baker at the market ovens, of Kuttenberg
“I bake the finest white loaves in Kuttenberg, though God knows few have the coin to buy them.”
Things Fritz Schönpetr had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Ascension, at Sext
Another day standing at the bench wiping my apron like a fool. Five white loaves sold. Five! Took the rest down to the Chmelna bathhouse for the laundry girls. The abbess Barbara paid me a pittance, and I did not dare ask for a penny more. God's wounds, her tongue is sharper than a butcher's knife.
Nota scribaeHe wiped his hands on his apron four times while saying this, though there was no flour on them.
the second day of Easter week, at None
If John Goathead and Richard Ramhead come near my bench one more time, I will beat them with my peeling board. Sticky-fingered whoresons. I have enough trouble staring at the empty square without them eyeing my crusts. Go learn a trade and buy your bread like honest men.
I saw them loitering by the woodworker sheds yesterday. Useless, the pair of them.
the eve of St George, at Vespers
My father Nickel says the craft work has dried up completely. He tries to hide it from Bridget, but I see how he looks at the coin box. Christ almighty, I just need one rich merchant's wedding. Fifty loaves, that is all I ask of the Lord. Fifty loaves to keep the roof over us.
Do not fret so much, boy. We have seen lean springs before.
I can take in mending if it comes to it, Fritz. We are not beggars yet.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush, bouncing from one foot to the other.
the Thursday after St Gregory, at Prime
Working the ovens with Kunz Klein is a grim business lately. The man is like a thundercloud. I know his brother Eberhard has not paid back the silver he borrowed in the frost, and Eberhard struts around town like he is the King of Bohemia. A bloody scoundrel, if you ask me, but I keep my mouth shut.
Best keep out of it, Fritz. A feud between brothers is a fire that burns whoever throws water on it.
The silver was meant to save his shop, not for him to act the lord. My own flesh and blood.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
The roads are choked with Sigismund's soldiers and refugees with nothing but rags. Grain costs a fortune, and nobody is buying. I stood at the bench all morning and sold two pennies' worth. How is a man supposed to bake when the whole country is turned upside down?
It is the same at my stall. People are terrified to part with a single groschen.
The soldiers take what they want anyway. We are lucky they just march past.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If you kneaded your dough properly instead of rushing it, they might stay fresh longer, Fritz.
The dough is fine. It is the flour. The millers are cheating us.