bartender at the village tavern, of Troskowitz
“I keep the ale flowing, the tables wiped, and throw out the drunken fools when they fall over. I keep a clean tap, which takes some doing with all the mud these soldiers bring in.”
Things Anna Brook had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Holy Trinity, at Vespers
That whoreson Frantishek still has not paid me the five groschen for a carpenter. My roof sags so much I reckon it will crush me in my sleep, and the rain comes right onto my bed. I need some strong lad to beat the silver out of him, seeing as Osbert's man just takes my rent and does nothing.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron repeatedly whilst speaking and used several words I have omitted.
the feast of St John before the Latin Gate, at None
Christ almighty, if one more guardsman tracks horse muck into my clean common room, I will break a flagon over his thick head. I carried three buckets of water before dawn to wash these floorboards. They treat the tavern like a stable.
Aye, let them drink outside in the yard if they cannot wipe their boots.
I wiped my boots on the grass, Anna, I swear I did.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Terce
Bloody hell. Frantishek got blind drunk on that cheap wine last night and stumbled right into the main timber of my lean-to. Cracked it clean in half. Now the roof is coming down on my head. He laughed in my face when I told him to pay for it.
He cannot handle his wine, that is the honest truth of it.
We will see who handles their wine when we throw dice later, Robert.
Take your dice and your arguments back to the barracks and leave my tavern out of it.
Nota scribaeDictated in the yard while looking at a broken piece of wood.
the third Wednesday of Lent, at Prime
Joan is sighing over her failed vow to walk to Sedletz again, and Brother John is taking up a whole table by the hearth nursing one watery ale. I have no patience for religious guilt when there are heavy casks in the cellar needing hauling.
Patience is a virtue the Lord rewards, my child. The fire merely warms my old bones.
The sweating fever took so many, Anna. I promised the Virgin I would walk.
Nota scribaeShe dictated this while carrying a heavy jug, breathing hard.
the day after Candlemas, at Vespers
The rent collector came for Osbert's pennies today. Bloody thief. He takes my coin but never fixes the leaks. It is a miracle I did not die of the damp this winter. I sat up with Joan during the worst of the sweating fever back then, and I will not let a bad roof finish us now.
The fever took my sister Vendula. You are lucky to have your health, damp or not.
Hide your pennies in the cellar, I say.
Nota scribaeThe woman spoke loudly enough that the rent agent might hear her from the road.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The wood was rotten from the winter damp, Anna. Take it up with your landlord. I am not paying for his rotting timber.
I will help you move your cot to the back room tonight if it storms.