Bad dreams tonight. Casper's back in the workhouse. Old scars ache and bleed fresh as the day he got them. The foreman has Myr's face. Casper wakes up screaming with another kick to the ribs.
Myr isn't standing over him. He's nowhere to be found in fact. Neither's the foreman. Just a bad dream, the kind that comes from bad memories. Casper sits up, gets his bearings while he's shaking off the nightmare. He'd rolled over onto his bruised ribs sometime during the night; the pain woke him up, not Myr. He's fine. He isn't bleeding. He's safe. Just a dream.
His breathing slows. He closes his eyes, but knows good sleep won't be coming for him when he sees the workhouse doors behind his eyelids. He's staring at the inside of the gates. The walls are too tall to climb for a child so small. He opens his eyes and stares at the haze of the moon and stars through the glasshouse roof instead. He doesn't remember the stars ever shining so bright back in the city. Too much smog and smoke. Made the nights darker than black, impenetrable even to those like Casper who did their business in shadows. What happened on nights like those were the Ripper's business and his alone. Casper wasn't stupid or desperate enough to venture out on the darkest nights, even if he isn't the Ripper's type.
Glenholm has a different kind of darkness. It's not dark at all really, not if you know where to look for light. The moon is transparent. The night shines like glass. The stars are lanterns. Casper climbs a tree to its crown and finds he can see for miles in the not quite dark. And there! If he squints, if he looks over the edge of the horizon, he can see the gaslight of the quarter he grew up in, shining like a lighthouse. Home. It calls to him like a moth to flame. He steps off a bough and into the night. He either falls or flies.
Then Casper wakes up and it's morning. The moon's been replaced by the early sun. Casper's flat on his back, staring at the dawn through the roof. How long has he been laying there?
Best he make himself presentable before Balor arrives. Best he get his old nightmares tucked away where people won't find them. He scrubs the sleep from his eyes and washes his face with well water. If his reflection in the well pail is any indication, he doesn't look too awful. Balor finds him outside, looking at the sky's reflection in the water, daydreaming of stars brighter than he's ever seen and solid enough to walk on.
The old man clears his throat so Casper knows he's there before he comes close. "Are you feeling better today Casper?" Casper must be if he didn't do a runner first thing when he woke up. Or maybe he's gone mad and figured his life isn't worth the effort of another failed escape attempt. It's a coin toss. "I, ah, heard something in the night," Balor confesses, approaching him slowly. "I had feared that you were... unwell," he adds pointedly. It's not a question, but the way the old man's looking askance at him, it may as well be.
Seems like Casper didn't dream up everything last night. He goes a bit red. It's always embarrassing when he makes a fuss in the night; nobody quite looks him in the eye the morning after. "Stop lookin' at me like that," Casper snaps. "'M fine. I was sleepin' an' had a bad one. That's all what happened." He goes back to scrubbing at his face to hide from the humiliation of it all, then snaps to attention as the thought occurs to him: "Did Myr hear?"
"Goodness, no. The, ah, outburst was not such that men would be capable of hearing it through walls. You need not worry on that account, Casper; however..." Balor picks his words carefully. He knows full well he's broaching on a delicate topic. "Is what occurred last night a common event Casper?"
It used to be. Doesn't happen all that much these days, but there's some things you just can't shake, no matter how many years you put behind you. Casper would take that particular secret to the grave if he could. "It won't happen again," he says instead, "promise."
"That is not what I asked." The old devil's getting awful close now. Casper's eyes him warily, not sure where he's going with this, not sure if he's liking the way he's closing the distance. Balor simply sighs and ceases his advance. "If you find that you are having problems, Casper, I would be willing to help if that is what you wish."
"I said, I'm fine," Casper bristles. He's not, but he's not going to indebt himself to the old devil more than he needs to, more than he has already. The terrain's shifted and he doesn't know where he stands anymore. The old man's the same as ever, looks the same too, and yet his shadow doesn't lie either. Things are different now.
Balor doesn't much like Casper's answer. If anything, he's annoyed. But they're getting nowhere with this squabbling, so another item is added to the ever-growing list of 'Things They Don't Talk About'. "Smith gives his regards," Balor mentions to fill the lull.
