hauler at the deep works, of Kuttenberg
“I drag the baskets from the face to the windlass faster than anyone else. If not for me, half these grandfathers would starve on their piece-rates.”
Things Hugh had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline
Baldwin docked my pay today because I dropped a basket. The old bastard sits in his locked counting house all day while I break my back running the adits. Let him haul his own bloody rock.
Nota scribaeDictated in a foul temper. The boy smelled strongly of cheap beer.
the feast of St Pancras, at Vespers
Prokop is still whining about his iron pick. I told him he's half blind anyway and wouldn't hit the vein if he was sitting on it. I need it for my own piece-work.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
I walked all the way round the yard this morning just to stay out of Lamprecht's way. He has a fist like a ham and absolutely no sense of a joke.
Keep walking, you little shit.
Nota scribaeThe lad looked over his shoulder twice while saying this.
the second Sunday of Lent, at None
Andrew is making a fuss over nothing. We are brothers in the dark, and brothers ought to share their tools. I keep forgetting to bring it up from the lower shaft anyway, so he will just have to wait.
It is my best tool, Hugh. You are a thief, plain and simple.
Nota scribaeHe smirked the entire time he spoke.
Candlemas, at Vespers
I borrowed a very good tool from Andrew today. God praise him for his charity. It will make hauling the silver a damn sight easier.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Watch your mouth, lad, or he'll dock you for next week too.