Day Twenty-Six

  

     Casper finishes off the espinac with Balor’s blessings. The stuff’s about to go to seed, so it needs to be eaten soon. There’s the one crime Casper would be loath to commit: wasting perfectly good food. As for what counts as ‘perfectly good food’… It varies on the circumstance and range of alternatives, be it bitter greens or the days old bread rolls that’ve been sitting in his pockets. He had his reservations about using up the last bit of pub fare he’ll likely ever get, but it’s not like it was getting any fresher. He ate the last crumbs yesterday for dinner while Balor turned up his nose at them and stalked off muttering about getting him something decent to eat.

     Between a full meal yesterday and another this morning, Casper’s has the rare pleasure of being sated. The sheer amount of bare earth he’s left behind, however, is disconcerting.

     “We gonna plant anythin’ else now there’s room?” He asks.

     “There is no need,” his old devil replies offhand, plucking the tender greens of herbs that go into a witch’s brew. “Were we to sow the earth presently,” he explains, “our labour would not reach fruition until after your departure.”

     “Oh.” That puts a damper on things. And still, looking at the state of things as they are now, it certainly gives perspective on just how much Casper eats. The matrons’ complaints at St. Whichever about the boys eating them out of house and home become more than mere idle complaints. “You sure you got enough stuff to last yourself?” He hazards. Balor may not eat, but you never know. He had to have some reason for having a few plants already growing when Casper came here.

     “I shall be well regardless of the remainder Casper. You need not concern yourself on my behalf, though I thank you for your consideration,” he grins. The cheeky bugger.

     “I ain’t askin’ ‘cause ‘m worried or nuthin’!” Casper protests.

     “Is that so?” Balor grins wider. They banter at length, Balor teasing Casper, Casper squawking like an indignant rooster.

     “Just had to make sure I weren’t getting’ in your way, as it were. You know. With the… magics,” he finishes lamely.

     What exactly is he trying to say here? What’s the purpose? There is a purpose, isn’t there? Casper can’t recall.

     Balor considers him a beat, unreadable. They never did talk about magics before, did they? Not explicitly, at least. Casper sweats, fretting over whether he’s blundered headlong into the mother of all faux pas. Then Balor blinks and his demeanor softens. “I shall be well Casper. Come what may, all shall be well. I have a talent for outliving adversity.” He laughs at his own joke. “Take care of yourself Casper. You need not worry for an old man like me.” He says it like he’s joking, but the intonation is bittersweet.

     Eleven more days, reminds the countdown in Casper’s head.

     “’S not what I was askin’ you damned geezer,” Casper grumbles.

     “Language,” Balor retorts. And that’s that.

     The old man dithers here and there in the glasshouse, checking some of the plants and pruning where necessary. Casper’s hot on his heels the whole time, more for company and boredom than out of necessity. When Balor gets fed up with his pestering, he attempts to distract Casper with a spot of wholesome education. Pity Casper has never been a good student. Just ask any of his former schoolmistresses. They all called it quits by the week’s end. Now Balor gets to experience first hand how utterly annoying Casper can be when he’s in a mood for mischief. Any and all instruction goes into one ear and straight out the other. What started out as a tentative botany lesson devolves into playing chase around the planters. Balor’s ‘it’. Casper hasn’t had this much fun since the Brigade disbanded for the summer. He’s quick and clever with his feints and narrow dodges, his small size working in his favour for once. But he’s no match when the old man gets serious.

     It’s surprising how easy it is to forget Balor isn’t human, how slow it dawns on Casper that he may be crossing a line with his antics, how he may have pushed things too far. Then the devil rushes him, crosses the whole length of the glasshouse from one side to the other in the blink of an eye and Casper remembers. Too late. The devil’s already got a hold of him. Casper curls up as small as he can go, writhes uselessly to get away, waits until it tears him apart.

     But then it lets him go and Casper presses himself against the wall as far as he can, eyes wide, heart racing.

     “Casper…?”

     Casper blinks and realizes it’s just Balor. Nothing to be afraid of (right…?). Just his mind playing tricks on him again.

     “Are you with us Casper?” The old man’s looking at him strangely, waving a slow hand to try to catch his attention.

     Casper shakes himself out of it. He scrapes his hair out of his eyes with a trembling hand as he tries to center himself. He catches Balor stepping towards him and he flinches flat against the wall again. “D-don’t! Stay there! I just- I…” He’s losing it again. “Gimme a minute.”

     Balor surveys him closely, but he doesn’t come near. Doesn’t try to touch him. That’s good enough for Casper. He slumps to the floor before his legs turn to jelly and do it for him. Meanwhile, Balor backs off to another corner of the glasshouse, only to come back with Casper’s blanket. He folds it neatly, then places it on the ground several paces away from where Casper’s sitting. Casper stares at him, baffled. When the old man leaves the room, he scurries for the blanket and wraps himself up in it before returning to his corner. It won’t do anything for him should he be attacked, but the sense security it gives is a rare comfort these days, illusion or not.

     Balor comes back some minutes later with a steaming cup of bitter tea. Casper recognizes the smell as the same kind of concoction Balor gave him yesterday. The old man sets it down a few paces from him, not too far away, but not so close that Casper becomes skittish. “Drink it,” Balor prompts when Casper starts eyeing it with obvious distaste. “It shall help to calm your humors.”

     “Whatever happened to that chill?” Casper grumbles. He takes the cup anyways, sipping cautiously at it.

     “Yes, well- ahem. It serves that purpose as well.”

     Casper snickers into his drink. It’s not every day the old devil gets flustered.

     Balor attempts with varying degrees of subtlety to get Casper to consider getting help, if not from him then from someone. Casper, increasingly surly, turns him down, turns him away, and tunes him out entirely, much to Balor’s exasperation. This is Casper’s problem, not his, meaning it’s up to Casper what he does and doesn’t do about his issues. Issues that he is very happy to continue insisting don’t exist, thank you very much.

     The old devil may be older than the hills, but even his patience has its limits. Casper out-stubborns him and the subject is dropped in spite of Balor’s best efforts. Casper doesn’t much like to see him moping like this, so he compromises and resolves to drain his cup, no matter how bad it tastes. He grimaces around another mouthful. “The hell is in this stuff anyways?”

     “It is made with melissofion and khamaimelon.”

     “The fuck are those?”

     “Had you listened to me earlier, you would know.”

     Casper tuts and grumbles nothing distinct about maybe learning better if his lessons weren’t so goddamn boring, but the point’s already been scored. Touché, old man.

     The cup empties and things return to some semblance of normalcy (or what passes for it these days). Still feels stilted though, this atmosphere, now that they’ve picked up where they left off: a branch cut short, aborted before fruit was ever a possibility.

     Eleven more days, Casper sighs and his wheels spin and spin and spin. He tilts back till his head rests against the wall, watching the sun slowly slip by behind the clouds. “What’re you gonna do when I’m gone anyhow?”

     “I imagine I shall continue as I always have, as I always have been.” An easy answer, and one that is virtually meaningless. “What of yourself Casper?”

     He shrugs. “Dunno yet. Kinda puttin’ the cart in front of the horse to make plans before I’m out, yanno? Hell, I don’t even know where I’m gonna be next.” He’ll have to ask Smith next time they meet.

     Neither him nor Balor say a word about it for the rest of the day.

END OF DAY TWENTY-SIX.

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