hired hand at the weigh-house, of Kuttenberg
“I am just a hired hand looking to earn enough silver to go home, provided the dust does not choke me first.”
Things Erhard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
Reginald will not stop wailing about Jacob fleeing to Prague with his kettle hat. I told him he was a fool to pawn his gear in the first place. If the bailiff calls a muster now, half this cellar will end up in the stocks. By Saint George, I just want my head down.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush. He kept rubbing the back of his neck.
the Thursday after the Ascension, at None
My daily bread is like a brick and I have no way to cut it, because Andrew still has my carving knife from Easter. And Otto has my hand-axe. It is a terrible thing to see your own tools used by other men while you sit and starve.
the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Terce
I begged Wilhelm again to take word to my mother Kvyetoslava when he drives his cart west. She must think the Hungarians have killed me. He just spat and told me to leave him be. No one in this town has an ounce of Christian pity.
I am paid to haul ore, not to soothe your mother, lad. Find another fool.
Christ almighty, if I hear about your mother's stew one more time I will move out of this cellar myself.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke very quickly and had to be told to slow down.
the Tuesday of Easter week, at Prime
My boots are falling to pieces and my feet bleed on the road to the weigh-house. Hugh refuses to give back my good iron nails unless I hand over the heavy crowbar. I earned that crowbar working his shift on Ash Wednesday! Jezhek will not pick me without it.
the second Friday of Lent, at Vespers
A miserable day choking on dust at the crushers. We loaded timber until my hands were raw. All for a few pennies, just so widow Svatava can take her groschen on Sunday. Sometimes I wonder why I ever left home for this.
Aye, but the ale still tastes sweet enough, eh?
She could have thrown us out to freeze in the snow, lad. Be thankful you have a roof.
Nota scribaeHe was covered in grey grit and coughed throughout the dictation.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is easy for you to talk, lad, you had nothing worth pawning to begin with.
Reckon Jacob is at the bottom of a river by now anyway.