bartender in Miskowitz, of Miskowitz
“I pour the ale, mark the slate, and try to keep these drunken sots from breaking things.”
Things Hedvika Smith had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Humphrey drank another three pitchers today. I tapped my knuckles on the bar until they bruised, but the whoreson still won't pay me. Forty groschen I gave a dying man for that pristine padded jack! And Humphrey pawns it for sour ale. How will he march at the muster?
Nota scribaeShe sighed heavily between every word. The table is still wet.
the second Wednesday after Easter, at None
Juliana will not hold her tongue. She keeps whispering about digging up what we left out back, wanting her share for that heavy cup. Does she want Jarda's riders to drag us out by the hair and hang us? Let it stay in the dirt.
I stood watch in the mud for you both. I want my payout before we all starve.
Keep your voice down, Juliana. Hedvika is right to leave it buried.
Nota scribaeShe looked over her shoulder thrice before whispering this.
Easter Sunday, at Compline
Christ almighty, you'd think the resurrection of the Lord meant men could drink until they spew. I wiped vomit off the heavy oak tables twice tonight. If one more Kuttenberg miner tries to grab my skirt, I'll crack him over the head with a pitcher.
Ay, it was a rough shift. I'll help you haul the empty kegs to the cellar.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Prime
Humphrey is weeping in his ale again over poor Maurice. May Maurice rest with the saints, but tears don't pay the slate. Old Andreas has sixty groschen sewn into his mattress for Katherine's orchard lease. He could easily lend Humphrey the coin to redeem my jack, but the tight-fisted bastard refuses.
That coin is my last chance at an honest living, Hedvika. I'm not throwing it down Humphrey's throat.
Nota scribaeDictated while scrubbing chalk marks from a slate.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Terce
A bitter chill this morning. I had to break the ice on the water barrel. Bread is dearer than last year, and the soldiers on the roads mean the carters come in foul-tempered and tight with their pennies. At least the woodsmoke keeps the cold out of the taproom.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Have some pity, Hedvika. I was freezing on the road back, and a man gets thirsty.
Pity doesn't buy back my dowry, you drunkard.