Jane had no real reason to visit her brother that afternoon, except that, ever since his wife died, she was in the habit of stopping by every other day or so just to make sure the family was doing alright. Directly after, she had even lived with them for a bit. Thankfully, they had gotten through that time, and now she only stopped by from time to time.

She wouldn't say they were doing well, but then, if they had been doing well she would have questioned their humanity. Things like that took time to get over. She expected the usual mild chaos.

The first clue that things had gone a bit worse than the usual was the notice nailed to the front door. She let herself in, frowning and juggling a handful of flyers, and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. She had vaguely thought perhaps the children, though it was a bit early and they might not be back from school yet. Instead, she found Michael trying to interrogate Ellen, who, for some reason, had decided to iron an old, somewhat musty set of sheets.

"But we don't have a nanny," Michael was trying to protest, and Jane supposed it was one of those days. When Ellen got a bit…confused…and would want to prepare things in the way their mother or their father used to want things arranged, and then would get upset when she couldn't find the items that had long sense been either gotten rid of or packed away in the attic.

"Of course we've got a nanny," Ellen answered in her perfectly sensible tone. "She's upstairs giving the children a bath."

"Annabel, John, and Georgie are at school, aren't they?" Jane chimed in, because sometimes all Ellen needed was a bit of reminding which children lived in the house.

"I don't know anything about that," said Ellen, "But they came in early all the same, looking like real children for once and not miniature adults. Like they'd been properly naughty, and good for them! And Mary Poppins marched them right up for their bath, and I know how she can look after herself, but I thought there isn't time to give the sheets wash but at least I can have them aired and pressed and that will do for her."

"It can't possible be Mary Poppins," Michael said, sounding more annoyed than was probably useful, to Jane's mind, but then, he had probably been dealing with Ellen's delusion for a while now and that was bound to upset him. It was a reminder of different times when people gone were still around.

"We'll show you, Ellen," Jane intervened, because nothing broke through faster than physical evidence. Ellen seemed to be in unusually good mental shape, delusions aside, because she had the presence of mind to set aside the iron so nothing would get burned before all three of them marched upstairs towards the nursery.

There were noises upstairs, young noises, and splashes, suggesting at least part of what Ellen had said must be true. The children had come home early and in need of a bath. Likely Annabel had insisted; that was not impossible with the way the older children had taken charge. Georgie wouldn't have cared if he were dirty and John hated washing enough to not do it unprompted but Annabel could be relied on.

There was another voice. That was not a child's voice.

They naturally hesitated at the bathroom door; good manners had long been engrained in all three of them that there were certain places a person does not simply intrude upon without warning. But Michael had been a father long enough to get over some such scruples, and it was he who gave the door a sharp rap before trying the doorknob.

It turned. And on the other side was, against all expectations considering the splashing noises and voices, three perfectly clean, only slightly damp children and one perfectly put together woman.

If Michael or Jane uttered anything in that moment, neither was fully aware of it. Because that was Mary Poppins. It was as if she had stepped straight out of a childhood memory to give them one of her sternest looks for daring to be anything other than perfectly put together.

After that, there was a lot of talking at once. The children wanted to share how they had found a nanny in the park, something about a kite, and the slave Jack, and yes, it was the same Jack that their father had given a ride to because he knew about them, and something about their father giving him beads (and there was a story Jane very definitely wanted to know more fully, and the look Michael had given her suggested he knew an interrogation was coming), and this all was muddled with swimming in the bath tub which had an ocean at its bottom with dolphins and pirates and, yes, this was the same Mary Poppins who had looked after Jane and Michael even though she did not look to have aged a single day in the interim. The children did not want to share why they had come home early, something they mostly got away with because everything else was so unexpected and distracting that neither Michael nor Jane really bothered to ask.

"But," Michael objected, when, if nothing else, it became clear that everyone seemed to have decided his household had hired a nanny when he knew perfectly well it hadn't, "We can't afford…I mean…"

"Yes, I wanted to ask you about that," Jane said, "Only I saw the notice on the door."

"What notice on the door?" John wanted to know, and if Mary Poppins had not taken charge of the three of them, and arranged them in helping her to set up her own room (and how, how could the entire house seem at ready to welcome the nanny home when this wasn't her home) then all three would have been to the front door to read said notice. They had been rather distracted coming in and had only vaguely noticed it existed without reading it.

