messenger and fetching man, of Kuttenberg
“I run small errands for the masters now that my knees can no longer bear the heavy crates.”
Things Otto Baker had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
My nameday is upon me, and all I wish is to make a modest stew. I need three ordinary cabbages, but the town grocers are picked clean by the soldiers. With these knees, I cannot walk out to the village gardens. I will pay whatever a traveller paid if someone brings them.
Nota scribaeHe sighed so heavily before speaking that the candle flickered.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
I have lost the brass button my very first master gave me. It is just worthless copper to anyone else, but it was my lucky charm. I have searched the steps of Saint James twice over and my joints are screaming. I feel quite naked and unprotected without it.
A bit of old brass? Save your breath, Otto, some beggar has likely traded it for ale by now.
Do not listen to him, Otto. Veit knows a lot about things going missing.
the Wednesday before Palm Sunday, at Sext
The price of flour has doubled again since Lent began. The merchants are terrified to move their wagons with the Hungarians choking the roads. I waited all morning at the Lower Square and not one tally was handed out. If the King is not freed soon, I fear we will all quietly starve come winter.
I am hoarding every penny I can for Lida. The silver is drying up, Otto.
It is no better out here. They take what they please from the carts on the road.
the feast of Saint Matthias, at Terce
I feel a quiet pity for young Jarda Tanner. He weeps for his brother Jan and his farm, but he ought to walk back to the countryside instead of letting Bartholomew Smith torment him. Bartholomew is keeping the boy's bone comb purely out of spite. It is exhausting to watch such things.
Mind your own business, old man. The boy needs to learn how the town works.
Jan would never let him treat me so. I only want my comb back.
Nota scribaeDictated on the church steps. He rubbed his knees throughout.
Candlemas, at Prime
Endres Neumann has lost his carved wooden saint. I know the grief of losing a small thing that brings comfort. There is too much shouting in this town lately, what with Eberhard and his father fighting over that girl Annabel. We should look after one another better in these dark days.
Bless you, Otto. It was a good carving. I feel entirely lost without it.
My father is the one causing the trouble, not her. The old men do not understand.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I am coming to town on the morrow, Otto. I will see if my neighbour has any left to spare.
Praise be, Joerg. My legs thank you.