hired hand at the weigh-house, of Kuttenberg
“I haul heavy timber and silver ore to earn my keep. I keep my head down, bring my own hammer, and try not to throttle the fools I live with.”
Things Hugh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
The bailiff's muster is coming and half the cellar lacks gear. Otto went and pawned Reginald's padded jack to Svatava for ale money. A man without proper arms will be flogged raw. I just pray I keep my hammer, or I will be begging in the dirt.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Woke up with my back stiff as a board again. Svatava's cellar floor is ice, and the young lads will not even sweep the straw. If Erhard mentions his mother Kvyetoslava's cooking one more time, I will strangle him with my bare hands.
My mother makes a fine pork stew. Better than the watery gruel Svatava feeds us.
Nota scribaeDictated before the morning shift began. The man smelled heavily of damp wool and exhaustion.
the second Sunday of Lent, at Vespers
Erhard's boots are falling apart and he wants his bag of iron nails back to fix them. Let it be known he gets no nails until my good iron crowbar is back in my hands. A crowbar is worth ten bags of nails. He can walk barefoot.
Ash Wednesday, at Compline
Erhard says taking my double shift today means he gets to keep the crowbar I lent him at Candlemas. That is absolute horseshit. He only took the shift for the extra copper, and my tool cost a month's sweat to buy.
The lad is a whelp, Hugh. Do not trust him with so much as a wooden spoon.
Nota scribaeThe word used for dung was much coarser. I have amended it.
the feast of St Blaise, at Terce
Prokop snatched my lucky bone die off the alehouse table, claiming I owed him for a spilled ale. He was just losing the game. Now my luck is entirely foul, and he took my splitting wedge besides. The whoreson takes what he pleases.
You spilled my drink, old man. The die pays for the ale. The wedge is mine now too.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was pawn it or starve, Hugh. Jacob took off to Prague and we have nothing left to pledge.
It was my jack, you little shit. Now I have to mend this ragged tunic in the dark.