Good for Smith. "He mention anythin' else?" Casper asks hopefully.
"Only a number of thinly veiled complaints of failings on my part in regards to your care," Balor grumbles. Casper cracks a small grin at that. Misery loves company. It's nice to hear he's not the only one Smith's been short-spoken with. "It is difficult to know what one should do with a singular situation such as yours, Casper. Have I been lacking?"
Casper knows the old devil's talking more to himself at this point. Doesn't stop him from talking back though. "You wouldn't happen to have some spare change layin' 'round, wouldya?"
An unprecedented answer, enough so to shake Balor out of his musings. "Smith did mention Myr has recently become preoccupied with monetary matters concerning yourself."
Who has the patience to go puzzling through that heaping mouthful? Not Casper first thing in the morning. "That a yes or a no?" He deadpans. "'Cause if not, I'm gonna need a Myr-proof bolthole to cozy up in for the next two weeks until I get outta here."
Balor winces. "Is it matter as serious as that?"
When is it not? "Would I be bringin' it up if it weren't?"
"No. No, you would not," Balor frowns. "I did hope that the preparations on my part would ultimately prove themselves unnecessary, however, it would seem now that such aspirations were not fated to come to pass."
Is the old man saying what Casper thinks he is? Because, if so... "You tellin' me you were plannin' for this the whole time?" Moreover, the old devil didn't say boo to him about any of it, perfectly content to let him sweat it out alone.
"I had anticipated the possibility of both Myr demanding the sum that he was promised by that official and of the failure of that sum to arrive," Balor explains. "I would not liken taking a likely precaution to conspiration on my part, however-"
"There's no time for that!" Casper bounds. "If you got the money, I gotta know now! Myr was this close to wringing my neck yesterday and the only thing stoppin' him was my sayin' his shit was comin' in today." He's getting too worked up over this. His voice breaks on the last word. He doesn't remember stepping away from the well pail, much less towards Balor, but he's standing toe to toe with the old devil now.
Balor looks down at him inscrutably. "All the more reason not to tarry, I take it?" He nods and Casper deflates as the tension drains out of him. "Follow me," he commands. In a daze, Casper does just that.
Alarm bells start ringing when they step into the house, start blaring when Casper figures out Balor's leading him upstairs where Myr sleeps. He stops short of the first step upwards.
Balor looks back at him quizzically. "What is the matter Casper?"
"I can't go up there," he hisses. "You can go wherever you damn well please, but I'm gonna wake the drunk up if I go up there."
"I very much doubt it."
Casper gives him an eyeroll. "You been hearing the floors lately? Not so much a problem with you as it is with me," he adds bitterly.
That gives Balor pause. "Will you be well by yourself Casper?"
"Just go already," Casper splutters. "I got shit to do too while I'm here."
Balor considers him a moment while Casper fidgets under his gaze. "Language," the old man sighs, then up the stairs he goes, quiet as a ghost.
Casper watches him a beat, still in quiet awe of him, much like the first time they met. The old man disappears upstairs and Casper makes himself scarce. He bee-lines it to his homely nest beneath a dining table. If he'd known how little time he'd actually spend here, he'd have set up camp in the glasshouse instead. He fishes out his knife from beneath a pillow, vowing never to leave it off his person if his life depended on it. And it could very well depend on the blade in his hand, should Myr change his mind, should he decide whatever odd amount Balor offers up isn't enough to satisfy.
Casper never should've let his knife out of his sight to begin with.
He scratches out a few more tally lines on the table before he leaves. His little calendar has grown as large as his head and it will grow larger still. Twelve more days to go.
He fishes around in the (deceased) servants' wardrobes until he finds himself a spare belt and sets himself to fashioning a holster for his knife from one of the belt holes.
Did Balor kill the people who served in this house too? The people who owned it? The people Casper sees in the sitting room pictures and in portraits along the halls? It dawns on him now that Balor never did give him a clear answer on that, or did he lie? He lied about being the witch man. What else would he lie to Casper about? How much has he lied already? Does Casper want to know?
