housekeeper at the tavern, of Kuttenberg
“I scrub the taproom floors and try to stay out of the way of the angry soldiers.”
Things Else had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Compline
Betty asked again to see the padded jack and the iron hat. I told her I am still mending the lining with a thick needle, and it is not ready. My stomach turns to water every time she speaks to me. I pray the widow Martha comes back from Prague soon.
Nota scribaeShe wrung her hands the entire time she spoke, weeping silently.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
The soldiers from the garrison tramped mud all through the taproom before the sun was even up. I was on my knees scrubbing for an hour. Mistress Christina will look at the floorboards and know they are not clean enough, but my joints ache so much.
There is still dried mud by the hearth. Do not stop until it is spotless, Else. I am watching.
Leave the poor girl be, Christina. She has been hauling ashes since before the cock crowed.
the feast of St Richard, at None
People are whispering that the King's brother has sent more troops into the region. I do not understand the fighting, but it means bread is dearer, and the men who drink here are angrier. I just take my bucket into the other room when they start shouting.
Let the whoresons shout. If they try anything in my taproom, I'll bash their skulls with an ale jug.
Just keep the tables wiped down, Else. The war will pass eventually.
Nota scribaeDictated from behind the pantry block, where she was hiding from a patron.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Terce
I went to the pawnbroker's house today to see about redeeming something I gave her before Lent. The door was locked. The baker said the widow Martha has gone to Prague to live with her son. I do not know what I am going to do.
She is gone for good, Else. Took a whole cart of goods with her. You'll not see her again.
the Tuesday after Candlemas, at Vespers
The frost is so bitter in my alcove I feared I would not wake up. The price of firewood is ruinous. Forgive me, Betty, but I took the padded jack and iron hat you gave me to the widow Martha. Just for enough wood to survive the week. I will redeem them by Easter.
There's a heel of bread and some hot stew on the block for you, girl. Eat it while it's warm.
Nota scribaeShe begged me not to write this down, not understanding the decree.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You've been mending that lining since Easter, Else. The spring muster is upon us. Let me see it.
Tomorrow, Betty. I promise you. I just need to finish the hem on the inside.