refugee, of Old Kutna
“I am a refugee who keeps the tally of what is owed in Old Kutna. It is important work ensuring nobody is cheated.”
Things Thomas had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Friday before Whitsun, at None
Gilbert Miller calls me a thief for keeping his goose quills. I borrowed them on Saint Mark's Day to tally the exact wages Chenyek owes the smelting crew since Easter. It is righteous work. If Chenyek would open the strongbox, we would not be in this mess.
Nota scribaeThe man paused many times to count upon his fingers before speaking.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Vespers
I advanced my last silver to buy a padded jack and iron cap for Zdenyek, expecting a friend's loyalty. Now he has pawned the gear to Edward, who sits in a gaol cell. How are we to pass the bailiff's muster on Saint John's Day without armour?
A man must eat, Thomas. I traded the iron cap for bread, not ale. My belly was emptier than your head.
the feast of Saint Philip and Saint James, at Prime
Reginald pesters me again to walk all the way to Prague and carry messages to a woman named Rosa. I am a refugee, not a common courier. I have important numbers to tally here in Kuttenberg. I will not go.
It is just a walk to Prague. Rosa needs to hear from her family, and you have no shift at the smelter anyway.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed the hem of his tunic the entire time he spoke.
the Wednesday of Easter week, at Terce
We stand in the damp air before the gates of the smelting works for two hours every morning. Chenyek remains locked inside the accounting house. He has not paid the crew. I am tracking every groschen he owes us in my head.
Amen to that. My boots are wearing thin from standing at those gates, and Chenyek just hides with our silver.
the second Wednesday of Lent, at Prime
My bones ache from the hard ground of this shed behind the marketplace. I have nothing left but my mind. I spend the afternoon near the church, scratching the town's debts in the dirt with a stick. People must know who owes what.
If you want a warmer place to sleep, you should find a shovel and do some real work instead of counting other men's debts.
Nota scribaeDictated by the church wall. He offered me no coin for the ink.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Give me back my goose quills, Thomas. The monks will pay good silver for them, and your scratching in the dirt feeds nobody.
The tally must be kept, Gilbert. When Chenyek opens the strongbox, you will thank me.