guard at Ceska gate, of Kuttenberg
“I stand the watch at the Ceska Gate, or try to. Mostly I inspect carts.”
Things Franz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
Frantishek is still using my dagger to cut his cheese. I left it on the guardhouse table last month and he just took it. The bailiff's inspection is on Friday and I will be heavily fined if I am found unarmed. I just want my blade back.
Nota scribaeDictated at the gate. The man kept rubbing his hands together and looking at the floor.
The feast of Saint Philip and Saint James, at Vespers
If Tuma would only give back the bone die I lent him on Saint Clement's day, things would be better. All my misery comes from losing that piece of bone. My sister Lidka wrote from Prague that luck is a fragile thing, and she is right.
The second day of Easter week, at Prime
More farmers coming through the gates today with nothing but the shirts on their backs. The soldiers took everything. I try not to look at them. I just collect the tolls for the council and go back to the barracks to eat my crust of bread.
Aye, the roads are crawling with hungry men. Keep your head down.
The Tuesday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
Endres still has my mother's wooden rosary from the woods on Saint Martin's eve. I thought I was dying in the mud and I asked him to pray for me. Now I am whole and he will not give the beads back. He just laughs at me.
You gave them to me because you pissed yourself over a scraped knee while Martin took an arrow in the neck. I am keeping them.
Leave it be, Franz. We all ran.
Nota scribaeHe wept when he said this, making the ink run on the parchment.
Candlemas, at Compline
Frantishek shouted the order to retreat. That is the truth of it. If he hadn't, Leonard might not have vanished into the trees and Jarda wouldn't have bled out in that ditch. But he blames me, like I could have stopped the arrows in the dark.
Martin was dead and you were screaming like a stuck pig! What else was I to do?
Christ almighty, can we drink our ale without talking about the woods?
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is a cheese knife now, Franz. Buy another one when your grand sister in Prague sends you those silver groschen.