merchant of rough cloth, of Old Kutna
“I sell good honest wool that keeps the wind out, not fragile silk nonsense. A man knows his trade, but nobody has silver these days. And I need a fellow heading to Prague for family business.”
Things Godfrey Grey had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at None
Nicholas is a stubborn mule and I am keeping his tin pitcher. He would not carry word to my sister in Prague, which is a terrible insult to a neighbour. If he wants his tin back, he can strap on his boots and walk to the city. By Saint Jude, it is only fair.
Nota scribaeHe shouted this into my ear while holding me tightly by the sleeve.
the Friday after Ascension, at Prime
I took a certain tin pitcher to Edward to pawn it for courier coin, but the fool would only look at padded jacks. Now the bailiff has thrown Edward in the gaol over some stolen chalices. So I still have the tin. God works in strange ways.
Half the town's gear is locked up with him. It is no laughing matter.
the second day of Easter week, at Terce
Chenyek is a thief. He has locked himself in the accounting house and frozen the smelting wages. I am a merchant, so I will not starve, but how am I to sell a yard of linen when not a single hired hand in the square has two pennies to rub together?
My belly is scraping my backbone. I cannot even afford water, let alone your heavy wool.
the Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Is there a single man in this whole wretched town who is walking to Prague? I asked Father Gregory and he looked at me like I had two heads. I have kin there. Rosa must know what is happening here, else she will forget my face entirely.
My son, I have parish duties. I cannot wander the kingdom simply because you cannot hold a quill.
It is an insult to my family, Father! An insult!
Nota scribaeDictated at a booming volume that scattered the pigeons from the square.
the morrow of Ash Wednesday, at Vespers
The wind is bitter today. I saw Gilbert Miller shivering by his stall. I would tell him to buy some rough cloth off me to line his coat, but he reads and writes, and men like that always look down their noses at honest merchants. Let Maurice's ghost freeze his broken back.
I have never looked down on you, Godfrey, but I will thank you not to speak of my back or that bastard mason.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Give me my pitcher, you loud whoreson. I have my own work to do, I am not your hired hand.
When you walk to Prague, you shall have it to drink from on the road!