Fawkes didn't sleep well.
It was too hot.
Her mother once told her that being hot while sleeping can induce bad dreams.
Fawkes had them in spades. It wasn't until morning, when the weather changed and got cooler that Fawkes finally got some rest.
She was woken by a circulation bell in the distance.
She was late!
She didn't seem to be missing much, she noted as she skidded through the gates a short time later. She'd practically flown to get there. "What's going on?" She asked. Cowboy, Racetrack and a handful of other guys were standing together.
"Hey Fox." Jack introduced her to a handful of the guys. "And this is Kid Blink," he gestured to a kid in his late teens with a worn eye patch. He seemed to be aptly named. "He runs with a crew Uptown. They jacked up the price up there it seems, so he came to try his luck here, only they've done the same here as well."
"How much?" Fawkes wanted to know.
A tenth of a cent. Sixty cents for a hundred papes.
"D'you buy 'em?" She asked.
"I don't have enough money as it is," Kid Blink responded sourly.
Fawkes looked around. Everybody looked pretty empty-handed. "Did anyone buy any?"
Their silence was answer enough.
"I can't afford it," said Boots, scuffing the shoes for which he was named.
Fawkes turned. The rest of the boys were nodding. Even Racetrack. This surprised her. He had two whole dollars. Sure, it wasn't enough to retire on, but Fawkes could make that much last her at least two months when times got tough.
Racetrack shrugged, knowing the question on her mind. "I lose more than I win most days. And I got things I need. New socks. New shoes..." He shrugged again, "You told me that you sell papes because you need the income. At sixty per hundred, with bad headlines like we been getting, how much can you really make?"
"What do you propose to do about it?" Fawkes wanted to know, crossing her arms.
"What can we do about it?" Kid Blink retorted.
"Well, one thing's for sure. If we don't sell papes, then nobody sells papes. Nobody comes through those gates until they put the price back to where it was!" Jack said after a suitable pause.
"What do you mean? Like a strike?" Kid Blink responded.
"Are you out of your mind?" Racetrack wanted to know.
"It's a good idea! You guys read the papes, same as me. We'll get people's attention, then they'll have to change the price back." Jack sounded optimistic.
Fawkes hoped, rather than believed, he was right. She had too much experience with adults, all of it bad. A strike would get attention, sure. But they weren't organized, they didn't belong to a union. Every newsie in the City identified with a different burough, and hell, even Manhattan had at least three different crews. "We're kids Jack," she told him. "No one'll take us seriously. We'll just be a bunch of angry kids with no money to them."
"What if we get every newsie in the City on board?" Jack replied, standing. "They can't ignore that."
"And how do we do that?" She wanted to know.
"Manhattan can't be the only place where this is happening, and it's probably not just the World. Other newsies aren't much better off than we are. They'll help if it means putting things back to the way they were..." he paused at the look on her face.
"Every strike—and union—" she added, "has flaws. Just look at the trolley workers," she pointed in the direction of the days headline.
"Well, that's another good idea," Jack nodded. "Any newsie don't join up with us, then we'll bust their heads." He looked at Fawkes for confirmation, "Just like the trolley workers."
Kids were starting to crowd them, overhearing the conversation. It was a combination of them and the man griping from behind the bars at the circulation counter that got them to gather out in the street.
Jack didn't waste any time. He jumped onto the statue in the center of the square and shouted to the crowd: "Pulitzer and Hearst and all them other rich fellas, they own this city. You gotta ask yourselves, can a bunch of street kids make a difference? This is our city too. We have to make them realize that, but one voice in this doesn't matter. I'm gonna need all of you if we're going to make this happen. Are we gonna let them know that we exist? Are we gonna take what they give us or are we gonna strike?"
"Strike!" Kid Blink shouted, and the rest of the newsies exploded into noise.
Jack talked a pretty good talk, about how the fat cats had to respect newsie rights, that the newsies were a union and they had to stick together like the trolley workers were doing.
"What's to stop somebody else from selling our papes?" A young kid wanted to know.
"Yeah, some of them don't hear so good!" Racetrack added.
"Well then, we'll soak 'em!"
Fawkes spoke up then. She wasn't against brawling, but it would hurt them, respectability-wise.
