The Demon Boy

Day Two - Evening

    The boy finishes his job without further incident. A generous bowl of goulash is served, as promised. The boy gives his thanks for the food. The barmaid gives her thanks for his help. It's the closest thing to grace this meal will have. The boy plops down at the counter to chow down and hard silver jabs his ribs.

     "Ow." He didn't mean to say it. He swears it came out of his mouth on its own.

     Now the barmaid's hot and bothered and asking more questions. "Are you alright?"

     He's flattered, but this isn't a good time. "Yeah, I'm fine, great actually. It's a splinter is all."

     "From wiping the tables?"

     The boy nods. Another lie. He's got splinters, that part's true, but they're from that stupid window. Though he cursed them then, he blesses them enough for a benediction now that they fortify his deception into something substantial enough to believe. The barmaid certainly begins to when he shows his pierced palms.

     "Jesus, kid. How hard did you rub?" She turns to the kitchen and shouts. "Hey, Gerry! Get your pa in tomorrow to sand down the tables this week. Kid's got splinters like a pincushion's got needles."

    "Awright!"

     The barmaid faces the boy again. "Gimme your hand. I'll take them out for you."

     The boy looks longingly at his steaming bowl.

     The barmaid gets the hint. "You only need the one hand to use a spoon, silly. You eat, I'll tend to your hand."

     The boy agrees. One hand goes to the lady, to his goulash goes the other.

     The barmaid chatters as he's dining. "You know, I don't think I ever got your name. It's John, right?"

     The boy freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth. God does he hate that name. "I'm not John." He catches her rattled expression right before he returns to his soup.

    The barmaid is quiet for a time. Her hands don't move an inch. Gerry clatters in the kitchen as he sets out dinnerware. The boy slurps his goulash. Nothing else makes a sound. Eventually, the barmaid thinks of something else to say, something witty to recover from the silence. "Well then... what is your name, 'not-John'?"

     The boy pauses once more. It's a contemplative pause, not a prickly one. What indeed... "Just 'boy' is fine." It's what he's been called for most his life. "But you can call me anythin' so long it ain't late for dinner. Or John." He looks up again and cracks a small grin.

    The barmaid gives him a baffled smile. "You must be the strangest boy I've ever met 'Boy.'"

     The boy shrugs and goes back to making dents in the contents of his bowl. The barmaid returns to picking wood out of his palm.

     "Well, nice to meet you Boy. My name is Alicia."

     The boy sets aside his spoon and studies the bowl's naked bottom for some hint about what he should say. He vaguely recalls the manners the sisters tried to drill into him. He squares his shoulders, makes eye contact, and recites what he was taught. "Hullo Alicia. Nice to meet you." He'd even give her his hand to shake if she didn't already have it.

     Alicia grins. She shakes the boy's hand as much as she's able without pressing on his sores. With that, the boy makes his first friend in Glenholm.

     Alicia looks back to his hand. (She's still beaming.) "I think that's as many as I can get out of this one. Give me your other hand."

     The boy obliges without hesitation. A full belly puts him in a trusting mood. Because Alicia went out of her way to give him a hot meal, he will trust her for as long as she'll have him around. He has to pivot on his stool so he faces her to be able to do as she asks. At this proximity the lumps in his pockets are exposed under no skein of uncertainty. Alicia's gaze flicks over his hand and fixes on those same conspicuous places.

     He's been anticipating the question for a long time. He rapidly calculates and recalculates how much he trusts this young woman.

     "What's that in your pockets?"

     A moment of truth? Or more lies? Perhaps he needn't do either. His first line of defence is deflection. "'S a long story."

     "Okay... Can I see what you've got?"

     "It's nothing."

     "... Fine. Suit yourself."

     She pinches him harder than need be in plucking his palm. He pretends not to notice. The deception is for her sake too. Wherever dubious goods are concerned, the less people in the know, the safer it is for everyone involved. He doesn't want her involved. She's too nice. He'd rather bear her grievances quietly like a good boy than bring her trouble, even if that's what she asks for.

     When she's tired of trying and failing to get a reaction out of him, to spur on some confession, she him out of the building, claiming that the early birds will be coming in soon. He doesn't ask to stay longer. She did say he had to be out before opening and he'd rather not push his luck. Goodness knows he's used enough of the stuff for one day. There is, however, one thing he'd like to try before he leaves.

     "Can I come again tomorrow?"

     The barmaid gives him a look. He knows the kind. It's the 'what are you trying to pull this time' look. "You planning on becoming a regular?"

     "I'd like to work again sometime." The boy holds his breath. He doesn't know how she'll react, doesn't know what she'll say.

     Her brows shoot halfway to her hairline, like when she went all quiet after she called him John, after he snapped at her. It seems like this is her thinking face. The clever deduction gives the boy some satisfaction, but his anxiety smothers it. Alicia still hasn't said anything.

    She can't leave him in suspense forever. She has to say something eventually. "Why do you need a job? You're a little young to need pay. Shouldn't you be helping your ma and..." She stops there.

    "I don't have a ma or pa."

     "But you've got an uncle... Right?"

     The boy looks away. He doesn't want to say a word about him, so he doesn't. He just shrugs, leaving Alicia's imagination to fill in the blanks.

     She's quiet again, chewing on her lip as she picks her next words. "If you want pay, I'm gonna have to speak with my pa about a job..."

     "Just soup's fine." The soup was more than fine, it was the best thing he's ever eaten. So good. But he keeps that to himself, lest the lady decide to haggle working hours. "I don't ask for much. Something to eat now and again will do."

     She has the same look about her now as the one she had when he came in. "Are you needing board too?" Her voice is soft.

     As unpleasant as living with his uncle is, it's not unbearable. He'll be okay as long as he avoids the other residents in the gloomy, old house. It shouldn't be too hard. He didn't see either of them this morning and they won't see him either if he keeps his wits about himself. Plus, it's really cool living in a big, old mansion.

     "I got a roof over my head." His tone is tinged by pride.

     "Just a hot meal then?"

     Those few words humble him. A beggar in a big house is still a beggar. He still needs charity to eat, so he nods.

     "Okay... Okay..." Alicia's eyes flicker between fixed spots in empty space as she works out how far her generosity can go. She comes to a decision. "I can do that. Come and talk to me when you need a bit of bread and we'll work something out, you and me."

     He starts salivating at the thought of bread. Sure, he just ate, but it's never enough. He's always hungry. He promises he'll be here at midday sharp. He's already impatient for tomorrow.

     Alicia shakes her head, part amused, part grieved. She says that won't be necessary. Afternoon is fine. Thus, the boy has a career, a proper one too. No more thieving (if he can help it). No more getting prodded by silver contraband. Ain't life grand? He skips his way to the hill, to the place he reluctantly calls home. Alicia watches him go. She isn't smiling.