maidservant at the inn, of Pritoky
“I haul the wood and scrub the floorboards for the landlady. I keep the hearth fire going, though my hands are raw from the lye, and only the dog appreciates it.”
Things Cecily had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Isabel wants her bone comb back. I told her straight, if she wants to comb her hair, she can pay her share of the ten groschen for the dog. Gerland keeps the rats off her pallet same as mine. Until I see her silver, the comb stays in my pocket.
Nota scribaeShe picked at her apron the entire time she spoke. I did not record the names she called the older woman.
Holy Saturday, at None
Holy week and we have nothing but grief. Gerland dug under the yard fence and killed two of Jezhek the carter's prize geese. The whoreson carter swears he'll tie a stone to the dog's neck and drown him in the river if we don't pay ten groschen. Ten groschen! We haven't seen a penny since Lent.
We will find the coin somehow. He is a good hound and doesn't deserve the river.
Let the carter drown the noisy beast. It is ten groschen we do not have, and it's the landlady's dog anyway.
the Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Vespers
The bread is dearer than last year, and they say the King's brother has soldiers on every road. I don't know about Kings, but I know we are starving here. I had to pawn something today just to buy a loaf, and the shame of it is eating me hollow.
We all have to do what we must, girl. Mind your own business and let others mind theirs.
Nota scribaeShe refused to say what it was she pawned.
the first week of Lent, at Compline
My knees ache from scrubbing the floorboards all day, and my hands bleed from the lye. They treat me like a fool because I'm young, but who keeps the fire banked so they don't freeze on their pallets? Only me and Gerland the dog, picking lice by the hearth.
You do good work by the fire, Cecily. Don't let the others grind you down into the ashes.
Saint Matthias's day, at Sext
Saint Barbara protect us. The striking miners fought with the merchant guards right in the taproom. Splintered tables and six glazed pitchers smashed to pieces! Sovka locked herself in the upper solar and docked all our wages for the whole of Lent to pay for it. Not a penny for any of us.
Bloody hell, how are we supposed to eat? The men break the pitchers and we pay the price.
That iron-fisted cow upstairs. Fifteen winters I've poured ale and she treats us like we broke the pitchers ourselves.
Nota scribaeThe landlady herself confirmed the docking of wages.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is my comb, you little thief. I owe nothing for a hound that digs under fences.
You have silver from that dead soldier's boots and we all know it! Pay for the dog!