2
Michael Banks had too many worries to fully appreciate the fine morning. It was still chilly; spring was slowly getting its green tendrils into the end of winter but had not fully taken root. The trees weren't even in blossom yet. But Michael's thoughts were far from the oncoming spring. He barely even noticed the flickering lamps, pale and lost in the morning light, and lit far past when Jack would normally have come to turn them down. His thoughts were on the notice nailed to his door, and his children and how he was failing them. Losing the house through his own absent-minded mismanagement would be disastrous, and unfair to the children whose family inheritance would soon be gone. But his own position was rather precarious as well.
There were four ways for a person to become a slave in England; the first was simply to be born to a slave. It was the most common method, in fact, despite certain obstacles; it was at once privately encouraged and publicly frowned upon for the slaves to mingle. One right a slave lacked was the right to marriage. The church viewed all births outside of wedlock to be sinful. Therefore, a pregnant slave was a sinful slave. But for the economy to run smoothly, new slaves had to be introduced at regular intervals or the entire taskforce would dwindle away and leave them all in ruin. So slaves were told to stay apart, and pregnant slaves were shamed…but also those women who did enter such a disgraceful and delicate situation were given improved accommodations for 'health' reasons, allowed the raising of the child up to four years of age, and often received lighter and easier duties after successfully raising said new slave. Slave men and slave women were given separate sleeping quarters within slave dormitories for the sake of upholding decency, but usually not locked in. And between where the men were dormed and where the women were dormed, at least in the public, government run slave quarters, there were several empty, private, and rather comfortable alcoves that allowed for meetups.
On the other hand, a free Citizen sleeping with a slave was considered perverted, and if caught it was the free Citizen who faced a heavy sentence that was, perhaps, unfairly weighted against men in that situation. A free man caught with a slave faced, at best, public shaming in the pillories and a heavy fine, at absolute worst could have their own free status stripped away. A free woman in the same position was less likely to face lawful punishment but just as likely to be publicly shamed. Unfair, perhaps, but at least for once the slaves were the ones being protected, even if the reason was less to do with acknowledging the power imbalance and likelihood of abuse and more to do with not wanting the confusing situation of a free Citizen's child being born into slavery.
So the second way to become a slave was by committing crimes, either too regularly, or too severe to be handled by pillory, fines, jail, or limited public service (also known as being a temp slave, except you retained most of your rights as a free citizen; just not the right to choose when and where you work). They had to be non-violent crimes; violent criminals went to jail. But non-violent criminals paid back to society through service. Jack had met a few such former free Citizens. They tended to be understandably bitter over the change in their fortunes, still considered other slaves beneath them, and often failed to follow the unspoken rules…at least at first. Slavery was a harsh taskmaster for those who rebelled. One could always tell the freshly turned, but those who had several years of it…most of them might as well have been slaves from birth.
The third and fourth way to become a slave, the way that currently most plagued Michael's worries, were basically the same method, except one gave the new slave more choice in the matter. Not a lot more choice; no one became a slave because their life was going well. But there was a bit of a difference between being sold into slavery and offering oneself into slavery.
Being sold happened more often than people liked to believe. People who were poor could at least take pride in the fact that they were free. Taking that freedom away from one's own children was not a choice society approved of. It still happened. It was, in fact, Jack's poor lot in life. He might as well have been born to a slave; he was only three when it happened and didn't really remember his life before. Sometimes it bothered him a bit, though. Handing over a newborn baby you couldn't handle, sure, regrettable but understandable. Waiting until the kid is three…Jack sometimes wondered what horrible thing had happened (what had been so horrible about Jack himself) that had his folks willing to hold on to him that long and then decide enough was enough and sell him away.
"Lost job," was what Angus said when Jack had an uncommonly truthful moment and shared that secret worry of his, after a couple of drinks (they were allowed drinks as a privilege, in part to keep them all docile and in part to have something to take away as a punishment that didn't involve the lash). "Lost husband. Lost something. Nothing to do with you. Bet it gutted them. Bet they regretted it every moment since."
Angus sounded utterly sure of this. Jack mostly didn't let alternatives to Angus's theory bother him but never fully let it go. Anyway, Angus finished that with, "Their loss is our gain," while throwing his arm around Jack's shoulder so it was hard to feel fully unwanted, not when he had friends.
