craftsman of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am a Reinhart of Kuttenberg. My head aches, my pockets are empty, and I cannot seem to catch the foreman's eye.”
Things Claus Reinhart had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Vespers
My father Joerg watches my every step. I cannot go near the tavern to see how Fritz is faring with his fever. If a kind soul would bring him water and tell him I have not forgotten him, I would be grateful. I simply cannot risk my inheritance.
Nota scribaeHe stared at the floor the entire time he spoke, sighing.
the second day of Easter week, at Terce
I walked out to the far strip of land this morning, only to find my sister Anna already turning the soil. My father promised that land to me. I have half a mind to drag her before the bailiff, if I only had the energy for it.
You sleep until the sun is high, Claus. If I left the strip to you, we would be harvesting nothing but weeds.
the feast of the Annunciation, at None
It has been nearly a week since Madlen went away. I stand at the upper shoring and look at the rock, but I see only her face. If my father had not threatened my inheritance, I would be on the road with her. A heavy heart makes for slow work.
Praise God the debtor is gone. Keep your mind on your work, boy, and forget that washerwoman.
Nota scribaeHe asked me to blot out the part about his father, then changed his mind.
Saint Joseph's day, at Prime
Cunne's debts have driven Madlen away. She took the road to Prague this morning. I stood in the lower market with my head pounding, without a single groschen to give her or follow her. The name Reinhart buys no bread, and it cannot buy a wagon ride to Prague.
I should have gone with her. But what would we eat?
Nota scribaeHe sighed so heavily I thought his lungs would collapse.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
Hans passed me over again at the morning muster. He said I look half-asleep and hold my tools like an old man. Perhaps if my bed at home was not so cold, I would not have to warm my blood with Cunne's ale every night.
You drink like a fish, Claus. It is no wonder Hans picks steady men for the shoring.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I need no pity from a coward who hides behind his father's purse. Stay in your draughty corner.