Day Sixteen - Morning

     “Hey, Balor? I don’t suppose you’d happen to have something you need run down to Smith, would you?” More gold? Another secret message perhaps?

     “If I had, I would have told you the first of the three times you have asked me this morning!”

     “But it’s Sunday!” Casper sulks.

     “So it is.” Balor straightens from the plant bed he was tending to and turns his attentions to whatever quandary’s eating away at Casper this time. “What of it Casper?”

     It’s no big deal really. It’s merely the one day of the week he can go pester Smith without getting brushed off. “Well… What if Smith needs something and we don’t know it yet?” Casper tries. What if something’s come up that’ll jeopardize his ticket out of here? The date’s not yet fixed in stone and Smith’s the only one who knows for sure when and how he’ll make his escape. He’s been chomping at the bit all day for an opportunity to split for town. He’s going stir crazy from being cooped up on the hill for the better part of the week.

     Balor is infuriatingly calm in comparison. “If Smith has any need from us, he shall let us know in his own time and according to his own methods, as is his wont.” Shaking his head, he resumes attending to his herbs, picking off a few stalks here and there. “In spite of your misgivings, Smith knows his trade well, however illicit it may be.” He shakes the odd fleck of dirt free from his pickings before gently folding them into a sheath of paper, pocketing the ensemble for later use.

     Casper slumps across the top of the seed cabinet he’s been sitting on since he followed Balor into the glasshouse to pester him. He heaves a groan of dismay that’s more drawn out than it need be. Balor doesn’t give heed to his antics besides the initial eyeroll. Not what Casper is looking for. Time to change tactics.

     “What in blazes does Smith do anyways?”

     “That would depend on who one asks,” Balor chuckles. “According to Smith himself, he is a businessman who specializes in imports and exports; however, the reality is less glamorous than that. Plainly speaking, he is a smuggler.”

     Casper sits up sharply at that. “He’s your fence?” Makes sense. Balor has to exchange all that gold somehow and Casper doubts there’s a legal market for magically transformed items.

     Balor shoots him a quizzical look. “‘Fence’…?”

     “A fence, you know a… a hand-off guy,” Casper explains to no avail. “A pawn broker.” Thankfully Balor recognizes that one, otherwise they’d be at it all day.

     “I suppose one would not be buying the sold items back in this case?” Balor asks.

     “Nope!” Casper cheerily answers.

     Balor knows better than to ask further at this point. He putters to the next plant bed and gets started there. “You do realize, Casper, that if you so wish, you need not wait upon my word for leave to our fair township below.”

     “Wha- Really?” Casper bounds off the cabinet and runs up to him, practically vibrating on the spot.

     “Yes, really, Casper.” He’s not even trying to pretend he’s not amused. “Whenever have I stated that you are not permitted to come and go as you please? Furthermore, these misgivings of yours have not deterred you from traipsing off in the past. For what reason would they impede you at present?”

     Uh, oops? Casper shifts uncomfortably. “Well, ‘m askin’ now ain’t I?”

     “That you are,” duly notes Balor as he stands his full six feet and then some, “and my response is as follows: you are free to do as you please, though I ask you to use discretion and, as always, do try to return by sunset.”

     “Why sunset? I’ve been out longer than that an’ I came out in one piece.”

     Balor raises a brow at that. “Are you insinuating that you intend to be out at all hours of the night?”

     Not at the moment, no. “I ain’t sin-u-ating nuthin’,” Casper huffs. Simply because he asks a question doesn’t necessarily mean he’s up to no good. “Just wanted to know the reason for it…” A certain demon perhaps?

     The hint misses its mark entirely, goes straight over Balor’s head as a matter of fact. “I ask that you return on an adequately regular basis lest I vex myself on whether some ill has befallen you.”

     God be damned if that doesn’t put a smile on Casper’s face. He must be growing on the big guy. “No need to go worryin’ ‘bout lil’ ol’ me,” Casper reassures, “I know how to watch my back.” Not like there’s a whole lot of things in Glenholm that’d be an actual threat to him, not like Myr. “I was mostly wonderin’ ‘bout that demon I keep hearing ‘bout from the rest of the blokes in town.”

     “A demon you say?” And doesn’t that take Balor aback. He recovers quickly, turning back to his work with his plants to hide among the leaves any further reaction on his part. Casper’s surprised himself, surprised he’s come to know Balor so well that he’s picking up on those little tells. “And what is it that the people say about this demon on the hilltop?” Balor’s voice is steady as his hands, minding their work with care.

     “Just the usual thing you’d hear ‘bout the boogie man,” Casper sidles up beside him, leaning against the side of the planter just so that he can get a better look at Balor’s face. “Big, scary monster; horned devil that burns people.” Not all that different from what’s been preached to him in church about the devil. “I don’t believe a word of it though.”

     “Do you now?” It’s the first time Balor’s met his eyes since the subject was broached. “I cannot conceive why you would not. They would seem most convincing.”

     “They were,” Casper concedes, “but just ‘cause they believe what they’re sayin’ don’t mean I have to. ‘Sides, I been out in those woods loads of times an’ I ain’t never seen a hair of that demon of theirs,” he shrugs. “The way I figure, it ain’t real.”

     Balor hums noncommittally at that. “Are you certain you have not overlooked this demon through the duration your search?”

     “What’s there to miss? A big, ol’ bugaboo with big, ol’ horns ain’t exactly hard to find.” Even a toff couldn’t miss it. “The closest thing to the devil I ever saw was Myr.”

     “I cannot disagree… Indeed, there is more truth in what you speak than you know, Casper.”

     “Well duh! You ever got a good whiff of him?” Casper grins. “Smells like somethin’ you’d pull outta the devil’s own arse-crack!”

     That sends Balor laughing uproariously, deep, booming thunder that rattles the panes of the glasshouse. Casper’s never heard the like of it in his life. Balor wipes at a stray tear. “By the gods, I have not laughed like that in ages.”

     “Guess I’ll have to make a habit of it then, eh old man?”

     “I would appreciate it, Casper. I thank you.”

     They don’t talk about what happens when Casper leaves. Nor about him leaving at all. Now’s not the time for it and they both know it, so they stretch the moment out, laughs shared in their quiet, little sanctuary for seeds to grow in a place neither of them want to be.

     Balor eventually tells him once and for all that, no, there is no demon living in the woods, but Casper already knows that. He’s known since the day Balor set him straight and told him he didn’t do anything wrong. He knows it for a fact because Balor doesn’t lie. Not to him.

     As for why the townsfolk keep saying the wrong things, well what else would you expect from a bunch of country bumpkins? These people are completely backwards. What would they know anyways?

     In his own way, Casper's already picked his side.

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