Michael accepted the quiet that followed and allowed Ellen to go back to ironing and took Jane aside to explain the utter ruins he had made of things.

"It can't be as bad as you're making it out to be," Jane insisted. "We know those shares exist, it's just a matter of finding them. Did you try the attic?"

It was also around then that Michael got around to explaining about the slave Jack.

"He's one of Bert's," he began with, and then, "No, of course there's more to it than me beating the man. If anything, I rescued him." And he explained how his morning had gone. Jane was rather thoughtful as she talked over her morning.

"A girl came to complain over a lamplighter who got more lashes than beads," she commented, and then, "You don't think…"

"Jack does work as a lamplighter in the mornings and evenings," Michael said, "And he had three beads. I suppose it could be the same slave. But I don't see how it matters…"

"Because we need real evidence," Jane insisted. And then, with a sigh, "Though I see what you mean. I wouldn't want to get Jack into trouble over it. Though if anyone needed to be investigated that Jones of yours is someone SPRUCE should be keeping an eye on."

Jack, had he heard that sentiment, would have been fully in agreement. Particularly that evening.

"You slaves are given all the meals you deserve in the morning and afternoon," Jones insisted. He could not apply a beating to Jack, and he could not give him extra hours of work, not when he was scheduled to do his leerie duties after the usual dinnertime. What he could do was take away privileges. It was normal enough and, with ten beads, Jack was considered enough in disgrace that the other Citizens present didn't even bat an eye at the unfair proclamation. "Dinner is a privilege and not one I think you've earned today, boy."

"Yes, sir," answered Jack, stepping on Angus's toes before Angus could say something unwise, and then he escaped the room before his own features could betray anything like anger, annoyance, hunger, tiredness, or worse, how sore he was. The long day was starting to weary Jack, and trying to pretend that nothing hurt was only more wearying in the end, as he forced himself to stand erect, and to use muscles that very much would rather not be used, as if everything were normal. Having a bruised back didn't just hurt his back in the long run either; his body's natural attempt to avoid moving parts that hurt led to new aches as muscles moved in unaccustomed ways to compensate.

He might have been willing to give up the façade in front of other slaves, if those slaves were in the know anyway and if they knew better than to offer sympathy, but he'd rather face twice the pain he felt than allow the likes of Jones to know how he was hurting. And when it came down to it, he didn't want to upset the slaves who were in the know by letting on exactly how bad things were getting. Not that he was really fooling Angus, but Jack had to admit that Angus was doing an excellent job at not sympathizing. Within reason. Once in the safety of the break room, Angus did let off a stream of curses and shared what he'd like to do to Jones (albeit, in slave speak, so hopefully no passing Citizen would understand the murderous threats Angus was suggesting). Jack actually found it a bit cathartic; he could relax and let someone else rant over the injustice of things.

"Wasn't hungry anyway," Jack muttered when Angus was done, which only served to worry Angus more. Jack didn't notice, for once, as he was for actually allowing himself to more or less give in to the long day and was lounging on the room's equivalent to a couch, on his front in deference to the soreness of his back, and his head was buried in his arms. He was tired, and it was just slaves around, and since everyone knew better than to comment, he allowed himself the luxury.

"Sweeping ice is cutting privileges for everyone he can get away with," muttered Fred, who had silently given up the couch to Jack when he had come in and was now sitting at one of the few wobbly chairs, a hot drink at hand. "So far, Jack, Charlie, big Sean, and Davy."

"What'd he get big Sean on?" Angus demanded. He had finally stopped pacing and was somewhat hovering over Jack. In the normal course of things, he'd have sat down on the couch with him, making room where there was none. As things were, he didn't dare and that left him with a somewhat restless energy so he made no move towards any of the other seating arrangements, not that there were many open anyway. The room tended to get crowded at the end of shifts, and tired men were well used to making do with what limited places they had. When all else failed, at the end of the day, the floor could look very comfortable. Normally, the couch could squeeze four of them at a pinch, but no one begrudged Jack taking it up. Only Angus knew exactly how bad Jack's morning had been through seeing it with his own eyes, but word got around. In fact, they were being very quietly careful to not insinuate out loud that anyone lacked room or Jack might move on his own accord, and no one wanted that. Jack was actually tired enough, and sore enough, that it either didn't occur to him without anyone asking or he didn't care as long as no one else seemed to. The latter was out of character enough that everyone hoped it was the former, even if it meant Jack must be feeling really bad.

