Casper forgoes the direct route to the manor he’s used in the past. It’s better, less conspicuous this way. It’s a small miracle that he hasn’t been exposed as is. He retraces his steps through the fresh tilled fields until he finds the river, then follows the waters upstream until he finds the spring. From there, he wanders the woods until he stumbles upon the glass house hidden among the trees. The rest is easy.
Meanwhile, Myr’s yelling up a stink in the house. Casper can hear him, even from all the way out here. He slips into the glass house to hide while he waits out the storm. He might be here awhile. He hunkers down among the planters and snacks disinterestedly on some of the plants to pass time. Sadly, the taste hasn’t improved.
Myr’s tantrum ends with one last shout and the slam of a door. Casper perks up. He doesn’t hear anyone coming his way. He waits a minute more. Neither hide nor hair of the drunk bearing down on him. Reassured, he leaves the glass house, gently closing the door behind him.
Does Myr know about the glass house? About the plants? What are they for, the plants? Are they magic too? Will he turn into a frog if he eats the wrong ones? Would Balor tell him if he asks? If he asks, would Balor lie? (That’s what he’d do, but Balor isn’t him, isn’t like him. But if he is…) He doesn’t know.
He enters through the back door. He dithers, leaning back on the old door frame. If he said something, if he asked, would someone listen? “Balor...?” Is there anyone to listen? “Are you there?”
Silence, but then, from deep in the house, “I come Casper. I ask but a moment’s pardon and I shall come.”
“Okay… I… I’ll be in the kitchen.” Casper wastes time in the hall, putting off the inevitable, seeking something to take his mind off his nerves.
There are portraits on walls, just small ones. Nothing as big as the one on the mantle in the sitting room. Framed faces stare stoically at Casper. Did they live here too? Are they the ones who died? (Do they haunt the house still?) Casper pauses at a family portrait, the only picture where the people in it smile. In the mother’s arms is a cooing babe. Did the little guy die too? Is he buried in a tiny grave? Or did the monster swallow him whole, not leaving so much as a tiny body behind? Would the same happen to him should the monster catch him? (He’s small for his age, easy to pick off.)
Casper has a good guess why Balor insists on him being back before sundown. He swears something’s stalked him in the past, something behind the foliage, hiding in the dark. Likely something monstrous. And he thought it was just a wolf.
Casper backs away from the portrait with the babe. He makes a promise to himself that he won’t be out in the dark from here on. He’d hate to see how the babe died (eaten alive). He scurries into the kitchen, where he promised to be, before Balor finds him elsewhere. He grabs a chair at the table. And now, he waits.
Balor arrives from the main hall a minute later. “Dare I say it, you do have the most shocking habit of knowing when best to make a disappearance.” Casper doesn’t so much as twitch at the sudden appearance. Is it strange that he’s getting used to Balor’s comings and goings? “... Casper? Are you with us?”
Casper gives a tight nod. “‘M fine.” He bites his lip. His eyes stay glued to the table top.
Balor sighs and sits down as well. “I do not appreciate that you left without first notifying me, but… In light of what happened not long ago, it would seem that your discretion was wise.”
“Myr?”
“Myr.”
“I heard. From outside, I heard him yellin’.”
Balor huffs a dry laugh. “Again, I applaud your timeliness.” He shakes his head. “I would assume, then, that you would know the object of his grievances.”
Casper shakes his head. “Didn’t make out the words, but… From the way you’re talkin’, it’s me, isn’t it?”
“It would seem that Myr was perfectly serious when he claimed that he wanted you to pour drinks.”
Casper blinks. “But… He said he wanted me to that at the end of the week.”
“Yes… What of it?”
“It’s only Thursday.”
“So it is!” Balor laughs for real this time and, goddamnit, Casper laughs too.
But he can’t put this off. He can’t laugh this off like he might many other things. “... Balor?”
“Yes? … Ah. I do not suppose you had called me to discuss Myr.”
