guard at the town hall, of Kuttenberg
“I was only meant to patrol for the summer but they kept me. Now I just stand here with cold feet and an empty belly.”
Things Nickel had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at None
If someone could just bring me five fresh eggs like my mother Kethe used to gather, I might survive this week. I am sick to death of hard dried peas. I cannot leave the doors or Veit will have me flogged.
Nota scribaeHe wept openly while speaking of the eggs and shifted his weight constantly.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Udo and Richard found twenty groschen in a dropped purse on the road, but I never saw a single penny of it. They treat me like a fool. I only want my proper wages so I can finally leave this place.
You were not the one who saw the purse in the mud, lad.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
Andreas and Joseph are bickering again over a wooden rosary and a six-groschen tavern debt. Ever since poor Bartel wandered into the dark and broke his neck in a ditch last autumn, there is nothing but bad blood here.
the second day of Lent, at Terce
The carters at the square shouted at each other all morning over a broken wheel. My boots are too stiff and my back aches from the boards in the guardhouse. I want to go back to mending fences.
Nota scribaeDictated at the town hall doors. The man sounded on the verge of tears.
Candlemas, at Compline
I marched all the way to Sedletz and back last summer. Martinmas came and went, and Veit never dismissed us. The Pope wants us to speak, so I say this: let me go home to the pigs and my mother's pottage.
You will be dismissed when the roads are safe and not a day before.
Your mother's pottage will not save you from a Hungarian sword.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Stop your crying and eat your peas like the rest of us.
My stomach cannot take any more of them, Udo.