seller of charms and herbs, of Old Kutna
“I sell small charms to keep the damp out of your bones. I mind my own business, though I have a holy vow to keep when the roads are safe.”
Things Kunigunde Berger had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
The weather is warm but the roads to Sedletz are still full of Hungarians. I cannot make my barefoot walk yet. The Holy Mother knows I mean to keep my vow, but I am terrified the sickness will take me first. I touched my medallion three times today just watching the soldiers pass.
Nota scribaeShe spoke so softly I had to ask her to repeat it thrice.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Those hired hands are drinking on credit again and shouting outside Martha's door. Walter and Anthony Field make such a racket they drive away my buyers. They curse the foreman Chenyek for holding their Easter wages, but I say Chenyek must be under a demonic curse himself.
If you had not eaten a hot meal since Palm Sunday you would shout too, herb peddler.
Poverty is a trial, Walter, not a reason to frighten decent folk away from their prayers.
the Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Terce
Zdenyek tried to give me a wooden cross he carved. I waved him away. I do not know where he gets his silver, but dirty coin taints the tools it buys. I will rely on my own prayers to keep Old Kutna from slipping into the earth.
It was only a piece of wood to keep the damp off you, girl. Keep your pride then.
Nota scribaeDictated in a hurried, breathless whisper.
the morrow of St Matthias, at Prime
I hear Thomas and Gilbert Miller have been fighting over goose quills. I pray for Gilbert. Stealing a man's livelihood invites God's wrath, just as surely as breathing the damp night air invites a cough. A body must protect itself from both.
He had too many quills and I had none. God provides for the hungry.
God provides for those who do honest work, you thief.
Candlemas, at Sext
Alan Taylor came dragging by my tray this morning, groaning about his broken back. It is pitiful, but I crossed myself and looked away. Sickness and broken bodies draw the evil humours. I chewed a bit of dried sage just to be safe.
A broken back is not catching, you foolish girl. Maurice the stonemason gave it to me, not a demon.
Nota scribaeShe crossed herself four times while speaking this.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Do not fret, child. The Lord knows the roads are wicked right now.