ore crusher at the surface, of Kuttenberg
“I am the one who keeps this miserable crew laughing. If not for me, they would all drown in their own sour moods.”
Things Nicholas the Mouth had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Eberhard is still whining about his war gear. I told him a dozen times, it is the exact same kit he paid for! If it looks patched, it is because the merchant cheated him, not me. Christ's bloody wounds, a man tries to do a favour and gets nothing but grief.
Nota scribaeDictated loudly. He knocked over my inkhorn while gesturing.
the feast of St Pancras, at Compline
Baldwin has no ear for a compliment. I told him he tallied the ore sharper than any master in Kuttenberg, hoping he would keep me on the surface tables. He just scowled and told me to swing my hammer. I am terrified he will send me down into the deep adit.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Hugh showed me his stash behind the timber today. He has half the crew's spare picks hoarded up like a squirrel with nuts! A brilliant lad, truly. I laughed so hard my raw throat bled. Let the German masters buy new tools.
So that is where my wedge went. Tell the lad I want it back by Sunday.
Nota scribaeHe laughed again while speaking, a braying sound that hurt my ears.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Sext
Saw some of the King's soldiers on the road today. Made me think of Prokop's brother Mikesh. He took the coin last year and marched to Prague. Reckon he is drinking good wine now, while we choke on rock dust. I gave him the push he needed.
Keep my brother's name out of your mouth. He is likely dead in a ditch because of your foolish talk.
Candlemas, at Prime
My throat is already raw and the shift has barely begun. The dust at the sorting tables is thicker than a winter fog. Still, it beats the black dark of the lower shafts. Christ's bloody wounds, I need a drink to wash this grit down.
We all swallow the same dust, Nicholas. Stop your complaining and crush.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of yesterday's beer.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is a cheap rag, Nicholas. You pawned my good kit at the alehouse to pay for your drink.
Keep your voice down, lad. Let us discuss it over a beer.