miner, of Kuttenberg
“I swing a pick in the lower shafts until I spit black, and then I haul for anyone with coin. Right now, I am waiting on coin that never comes.”
Things Paul had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Christ almighty, my purse is as empty as a blown egg. Grete Binder still has not paid me for dragging her twelve bastard barrels of ale to the garrison inn. I swear I will carry one out the back door and sell it to Erhard Klein just to eat.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the tavern. He tapped his foot the entire time.
the eve of St George, at Compline
The timber in the lower shaft was groaning today like a dying whore. I thought the bloody roof was coming down on us. Better men than me have been crushed in the dark before their thirtieth year. I need a drink.
A good hammer swing is safer work, lad. Though my roof leaks just as much.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Walked through the market and saw Fritz Hartmann and Nickel Hahn arguing over blind Menhard's patch of dirt again. Pompous fools acting like lords over baker's grit. If they had to swing a pick for one day, their soft hands would bleed.
That patch of dirt is a living, you ignorant mole.
Let him talk. He will be coughing up rock dust while we sleep in warm beds.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Terce
I saw Joerg Binder at the square today and walked the other way before I smashed his face in. If his son can waste time chasing after Enneleyn on the Kolin road, the old man can pay his daughter's debts.
Keep your black hands away from my family, you insolent dog.
Nota scribaeThe word he used for the son was struck from the record by my hand.
Candlemas, at Sext
Sweated through my tunic today. Hauled twelve heavy barrels of ale all the way to the garrison tavern for Grete. The ale is mostly water anyway, but my back is broken from it. At least I will have coin for bread tomorrow.
Mind how you lift, lad. I pulled a cart three years ago and my back is ruined yet.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Do not talk such shit, Paul. The debts are heavy this month. You will get your groschen when the soldiers pay their tabs.
I cannot eat a soldier's tab, Grete.