3

If Jane Banks had known the sort of morning her brother was having, she would have been over like a shot. And she would have been delighted to meet Jack (or re-meet as the case was, seeing as she, unlike Michael, actually did have fond memories of a dark-haired boy following along after Bert who used to wave up to her every morning). Not simply because Jack was connected to her childhood or to an old friend, but because Jane was looking to connect with City slaves; SPRUCE was starting to get a proper following and some input from those most affected would be a great help.

So all in all, it was a shame she knew nothing of what her brother was going through, and while she had some idea of the struggles the small family were adapting to (John and Annabel had become so…independent, and Georgie fairly clung to all his family and, all in all, things were not exactly broken but certainly not well) she did not feel they needed her desperate attentions at that exact moment and she failed to make a momentous visit at exactly the right time.

In some ways, this was a good thing, if only because fitting Jack and Jane and Jack's bike would have been problematic in Michael's small car. And Jane was busy. Just that morning a small girl had marched in and demanded justice for some poor slave who had been brutally beaten for knocking a single apple off a cart. Accidentally! Or at least, Jane thought the girl was implying an accident, or possibly that there was no proof it wasn't an accident. The girl was a bit excited and furious over the whole matter and might have been embellishing a bit.

"And I wanted to fix things, and they wouldn't let me, said I'd make it worse and, and, and nothing would stop him getting hit, and, and he said it was a count of three, and one more, but he hit him and hit him and it wasn't three and one, though he only did three beads!" Here Jane couldn't help but grimace because everyone knew it happened, that the 'no more than ten' was better than the olden days but by no means a guarantee that no slaves were beat half to death anyway; even if the law was adhered to exactly there was nothing actually against the law for those ten to be again dealt the next day, and the next, and the next. A slave could take seventy hits within the space of a week, and it was perfectly within the law. And people turned a blind eye to an extra hit here or there. Seventy could easily be a hundred in those circumstances.

The girl's story was muddled on exactly how many times the slave was hit, except that it was supposed to be three and it was more than that, and that someone stopped her interfering somehow, and that the slave was crying in the end. It took a lot to make a grown slave cry unless they were new to the status, so that alone was telling.

"And…and he was trying to be nice and gave me an apple and…and I'd agiven it back but they said he'd get hit anyway and…and it hurt him, I saw it did, and the man wouldn't stop."

Jane valiantly avoided making anything that sounded like an accusation along the lines of 'I thought you said he accidentally knocked an apple off a cart' or any questions on how that became 'he gave me an apple'. She could read some between the lines. Poor little girl in rags, waiting in line at a soup kitchen. An unguarded apple cart. A passing man who had a good heart. Either the slave had thought them unobserved enough to get away with passing an apple to the girl, or she had stolen it and the slave had taken the blame.

Either way, no one deserved to be beaten so hard they cried, someone doubtless used to beatings at that, not over a single apple. And it was clear the person doing the beating had lied over the severity of what they'd done.

This was exactly the sort of thing SPRUCE was fighting. The girl had learned about them somehow and, feeling the injustice in her young heart, went to the only people she could find who both might care and might have some power to do something.

Unfortunately, giving this single slave justice over an already passed incident would be difficult if not impossible. But his story could help create a bigger picture. His story, and others like him, until the public might be moved to outrage over the unjust treatment of society's most vulnerable citizens.

Yes, slaves had rights, but they should have better protections. Not being hit at all would be nice, but making it harder to abuse the rights they did have would be a start. Ultimately, though Jane never dared suggest it out loud, not even to Michael, she hoped that the very idea of 'slavery' could one day be absolved.

Sure, people said that society would collapse if there were no slaves. Priests liked to say that slaves were blessed, and a blessing, that God meant for an entire class of people to be servants to the people. Jane would like to argue that those servants ought to have some choice in the matter. Any society that could only survive through the pain of its lowest class was not a society worth saving. And if there had to be a class of people who served the rest, to save society from collapsing, she still didn't think they needed to be second-class citizens without hope for advancement, who lacked the basic rights all free people had. No free person could be ordered, for instance, to strip away their clothes in public and be expected to obey. Indeed, to do so would get one in trouble for indecency. Yet a slave, either as part of a public humiliation punishment, or in order to better hurt them, could be so ordered and had to obey. The slave the girl was so upset about, for instance, had had to remove his upper garments. They could easily have been his lower. And, if he had been a she, no allowances would have been made for having to disrobe.

