guard at the apothecary gate, of Troskowitz
“I watch the master's gate and keep the peace in the yard. The nights are bitter cold, but my sword keeps the drunks away.”
Things John had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
The master locks his cellar tighter than a king's vault, hoarding his medicines while refugees starve on the road. I stand at the gate and turn them away. God forgive me, I do what I am paid for, but it sits heavy on my soul.
the feast of St Pancras, at Vespers
Still no sign of my brass lamp. The yard is dark as a grave without it, and I near broke my neck over a barrel last night. Margery, bring it back before I come fetch it myself. You are just being lazy now.
I am not lazy! I need it to stitch my clothes, the shed is black as pitch. You will get it back soon enough.
I will pay you to return it if I must. The yard is perilous and I need to see what I am doing.
Nota scribaeHe tapped his sword pommel in a steady rhythm while speaking.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
Saw Hungarian soldiers marching past the joiner's today. Reminded me of young Casper being levied last month. I miss the lad's gossip from the square, and his fresh loaves. I pray he keeps his head down among those rough men.
My back aches worse without the boy bringing the bread. I have to walk to the ovens myself now, and every step is misery.
the second week of Lent, at Prime
Woke up in a cold sweat last night. The wind howling sounded just like the road to Kuttenberg three winters past, when I had the sickness. The Virgin saved me then. I know I owe my silver penny at Sedletz. I will go when the roads are safe.
Nota scribaeThe man crossed himself three times while dictating this, looking over his shoulder.
the Monday before Ash Wednesday, at Sext
Lent my good brass lamp to Margery. She complained the joiner's shed was too dark to see her work. It cost me twelve groschen in Kuttenberg, that lamp. I hope she takes care of it, for the yard is too dark without it.
You are a fool to lend her anything, John. She is stubborn as a mule and will keep it until it rusts.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I do not hoard, John. I preserve what is scarce in wartime. Keep your eyes on the road and off my cellar doors.