senior maid at Ruthardka, of Kuttenberg
“I run the kitchens here for a master who ran off, boiling cabbage scraps and waiting for my pay.”
Things Joan had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday after Philip and James, at Sext
The guards are complaining about the cabbage water again. I told them if they want meat, they can go forage in the mud. I cross my arms and wait for Alice to admit Ernest is never sending that silver.
Nota scribaeShe sighed heavily before speaking and glared at the inkwell.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Else was crying all night over the three groschen she owes Father Reginald. I told her the priest's words cannot starve you. If she wants to cry, she should cry over my unpaid wages.
the Monday after Quasimodo Sunday, at Terce
I hear the German minters by the Italian Court are paying their servants in hard silver, despite the Cumans on the roads. I would go tomorrow if I had my written character, but our housekeeper holds the pantry keys like a sword.
You will not abandon this house. The roads are not safe and the master entrusted us with its keeping.
the feast of St Gregory, at Vespers
Master Ernest said a courier would come with silver by today. No coin has arrived. Just hungry soldiers and a dim boy trying to pawn a silver spoon. The bloody pantry is bare.
Alice beat me for the spoon. You didn't even try to stop her.
You are lucky the guards did not catch you first, boy.
Nota scribaeShe used a curse regarding the pantry that I have chosen not to write in full.
the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, at None
Master Ernest rode for Prague with his strongbox. I am a pragmatic woman and I know a sinking ship. Now my mornings are spent blowing on embers and making slop out of wilted scraps. A bloody insult to my skills.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The master will return, Joan. It is a sin to lose faith.
Faith doesn't fill the pantry, Alice.