provost tallying rations, of Sigismund's camp
“I tally ale and bread for a camp full of bastards who would cut my throat for an extra onion. It is thankless work, but I was a soldier of Prague when that meant something.”
Things William had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Compline
The bread is harder than the table today. A man asked for three measures of ale, said he was owed. I sent him packing. They despise me, the bastards, but they despise the chalk more. I rub my jaw watching them bicker over groschen while the king's business waits.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at Vespers
Saw Walter and Daniel strutting by the command tents as if they were heroes. I nearly choked on my barley. Everyone knows they ran from plain woodcutters in the Skalitz woods and left poor Lambert behind. Bloody cowards acting tough, the bastards.
Keep your mouth shut about the woods, tally-man. You weren't there.
I didn't need to be there to see you running, bastard.
Nota scribaeThe man rubbed his jaw fiercely throughout.
the Wednesday before Easter, at Sext
Zdenyek walked past the mess rattling my lucky bone die in his purse. He picked my pocket by the fire, out of pure spite. I told him I'll give twelve groschen to have my luck back, but he wants me to say things that aren't true. I'll rot first.
the Monday after St Matthias, at Prime
Sitting with Zdenyek and Robert is a chore now. They barely speak without a sneer. Robert blames me for the gully, says I gave the wrong directions. We were all lost in that storm! It makes my blood boil, the bastard shifting the blame.
You led us straight into the drift, William. If you'd listened, we wouldn't have been in that gully.
Candlemas, at None
We went out for firewood. A blinding snowstorm caught us. We lost Martin in a drift. I know what happened. Zdenyek let go of the guide rope first, and that doomed Martin. It was a terrible night, God rest him. The bastards won't admit it.
I never let go of the rope until you dragged us into the ditch, William! You know it!
Martin owed me four groschen, God have mercy on him.
Nota scribaeHe spoke staring at the wall, and asked for ale when it was done.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The bread is always hard, William. Stop staring at your boots and eat it.