striker of blank groschen, of The secret mint
“I swung a pick in the deep rock before the war. Now I strike groschen in the dark and breathe soot.”
Things Jan had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
Hugh says he cannot take word to my sister Drahomira near Prague because we are all locked in this arse-end of a cellar. It is a poor excuse for a man with legs. She will think the Hungarians cut me down like a dog. I spit on this place.
Nota scribaeThe man spat on the floor as he said this. It landed very close to my shoe.
the feast of St Pancras, at Terce
My hands are nothing but callouses and ash. I strike the silver until the hammer feels like lead, and the weak beer does nothing for the soot in my lungs. If I were back in the Kuttenberg deeps, I would swing a pick all day and not complain.
The beer here is horse piss. But at least it is wet.
Stop spitting on the floor, miner, or I'll break your hammer.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Every day I sit in this windowless hell and look at Robert. He eats his bread and acts as if he did not run for the treeline at Kolin. Christopher died in the freezing mud because he broke the line. Admit it, you whoreson.
Laetare Sunday, at Sext
We hear nothing from the outside world but the runners who bring the raw silver. They say bread is dearer still, and Sigismund's troops are eating the country bare. It is better down here striking coin for Peshek, I reckon, than starving in the mud.
Peshek could send a bit more meat with the silver, though.
Nota scribaeHe spoke slowly, grinding the words out like a millstone.
Candlemas, at Prime
We took Peshek's offer today. There is no work in Kuttenberg after the levy, and I will not starve on the road. They locked the door behind us. The heat in this antechamber is already fierce, but we will strike the groschen and keep our bellies full.
Just strike the coin, miner, and don't give us guards any trouble.
Nota scribaeDictated in the dark. The candles are very poor quality.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
God's nails, Jan. I am locked in the exact same room as you. My legs cannot walk through stone.
You could try if you were not as lazy as a fat priest.