keeper of the taproom, of Suchdol
“I run the taproom at Dum number seven and keep the peace. You pay for your ale or you get out.”
Things Rosa Fisher had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Pentecost, at Vespers
Matilda is weeping again over that beggar Bartholomew. I told her the Lord did us a mercy when the army marched him off to Hungary. I will see her wed to a Kuttenberg tradesman with silver in his purse, not a ragged soldier who cannot afford a crust of bread.
Nota scribaeShe folded her arms and raised her voice so the whole room could hear.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Adam and John are sitting at my benches drinking ale on the promise of their quarterly wages. I know every groschen they owe. If the steward does not pay them soon, I will have them mucking out the yard to settle the debt.
Christ almighty, Rosa, a man needs to wet his throat after the fields.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Terce
I am keeping my eye on Anna today. The girl turns white as a sheet whenever coin is mentioned. I do not know what debt she is hiding, but she will not pay it out of my till.
I have never taken a single penny from your till.
Nota scribaeDictated from behind the counter.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
Emma is bothering the merchants again, begging them to carry word to Moravia. I told her to keep her head down and scrub the tables. Work puts bread in your belly, not crying over lost uncles.
Candlemas, at Compline
The silver wagons came down from Kuttenberg and the merchants drank half the night. I stayed up until the last drunken fool was put to bed. We made good groschen today. My girls will never know the lean times again.
We only want to choose our own lives, Mother.
Nota scribaeThe woman was weary and snapped at my inkhorn.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
He is a good man, Mother. You have no heart.
I have a taproom to keep, and you will not ruin it.