housekeeper at apatykaruv Dum, of Pritoky
“I keep Master Humphrey's stone house standing, but my hands are raw and the roof is broken.”
Things Rose had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday after Saint George, at Prime
The Feast of Saint George is passed and no coin from Humphrey. I am packing Agnes's bone-handled knife and my shift. Kuttenberg, here I come.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron so fiercely I feared she would tear the cloth.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Rained straight through the broken thatch into the hearth today. Lentils for Easter, and cold ones at that. Christ almighty, I am sick of hauling buckets just to catch the sky.
the Tuesday after Saint Benedict, at Vespers
Asked the men in the village to mend the kitchen roof. They want groschen I don't have, or say they are off to the mines. Let the stone rot, then.
Nota scribaeDictated while she scrubbed the flagstones. The splashing nearly ruined my ink.
the Friday of the first week of Lent, at Compline
Not a single carter on the road. They say Hungarian soldiers have them spooked. I just want my wages. I am coughing in this smoke and terrified of the winter fever.
the day after Candlemas, at None
Candlemas is come and gone, and Master Humphrey sends no wages. Just another letter telling me to keep his precious roots pristine. I miss Agnes fiercely.
Keep the cellar free of rot, girl, and don't let that old miser break your spirit.
Nota scribaeShe used several words unfit for the season, which I have left out.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Stay where you are, woman! The lungwort will rot if you leave the house untended!
Come mind your own roots, you tight-fisted old goat. I am done freezing.