Day Six - Morning

     Mornings at the manor are always quiet. The loudest sounds are the bird calls and Myr’s occasional snores. It’s always shocking how quiet it is. Sometimes Casper wonders if all the people, not in the manor but in the world, have suddenly disappeared, leaving him completely and utterly alone on the earth. Sometimes it’s wishful thinking. Sometimes it’s a stubborn uneasiness. Then Myr snores and it all disappears, only to be replaced by the thought that it’s just him and Myr alone together. It’s at times like these that unease turns into panic.

     Balor can’t come soon enough. The moment Casper gets his chores for the day, he is out of here. Until then, he’s stuck. The possibility of leaving Balor high and dry and leaving without his say so, without his knowing so, is tempting. The possibility of Balor tracking him down and chewing him out (or worse) after? Not so much.

     ‘Violation of terms may result in revocation of boons... amongst other punishments.’

Day Five - Evening

     Casper lugs around his sack of ‘potatoes’. It’s at least twice as heavy as his little bag of gold, but he isn’t complaining. Being around this much money makes him lightheaded. He’s loaded and never has he felt so alive. Pity he has to hand it over when he gets back. Out of the small fortune he has in his hands, he’ll see only one pound of it. A pound is more money than he’s ever had, but, compared to the rest of it, it looks like a pittance. What’s worse, the sum is accounted for already, meaning if he squeaks so much as a penny-farthing more than he’s entitled to…

     Balor was intimidating as is. Add on the fact that he’s a goddamn sorcerer of all things and Casper’s damn well sure he’ll listen to whatever he says. If Balor says he gets one pound, then he gets one pound. Nevermind how badly keeping his grubby mits off is chafing him, Casper has to grin and bear it.

Day Five - Afternoon

     Casper marches straight to the pub. He doesn’t feel up to anything besides having a bite to eat and a nice nap afterwards. How he’ll fit doing errands into his busy schedule, he doesn’t know. He has time. He has until sundown, smack dab in the evening and still several hours away. He’ll make time. He’ll mix business with pleasure, asking Alicia about Messers. Smit and Smith while talking about lodgements. Lets see if he can’t confirm his suspicions that way.

     The bag’s drawstrings cut into his fingers; he’s holding them too tightly. He stops in front of pub and gives the door a thousand yard stare as he plans how to explain away the incriminating object in his possession. He raises his hand to door handle. He stops and thinks about how many questions Alicia’s going to ask. He touches the knocker instead. Maybe she won’t be there? (Bullshit. She’s always here.) He stops.

     His hand flops lamely to his side. He can’t go in there. Not after he almost got caught with the silver in his pockets. What would she say about his little bag of guilty secrets he doesn’t understand nearly as well as he’d like to (and like not to).

Announcement #2

     As of this most recent part (that is, Day Five - Midday), I estimate that The Demon Boy is roughly 50000 words. Given that I've been posting for little less than half a year, that's an impressive number. Just think about it: that's 10000 words per month or, if you prefer weekly values, 2500 words per week on average.

     That's the good news. Now for the bad news. I used to have a nice, comfortable content buffer to fall back on whensoever I fall behind in my writing. As of this most recent update, that buffer is now depleted to the point that there is no buffer. Poof! Good bye lovely cushion! You shall be sorely missed!

     So, yeah. Imma gonna get back to writing and stop being lazy, but, in the meantime, I might be a bit spotty with keeping up with updates and things might not be as polished as they've been so far. Just giving you lovely folks back home a heads up.

     Mind you, I'm not going on hiatus and I'm not changing the update schedule just yet. I may do so in the future if I find that keeping up this pace is too hectic for me to handle. If I do change my mind, you'll be the first to know.

     Well then. I think that's all I have to talk about today. I hope all of you are keeping warm in the frosty winter weather.

     Until next time,
             - The Author.

Day Five - Midday

     The bag of gold grows heavier for each step Casper takes. He suspects the eggs are multiplying when he’s not looking, but the bag’s contents remain decidedly inanimate. There’s five eggs the first time Casper counts them. There’s still five eggs on the twelfth, most recent counting. Heavens knows where the extra weight is coming from. May as well chalk it up to magics and call it a day. It’d save him a headache.

     He pauses mid-stride, rewinding his train of thought back to-

     Magic. Not coin tricks and sleight of hand that entertains and distracts small children and possible marks alike. Real, inexplicable, impossible-

     Magic. The stuff of legends. The stuff that turns eggs into gold.

     Magic. The trade of witches... Or witchmen.

     Casper has a sinking feeling all of a sudden. The bag of gold weighing on him is reduced to a small part of his apprehensions. He knows who the Glenholm witchman is. He shares a roof with him.