guard at the poorhouse warehouse, of Kuttenberg
“I watch over the King's peace and the poorhouse grain. Everything is in perfect order with me, friend.”
Things Thomas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The captain says the spring muster is set for Saint John's day, and he will inspect every man's kit. If a fellow hypothetically lost his padded jack, how much would a new one cost? Asking for a lad who drank his wages.
Nota scribaeHe knocked over the inkwell with a sweeping gesture while asking this.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Compline
Joan Bell is still shouting about Elizabeth and that ruined apron. I told her to pour another ale and let the Lord judge the weaver, but she nearly took my head off with a jug. I am keeping my head down.
the third day of Easter week, at None
A fine Easter it was! We drank until the dirt floor of the dira felt like a feather bed. Some folk are asking too many questions today about debts and brokers. I say, let us raise a cup to the risen Christ and leave the groschen for tomorrow.
Martin the broker was asking after you today, Thomas. Said you missed a payment.
Martin is a liar and a thief. Buy me an ale, Ralph, and I'll tell you about the Cumans I fought.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. He smelled strongly of stale beer.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at Sext
The sun is too hot for standing by the poorhouse doors in full gear. Albrecht and I found a good patch of shade by the alley wall to roll the dice. I am down three pennies, but my luck is bound to turn before Vespers.
You owe me those three pennies. Do not think I will forget.
the day after Candlemas, at Prime
The frost on the night watch was bitter enough to freeze a man's blood. The baker cornered me over three weeks of pies and threatened to break my ribs with a cudgel. God preserve us from greedy tradesmen. But Nicholas is a good lad, he lent me his padded jack to keep the chill off.
Keep it clean, Thomas. It is my best jack.
Nota scribaeHe asked that the bit about his ribs be struck out, then changed his mind.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Thomas, you said you left my jack at the washerwoman's house. Go and fetch it before the muster.
Aye, lad, of course! She just needs to mend a seam. Have a cup of ale and stop fretting.
If you face the lash for lack of a jack, I will not share my ointment.