day labourer at the tannery, of Kuttenberg
“I am an honest townsman surrounded by thieves and whining boys. Give me back my land and my jug.”
Things Julian Little had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline
Every spare penny from the vats goes into my pouch. When I have enough for the bailiff's fee, I am dragging Frantishek before the council. That far strip by the creek is mine, as our father meant it, no matter what the town clerk wrote down.
Nota scribaeDictated at the public trough. He jabbed his finger into my chest thrice while speaking.
the Monday after Ascension, at Vespers
These boys today are soft as wet wool. Peter Gerber cannot grip a barrel, and Fritz babbles about some maid in Prague. A man should fight over solid land, not servant girls. Old Godfrey would have whipped the lot of them for being late.
My hands are blistered from the lye, you old badger. Leave off.
Milena is worth ten of your muddy fields, Julian. You would not understand.
the eve of St Mark, at None
Tuma Short is a common extortionist. I ask for my fine pewter jug back daily, and he whines about the levy or dodges me. He says it is a pledge for twenty groschen from Saint Blaise's day. Bloody hell, I paid that ale slate myself!
You drank four pitchers and paid for none. The jug stays on my shelf until I see my groschen.
Please just pay him the coin, husband. I am tired of hearing about this jug every night.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Prokop Alder spent the whole morning whining that his father locked away the salt. Christ almighty, what a tragedy. Standa Taylor is still weeping over his lost wooden saint. I told them both to shut their mouths and haul the hides.
My mother Rose carved that saint with her own hands before she died. You have no respect for the holy.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of tanning liquor and old sweat.
the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, at Sext
Lent my best pewter jug to Tuma for a nameday feast. An act of Christian charity, though my wife said I was a fool to trust him. Now the whoreson refuses to return it. No good deed goes unpunished in this town.
It was a fine feast, Julian. I will bring it back when you settle your tavern debts.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Father meant it for the son who actually knows how to work the dirt, Julian. Keep your pennies.
Aye, make him pay. My brother Nicholas is trying the same trick with our boundary stone.