timber-framer of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am the man who knows how to survive in this shit-stained town. You just have to be smarter than the rest of the sheep out there.”
Things John Black had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Vespers
If anyone sees that bastard Kubyenka the Boar, tell him I want my gambeson and helmet back before the bailiff skins me alive. I lent him good war gear, and he pawned it for drinking money. Kurva! I need it for the muster or I am dead.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the tavern. He spat on the ground three times while speaking.
the Tuesday after Ascension, at Compline
William is weeping again over his brother Matthew. He handed me ten groschen to pay a carter heading south with some letter. I told him to his face the carter was a thief and the coin was better spent on ale. Better in my belly than stolen on the road.
You stole from me, John. My brother needs to know I am alive. You are a wicked man.
Whistle for it, William. Your brother is probably dead anyway.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Stood in the mud all morning and Master Maurice did not even look out of his counting-house window. The fat pig takes bribes, I swear it. If I held the ledger I would do the exact same thing, but it still makes my back ache. Time to find an unlocked cellar.
Have some respect, John. The master chooses the men who look like they actually want to work.
Just keep your head down and saw the planks, lad.
Nota scribaeThe dictating took longer than necessary because he would not stop grinning.
the Wednesday before Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Poor Hedvika is in the ground, God rest her soul, and her miserable nephew has kicked us all out into the cold. No more generous slates for us. The good die young, and the ones with the ale die right before Lent. A bloody tragedy.
Aye, up in heaven there will be no unpaid slates troubling her. But my throat is dry.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Kunz Weber was too busy arguing with his brother over a patch of dirt to watch his tools, and now Hannes has walked off with his best carpenter's axe. Bloody hell, this yard is full of blind sheep waiting to be sheared. A man has to watch his own pockets.
I am holding it for safekeeping! A good axe should not be left in the mud to rust.
Give it back, Hannes, or I will cleave your tight-fisted head with it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was thirsty work, John! You can get it back from the pawnbroker if you want it so badly.
With what coin, you whoreson? Bring it back by Sunday or I will take it out of your hide.