innkeeper of pecky, of Pecky
“I keep the tavern here in Pecky. I know every farmer's troubles and exactly how much ale is left down in the cellar.”
Things Richard Cooper had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
Father Denis was at me again about walking barefoot to Sedletz. I told him by the barrel, I cannot leave the tavern unguarded with Martha gone to Suchdol. The roads are full of soldiers. If I go, who watches the cellar?
Nota scribaeDictated while rubbing the back of his neck.
the Monday after St John, at None
The priest talks of nothing but buying some painted book from Canon William over in Sedletz. He hoards coin while the rest of us stretch a sack of grain to last a month. I miss Father Tobias. He knew a man's thirst.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Soldiers drank through half a cask on credit and left nothing but a broken stool. I sleep by the cellar door with my belt on, waiting for them to come back for the rest. God willing they march on Kuttenberg tomorrow.
Nota scribaeThe ink was spilled here by a drunken farmer.
the second Friday of Lent, at Terce
With Martha gone, my knees are doing double the work. Sweeping, scrubbing, banking the fire. A man needs help if he is to run a proper house. Some say I should hire a maidservant, but who can afford it with rye so dear?
My sister's hearth is warm and my knees are resting, Richard. You will have to sweep your own floors now.
Candlemas, at Prime
A man should keep his mouth shut when he has had too much ale. I told the new priest about my vow during the sweating sickness two years back. Now he looks at me like I am a heathen.
A vow to God is not erased by silence, innkeeper.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of old beer and stale sweat.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Your soul is in peril, Richard. The Lord does not accept a leaking roof or a lost cook as an excuse for a broken vow.