maidservant at jakesuv Statek, of Troskowitz
“I keep this farm from falling into ruin, though God knows why when the master pays like a beggar.”
Things Emma had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday after Ascension, at Prime
Sakra, the rain last night came right through the gap in the thatch and soaked my only good blanket. I told Master Jakesh we need fresh straw, but he just whines about the cost of oats. I swear I will walk to Kuttenberg and pour ale for a living.
Nota scribaeDictated while wringing out a piece of wool. She spoke loudly enough for the master to hear.
the feast of Saint George, at Vespers
Found John asleep in the barn again, stinking of the alehouse and hiding from the levy. Threw a bucket of well water over his head to get him up for chores. Bloody fool brought it on himself showing off that bow last autumn.
Christ almighty, my head was splitting enough without half the well in my ears.
the third day of Easter week, at Terce
Three years today since the fever took Drahomira. She gave me a warm shawl my first winter here and actually knew how to run this place. Now we are just worked to the bone by a man who pleads poverty while hoarding coin in the orchard.
Mind your tongue, girl. There is no silver in the orchard and my grief is my own.
Nota scribaeShe crossed herself when speaking the late wife's name.
the Monday after Laetare Sunday, at Prime
Elizabeth kept me awake half the night crying over that wooden pin again, turning the straw over like a rooting pig. I pity the girl, but the pin is lost and she has to let it go. And weeping for that idiot brother of hers won't bring him back from Prague.
Ash Wednesday, at Compline
My hands are cracked raw from the lye and the scrubbing, and the wind from the east is biting cold today. The master says we must fast and repent, but a hired hand here is already starving. God's truth, I am so tired.
Aye, work for the poor and hoarding for the rich. Come to the tavern, Emma, I'll buy you an ale.
With what coin, you drunken lout? You owe the bailiff enough as it is.
Nota scribaeThe maid was shivering as she spoke.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will get fresh straw after the harvest, Emma. Or you will get nothing.
My blanket is wet too, Emma. And I still cannot find my mother's pin.