collier, of The woodcutters' camps
“I burn wood for the mint and try to keep my knees from seizing up. I've been in these woods longer than most and just want a quiet life, though it's hard to find.”
Things Maurice had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
The smoke turned thick and white on the lower mound while they were all shouting over Geoffrey's spade again. I had to pack more dirt alone. My knees are aching terrible today. If the wood burns to ash, the bailiff will have us all out, but they won't stop their noise long enough to see it.
Nota scribaeDictated at the edge of the camp. He kept rubbing his joints while speaking.
the eve of St George, at Vespers
The cart came past but no barrels from Avice. She says the slate must be wiped first for the three barrels. It's my name on the slate, but Edward drank half the weak beer himself. Now the camp is dry and the tempers are fraying. Christ's wounds, I haven't the groschen for it.
Come now, Maurice. We all shared it. I'll get you the silver when the tally comes in.
Bloody hell, Edward, pay the man so we can drink!
Just... just get it soon, Edward. Please.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Bread is dearer this spring, and there's soldiers on the road asking for tolls. I keep my head down and watch the blue smoke. Frantishek won't stop talking about his brother Tobias in Prague. It hurts my ears. I just want to chew my bread in peace.
Tobias is a stonemason now! He builds great churches, not dirt mounds. I must send word to him.
Nota scribaeThe man spoke entirely into his own chest.
the first Friday of Lent, at Terce
I can read the smoke better than any man here, but reading men is harder. I look at Andreas and I remember old Stislav coughing blood on that march two winters ago. I remember what happened to his boots. It's a heavy stone I carry. I wish I had stopped it, but I was afraid.
The old man was dead anyway. Boots do a corpse no good in the frozen mud. You kept quiet then, keep quiet now.
Christ's wounds, Andreas. You didn't have to take them while he was still warm.
Nota scribaeHe hesitated for a long time before speaking the last part.
Candlemas, at Sext
The Pope says everything must be written down. I don't know what the Lord wants to read about a tired old collier rubbing his knees. The winter is still biting. I woke up in pain again. At least the smoke is blue today. A quiet day is all I ask.
Aye, my bones ache too, old friend. The damp gets into everything.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
If Vashek would give back what's mine, there'd be no shouting!
We found it together! Stop whining to Maurice, he just wants quiet.