hired hand hauling timber, of Kuttenberg
“A man has to laugh at his lot. I keep my head down and haul timber when picked.”
Things Otto had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
Reginald is still whining about his padded jack. I told him he owed me for that tavern slate at Martinmas, so I gave it to the widow for my rent. We are square, friend, so stop your fussing.
Nota scribaeHe smiled the entire time he spoke this.
the Tuesday after St George, at None
Erhard is a fussy fool. He wants his rusty hand-axe back, but I need it under my pallet. The cellar floor is crooked, and I will not sleep on a slope. I chopped the wood for Svatava like he asked, so he should leave it be.
A hired hand cannot work without his iron! Give it back, or I will pull it from under you tonight.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The lads are weeping because Jacob the broker packed his ledgers and fled to Prague. Vashek paid good coin for those gauntlets just for Anthony to pawn them! I say Jacob likely drowned in the spring mud on the road anyway. Heh heh.
It is not funny, Otto. That was a month's sweat gone to a thief.
Nota scribaeDictated from the floor of the tavern.
the second Friday of Lent, at Terce
Jezhek the foreman must be blind today. I rolled off my straw, walked to the Italian Court, and the morning call was long over. But there is no sense in crying over lost pennies. I will fetch Svatava some firewood instead and keep her sweet.
You missed the call because you slept until the sun was high, you lazy dog.
Candlemas, at Compline
Hauling heavy timber builds a mighty thirst, but thin ale cures it well enough. The older men shiver by the weigh-house and moan about broken shovels, but a man has to laugh at his lot. Sit by the hearth and drink, friend.
Some of us have bellies to fill and cannot laugh at empty purses.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of sour ale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Square? You gave away my silver! I will be flogged at the muster because of your thieving, you whoreson.
They will not flog you hard, friend. Have a cup of ale and forget it.