Day Twenty-Two - Afternoon and Evening

     Something strange is starting. A certain restlessness amongst the locals, a certain malaise in the air. Hard to put a finger on what, exactly, is causing it or where it’s coming from, but there’s definitely something afoot. Chances are second to none this was what Curly was referring to about a week back, something about the trouble that goes on in the summer. Well, wouldn’t you know it, the air is getting noticeably warmer, summer just around corner, and now no one lingers on the streets like they used to. People take their conversations inside with them, warry of new the faces in the streets. They keep vigil on Smith’s out of town associates, much like they did when Casper was their person of interest.

     Needless to say, something’s going on, but it’s happening in places Casper isn’t privy too, places he can’t pry into. Not without attracting a lot of attention, that is. He’s getting very, very curious about the whole thing and that doesn’t bode well for him. He knows all too well from past experience what a dangerous thing curiosity can be, but sometimes he can’t help himself. What he can do is be sneaky about his snooping so he’s not as likely to get caught. That’s what his spies are for.

     Davis rounds them all up before they split for the end of the day this time. That’s never happened before, and certainly not this early. Apparently, he has a big announcement to make. Odds are second to none, in Casper’s reckoning, this has everything to do with whatever it is that’s going on. His bet is dead-on.

     “Right, so, as you all know, it’s that time of year again, which means we have to disband for awhile until everything settles down.” There’s much whining and complaining among the ranks, least of which is coming from Casper who’s standing there in stunned silence. He’s going to have a much harder time going around town without the camouflage the group provides. “I know, I know,” Davis mollifies the unhappy crowd, “we have to stay put until everything’s over and that’s no fun, but that’s the way it goes. You know the drill. Those of you out in the fields don’t got a whole lot to worry about. Those of you in town however, well… it goes without saying you’ll be staying put for awhile.” More protests from the crowd. “What’re you lot griping at me for? I’m not the one to blame here!” No, however he is a convenient target and, therefore, the next best thing. Seeing that the crowd can’t be placated, Davis shakes his head and makes haste to wrap up his speech. The last few points boil down to common sense advise: don’t look for trouble, don’t be out at night, stay away from the strangers in their midst, keep off the streets as much as possible, and, whatever you do, keep away from the witch man and his devil.

     Given that Casper’s already gone against most, if not all, of what Davis suggests, there’s not much point in listening to him now. It’s a lost cause really. No point in salvaging the situation; there are some things that can’t be fixed no matter how hard you try. Casper’s precarious situation in Glenholm just so happens to be one of those things.

     Meeting adjourned, Davis formally dismisses the Brigade, then goes off on his own way, Lard-ass tailing after. If there’s one thing Casper won’t miss, it’s having to stare at Lard-ass’ ugly mug day in, day out. Given the parting glare Lard-ass gives him, the feeling is mutual.

     That bit of nonsense having been dealt with, Casper wastes no time letting his little helpers know he wants to hear the latest before they all go their separate ways.

     Now here’s a thought: with the Brigade disbanding, Casper’s effectively lost his information network too. Who knows when they’ll see each other again? Will he be gone before the Brigade reconvenes? It’s sobering to think this could very well be the last time Casper sees these friendly faces. Better enjoy it while it lasts, better make use of them while he can.

     He’ll be alone again soon.

     They shuffle off to their usual meeting place at the edge of no man’s land, right where the fence around Farin’s orchard is broken. The others chat and jest in an easy ebb and flow around him. For all intents and purposes, it should be another day like any other, but Casper finds himself more subdued than usual. He keeps going over what he should say today, as if it deserves something special, except there’s no real need for it… Is there? Davis did, didn’t he? He had a big-ass, long-winded speech prepared and everything. Why shouldn’t Casper do the same?

     Someone coughs pointedly. Casper looks among the group to see who, only to find they’ve been waiting on him. Waiting awhile on him too, from the looks of things. He’s been caught spacing out again. Well that’s embarrassing.

     Best get started then. Casper makes a show of clearing his throat before he begins to make sure all wandering eyes are on him. “I really ‘preciate the lot of yous comin’ to be here today, what with it being the last day an’ all-“

     “Last day of what?” Some smart ass has the gall to ask.

     That’s got Casper stumped. “I dunno? Last day we meet before we split for the season?” It’s less suspicious than saying ‘before we part ways, never to see each other again’. At any rate, it satisfies the crew’s curiosity. “Anyhow, I thought we could do somethin’ a little different this time.”

     “You meaning to tell us you’re not giving us nothing no more this time?” The heckler pipes up again.

     Casper levels him with a dirty look, wondering if he’s seen him as part of Lard-ass’ ensemble. Thinking of an excuse to kick him out. “Maybe if you’d let me say what it is I’ve got to say instead of buttin’ in every five seconds, you’d know already?” The heckler isn’t happy, but he backs down. “You see, there’s somethin’ I gotta know,” Casper explains, “meanin’ the bloke to tell me the most of what I wanna hear gets today’s prize… Any questions?”

