lute stringer and peg carver, of Troskowitz
“I string lutes, carve pegs, and keep my coin in my own purse. A man needs a steady hand, not a table full of fools.”
Things Richard Bell had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Lambert the merchant is due from Jicin before the feast. I have counted the groschen in my pouch thrice today. The Hungarian army has made bread so dear that I have skipped meals, but that yew crossbow will be mine. I will not have my hands shake when I finally hold it.
Nota scribaeHe tapped his fingers on the table the entire time he spoke.
the feast of St Mark, at None
Took young Richard to the woods behind the village to shoot stumps. The lad is fair enough but he lets Thomas walk all over him. My eyesight is as sharp as ever. Some fools in the tavern say I take the lord's deer. A lie. But God made the beasts for all, did He not?
Thank you for the lesson, Richard. My stance is better, even if my shoulders ache.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The housemaid Rose from the dum is weeping again over that bone comb her mother Cecily left her. It is a pity to lose a keepsake, but weeping does not bring the dead back, nor does it find lost bone in the mud. I offered her a carved wooden peg instead. She did not take it.
A lute peg is not my mother's comb. But I thank you for the kindness, Richard.
Nota scribaeHe called her a word I refused to write, so I wrote housemaid.
the Wednesday of the fourth week of Lent, at Compline
Sitting in my corner with a single cup of watered ale. The tavern keeper has watered it down so much you could baptize a babe in it, yet he still wants good copper for it. I refuse to buy a second. A penny saved is a penny closer to Lambert's price.
I can buy you a fresh cup if you are thirsty.
Save your coin, lad. The first cup was insult enough.
Nota scribaeHe nursed one cup of ale from Vespers until the candles burned down.
Candlemas, at Terce
My boots have holes straight through the soles, and the mud of Troskowitz is freezing. I could buy a new pair from the cobbler, but Lambert showed me a master-crafted yew crossbow before Christmas. It is a thing of lethal beauty. I will walk barefoot in the snow before I spend a groschen on leather.
Christ almighty, you are a stubborn fool. Buy some boots before your toes rot off.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will starve to death before you ever shoot the bloody thing, old man.
I will shoot straighter than you on a full stomach, Thomas.