The Demon Boy

Day Nine - Midday

     Casper makes good on the shortcut into the churchyard he found yesterday, ducking around a thick tree to check for onlookers and comically tiptoeing to hide behind the fence. He peers over. He must look awful suspicious, if there were anyone to see him sneaking about, poking his nose around corners. He feels plenty suspicious, what with his secret note that he has to deliver secretly to 'Mr. Smith' for Balor's secret plans to get him the hell outta here. Not that he's supposed to know what any of this nonsense means, oh no, he's just the messenger. Heaven forbid someone shoots him for something he doesn't know about; all the whispering in town behind the scenes is making him twitchy as is.

     He goes out of his way to skirt around the village over to the main road and makes a big show of stomping down the path as if he'd been coming from that direction. Hardly a soul is about, what with it being Sunday and mass not yet finished, but, rest assured, if there is someone peeking from behind the shutters, Casper will have fooled him. Hopefully this kind of diversion lies along the lines of what Balor meant by 'inno-key-us', because, if not, Casper has no idea what he's supposed to be doing.

     He strolls boldly into the market square, in plain view for blocks around, and settles in like he has every right to be there, regardless of how dangerously out of place he feels. He loiters for a great many minutes, grabs a quick drink from the local well since it's conveniently at hand. He peers over the water cupped in his hands, taking extra care to check for any tails he may have picked up along the way. There's nobody here, not even a flicker of movement from a curtain. It's eerie how much the townsfolk love their church. Casper's always seen more than a few vagrants out and about, roaming the streets every Sunday back in the city, but it seems there isn't a single person in Glenholm who doesn't go to church. Casper doesn't suppose Glenholm has a Jewish quarter, does it? No? Not surprising; it's too small a place for that sort of thing, but damn if Casper isn't left yearning for some company. It's about time he got going anyhow; he's wasted enough time reminiscing.

     He slips between buildings, zigzagging through backstreets until he comes up behind the bank. A quick canvass of the building shows that there's a small window, close to the ground that opens into Smith's office. How can he tell it's Smith's? He sees him slumped over in his chair snoring. Looks like Casper's not the only one who doesn't go to church.

     He taps on the window, lightly at first, then resorting to near rattling the glass out of its pane when all he gets in reply is a snore. Smith wakes and turns around so fast, his fat ass spills out onto the floor. Casper sniggers at the look on his face as he went down until Smith hoists himself into view; by then, Casper's schooled his expression into feigned innocence. It doesn't convince Smith one bit, but then it doesn't need to.

     "Letter for you sir," pipes Casper.

     Smith grunts noncommittally. "The old devil, I take it? What's he want now?"

     Casper shrugs as he passes the paper over. "Can't say. I'm just the messenger."

     Smith skims the letter over, frowning almost immediately. Casper watches him mouth parts of the phrasing. ...given the nature of... may become necessary... in due time... to that end... Smith snaps his gaze back to him. "He's talking about you, you know."

     "Who sir?"

     "Don't play fool with me, boy. You know who."

     Casper swallows. "I-I wouldn't know, what with not knowin' my letters an' all."

     "So, you wouldn't know anything because you can't read? " Smith squints.

      "All I got was a letter and instruction to get it to you and to be sneaky about it. That's all I know, I swear it."