tally clerk of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I tally wagons in the lower market and try to keep my sums neat. It is a loud place, and I prefer a quiet life, though others make that difficult.”
Things Nickel Berger had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The dust at the lower market gets worse when the roads are dry. I stand by the pillory all day breathing it in. The carters swear at their beasts, and a loaf costs more pennies than it did in winter. I just want to do my sums in peace.
the third day of Easter week, at None
It has been months since Candlemas, and I am still without my fine brass calipers and my best ledger. A clerk cannot do his work properly when older men pocket his tools and make excuses. It took a month's wages to buy those calipers.
I told you, lad, I am keeping them safe. A boy like you will only drop them in the mud.
Do not fret so much. I will bring the book back to the yard before the month is out, God willing.
Nota scribaeHe adjusted his belt no less than four times while dictating this.
the Wednesday of Lent, at Terce
Poor Hans Kohl was asleep against a wall this morning, smelling of sour ale. I know his heart is broken since his mother Edith passed of the sickness, God rest her, but drinking himself into the grave will not bring her back to mend his shirts.
Keep my mother's name out of your mouth, you little rat, or I will throw your inkpot at your head.
the eve of Saint Matthias, at Prime
Master Jacob has us counting faster because of the soldiers on the roads. The King's brother has his men everywhere, and it scares the carters into a panic. I had to skip my flatbread just to keep up with the timber marks.
The magistrate will probably fine us for counting too fast. Everything costs a poor man money these days.
the day after Saint Blaise, at Sext
Joseph Fuller told Master Jacob a wicked lie, saying I was drunk in a tavern, just so he could steal my shift in the warm room at the silver scales. I went home with no coin, and my father beat me bloody. I pray someone drags Joseph by the collar and makes him confess.
You are too soft for the scales anyway, boy. I did the work twice as fast while you were whining.
If you saved your pennies instead of buying fancy brass tools, a lost shift would not hurt so much.
Nota scribaeThe boy spoke very softly, with a fresh bruise on his cheek.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If you stood up straight and spoke clearly, the dust would not trouble you so much. A man must command his station, boy.