bartender of Old Kutna, of Old Kutna
“I pour watered ale for miners and soldiers until my hands bleed. I keep this place running.”
Things Barbara Richter had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the second day of May, at Compline
I asked Edith again to walk to Caslau and tell my mother Anna I am alive. It is a mere twenty miles, but she refuses. She cares nothing for a daughter's broken heart. I sit here wiping down tables while my mother probably thinks I am dead in a ditch.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted thrice by the woman sobbing into her apron.
the Tuesday after Saint George, at None
Elsbeth is a fool. She hides her pennies in our mattress, starving herself just to buy some silver pin she saw before the war. A hot bowl of pottage would serve her better. You cannot wear silver when your hands are deep in dishwater for the miners.
Keep your nose out of my mattress, Barbara. A woman needs something beautiful to look forward to.
Both of you get back to the hearth, the noon shift is coming in.
the Wednesday after Easter, at Sext
Maresh's agent came for the rent on our room today. May the Devil take Maresh in Prague. We pay to sleep like dogs while soldiers drink on credit and grab at our skirts when we bring the ale. I am so tired my bones ache, and I miss home.
My back is too ruined to work, and I still pay him. The man is a leech.
Nota scribaeShe asked me to write a curse upon the landlord, which I refused, but she said it anyway.
the Tuesday after Saint Joseph, at Vespers
The floor was a mess tonight. Frantishek spent an hour crawling in the spilled beer looking for a wooden carving of his late wife Lida, while Reginald sat in the corner muttering about needing twelve groschen before the bailiff comes. I pity them, but I extended no credit.
If you swept properly, it would not have been lost in the muck. It is all I have left of her.
Just one cup, Barbara, for a desperate man with nothing left to pawn.
the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at None
I am sick of hearing Richard spit on my clean floor. Every time he drinks, he spits and stares daggers at his neighbor over that boundary stone kicked loose at Candlemas. Christ almighty, settle it outside so I do not have to scrub your foul spit from the boards!
I will spit where I please until the man puts my stone back.
You should walk barefoot to Sedletz for penance, Richard. Though I never made it myself.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron the entire time she spoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The roads are crawling with Hungarian outriders! Do you want me in a ditch too?
A true friend would risk it. You are just lazy and selfish.