porter at the market stalls, of Kuttenberg
“I am a man of the market, friend! I know everyone in Kuttenberg, and my word is my bond.”
Things Hans Schmidt had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Sext
My dearest friends Heinz and Konrad the Scar are making a fuss over nothing. The bailiff's muster is days away, and they want their iron caps and jacks. I told them the coin is coming, I just need one good throw of the dice tonight!
Nota scribaeDictated while looking nervously over his shoulder.
the Tuesday after St Philip and St James, at Vespers
Chenyek Wood still whines about his brass oil lamp. I keep telling the stubborn fool he will get it back the very day he pays for the good timber bench he snapped in my yard while drunk. An honest man settles his debts, Chenyek!
I never broke your bench, you lying bastard. Give me the lamp or I'll take it from your cold hands.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Saw poor George Ford at the alehouse, looking like a drowned rat because Frantishek still won't fix his rotting roof. I patted him on the shoulder and bought a round. It is a harsh world, friend, but ale makes the rain warmer.
You slapped my shoulder so hard I spilt half the cup, Hans. And I had to pay the ale-wife for your round.
Nota scribaeThe subject did not pay for the ale he ordered here.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Compline
Sat with Mikesh Cross and Konrad Wolff, listening to them weep into their cups about Joan and Margery. Christ almighty, they are fools! If a father locks your girl away, just take her and run to Prague. Why rot here in Kuttenberg in misery?
Speak no more of this, Hans. A son obeys his father, and beggars like you should hold their tongues.
Prague is a long road, Hans. What would we eat? Cabbages you stole from the market?
Candlemas, at Terce
A glorious day! I came into a bit of silver and paid off the ale-wife who was hounding me. It is a fine thing to walk the market with a light step and no debts, knowing your honour is intact. Now, to the cookshop!
You pawned another man's iron cap to get that silver, you fool. If my gout ever eases, I'll wring your neck.
Hynek, my dear friend! You wound me with such jests.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of stale beer and sweat.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You whoreson, give me my padded jack back or I'll break your jaw before the bailiff even sees you.
And my gear too. Hynek told me you pawned it all, you drunken thief.
Friends, please! It is safely stored, I swear by Saint Martin!