woodworker shaping mine props, of Kuttenberg
“I shape ash timbers for the lesser shafts so the miners do not get buried alive. It is hard work, but I keep my head down and do what must be done.”
Things Roger Short had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St John before the Latin Gate, at Vespers
Every time the bells of St Barbara ring, my chest grows tight. The road to Sedletz is perilous with soldiers, and losing a day's wage means going hungry. But I promised the Lord a barefoot walk when the fever had me, and the debt weighs on my soul. I rub my scarred thumb and pray for courage.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his thumb the entire time he spoke. I asked him to stop as it was distracting.
the eve of St George, at None
Jan Wood was shaking again at the timber yard. He cannot stop talking about the muster roll and how Stephen the clerk wrote his name down. I told him the bailiff might forget, though we both know Stephen's letters were very clear before he left for Prague. We just kept shaping the ash logs.
That clerk drank on my coin and still wrote my name down. The soldiers will put a pike through me, I know it.
Stop your weeping and swing the axe, Jan. My brother Anthony causes me more grief over a dirt strip than any soldier.
the second day of Easter week, at Compline
I took my sore back to the Chmelna bathhouse to scrub the pale dust from my skin. Barbara Vogel runs it well enough, but I still pray for the soul of old Constance whenever I pass the church. It was Constance who made the poultice that saved my thumb from rotting three winters ago. May she rest in peace.
Constance taught me the ledgers and the herbs. She was a hard woman, but we all owe her.
the Thursday after St Gregory, at Prime
I bought my morning loaf from young Fritz Schönpetr today. His bench was bare of customers again, and it is a hard thing to see a man eager to work but finding no takers. The dark bread is heavy enough to last me through the yard shift, though it took my last few pennies.
I thank you for the custom, Roger. The ovens are hot, but people hold their groschen tight these days.
They hold their coin tight because they want a loaf that doesn't taste like ash, Fritz.
Nota scribaeHe hesitated for a long time over whether to mention the price of the bread.
Candlemas, at Sext
The wind was biting at the lesser shafts today. One of the miners cursed the Lord's name aloud when a prop slipped. I quickly crossed myself. We must not tempt the Almighty, especially when working deep in the dark earth where only His grace keeps the stone from crushing us all.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You bear too many burdens alone, brother. A merciful God knows the roads are not safe right now.
God remembers what we promise when we are dying, Tuma.