bartender at Pritoky inn, of Pritoky
“I draw beer for the Kuttenberg miners and mend their shirts by the hearth to keep myself fed.”
Things Matilda Miller had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Isabel thinks she owns my hands because she lent me a steel needle. I am keeping the pennies the Germans gave me for their mended shirts. A woman left with nothing by her master has to eat.
Nota scribaeShe showed me the needle. It is very rusted and small.
the second day of May, at Terce
The floorboards are freezing this morning but I will not complain. I have my long apron and nobody needs to see what I lack. At least the German miners left a farthing on the table yesterday.
You stepped on a splinter yesterday and did not even cry out. Let me look at your feet.
the Wednesday of Holy Week, at None
Jezhek the carter says our yard dog Gerland killed two of his prize geese. He wants ten groschen or he will drown the mutt. Cecily is weeping over it. Ten groschen is a fortune for a flea-bitten nuisance.
We have to pay him, Matilda! Gerland keeps us warm at night.
Ten groschen or the beast goes in the river with a heavy stone around its neck.
Nota scribaeDictated while scrubbing dried ale from a heavy oak bench.
the third Sunday in Lent, at Prime
A certain friend of mine is still making endless excuses about a poor market in town. Good leather boots and heavy wool always sell. I want my rightful share of the silver before we all starve.
Hold your tongue. The merchants are giving nothing for heavy wool right now, wait until the weather turns.
Nota scribaeShe glared across the taproom as she said this, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together.
the day after St Matthias, at Prime
Bloody hell. The striking miners brawled with the guards last night and smashed three tables and half a dozen pitchers. Sovka docked all our wages for the whole of Lent to pay for the wood. Not a single penny for us.
Christ almighty, how are we to buy bread now?
Be thankful I do not throw you out into the road for letting them break my house.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Half those pennies are mine, Matilda. You will dull the steel on that heavy wool.
Go to hell, Isabel. I do the squinting and the stitching.