shootmaster of Malesov, of Malesov
“I make the truest quarrels in the Kuttenberg region. A steady hand makes a steady living.”
Things William Mercer had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
Good ash wood is getting dearer than silver these days. The war on the roads is ruining a true shot at a fair profit. If they do not open the carts from Kuttenberg soon, I will be shaving twigs to sell.
Nota scribaeHe spoke so fast I had to ask him twice about the twigs, whilst he tapped the table like a woodpecker.
the eve of St George, at Vespers
That miserable hound Brok broke a rotten pale and killed Peter's white doves. Now the wealthy miser is yelling through his iron grate, demanding five groschen! Uncle John tied the rope loose, so John should pay. The shop's till is locked tight.
I tie knots that hold timber, lad. It is your dog, you pay the bloody miser.
Five groschen or the magistrate hears of it, you little bow-maker!
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
A wealthy huntsman bought three heavy crossbows this morning. God be praised for a full purse. If young Richard would stop moaning about his broad spade long enough to see how a real man works, he might learn something.
Chopping oak with a dull blade is not sitting at a stall counting pennies, you whoreson.
Please do not fight, the yard is loud enough already.
Nota scribaeThe man taps his heavy leather belt incessantly. I pray for patience.
the second Friday of Lent, at Terce
I barely remember my father Godfrey, but I have his sharp eye. I watched a guard miss the mark thrice today at the butts. A fool who constantly misses the mark should buy better quarrels, preferably mine.
Your father Godfrey had a sharp eye for the bottom of an ale pot. Never spilled it like that bastard Wenceslas.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
The yard is a hornet's nest of shouting today. I ate my bread fast and left them to it. So long as my wares are safe in the chest and my hands are steady, I care not for their petty debts.
The yard feeds you, William. Do not act so high and mighty.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this while inspecting a bowstring and did not look at me once.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
And yet you still eat my cabbage. Bring some coin home instead of weeping over sticks.
My coin stays in the strongbox, Mother.