beggar at the shelters, of Kuttenberg
“I sit in the mud and wait for miners to drop crumbs. Sakra, it is not much of a life.”
Things Reeking Paul had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Vespers
Another heavy rain and the east roof of the shed is pouring water right onto our straw. I went to Osbert to beg for some scrap timber to fix it myself. The gouty old bastard said my two groschen only pays for the ground. Sakra, if Anna's cough gets worse I do not know what I will do.
Nota scribaeDictated while shivering. He crossed his arms very tightly throughout.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
The king's mess has driven the Kuttenberg loaf up by two hellers. The hewers coming off shift are foul-tempered and keep their purses tight. Not a single crust dropped today by the warming fires. Anna is coughing up phlegm again. I hate this town.
Do not fret, husband. God will provide, or He will take us.
the eve of Palm Sunday, at Terce
Adam is still talking about that hand-cart old Francis has by the Sedletz gate. Forty groschen for rotting wood from a deaf man who never leaves his house. Meanwhile he has twenty-two groschen wrapped in a rag and will not lend me four so Anna can sleep in a dry cellar. Sakra.
If I lend it to you, it is gone forever. I need that cart by Saint John's Eve.
You are chasing a ghost, Adam, and letting my wife freeze.
Nota scribaeThe man sighed heavily before every sentence.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
Got to the shelters early to get our spot by the warmest wall. Some vagrants from the burnt villages tried to push us out, but Adam and I held our ground. Come dusk the bailiff's men will be looking for skulls to crack, so we will retreat to the shed.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
Anna's chest is rattling worse than ever in this damp. The hole in the roof lets all the frost in. I sat in the mud today thinking of how the street will kill us all eventually. I just want a dry patch of dirt. Sakra.
It is only a bit of cold, Paul. We have survived worse winters.
Nota scribaeThe woman coughing beside him made it difficult to hear his words.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you, Paul. You are a fool paying that man for a puddle.
And you are a fool hoarding coin in a brick while we drown in mud, Adam.