market inspector, of Kuttenberg
“I am a proper Kuttenberg townsman and market inspector for the bailiff. I keep order among the stalls and carts, though these days the refugees and soldiers make it a cursed hard task.”
Things Lawrence Mailer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The militia muster is nearly upon us and that whoreson Richard Wood still has not redeemed my war gear from Jarda's grate. I am a market inspector, not a vagrant to stand bare before the bailiff. If you do not get my kit back, Richard, I will see you in the stocks.
Nota scribaeHe pointed his finger so hard at the parchment I feared he would tear it.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Half of Hungary is fleeing into Kuttenberg, thinking they can set up stalls wherever they please. I spent the morning shouting at carters and the afternoon telling John of Mesoles I am not his bloody courier. Hire a hired hand to run your messages, John. I have the bailiff's order to keep.
A simple favour for a nobleman, Mailer. You walk the streets all day anyway.
I walk the market, I do not walk to whichever godforsaken village your kin are hiding in.
the feast of St Gregory, at Prime
Another morning waking up in the mud of the Dyer's Yard. Heinz Wolf is blind drunk again crying over Katherine, God rest her soul, and he stinks of stale ale and piss. I keep my distance to save my clothes. It is no place for a respectable townsman.
Katherine was an angel, Lawrence. You have no heart and no pity.
We all hate the smell, Heinz, but we are too tired to complain today.
Nota scribaeDictated near the pillory. He chewed his bread while speaking.
the Monday after St Matthias, at None
I bought a fine set of gear for the spring muster. A townsman must make a respectable showing. I let Richard Wood try it on, like a fool, and the lad marched straight to the square and pawned it to Jarda. He says he will get it back. He had better.
You trusted a lad from the yard with good iron? You must have been drinking.
It was just a temporary measure, Lawrence. A man had debts to settle.
Candlemas, at Compline
Hugh sent his boy down with a slate demanding double the rent for this miserable room. Double! And threatened to throw me out if I breathed a word. God's nails, the price of bread is high enough without landlords wringing us dry. I paid, but my purse is weeping.
The unseen bloodsucker takes us all, Lawrence. We pay for mud and noise.
Nota scribaeHe asked to strike the landlord's name, then cursed and said to leave it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
God's nails, Lawrence, keep your voice down. Jarda wants more interest than I have groschen. Give me a few days.
At least the stocks are quieter than the yard.