A gimp, Crutchy his name was, muttered, "Can't get any worse."
Fawkes couldn't help but grin. He had a point. They were the lowest of the low. It was half-expected, she supposed. It would help show the world they were serious.
Jack continued working the crowd into a frenzy until they took over chanting, "Strike! Strike! Strike!"
Jack tried to cut them off, he still had words to say. "We gotta find a way to get the word out to the newsies in other buroughs. Send some of those..." he looked to Fawkes.
"Ambassadors?" She guessed. It was the first word that came to mind.
"Yeah," Jack snapped his fingers and nodded. "We need some ambassadors to tell the other newsies what we're planning."
The kids immediately volunteered to spread the word. Harlem, Uptown, Downtown, the Battery, the Bronx, Queens. There was a pause, and Fawkes was keenly aware of the burough that remained.
"Alright, what about Brooklyn." No takers. "Spot Conlon's territory." Jack eyed the, now silent, crowd, "What's the matter, you all scared of Brooklyn?"
"We ain't scared of Brooklyn," some boy shouted back. "It's just-Spot Conlon makes us a little nervous."
"Well, he don't make me nervous," Jack said. "So me-" he searched the crowd for a friendly face, "and Fox'll go to Brooklyn."
Fawkes's eyes widened. She wasn't scared of Brooklyn, but she also didn't have a death wish.
"Don't you gotta give our demands to Pulitzer?" Racetrack said.
Jack looked between the pair of them. Fawkes shrugged. He was right. How was Pulitzer going to know what they were planning on if they didn't?
When Jack started towards her, Fawkes shook her head. There was no way in hell she was going there. He took Boots with him instead, thinking maybe that the youth would soften him up.
Fawkes was busy thinking about what she'd say to Cowboy when he got out that she didn't see a man coming up to her until it was too late.
"What's going on here?" He wanted to know.
Fawkes didn't have very good experience with grownups. And strangers sneaking up on her had never ended well.
It was clear that they were striking by the newsies milling about, still shouting "Strike! Strike! Strike!" In the direction of the New York World building.
She, however, did not want to get in trouble for starting or instigating it. She was in enough trouble as it was.
She nodded towards the boys chanting skywards, "Striking. The Newsboys are on strike."
"Huh," was the man's response, and he offered out his hand. "I'm Bryan Denton with the New York Sun. I saw you in the thick of things earlier. What's your name?"
Fawkes looked around her before responding.
"Fawkes, huh? As in Remember, remember the fifth of November?"
Fawkes nodded, allowing a small grin, "The gunpowder, treason, and plot."
"I see no reason why gunpowder or treason, should ever be forgot," Denton smiled as well. "Do you really think Pulitzer's going to listen to you?"
"Until I can get my hands on some gunpowder, a strike is the best we can do," Fawkes shrugged.
Just then, Jack got thrown out of the World building, shouting obscenities at the man doing the throwing.
Fawkes just wanted to fade into the background, but then Denton asked Jack to lunch, and Cowboy dragged her along.
"You are aware that you're going up against the most powerful man in NewYork City," Denton told them.
"He's one man, but we've got all the newsies in New York on our side," Jack replied. It was too confident a boast. They hadn't been to Brooklyn yet, and they didn't know how the other guys had fared in their respective missions."
"It's like this, Mister," Fawkes started, "Pulitzer's a man. Simple as that. He wants more money. We all do. He's asking for it from people who do the most for him, and yet, have the least. We're the reason he makes a profit in this town. Without us, sales will plummet. It'll take him awhile to realize this of course, because he's used to getting his own way, but in due course, we'll negotiate something worthwhile."
"Can I quote you on that?"
"As long as you don't make it sound like he's going to fold tomorrow. Then he'll hold out longer just to spite us," Fawkes made a face and Denton grinned.
"Do you really think we're worth writing about?" Jack asked.
"I think everyone is, given they find the right reason to get written about. You kids are trying to change the world. That's big. Kids, newsies, trying to get on an even keel with the people who have all the money and power in this city. I think that as long as you stick to your guns, fight for what you want and don't give up, you'll turn heads. That's worth writing about. People love inspirational stories. You're living one."
After the kids had eaten their fill, Denton told them he had to get back to the office and start typing the story up.