stallholder in the lower wards, of Kuttenberg
“I try to keep an honest stall, but the Lord tests me daily with selfish neighbours.”
Things Milena Tanner had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday after Ascension, at Vespers
Elishka Stern is making a terrible fuss over a little pot of ink she left at my stall at Easter. I need it to draft my letters to my brother Peter in Prague. The girl wants it back to sell, but surely a monk's safety is worth more than a weaver's frame.
Nota scribaeShe clutched the ink pot tightly to her chest the entire time she spoke.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Sext
Christina will not stop pestering me to carry word south to her family. Does she think I have wings? I am bound to my stall, worrying sick over Peter. She is a relentless pest and ought to leave decent folk in peace.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
This street is full of fools. Edith Wood pawned Martha's good padded jack and will surely end up in the pillory, and Cecily Baker still whines about Avice moving to Prague. If Avice could get to Prague, why can no one take my letter to Peter?
Avice left without paying her share of the flour! Keep your nose out of my business.
Martha knows I will buy it back before Whitsun.
Nota scribaeDictated loudly enough for half the street to hear.
Mid-Lent Sunday, at Terce
Poor Margery Wood is struck down with the sweating fever. I pray for her soul, but I will not go near her door. Sickness takes us quick here, just like it took her mother Elizabeth three years ago. The Lord keep it from my stall.
It is a cruel fever. I remember how Elizabeth suffered. You are right to keep your distance.
Candlemas, at None
The King's levy marched to Prague and now no news comes from the monastery. My brother Peter is there, and for all I know the mercenaries have sacked the place. I begged Martha Clark at the dye vats to find a messenger, but she rudely told me to hold my tongue.
I am exhausted from the vats, Milena. I cannot conjure a messenger out of thin air.
Nota scribaeShe wept, though her tears smelled strongly of cheap ale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I paid two silver pieces for that ink, Milena! Give it back or I will tell the bailiff.
You abandoned it, girl. The Lord provided it for my holy correspondence.