“No.” Casper's chewing on his lip again. Any harder and he’ll be tasting blood. He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, but this isn’t a matter of what he does or doesn’t want. For his own sake, he needs to know where he stands in this tangled snare called Glenholm. “Balor? What are you?” Foreigner. Gardener. Servant. Terrible cook. Warden. Witch man. Man and monster. (Maybe friend?) Yes, Balor, what are you?
Balor slumps, resigned, not in the slightest bit surprised. “... Ah. I had feared we would come to this.” Because he knows. He knows and he knew and he didn’t tell him, he lied he lied he lied. (Pot calling kettle.)
“Why?” It’s a plea. It’s a whine.
“I was- I am ashamed. And I did not wish to frighten you further.” Balor raises his head and meets his gaze (like he’s innocent, how dare he, how dare he). “You were shaking like a leaf. Do you not recall? I had thought you would scream. I had thought you would cry. But… you did not. That silence was worst of all.” Balor blinks and Casper remembers to breath again. “I do not wish to scare you, Casper. That is why I hid what I am. For that, I am sorry.”
“Is it true?” It’s a whisper.
“I… beg your pardon?”
“Is it true? The stuff they’re sayin’ 'bout you, is it true?” It’s a shout and Casper slams his hands on the table. “The stuff that you did, the- the blokes who lived here and the baby, you didn’t tell the monster to eat the baby too… did you?”
Balor just stares at him, face blank(er than normal). “Casper, I have no idea what it is that you heard, but I swear on the names of the Gods that there is no and has never been any baby eating under this roof or on the adjoining grounds.”
“How do I know you’re tellin’ the truth.” Casper’s gone back to whisper-whining. His chest feels tight and doing this, having to have this discussion, it hurts.
“I have never been in the habit of lying, Casper. I have not been able to lie since… well, needless to say, it’s been a very long time.”
“Is- is it because of magics ‘n stuff?”
“I, ah. I would not put it so simply, but that is correct.”
Casper nods like he’s known all along. “So… You didn’t have anything to do with no monster?”
“If what you are asking is if I have summoned and subsequently ordered said monster to kill the manor’s previous inhabitants, then no. I have never done anything of the sort. Most of my capabilities encompass alchemy and a few select spells, but never have I performed a summoning.”
“So… They were lyin’?” The stress drains from him and Casper immediately feels lighter. “You really didn’t have nuthin’ to do with the people who died here?”
Balor takes a breath and closes his eyes. They open a moment later to spear Casper with a sincerity that leaves him raw. “I am sincerely sorry for the loss that the Glenholm people have suffered and I grieve for those who have died, just as they do. I do not take human lives lightly, Casper. What happened here was no less than a tragedy and I am sorry for all that has happened.” And not once does Casper see trace or tell of a lie (he never has). “I swear to you this Casper: if I have any free will in the matter, I would not choose to sacrifice a human life… with perhaps one exception, but I believe you know who that is.”
“So you didn’t do it.” Balor doesn't answer him. He doesn’t need to. Casper’s assured that his unlikely friend is innocent, in spite of what’s been said. He nods, satisfied. “I think I got a lot to think about.”
“I would imagine so... Have you already eaten, Casper?”
“Yeah, I kipped off to town and got a bite at the pub.”
“Shall I assume that that is where you put your allowance to use?” Casper’s sheepish look says ‘yes’. “No matter. I am glad to see you put it to use. I shall take my leave then. Good night Casper.”
“G’d night.” Balor disappears, leaving Casper at the table by himself. He traces his finger along the wood grain of the table and he thinks of what he’s heard from both sides. (His mind’s already made.)
When night starts to fall and the day grows dark, he retreats to the dining room and crawls into his humble fortress beneath one of the long tables. He uses the blunt edge of his spoon to carve notches on a table leg until he gets six lines, tally style. He’s got his calendar back. Satisfied, he digs beneath one of many quilts and goes to sleep.
END OF DAY SIX.
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