master baker of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I keep an honest hearth and turn out the best loaves in the upper town, despite the useless watch.”
Things Kunz Klein had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at None
That beggar Endres came lurking by the lower lane again today. I have told Else I will break a peel over his head if he steps within a mile of my ovens. She will marry a respectable tradesman or nobody, not a penniless hand who smells of the mill.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before speaking and demanded I write beggar twice, which I did not.
the Thursday after Easter, at Prime
There was knocking under the floorboards again before first light. Heavy dragging. I am certain that filthy digger Andrew is tunneling into the old cess-pit to steal my savings. I will not speak to such dirt, but if a stout lad wishes to earn a groschen, let him go ask Andrew what he is about.
I dig where I am paid to dig, baker, and I do not want your moldy silver.
The rock under the Tarmark is hard, Kunz. Nobody is digging through it quietly.
the eve of St George, at Vespers
My wife is warring with Nicholas von Marsh over the boundary stone by the yard. She swears he moved it in the night. I have enough trouble balancing the ledger and listening to the timber settle without a feud over three handspans of mud.
The stone is where the surveyors left it twenty years ago, Kunz. Control your household.
Nota scribaeDictated from the doorway while he checked the iron bolts.
the feast of Saint Gertrude, at Terce
Alice told the parish I ate bad pork when I mentioned the noises from the cellar. But she lies awake too. I see her eyes open. I need some quiet soul to speak with her and hear what she truly hears when the dragging starts, for she only mocks me when I ask.
I hear mice and a husband who snores like a bellows. Let it rest.
Candlemas, at Sext
I took good silver to the market for rye, and the guards in the square did nothing but laugh when I told them of the grunts under my house. Useless whoresons, the lot of them. I lock my doors twice now. A master baker deserves better protection in this town.
The watch is worse than the soldiers these days, friend. Better to trust a good iron lock.
The watchmen have their orders, neighbor. We must all endure the times.
Nota scribaeHe spoke loudly in the market square and frightened a passing goose.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
He is an honest worker, Father, and his hands are cleaner than your journeymen's.
Leave the girl be for one afternoon, Kunz, my head aches from the shouting.