Life with Mary Poppins around was giddy and exciting, like an unexpected holiday after months of toil. The lamps still got lit, of course, but instead of a chore it became a dance. And the children found their way home. That was the really important thing, of course. With Mary Poppins leading from behind, going so far as to claim to be lost. Lost, in her city. There were improbable things in the world, like living China and upside down days, and then there was absolutely impossible.

The evening was magical. The morning after, of course, was a bit of a letdown. In the same way it always felt to drudge back to work after a day off, the slaves who had attended Mary Poppin's dance had to face a new day where they were still a slave. Of course, Mary Poppins was still around, and there was always a chance of more magic before she had to leave, so it wasn't exactly like the day after a holiday. Jack had a new tune to sing as he did his morning rounds, for one. And, while he couldn't say he was completely recovered from the beating two days before, far from it, it was getting on towards that stage where it mostly just looked bad but only made itself known if someone pressed against the bruises or if he moved too quickly, rather than a hot ache all the time even when he was resting. If he had been allowed to really rest and recover properly, with ice and medicine, he'd likely be halfway to healed. As it was, Mary Poppins and SPRUCE had done a lot to reduce the hot, tight ache into something that had him being careful of his movements but not in constant pain.

His getting better also required, as all his friends were aware, that no lashes be reapplied in the near future. Or other injuries, for that matter.

The car came out of nowhere.

Jack's route meandered through the streets of London. It was early; the sun was only just allowing enough light to make the lamps seem pale and pointless, but there was plenty of traffic. People going to work, people going to find work, people getting a head start on the shopping, people in line to the soup kitchen. Some on foot, some in cars. London wasn't really designed for cars; in many ways it wasn't designed at all so much as grown, with this or that added as the population rose, and new things hammered in when needed; cars were a fairly new addition and the streets reflected this. Of course, horse drawn carriages had been around for ages, and people needed to get around, so people made it work, but there were still places where the pedestrian traffic and the vehicular traffic clashed, and each thought the narrow streets should belong to them alone. This led to some rather unfortunate moments on either side, where walking citizens refused to make way, which was annoying to those in cars, or cars failed to be cautious, which was potentially fatal to those they were incautious of.

Most leeries had at least one street on their route that was downright dangerous for the unwary. Either because of cars, or because the people of that neighborhood were unfriendly, towards slaves or towards the City that the slaves worked for or towards people in general. Jack knew his streets so well, he didn't so much as pause when he came to danger zones, just kept an eye out. He'd only been accosted a handful of times; it helped to look busy and be quick about one's work. And that his work involved handling a heavy torch. The apple vendor had been unpleasant, but a rarity. He had had numerous near misses with cars. There was one particular lane with no pavement for pedestrians and barely room for a single car to pass; if it were passing people those people would have to flatten themselves against a wall and hope for the best. It was narrow and dark, and to combat that darkness a bit it had six lamps hung not from posts but from the buildings.

Jack was quick as he darted along the lane. There had been a time or two in the past when a car had wanted to pass while he worked; usually they would wait, albeit impatiently, or they would honk their horns until Jack flattened himself against a wall if they couldn't. Jack often made-up stories in his head about the impatient ones. The ruder they were to him, the more tragic a backstory he gave them. 'Of course he must hurry, poor chap,' he'd think to himself, 'he just heard how his wife was in a horrible accident, and she is to have a baby too, and he must get himself to the hospital as quickly as possible'. Angus had laughed when Jack told him about his game of pretend. "I suppose imagining a horrible fate on people is a way to get even for their rudeness," he said. "Oh no," Jack answered, "I like to give them happy endings. He gets to hospital and finds she is perfectly okay, they only took her in as a precaution. And she has twins." Angus laughed again, though he suggested having twins was a horrible enough fate for a new father.

This morning, Jack fairly flew down the lane. At first it seemed alright; there was no one along and it seemed it would be one of the good days when nothing happened. Then, just as he was halfway along, a car approached. Jack paused for a moment, trying to decide if it would be the sort of car that waited, or the sort that tried to push its way through. At first, it certainly seemed inclined to wait. It didn't honk, and the driver didn't start to shout. It idled at the entrance to the lane, lights shining dully in the early morning light. It actually acted rather oddly, oddly enough for Jack to look closer. He thought he almost recognized it, except between the headlights and the dull light in the lane, particularly at that end where the lamps were already turned down, he could not see well enough to be certain. It was very uncomfortable. It was surely just his imagination, but it felt as if the car itself were staring Jack down, trying to decide if he were a tasty morsel and if it was worth the energy to pounce.

