bartender at tavern svatych, of Kuttenberg
“I pour ale at the Tavern Svatych. It is honest work, if I keep my head down.”
Things Else Berg had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
Another keg went sour today in the cellar. I know it is a sign. I promised the Lord I would walk to Sedletz barefoot if I lived through the sickness, and I have not done it. The roads are too full of soldiers. I am so terribly afraid.
Nota scribaeShe wept while saying this and asked if God strikes quickly.
the Thursday after St Mark, at Vespers
Kunz von Iglau waved that silver-hilted knife of his at a merchant today over a spilled cup. I wish he would not come here. He orders the cheapest drink and never leaves a penny, but he acts as though he owns the taproom.
It is a fine blade, girl, and worth more than this entire wretched tavern.
Let him wave it. Next time he brings no coin, he gets no ale.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
I saw my father Joerg in the square today. I turned down the alley before he or Ursula could see me. The tavern kitchen is crowded and smells of stale yeast, but it is far better than the tense silences in that house.
We did not look for you anyway. You made your own bed.
You could come visit on a Sunday, Else. It would not hurt.
the second Monday of Lent, at None
Isabel is still not speaking to Anna the baker over that ruined dough. It is only a silver penny, but neither of them will yield. I wish they would make peace. It makes my stomach tie in knots when people are angry.
It is the principle of the thing, Else. A penny is a penny.
She knows very well it was her own fault the dough spoiled!
Nota scribaeThe girl wrung her hands the entire time she spoke.
Candlemas, at Prime
The morning frost was bitter when I fetched the water today. Heinz the guard sat by the hearth all night. He says the bailiff is making a new levy list and he is frightened of it. I gave him a warm cup of cider to settle his nerves.
You are a good lass, Else. The cider helped the cold, if not the bailiff.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Do not fret, child. The ale goes sour because the cellar is damp, not because of the Lord.
Stay off the roads, girl. The king's brother has men everywhere.