miner in the deep shafts, of Kuttenberg
“Eight bloody years I have been breathing that stone dust so the masters can get fat. But I am still standing, and I can outwork half the lads they send down.”
Things Francis the Hare had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Bloody Hermann stood there pointing his fat finger at everyone but me. I stood at the cross coughing my lungs up and waving my pick, but no shift for Francis today. A man without a shift does not eat. I am taking my thirst to the Platnerska.
Nota scribaeDictated at the lower market cross. He spat on my shoes when he said the foreman's name.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Compline
George the Fly is sitting in the corner hoarding his pennies like a bloody miser, dreaming of buying a share in a better crew. I told him he will die of the dust before he sees a groschen of profit. Better to drink your wages while you have a throat.
Laugh all you want, Francis. When I have my share, I will not be sleeping on the widow's floor with you.
Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Drslav is whining about his fine iron pick again. I told him I left it down the shaft and cannot fetch it until I get another shift. The truth is, if I give it back, I have no tools, and a man without tools starves. He can spare it a little longer.
You lying whoreson! I saw that pick on your belt yesterday. Give it back by Sunday or I will break your bloody nose.
Come and try it, Drslav. My arms are stronger from swinging it than yours ever were.
Nota scribaeThe man kept gripping a pickaxe at his belt while dictating this.
the feast of St Matthias, at None
Saw Hans the Horse hauling timber around the works today. The lad is too quiet by half. Probably hiding a weak stomach. Eight years I have survived the deep shafts, and these new lads look like a stiff breeze would snap them in two.
I was hauling timber, Francis, not talking. Breath is for working, not boasting.
Candlemas, at Prime
My old mallet finally splintered to nothing. I had to ask Konrad the Ox to lend me his sturdy one just for today's shift. God bless him, he handed it over. I will just keep it for one more shift. Just one more, until I earn enough for my own.
That was weeks ago, Francis! I need my mallet for the new seam. Return it before Vespers.
Patience, Konrad. The world owes me a living for all the silver I have dug, and right now the world means you.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If you cannot pay, do not expect a full cup, Francis. I am not running a bloody charity.
You reeked of stale beer and your hands shook. I send diggers down, not drunkards.