the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
The sky is black again. If the summer storms bring this rotting roof down on my head, I hope Hans chokes on his rent coin in Prague. I work too hard on these silks to have them ruined by a miser's leaking timbers.
Liber Vultuum, volumen Kuttenbergensefol. 90v
Mary Weaver
seamstress on weavers' row, of Kuttenberg
“I am the finest seamstress on this street, though the others are too jealous to admit it. I work hard and I only keep what is fairly owed to me.”
Quid vis scribi?The scribe is at Vespers. Come back after, and bring him a candle.
Dicta
Things Mary Weaver had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Lucy Baker is weeping by the well again over her sister Lene. I pity the girl, I truly do, but tears do not sew a hem. We all have our troubles, and I have a merchant's velvet cloak that needs finishing before noon.
Lucy BakerYou have a cold heart, Mary. Lene is all I have left in this world.
the Monday after Palm Sunday, at Sext
Madlen Braun is crying up and down the row about her goose quills. She forgets I mended her torn cloak so perfectly you cannot find the seam. That work was worth far more than a copper penny. The quills are my fair payment. I am no thief.
Madlen BraunGive them back! You asked to borrow them before Lent, you didn't say you were taking them for good!
- Mary Weaver
They are fair payment, Madlen. You should learn the value of honest labor.
Nota scribaeShe waved her hand dismissively and spoke so fast I scarce could follow.
the feast of St Gertrude, at None
Milada Field lost her bone die and is turning the street upside down. If a girl is too foolish to keep track of her own belongings, she shouldn't blame her betters. I have my own calloused fingers to worry about, not her careless playthings.
Milada FieldI know Sebastian likely wagered it away at the alehouse, but you didn't have to laugh at me about it.
the morning after Candlemas, at Terce
Drahomira Green lent me her best tool yesterday. She wants it back already, but I just need it for one more day of work. The merchants' wives demand invisible stitches, and I am the only one who can provide them. She will get it when I am finished.
- Drahomira Green
You said one day at Candlemas, Mary. I need my things back to do my own work.
Clara KramerDon't lend her so much as a rusty nail, Drahomira! I warned you all.
Nota scribaeDictated by the communal well. The woman's fingertips were stained dark with dye.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
He is a whoreson, Mary, but hating him doesn't excuse you being a thief on our street.