guard at the lower gate, of Troskowitz
“I stand by the gates and freeze on the upper wall for the captain. I am the best Farkle player in the garrison, and I can hear a loaded die crack on a wooden table.”
Things Lawrence had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
If any stranger is passing through the lower gate with time to spare, I have silver for you. Robert stole my lucky bone die right off the table. I cannot win a single hand of Farkle without it. Get it back before payday, and I will see you right. Heh heh.
Nota scribaeThe man kept tossing a copper coin while he spoke, dropping it twice.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Christ almighty, the quartermaster's salted pork is greyer than a corpse. Even at Easter we get the same rotten fare. Tobias is over by the hearth rubbing his belly and groaning again. Eat it or leave it, you miserable sod, but stop whining.
My stomach is delicate, Lawrence. It is not natural for meat to be that colour.
Come down to the tavern and buy a proper meal, if you have the groschen.
the Friday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
Anna Brook charges too much for her sour wine, but a man needs something to warm his blood after the night watch. If I had a proper share of certain spoils we took on the eastern road, I would drink better. A handful of copper is a beggar's wage.
Keep your mouth shut about things you do not understand, or we will both hang.
I understand the price of silver well enough, Robert.
Nota scribaeHe laughed nervously after mentioning the spoils and asked me not to write down any names.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Terce
Roger is spreading lies again about the skirmish last autumn. He says I left a gap in the line. Saint Jude knows the line was broken in the mud before I even moved! It was not my fault Prokop was left in the dark.
You broke the shield wall, Lawrence. Prokop died in a ditch because you were frightened of Hungarian steel.
Let the dead rest. Arguing will not bring the lad back to the barracks.
Candlemas, at Compline
A merchant's guard tried to fleece me at Farkle tonight. I told him I can hear a loaded die just by the crack it makes on the wood. He took offence, so I showed him the door. I may die poor, but I will not be cheated. Heh heh.
You threw a tankard at his head, Lawrence. That is not showing him the door.
It was a good throw, though.
Nota scribaeDictated at the tavern. The man smelled strongly of ale and unwashed wool.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was a fair pledge against a debt of three pennies, you whoreson. Pay what you owe.
A grasping lie. You snatched it when I was looking at Anna's serving girl.