You’ve already heard how Anton Pilgram got his own back on Brno’s rulers. Brno citizens still bust a gut laughing at the crooked pinnacle to this day. But I say that Master Anton was a big wimp. If he’d just banged his fists on the table, the problem would have been sorted.

My husband Hans would have dealt with those crooks differently. The councillors would have preferred to pay up than get punched on the nose by a stonemason. That’s right, my old man was also a mason. That fuss with the crooked pinnacle was already a few years behind us, when the same problem cropped up again. This time it was the gentlemen of the parish who were unwilling settle their debt for alterations to some stonework. Apparently, Hans spent more time drinking beer than carving stone. They said he demanded a king’s ransom, and they said plenty more besides.

But there’s a hell of a difference between smacking a councillor in the face, and doing likewise to a man of the cloth. You’ve got to be careful. And so we did, in fact, end up imitating Master Anton’s revenge. Hans told his devout paymasters that he’d just finish the last window, and that he’d ask for no further payment. Well, they agreed at once. When he’d finished the job, we couldn’t leave town quick enough.

The venerated priests got a nasty shock when they assembled to see what we had left behind on their church. Hans had carved into the stone window a grinning man baring his buttocks at the whole city. Ha ha ha. Serves them right.

And I’ll let you into a little secret: the man is actually Hans himself. I’m carved there, too, though you can’t see me because I’m behind him. Not that it’s anyone else’s business, but let’s just say that the carving shows exactly how much we really love each other…