apprentice weaponsmith, of Kuttenberg
“I work the bellows and swing the heavy sledge at the Kupecka forge. I try to keep my head down, but there's a weight on my soul that won't lift until I walk to Sedletz.”
Things Fritz had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The heat was brutal today. My arms ache from the heavy hammer. Wilhelm was slow again, so I struck double time to make Master Ludwig's quota. I don't mind the work, but when I heard the bells ringing for Vespers, I crossed myself twice. Another day gone, and still I haven't made the walk to Sedletz. God will strike me down for sure.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed himself four times while speaking this.
the third day of Easter week, at Compline
Sat in the Platnerska tonight nursing my ale. Hans the Horse was looking miserable as usual. Watched Christina Schmidt crawling around the floorboards looking for some trinket again. I reckon she's losing her wits. Anna pours a better cup anyway, even with her stiff hand.
I am not losing my wits! It's an important keepsake.
Leave my sister be, Fritz. Drink your ale and stop staring.
the feast of St Joseph, at Sext
Soldiers on the road again, demanding swords and spearheads. Master Ludwig was shouting down the stairs all morning. I pumped the bellows until I thought my lungs would burst. We got the steel out, but the soldiers didn't pay a penny more for the rush. War is just an excuse to cheat honest men.
Aye, the soldiers take what they want. You won't see me giving them my hard-earned coin.
Nota scribaeDictated during a brief pause in the hammering. The forge was unbearably hot.
the first Friday of Lent, at None
Passed a roadside cross today and felt sick to my stomach. During the sweating sickness, I swore to walk barefoot to the monastery at Sedletz if I lived. I lived, but I haven't walked. The forge is too busy, and I'm too tired. I know it's a sin, and the guilt is eating me alive.
Candlemas, at Prime
The Pope wants our days written down so the Lord has less to read. Christ almighty, the Lord doesn't need a book to know my sins. He knows I broke my vow. But I'll tell the scribe anyway. Better to confess it here than wait for the fire.
We all have our burdens, Fritz. My mother Dorothy, God rest her soul, always said confession cleans the spirit.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily before every sentence.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You swing a good hammer, Fritz. I don't know how you keep it up all day.
You should come to Platnerska and buy me an ale. That'll ease your aching arms.
I'd sooner pour my ale in the dirt than lend you a groschen, Francis.