buyer and seller of small goods, of Kuttenberg
“I turn pennies into groschen around the market square by finding what one man needs and another threw away. I prefer to keep my head down and my skin whole.”
Things Peshek Coleman had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Philip and St James, at None
A clerk from the town hall let slip my name is written in the bailiff's ledger for the levy. I have no padded jack, no iron cap, and no wish to be gutted by a Cuman. I have a letter offering George Ford fourteen groschen to answer to my name. I only need a stranger to carry it to him.
Nota scribaeDictated in a hurried whisper behind the cooper's yard. The man kept looking over his shoulder and rubbing his chin.
the Thursday after Easter, at Sext
I just watched Hans Schmidt pawn borrowed war kit to Hynek for ale money. I marvel at the stupidity. If Hans is caught empty-handed at the muster, the bailiff will throw him in the pillory. Still, I would gladly take the pillory over a muddy battlefield.
Mind your own business, Peshek. Hynek gave me a fair price and a man gets thirsty.
At least Hans is not terrified of the blood, son.
the Monday of Holy Week, at Terce
Chenyek Wood is spitting on the ground over a borrowed brass lamp he claims Hans broke. If Chenyek simply paid Hans for the broken bench, he would have his precious lamp back. Everything is a transaction, but these fools let their pride blind them to a simple trade.
He broke my bench first! I am not paying him a single groschen.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his thumb against his index finger the entire time he spoke, as if feeling for a coin.
St Gregory's day, at Vespers
Mikesh Cross and Konrad Wolff are both fighting bitter wars with their fathers over forbidden matches. Joan is locked by the lower gate and Margery banished to Kolin. Idiots, the lot of them. Letting your humours cloud your judgement over a girl is bad for business.
You know nothing of love, Peshek. You only care for your own skin.
Easy for you to say. You have no heart to break.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Prime
Bought a handful of iron nails from a carter at the lower stalls and sold them for a groschen before the sun was fully up. Good trade. Though it is freezing, and George Ford must be shivering worse under that rotting roof Frantishek left him.
Curse Frantishek's name. The damp is settling in my bones.
Nota scribaeDictated near the cookshops. He bought a bowl of mutton pottage straight after.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Fourteen groschen? You spineless little worm, bring that letter to my face and I will break your jaw!
A shirker and a coward where everyone can hear. You disgrace your father.
You are a fool rushing toward an early grave, Casper. A glorious death for King Wenceslas is still a death.