     Just the one: “What you wanna know?” Asks Curly, always eager to please. Casper grins at him. This here is why lil’ Curly’s his favourite (not he’d ever tell anyone).

     Casper pauses for a beat for effect because he’s dramatic like that. “What can you tell about Smith?”

     He’s surprised them. The question’s caught them off guard. Makes sense really. This is the first time he’s ever asked them about anything specifically, not to mention Smith is as touchy a subject as the witch man himself. Maybe Casper should’ve thought this through a bit more before he asked. His informers look amongst themselves, nerverackingly silent for a second longer than Casper would like.

     Then the deluge begins and Casper finds himself on the receiving end of a whole slew of conspiracy theories. That they keep talking over each other doesn’t help. “One at a time!” Casper bellows. “Would it kill you lot to take turns?” Is this what Davis has to put up with all the time? Poor guy.

     Casper somehow manages to wrangle them into some semblance of order, give or take a few spontaneous shouting matches. “Would it kill yous if you don’t start a riot every time you got somethin’ to say? Holy shit, you guys.” The mock indignation to follow is par for course by now and Casper knows to wait it out. “Right. So, how ‘bout we start from the top? Curly, you go first.”

     “Why does Curly get to go first?” Harry complains. “He always goes first!”

     Some of those present find the little guy’s outburst amusing, others egg him on. A recipe for trouble to be sure, meaning Casper has to nip it in the bud. He’s the one in charge here after all.

     “Curly goes first ‘cause he asked first. That an’ ‘cause I say he goes, so there.” Harry pouts, clearly unhappy with the situation, which is par for course really. At any rate, Casper doesn’t deign to explain himself further. “Curly.” A messy bob of curls snap to attention at Casper’s call. “The floor’s all yours. Go for it.”

     “Uh- Umm. Well. Smith’s this old guy in a suit… an’- an’ sometimes the witch man sees him sometimes. An’, uhh…, an’…”

     “What? That’s it?” Way to state the obvious, Curly. It’s nothing Casper didn’t know already.

     Curly goes bright red and hides his face in his hands. That was, indeed, all he’s got. Well then. Maybe going with Curly first was a bad idea.

     “Anyone got anything more?” Casper tries.

     “I’ll tell you!” Harry promises, “I’ll tell you everything!”

     The elder members of Casper’s spies (which isn’t saying much seeing as they’re all still at least a year younger than Casper) jest among themselves at the sight of Harry’s bravado and settle in for the show.

     Truth be told, Casper would be doing the same thing, right along side them, if he were standing where they are. Sadly, he is not. He brought down the wrath of Harry onto himself, now he has to deal with it. “Go right ahead short fuse.” Casper doesn’t expect much from it, but it’s more preferable to let Harry vent now and move on than letting him stew and waiting for him to explode later on.

     “Smith is a big ol’ bad guy with, like, tons of gold that he keeps locked in a safe an’ he got it all ‘cause he sold his soul to the devil an’ we all know that ‘cause he came when the witch man an’ the devil came, so they gotta be workin’ together, and-“ Harry pauses to take a breath because, as if that wasn’t enough, he’s got even more to say. “And it’s all his fault everything’s stuck this way ‘cause if it weren’t for him around, we could call for help… or something.” And, with that, he’s done.

     It takes Casper a long second to unpackage it all. “Sold his soul, you say…?”  Because that’s what catches his attention out of everything said and how would that even work? Balor’s the witch, not the devil. (Plain as the horns on his head, but that’s something you’d rather ignore.) “Shut up!” Casper snaps.

     They shut up alright, despite the fact that they were explaining like Casper wanted, like he asked them to. The edge in his tone has too much in common with a loaded gun, a trigger shy from going off. Impossible to ignore. They’re staring at him.

     “I…” Good luck trying to explain this one. I said, shut up! “I wasn’t talking to you,” Casper explains, like that’s supposed to be better. “What about the whole ‘gettin’ help’ bit? What’s up with that?”

     Thankfully someone else steps up to the job, because Casper really doesn’t want to hear a peep from Harry right now. “Smith’s pretty much runs the post office. It’s his second business and nothing goes in or out without his say so.” Again, nothing new to Casper.

     “We haven’t been able to get a letter sent around here for years, unless it were an accident!” Someone else adds. “You’d think he’d’ve at least bothered to get someone scary lookin’ to man the shop so nobody’d be tempted to try, but that idiot he’s put there instead is just as bad.”

     Ah yes, the druggie. How could Casper possibly forget? He’s been avoiding him like the plague after all. With that idiot at the desk, it’s no surprise nothing gets through. And even if something did get by him, accident or not, it sure as hell wouldn’t get past Smith. He’s too meticulous for it. Casper’s lucky that telegram letter didn’t get passed off like he’d hoped it would. Or, if it did, that Smith didn’t put two and two together and figure out it was him that sent off what may as well have been a message in a bottle.

