bathhouse maid, of Malesov
“I haul water and boil lye for Alice Marsh's bathhouse, and my hands bleed for pennies. I am owed more than I get, and there's thieves sleeping beside me in the loft.”
Things Joan had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the third day of May, at Vespers
My back is bloody broken from hauling buckets for the miners today. The soot is thick as pitch, and Alice put me on the worst tubs again, while Isabel sat pretty wiping a chin. The abbess had best look to her own, or she might find out some girls are hiding things under their mattresses.
Nota scribaeShe spent some time debating whether to name the thing under the mattress, then thought better of it.
the feast of St Mark, at None
Little Johanka is crying again because she misses her mother Martha. Christ almighty, the wailing could wake the dead. Matilda told her to shut up and play her flute, but of course Matilda took it for that cracked lye bucket. Serves her right, but the noise is giving me a headache.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Prime
Bread is dearer again, and the soldiers on the road make it worse. I remember the camp at Suchdol last autumn. Mud, moldy bread, and fools showing off. Jacob was an idiot who marched to his own death, and I won't hear another word saying I dared him to fetch any bloody apple.
You sent him out there, you kurva. He just wanted to impress you, and you got him an arrow in the throat.
He was a boastful fool who couldn't tell a picket from a bandit. I didn't shoot the arrow.
Nota scribaeShe spat on the floor when she said the name Jacob.
the eve of St Gregory, at Sext
I saw Isabel sneaking around the yard today. She thinks she's so clever, hoarding what isn't hers. We both saw it at the same time in the brush near the camp. Half of it is mine by right. If the bailiff knew what she had in her bodice, she'd hang.
I reached it first. It's mine. And if you go to the bailiff, you'll hang right next to me, so keep your mouth shut.
We'll see who hangs when Alice finds out you're a thief.
Nota scribaeShe spoke in a low murmur, looking over her shoulder constantly.
Candlemas, at Terce
The stream was frozen solid this morning. I had to break the ice with a rock before I could haul the water. My fingers are cracked and bleeding, and Alice just yells for more hot water. I'd give anything to buy my way out of these tubs and away from the smell of boiling lye.
Aye, the water was bitter cold. I'd pawn my jacket again to Drslav for a warm ale if I hadn't already lost it.
The ice won't break itself, Joan. The men are waiting.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your lying mouth shut, Joan. You don't know anything about my mattress. Get back to scrubbing.
If you spent less time watching other girls' beds and more on your lye soap, your hands wouldn't look like raw meat. The miners pay good coin.