scribe of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I draft ledgers for merchants in the square. It is honest work, but my sons give me grief.”
Things Wilhelm Schreiber had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
My son Hermann remains defiant about this forbidden match. The family's reputation is suspect, and the promised dowry is a trap that will beggar us all. A man's children should be his comfort, yet mine seem determined to send me to an early grave.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his eyes incessantly while dictating this.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Sext
The square was loud today. Christopher Welvara wastes his youth writing foolish poems for Dorothy instead of learning a trade. I wish Johannes Steiner would simply make peace with his neighbor Otto so we might have some quiet.
It is easy for you to speak of peace when it is not your fence that is broken, Wilhelm.
the third day of April, at Prime
I have offered fourteen groschen to buy back my own property, yet Albrecht stubbornly refuses to return my lucky bone die. I only handed it to him so he could inspect the pips. He is a thief who does not know the meaning of friendship.
I won it fair in the pot behind Saint James's. Keep your groschen, scribe.
You pocketed it while my back was turned, Albrecht. I cannot win without it.
Nota scribaeDictated on the church steps. He asked that the word 'thief' be written twice, but once is sufficient.
the Wednesday after Saint Gregory, at None
The glare of the pale spring sun makes the handwriting of these merchants harder to read by the day. At midday I took my thin cabbage soup at Lene's cellar. Her tally on the slate grows, but my ledgers remain neat.
The soup is thin because the cabbage is dear, scribe. Mind your own tally.
We all stand in the same mud, Wilhelm, and eat the same cabbage.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Vespers
A bitter day behind Saint James's church. I was at hazard with Albrecht Schmidt and handed him my lucky bone die merely to admire the craftsmanship. He pocketed it and walked away. I cannot win a game without it.
It was in the pot, Wilhelm. A man must accept his losses with grace.
Hazard is a vice that brings only ruin to a steady man.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before every sentence.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Children today lack discipline, Wilhelm. A firm hand is required with the boy.
Her dowry is honest, Father. You see traps where there are none.