bartender at the tavern, of Malesov
“I pour the ale, count the coin, and keep this place from falling to ruin.”
Things Anna Black had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Saint Sophia, at Compline
Bread costs another penny this week. If the miners complain to me once more, I will pour the dregs on their boots. We manage well enough on our own, but the King's troubles make every man stingy.
Nota scribaeShe struck the table hard when speaking of the hired hand.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Soldiers on the road again today. I watched from the tavern door. Every time I see a Hungarian tabard, I think of our hidden trouble out in the dirt, and I wonder if Kubyenka is marching with them. He was a fool to go.
the Friday before Palm Sunday, at Vespers
I caught William lingering near the stables where he ought not to be. He knows what we left in the dirt there. If he digs it up and spends even a groschen on ale, the bailiff will hang us both. I will not sleep tonight.
I was looking for a lost pitchfork, nothing more. Stop your fretting before you give us away.
Nota scribaeShe lowered her voice to a whisper and looked over her shoulder before speaking.
the Monday after Saint Gregory, at Prime
Cecily is asking for her bone needle again. Let her ask. Last month she carelessly lost my only wooden comb, and the loft is crawling with fleas. Until I hear her admit fault and pay for a new comb, the needle stays wrapped in my shift.
It was a mistake, Anna! I lent you that needle in good faith when you tore your apron.
Faith does not comb the fleas out of my hair, Cecily. Bring me my groschen.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
Master Peshek has taken to his bed with a bad fever. From today I am keeping the ledger and the strongbox. I will tally every cup poured. If William thinks he can slack off just because the master is upstairs, he is sorely wrong.
We will all do our part, Anna. May the saints heal the master soon.
Nota scribaeDictated from behind the bar. She refused to stop wiping the wood while she spoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I cleared the muck before None, Anna. You only ever see what I don't do.
The miners are just thirsty, Anna, do not waste good dregs on their boots.