hired hand, of Kuttenberg
“I haul sacks and timber for the merchants. Back-breaking work for coppers, while I try to sort out my own affairs under my father's roof.”
Things Mikesh Cross had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at None
The bailiff's muster draws close. I have my padded jack and my spear clean and ready. Let no man say Mikesh Cross is a shirker when King Sigismund's dogs come knocking. I just wish the levy would hurry up so I could get out of the house.
Nota scribaeThe man kicked the table leg twice while saying this.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at Vespers
Another shouting match over a bowl of pottage. Bohushka has taken to working the far strip of land like it's her own dowry. My father left the bounds vague, and she takes advantage. I want the bailiff to settle this. It's my dirt as much as hers.
You spend all day hauling sacks and sighing over that girl. Somebody has to work the soil, or we'll eat nothing.
Saint Barbara preserve us, must you two scream every morning? My head hurts.
the second day of Easter week, at Compline
My shoulders are screaming after hauling crates in the coopers' yards all day. The merchants pay a pittance. Barely enough for a cup of ale, let alone enough to build a life of my own and take a wife. A man is trapped by his empty purse.
At least you have a dry roof over your head. Frantishek leaves us to rot under his.
Empty purse and a stubborn father. I know the taste of that ale, Mikesh.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of sweat and cheap ale.
the feast of St Gregory, at Prime
I will not let my father dictate my heart. He forbids me to speak Joan's name just because her family is ruined. He keeps her shut up by the lower gate. I need a respectable man to speak to a priest for me. I will marry her, whatever he says.
You will do no such thing under my roof. The Cross name means something in this town.
Listen to your father, lad. A man must marry within his station, or bring ruin on himself.
They don't understand. My father did the same, sent my Margery away to Kolin. Curses on them all.
the day after Ash Wednesday, at Sext
Bread is dearer again today. They say the soldiers on the roads are requisitioning the grain before it even reaches the market. I haul the sacks, so I know they are lighter than last year. We will all starve if the king's brother doesn't take his Hungarians home.
Aye, and what grain is left gets stolen. I spit on the lot of them.
Keep your voice down, Mikesh. The soldiers have ears everywhere.
Nota scribaeDictated in the market square between loads.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It's well for you. I had to leave my gear with Hynek. I hope the bailiff doesn't look too closely.
Keep your gear clean and your head down. And stay away from the lower gate.