Michael would never, could never sell any one of his children into slavery. Not because the law wouldn't allow it; it was fine with parents selling their children. It wasn't that long ago in English history that it would have been his right to sell his grown sister into slavery if he so chose, though that time, at least, had passed as free women slowly gained the same rights as free men. Children, though, were still fair game, considered the property of their parents until they reached their majority. He wouldn't, because he was a good father above all else and would do anything, any other option, first. But he could understand why it happened. Because sacrificing one child was better than having them all out in the streets to beg. Because those children so cast out into the world often became slaves in the end anyway; slavery was more or less England's version of an orphanage. Rich orphans went to homes where they were looked after and raised to be rich free Citizens. Penniless orphans became slaves. Better to give your child a sure, if limited and potentially painful future, and save your family, than lose all and have all your children as slaves anyway.
Michael didn't fear selling his children into slavery because he never would. He feared, however, that a choice would one day have to be made. Michael was not a criminal, was never likely to be put in jail…but there was no debtor's prison. Those who fell into debt could be forced to make the choice to sell someone to make up the debt; their children, which Michael would not do…or themself.
Michael could, if absolutely necessary, if it would be sure to save his children from the same fate, sell himself into slavery. He could choose that even without being forced to by the law. It would solve the problem of debt. His sister, who would still be a free Citizen, would inherit the house and raise his children in his stead. With a bit of luck, she might even be able to buy him. Not easily; a young man of his strength, and education, would be expensive. They'd likely have to sell Ellen, for tax reasons because a two-slave household was outside their bracket, not because she would give them enough to exchange for Michael. Actually, there'd be a bit of a loss there; they were given a small stipend for continuing to house a slave well past her prime. That wouldn't stop the difficulties with the tax bracket if Michael were also a slave.
And even if his own sister owned him, it was unlikely Michael would ever be a free citizen again. One can't simply free a slave, not even a slave one owned. It wasn't considered true ownership; more like a lease of the person's labors. All slaves were officially property of the Crown first, and the city they lived in second. There was a reason Jack's last name was 'London' and it was not because it was his surname. Slaves had no surnames. They had a first name, the name of their city, and a designated government number. Michael would no longer be a Banks. He would no longer even be Michael; one of the first things newly made slaves went through was a renaming as part of the process of stripping away their personhood. Jack was unlikely to ever find his original parents because he had no surname to go by and they had not even named him Jack. The City had done that.
Michael could sell himself into slavery, but it would be traumatic for all involved in his entire family and ultimately it was a last resort, only to be done if it came to the point where the Law insisted his debts be paid and it came down to himself or his children. He wasn't quite to the point of last resorts. His father had left him shares in the bank, for one; that was worth something. If he could only find the records. And there were other steps he could take short of outright slavery. Surely he had something of value left, even if he had to sell every stick of furniture, every last heirloom, all his best clothes. Surely.
So he had to worry about losing the house, losing his own freedom, losing his children's future. And his sister had thoughts about the entire institution of slavery. If he willingly went that route, she would be furious. For that matter, if he unwillingly went that route, she'd be furious. Not necessarily with Michael, but with the system itself that had led to it happening. And there's no knowing what she'd do in response. If she rebelled too seriously, she was in danger of losing her own freedom. And then what would happen to the children? Or poor old Ellen for that matter.
There was an element of shame in all of Michael's troubles as well. His father had managed to run a two-slave household while raising two children and allowing his wife enough idleness that she could help women obtain rights in her spare time, and he was never in real danger of losing it all.
Michael had lost his parents, and their slave Clara who acted as cook, to the Spanish flu. Suddenly Michael was the man of the house, for all he was the younger sibling. He was an artist at heart. But art didn't put food on the table or clothes on anyone's back. He still managed, while his wife was still alive and could supply a secondary income. A failing; his wife had to work when his mother hadn't ever had to. And his father never lost his wife, not while his children were still young and needing her, not until he lost himself as well. Michael knew, of course, that it was nothing he had done, or hadn't done, that had caused Kate to die well before her time. But she had died. And art did not provide the income he now needed.
Finding paying work at the bank he had avoided all his life did. He would do anything for his children, even give up his own dreams of an artist's life to work in the same dreary, cold building his father had drudged at. But he was bad at money, and doctors had cost, and funerals and grave plots cost, and he had taken a loan. And he wouldn't use a person as collateral even if Ellen had been accepted, which she wouldn't have been, being too old. And he hadn't been completely stupid and used himself. So the house it was. And grief was a hard thing to bear, and Michael had never been good at household economics in the first place. Another failing.
So now they were in danger of losing everything. And Michael's mind was already working feverishly towards worst case scenarios. Which, far from helping, was more likely to break Michael's health, and then where would they be? Another worry.
He had to find those shares.
