miner at the north houses, of Kuttenberg
“I break rock in the lower galleries and keep my fists closed. That is all the Lord needs to know.”
Things Reginald the Hog had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Vespers
That loudmouthed whoreson Thomas sat at Katchka's and laughed that my brother died of the flux in his bed. If Maresh hadn't threatened me with the pillory, I would have cracked the boy's skull like a piece of ore. Sakra, someone ought to beat him senseless.
Nota scribaeThe man was clenching his fists so hard his knuckles were white the entire time.
the feast of St Mark, at Compline
Geoffrey is coughing up blood in the cellar all night. He is practically a corpse already. Robert is a fool for working double shifts to cover his tally. I just want to sleep, but the noise never stops.
He would swing a hammer for me if I were sick. Have a heart, Reginald.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
They say Christ conquered death, but it does me no good. My brother went to Prague for better coin and caught the bloody flux. Wasted away in a filthy cot while I was stuck here swinging a hammer. Sakra, I miss him.
Up in heaven there is no stone to break, Reginald. Drink to his soul.
Nota scribaeHe stared straight ahead with heavy eyes after saying this.
the Thursday after St Gregory, at None
Benesh still has the tool I lent him. The whole camp treats me like a free armoury. I bought it with my own sweat, and if Maresh inspects our gear, I will be docked pay. Hand it back.
I need it for one more shift. Do not be so tight with your iron.
Bring it back before Sunday or I will come for it.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Lent my best tool to Thomas today. A month's wages that iron cost me. If the boy loses it in the lower galleries, I will break his jaw. The air is foul enough down there without worrying over my own gear.
Do not wet yourself, Hog. You will get it back when I am done drawing my share.
Nota scribaeDictated outside the counting house doors.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
He died shitting himself down in Prague instead of taking a sword like a man, Reginald. It's just the truth.
Say it to my face without Maresh around, you little shit.