washer and water carrier, of Kuttenberg
“I do honest work for honest coin and never beg. Once I have enough saved for a weaver's frame, I will be my own master.”
Things Elishka Stern had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
The Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Edith Wood still has not returned my copper plate. She pawned it to pay for Martha's padded jack, like a fool burying herself in debts! It was my safeguard against the winter. I need it back to buy my weaver's frame.
The feast of Saint Pancras, at None
Martha Clark is frantic because Margery is burning up with the sweating fever, just like her poor mother Elizabeth did. Martha begs me to sit with her, but I cannot lose a day's wages playing nursemaid. A half-penny is a half-penny.
Have you a stone in your chest? She is dying, Elishka, and you care only for your copper pennies!
Elishka is right to work. Sickness takes who it will, whether we sit there or not.
Nota scribaeDictated while the woman was sorting bruised apples. She would not stop moving her hands.
The Tuesday after Easter, at Terce
At the Easter market I left my pot of ink at Milena's stall, and now she says it is hers! She wastes it writing endless letters to her brother Peter in Prague. Give it back. I could sell that ink for a whole groschen.
You left it behind, and Peter is a holy monk who needs my news. You only want to sell it to soldiers!
Sister, let her have the ink. You do not even know how to write.
The eve of Palm Sunday, at Prime
Soldiers on the roads mean the flour costs double what it did last year. I spent dusk by the ovens looking for dropped cabbage leaves just to make a broth. If the tolls go up again, we will all be eating bark. God preserve us.
Ay, the soldiers eat us out of house and home. But my bread is worth the coin, Elishka.
Nota scribaeThe dictation took until Sext, as she haggled with the baker between every word.
The second week of Lent, at Vespers
Sarah Thrush kept my bone die out of pure spite. I dropped her foolish letter to that soldier Vashek in the mud, and the rain washed the ink away. It was an accident! I will pay a stranger to fetch the die back if she keeps acting like a spoiled child.
You ruined my only chance to hear from him! Admit you were a fool to meddle in my letters, or you will never see the die again.
He marched to Prague last winter. He has forgotten you, Sarah. Give me my die.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I only meant to keep it safe, Elishka! The pawnbroker will hold it until I get my wages, I swear on the cross.
I want the plate or the groschen, Edith. You have until Sunday.