Jack cycling up from the park did not actually improve Michael's state of mind much. Michael was friendly enough with Jack; Jack did jobs within the same bank where Michael worked and Michael was too well coached by his sister to look down on slaves as inferior human beings. But Jack was a reminder of the entire institution of slavery, which was not helping Michael's spiraling thoughts.
In some ways, it did help. If nothing else, it was a great help to Jack himself.
Jack was running late. Inevitable after first being taken aside during his round for a beating, and then having to deal with the painful result while still doing his job, but regrettable. His fate upon finishing late would largely depend firstly on how late, and secondly on which taskmaster was in charge that day. Some would be sympathetic, see the beads on his collar as punishment enough, and send him on with a warning. Some would be by the books and insist on at least one lash for punishment, or, if they felt uneasy applying a second corporal punishment so soon in the day after the first, a removal of a privilege. The absolute worst, like Jones who had a particular grudge against Jack, would likely revel in the excuse to apply the maximum allowed penalty. And it wouldn't surprise Jack if he did it with the same poor maths skills as the officer.
So Jack was in real danger of having a very bad morning indeed, no matter how he had consoled himself with 'the day can't get much worse from here'.
Michael smiled in a friendly, if slightly absent manner and waved as Jack approached his final lamps, and Jack waved back, mostly hiding the wince the movement induced. Michael certainly wasn't paying enough attention to notice, too caught up in his own worries. But then, as he walked to his car, intent on going to the bank, it did cross his mind to notice Jack about to turn in that direction himself.
"Oh, er…James?" called Michael, who, while a good man in many respects, did not have a head for names. And it wasn't done to do something like call a slave 'Mr. London' as if he were a free Citizen. 'Slave' or 'Boy' was accepted by society, but not in the Banks household.
"Jack, sir" Jack corrected with a grin, not in the least offended.
"Jack," Michael corrected himself, and then, "Would you like a ride to the bank?"
Jack would, very much indeed, as it could potentially save him a world of hurt. There was only one small issue.
"Is there room for the bike?" he asked, a bit doubtful. Michael had a small car. And the time it would take to find a way to, say, tie it to the top would end in them both being late anyway.
"If I can fit three children in the back I think we can manage one bicycle," Michael answered. Jack was still doubtful; it had been a rainy week and there was mud on the tires. But Michael didn't seem to mind much. Mud, quite honestly, was not at the top of Michael's list of things to mind. Jack still fretted enough as the bicycle was arranged that Michael felt the need to say, "That's nothing compared to the muck Georgie has brought in after a day paddling."
"He's the little one, right?" Jack asked, finally resuming his grin and getting into the only available seat after the bike was in, in the front. He wouldn't have dared otherwise.
"Oh…er…yes," Michael answered, slightly distracted because he had noticed for the first time the three beads on Jack's collar and was suddenly both aware of why Jack might have been so late turning down the lamps and that he might have a spot of difficulty in sitting, depending on the nature of how those beads were earned. He didn't think it polite to ask, though, just watched carefully in case Jack needed help as he settled himself into his seat. In honesty, it was only the seatbelt that gave any difficulty; it wasn't his seat that ached, but the twisting involved was not pleasant.
Jack didn't notice Michael's scrutiny, or if he did, he didn't comment, keeping up a cheerful patter about Michael's children. "I see the three of them in the park from time to time. Georgie looks a proper handful." He said that as if it were a point of pride and not a concern. "A right nice little family, with the older minding the younger so carefully." Michael tried not to wince and think on why that was so necessary for this particular family. "Seen them at the bank from time to time as well. Visiting you, I guess. I was sorry to hear about the missus."
Michael blinked a bit at that, honestly not expecting the comment. Jack glanced at him a bit askance, as if worried he'd said something wrong, and Michael was quick to say, "Thank you, Jack. That is kind of you to say."
Michael expected the drive to be rather awkward after that, but it turned out Jack was the sort of fellow to feel at ease no matter where he was. An odd behavior to associate with a slave who, by all rights, in the car of a free Citizen who was little more than a work acquaintance and could cause Jack a great deal of difficulty if annoyed, should have sat in nervous silence. Jack seemed very sure of Michael, though, and perhaps he did have reason.
"I remember a time when you and your sister went about that park together. As I recall, she took good care of you then, too."
"You remember that?" Michael asked, surprised. Of course, Jack looked about his own age, and as Jack could potentially have been a slave of London for the entirety of his life, he could easily have been doing jobs in the same neighborhood all his life too. For that matter, for all Michael knew Jack could have been born free and only fell on hard times later in life, and a London boy would very likely become a London slave. He didn't remember Jack as a boy at all, though of course he was now trying his best to do so. Was there a little dark haired slave boy about the neighborhood? He couldn't recall. His family was forward thinking, but not so forward thinking as to encourage that kind of friendship.
