Shabby Thomas

the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Terce

Squinty Jan came by the tanners' vats today wearing my boots. My boots, the ones I gave him to walk to Suchdol so my mother would know I didn't die on that bloody march to Kolin. He just stood there grinning, the whoreson. I told him he owes me either the boots or the journey, and he spat on the ground. Saint Christopher bear witness, I will have those boots off his feet.

• 
  Squinty Jan

  The boots were payment for the walk, Thomas. I just haven't walked it yet. It's a long way to Suchdol.

• 
  Shabby Thomas

  You haven't left Kuttenberg since Candlemas, you lying bastard. Give them back.

• 
  Shabby John

  Leave it be, lad. Shouting won't bring the boots back, and it only makes you hungry.

Nota scribaeHe shouted this so loudly at the church steps that the beadle chased him away. Dictated later by the vats.

the feast of St Mark, at None

Musty Fritz was whining again today about Mistress Magdalena and how she'll be angry if she finds out he lost her wooden flute. I told him he can have the flute back the very day he gives me my three groschen for the silver spoon we found in the mud. He knows the one. Jezhek's spoon. Half of that silver is mine, and until I see the coin, the flute stays inside my coat.

• 
  Musty Fritz

  Keep your voice down about the spoon, you fool! And give me the flute, Magdalena will have me beaten if she asks for it.

• 
  Shabby Thomas

  Three groschen, Fritz. Not a penny less.

Nota scribaeHe kept clutching his coat tightly while speaking, looking over his shoulder.

the second day of Easter week, at Vespers

The older men are weeping into their cheap wine again over Lambert, the cobbler's boy who froze in the ditch near Grunta. I have no tears for him. He drank too much and fell asleep in the snow. A man has to fight to stay alive when the bailiff drags him out into the sleet. We all marched, and some of us had the sense to keep walking.

• 
  Gaunt Thomas

  He was just a lad, Thomas. We shouldn't have left him.

• 
  Shabby Thomas

  He was soft. The mud and the cold don't care if you're a lad.

the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Sext

Bread is dearer this week than last. I traded three good scraps of leather to a tanner's boy and only got half a stale loaf. The King's brother has his soldiers everywhere, eating up the country, and we are the ones who starve for it. I chewed every crust slowly. If anyone comes near my spot by the vats looking for a share, they'll get a kick.

• 
  Stinky William

  The bakers are squeezing us dry. Even the moldy loaves cost a heller now.

• 
  Shabby John

  Eat slow, Thomas. The hunger passes if you sleep.

Nota scribaeThe word he used for the King's brother was not 'brother', nor was it a Christian word.

Candlemas, at Prime

The wind off the south wall of the church cuts right to the bone. My father was coughing in the night. I wrapped my coat around myself as tight as I could and waited for the priests to stir so I could get down to the vats. The smell of the curing hides is awful, but it keeps the weak ones away. This spot is mine.

• 
  Snotty Lorenz

  The smell by the vats is worse than death. You can keep your spot, Thomas.

• 
  Shabby Thomas

  I intend to. Don't come near it.