runner and sweeper, of Kuttenberg
“I work harder than any boy in this town, and I keep my pennies tight. I will have Walpurg's old lease before St. John's day.”
Things Ottilie Schmidt had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline
St. John's day is coming fast, and the council auction will be ruthless. Every penny I make goes beneath my floorboards. I saw Emma Carter at the well today with her polite, freezing smile. She has a husband to feed her, she has no right to bid on Walpurg's old bakehouse!
Nota scribaeDictated in a rush. Her stomach rumbled loudly the entire time.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
I carried rough cloth from the lower town to the mint all day until my hands bled. And for what? The German merchants hand over half what they give a lazy boy for the same sweat. It is a gross injustice, slowing my savings just when bread is dearer than last year.
The town pays what it pays, Ottilie. Do the lifting or they will find another who will.
the Feast of St. Gregory, at None
Else Meyer is at it again, whining about some vow she made to Sedletz three winters ago. She is a superstitious fool wasting her time. I have no time for old hens and their worries. I am quick, I do the heavy lifting, and I need no husband to buy my bread.
The Lord hears vows, Ottilie, even if you are too proud to make them.
Mind your tongue, girl. Some of us have respect.
Nota scribaeShe spoke so quickly I had to ask her to repeat the part about the lifting thrice.
the Wednesday of the first week of Lent, at Terce
Soldiers on the roads, refugees in the streets, and half the town has gone mad. I only care about working. Though I wish Joan would return Albrecht's borrowed iron shears before the bailiff brings ruin on us both down in the butchers' quarter.
He has not asked for them back yet! Hold your peace.
I am asking for them back right now, Joan.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Prime
Old Walpurg died at Martinmas, God rest her soul, but her bakehouse lease is still empty. I refused to marry that hired hand in the winter because I will hold a town lease myself and never go hungry again. I will outwork anyone on this street to fill my lockbox.
My late father Otto always said hard work was better than a bad husband. Keep at it, lass.
Nota scribaeShe claims she never goes hungry, but she looks as thin as a winter rake.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My husband's coin is none of your business, girl. The council will lease to whoever has the groschen.
And I will have more than you do, you greedy old hen.