"I was Bert's apprentice for a while," Jack went on to explain. And of course Michael did remember Bert. Bert wasn't a slave, and being free there had been nothing to stop him when, a few years before, he had had the notion of travelling the world. Michael hadn't really thought about Bert since he left. Jack's words were stirring ancient memories. Of childhood. A time of magic. A nanny who did the impossible. For a moment, Michael almost felt he remembered something important. But then it was gone. All he said in the end was the little he could recall to do with Jack.
"I knew Bert. He used to have a gaggle of children following him around."
"City hired him; something about young slaves needing training and not wanting a slave to do it, but needing someone who had the knowing of all the odd jobs we'd need to know. How to sweep out chimneys, light lamps, scrub floors…that kind of thing."
There were a lot of debates on the matter of education, Michael remembered vaguely. "They don't want asses training asses to be asses," he said, then instantly regretted it. It was a common expression and meant something along the line of 'slaves will teach each other ways to evade work and lazy habits, the same way an ass would train another ass in how to be stubborn and fight the yoke' when citing reasons why slaves shouldn't train other slaves in their own craft. A stupid and cruel expression all the way around; not least because young asses (the animal) were trained all the time by pairing them with trained asses.
Jack just laughed out loud though, both at the expression and at Michael's face after sharing the expression.
"Exactly," Jack said. "Backfired spectacularly choosing Bert, though. Sure, he taught us our tasks well enough. Taught us other things too." Pride in self, for one. Their rights. Slaves do have rights, and a slave who knows those rights is more likely to see those rights being honored. And, a particularly useful lesson, how to look young and injured and innocent. The real lesson there was how true an impact public pressure can play in how a person is treated. If there is an outcry when an officer goes to apply the strap to a poor, pathetic, small child, then that child tends to get a reduced beating or, occasionally, no beating at all. The trick worked less and less the older and less cute and small Jack looked, but the lesson behind the lesson remained. Public outrage counted for something.
"I'll bet," Michael answered, and then somehow they were exchanging stories on things Bert had taught them, or they had seen with Bert. And the car ride wasn't awkward in the slightest.
"He took us into a chalk drawing once with our nanny," Michael said as he approached the bank. Then he blushed a bit for having said something so absurd and stuttered out, "I mean, we played it, of course, you can't really go into a chalk drawing…"
"Oh, I don't know about that," Jack answered. "He once took me and some of the boys into a puddle and we ended at the bottom of the ocean. A real trip, that was." And Michael grinned, thankful Jack was willing to laugh along with him at the absurd plays Bert got up to with children. And then they were at the bank and the grins slid away for both men, though for different reasons.
Jack had to go back to work and, thanks to Michael, he was on time, slightly early even, so one danger was past. But there was a reason Jack preferred lamps to the bank work. Being cooped up inside a bank, doing either boring or laborious work appealed to Jack no more than to Michael. And some of his slave mates would see him, and see the beads, and Jack knew how they'd take it because he knew how he'd take it if the reverse were true, and he hated making his mates worry and he hated the fuss that would arise when the extent of it were known (and Angus would insist on seeing), and Jack could tell he was already bruising and, downplay it as he intended to, it was a harsher punishment than any of them had had in a while. It was a reminder of how precarious their lot in life really was.
Michael had his worries returning to him having reached his destination. He had to find those shares, and he worried he wouldn't, that they weren't there, that the worst would come to worst.
"Thanks for the ride, sir," said Jack, which was jarring in and of itself because Jack had stopped with the 'sir' a quarter of the way into their ride. They got his bicycle and lighting gear out together and separated, because of course the slave entrance was completely different from the employee entrance.
Neither man found their worries unfounded when they entered the bank.
Jack first discovered he'd dodged a bullet, because it was Jones acting as taskmaster that morning, and Jack had zero doubt that he'd have more lashes added to his body very shortly if he had walked in late. Knowing Jones, he'd have gone out of his way to choose an implement and bodily location to cause the most lasting pain. (There were limits to where a slave could be hit, just as there were limits to number of hits and to type of implement. There were also too many ways around those limits for the truly sadistic and malicious, and Jones was adept at finding them. All he had to do, for instance, was choose a body part near what he really wanted to hit, then claim he 'missed'.) In this instance, he'd either have chosen Jack's back, so he could layer hits on hits, or he'd have chosen something like the backs of his thighs, or calves, while making sure to hit the backs of his knees or soles of his feet or inner thigh or anyway, something else of a sensitive nature that was considered off limits (like certain body parts rather worse than the inner thigh for being hit that thankfully most punishers would avoid if only to avoid being accused of being a pervert. Jones had no fear of such accusations, as Jack had learned in the past to his detriment).
