fisherman and fishmonger, of Kuttenberg
“I am an honest man trying to keep my head above the river. It would be easier without loud fools and broken tools.”
Things Joerg had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
The bells at Sedletz are ringing in my head. I swore to walk there barefoot when the ice nearly took us, but how can I leave the till with Thomas? The soldiers toss clipped coin, the catch is thin, and the Lord is surely punishing me for delaying.
Nota scribaeHe sighed four times while saying this and made me wait while he counted pennies.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Thomas is whining for his heavy wood-axe again. He can have it back the day he pays for my best iron gaff that he snapped like a dry twig. A broken tool means lost fish, and I am a stubborn man when coin is involved. The axe stays in my yard.
the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at None
If Kunz shouts down the street to Thomas one more time, I will salt his thick head in a barrel. The armourer's guard is a loud fool who blames his aching knees on a washerwoman's curse. A man's troubles come from empty nets, not laundry girls.
You say that until Grete puts the evil eye on your joints, fisherman. The pain is real enough.
I curse no one, but God sees a fool and rewards him justly.
the feast of St Gertrude, at Sext
Scrubbed the stall boards with coarse sand until my knuckles bled. Lene always knew exactly how to stack the barrels so the brine wouldn't leak into the street. Three winters she's been gone, and the house is still hollow. At least Else brings a bit of order to the place.
She was a good woman, Joerg. I will come sweep the front tomorrow.
Nota scribaeDictated beside a pile of fish guts that stank to high heaven.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
The river is frozen thick and my hands are cracked bleeding from the ice. We barely got the boat free yesterday. Now I have to stand in the freezing wind while the King's brother's soldiers toss debased groschen at me for my dried catch. Bloody hell, I am tired.
Ay, the Hungarians pay with tin and act like it is silver. We all feel the pinch.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Go to Sedletz, Joerg. I will watch the till myself if you do not trust the lad.
I can watch a lockbox perfectly well. It is you who delays.