If it was against the law to strike a free Citizen, it should also be against the law to strike an unfree citizen. Beatings in jails had long been discontinued, yet slaves, who followed the law, were treated less well. Slaves were told that sex out of wedlock was a sin and then also forbidden from marriage, not even between slaves. That was just ridiculous; just because no one wanted to deal with the paperwork involved in keeping families together, they decided it was simplest to just not allow families. Mothers, by necessity, were allowed to look after their children. Slave children had no fathers. They barely even got mothers, really, only for the first four years of life and then they were separated. Purposefully separated, arranged to avoid them meeting ever again.

It was barbaric and wrong, and SPRUCE was going to shine a light on every dark corner of the entire institution of slavery and Jane was going to be a part of it.

Jane rather thought SPRUCE had just gained another member in the young girl. Poor though she was (and likely in real danger of being enslaved herself; poor children always were) she was currently still a free Citizen. Every free Citizen for their cause helped. And little girls grew into determined young women.

Jane should know.

It would help if she could find the beaten slave and interview him herself. And the officer who administered the beating. She did not doubt that their stories would not match…if the slave felt free to give the true version. The sad truth was, he had good reason to fear sharing the truth. If his truth did not match a free Citizen, more often than not it was the slave who got called a liar. And lying slaves were punished. Another injustice to fight. Perhaps if Jane promised him anonymity. She needed true stories to support their cause, but not at the expense of those they were trying to help. She just hoped he wasn't as bad off as the girl made him sound.

In fact, the 'poor beaten slave' in question would have been rather put out at that description. He was not a poor beaten slave, thanks. He was a person who happened to be a slave who happened to have been beaten. Harshly but not, in his sad experience, overly harshly. Okay, his back hurt, but it's not like he'd been beaten bloody, or even really beyond the confines of the law. Sure, the law also demanded a true count in his beads to avoid further excessive punishment, but with any luck he'd earn no more beads that day. In Jack's experience, most people are actually rather reluctant to beat an already beaten man. The beads were meant to add to his shame, to show the world he'd done something wrong and earned a punishment, but they often also stopped further corporal punishment from happening.

Often, but not always. Not if Jones had anything to do with things. Which Jack knew very well, and so he did his utmost best to fulfill his required duties, preferably quickly and without being noted. Not by any free Citizens who might, for whatever reason, decide to make his day harder by reporting him for some perceived slight. And not by his fellow slaves, not because they would hurt him, but for the potential for the beads on Jack's collar to upset them in turn. Which he managed right up until he went into the closet for more cleaning supplies and ran straight into Angus.

Up to this point, Jack had thought he'd done a fairly good job of avoiding people. And if it seemed an over-reaction to not want his mates to see the three beads on his collar, considering firstly that they were only three (even if they were really five), and secondly that corporal punishment happened often enough to not be shocking, then one had only to consider how it would feel from Jack's friend's point of view. Yes, getting hit, as a slave, was unfortunately common. Yes, in the grand scheme of things, getting hit three times, or even five, was hardly something to make a big fuss over. It wasn't really even bad enough to impede Jack's work, just to make it uncomfortable. Which was the point. Impeding the work of a slave was counterproductive. One could get in trouble for that, just like one could get in trouble for damaging city property.

It wasn't so much that it had happened at all, but the timing. That morning, Jack had left his dorm with Angus and their dorm mates, had their government approved breakfast, and gathered in the quad where a clerk had made sure the slaves were all present and knew their days' duties, and Jack had been fine. He hadn't been beaten the day before, nor the day before that, which was more than many could say. He was fine. Then he split off from his friends as they all ran their own routes to turn down lamps. He left singing a cheerful tune. And at some point between then and his return, some incident had occurred that led to Jack being hurt.

They don't know what happened, or how severe just to look at him, but he left fine and came back injured in some unknown manner, under unknown and potentially traumatic circumstances. Add in Jack's tendency to downplay his own hurts (he hated upsetting his friends and he hated the fuss and a part of him, the part he rarely voiced, maybe felt a bit embarrassed over the whole matter) and any slave who knew Jack would be alarmed by his return. And there were few things worse than the sick, helpless feeling of knowing a friend was having a hard time and having no power to fix things. Jack knew this. So he put it off. He did his new assignment, which had the benefit of being a solo activity, and didn't step foot anywhere where slaves tended to congregate and when his task was done he intended to go straight to the taskmaster on duty. With any luck, that would not be Jones if Jack timed it right; Jones tended to be the first to take off for his lunch break and, whenever he could manage to get away with it, he tended to be one of the last to return. If Jack reported early during the lunch hour, he could probably avoid Jones entirely.

Except, as it turned out, Jack could not avoid being seen by all slaves. And one slave in particular was very determined to chase Jack down and see for himself what damage had been done.

