houseman at the Rathaus, of Miskowitz
“I fetch ink for the scribes like a child, and wait to die while fools give the orders.”
Things Zdenyek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
The feast of St Pancras, at None
My joints ache like the devil is chewing on them. Another night ruined by the snoring and rustling in the loft. I swear by Saint Vitus, if Julian doesn't stop his shouting at night, I will throw his boots in the yard. I miss the quiet of Denis.
The third day of Easter week, at Sext
Carrying ink and rolling parchments for the bailiff's clerks. It is a boy's work, sakra. I am old enough to be a grandfather, fetching like a hound for a few groschen. Yet I outlast all these green pups who lean on their halberds and whine about their feet.
At least you are inside, grandfather. The yard is muddy today.
Nota scribaeDictated slowly. He spent an hour complaining about the stairs before I wrote a word.
The Wednesday in the third week of Lent, at Prime
Denis died in the night of a festering lung fever. He coughed blood while that lazy whoreson Otto snored in the corner. If Otto had taken his watch at Suchdol, the boy would be alive. Saint Vitus protect me, I cannot look at either of them without tasting bile.
I was tired, Zdenyek! I didn't mean for the lad to catch a chill. I owe Adleta for ale, my head was splitting.
The Tuesday in the second week of Lent, at Compline
Three days in a flooded ditch near Suchdol, watching Christopher's stuck wagons. The rain never stops. Captain Nicholas Fisher ordered Denis to stand the watch in this deluge. The lad is hacking his lungs out, sakra. I told the Captain he needs rest, but the pup won't listen.
Orders are orders, old man. Christopher's wagons won't guard themselves.
A good captain looks after his men. You are no captain.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard. The man spat on my boots when he said the Captain's name.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Sakra, the cold in that loft is fierce enough to snap a man's toes off. The young ones complain, but they don't know real winter. Denis is the only quiet one. I gave the boy my old wool blanket so he doesn't catch a chill. He is a good lad.
My bones feel it too, Zdenyek. We'll freeze before the thaw comes if the bailiff doesn't give us more straw.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I only shout when I am dreaming, old man! Put some wool in your ears.
Stop your bickering, both of you. You have a roof, be thankful.