alehouse keeper at the guests tavern, of Old Kutna
“I pour the ale, wipe the tables, and expect a clean tally. If a man drinks, he pays.”
Things Martha Silver had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
If I catch Anthony Field in the mud of this town, I will drag him back by his ear. Three weeks of ale and lodging sitting on my slate. I have a headstone to buy for my late husband, and I cannot pay the mason with his pawned padded jack.
Nota scribaeDictated while she scrubbed spilled ale from the long wooden table.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at Sext
This guests tavern is full of young men taking up space and ordering nothing. They say Chenyek locked the strongbox at the smelting works at Easter, blaming the mint. I have no time for their weeping over wages. An empty cup buys no roof over my head.
It is God's own truth. We have not seen a penny since the feast.
My back aches like the devil, lads, but I still find a way to pay my tab.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
Kunigunde was in the square selling herbs and talking again of a barefoot pilgrimage to Sedletz. It is a silly distraction. Prayers will not pay the baker nor keep you alive until spring is out. God helps those who hoard their pennies and keep a clean house.
A holy vow is a vow, Martha. You worry entirely too much about your coin box.
Nota scribaeShe was hauling heavy buckets from the square well and shouting this over her shoulder.
the second Sunday of Lent, at None
Alan Taylor drank heavy today to numb his spine, twelve winters since Maurice the stonemason broke him. I pity the man, but I let no one drink for free. Sixty groschen is what I need for my husband's grave, and I will not die of the flux before I have it.
Aye, Maurice was a harsh master. Curse his memory every time the weather turns cold.
Candlemas, at Compline
Another night hauling sleeping drunks out into the freezing mud. They drink cheap ale until the last tallow candle burns out, and leave me to bar the heavy oak door. It is lonely work, but it fills the locked box under my pillow.
I was not sleeping, I was just resting my eyes by the fire!
You were snoring loud enough to wake the dead, Halama.
Nota scribaeShe sighed heavily and rubbed her tired eyes before speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Have some mercy, Martha. Chenyek still has the strongbox locked. I will pay when the silver flows again.
Mercy does not buy a stone. Find some groschen or do not show your face here.