merchant of heavy cloth, of Malesov
“I am master of the Obchodnicky dum, selling good tools and cloth, though the war troubles trade.”
Things William Bell had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Terce
Still no word from Prague. Not since Christmas. I beg Alice daily to find a courier heading west to tell my father Julian I am well, but she claims we have no time. If the old man dies thinking I have ruined his silver, I will never sleep again.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his chin for a long time before speaking this.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Vespers
Young Robert paces the gate every evening like a frightened sheep. Havel the clerk put his name on the levy list, and now the lad shakes at shadows. I pay him to guard the yard, not to weep about marching! If he does not stand straight, I will dock his groschen.
Havel has my life on that parchment, master! You do not know what it is to face the swords.
By Saint Nicholas, you have a sword of your own. Hold it up and stop weeping.
the eve of Saint George, at Prime
I lent my fine brass lamp to Alice before Saint Matthew's day for sorting apples in the root cellar. Now spring is here, and a merchant should have his lamp on the counter! She says she needs it to sew, but she sews nothing. The woman is too lazy to carry it upstairs.
I will not sew a stitch until that cowardly boy Robert gives back the good linen he stole from me.
I took it to patch my tunic! A guard needs to look sharp, Alice.
Nota scribaeHe asked if the word lazy was too strong, then told me to leave it.
the third Sunday of Lent, at None
The older Robert who hauls the sacks sleeps in the sheds with three mongrel dogs. They stink, and now they have killed the widow Mary's laying birds. She will bend the magistrate's ear about this, I know it. I told the old fool he ought to drown the beasts.
They are good ratters, master. Widow Mary should keep her birds locked up tight.
Keep them away from my good Kuttenberg cloth, or I will drown them myself.
Candlemas, at Sext
The wagons are late again. War ruins everything. The price of salt has doubled, and soldiers are massing near Kuttenberg. I sit at the counter smelling the dust, waiting for stock. At least I have Alice to tally what few groschen we took this week, else I would be lost.
If you would just learn to read your own ledgers, William, you would not need me holding the purse.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Your father is a stubborn man, William. Let him send a letter if he cares so much for the silver.