Angus's day had started rather better than Jack's. The early morning had begun about as well as mornings can go when one is a slave. For one, neither Angus nor any of his closest mates had received a severe correction in over a month. Sure, a hit here or there, one or two removals of privileges or an added restriction, but nothing serious. They were all in good health and no one was nursing old hurts. Angus had spent the night wrapped in the warm embrace of a beloved friend. Not a lover, whatever the others thought. Not that anyone would begrudge them if they were, teasing aside. But in all honesty, Angus had never felt that particular draw, and there was comfort to be found in friendship too, especially when one lived the uncertain life of a slave. And Jack gently pulling Angus awake was a great deal nicer than the harsh bell that was the five-minute warning to be up and dressed or risk missing the breakfast line.

Slave quarters were not exactly prisons and not exactly apartments but somewhere in between. Men slept separate from women and there were generally around six bunked to a room, and four rooms to each bathroom. There were discrete alcoves available between the men's rooms and the women's and the directive to stay on one's own side was never enforced. It actually said a lot about how engrained into the bedrock of society was the entire institution of slavery that the architects were more worried about allowing slaves the chance procreate than they were worried about giving them places to conspire. If Angus or Jack had wanted a lover, of any gender, it would not have been difficult to find one. Technically, the slaves weren't even locked into the slave quarters, at least not usually, nor were they actually forbidden from leaving. They had to be at certain places at certain times or face consequences, but outside that they could go wherever they wanted. Without money, without friends, without anywhere to go and looked down upon by all free Citizens, sure, but they could leave if they wanted to. As long as they came back at the required time.

Breakfast was offered in the cafeteria below the City Dormitory, but only to those who were prompt, lunch usually in whatever facility the slave worked at or credited at a nearby restaurant. Dinner was a privilege presented in the form of credit for a government approved (cheap) eatery. Money was not allowed but credit, for food or drink or entertainment, was a privilege that could be earned or taken away. Angus currently had some decent drink credits saved up and, even rarer, a trip to the cinema. He was waiting to cash that one in until enough of his mates could go too, (honestly, until Jack could go, but he wouldn't mind if others joined them) hopefully on their next day off, assuming their days off synced.

The day started well. Jack woke him up (and indeed, all the men in their dorm) with time to do a proper job in getting ready for the day. Jack was a natural early bird and often woke a good hour before he needed to, which was saying something because the morning bell rang at six am sharp in March. It was too soon to be called a sunny day, but it wasn't raining and Angus's clothes were enough to hold out the chill. He and his friends were in time for breakfast. There was even a slice of bacon at breakfast along with the usual bread and beans. Then, when Angus separated from Jack and his other mates to turn down his own lamps, he managed to finish early.

The assigned slave hours for City slaves were a slippery concept. In theory, no slave could be worked more than ten hours in a single day, taking off a half hour for a midday meal, and a full day off every six weeks. But the City was cheap and stretched its slave labor as far as it could while still, technically, adhering to the law. If a slave had the duty of leerie (as they called themselves, the City just called it lamp duty) then during the summer, when days were long and nights were short, a choice had to be made between how soon after sunup and how soon before sundown slaves should start their rounds. The simplest would be to make sure the slave started and later finished within a ten and a half hour time period. But, during Summer, that wasted gas. Daylight could last as long as 16 hours, almost 17 during the longest days. They could, to make the difference, have different slaves turn the lights down in the morning than those that turn them on in the evening. But leerie work was surprisingly technical and not all slaves could be trained to do it. It wasn't just the ability to turn on and off a lamp or climb a ladder. There was upkeep of the lamps involved. A skilled leerie saved the City a lot of trouble when he noticed and either reported or, better yet, fixed a faulty lamp. Gas and fire were not things to play around with. And navigating the maze of London streets to successfully hit every lamp within a reasonable time frame took skill, more than one would first assume.

In the end, they had the same skilled slaves do both jobs and, instead of then having the slaves have a long period of idleness in the middle of the day, got around the ten-hour rule by playing around with what counted as 'working' hours. Doing the work? As long as the task was completed in a reasonable time frame. Travelling from one job to the next? That wasn't work, it was travel. The City carefully plotted out exactly how long they thought a task should take (without, of course, actually timing any real person and making a lot of theoretical assumptions that never lined up with reality), and then settled a 'work time' for the task. When a slave, inevitably, took too long to complete the task, that was the slave's fault for being lazy, not the City's fault for overworking them, and they weren't about to reward that behavior by counting the overtime as work. This would, of course, end in slaves always needing correction for being lazy, which was considered bad for morale and therefore bad for business. So along with unachievable 'working hours', slaves were given generous 'travel hours' inbetween tasks.