No one had to ask why they got their privileges revoked for Jack or Charlie, and Davy had been unlucky enough to get two beads in the course of the day (not from Jones; if that had been the case Davy might well have joined Jack on the couch) which would be enough of an excuse for Jones to revoke privileges, whether he had a particular grudge or not. But Sean usually passed under the man's radar, being so quiet and obliging; for being the 'bigger' Sean he was very good at not being noticed. If even Sean was getting noticed, then it looked good for none of them.

"Oh, you know me," said Big Sean, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, "Talked when I shouldn't."

That was so exactly not like Sean as to get a laugh.

"I'll tell you what he did," said Charlie, sounding a mixture of amused and exasperated, "When Jones announced my dinner privileges were revoked, he said, 'Don't worry, Charlie, I'll share mine.'"

This got more of a laugh. Big Sean was, by no means, stupid. Which meant, if he said that in front of Jones, then he had done it on purpose to rile Jones and show disdain for his 'punishments'. Not enough to get a beating, not with the other Citizens who might protest, but enough to justify the same fate.

"Speaking of," said Fred, "I guess we'll all dine at the Red Cow tonight." It was not the nicest of eating establishments, but one thing it had in its favor was a distinct lack of interest in what the slaves got up to while there. For instance, as long as the number of meals equaled the number of credits presented, no one there would care which slaves actually ate the food. Nor did they care if any of the food got carried out after. And if some slaves had rather anti-City or anti-Citizen sentiments to share, no one at the Red Cow was likely to pass that information on to those who might take exception. This might have been part self-interest; City credit was good credit, but having opened their doors to slaves they were less likely to get free Citizens to dine there. Most places that served slaves handled the difficulty in retaining their free Citizens by giving the slaves a separate, usually less pleasant dining area. The Red Cow was small enough they hadn't bothered. So maybe it was in the Red Cow's best interest to please slaves enough that they'd always have a large number stopping in to dine. There were rumors, though, that the owner had family who, through a string of bad luck, had been enslaved. This naturally made them more understanding towards slaves.

If Jones kept up in docking everyone's privileges that he could get away with, they'd none of them get much more than half the usual portion, but a half portion was still better than no dinner at all, which is what half of them would get if the other half weren't willing to share.

That settled, the lack of space in the room was quickly taken care of by half the group leaving for the Red Cow at once. As they slowly left, and before the low hum of quiet conversation and the general sound of a lot of bodies in a small space could disperse, the leeries present glanced at Jack, who hadn't made any move to get up, before quietly holding their own discussion. To most slaves, dinner, or whatever other privileges they had accumulated, was the end of the day. After, or before if they were stripped of any privileges and had no friends to help them out, they'd return to their dorm. Their day was considered done when they had checked out in the evening, and they had nowhere they had to be until the next morning when they would need to report to work. A leerie's day wasn't done until the last lamp was lit.

"How are we dividing it?" whispered Fred, trying to keep his voice from carrying, because if Jack caught on to what they were up to he'd either protest, and he didn't look up to the argument that would follow…or he wouldn't which would just be worrying.

"Leave Jack the park…he likes the park, and it's a short, straight run; no cobbles," said Angus, who knew better than to insist they take everything from Jack. "Just Cherrytree Lane after that, and it's short enough. I'll take it if he turns it down." He wouldn't turn it down. And if he did turn it down, Angus would drag Jack to the slave clinic no matter what Jack said because if he acted that out of character then he must be half dying. "And either way, I'll take the Court as leads up to the Park."

"I'll take the Market Row," said Big Sean, in a voice that somehow didn't carry despite sitting right next to Jack. In fact, Jack didn't make a sound all the whole time they quickly dissected Jack's rout or through the whispered discussion about whether the same should be done the following morning.

"We'll see," said Angus, who knew how Jack was likely to take it if they tried, but there was also a very good chance Jack was going to be feeling it even worse after a night of rest, rather than it being better, and he would no longer have the safety net of ten beads to protect him from further offences. Jack might feel bad enough to allow it, but he might feel stubborn enough to refuse.

Then came an even quieter, "What do we do if Jones gets himself alone again tomorrow?"

