senior clerk at the weigh-house, of Kuttenberg
“I tally the grain and wood at the market and try to keep my grown children from dragging us into the mud.”
Things Lamprecht Wagner had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
These young clerks will be the death of me. Humphrey and Baldwin are bickering again over a stolen brass ink pot and a ruined ledger. I miss Wilhelm. Since he died of a chest humour, the bench is nothing but squabbles and blotted parchment.
Nota scribaeDictated at the weigh-house. The man rubbed his chin for an age before speaking.
the morrow of St Mark, at Vespers
Another night arguing with Claus. He has lost his mind over a girl with no dowry. I told him plainly, bring a penniless woman to this crowded house and we will all eat dirt. I will not have the banns read.
You only care about your copper pennies and your perfect tally marks! We will not eat dirt.
Listen to our father, Claus. We barely have enough crusts in the morning as it is.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Terce
Sebastian Hoffmann is a loudmouth who ruins reputations for sport. Because of his cruel tavern joke, poor Magdalena was sent away to Czaslau, and Drslav mopes about the market like a sick sheep. Drslav's father was right to forbid the match, though. Whispers of soldiers taint a family.
It was no joke, old man. She was too friendly with the Hungarians.
Keep her name out of your mouth, Sebastian. And yours too, Lamprecht.
Nota scribaeDictated carefully. He insisted I do not blot the page.
the eve of St Gertrude, at Prime
The carts come in rushes or not at all thanks to the Hungarian soldiers on the roads. We sit idle half the day staring at the mud. I only took three pennies for the town council yesterday. A man cannot feed four grown children on that.
Do not worry, father, I will find some work at the silver works soon.
And maybe Claus could stop dreaming and help us.
Candlemas, at Sext
Watched Udo Lang chewing on stale crusts again at the bench today. The lad is a miserable miser, saving every copper while his stomach rumbles. I fear the town council will sell the master's seat to some rich merchant's fool nephew instead of one of us.
I am not a miser, Lamprecht. I am saving for something important, you will see.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke very slowly and called me lad twice.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If someone bought Wilhelm's seat, we would have order again, Lamprecht.
It was not blotted, the widow Ottilie's roof leaked on it! And Humphrey is a thief.