The predicted time of the lamp routes was so ridiculously off that most days one had to double, if not triple it for it to accurately reflect a leerie's work. And clearly the City knew this, because they also gave extra time for travel, time that just happened to coincide with a more reasonable time frame for completing their task, so leeries generally weren't late to report for their next duty. Overworked, yes, but late, no. Which doubtless says a lot about Jack's state that his little detour was going to make him late before Michael's offer, but that is neither here nor there. As it so happened, even as Jack had his troubles, Angus had one of those perfect condition days (though still not within the time frame the City thought possible, not even close) and so was left with around double the necessary time to make his way to the bank.

He didn't take his time, because extra time was better filled with company and he hoped to find some of his friends in the same happy state before having to report to the taskmaster. He, like Jack, was assigned to the bank for the rest of the morning. The bank did not have a break room for slaves per se; slaves weren't allowed breaks except for lunch. In theory. In reality, they needed somewhere for the overworked slaves to go when they inevitably arrived early from whatever travel errand, they had been sent on. Preferably out of sight so the City did not end up with the embarrassing sight of a bunch of City slaves lounging about and doing nothing. So most buildings where the City sent slaves to work had someplace they could go. At the bank there was a room in the slave quarters of the bank that was categorized as a 'storage room'. What it stored were a few worn out chairs, a wobbly table, a cracked tea service, and any slaves who could get away with not being on duty for a bit.

Angus bypassed the administration room where employed Citizens oversaw the running of the slave quarters, including the taskmaster who made sure slaves signed in on time and were then sent to appropriate tasks. He passed the small medical room where a bored nurse sat reading a magazine, and the closed door to the correction room and joined the two slaves already in the 'storage' room.

"Hello, Angus," greeted one of the slaves, Frank, handing over a mug of tea that made up for being ridiculously weak by at least being hot; there were some benefits of being housed in the lower levels of a building and easy access to the furnace was one of them. "Quick time or early start?"

"I'll have you know I was only twenty minutes late in my route today," answered Angus, which meant something along the lines of 'I was ridiculously fast in my route today' because it was rare to be 'late' by less than half an hour. In fact, of all the leeries who would work at the bank that morning, Angus was the first to arrive, the other two slaves present having less insane hours and having just arrived early to their first assigned task. It wasn't fair, but neither was life, and it didn't even occur to Angus to complain about the matter. "Maybe I'll report early and earn a privilege." It was generally held that if slaves chose to work more than ten hours, what else could the City do but encourage them? So reporting earlier than expected was often rewarded even if it would put the 'working' hours over ten. Especially when it would.

"You'd be lucky," answered Frank. "It's Jones on duty as taskmaster this morning."

"…or maybe I'll stay here until the five-minute warning," said Angus with a bit of a groan. They all knew Jones would never in a million years reward promptness, though he'd definitely punish tardiness. Angus was not as hated by Jones as Jack was, but he was certainly not loved. If Jones could make trouble with any slave, he would, and Angus had no doubt that some poor slave today was going to get in trouble just because it was Jones. Angus hoped it wouldn't be himself.

And just like that, Angus's good day felt like it was slipping away down the drain, his content mood replaced by a ball of dread settling somewhere in his stomach.

"We better warn Jack and Charlie when they get in," Angus said, because Jones's pet hatreds were well known and those two had the most likely chance of running into real trouble. Jack had nearly, but sadly not quite, gotten Jones fired by refusing to just lie there and take it when Jones 'missed' during a beating and hit him someplace off limits. He went straight to the nurse on duty, in fact, reported the abuse, and received a rare reprieve from his own duties as the nurse deemed him unable to work. It was probably the latter point that most got Jones in trouble. Unfortunately, the claim of 'accident' was just believable enough that nothing came of it beyond Jones's grudge. Charlie had a similar misfortune by pointing out a mistake on the roster that Jones turned out to be responsible for. Between the two of them, Jones had not become unemployed, but he had been moved to a different building for a time. That he was back at the bank again was not an agreeable turn of events.

Luckily, alongside the taskmaster in the administration office, there was usually one or two free Citizen employees who mostly coordinated with the other government buildings, accounting for everyone's whereabouts and all those little administrative necessities in managing a large task force. Obviously, not all City slaves were at the bank, most were not in fact, but each location had one or two clerks who networked with each other in order to see the bigger picture. They filed reports concerning slaves, noting when a slave was corrected in any capacity, corporal or otherwise, and when a slave earned privileges and when a slave became sick or otherwise unable to work and when a complaint about the slave or the slave's fulfillment of a duty was made and it was them who worked out if a slave was working well or if there was a problem.

