guard at the Rathaus, of Miskowitz
“I am a guard who gave his best years to the rathaus, only to get frozen feet and robbed by fines. It is a thankless trade.”
Things Julian had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Terce
The rain is turning the yard to muck and my boots have more holes than leather. Bailiff Crux still has not paid for the soles he owes me from that bloody march. I asked for them again and he looked at me like I was a beggar.
Nota scribaeHe spent a long time describing the holes in his boots, which I have omitted.
the feast of St Pancras, at None
Some folk think they can sit on a fortune in the hay and keep it all to themselves while their betters go thirsty. I know what is buried in the stables, Leonard. You cannot sell it in Kuttenberg without my say-so. Do the right thing before I start talking.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Woke up to the young arse-wipes snoring and stinking up the loft. Otto was sick in the corner again after drinking at Adleta's cellar. If Captain Nicholas had any hair on his chin he would beat some discipline into them, but the boy is useless.
It was bad ale, not my fault. Christ almighty, let a man rest.
At least I can hold my halberd straight without groaning about my knees, old man.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted by a coughing fit.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Sext
Two groschen taken from my pay because that whoreson Bynyek ran off to Prague in the dark. And why? Because John fell asleep on his watch in a ditch near Suchdol. It is John's debt to pay, not mine. I will take it out of his hide.
Bynyek had two legs and walked on them. I am not his mother. Leave me be.
You closed your eyes and cost me ale money, you lazy little shit.
Nota scribaeHe was highly agitated and spat on the floor upon naming the deserter.
the Wednesday of the second week of Lent, at Compline
We are freezing in the mud guarding Christopher's stuck wagons, waiting for Hungarians that are not coming. Captain Nicholas led us right into this mess. Poor Denis is coughing up his lungs and my feet are numb. A Kuttenberger's cart is not worth dying of the chill.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will get new boots when the town ledger allows it, Julian. Stop badgering me.