After a long moment when it did nothing, Jack cautiously moved away from the wall where he had just finished a lamp, fixed the ladder to his bike, and started on to the next. He tried to look prompt in case the person in the car thought he was idling on purpose and reported him. With that in mind, he hopped on the bicycle, though normally in this particular lane he'd walk it to the end as he needed up the ladder and it was a nuisance hopping on and off. He held his stick like a spear as he went, the hook on the end meant to allow him to turn up and down the lamps without climbing the posts first. It only worked for maybe half the lights in this lane, which is why he had it out at all.

The car revved its engine. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck go up and he automatically sped up his pedaling. He supposed the car thought he was done and didn't know there were three lamps left to go. Perhaps it would be better to leave anyway and come back, once the car had passed. The next lamp was coming up and Jack had to make a decision; pedal on or stop.

The car revved its engine again, and then was the sound of squealing, tires screaming, and Jack could feel the oncoming approach somehow in the shift of air and the vibration under his own tires. He didn't stop but went on, faster, puffing in the effort to create speed. He didn't turn to look. There wasn't time; he could turn and be certain it was coming and be hit, or he could face forward and pedal like mad and only maybe be hit.

He wasn't going to be fast enough. He knew he wasn't going to be fast enough. The lane was too long and there was no way to veer off and no pedal bicycle was faster than a car. He pedaled anyway, wondering when he'd feel the crunch of the car ramming him from behind, wondering if he'd die, and how much it would hurt. His legs burned and his lungs. He could see the end of the lane. He could feel the approach of the car.

And then people stepped into the opening.

Two things happened almost at once. The first was that the car made a token effort to brake. If Jack had had a calm moment to think the scene over, his thoughts might have gone something along the lines of 'that car was trying to run me down, but once there were witnesses it knew it couldn't get away with that, so it braked'. Except Jack was not in a calm moment, and for all panic somehow made time slow down he still wasn't calm enough to either acknowledge that the car was purposeful in its attack or to wonder at why more people appearing made it stop. Start to stop.

The second thing that happened was that Jack, seeing people in front of him, instinctively lifted his pole to avoid any chance of spearing them with it. This had the very unlikely and unexpected result of the hook coming up at the exact right time to catch around the neck of the lamp sticking out of the wall.

What should have happened next was that the pole should have been torn from Jack's hands, and then Jack himself should have been run into by the car, which despite braking was far too close to avoid him at that point, and either he should have gone under the car with his bike or been thrown over it. Either way, he should have been very badly hurt, if not killed outright, and his bicycle destroyed, and the children trailing after their nanny who witnessed the entire scene should have been completely traumatized and the person driving the car may or may not have gotten away with saying 'I didn't see him, I tried to brake'.

That isn't what happened, because Jack didn't let go of the pole at all. An enormous force did ram into the back of his bicycle, and instead of what should have happened, Jack and his bicycle were knocked up in the air to swing in a great arc like a pendulum at the end of the pole still hooked to the lamp. The bicycle did fly out from under Jack then, landed on the road, and rolled right up to the woman standing at the lane's mouth. Jack didn't really witness this, or her catching the bike before it clattered over, because he was a bit busy finishing the upward arc as he flew around the lamp, still holding tight to his pole, and finishing by landing, on his feet, on top of the car.

Georgie applauded. John and Annabel, who were more shocked than impressed and likely had a better idea of what they just failed to witness, did not. Mary Poppins gave the car, or rather, its driver, a withering glare.

The door flew open and Jones slithered out, already spouting excuses and trying to rewrite the last few minutes in his favor.

"What kind of stunt was that?" he was shouting, towards the witnesses and towards Jack, who was still standing stunned on top of the car and trying to work out how all of that had just happened, and that he was all in one piece and completely unhurt. "Reckless, if you dent my car, I'll have it out of your hide! You could have got yourself killed and cost the City! I should…I should…"

"You almost hit him!" Annabel protested, loud and indignant. Jones instantly turned to the four of them, took in their hostile looks, and adopted an expression of hurt concern.

"I didn't see him, miss," he said. "I shudder to think what would have happened to him if he hadn't gone under the lamplight at the last moment. This dark lane is a real hazard, and someone should do something about it."

"Didn't see him?!" Annabel shouted, indignant and furious and horrified all at once.

"I think he was trying to hit him," John suggested boldly.

While Jones protested this with wounded tones, Jack hopped off the car at last. He felt a bit too shaken to make the full jump from the roof to the ground, but he managed all the same by using the pole still hooked to the lamp to help him down rather than risking Jones's wrath further by climbing over his car to reach the fender. Almost as an afterthought, back on the ground he used the hook to do its proper job and managed to turn down the lamp. He gave Jones wide berth as he made his way towards the Banks children and their nanny. Inside, he felt half shaken to pieces, but outside he moved calmly and gracefully, just as if he did stunts like that every day. There was no point upsetting the children.

