in the ground. I had to pawn my gear just to keep from the debtor's pit.
It is a dark day for Kuttenberg. My throat is dry just thinking about it.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of stale ale and old sweat.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We are all starving, Lamprecht. My own belly is touching my backbone.