ale pourer and cup washer, of Malesov
“I pour the ale here at the tavern and try to keep out of the men's way. I wish my hands did not smell of old beer.”
Things Alice Brown had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Master Peshek's cough is wetter today. If he dies and the tavern is sold, I will be cast out on the Kuttenberg road with nothing. I scrubbed the counter twice but I still feel sick with worry.
Nota scribaeShe snuffled the whole time she spoke, wiping her hands on her apron.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Two miners started shouting over a spilled jug. I ducked down behind the barrels until William threw them out into the dirt. I cannot look those angry men in the eye. I wish Master Peshek was downstairs by the hearth to keep order.
Keep your head down, Alice. William and I will handle the drunkards.
the Monday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
I dreamt of my mother Marushka last night. It made me weep again for the tin ring I lost in the soldiers' camp last autumn. I know a pikeman stole it from my pocket. It was a charm against the ague, and all I had left of her.
Nothing lost in a camp is ever found, Alice. You must stop crying over cheap tin.
It was not cheap to me! It kept the winter fever away.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her nose on her apron and nearly ruined my ink with her weeping.
the eve of St Matthias, at Terce
The water in the washing tub is already cloudy, and the day has barely begun. The smell of stale beer is clinging to my hands. My mother Marushka used to say hard work keeps the devil away, but I am so very tired.
I'll fetch you fresh cold water from the yard when I finish with the stables.
Candlemas, at Vespers
Master Peshek has taken to his bed upstairs with a terrible wet cough. He has not paid us our wages. I pray to the saints he recovers soon, for the taproom is already getting loud and rough without him sitting by the hearth.
We will manage the place ourselves. Just pour the ale and leave the rest to me.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard. The girl was shivering under her shawl.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Don't fret before the bell tolls, Alice. We are all in the same boat.
Bloody hell, he won't die yet. He's too stubborn.