clerk at the market, of Kuttenberg
“I am a man of letters among those who cannot hold a quill, seeking a more proper establishment.”
Things Konrad Wagner had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Friday before Whitsun, at Sext
My sister Berchta is planting the cabbage strip our late father left behind as if she were the sole heir. I am the eldest son! Lamprecht meant for me to have it or sell it. I shall have this settled before the bailiff, once and for all. It is not proper.
Nota scribaeHe waved his hands so much while speaking that he nearly knocked over my inkhorn.
the feast of Saint John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
That wool-hauler Ralph Thrush found my bone comb and demands a finder's fee for its return! I flatly refuse to pay for my own property. A clerk must maintain a proper appearance, but I will not be extorted by a man who shares a yard with me.
Suit yourself. But you might find the teeth a bit sticky when you finally pay up.
Sticky? What have you done to my comb, you brute?
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Twenty groschen spent on a fine bundle of goose quills, and Richard Wood snatched them from my table! He claims I owe for the hearth wood last month. I was visiting my sister then and never sat by the fire. He is a common thief stealing a working man's tools.
You stood by the fire on Saint Matthias's day, soaking up the heat. Pay what you owe and you'll get your feathers back.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was delayed because he insisted on inspecting my own quill first.
the Tuesday after Saint Gregory, at None
The carters at the market brought fewer sacks of grain today, complaining of soldiers on the roads demanding tolls. Bread is dearer than last year, and it is hard enough to keep myself properly fed. If the King were not held captive, perhaps honest men could afford a decent loaf.
Even the stale loaves cost a fortune now. Heaven help us.
My Katherine always said the high prices hit the honest men hardest. God rest her soul.
Candlemas, at Compline
Hugh's boy came down with a slate today. My rent at the Dyer's Yard is doubling! The landlord forbids me to tell the others. It is an outrage to levy such a toll on a man of letters. I must find a more fitting establishment, though my purse is terribly light.
Doubling? By Saint Wenceslas, if he tries that with me, I'll take my tools to Jarda and sleep in the woods.
Nota scribaeHe spoke in a hushed whisper, looking over his shoulder the entire time.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You wouldn't know a cabbage from a turnip, Konrad. Father knew who actually works the dirt.
Leave me and Claus out of this shouting, I beg of you.