watchman at the town hall, of Kuttenberg
“I watch the doors at the Town Hall and try to stop fools from killing each other. It is tired work, lad, and my knees are done for.”
Things Udo had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday after Ascension, at Compline
Richard has been staring at my belt pouch all week. I told him we wait until the dust settles from the market, or the bailiff will have us both in the stocks. A few groschen is not worth the pillory. He needs to learn patience, the daft lad.
Nota scribaeThe guard kept a hand over his coin purse the entire time he spoke.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
My knees are ruined from the stone square. They ache so fiercely I cannot even kneel to pray. I wish some stranger would go to the cross by the water trough and say a prayer for poor Bartel. I miss sharing a flagon with him, and his soul deserves better than a ditch.
the Tuesday after Saint Joseph's day, at None
Andreas and Joseph are at it again over a carved wooden rosary and a slate of six groschen. Christ almighty, I wish they would settle their debts and shut their mouths. Veit sits up in his office assigning our shifts, deaf to the noise, while I have to listen to them bicker.
It is my rosary, Udo! He owes me the six groschen and I want it back.
If you have the breath to complain, Udo, I can put you on the night watch too.
Nota scribaeDictated while the man chewed a bowl of dried peas.
the second week of Lent, at Terce
The carters brought timber this morning and nearly blocked the whole square before the sun was fully up. I had to crack two heads together just to clear a path. Young Nickel stood there holding his halberd like a broomstick. The boy belongs on a farm with his mother Kethe, not in a town guard.
My mother's hearth is warm, at least! I am freezing on these stones, Udo.
Candlemas, at first light
Another bitter cold morning standing on the stone. My joints are stiff as rusted iron. If I have to sleep another night on that thin straw pallet, I might not wake up at all. We are paid in coppers and given poor rations, while the bailiff's men treat us like thieves.
Amen to that. The straw is mostly dust now.
Nota scribaeThe guard rubbed his knees constantly while speaking, sighing heavily.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I have waited since autumn, Udo. Ten of those groschen are mine and my thirst is not getting any younger.
Drink water, lad. Water is free and keeps you out of the pillory.