seamstress in the lower wards, of Kuttenberg
“I sew heavy wool and linen, but my hands are idle today. It is just a spring chill, no matter what the fussing hens on this street say.”
Things Margery Wood had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Terce
If Martha sends one more soul to knock on my door, I will empty my chamber pot out the window onto their heads. I am resting. It is just a sweat. I do not need measuring for a shroud yet, Saint Blaise preserve me.
Nota scribaeShe had a terrible coughing fit after dictating this and spilled her water jug.
the Friday after St George, at None
Avice went to Prague at Easter and still Cecily Baker whines about the oven space. Christ almighty, the woman is gone. Let it rest! I would give a silver groschen for some quiet on this street so I could catch my breath.
She ruined my best loaves, Margery, and ran off before paying for the flour!
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Sarah Thrush is weeping again over that soldier Vashek. The man marched off with the King's levy. He will die in a ditch and leave her nothing but a hungry belly. Marry a smith, girl. A living baker is better than a dead hero.
He promised to come back for me! You have no heart, Margery.
Nota scribaeThe woman wheezed through every word. I offered to fetch a priest, which she declined.
the eve of St Gregory, at Prime
The flour is dearer again, and the wind off the mountains brings nothing but damp. I woke shivering in the night, but it is just a spring cold. I will stitch this heavy wool cloak today if my hands stop shaking.
Keep warm, Margery. Do you want me to bring you some hot broth from the vats?
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
Edith Wood lent me her heavy shears yesterday. Good iron, sharp as a rat's tooth. I reckon I will keep them under my bed for a spell. If I give them back, she will only pawn them for ale coin like she did Martha's padded jack.
You thieving cow! I need those shears for my own work, give them back at once!
They are safer here. You owe coin to half the wards.
Nota scribaeDictated at her door. She refused to let me inside.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We only wish to see you well, Margery. Your poor mother Elizabeth went the exact same way.
Do not speak of my mother! Just let me sleep.