day labourer at the gates, of Kuttenberg
“I move dirt from one place to another, and I have been doing it long enough to know the Kuttenberg clay is harder than anywhere else. I just want a quiet day's wage without everyone's troubles heaped on my back.”
Things Nickel had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Roger Thatcher gave me another good day of hauling timber, but once again he asked me to carry a message to his family out west. I nodded, took my pay, and entirely forgot the words. A man should just pay for the lifting and hire a proper courier for the talking.
Nota scribaeDictated leaning heavily upon a muddy shovel.
the day after Saint Mark, at Compline
The cellar is unbearable tonight. Frantishek kept Thomas's iron-banded mallet since Candlemas, so Thomas took Frantishek's best trenching spade while he was at the alehouse. Now Frantishek is losing wages renting blunt tools from the new foremen, and Thomas will not give the spade back. They are both stubborn fools.
He took the mallet in bad faith. The spade is my lawful pledge.
I meant to give it back! Now I am paying rent for a broken spade.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Bread has gone up by two pennies a loaf since Sunday. Menhard is starving himself on watery cabbage soup to save forty groschen for the town levy by Saint John's Eve. He will drop dead of hunger before a Cuman spear ever touches him.
I have twenty-two groschen hidden safe. I will not be drafted to die in the mud.
the Tuesday after Saint Gregory, at Prime
William dropped the carved wooden saint Martha gave him in the mud. He is looking all over the ground near the monastery. I feel sorry for him, but I firmly reckon he ought to be searching near the tavern instead.
She kept me sober, Nickel. I know I dropped it by the monastery wall.
Nota scribaeThe man sighed heavily before saying this.
Candlemas, at dawn
Standing by the Sedletz gate waiting for the foremen to pick me for a day's wage. The winter wind goes right through my bones. I am frightened of my back giving out on me this year. A labourer who cannot lift is just a beggar who hasn't sat down yet.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is not so far to walk, Nickel. My cousin is expecting word.
I move dirt, Roger. I do not move words.