Jones chose nothing because he had no excuse to, though he did smile maliciously when he noted the beads.
"Getting into trouble early, are we? Must have been at the end of your route." A natural assumption considering Jack had managed not to be late. "Or the correction was too lenient, perhaps." That was said a bit sourly and with disapproval. Jack could easily have returned Jones to good humor just by showing how easy his back had taken it, but Jack had no intention of doing so if it could be helped. Anything that made Jones smile was usually bad for Jack.
"Well, at least you made good time, even if you did play the delinquent this morning," Jones said. "You're to scrub out the bank toilets. Do a proper job of it and get the floors, sinks, commodes; the lot. Make sure they have all their necessities as well."
"Which ones, sir?" Jack asked, careful to keep his tone utterly respectful. There were enough other free Citizen employees about that Jones needed an excuse to actually enact any sort of punishment and Jack intended to give none.
"All of them," was the somewhat expected answer. Jack started to go to it, then hesitated.
"Does that mean the lady's too, sir?" he asked. Because that was the kind of trick Jones loved to play; if Jack hadn't asked, whichever he assumed would be wrong. Either he failed to do what he was asked, completing only half the task (though honestly, more than half; the bank assumed its employees and visitors to be by majority gentlemen and the restrooms reflected this) or he entered into a space reserved for women without express permission. Even with permission it was dicey; if any woman complained Jack would be in for it even if he had specifically been told to do the task, particularly with Jones in charge.
"When I say all, I mean all," Jones said with a nasty smile, likely wanting to both give Jack more work and hoping a complaint would be made.
"Yes, sir," Jack said, making Jones's smile sour because Jack was both being too polite to punish and too cheerful to suggest he was offended by the given task. In fact, Jack didn't mind the task in the slightest. It was not as unpleasant a task as Jones clearly thought it to be; yes, it involved potentially scrubbing feces or urine but for the most part the bank was kept clean and there was less of that than Jones likely hoped. And it wasn't like Jack would be using his bare hands to touch the stuff. He actually found enjoyment in good honest scrubbing; there was something satisfying in a task that made a clear difference.
Jones could have put Jack to a job Jack actually hated, like door greeter. Jack was naturally good at this and so put there more often than he cared for. It was boring and most of the people were rude, and the slightest perceived whiff of rudeness on Jack's part (and some of the people who came in were looking for trouble), imagined or real, led to punishment. Or he could have had to sort mail; another task he was put on far too often for the simple fact that, among all the other skills Bert had instilled in his boys, he had taught them to read. There was a reason slaves often had 'illiterate' cast at them as a slur. Jack's skill was not one shared by many of his mates. The task of sorting was boring, and delivering the mail involved a lot of running up and down stairs (slaves don't use the elevator of course, not unless they have an actual disability that stops them being able to use the stairs, and no such slave would be sent to the bank).
Of course Jack never let on, especially to someone like Jones, which tasks he preferred and which he hated. Jones simply went by which tasks he himself would hate and assumed Jack felt the same.
Another benefit of arriving early, rather than late, and then being put to a task that was a solo activity taking him away from the slave break quarters or any of the most common slave work areas was that Jack managed to put off a while longer anyone seeing the three beads.
Michael also managed to go unnoticed while he quietly went about his work, all the while thinking about where he should look for the bank shares. His coworkers were too used to his head in the cloud ways to take offence if he was a bit distracted. He only wished it were his usual daydreams that had him so aloof; instead all his failures were still swirling in his head.
Failing as an artist, as a husband, and as a father. And he didn't even have the benefit of being able to say, 'but at least I'm not a slave' because that just made him think of Jack. And it didn't seem fair to imply Jack was inferior to Michael just for being a slave, just to make Michael feel better. He liked Jack. And, he knew it was unfair and simplistic to even think it, but he couldn't help but feel that Jack was doing better than Michael. At least he seemed happy enough in the car and he didn't have to worry about failing at life because he was already at the bottom rung with no prospects to rise. There was a certain level of freedom in that.
He was sure that Jane would whap him in the back of the head if he ever voiced such thoughts, but in that moment it was hard not to think them.
In truth, neither of them were having the nicest of days.