coal seller at the market, of Kuttenberg
“I sell coal so the good folk of Kuttenberg do not freeze. It is black, filthy work, but it pays for the bread.”
Things Johannes had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
My boy Richard is still turning the house upside down looking for that brass ring his mother gave him. I told him it is just misplaced in the soot, or some thief took it. A house cursed with bad luck, I swear it.
Nota scribaeThe man pointed a soot-stained finger at me the entire time he spoke.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Saw Master Bartel strutting past the stalls today in his fine wool. The arrogant popinjay hoards his groschen while his hired hands freeze in ruined lean-tos. I would not trade my honest soot for his gold, though bread is dearer than ever.
You speak the truth, Johannes. The rich only look down on us.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
That whoreson Kunz wants his hunting knife back. I locked it in my chest and there it stays until he returns the wooden carving of Saint Barbara he stole from my mantlepiece. Or he pays me ten groschen. I know my rights.
I never touched your bloody carving, Johannes! Give me my knife before I call the bailiff.
You were the only one by my fire that night. Ten groschen, Kunz.
Nota scribaeDictated loudly at the market stall. He coughed black dust onto the parchment.
the first Friday of Lent, at Sext
Amice brought us a fresh loaf today. God bless her. She knows I have neither the time nor the temper for baking. It is a comfort to see a woman who keeps a decent hearth, unlike the filth most men live in.
You and Richard need your strength for the carts. Eat it in good health.
the day after Candlemas, at Compline
My Ella carved that little Saint Barbara with her own hands before the sweating sickness took her. Now it is gone from the mantlepiece. Losing it is like losing a piece of her all over again. Saint Barbara preserve me, I will make the thief pay.
A heavy loss, my friend. May the saints help you find it.
Nota scribaeHe wiped his face, claiming it was only coal dust in his eyes.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I will find it, Father. I just need to look behind the sacks again.
Aye, things have a way of disappearing when lads get thirsty.