Casper makes good on the shortcut into the churchyard he
found yesterday, ducking around a thick tree to check for onlookers and
comically tiptoeing to hide behind the fence. He peers over. He must look awful
suspicious, if there were anyone to see him sneaking about, poking his nose
around corners. He feels plenty suspicious, what with his secret note that he
has to deliver secretly to ‘Mr. Smith’ for Balor’s secret plans to get him the
hell outta here. Not that he’s supposed to know what any of this nonsense
means, oh no, he’s just the messenger. Heaven forbid someone shoots him for
something he doesn’t know about; all the whispering in town behind the scenes
is making him twitchy as is.
He goes out of his way to skirt around the village over
to the main road and makes a big show of stomping down the path as if he’d been
coming from that direction. Hardly a soul is about, what with it being Sunday
and mass not yet finished, but, rest assured, if there is someone
peeking from behind the shutters, Casper will have fooled him. Hopefully this
kind of diversion lies along the lines of what Balor meant by ‘inno-key-us’,
because, if not, Casper has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing.
He strolls boldly into the market square, in plain view
for blocks around, and settles in like he has every right to be there,
regardless of how dangerously out of place he feels. He loiters for a great
many minutes, grabs a quick drink from the local well since it’s conveniently
at hand. He peers over the water cupped in his hands, taking extra care to
check for any tails he may have picked up along the way. There’s nobody here,
not even a flicker of movement from a curtain. It’s eerie how much the
townsfolk love their church. Casper’s always seen more than a few vagrants out
and about, roaming the streets every Sunday back in the city, but it seems
there isn’t a single person in Glenholm who doesn’t go to church. Casper
doesn’t suppose Glenholm has a Jewish quarter, does it? No? Not surprising;
it’s too small a place for that sort of thing, but damn if Casper isn’t left
yearning for some company. It’s about time he got going anyhow; he’s wasted
enough time reminiscing.
He slips between buildings, zigzagging through
backstreets until he comes up behind the bank. A quick canvass of the building
shows that there’s a small window, close to the ground that opens into Smith’s
office. How can he tell it’s Smith’s? He sees him slumped over in his chair
snoring. Looks like Casper’s not the only one who doesn’t go to church.
He taps on the window, lightly at first, then resorting
to near rattling the glass out of its pane when all he gets in reply is a
snore. Smith wakes and turns around so fast, his fat ass spills out onto the
floor. Casper sniggers at the look on his face as he went down until Smith
hoists himself into view; by then, Casper’s schooled his expression into
feigned innocence. It doesn’t convince Smith one bit, but then it doesn’t need
to.
“Letter for you sir,” pipes Casper.
Smith grunts noncommittally. “The old devil, I take it?
What’s he want now?”
Casper shrugs as he passes the paper over. “Can’t say.
I’m just the messenger.”
Smith skims the letter over, frowning almost immediately.
Casper watches him mouth parts of the phrasing. …given the nature of… may
become necessary… in due time… to that end… Smith snaps his gaze back to
him. “He’s talking about you, you know.”
“Who sir?”
“Don’t play fool with me, boy. You know who.”
Casper swallows. “I-I wouldn’t know, what with not
knowin’ my letters an’ all.”
“So, you wouldn’t know anything because you can’t
read?” Smith squints.
“All I got was a letter and instruction to get it to you
and to be sneaky about it. That’s all I know, I swear it.”
Smith spends his sweet time letting Casper sweat. “…Get
in. It may be Sunday, but the walls have ears all days of the week. Not through
the window,” Smith hisses at him when Casper makes to clamber through. “Wait
there. I’ll come and get you at the back door. Don’t you run off,” he finger
wags.
On a technical standpoint, there is no reason why Casper
can’t simply run off and leave Smith fuming in his dust. The letter has been
delivered, his job, and therefore his responsibilities, ending there. However,
there is something to be said for looking ahead and, if Smith is to play any
part in his escape, it is going to be in Casper’s interest to not antagonize
him too much. And so, here he is, waiting on Smith to finish fumbling with the
deadbolt (in this neighborhood?). Smith gestures for him to get the hell
inside. As much as Casper hates the idea of stepping through a door he knows is
going to be locked immediately behind him, he’s not seeing a better
alternative. He’s waited this long and hasn’t bailed out yet. May as well see
it through to the end, whatever it may be. In he goes. Not once does he let Smith
out of his sight.
True to expectations, the deadbolt clunks back into place
the second the door’s closed. As if that’s not enough, Smith stands smack dab
in front of him, in front of his nearest possible exit. No matter. There’s
always the front door, or, if things get dicey, the window in the office. He’ll
have to outrun Smith if he’s to get to either of them, but that shouldn’t be an
issue.
Smith leans back against the door, arms crossed, and
watchful like that first unfortunate day they met. “You tell me straight, and I
mean straight, boy. None of that funny business of yours. You done anything
to rile anyone?”
Other than breathe? “No, sir.”
“You been crossing anyone?”
“No, sir.”
“You been telling anyone anything?”
“No!”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nuthin’! I swear!”
