master woodworker of Suchdol, of Suchdol
“I built this timber yard from nothing by the sweat of my own brow. Now I cut the heavy braces that keep the Kuttenberg shafts from burying the miners, and demand hard work from my household.”
Things Thomas Fisher had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
Soldiers march down the Kuttenberg road like locusts, but they will not pay for the bread they eat. I told William to double his pace at the saws. If the Hungarians close the mines, we will need every groschen we saved. Hard work is the only shield against ruin.
Nota scribaeDictated from the head of the table. He pointed his thick finger at me until I had finished writing.
the feast of St Mark, at Prime
Adam complains again of his lucky bone die. Christ almighty, the man never stops whining. I took it weeks ago to settle a tally at the alehouse, but I gave it to a beggar yesterday morning in his name. It is gone. I will hear no more of it.
You said you gave it to a beggar, master, but the beggar swore he only got a grey pebble from you.
I said I will hear no more of it. Get back to the yard and measure those cuts.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Richard sits at the bench with a face like sour milk. He refuses to speak to the Kuttenberg guildsman's daughter, pining for that Beatrice girl instead. She is locked away as a nun in Prague now. He is a bloody fool. I built this yard for him to inherit.
You have a stone where your heart should be. I will not marry a Kuttenberg girl just for her father's coin.
Please, do not shout at each other today. Mother would hate this.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke so loudly the whole alehouse could hear him.
the second Sunday of Lent, at Vespers
Sat at the alehouse with John Polner. It is good to drink with a man who knows the value of honest sweat and keeps his mouth shut. We remembered the heavy oak trunks we hauled five years ago. I am glad his hand is still fit for the hammer.
Praise be to God for it. The foremen still pay well for sharp tools, so long as the work gets done.
You two drank enough ale to float a timber barge.
the Tuesday after Candlemas, at Terce
I have saved my youngest from ruin. Hynek thought to court Svatava, a baker's niece with not a single penny to her name. I told her family to send her to Prague to scrub pots. The boy sulks in the dirt now, but one day he will thank me.
I will never thank you. You banished her to a locked house and left me with nothing.
I left you with a strong roof and a trade. That is more than I had at your age.
Nota scribaeHe drank a full mug of small beer before declaring this, striking the table with his fist.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye, Thomas. I am sharpening spearheads from dawn to dusk, but the silver is slow to come.
I am sawing as fast as a man can, father, but Adam's complaining slows the work.