merchant in the courtyard, of Kuttenberg
“I sell cloth and dried fish here at the King Solomon. My scales are stamped by the bailiff, my prices are honest, and I mind my own business.”
Things Joseph had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Adam has been making eyes at Sarah again instead of watching his stall. Half a bolt of linen walked off while he was distracted. I told him he will end up sleeping in the mud if he keeps it up, but the man never listens. At least my strongbox is locked tight.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his jaw the entire time he spoke.
the feast of Saint Mark, at None
The roads are thick with soldiers, and the carters are buying up all the dried fish. A man offered me a handful of chipped pennies for a whole basket. I showed him the bailiff's mark on my brass scales and told him to find another fool. Good fish is worth good silver.
My hands are too stiff to argue with them today. You stood your ground well.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
Thomas has been shivering all morning. His joints cannot take the damp air of this courtyard. I told him to sit by the kitchen fire and let me watch his sacks. I hear his sister Johanka sends him tea from Sedletz, but he needs to stay out of the morning dew.
I gave him a warm spot by the hearth. The poor lad is pale as a ghost.
God bless you both. The willow bark tea helps, but the fire is better.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quietly, keeping his eyes on his boots.
the eve of Saint Gregory, at Sext
The innkeeper is giving me that look again across the courtyard. Three winters ago on the Kolin road, the wagon axle snapped. A man cannot lift a loaded cart of oats without a lever. I went to get one, and vagabonds found the boy Peshek before I got back. I did what was sensible.
You ran, you coward. You left the lad to die in the dirt to save your own skin.
I went for the lever. There was no moving the oats otherwise. We have spoken on this.
Leave it be, both of you. It sours the ale.
Candlemas, at Prime
Frost on the ground and the salt sacks are freezing my bones at night. But the toll collectors are on the prowl, so staying inside the town walls is the only way to keep a whole coin. I will not complain about a cold pallet when the roads are swarming with soldiers.
I can bring you an extra blanket from the tavern, Joseph. You are a good quiet tenant.
Nota scribaeDictated before he opened his strongbox for the day.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The linen was paid for, you miserable old badger. Mind your own fish.
Adam was only asking after my cousin, Joseph. You need not be so sour.