salt and yeast seller, of Kuttenberg
“I sell salt at the southern trestles and keep the younger girls from starving. I take care of my own business and expect others to do the same.”
Things Emma Clark had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Pentecost, at Vespers
Anna Schneider is a bloody fool. Her father Franz will throw her in the street if she does not stop ruining herself for that baker's boy Osbert. Now Cecily is weeping again because she needs her kettle hat back before Pentecost, and Juliana will not let it out of her cellar without thirty groschen.
Nota scribaeThe woman folded her arms and spoke so slowly I could have written it twice.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
The king's brother still has soldiers on the roads, and the flour is dearer again. A dead man does not need silver, but a living woman needs to eat. The market inspector took his fees this morning, and the margin is terrible. People will always need salt, though.
Hermann says they are minting less coin too at the royal mint. It is a hard year, Saint Barbara preserve us.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Mabel Parler is begging me again for her pewter jug, saying she needs it for her winter rent. I told her no. If she had any sense, she would not have handed it over in the first place. What happened on the Suchdol road is done, and Havel was already cold in the mud.
He was still breathing, Emma! You chased the surgeon away so you could take his forty groschen and his heavy coat!
By Saint Barbara, he had the flux and died a drunk. Keep your mouth shut, Mabel, or I will sell the jug to Juliana.
the Friday before Laetare Sunday, at Sext
The brine is eating into the cracks in my hands worse than last year. Stood at the southern trestles since the bells rang for Prime, and sold barely three cups of coarse salt. The wind is biting through my cloak. But I will not end up a beggar.
Come sit by the brazier, Emma. My Hannes brought some good charcoal.
Nota scribaeShe showed me her hands. The skin is split like old parchment.
Candlemas, at Compline
I collected the four groschen rent from the girls tonight. Mabel whined about the cost, but if it were not for me making sure the landlord gets paid, they would all be sleeping in the snow. They are weak. You have to grip what you have tightly.
It is a draughty shed, Emma. We just wish the roof did not leak on our pallets.
Then pay more and sleep at the inn, you foolish girl.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is my padded jack too, Emma! Aunt Amice will turn in her grave if she finds out it is gone.
Osbert will pay it all back when he is a master baker. You just have no heart in you.