hired hand at the mine works, of Kuttenberg
“I brace the mine galleries. I put in a better shift than half the greybeards at the market.”
Things Johannes Fischer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Tuesday before Whitsun, at Compline
Christ's wounds, Hans the foreman turned me away from the muster again today. If a man has strong arms, why does it matter whose axe he swings? I work harder than any of these greybeards. I am telling you, I need my iron back from Hannes Muller, or I won't eat.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so fast I could barely write, waving his hands about wildly.
The eve of Saint George, at Terce
Claus Reinhart is a fool for chasing that debt-ridden washerwoman all the way to Prague. A man should worry about a roof and his daily bread, not some woman drowning in debt. At least here in the shed I only have to worry about paying Cunne for my beer.
You sleep in a shed on leftover crusts, Johannes. Madlen is worth ten of you, debts and all.
The third day of Easter week, at Prime
Zdenyek Shepherd still has my only eating knife. I didn't stab it into his table to insult Magdalena's tough mutton, I just left it there in a hurry! Christ's wounds, the man is too sensitive about his household. Ten groschen or a good meal to whoever brings my blade back.
You drove it an inch deep into my board, you whoreson. You can eat with your fingers from now on.
The fourth Tuesday of Lent, at Vespers
Lorenz, I know you want your good tool back, but I just need it a little longer for a tricky joint on the upper gallery. Christ's wounds, the rock is bad up there and I can't do it with a rusty blade. You will have it back soon, I swear it.
You said that at Candlemas, you little thief. Give it here tomorrow or I will break your jaw.
Just one more shift, Lorenz! Hans will turn me away if I show up empty-handed.
The Monday before Ash Wednesday, at Sext
I lent my rusty axe to Hannes Muller because the lazy old man did not want to walk across the market. Christ's wounds, he better hand it back by tomorrow's muster or Hans will have my hide for coming with empty hands.
Keep your hair on, boy. It is just a rusty bit of iron.
Nota scribaeDictated in the lower market. He coughed grey dust the whole time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you I don't have it, lad. Keep your trousers on.
You are just too lazy to walk across the lower market and fetch it! Seven groschen to any man who brings it to me.