sacristan of the parish, of Kuttenberg
“I keep the keys and the ledgers, brother, so our good priest may focus on prayer.”
Things Paul Schmidt had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the third day of May, at None
The young Father Adam means well, son, but he knows nothing of a parish's heavy debts. I must shoulder the burden of the ledgers myself, just as old Father Bartel taught me. The Lord provides, but a church needs earthly silver too.
Nota scribaeDictated with his hands folded piously over his stomach.
the Tuesday after St George, at Vespers
Drunkard Vitek is shouting outside the tavern about his war gear. I have told him before, brother, a man of the church has no need of a soldier's kit. I only kept it safe, and now it is safer still in other hands.
You pawned my helmet to pay your own debts, you thief! I need it for the muster!
the second day of Easter week, at Terce
A dark day for Kuttenberg. The silver chalice is gone from the sanctuary! I wept to see the lock broken. We must pray for the thief's wretched soul. I have told the watch to look closely at that desperate bellringer Benesh.
My mother Adelheid washed those linens! I would never steal from the altar. You did this, Paul!
Nota scribaeHe wore a very fine new winter coat, which he said was a gift from an uncle.
the Friday of the third week of Lent, at Prime
That house-girl Elsbeth left my water pitcher half empty again. Does a man who guards the Lord's house not deserve a full wash-basin? I am surrounded by idle hands. At least the tavern keeper knows how to fill a jug.
The well was nearly dry this morning, and you sleep until the bells ring.
Leave the girl be, Paul. She has graves to weed.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
There is no honest dealing left in Kuttenberg, brother! I lent my best iron tool to Robert Brook in good faith, and the man simply keeps it. He is a common thief, wrapping himself in excuses. I am righteous in my anger.
It broke on the first swing! I'll not return a broken tool I didn't break.
Nota scribaeHe spent an hour complaining of this before paying for his ale with church copper.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I am grateful for your quiet work, Paul. The numbers confuse me terribly.
Rest your mind, Father. I will manage the grubby realities.