apprentice weaponsmith, of Kuttenberg
“I strike iron for Master Ludwig. I know a good blade from a brittle one, and I do not complain about the heat.”
Things Wilhelm had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The grinding never stops. Master Ludwig sat in his chair nursing his gout today while I finished three blades. My spine feels like hot coals by the time the sun goes down, but I kept my teeth shut. If the master sees me flinch, I am out on the street.
Nota scribaeThe apprentice dictated this through gritted teeth, rubbing his back the entire time.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Francis the Hare came to the forge today and walked off with my best file. Christ almighty, the man borrows tools like he is picking apples. I need that file to finish the burgher's dagger before tomorrow, or Ludwig will have my hide.
Keep your shirt on, I only needed it to fix a buckle. Hermann had us working late at the dig.
Just bring it back before Compline, Francis.
the eve of St George, at Compline
Sat at the Platnerska tavern to rest my bones. I watched Anna Schmidt pouring the ale with her ruined hand. We were both caught under that same cursed wagon five years ago. I reckon we both know what it costs just to stand up in the morning.
The Lord tested us that day, Wilhelm. At least you still have two hands to hold a hammer.
Nota scribaeHe drank three cups of dark ale before he would say this.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Prime
Fritz is still talking about walking barefoot to Sedletz monastery to fulfill his vow from the sweating sickness. I told him he is a fool and should just go and get it over with. The forge will not burn down if he is gone for one afternoon.
A vow is a vow before God. I will go when the roads are dry.
You will ruin your feet and miss a day's wage. The monks do not care if you wear boots.
Candlemas, at Terce
The winter cold makes my joints lock up like rusted iron. Had to brace myself against the timber wall just to stand this morning. I pity poor Hans the Horse out in the snow hauling timber. At least the forge fire keeps the frost away, even if the smoke chokes you.
It is freezing work, aye. I wear the wooden button my mother Dorothy left me to bring some luck.
Nota scribaeThe apprentice asked to strike the part about his joints, then sighed and said to leave it.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I will take the heavy hammer tomorrow, Wilhelm. Let me do the striking.
I heard no hammer ringing after None. Do not think my gout makes me deaf, boy.