Thankfully, it was also their job to notice who showed up and when, so Jones couldn't claim someone was late who wasn't. It was them who told Jones what tasks were available while it was Jones's job to then assign the tasks. And the bank clerks were decent enough that Jones couldn't get away with assigning a correction when the slave in question was clearly being polite, subservient, and prompt.

The clerks could, and did, take breaks though, during which Jones might, for a short time, be the one taking attendance. No slaves wanted to have to report when that happened, but they all worked together especially hard to make sure no one Jones had a particular grudge against reported when Jones was alone.

Charlie, who like Angus had a fairly decent morning, was not late and did not find out the hard way that Jones was on duty but went to the break room first.

"Hello Frank, Martin. Hey Angus. I just saw your boy Cheshire. In the soap already." That was said in a friendly and teasing tone, but it still had Angus frowning. 'Chesire' and 'in the soap' were slave speak. Of course they had their own way of speaking. How else could they swear or talk about the particularly horrible masters in their life without fear of reprisal? Like Cockney rhyming slang of old, it mostly ran to rhymes. And like that slang, they tended to leave off the second part of the rhyme, the part that actually rhymed with whatever word they were replacing. It did no good to call someone a name if the rhyme was so obvious as to be inferred. Cheshire grin – friend. Soap bubble – trouble.

"We're not that," Angus answered, somewhat predictably, with an eyeroll. Because whether or not he denied him being his 'boyfriend', they all knew exactly which friend Charlie was talking about. They teased, but in truth none of them cared if they were 'like that'; in some ways being freed of the ability to form families or to wed had freed slaves from the idea that all relations had to be between men and women. A slave took comfort and love where they could and with whoever they could, and no one begrudged them that. And everyone knew Angus and Jack were close. If not lovers, then brothers. All slaves helped each other and looked out for each other, but some bonds went further, and Angus and Jack had known each other since childhood; their bonds ran deep. Sleep in each other's bed kind of deep. Take each other's punishments kind of deep.

Angus followed the expected denial with, "What soap did Jack get into now?" in a tone that was half feigned exasperation (and some hidden but very real anxiety).

The conversation went on more or less as follows, taking out the slave speak they actually used, to avoid confusion or having to translate every other line.

"Saw him with the young banker, the nice one as don't make messes and leaves us be," And that, sadly, was enough of a description for everyone present to know which banker he meant. "They got out of the same car. Front seat, even."

"What is a banker doing giving a ride to a slave?" asked Frank, a suspicious tone to his question. It was in their unfortunate experience that free Citizens don't start giving favors to slaves unless they wanted something. And the things a slave could give a free Citizen were severely limited and almost always of a questionable or abusive nature.

"Jack didn't look concerned," Charlie answered with a bit of a shrug. "And I'd guess the banker felt sorry for him. Jack must have been running late if a car ride only just got him here. Told you, he's been in trouble already today. Three beads on his collar."

That had everyone in the room grimace.

"Well, where is he if he's arrived?" Angus asked, because the beads along with the unusualness of the situation was making him anxious, and being able to find out what had happened from Jack would have gone a long way to soothe those growing anxieties.

"It's Jack. I'd guess he went straight in," answered Charlie, still unconcerned. It was slightly odd not to stop off first in the break room, but they were getting close enough to time that it was not unusual either. And Jack was known to dodge his mates after a correction. Then, when the other slaves looked a bit askance, Angus actually blanching a bit, Charlie followed that with a soothing, "He didn't look to have any trouble moving about. Was smiling even. Probably just wanted to avoid the fuss. You know Jack."

"Jones is taskmaster today."

The word Charlie responded with was "chimney", as in "chimney sweep" which in turn was short for "chimney sweep's luck". A slave could get away with a lot by talking about chimneys. Having gotten his first reaction out of the way, Charlie was quick to offer reassurance.

"It's fine. The clerks are in. I saw Greene go in as I slid past. Jack's a smart guy; he won't give an opening."

"Three beads you said?" Angus demanded, not looking particularly consoled.

"We'll all keep an eye out," Frank said, offering a solid hand to the shoulder as reassurance. "Jones must be on thin ice; he won't dare another incident. I'll bet he will toe the line, even if he does corner Jack for a beating. He's a coward. He won't dare real harm. He'll stick within the law."

And there was nothing Angus could do about it right then, so they had their quiet time in the break room, then went to get their tasks before they could be marked tardy, and hoped that Jack would be fine and Jones would, if not refrain from hurting someone, at least hurt them no more than the restraint of the law allowed.

And if Angus happened to read in the roster where Jack had been assigned (because of course there was paperwork, it was the City), well, it was written there for any to see it.