guard at the Ceska gate, of Kuttenberg
“I stand watch at the gate, take the tolls, and freeze my toes waiting for relief. And I keep track of every groschen owed to me.”
Things Vashek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
Three carts of silver went up to the royal mint today. I counted them myself. Yet the bailiff has owed us our wages since Easter. They expect a man to stand by the stone archway with an empty belly while the king's coin rolls right past his boots.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Wenceslas is crying about his brass lamp again. He lent it to me, ay, but I'm keeping it until he admits he cheated at dice on Saint Jude's day. Say 'I owe you four groschen and I am a liar', Wenceslas, and you can have your lamp. Until then, sit in the dark.
You thieving whoreson! You know bloody well I won that coin fair. Give it back before I break your nose.
Pay what you owe and we will see.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush. The man spat on my floor.
the feast of Saint Mark, at Sext
The wind through the Ceska Gate is enough to freeze the blood in your veins. Midday and my toes are numb as stones. Endres was supposed to relieve me an hour ago, but the lazy sod is likely still snoring. At least the turnip carts smell better frozen.
Hold your tongue, I had to mend my boots. The gate isn't going to run away.
the Tuesday after Saint Gregory, at Vespers
Hannes is telling tales at the alehouse again, saying I left Jarda in the ditch last autumn. Christ almighty! It was Hannes who knocked the torch from my hand in the mud and ran first when the mercenaries came. He pushed Jarda down just to climb over him. Do not listen to a coward.
You ran like a frightened child while he bled out! You were right beside him.
I was blind in the dark because of your clumsy hands! Only Martin stood his ground.
Nota scribaeThe watchman refused to look at me while speaking.
Candlemas, at Compline
I heard scratching in the walls of the widow's house last night. Thought it was a demon come to collect the unquiet dead from the woods. Turns out the roof just leaks and the wind was rattling the loose boards. Praise be.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We all saw it, lad. Grumbling won't put meat in your stew.