master baker of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I run the ovens in this house, and if you want my white bread, you pay the groschen. I've no time for fools standing about.”
Things Joan Mercer had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Julian is still sitting by my hearth eating my bread. He says he is my legal guardian now that Vitek has gone to Sedletz. The fat swine wouldn't know a flour bin from a privy. Someone needs to drag him out by his collar before I throw boiling water over him.
Nota scribaeShe pounded the table so hard the inkwell nearly spilled.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
I nearly collapsed into the flour bins this morning. The heat is terrible, but the screaming is worse. Margery won't stop wailing about that penniless boy Alan who marched off with the soldiers. I told her straight: no daughter of mine marries a beggar.
He will come back a rich man with plunder, Mother, you'll see! He promised.
He'll come back dead of the flux, or not at all. Now go sweep the front.
Maundy Thursday, at None
Right in the middle of the Easter market, Vitek packs his satchel and walks to the monastery at Sedletz. Three winters he waits to pay his vow for the sweating sickness, and he picks the heaviest baking week of the year to find his piety. Coward.
I made a solemn vow to God, Joan! Would you have us strike a bargain with the Lord and cheat Him?
Nota scribaeDictated while she kneaded dough. The flour got all over my sleeves.
the feast of Saint Joseph, at Terce
Ernest still refuses to pay for new shingles on Julian's lodgings. I say Ernest is a wise man to keep his groschen until the back rent is paid. But now Julian has appeared at my door with his bags, whining about the damp.
Water was pouring straight onto my bed, Joan! It is my duty to look after my brother's house anyway.
Candlemas, at Sext
Bread is dearer this year and the soldiers on the roads make the flour carts late. But I'll still have my fine white loaves ready. Only wish my daughter would mind the fire instead of staring out the window for boys with no coin.
Alan has more honour than any of the fat merchants you sell to!
Nota scribaeShe paused to cough several times, looking very pale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The council knows my rights, Joan. Give me the cashbox or I swear I'll let Margery wed that beggar Alan tomorrow.
You try it, Julian, and they'll be sweeping your ashes out with the cinders.