hired hand at the woodworker's, of Suchdol
“My knees crack like dry branches and the young masters treat me like a stray dog. But without me dragging the oak, this yard would fall to pieces in a week.”
Things Adam had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Saturday before Whitsun, at Terce
Before Saint George's day I gave Alice my heavy rendering pot of wheel grease for the squeaky pantry door. She is too lazy to walk it back across the yard. I am not rendering another batch over the fire, so the carts will just have to rot.
Nota scribaeHe spat in the dirt three times while dictating this to me.
the Monday after Ascension, at Vespers
Three weeks past I lent Master Thomas my lucky bone die to settle a tavern tally. Now he claims some beggar asked for it in my name and he handed it over. A flat lie. I won my winter boots with that die and I want my luck back.
I told you, Adam, a vagrant at the door asked for it and I had other things on my mind.
You put it in your pouch and forgot it, master, and you are simply too proud to say so.
the second day of May, at Sext
My back is a knot of pain from loading carts for the silver mines. At least over at the smithy John Polner is an honest man, and that lad Robert does well to cover the heavy striking. If only the boys in this yard had half their worth.
Rest your bones, Adam, and come share a cup. The fire keeps the damp out.
I sigh because I am tired, Adam, but I work just as hard as you do.
the third week of Lent, at Prime
Master Thomas rules with an iron fist since the good mistress died of the winter fever. Now Richard walks around like a sour bastard and Hynek wastes the day dreaming. I load the oak for the mines while they pine and sigh.
Keep your foul mouth shut about things you do not understand, old man.
Nota scribaeDictated at the stable door. He leaned heavily on a cart wheel the entire time.
the day after Candlemas, at None
That whoreson William carelessly left the lye out in the rain overnight and ruined the wood varnish for the Kolin merchant. Then he told his father I was drunk and kicked the bucket over. Jacob took his silver back, and I swear to the devil I will never speak to William again.
You were snoring by the fire, you old drunkard! You kicked it yourself.
You spoiled the mixture before it even boiled to save your own skin.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Come fetch it yourself, old man! I have bread to bake.
Walk it back, kurva, or I'll take the pantry door off its hinges.