Of Jones, whose angry blustering usually spelled painful trouble to any slave around, he felt oddly unafraid. Sure, Jones could very well follow through on his threat and use almost killing Jack as an excuse to drag Jack off for a 'correction' so he could finish the job. But Mary Poppins was right there and Jack didn't really think Jones had any power to hurt anyone at that moment.

It was still rather shocking to realize that Jones had actually been trying to kill him. Jack knew he'd annoyed Jones, but in the grand scheme of things Jones held all the power; it was only a matter of time before Jones would be allowed to exact whatever awful torture he wanted and Jones knew that. It actually seemed shortsighted and uncommonly stupid for Jones to actually try to run a slave down with his car. Even if everyone decided it was an accident, the City would probably still make Jones pay damages for destroying City property, and Jones would likely lose his job over it. And that was assuming they didn't decide it was done on purpose. Jack hadn't thought Jones brave enough to attempt murder.

Perhaps he had thought it an isolated enough location that he could leave without anyone knowing who had done it? Perhaps it had been a spur of the moment act of hatred; he'd seen Jack and he was in his car, and no one was about?

"Mr. Jones," Mary said in her iciest, most displeased tones. All three children and Jack reacted to that tone by straightening their backs and being utterly glad that it was not directed towards them. It was the kind of tone that reached into earliest memories and pulled at the primal child desire to please one's mother, and it yanked. The most hardened of criminals could remember shame when faced with that tone.

Jones may or may not have any such primal instincts, but he did have survival instincts and those were clearly screaming at him, coward as he was. He didn't straighten his back but slouched, like a scolded schoolboy, and wrung his hands and scowled towards his feet.

"I swear I didn't see him," Jones said, towards the ground.

"I did not intend to deal with you this morning," answered Mary Poppins, no longer icy so much as thoughtful. If Jones' instincts told him to run, he did not act on them quickly enough.

At first, he looked like he was just hunching in on himself, his usual reaction to scolding. He'd make himself small and contrite and try to slither out of trouble. Only, this time, he kept shrinking in on himself and shrinking in on himself until it was clear he was literally shrinking. He shrunk and slithered until he was more slither than person. Within the space of a few seconds, Jones had disappeared entirely into something small and slithery.

"What is he?" John asked, crouching down to sit on his heels for a closer look. George went as far as to go down on his hands and knees while Annabel just leaned over on her knees to look. Jack didn't come any closer, just blinked a lot, trying to get past the whiplash of almost being killed and then watching his would-be murderer being magicked into some kind of tiny animal.

"I think he's a lizard," Georgie said.

"You changed him into a lizard?" Annabel asked, directing the question towards Mary Poppins, the only one of them not looking at Jones. In fact, she had taken a few steps back and was inspecting the car critically.

"What was that?" she asked after a moment, when the children finally got her attention. And then, "What nonsense; people do not into animals, and if they did, it certainly wouldn't be my doing." And then, with a bit of a sniff, "And that is clearly a newt." Jack couldn't help but laugh out loud at that. If his laugh had a slightly hysterical edge to it, no one surely could blame him. Even Mary Poppins gave him smile instead of frowning or scolding him for being inappropriate.

He was still trying to get his laughter under control when Mary Poppins turned to talk to the newt, "If you make an effort, you will find yourself the most comfortable in the Thames. It is two streets that way. Don't take that tone with me, everything that has happened to you has been entirely your own doing. Honestly. Newts can be so rude. Do not pay this one any mind, children."

She apparently decided to leave the car to be someone else's problem, because she grabbed Georgie's hand and waved at the older children to follow along on whatever errand had happened to have them at the right place at the right time.

"Good day, Jack. I'm just getting these three to school after their holiday," Mary said, and started a quick march that didn't leave room for prolonged chatting, or adventure for that matter.

"I think we shouldn't have to go to school; it's so close to springbreak," John's voice protested as they marched away, speaking over Annabel who factually tried to say something like, "We weren't on holiday, the headmaster sent us home."

"But you did change him into a newt," Georgie's voice insisted.

If Mary Poppins had an answer for any of them, it was doubtless not one any of them wanted to hear.

Jack watched them leave, then looked at the car and then down the lane. There should have been two more lights still to turn down, and his legs felt like rubber and the idea of going back down that lane just then to do them made him feel a bit ill. Perhaps Mary Poppins had understood that. Whatever magic she claimed she didn't do seemed to have already finished the lane for him; none of the lights were lit up. Next he knelt down to look at the newt.

The newt seemed to recognize the danger, or perhaps it had gotten over its own shock enough to return to its senses. For whatever reason, Jones chose that moment to go clambering away in the general direction of the river. Jack had half a thought to catch him. Catch him and…well. Show him to his friends at the very least. And if there was a slave or two who wanted some kind of vengeance now that the master was weak and powerless…there were few who could blame them. If Jack chose to not capture but to stomp his foot down, he didn't think any would blame him. He knew quite a few of his friends would have done it instantly and without thought. It was the obvious permanent solution.

