merchants' yard clerk, of Kuttenberg
“I tally the merchants' goods and write the waybills. A missing groschen ruins a man, so I make sure my wooden stick is marked true.”
Things John Weaver had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
William asked again today if any carter is going north. I told him no man with a wagon is driving into the Hungarian camps just to pass a word to his mother Elizabeth. He will not hear plain reason. I looked at my ledger until he went back to hauling.
Nota scribaeDictated at the merchants' yard. He turned a wooden stick in his hands the whole time and did not look up once.
the eve of St George, at Compline
Fritz is drinking his wages again, telling anyone who listens he will save forty groschen for Master Jacob's tools. He will only lose his coin. Ambition is just a quick way to empty your purse and break your own heart.
Master Jacob promised me the tools if I bring the coin. You will see, John.
The boy has spent three pennies just tonight. He will be saving for a long time.
the third day of Easter week, at None
I spent a quiet hour by Mary Draper's counter. She has a good head for numbers and keeps a tidy book. The tavern is bearable when you stand near the ledger, well away from the noisy miners.
A proper tally keeps the peace in a tavern better than any bailiff's man could.
the feast of St Gregory, at Sext
Three wagons of cloth delayed by the soldiers on the road. The merchants wring their hands, but they still get their coin in the end while the yard hands sweat for pennies. I marked the tally and locked the storehouse. My count is perfect, war or no war.
The price of cloth has doubled since Lent. We all must bear the burden.
Nota scribaeThe man seemed intensely afraid of dropping his piece of chalk.
Candlemas, at Prime
We loaded twenty sacks of grain before the bells rang. The cold makes the hired hands sluggish. A dropped sack costs more than any of them earn in a year. I sat on my crate and kept the tally straight. Not a single groschen lost.
My back is broken from that load, John. The frost makes the sacks as heavy as stones.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
She is waiting for word, John. Just ask the next carter coming from the Trosky way. It costs you nothing to ask.
It costs a man his reputation to ask for fools' errands. Get back to the grain sacks.