hired hand at the weigh-house, of Kuttenberg
“I haul silver ore at the weigh-house, and more of it than any two men in Kuttenberg! I look after myself and make sure I get what I'm owed.”
Things Prokop had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The eve of the Ascension, at Compline
Hauling timber props all day. My back aches, but I lifted more than Erhard and Otto combined. If my foot ever gets crushed under those logs, just roll me into the river, for I'd be no use to anyone. But until then, I am the strongest man here!
The Friday after Easter, at Prime
Svatava came demanding her rent for the cellar. A man needs to keep hauling heavy sacks to keep his spot by the hearth. The older men sit quiet and defeated, but I told her I have the coin. I am not freezing in the street.
She could have thrown us out during Lent, Prokop. Just pay the groschen and be glad of the roof.
Nota scribaeHe paid the priest who took this down with a bent half-penny.
The Monday before Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Hugh is still glaring at me in the yard over his splitting wedge. The man does not know how to swing it properly, so it is safer in my hands. The heavy lifting is for real men anyway.
The Wednesday after Saint Matthias, at None
Bread is dearer than last year, but Jezhek the foreman still pays an extra half-penny if you bring a tool. Good thing I have Andrew's long-handled shovel. He broke my barrow last winter, so the shovel is fair compensation. He is too weak to take it back.
I lent it to you for one afternoon at Candlemas! Give it back, Prokop, I need it for the muck.
Nota scribaeDictated at the weigh-house while chewing on a hard crust.
The feast of Saint Blaise, at Vespers
By the blood of Christ, Hugh threw his lucky bone die right into my cup at the tavern and spilled my ale! I pocketed the bone. He won't see it again until he buys me a fresh round to replace what he wasted. Hah!
You stole my luck on purpose! Give the die back, or I swear I will hit you with a crowbar.
Buy the ale, Hugh. Then you can have your little bone.
Nota scribaeHe laughed so loud he nearly spilled his own drink again.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My mother Kvyetoslava says lifting too much timber will give you a crooked spine when you are old.
Shut your mouth about your mother, Erhard, or I will put you in the river myself.