thread seller and errand runner, of Kuttenberg
“I trade thread and carry errands out to the villages. The open road is safer for my sanity than the bickering of our yard, though the soldiers make it hard.”
Things Juliana Polner had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday after Ascension, at Vespers
There are too many armed men on the Miskowitz road now. I saw three mercenaries staring at me from a treeline today. I kept my head down and walked fast. The coin is good, but Christ almighty, a woman alone is fair game to those hungry whoresons.
Nota scribaeDictated at the town gate. The woman kept looking over her shoulder.
the feast of Saints Philip and James, at Sext
Claus has still not spent a single groschen to mend the roof over Gerta's head, and the spring rains have been cruel. Between that and Dorothy Schwarz refusing to speak to Gerda over a bucket of slops since Saint Martin's, the tenement is a miserable place to rest my legs.
My bedding is soaked through. Claus will rot in hell for it.
If that old witch Gerda hadn't ruined my washing, I wouldn't have to freeze her out.
the second day of Easter week, at Compline
Lucy Brown has been shrieking all week about a padded jack she bought for the muster, swearing the maidservant Lettice stole it to wear in the streets. I hold my tongue, but I saw the girl pawn that very kit for copper pennies days ago. Let Lucy shout at the wind.
You saw what? By God's nails, Juliana, why didn't you tell me! I paid good silver for that jack!
It is not my business, Lucy. The girl is ruined anyway.
Nota scribaeShe asked me to keep her voice low so the others would not hear.
the third Sunday in Lent, at None
Emma White asked me again today to carry a message to her brother Fritz. I told her the same thing I told her at Candlemas: I walk to Suchdol, not Prague. I cannot carry a basket of thread to the capital, and Fritz is likely dead in a ditch regardless.
He is not dead! He went for silver groschen and he will return. You are on the roads, Juliana, you could just ask the soldiers!
Leave her be, Emma. The capital is days away and full of Hungarians.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted by a heavy sigh.
the day after Candlemas, at Prime
Ella Gross is the finest seamstress in the yard, but she is a fool. She lent her heavy iron shears and her brass comb to Emma and Lucy yesterday. Desperation makes thieves of honest women in our alley, and she will never see those tools again.
They swore by the Virgin they would return them before Sunday.
Heh. You might as well have dropped them down the town well, Ella.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Stay safe, Juliana. The silver they pay for my mending isn't worth your life.
I know the paths better than they do, Ella. But I thank you.