butcher at the Statek, of Miskowitz
“I run the block my father left me and keep this loud house fed. A man works until his time comes.”
Things Prokop Tanner had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at None
Yarka is shouting about the dairy roof again. That bastard Joseph in Kuttenberg will not send a man to mend it, and the rain gets in. I told Havel to chop some boards and patch it before I lose my temper. God's wounds, my grip was weak on the cleaver today. The damp gets into the bone.
the Thursday after Easter, at Vespers
Jan was talking his foolishness about spirits in the dark again. Thomas and his miner friends laughed at him outside Zdeslav's tavern. I told Jan to sleep in the barn and keep his mouth shut. A man does not need to hear voices when there is real work to be done. It brings shame on our father's name.
Your brother is a seer, Prokop! We only asked if the ghosts know where to find good ale.
They whisper from the tree line, brother. You would hear them too if you listened.
Nota scribaeThe butcher spat on my boots when he spoke of the miner.
the second day of April, at Terce
A heavy sow to slaughter this morning. My left arm does the work of two these days. I told the wives the cuts were ragged because the blade caught a bad bone, not because my arm shook. I soaked the old break in hot water before dawn so Yarka would not see the swelling.
the feast of St Gregory, at Prime
Soldiers on the road to Kuttenberg again, making a wretched noise. They bought two sheep off Hugh and paid in miserable Hungarian coin. I took the cleaver and told them the price is the price, groschen or nothing. They cursed but they paid. My father Andreas would not have let them haggle at all.
They were big men, Prokop. I did not want to lose the sheep and my teeth as well.
They tried to pay for my ale with the same foreign rubbish. I sent them packing.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard. The man grunted between every sentence.
Candlemas, at Sext
Christine spent the morning praying for our late mother's soul instead of scrubbing the block. I told her God prefers a clean butcher's yard to a lazy sister. Joan did nothing to help either. If my father were alive he would take a switch to both of them. At least the cold keeps the meat from spoiling.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Boards will not stop a spring storm, Prokop. The milk will sour and we will starve.
You pay for the land, Tanner. The roof is your own affair.