bartender at the taproom, of Kuttenberg
“I pour the ale, wipe the tables, and throw out the men who can't handle their drink. Just pay your coin and keep your hands to yourself.”
Things Joan Stone had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline
Christ's wounds, the pain in my spine is a grinding millstone tonight. I had to slip Alice a copper penny again just to haul the casks from the cellar before the master saw me staggering. I swear the damp in this place is eating my bones.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted twice by men shouting for more ale.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Thomas the apprentice is taking up space by the hearth again, cursing his landlord Peter over a leaking roof. The boy is a fool to pick fights over three groschen with a rich man. Drink your ale and be glad you have a bed at all, lad.
It is easy for you to say! The rain comes right down onto my straw.
Then move the straw, you whoreson.
the eve of St Tiburtius, at Vespers
If Clara Mannlicher whines to me one more time about that miserable strip of land her father left behind, I will break a pitcher over her head. Anthony was a decent enough man before the flux took him, but he left his daughters as weak as he was.
My father was a good man, and that land is rightfully mine! You have no heart, Joan.
Nota scribaeThe word she used for Clara was not recorded.
St Gregory's day, at Sext
The miners are flush with coin and the taproom is a bloody madhouse. The master thinks he needs his parchment to tally the debts, but I hold every slate in my head. I know exactly who owes what, and I do not need a quill to tell me.
It is true, I have never seen you forget a single penny owed.
Candlemas, at Prime
Woke before the sun and the hearth was frozen dead. The cellar stairs were slick with ice. I went down them slow as a crippled mule today, remembering how I fell five winters back. I would rather freeze than break another bone in that dark hole.
The cold bites us all, sister. Even out here by the church.
Nota scribaeShe leaned heavily against the wall while speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I have a willow bark poultice that might ease the grinding. My late mother Marushka swore by it.
Your secret is safe with me, Joan. But you cannot keep paying me forever.