flax spinner and seamstress, of Kuttenberg
“I keep my head down and my needle moving. Gossip does not put bread on the table or buy a dry roof.”
Things Agatha Fletcher had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
They say Joerg's fever has not broken. I pray for his soul, but I pray harder that he stays shut in his house a little longer. I am so close to the sum he asks for the dry stall. If Mandelina beats me to it because my needle was too slow, I will weep.
Nota scribaeShe kept her hands buried in her apron the whole time she spoke.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
The floorboards in the loft creak so loudly at night. I lie awake terrified that Alan will hear them and find what I have hidden. If my brother finds out I took those pennies from father's purse, he will beat me and take the whole hoard for himself.
I knew my purse was lighter! Lord have mercy, Agatha, why?
What pennies are you talking about, sister? You had best not be stealing from our own blood.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper, looking constantly over her shoulder.
the eve of Saint George, at Sext
Svatava is running about the yard desperate to find four eggs for Elishka's name day. What a foolish waste of good coin. A child does not need eggs when bread is this dear. I nodded politely, but these women are trapped because they cannot see past today's belly.
It is her name day, Agatha! You have no heart, only a ledger in your head.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at None
The German masters brought another dozen heavy shirts to mend. The linen is coarse and the thread bites into my fingers. I keep my hands in my apron so the others do not see the blisters. Let them think the work is easy for me. I will not give them the satisfaction.
You work too hard, daughter. Rest your eyes before dusk.
We all have blisters, Agatha. You are not a martyr.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
The bickering in this yard sickens me. Today it is Gerta and Cunne fighting over a pewter jug and spilled madder dye. Yesterday it was a borrowed flax comb. They spend half the day shouting instead of spinning. I just keep my mouth shut and calculate how soon I can walk away from this mud.
It was my good madder dye, and she knocked it over like a clumsy ox!
At least you do not owe Berchta interest on the first of the month.
Nota scribaeShe sighed heavily before speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
My eyes may be old, Agatha, but my purse is heavier than yours. That stall will be mine.
We shall see who brings the silver first, Mandelina.