     It’s a sure bet Smith’s handling Glenholm’s imports as well as the exports, what with communication being a two-way street. Plus, Smith has to be getting his money from somewhere and minted bills sure as hell aren’t a local product. That in mind, the eyeballs in the back of the post office are almost certainly his doing too, likely some ingredient for the witch man’s brews. But Casper’s not going to think anymore on that because, quite frankly, it still creeps him the hell out.

     This has all been very revealing to be sure, but it’s not quite what Casper’s looking for. “What about the blokes that’re comin’ ‘round to town all the time? What do you got ‘bout them?”

     A whole lot of nothing is what. Nothing about who they are, nothing about their movements, nothing about where they come from, what they’re doing here, where they go when they leave. Nothing. It’s like they haven’t been casing the situation out like they’re supposed to. Then again, Davis did say they’re supposed to stay away from the strangers in town. Casper’s authority has been cleanly usurped. The most his amateur spies can tell him is that the strangers are working for Smith to do… something. Somehow. It doesn’t get much clearer than that.

     Casper’s had it up to here with them. He tosses Harry the latest dinner roll snatched from the pub (Alicia doesn’t give him anything anymore) just to stop his whining and dismisses the rest. He watches Curly and Harry quarrel over Harry’ prize, Paulie tagging along like a third wheel, as everyone makes their way back to town, to home. They could be going anywhere really, just not the same place he is.

     Like it or not, there’s somethings he has to do (by) himself. Finding out more about what Smith is up to is one of those things.

     Casper goes home too, for lack of anything better to do.

     Balor raises a brow at his early arrival and sullen mood, but greets him as usual… Until he tires of Casper’s continued moping and decides to do something about it. “What has you so melancholy, Casper?”

     “I dunno what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, old man.” He’s not lying. He’s never heard the word ‘melancholy’ in his life and never expects to hear it ever again. Normal people just don’t talk like that.

     Balor rolls his eyes at him. “What I mean to say is this: you are obviously in a poor mood and I do wonder why that is.”

     Casper gives a noncommittal hum at that.

     “… Do you wish to talk about it?”

     “Not really.” Casper expects Balor to push him on it, but he doesn’t. The old man’s patient like that. Then again, Balor would have to be, having lived as long as he has. It pays off too, seeing as Casper brings up the subject himself over dinner, albeit in a round about way. “Hey, Balor?”

     “Yes?”

     “You ever got angry ‘cause things weren’t goin’ your way?”

     Balor considers him a good while. “Very often, yes.”

     “Really?” Because Casper doesn’t believe a word of it. Balor’s always so calm, so put together in front of him.

     “Yes, really, Casper. Simply because one does not act upon their anger does not mean one does not experience it.”

     That’s caught his interest. “Then what do you do instead? To fix things?”

     “That would depend.” Balor closes his eyes and inclines his head. Thinking. “To which are you referring to as ‘fixing’ matters? Ensuring matters progress as you would see fit or repairing that which you had damaged out of spite?” Balor pins him with a knowing look and Casper can’t help the guilty feeling that wells up in him because of it.

     Casper fixes his eyes onto the golden flames in the stove box, away from Balor. “What’s the difference?” He asks.

     “Well… The first means moving forward regardless of the damage incurred, whereas the latter means to perform an appropriate reparation, most often in the form of an apology.”

     “Why should I apologize? I didn’t do nuthin’ wrong.”

     “You would know better than I, Casper,” Balor hums. “I do not know what has transpired, though I do know it has perturbed you.”

     Casper can’t argue against that. “Well, what do you think is better? To do, I mean.”

     “I do not know Casper. Truthfully, it would depend on what has occurred.”

     “So you can’t help me then,” Casper sighs, thunking his head on the table top, hiding his face in his arms for good measure.

     “I never said that, Casper.”

     “Sure you didn’t.”

     “What I am saying is that I cannot help you if I do not know what has happened! Talk to me. Tell me what troubles you and perhaps, together, a solution may be found.”

     “Maybe…” Casper’s not convinced. That, and he generally tries not to incriminate himself, if at all possible. He shifts so he can peer at Balor over the crook of his elbow. “What if there ain’t nuthin’ you can do ‘bout it?”

     That gives Balor pause. “If there is truly nothing more to be done,” he answers, “then one endures; it is the only option available… I hope you do not find yourself in a comparable situation, Casper,” Balor gives him a sad, faint smile, “it is… most unpleasant.” All at once, he seems to have aged years; he looks so very tired.

     “Yeah, well… It happens,” Casper mutters. He’s sorry he asked.

     …Endure, eh? It’s fair advice, but the prospect of sitting around waiting for things to happen to him doesn’t much appeal to Casper. Better to take a proactive approach, in his opinion. Better to take control of the situation where he’s able. Besides, there’s still something he can do. He’s not against a wall yet.

     That settles it then. Tomorrow, he’ll be going after Smith.

END OF DAY TWENTY-TWO.

<== Days Seventeen to Twenty-One    ==> Table of Contents <==
      Day Twenty-Three - Morning & Midday ==>