apprentice at the forge, of Kuttenberg
“I am an apprentice at the Radnicni forge. I try to strike clean and keep my head down, but it is hard when older men are always shouting.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The feast of Saint Pancras, at Prime
My hammer strikes were perfectly clean today. Six horseshoes, and not a single flaw in the iron. Suzie even nodded when she saw the work. Perhaps the older men will stop treating me like a clumsy fool if I can work the metal like a true smith.
Nota scribaeHe smiled briefly, though his hands were entirely black with grease.
The Tuesday of Easter week, at Terce
Lamprecht the clerk was prowling the market with the town guard. I know he is looking for men for the King's levy. I hammered the iron so hard the sparks flew into the street. Let them hear I am too valuable to die in the mud with a spear.
The Feast of the Annunciation, at Sext
I have sifted the dirt near the coal pile three times over. They ask why my face is so gloomy. I cannot tell them I lost the copper ring my late mother gave me. I would give a month's bread to see it shine in the dust.
I know how it feels, lad. I lost a stamped lead token myself. The earth eats what it wants.
Nota scribaeHe sifted the dirt while he dictated this, filthy to the elbows.
The Wednesday of the second week of Lent, at None
Master Bauer stood in the square today, scowling down at the forge. I know he wants to dock my wages. My hands shook so badly on the tongs I nearly dropped a red-hot hinge. Why does he hate me so?
I was not looking at you, boy. My back aches and the hill is steep.
God preserve you, Master Bauer. I will strike louder tomorrow.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Heinz and Tuma caught me idle again. Brought me three dull eating knives and told me to grind them sharp before Compline, for no coin at all. I did it, wiping my hands on my apron. I am an apprentice, not a whetstone for every brute at the rectory.
Stop your whining, lad. You need the practice, and I need a sharp blade for my meat.
Aye, and you left a burr on mine. Useless.
Nota scribaeThe boy spoke very fast and kept looking at the door.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Less boasting, more pumping. The fire is dying down.