Day Ten - Morning

     Casper stares up at the scores in wood on the underside of the table. One. Two. Three… Seven. He’s three short. He fishes a knife out from under his pillow and gets carving. There’s dried gore where the blade meets the handle, left over from butchering that rabbit last night. Must’ve missed it when he was wiping the blade clean before he pocketed it. If Balor noticed him making off with it, he didn’t say anything. He probably knows; he knew with the silverware. It’s probably fine.

     He brushes the loose shavings from his handiwork, blinking them away when they get caught in his lashes. Two full sets of tally marks stare back at him. Ten days in. He can only guess how many he has left. He goes over the older, shallower marks until they’re just as distinct. It’s been a full week since he sent that telegram. The toff hasn’t come back yet and neither has anyone else. Did it get through? Was it sent at all? The druggie doesn’t seem reliable, the post office is a guaranteed front for something horrible seeing as they have pickled body parts in the back room, and who’s to say the message got past Mr. Smith, assuming it got that far? Nobody’s coming for him. If it weren’t for Balor, he’d be on his own.

     He turns the knife over in his hands, picking at the flaking black around the hilt. Balor is capable of many things, but he can’t always protect him. The knife goes back under the pillow (there’s a red-brown stain on the bottom side of the cover now). If he has a say in the matter, he wouldn’t use it for anything more than preparing his dinner, but that’s not up to him. The knife stays safely hidden close by. Just in case. And if knowing it’s there helps him sleep at night, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

     He hits up the greenhouse for his usual breakfast fare. He eats sparingly, still full from that rabbit diner. He’s never eaten so much in his life and it was a good deal tastier than leaves and stems. Balor has more liking for his vegetables than Casper ever will have, if the state of his greenhouse is any indication. He gently pokes new shoots tentatively peering out from the soil of one of the plant beds, recognizing them as the crop he’d helped Balor plant. What will these ones be for? Will he be able to eat them too when they’re larger?

     Balor joins him before too long. They exchange perfunctory greetings. Did you sleep well? Things are growing nicely. It looks like it might rain. What are we doing today?

     Balor gets to business on that last topic. “I was hoping to talk to you about that. As you have no doubt noticed, it has become sufficiently warm for the growing season to start in earnest.”

     “But stuff’s growin’ in here already,” Casper butts. He cocks his head. “It can’t’ve just started now.”

     “Seminariums differ from germinating seeds in the earth, particularly in the Northern climate of this country of yours.”

     Having recognized the incoming lecture, Casper makes haste to nip it in the bud. “Right, so. We’re plantnin’ more stuff today. Say no more.” He leaps to attention. “Where we diggin’ today, sir?”

     Balor takes his enthusiasm in stride. “I shall need the remainder of the space inside for my own uses; therefore, we shall need make use of the earth beds over here.” And so saying, he leads Casper through the southern entrance of the greenhouse and into a particularly overgrown clearing. Casper already has a bad feeling about where this is going. Balor only confirms his suspicions. “I have admittedly let the area gone to seed due to lack of purpose for it, however, I imagine the earth will be all the more productive for its years of rest.”

     ‘Gone to seed’ is an understatement. There are saplings embedded firmly into the ground, not to mention the brush having practically swallowed whole whatever open ground there once was. Casper gapes at the miniature forest Balor says he has to clear before staring slack jawed at the man himself. “You’re joking,” he hopes, because there’s no chance in hell he’s able to do all that.

     Balor, calm as ever, evenly meets him word for word. “I am not joking. I expect we shall have half the work done by the day’s end, that we may sow the earth the morrow.”

     Casper gives one long suffering look to Balor and the clearing each, throws his hands to the air as if to surrender, and marches straight back into the glasshouse from whence he came to sulk. Balor follows soon after. Casper stubbornly refuses to look at him.

     “Come now, Casper,” Balor coaxes. He steps around him to speak face to face, only to have Casper turn his back to him again. He breathes a sigh. “What is this about? I am at a loss as to how you are suddenly in such ill humors.”

     “What do you think it is? M’ pissed,” Casper snaps. He catches Balor hovering at his side out of the corner of his eye, but misses the reaching hand until it’s clasped onto his shoulder.

     Shit.

     The reaction is visceral and instantaneous. He shouldn’t’ve mouthed off like that because, boy, is he ever in for it now. He stiffens. Ducks his head between his shoulders and waits for the blow to come… which doesn’t happen. And, while the hand on his shoulder is large enough to make him feel like a doll in comparison (so small, so easy to break), the touch is gentle. He hazards a look and it’s still Balor, calm and soft-spoken Balor.

     “That you are upset can be plainly seen; however, I am finding myself at a loss as to why that is.” He’s not angry. He’s not even raised his voice.

     Casper finds himself at a loss. This is going much differently than he expects it to and, worst of all, he’s not sure why, exactly, that is. Slowly but surely, his hackles go down as he reads what little clues he can glean from Balor’s bearing; heaven knows why he’s asking, but the big guy’s being sincere.

     He starts and stops several times before he comes up with an answer he’s satisfied with. It’s hard. Nobody used to ask him what he thought about things much less why he thinks it. Balor, a constant exception to the way life works, doesn’t rush; he waits like he has all the time in the world.

     “It-it’s not fair.” His voice is tiny in the greenhouse’s quiet.

     “Go on,” Balor urges, his presence as steading as the hand on Casper’s shoulder.

      “I mean- I go up and down that shitty hill about every day ‘til I come back tired from-“ running scared. He swallows and starts again. “From runnin’ around all the time, but that’s fine,” he adds in a rush, lest Balor get the wrong idea. He treasures those rare meals he can snatch from the pub, even when all they give him is a heel of bread. “I can do tired. ‘M used to it. I’m fine… But what you’re askin’ me now?” He faces Balor proper and all but pleads. “I can’t do that. I can’t clean all that up even if you gave me a week to do it in, tearin’ up all those trees n’ stuff. You know how tough those things are? Even the small ones?” Casper may or may not have tried to uproot one of the many saplings growing in the forest undergrowth only to get a nasty smack and a face full of leaves for his trouble. “Well, they’re real tough, alright? An’ I just don’t got the strength to do it all. Not all by myself…” He hangs his head in shame of it all, preferring to watch his hands wring in his lap than to see how disappointed he’s made Balor.

     “Casper. Look at me Casper,” Balor shakes him gently until he looks up. There’s a faint smile about him, exasperated and fond. “Where so ever did I give you the impression that this undertaking was yours and yours alone?”

     It takes a good while before Casper catches on, but when he does… “Wait. You mean, we’re doin’ this together? Like, you an’ me together?”

     “Is it so hard a concept to grasp? I did say ‘we’, did I not?”

     “Well, yeah, but…” He half-laughs, half-sighs. “Usually the bloke sayin’ ‘we’ means ‘you sods go do a thing and I’ll stand here an’ watch’.”

     If Balor raises a brow at that, Casper’s too relieved to notice. “I assure you, that shall not be the case here.”

     “Now you tell me!” Now that Balor’s around to do the heavy lifting, doing a bit of yard work doesn’t sound so bad afterall.

<== Day Nine - Afternoon to Night  ==> Table of Contents <==  Day Ten - Midday to Night ==>