bartender at king solomon, of Kuttenberg
“I serve the ale and keep the miners from killing each other. A good laugh keeps a man's hands where they belong.”
Things Sarah had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Compline
Adam came by the yard today selling cloth. I asked him if he had been burning any old rubbish lately, like we spoke of. He just smiled his merchant smile and bought a pint. Christ almighty, I wish he would just give a straight answer. It sets my teeth on edge.
Nota scribaeShe wrung her apron strings the entire time she spoke.
the Monday before Whitsun, at None
The master was counting the strongbox today and looking at some old parchments he keeps locked away. My stomach turned to water right there on the floor. I hauled three extra casks up the cellar stairs so he would see how hard I work for him. Please God, let him not read them aloud.
A good servant knows her place, Sarah. Keep hauling those casks.
the second day of Easter week, at Vespers
Young Thomas spilled his soup again, his hands shaking like a leaf in the wind. That boy needs a good wife to tend him, or at least for his sister Johanka to bring him more of that willow bark brew from the cloister. The poor lad looks like he will snap in two.
It was only a little soup, Sarah. The bowl was too hot, that is all.
the Friday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
Joseph the salt merchant came in to drink his gloom away, and the master walked in right after. The air got so thick you could cut it with a knife. Not a word spoken, but we all knew they were thinking of poor Peshek on the Kolin road. I hid in the cellar until Joseph left.
A man has a right to buy a drink without being stared at like a leper.
Some men should drink at home and spare honest folk their company.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper behind the cellar door.
the morning of Candlemas, at Prime
Soldiers on the road mean the tavern is full to bursting. A Hungarian tried to grab my waist and I boxed his ears with a slate. Elizabeth laughed so hard she spilled a whole jug. A good start to the day, though I doubt the master will thank me for the lost ale.
I have not laughed that hard since last harvest, Sarah. The look on his face!
Nota scribaeThe woman smelled strongly of stale beer.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I have no rubbish to burn, Sarah. I keep only what has value.
Leave the girl be, Adam. We all know what your promises are worth.