miner, of Kuttenberg
“I wait by the winches for a shift and try to keep my hands from shaking. It is a dog's life, but I make do when I can.”
Things Drunkard Endres had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Pentecost, at Prime
My guts are twisting and I cannot hold down a drop of water. If someone fetches me five fresh apples from the market stalls to settle my stomach, I will give them a lucky lump of silver ore. The ale-wife curses me on sight, so I cannot go myself.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his nose throughout the dictation and smelled strongly of stale beer.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
The muster is coming and the magistrate will have my hide. I pawned Gilbert the Mouth's padded jacket and war gear to a broker, and now the whoreson wants double to release it. Maresh did the exact same thing with Berger's kit, but at least I admit I drank the coin.
You drank my jacket? By Christ's wounds, you wretched dog, I need that gear or the bailiff will fine me into the ground.
Keep my name out of your mouth, drunkard. I lost that kit honestly.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Sext
Stood in the mud all morning rubbing my nose, but Simon looked right past me. He despises a man who smells of yesterday's drink. Now I have no coin for Drahomira, and I will be sleeping in a cold ditch tonight. It is a miserable state.
Simon takes bribes from the Germans anyway. You are better off sleeping it off.
You will sleep in the ditch until you pay the three weeks of groschen you owe me, you useless sponge.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the tavern. He lacked the coin to enter.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
Frantishek will not lend me a single copper. He says I would drink my own boots if I could find a fool to pawn them to. By Saint Martin, maybe I would, if it stopped the shaking. Poor Black Veit was robbed of his tools, but I have nothing left to steal.
Prokop and Christopher took my livelihood. Count yourself lucky you only have a sour stomach, Endres.
the Monday after St Matthias, at Compline
The armies are marching and the shift work has dried up completely. A man must eat, or at least drink to forget the cold. I took Gilbert's gear to the broker. I will get it back when the silver flows again. No harm done.
You told me you were keeping it safe in Drahomira's cellar! God's nails, I will brain you with a rock.
Nota scribaeThe man slurred his words so heavily I had to ask him to repeat the broker's location thrice.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You do not need apples, Endres. You need to stop pouring cheap ale down your throat before your liver bursts.
The sharp taste cures the shaking, Frantishek. Just fetch them and you can have the silver.