burgher of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am a burgher of this town. I keep the records straight and expect a man's written word to mean something.”
Things Karl Schwarz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Tuesday before Whitsun, at None
Father Paul was weeping at my door again today. Offered twenty groschen for the silver chalice. I told him forty was the pledge, and forty is the price. If he wants it back before the archdeacon visits, he can stand in the square and admit he spent church coin on Agnes the washerwoman's new boots.
Nota scribaeHe spoke loudly so the street would hear, tapping his belt the whole time.
The eve of the Ascension, at Prime
The roads are thick with soldiers and the toll is up. But war or no war, debts come due. I see men blaming the Hungarians for their own empty pockets, but a man who drinks his groschen in peacetime is just as broke when Sigismund's men arrive. I keep my coin locked up.
The third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Three years since my father Tobias died of a winter chill. He was a man of order and meant his eldest to have the far strip of land. Yet my brother Heinz still drags his plough over it as if he holds the deed. The bailiff has summoned him twice, and still he hides.
Father meant the land for the one who actually works the dirt, not the one counting pennies in town!
Leave my husband be, Karl. You have enough locked in your chests.
Nota scribaeThe dictating of this took until Compline, as he brought out the ledger to show the dates.
The Wednesday after St Benedict, at Sext
A German merchant tried to pay me in clipped groschen today. He swore up and down they were fresh from the mint here, but I know the weight of good silver. I told him to take his shears and his lies back to Prague. We do honest trade in Kuttenberg.
Candlemas, at Terce
The bells are ringing, and men are out in the mud pretending they have not sinned this year. I woke before Prime, washed my hands, and updated the ledger. A clean house and a clear account are worth more than all the candles in St James's. The law of the town is what keeps us from beasts.
Uncle, you will end up alone with your books if you do not step outside.
Nota scribaeHe refused to step out into the street to say this, making me stand in his doorway.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Have you no Christian mercy, Karl? The glebe horses were stolen, as I swore to you!
A contract is a contract, Father. Horses do not buy boots in Prague.