tallyman at the lower market, of Kuttenberg
“I am a tallyman for the merchants, earning my own stake through rigorous discipline. I do not squander my wages like fools.”
Things Thomas Little had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Pentecost, at Vespers
Only a few days remain until Pentecost. I have sixty groschen counted out, but Hans Kohl is still drinking weak beer in his draughty garret. If he dies of a chill before he signs our merchant contract, I will lose the junior partnership. Someone must go and force water down his throat.
Nota scribaeHe counted his fingers thrice while speaking to ensure his tally was correct.
the feast of St Mark, at Sext
William Baker was whining about his panicked debts today. I told him discipline is the only true foundation of wealth. A man must hoard every penny and eat stale bread if he wishes to rise. Robert Brook agreed with me. We are the only two in the yard who understand the value of a hard-earned groschen.
It is easy to preach of stale bread when your father is Julian Little and you sleep soundly.
A fool and his copper are soon parted. Let him weep.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The younger clerks curse Humphrey for leaving Hans Kohl's roof broken. I say property owners should not coddle bad tenants. Humphrey earned his wealth, and it is not his duty to nursemaid a man who spends his days weeping over weak beer. If Hans wants a dry pallet, he should work for it.
A sensible lad. The garret stays as it is until the rent is paid in full.
He is drowning in grief for his mother, Thomas. Have you a stone where your heart should be?
the Wednesday after St Gertrude, at None
Nickel Berger lost his measuring sticks to bullies again today. He expects sympathy, but I have none to offer. A man deserves to lose what he cannot defend. Jacob will likely have him hauling sacks by tomorrow if he does not find them. I keep my own tools polished and safe.
He is but a quiet boy. You could have stood by him instead of sneering.
I stand by those who stand for themselves.
Nota scribaeHe spoke crisply and checked his belt pouch twice to ensure it was still there.
the first Friday of Lent, at Compline
Edith, Hans Kohl's mother, has died of the sweating sickness. They say she was kind, but her passing is a terrible inconvenience. Hans and I are meant to sign our merchant contract by Pentecost, and now he is falling to pieces. I will not let his grief ruin my plans.
Have some respect for the dead, Thomas. We raised you to have manners, if not warmth.
Leave the boy be, wife. He is focused on his stake.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this while eating a crust of hard bread entirely alone.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My mother is in the cold earth, Thomas. I care nothing for your parchment or your partnership.
Time is running out, nephew. The stake will go to another if the ink is not dry.