catchpole at the inn, of Malesov
“I am the catchpole here, by my word. I toss out the drunks and keep this inn from total ruin.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Compline
By my word, if I catch the lazy whoreson who took my tin medal, I will crack his skull. I know John the eldest swept it up out of spite when it fell in the yard. Kurva, a man cannot turn his back.
Nota scribaeDictated while pacing the yard. The man kept patting his belt.
the second Sunday after Easter, at None
The yard is full of vagrants and the master expects me to watch them all. Half of them cannot pay for watered ale. I threw two out by their collars before midday, by my word.
Good work, lad, but keep your voice down about the water.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
John the youngest is weeping again about the levy. He fears James the tally-man more than the devil himself. I told the boy to stand up straight like a soldier, but he is a total coward.
James has a sharp pen, and I have no cudgel to hide behind.
Nota scribaeThe catchpole laughed loudly when he said this.
the feast of St Gregory, at Prime
My late mother Magdalena left me one thing when she died of the coughing sickness, and now it is gone from my pouch. Saint Jude, kurva, help me find it in the dirt before some fool steps on it.
I did not drop it, by my word, it was stolen.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
The master gave me this cudgel three winters ago, and by my word, I earn my keep. The older hired hand cannot even scrape together thirty groschen for his tithes, but I keep the slate clean.
Mind your own purse, boy, and let me sleep.
Nota scribaeThe priest Edmund is owed those tithes and will not be pleased by this boasting.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I never touched your tin rubbish, lad. I have better things to steal.