casual labourer at the works, of Kuttenberg
“I haul dirt and carry stones for the foremen. I am terrified I will die in this town.”
Things Andreas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
I am telling you again, if anyone is walking west, you must carry a word to my father Kvyetoslav. He thinks I am dead on the roads. Frantishek says he is not going, but he has family that way. I jab my finger at him and he just walks off. It is a Christian charity to tell a man his son lives.
Nota scribaeThe boy pointed west so violently he upset my ink.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
Menhard will be dead on his bedroll before Saint John's Eve, I swear it. He would not take half a loaf of bread from me yesterday. He drinks watery cabbage soup to save forty groschen for his exemption. I wake up in the dark listening to him breathe and wonder who will have to drag him out.
the third day of Easter week, at Compline
Saturday comes again and the widow Adleta wants her rent. The new German foremen took half my wage just for renting the spade, so I have nothing to give her. Lambert used to let us have a spade for a quarter wage. Lambert was fair. Now I am left for the second picking and get the heaviest stones.
If you had shoulders on you like Nickel, you would not be left for the second picking.
Nota scribaeHe repeated the grievance about the spade three times.
the feast of St Gregory, at Prime
I cannot stand it when William talks about that wooden token and his late wife. We are freezing down here in the damp, coughing up black dirt, and all he thinks about is the past. If I die in this town, I will be thrown in an unmarked trench and forgotten. I need someone to tell my father.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
The roads are full of soldiers and refugees. Everything costs more. I stand by the Sedletz gate at dawn and my hands are already blistered from yesterday's pick. I thought this silver town would give a decent wage, but it is just mud and heavy lifting. Tell me someone is walking west soon. Please.
The soldiers care nothing for our wages, lad. Keep your head down.
Nota scribaeDictated while stamping his feet in the cold.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you thrice, boy, I am not walking to Prague. Stop badgering me.
But you know the road. My father has a bad hip and owes money, he needs to know I am here.