shopkeeper of Tachov, of Tachov
“I mind my late father's stall and try to live right in the eyes of God.”
Things Richard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at None
The damp air sets my right shin to burning terribly. If someone brings me two good cabbages to make a poultice and draw out the heat, I will pay twelve groschen. I cannot leave the stall unattended to barter in the fields myself, for I might lose what little trade remains.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his crooked leg the entire time he spoke.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at Vespers
Jan and William are shouting over a wooden rosary again. Their voices drift right into the shop and grate on my nerves. Their late mother Margaret was a good Christian woman, and it disgraces her memory to hear her sons bicker like fools when they lose sight of God.
He lost mother's copper ring! And he drinks his wages, while I must save every penny for the ram from Frantishek.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The roads are a river of deep mud. Saint Barbara knows I swore a solemn vow to walk barefoot to Sedletz for mass when my fever broke last autumn. But if I attempt it in this muck, my crooked leg will be ruined entirely. I pray the Lord forgives my delay.
You should let the barber take a knife to it, lad. Better a quick cut than limping until Judgment Day.
Nota scribaeHe sighed heavily three times before finishing the sentence.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Trade is a misery lately. Not one soul bought a thing this morning. They say the soldiers on the Trosky wall are eating fresh meat, while the rest of the village scrapes the pot. I keep my father's shelves exactly as he left them, but the customers are scarce.
Candlemas, at first light
Five winters have passed since my father Tuma died of a sudden chest humour. I drag myself from my narrow bed every morning to open his shutters, wincing as I stand. I wish I could work the fields as he once managed, instead of minding the counter all day.
Nota scribaeDictated in the cold before the sun was fully up.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your silver, Richard. I told you I could carve you a good walking stick, and then you could fetch your own vegetables.
I told you I am not a cripple, William. I just need the cabbage leaves.