hewer at the north houses, of Kuttenberg
“I swing a pick for the king's silver, keep my iron clean, and try to avoid the masters' wrath.”
Things Wilhelm the Scar had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
The masters have not paid us these three months, waiting on the silver transports to Prague. Men are crawling to Julian to pawn their boots for a crust of bread. I still have my primary pick, and I will eat rock dust before I hand it to that thief in a fine coat.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the alehouse. He counted the three months on his fingers.
the third day of Easter week, at Compline
Poor Geoffrey is coughing black blood down in the cellar, and Walter is groaning over bad pork. Katchka is sick upstairs with the flux herself. Death comes for us all, but I hope it waits until I get my spare iron back. A man needs to be buried with his own tools.
My stomach is ruined, Wilhelm. Christ almighty, if you have a copper for some wormwood, I will owe you my life.
I have not two pennies to rub together, Walter. Drink some hot water and pray.
the Thursday after Saint Gregory, at Prime
Maresh inspected my primary pick today before the shift and grunted. A grunt from that man is like a blessing from the Pope. But I am terrified of hitting a hard vein. If my point shatters, I have nothing to fall back on, and Maresh will send me home to starve.
I know you want the spare tool back, Wilhelm, but I am just a lad and I need it to make my tally. Just another week.
Nota scribaeThe dictating took longer than necessary because he spoke very slowly.
the second week of Lent, at None
Robert is working himself to the bone covering for Geoffrey since the fall. I pity the man, I truly do. But pity does not break stone, and my best chisel is still in his hands. I am a patient man and I hate a brawl, but I need my iron.
Geoffrey fell off a ladder, Wilhelm! Have a heart, I am doing the work of two men. You shall have it by Sunday.
Candlemas, at Terce
A man should help his fellows when times are hard. I lent my best chisel to Robert, and my spare tool to young William, since they were short of iron for the shift. They are good lads. They will return them by Ash Wednesday, and the Lord sees a generous deed.
More fool you, Wilhelm. Roger lent me a spade at first light and he is never seeing it again.
Nota scribaeHe sounded faintly regretful even as he said the words.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Ay, I took him my father's belt and got four pennies. It is a bloody sin.