Days Seventeen Through Twenty-One

     The days carry on in due course through this sleepy, little town called Glenholm and not a single one is wasted. Beta sprouts next to espinac on the hilltop with a number of other things. Casper sticks wooden supports into the earth where Balor tells him to. Supposedly, stalks as thin as thread that are poking out of the soil now are going to grow into long, stringy vines that will bear fruits one day. Casper has his doubts, but he’s no expert. There are times, however, where he can believe. This morning, as he’s looking on his burgeoning field of green, is one such occasion. A little garden plot, all his own, just to keep him fed. It’s a lot of work.

     Casper insists on helping Balor water it all, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. There’s not much to do thanks to the rain shower that came by before sunrise, so Casper lends a hand with the sprouts in the glasshouse instead. It’s a lot of work, but seeing the fruits of his labours and the fruits to come… For the first time in forever, Casper has an appreciation for the job he been put to.

     The little garden isn’t the only thing that’s showing results nowadays. Curly and crew do a damn better job of keeping him informed and up to snuff than Smith and Balor do put together. Harry’s specialty is the great number of grievances people have about anything and everything, from the gypsies that’ve set up camp on the outskirts of town to the latest scandal amongst Glenholm’s housewives. Curly’s doing well keeping up to date with the latest events, whether it be the recent movements of the brigade or the big news items that are propagating around the community. For example, Smith’s been hosting some unusual company lately: out-of-towners, the witch man, and the demon of the hill alike. The comings and goings corroborate with Casper’s own observations of the manor residents. He doesn’t tail Myr down for obvious reasons. As for Balor…

     “I would rather that you not accompany myself into town, Casper,” he says when Casper asks if he could join him on the way down. Balor’s got that stiff, wooden look about him that Casper’s pegged as his ‘worried and trying to hide it’ face. “Indeed,” Balor sighs, “it would be best if we were not seen together, lest one observe our association.”

     Casper can’t disagree. He's well aware of the state of affairs between the manor and the town, yet he’s loath to be left behind, alone with Myr. “I don’t mean the whole way down.” He’s not stupid. “Just… part ways. You know. To keep company.”

     Regardless, Balor says no and Casper doubts he can get away with tailing him through the underbrush. The old man’s too canny for it. Casper’s tried to get the drop on him for a change on several occasions: the glasshouse, the manor halls, outside on the grounds. No success. Balor doesn’t so much as turn his head. With little more ceremony than “Good afternoon, Casper,” he’s been caught. That’d be attempt number five.

     “You sure you don’t got eyes in the back of your head?” Can’t see how else he’s doing it.

     “I am quite certain,” Balor chuckles.

     Casper chalks it up to magics and leaves it at that. Doesn’t stop him from trying, however. Gives him a sense of challenge he doesn’t get now that he’s not pickpocketing anymore; the boys’ brigade in town doesn’t count since they’re too easy to ambush. Davis has told him not to do it time and time again while Lard-ass hiding behind him looks like he’s about to have a conniption because of it. Casper overhears him trying to convince big brother Davis to ditch him. Apparently, Casper scares him.

     “Who? Him?” Davis asks astonished. “He’s half your size! What in blazes are you scared of?”

     It’s not just him though. The others who witnessed the fight stay similarly at arms length. The veil of silence is testimony unto itself. Good thing no one’s listening. Davis invites Casper to come along with the brigade and Casper considers himself informally enlisted. Reservations of Lard-ass and crew aside, Casper fits right in. The adults no longer pay him mind now that they see the usual sprightly group instead of the one sore thumb sticking out. And, though Casper will never admit it, he likes the company.

     He gets lonely on the hill.

     It won't matter for much longer. He’ll be leaving soon enough, he thinks. Too soon to receive an official title. He’ll tag along for the ride as long as he can, but he expects to be handing in his official notice in the near future.

     As it turns out, Davis’ generosity aside, there’s another reason for the adults suddenly paying him no heed.

     Casper falls to the back of the brigade squadron with Curly, Harry, Paulie, and the rest of the privates, the littlest ones of the group and of the lowest rank. It’s hard to keep up with everyone else on their short legs, hence them getting left behind, but the distance allows Casper to catch up discretely with his little spies. Curly’s got another juicy tidbit for him.

     “Auntie Martha’s said to keep an eye on you.”

     “That’s old news Curly.” There were a few gentlemen down at the pub that pulled him aside and told him as much once upon a time.

     “Nuh-uh. She was sayin’ you was in trouble a-fore, now she sayin’ you is trouble.”

