fuller and mender, of Kuttenberg
“I mend old cloaks and pull scraps from the mud to sell, God willing. It is an honest living, and I keep my head down.”
Things Kubyenka Fuller had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Terce
Stislav Weaver is asleep in the mud again. I rubbed my chin raw wondering if I should check his breath. Will some soul walk past his stall, God willing, and see if he still lives? I will not cross the alley to speak to him, not after what he called me.
Nota scribaeDictated from behind his canvas awning. He kept rubbing his chin.
the Tuesday after Saint John, at None
The halberdiers walked past today. I kept my head down and stitched an old hem. Julian will have my rent come Saint Martin's day, God willing, but I will not look at his men until then. Better to be a quiet beggar than a levied man dead in a ditch.
Julian is a thief with a charter. You scrape too much, Kubyenka.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
If a man lends his best iron shears to a neighbour for a single day, he expects them back before the holy days are done. I am making do with a dull knife, God willing, while my fine blades are ruined on heavy leather. But I will not shout about it.
They are safe enough. I just have a few more hides to cut before Sunday.
Leather will blunt them to nothing, Bynyek. Bring them back.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quietly, glaring across the street the whole time.
the first Wednesday of Lent, at Sext
Stislav Weaver asked me to carry word to his sister Betty on the Prague road. I told him no. There are Hungarians on the road and burnt houses, and I am not a fool, God willing. He shouted at me and took to the ale-pot. It is a harsh world.
A false friend! I asked one simple thing of you.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Prime
Bynyek Brown swore by all the saints he only needed my shears for one day. I handed them over, God willing, because a man must help his neighbours. Now I wonder how I will cut the fine wool from the square. It was a month's work to buy them.
Never lend anything to Bynyek. He owes Bohuta more than anyone else in this mud.
Nota scribaeThe ink froze in the pot while he rubbed his chin deciding what to say.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I am breathing, you coward. Much good it does me with Betty out there in the ashes.
I saw him shift his leg. He will just wake up with a sore head.