tavern maidservant, of Kuttenberg
“I pour ale for thirsty miners and get by on a sweet word and a smile. Some say I am careless with my silver, but a girl has to eat.”
Things Lettice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the second Tuesday in May, at None
Christ almighty, my belly is churning like a mill pond. I told Cunne I have the foul sickness, so do not come knocking for any pennies I might owe you. Best stay far away from me lest you catch it too.
Nota scribaeShe looked entirely well to me and smelled strongly of cheap wine.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Lucy Brown needs to stop shouting in the square. I only borrowed that bit of war gear to show a buyer! I meant to win the silver back at dice, and I will, if the dice ever land right. I will get it back from the broker soon enough.
You lying thief! You took it straight to the pawnshop to pay off Helena before she left for Prague. I want it back by Sunday.
Calm yourself, Lucy. A sweet smile gets you further than shouting in the street.
the Tuesday before Easter, at Terce
Helena the ale-wife is packing her bags for Prague, praise the saints. The miserable old bat threatened to have men smash my face against a wall if I did not settle my slate. But I found the silver. I always find a way.
Good riddance to her. I wish Karl had lived to see her go.
Nota scribaeShe laughed nervously while dictating this.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
My arms are dead from hauling heavy jugs for men who think one groschen buys them the right to grab. If another miner touches my skirt with coal-stained hands, I will brain him with a flagon. But they have the wages, so I smile.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
It is freezing in this attic. I sometimes dream of fleeing to Prague and leaving every ledger behind, but the roads are full of Hungarian soldiers and bandits in the woods. I would rather owe every baker in Kuttenberg than end up dead in a ditch.
Aye, the roads are no place for a Christian right now. Better to stay close to home.
Nota scribaeDictated in the tavern while warming her hands by the hearth.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Oh Lettice, I told the butcher to stay away! I am praying for your stomach.
You are as sick as a spring hare. Just pay your copper for the rent.