hired hand
“I haul heavy timber and clear mud all day so Master Andreas can count his silver.”
Things Hynek had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the second day of May, at Vespers
Christ almighty, my back is in pieces. We moved twenty logs today, just the three of us. Alan used to take the heavy end, but he's gone, and the master won't hire another man. We are doing the work of four, and the pay stays exactly the same. It's a bloody disgrace, kurva.
Nota scribaeThe man shouted the last words so loudly the ink spattered.
the Monday after St George, at None
I woke up coughing again this morning. The rain is still pooling at the foot of my straw pallet. I asked Andreas again for just a few stout boards to mend the ridge pole. He said the shed is sound and won't spend good silver on a hired hand's comfort. I refuse to spend my own drinking money to fix his property.
The shed was perfectly sound before the autumn gales. If you want a dry pallet, patch it yourself or sleep in the yard.
You tight-fisted coward! You wouldn't know a sound roof if it fell on your head.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Hugh is driving me mad. He lost that carved sheep bone his mother Bozhena gave him, and he won't shut up about it. He spent half the morning digging through the damp sawdust crying for it. I am utterly sick of hearing the boy badger everyone about it.
It was all I had left of her! You wouldn't understand, you don't care about anything but your bowl.
And if you touch my bowl again while you're looking for your bone, I'll break your jaw.
Nota scribaeDictated while the man was eating a dry barley loaf.
the third week of Lent, at Terce
There are soldiers on the road again, Cumans by the look of them. Grain is dearer than last year, and King Sigismund's men are taking whatever they want. I remember being a stranger on the road, begging for scraps. I won't go back to that. I'll stay here and haul logs until my back breaks before I starve on the street.
It's a frightening time, Hynek. We must hold on to what we have here, no matter how hard the master drives us.
the eve of St Valentine, at Compline
We cleared the muck from the waterwheel today. William almost slipped in the mud. I grabbed him before he fell. The work is unrelenting, and the master only cares how many loads we move before Vespers. But we stick together. I just wish I could sleep in a dry bed tonight. Bloody roof.
You saved William a dunking in the cold river. The master would have docked his pay for stopping work.
Nota scribaeThe man smelled strongly of river mud.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye, it's hard work, Hynek. I thank you for taking the thicker ends today. I know I'm slowing us down lately.
Don't talk soft, William. We get it done. Just keep your head down when Andreas comes round.