beggar of the lower square, of Kuttenberg
“I hold my patch in the lower square. If you have no coin, get out of my light.”
Things Stinky Claus had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday after Ascension, at Prime
The sun is finally warm enough to thaw the frost out of my spine. That bastard Crusty William tried edging his bowl into my spot near the merchants. I told him I would break his miserable neck if he moved another inch. He scurried off fast enough.
Nota scribaeDictated through gritted teeth. He refused to turn his head to look at me.
the feast of St Stanislaus, at Sext
My brother Thomas spent the whole morning crying over a wooden bird our mother gave him, routing through the gutters for it. I told him to harden up and look for bread instead. Tears will not fill his belly, and bending is a fool's game.
She carved it for me. You have no heart left in you, brother.
I have a belly that needs feeding, and so do you.
the second day of Easter week, at None
A merchant's heavy cart went past today, wheel slipping on the wet stones. I shouted at the driver to watch his brake. If a cart pins you to a wall, it leaves you broken for life. The whoreson just laughed and threw mud on me.
Why do you care about a cart? You just sit there like a stone gargoyle all day.
Nota scribaeThe man stood very stiffly to shout at the cart, taking a long time to get upright.
the third week of Lent, at Vespers
Bread is dearer than ever, and these Hungarian soldiers drop nothing in my bowl but spit. The cold wind comes straight off the hills and bites right into my spine. I swear I will not give up my spot to anyone, no matter how it hurts.
My sister Svatava says there is no bread in the villages either.
You do not have a sister, Fritz. Stop lying for coins.
Candlemas, at Terce
It is bitter cold today. I told my father William to take Thomas to the church door where the wind is blocked. I am staying right here in the lower square. If I leave my patch, one of these other lazy bastards will steal it.
You should come to the church too, boy. You are stiff as a board in this frost.
Nota scribaeDictated from the freezing cobbles. The man's language was exceedingly foul before I began writing.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You do not own the cobbles, Claus. Tuma the watchman would have chased you off.
Tuma is gone, and I am still here. Try me.