“Then why’s he want you outta town so bad? …Well?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Don’t give me that nonsense, you know damn well what
you’ve done. Admit it!” Smith’s worse than Sister Temperance, the way
he’s dogging; doesn’t matter if you did or didn’t, if there’s so much as an
inkling of suspicion, there’s no stopping until someone fesses up.
Casper cracks under the interrogation within minutes, more
so he can get it over with and get on with the rest of his day. Can’t give in
too easily though, lest Smith thinks he’s spouting nonsense to get him to back
off. Gotta make him work for it, gotta make it look like he’s making him sweat.
“I-I mighta, sorta, maybe said somethin’ ‘bout
wantin’ to leave…”
Smith waits on him for more. The pause stretches into awkwardness.
“…What? That’s it?”
“I guess…?”
“Let me get this straight: the devil himself is calling
in a favour because you asked him and told him you wanna leave?”
Casper considers for a beat. It sounds ludicrous put it
like that, but, aside from Balor offering before Casper actually asked for
anything… “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Smith scrapes his hand through his comb over, puzzling
over it all. “Why?” And isn’t that a question worth a hundred pounds.
“Hell if I know,” Casper feigns. He can’t very well say
the big guy pities him, now can he? He has an image to keep. Smith, however
doesn’t seem satisfied with leaving it at that, likely won’t budge until he has
something he can work with. “Might be ‘cause I’m sticking out like a sore thumb
‘round here?” He hazards. “Bad for business all ‘round when folks are talkin’ notice.”
Smith isn’t pleased at the thought, but it’s a reasonable
explanation and, for all that, he’s sated. “And who’s fault is that?” He
grumbles.
“Hey! Not my fault I get called out for standin’ ‘round,
doin’ nuthin’! I’ve only been here a week.”
“Alright, alright. Settle down, you. The walls aren’t all
that thick.” To that point, Smith unbolts the door a sec to check for snoops in
the backway. He must not see anything, since he’s closing it back up without
raising a fuss. He addresses Casper with a long-suffering sigh. “At least you’re
coming in the back door now, so you’re doing something right. Keep business
hours to Sundays when the locals are too cooped up in their church to poke
their noses between the curtains, but,” he finger-wags, “but be discrete
about it. And whatever you do, do not let ‘em catch on that you’re
actually living up on the hilltop. God knows what a mess that’ll be…”
“Then it’s a good thing discretion’s my middle name,”
Casper salutes.
“Is that a fact?” Smith comments dryly. He opens the door
again, stepping aside. “Alright, we’re done here. Make yourself scarce.” Casper
wastes no time doing just that, only Smith calls him back again. “Just one more
thing,” he waits for Casper to get within whispering distance. “Tell your
master write normal for once; he’s giving a headache.”
One “Yessir” later and Casper’s running off, free for the
day and left to wonder over what Smith meant by ‘master’ and where he got that
idea.
He waits by the pub for mass to conclude and Felicia and
her Pa to open shop for the afternoon. The debacle with Smith took longer than
expected, not to mention the lengthy detouring made just to get through town, so
he isn’t left hanging for long. Alicia’s pleasantly surprised to see him. She picks
up her skirts and trots over to him to ask him how he’s been and why hasn’t she
been seeing him lately and all manner of other questions. Pa frowns at him over her
shoulder, arms crossed. He looks like he’s sucking on a lemon when Alicia
insists Casper come in, but he can’t say no to daddy’s little girl, now can he?
So, in Casper goes, much to his amusement.
Alicia ushers him to his usual spot at the bar counter,
sits next to him, and prattles on. Daddy dearest stays within earshot, wiping down
already clean mugs for the upcoming patrons. Casper keeps his answers to one syllable
when possible, shrugging and nodding when appropriate, being a good listener in
general. Pa ain’t gonna get nothing on him, no sir.
Pa has to leave the bar eventually. Can’t stand around
pretending forever when there’s real work to do; he’s not a toff. When he does,
Casper broaches the question that’s been burning him for days: “Got any word for
a place I can stay?”
It’s caught her off guard. “Hmm? What? Oh! That.
Right. No, I’m sorry, ‘fraid not.”
Casper blinks. “You sure you been asking? You’re not puttin’ me on?”
“What? No. Of course not. It’s just, well, it’s
been so busy lately and it might’ve slipped my mind a few times, but I’ve been
asking around.” She fiddles with her hair, doesn’t meet his eyes. Liar.
Casper smiles thinly at her. “Well I’d ‘preciate it if
you keep askin’. Could you do that for me? Please?” He’s putting it on a
bit thick, but, hell, it’s worked before.
“…Could do, yeah.” Unlikely.
Casper thanks her as if he had complete faith that she’d
do just that. Useless girl. Good for nothing. Thankfully he has Balor on his
side, looking into getting him out. If he had to rely on Alicia, he’d be good
as dead. She’s a nice enough girl; she just isn’t dependable when push comes to
shove. That doesn’t mean he won’t milk it for all he can get, though and, from
the guilty look on her face, he can get quite a bit.
He rubs at his empty belly. “Say, Alicia?”
“Hmm? What is it?”
“I’m hungry. Got anythin’ to eat ‘round here?”
“…Sure kid. Sure.”
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