     Casper freezes at that. “That right?”

     “Yuh-huh.”

     “She- she- the grown-ups say the same thing for strange folk too,” Paulie adds.

     “The same fellas who’re goin’ over to Smith’s place?”

     Right again. Casper’s gone and done it this time. He was told not to be hanging around Smith’s place and now he’s been pegged as the wrong sort of company. (Don’t think he hasn’t noticed Martha watching him from behind the store windows as he lags behind with the little ones.) Just then, Davis checks back to see if they, or rather, if Casper is still following. Waits up on them too, makes sure they’re close by. People are getting creative in how to keep tabs on him.

     “What’d you do?” Harry hisses at him now that they’re within earshot of everybody.

     Casper tries to brush it off. “Oh, I dunno. Sounds like she’s makin’ somethin’ outta nuthin’ to me.”

     Harry’s not pleased with that and Casper recognises the early signs of a gripe-fest when he sees them. Harry’s a damn bulldog once he has a bone to pick, never you mind if it’s his or someone else’s. “No way! Auntie Martha’s real nice. She wouldn’t do nuthin’ bad.”

     Casper knows how nice she can be; he took that sweet bun of hers after all. “For the road,” she said. Except he didn’t disappear like would’ve been best for everyone involved and now he’s seeing her crafty side. Figures the little guys don’t know any better. All they see are sweet buns. (Not that Casper’s any better.)

     “Maybe she’s got a problem with me sneaking you three stuff from the pub,” he suggests. Apparently, that’s an answer that fits into Harry’s world view because it settles him right down, no more questions asked.

     As for the other boys who’ve been eavesdropping since they caught up- “How’s it you can get in? You some kinda special?” Lard-ass grumbles from a safe distance of behind Davis. Jealous others chime in.

     Casper does little to extinguish the flames. “I’m special alright, payin’ customer as a matter of fact. What about you Lard-ass? You been sittin’ pretty on your haunches all day?”

     Lard-ass turns bright red and, loser or not, makes to charge him before Davis steps in between the two of them. “Cut it out! Both of you!” The group’s split to two sides, three if you count the bunch who’ll watch the chaos and won’t join themselves. There’s Casper and the young’uns he’s been smuggling food stuffs to, then there’s Lard-ass and his cronies. Davis is doing his damnedest to prevent a coup.

     It’s Casper who steps down. He could take them. Push Lard-ass down first and the rest won’t show any resistance after; they've proved themselves cowards already. But Casper also sees the passersby a block away and the noses poking out behind curtains, keeping tabs on the commotion. Then there’s Davis himself, keeper of the peace. Because it’s not the outcome of a fight that matters nearly so much as what comes after, Casper steps down.

     “What’s the matter with you?” Davis accuses them.

     Neither answers, both glaring holes into the other. If looks could kill… Lard-ass scoots a little closer in behind Davis, who shakes his head. “Jesus, you guys…” He leaves it at that and the two instigators know better than to press their luck further today.

     The brigade resumes its meandering march through the town, the fields, and the perimeter of no man’s land at the base of an all too notorious hill. Silent as a grave at first, then the usual chit-chat begins to stir and it’s business as usual again, the previous ills (almost) forgotten. Casper falls back behind the troop with the littluns, a few others without allegiance joining them too.

     “So. You’re allowed in the bar,” one of the newcomers comments.

     “That I am,” Casper grins smug.

     Casper close to doubles the number of his informants that very day. The only problem is that Alicia is getting fed up with him mooching extras when he comes around.

     “You want more? Again?” She shakes her head aghast. “How much are you gonna keep asking? I can’t keep handing out to you like this. We can’t afford it!”

     “I’m not askin’ for handouts. Put it on the tab if you want, it’s just a few rolls.” And a few more after that… and more still again.

     It’s obvious a line’s been drawn when Pa starts taking his orders instead of Alicia. Casper’s limited to one serving of whatever’s caught his fancy per day. Pa’s rules. Casper has to start auctioning off his gains to whoever brings in the juiciest bit of gossip, unfortunate news which isn’t met without its share of grumbling. Sure, the pub food’s good, but it’s not that good. Nonetheless, one should not underestimate the appeal that comes with a little taste of the forbidden. Complain as they may, they keep coming, his first three without fail and the others when they feel like they got a winning whopper.

     Casper goes from knowing next to nothing to becoming one of the most well-informed individuals in town, according to his own humble opinion of himself. Business has never been better.

END OF DAY TWENTY-ONE.

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     Day Twenty-Two - Afternoon to Evening ==>