labourer at the lower square, of Kuttenberg
“I stand for piecework at the square and take no shit from anyone. I earn my keep, expect my coin, and suffer no fools who weep for their mothers.”
Things Endres Neumann had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday after Rogation Sunday, at Sext
Eberhard Schneider was whining again about the carting being too heavy. Mein Gott, the lad thinks lifting sacks is torture. In my day, you hauled until the foreman paid or the sun went down. These boys want the king's ransom just to get up in the morning.
Nota scribaeThe man spat on the floor while dictating. I have asked him not to.
the eve of Saint Matthias, at Vespers
If Denis Spicer thinks he can walk past me at the alehouse without paying his due, he is a greater arse than I thought. He knows what he owes. The watch didn't ask me who broke the timber, they just took the groschen. He can beg for his plate back when he pays up.
You shoved me first, Endres. Give me the plate back before Lida notices it's gone!
Pay your half of the watchman's fine and say it out loud. Then you get the copper.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
The foremen at the mint hold back the tally again. They blame the King's brother and the Hungarians on the roads, but my stomach doesn't care who is king when there's no bread. Jarda Tanner spent the whole morning talking about his brother Jan's farm. I told him to go there if he loves it so much.
At least Jan has fresh bread and mutton. We have nothing but empty bellies here.
Christ almighty, Jarda, if you say the word 'sheep' one more time I will throw you in the river.
Nota scribaeDictated at the Lower Square. He counted his coins in his boot while speaking.
the third Sunday in Lent, at Terce
I went to see my father Kunz today. He told me I was looking old. I told him hard work does that to a man who pays his own debts. I don't know what he expects of me.
I expect you not to break market stalls and get fined by the watch like a drunken fool.
the feast of Saint Blaise, at None
I have misplaced a small wooden carving from my pouch. It is of no value to anyone else. It is just a piece of wood. If any man finds it, leave it by the steps. And stop asking me why I look so sour. I am not sour, the damp just gets into my bones.
Was it the little saint you always rub before a shift? I thought you dropped it near the ale barrels.
Keep your mouth shut, Veit. It is just wood.
Nota scribaeThe man seemed nervous and looked over his shoulder twice.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You try hauling that stone with a bruised shoulder, old man. Some of us have a life ahead.
Your only life ahead is getting married to Annabel, and then you'll wish you were hauling stone.