blacksmith at the Chmelna yard, of Kuttenberg
“I hammer iron from first light till dusk to put coin in my box. God willing, I will have the old master's forge.”
Things John Hunter had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Vespers
The feast of St John the Baptist is coming fast and the guild still wants their full eight hundred groschen for Julian's old shop. My fingers are cracked and my back aches, but I will not let another man take that deed. The box is nearly full.
Nota scribaeHe stared at his leather purse the whole time he spoke.
the second day of Easter week, at None
My guard is complaining again about the small beer I brewed. Poor Kona is in the ground since winter and her pottage is gone with her. The boy must learn that a tight belt makes a man work harder. I will not waste good silver at the alehouse.
Uncle, a man cannot live on bitter water and stale bread forever. Even a mule needs feeding.
A mule does not need to buy a master's forge.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
My guard jumps at every shadow, terrified that James the clerk will march him off to fight the Hungarians. He begs me for a bribe to clear his name from the levy roll. I told him my coin stays in the box. I am not delaying my advancement for his cowardice.
I was at that tavern brawl, but I did nothing! Just a few groschen to the clerk would save my life!
Nota scribaeThe guard in question looked as though he might weep into the ashes.
the Wednesday of the first week in Lent, at Terce
Rotting bellows make the work twice as hard, but I hammered out three dozen nails and four horseshoes before midday. A carter tried to short me by two pennies. I crossed my arms and glared at him until he found them. Honest sweat demands honest coin.
Since you are so full of coin, brother-in-law, perhaps you could lend us a little flour? My husband's work has been slow.
I have no flour to spare. Eat cabbage soup.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Compline
They buried Kona the ale-wife today. Chest fever took her quick. A pity, for she kept a clean taproom, but it saves me the groschen I used to spend on her hot pottage. From now on we eat stale bread and cabbage soup, and put the rest away for Julian's deed.
May the Lord soften your heart, John Hunter. You cannot take your silver to the grave.
Nota scribaeDictated in the dark, as he flatly refused to light a tallow candle.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If James the clerk comes for me with a spear, you will have no one to watch your precious box.