guard at the village gates, of Troskowitz
“I stand freezing at the gates for silver that never comes, while thieves take everything I own.”
Things Simon had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Adleta took my rent and fled to Tachov, leaving me with a roof that lets the rain pour straight onto my pallet. I wake up shivering in the mud, while Mikesh sits by a roaring fire docking our pay. If a wolf ate me tonight it would spit out my frozen bones.
the third day of Easter week, at None
The muster is upon us and Mikesh will dock me for my missing blade. I left it on the alehouse table when the pots started flying, and Havel snatched it up. He wears my dagger on his belt and calls me a frightened sheep. I want my steel back, you whoreson.
Admit you ran like a bleating lamb and you can have your little knife back.
I am no sheep, I just have no wish to get my teeth knocked out over spilled beer.
Nota scribaeHe spent a long time deciding whether to include the curse.
the feast of St Benedict, at Compline
I lent my lucky bone die to Hynek for one single game of hazard. Now he sits in the corner every night scooping up piles of groschen from the older men, and he will not give it back. Half those winnings are mine by right.
the Tuesday after St Matthias, at Sext
I was hauling heavy timber near the gates and my wooden rosary slipped into the muck. Humphrey picked it up right in front of my eyes and put it in his pouch. He says whatever falls in the dirt belongs to the man who bends down. It is theft, plain as day.
The Lord provides for those who look down, Simon. Keep better hold of your beads.
Nota scribaeDictated while rubbing his frozen hands together.
Candlemas, at Terce
They want me to patrol the forest road today. I told them my boots have holes and my toes are frozen, but the truth is I will not go back into those woods. Not since St Martin's day when the wagons were hit and poor Tuma was slaughtered. The trees are cursed.
Tuma died because he was too slow to draw his sword. Say a prayer for him and get walking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Come sleep by the hearth at the alehouse, lad. It smells of vomit but it is dry.