townsman, of Kuttenberg
“I am a landed man kept from my rights by a fool's will and greedy siblings. I take odd work when I must, but the dirt is mine.”
Things Fritz Fischer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
Christ almighty, my sister Elsbeth is out on the far strip again, hacking at the dirt like she owns it. Father left it to the three of us, but as the eldest, it’s mine to manage. Ursel just wants to sell it, the stupid cow. I’m taking this to the bailiff before they ruin my inheritance.
Nota scribaeHe jabbed his finger at the inkhorn until it spilled.
the Monday of the third week of Lent, at Vespers
Bread is up another penny. The King is locked away, soldiers everywhere, and an honest man can barely afford to drink. And yet Christina still sweeps dust into my boots every morning.
Move your boots out of the yard, then. Or better yet, move yourself out.
the feast of St Matthias, at Prime
Nickel thinks he can treat his own blood worse than a stray dog. I hauled charcoal for him in the pissing rain, and he owes me two groschen. I've got his fine copper plate, and he's not getting it back until I get my coin and he apologises.
Give me the plate back, you arse. You agreed to do it for one groschen, and you drank it before you even delivered the coal.
Two groschen, Nickel. And say you're sorry. The plate stays hidden.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this loudly in the tavern, demanding I write down every swear word. I did not.
the Saturday before Ash Wednesday, at Sext
John the guard keeps taking up all the bench space by the fire. A man can't even sit in his own father's house. I told him to move his arse, but the ignorant whoreson just looked at me.
It is Nickel's house, Fritz. And I pay my rent. Go sleep in the dirt you claim to own.
Candlemas, at Terce
Another year, and my father's terrible will still haunts me. Nickel sits on the workshop like a king, while I have to fight two women for a strip of mud. Christ almighty, Otto was a fool.
Do not speak ill of the dead. Father knew what he was doing when he didn't leave you the shop.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Someone has to pull the weeds, Fritz. You've never held a hoe in your life.
If we sell it, we all get coin. You could buy your own beer for once.
Shut your mouths. The land is mine, and I'll see you both in front of the bailiff.