gate guard at Troskowitz, of Troskowitz
“I stand the gate watch and wait for my wages. The young men have no respect, but I have held a polearm since before they could piss straight.”
Things Walter had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
I told Vashek again to settle what we found in the dirt last autumn. He acts like he does not hear me. If Mikesh catches wind of what he is holding, we will both be whipped at the pillory. I only want my fair share so I can buy some decent ale.
Nota scribaeThe man stared at his boots the entire time he spoke and took a long time between words.
the eve of Easter, at Vespers
The muster is tomorrow and Vashek will not stop complaining about some piece of kit he says I took. I had to pawn it to buy bread, though I will not tell him that. The wages are late again. If he wants his gear back, he should ask Mikesh to pay us.
I knew you took it. Have it back in my hands by morning or I will tell the captain.
the third Wednesday of Lent, at Prime
They served us thin pottage and a heel of hard bread again. Hynek just lost his last penny throwing Simon's lucky bone die. Fools, all of them. A man should save his coin for a proper drink, not throw it away in the dirt.
The die is cursed, I tell you. Simon knew it when he lent it to me.
You are just a bad thrower, Hynek.
Nota scribaeDictated slowly. He crossed his arms and scowled at the inkpot.
the Monday after St Matthias, at Sext
Havel and David are shouting again about poor Tuma. The man is dead and buried since the ambush around St Martin's, God rest his soul. Yelling will not bring him back from the forest. At least up in heaven he does not have to wait on Mikesh for his pay.
the morrow of St Blaise, at Prime
Vashek opened his drunken mouth at the alehouse last night and spoke ill of my mother Marika. She is buried in Kuttenberg these three winters and was worth ten of him. If I did not fear the stocks and the fine, I would break his jaw. I pray some stranger does it for me.
He was deep in his cups, Walter. He did not know what he was saying.
A drunken tongue tells a sober mind's truth. He will pay for it.
Nota scribaeThe man was shaking with anger and spat on the floor before leaving.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your voice down, you old fool. Do you want the whole castle to hear?
Then pay me what is mine and I will be quiet.