And now Casper's practically entrusting his life to the very same demon who lied to him. Who feeds him. Who keeps an eye on him. Who killed the people who used to live here. Who offers to tend his wounds and help with his nightmares.
Casper slumps onto one of the bare beds in the abandoned bedroom. When did everything get so complicated? He knows about Balor now, but where does Myr fit into this mess? No matter how he puts the pieces together, nothing he comes up with makes sense. Does the drunk know what Balor is? He'd have to if they've been living under the same address for who knows how long, but then why does Balor put up with him, much less let Myr order him around? The drunk is unsufferable at best.
He finishes off his makeshift holster, tying up his washrag into a sheath with a little more force than was absolutely necessary. The knife fits into the slot he carved into the belt; the washrag keeps the bare metal edge off his skin when he straps on the ensemble under his too large shirt. Ragtag as it is, Casper feels better with a weapon on him. A proper knife beats the rag and glass shiv street rats like him would normally settle for. Better still, you wouldn't think he's armed going by the looks of him; when Myr comes for him, Casper will have the element of surprise. Goodness knows he'll need every advantage he can get.
Casper moseys back to the foot of the stairs only to find Balor waiting for him, familiar looking burlap sack in hand. Casper would bet his life it's filled to the brim with not-potatoes. "Izzat what I think it is?" He grins.
"It may well be," Balor chuckles. "Now come. I scarce know the value of your currency and I require, ah, assistance to choose a suitable amount."
Casper's grin grows wider still. He just about skips on the crafty devil's heels as Balor leads them to the kitchen table to split the funds. Casper has too much fun counting his bank notes, then recounting when he loses track or climbs to numbers so high, he doesn't have names for them. Balor lets him, making passing remarks on the numbers printed on the notes. Apparently he was expecting a different kind of number on them? Casper doesn't understand a word of it. Numbers are numbers, aren't they?
Casper asks him questions about numbers, then calendars, then how things were like in Rome and why they counted things so funny. Money gets shuffled and reshuffled into piles. Tongues wag and Casper has a feeling the old devil is a whole lot older than he had originally assumed, due in no little part to Balor's gossiping about Roman emperors as if their rule was only yesterday.
Casper never mentions issues like trust or that he knows Balor's little secret. Balor earned his trust many times over, what with the way the old devil keeps bailing him out folly after folly. If Balor wanted him dead, Casper would have been maggot food long ago. And yet, Casper's still here, not particularly well, but undoubtedly alive. There's a neat stack of notes in front of him that will ensure his continued survival in the days to come, money that came out of Balor's own pocket. Balor might not know how an English pound works, but Casper does.
For whatever godforsaken reason, the old devil likes Casper. He has to like him, otherwise, why would he be going through all this trouble to begin with? And if Balor still wants to play at being human, well Casper's got more sense than to spoil things for him. He wants to stay on the devil's good side after all. It's not like he has any better alternatives. Not like he has any real choice in the matter. And if he's growing soft on the old devil too, who's to blame him? It'll be just another one of Casper's secrets, something for him alone to know.
The money's left right outside Myr's bedroom door for his convenience. If the drunk stumbles into and subsequently knocks over the tidy stack Casper and Balor have kindly left for him, that's his own problem. The picture of Myr bumbling along on all fours, chasing scraps of paper across the floor is enough to put Casper in a good mood for the rest of the day. Balor seems reassured to see him in high spirits.
Sure enough, sometime into the afternoon, there's the sound of a door swinging open upstairs followed by lots of swearing. Casper giggles into his cup of disgustingly bitter tea Balor prepared for him and subsequently insists he drink. Something about "staving off the chill" or some such nonsense. It may be overcast, but it's hardly what Casper would consider as being cold. He goes along with it anyways, partly to humor the old devil, partly to weasel some delicious stories of Roman gladiators out of him. As for Myr throwing a fuss upstairs, it's the cherry on top of what's shaping up to be a lovely day.
Between his knife, his pending escape, and having things (more or less) sorted out with Myr, Casper sleeps better that night than he has all week. He's even sleeping in the house again.
END OF DAY TWENTY-FIVE.