clerk and tallyman, of Kuttenberg
“Christ, I am a clerk of standing who belongs inside the Court, not jostling with porters on the church steps.”
Things Franz Keller had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
Christ, Christopher Welvara is hovering like a beggar again. I told him I am not carrying his snivelling letter to Thomas. The boy wants to throw his life away on some washer girl in Kolin. I keep the paper only because I cannot be bothered to walk across the square to throw it in his face.
Nota scribaeDictated at the church steps. He shouted the last sentence.
The second day of Easter week, at Vespers
My own flesh and blood dragging our name through the dirt. Sebastian brings up this miserable match again at the supper table. Christ! I forbade it. I will not have my house shamed by a low-born girl. Any man who says otherwise gets my fist. Wilhelm Schreiber knows what I speak of.
You care more for what the merchants think than for your own blood.
Amen to that, Franz. Hermann tries the same with me. A good beating is what they lack.
The Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
The merchants are late with their coin, blaming the Hungarians on the roads. So I am forced to eat Lene's wretched cabbage soup again. Christ, it tastes of dirty boots, and she has the gall to add another mark to my tally on her slate. I argued her down, but she is a thief.
Pay what you owe, you pompous windbag, or starve.
The soup is fine! You just complain louder than the rest of us!
Nota scribaeThe scribe noted the ale-wife was standing close enough to hear, holding a ladle.
The feast of St Gregory, at Prime
Stood shivering at the lower walls of the Italian Court all morning. I tally better than any man in this town, yet they keep me outside. Christ, I should have a seat by the fire. Instead I have to watch Henslin Schmidt move like a rusted cart while Maresh slacks against the wall.
I was waiting for the master of the weigh-house, not slacking.
My hands were cold, Franz. No need for insults.
The day after Candlemas, at Terce
I came home to a slammed door and Wolfgang whining in the corner. Ottilie cannot keep the peace. Sebastian announced his cursed intentions today. Christ almighty, the boy has lost his mind. I told him he will marry who I say, or he will get out of my house. Order and standing are all we have.
If you stopped shouting for half a candle's mark, there might be peace.
Leave the boy be, Franz. A stubborn fence breaks in the wind.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted twice by his coughing fit.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Please, Master Keller. If my father will only read it, he might understand.
Grow a spine, boy! I am not your errand dog.