There was no good answer. They couldn't get themselves beaten every day just to avoid Jones; it would go on their records that they were getting ten beads multiple days in a row and that never looked good. It would end in someone getting reassigned to something worse, maybe even away from their dorm, away from being a leerie. Life was precarious enough without having to lose a friend to the whims of the City.

"Mary Poppins," said an unexpected voice. Jack had sat up suddenly, winced because that wasn't the smartest way to throw his body about, and then blinked a lot, as if he had only just suddenly woken up. All things considered, there was a very good chance that was exactly what had happened.

"There's an answer," laughed Fred. "Mary Poppins comes along and turns old Jones into a newt or the like."

"What about Mary Poppins?" Angus asked, moving closer to Jack, trying to see if he needed anything without being obvious about it.

"She's back," Jack answered. This was, in fact, the first real chance he had to share with everyone how his afternoon had gone. Having gotten back late, he'd had to jump straight into work, and the work given was, rather unfortunately, greeting visitors to the bank. Likely, the Citizen who assigned it had thought it a kindness; a job for the unfortunate slave with ten beads to his collar that did not involve hard labor or running around but would, at the same time emphasize the disgrace the slave had brought itself too by putting him in a position to be seen in his disgrace by a lot of people. What it did involve, however, firstly was a lot of standing, and holding one's back straight and still, while smiling. Standing like that under normal circumstances could leave Jack's back feeling a bit sore after a few hours. Having to hold that position when his back was bruised all over ended in agony, an agony he had to continuously smile through. Even if he could have gotten away with squirming or grimacing or otherwise acknowledging the pain he was in, he was proud enough to not want to give it away in front of the Citizens who were more inclined to sneer down at him than empathize. And, more to the point, it was not a position that allowed for conversation. Jack wasn't the only slave present, but they were all on duty and if they had actually dared to gather together to gossip, Jack wouldn't be the only beaded slave greeting people.

By the time Jack's shift was over, and he had managed to hold himself stiffly to face Jones one last time, he was sore enough and tired enough to have forgotten important information and to just practically fall over the couch the moment he was able. So he hadn't mention Mary Poppins to anyone.

Jack's news had an almost shocking effect on the other slaves. It ranged, however, between those who were convinced Jack had been dreaming and was sharing that dream and those who were certain it was the truth. The former laughed a bit and said, "if only" to each other. The latter were convinced all their troubles were over and they could stop worrying about Jones and properly enjoy their evening.

"No, really," Jack said, having caught enough of the sceptic responses to guess at what they were thinking even if everyone was talking at once. "Georgie Banks caught her on his kite; I walked them all to their house during my break. She asked after Bert. And you all. She's to be their nanny…the Banks children."

"Well, that does call for celebration, then," Angus decided, "Let's go, to the Red Cow."

"You go," Jack said, still blinking a bit sleepily. "I'm going to have a bit of a nap before our rounds."

"We already spli…" Sean (the smaller) started to say before about three different bodies collided with him and he broke off with a sound like 'erk'.

"I think I'll have a rest, too," Big Sean decided. "Don't have credit anyway. Bring us back something."

It went unsaid that none of them were comfortable leaving Jack alone. Angus probably wouldn't have gone at all if Jack were going to be alone otherwise, and Jack would have made himself come if that had been the case. Jack probably needed the rest more than a bit of food anyway. If Jack noticed the silent conversations going on concerning himself, he didn't respond. Which probably meant he hadn't noticed. Angus forcibly decided that was a relief that Jack was still sleepy enough to be that out of it and not that it was worrying.

There would be time enough later to explain to Jack how little of his route he needed to prepare for.

And if it turned out their worries were not for naught, and if someone did happen to quietly approach a door almost no free Citizen ever bothered with to glance inside and see someone they hated lying vulnerable and almost alone, then nothing came of it because Jack wasn't completely alone and there was a reason Sean's defining feature was 'big'. Jones looked at Big Sean and Big Sean looked at Jones, and Jones squinched his face in displeasure at having debased himself so much as to approach slave quarters but still didn't quite make up his mind to just leave.

"You'll be locked in for the night if you aren't careful," Jones said, quietly but perhaps hoping to incite something actionable in Sean.

"Yes sir," said Sean, just as quietly and calmly. "I suppose we might well be the only people down here, right now." Perfectly polite and factual and his voice low enough to not disturb Jack, who had, in fact, fallen back asleep.

And if Jones heard the threat hidden in those words, he only sneered at it, but he did turn and leave and quietly as he had come.