Jack was Jack, though, not his friends. In the end, he let the newt clamber away. It wasn't purely kindness; the opposite in many ways. Death is quick but a life as a newt…Jack could call it justice and walk away with clean hands and a lightened spirit, knowing one of the truly horrible bits of Jack's world could never harm him or anyone ever again. And know that Jones was not having a nice time of it, too. He didn't need more than that.

Jack gathered his bicycle and rode down his route, making fantastic time as it turned out the lane lights were not a one off; every light he saw was already done. He went on to the bank, not needing a ride from Michael this morning as he was the earliest he'd ever been. He still wasn't the first person in.

"What is going on?" demanded Sean, as soon as Jack joined him. "Someone playing tricks on us? Half my lights this morning were off already! I can just imagine it; someone went round turning them down in the middle of the night, and who will get blamed for dark streets?"

Jack, at least, was able to put that worry to rest.

"I think you'll find that the lights were turned off after sunup." He was grinning, in a sudden giddy mood. Perhaps it was at least in part the near-death experience followed by the removal of a truly despicable person who was a constant danger to Jack, but he was finding it hard to stop grinning like a loon.

"What's got into you?" Sean demanded, and then, "Did Mary give you a sip from her bottle?"

"I did see Mary this morning," Jack answered gleefully, "But no." And, rather maddeningly, he refused to share his story until the other leeries on bank duty trickled in. Like Jack and Sean, they were all ridiculously early. Only some of them worried that they'd be in some kind of trouble over the unlit lamps, but all of them were puzzled. It seemed Mary Poppins had taken care of every lamp in the City at the same time.

"And won't the master on duty be surprised when we all tramp in there half an hour early," Angus said, grinning gleefully as he imagined it only to frown right after and say, "I hope it won't be Jones."

"I can guarantee it won't be Jones," Jack answered. And since enough leeries had gathered, he couldn't help saying, "And I think Fred is the winner."

"Course I am," Fred agreed, puffing up, despite clearly having no idea what Jack was talking about. Then, "So, what did I win?"

"You guessed newt, didn't you?" Jack asked, sounding innocent and purposefully vague.

"Did I?" said Fred, as confused as ever. It was Charlie who worked it out the fasted, or perhaps Big Sean, except Big Sean, in normal Big Sean fashion, didn't do more than raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, she didn't," Charlie said, hopeful and gleeful all at once.

"She most certainly did," said Jack. "Unless you ask her, in which case she absolutely didn't and how dare you suggest such a thing."

"Didn't what?" demanded most of the leeries, who either still hadn't worked it out or, since there was dawning comprehension in most faces now, just wanted it clearly said instead of implied so they could be certain of things. Jack finally put them out of their misery.

"Turn Jones into a newt."

It was just as well they were all early, because the resulting cacophony of cheers and disbelief and basic excitement went on for so long they might otherwise have been in danger of either having a master come in to complain about the noise or to ask why they were all late to report. As it was, the taskmaster wasn't even in yet to report to and the slaves were able to celebrate to their heart's content.

The full story was a bit more harrowing than expected. In fact, Jack was reluctant to share what had happened before the newt incident. Only, he thought about how he'd feel if something like that happened to Angus and Angus kept it secret. Besides, that kind of secret was bound to come out; all any of them had to do was talk to the children and they'd probably get the whole tale. So Jack told, trying to make out that maybe the car really hadn't seen him or maybe he was just trying to scare him to lighten that part. No one was really fooled; not a one of them doubted Jones to be capable of murder, particularly when it came to a slave he particularly hated. The only real question was whether Jones had done it spur of the moment or whether he'd been waiting at that lane on purpose.

The rest of the day was somewhat dull in comparison. The children had school, though as they had tried to point out it was the last day before a holiday and even the teachers seemed mostly in holiday mode and not much learning went on. The three Banks children failed to get in another fight. The most interesting part of the slaves' day was learning about Jones, though it was a bit amusing when no taskmaster arrived at all. Apparently, it was supposed to be Jones. If anyone had doubted Jack's story, they were inclined to believe it now.

"Hey, let's not be too gleeful," Charlie whispered, when some of the slaves looked a bit too knowing in their amusement. "Don't want anyone to start looking at us and thinking we did him in. Especially if his car's left along Jack's route."

"Mary Poppins will have thought of that," Fred insisted. Jack thought she probably had; that was why she had looked at the car so intently. If she left it, she must have had a reason.

In the end, the slave managers took on the role of taskmaster too for the day. And by the end of the day, rumors were circulating that Jones was on the run from the police. Something about stealing City funds. It might even have been true. No one seemed to think anything untoward had happened to the man, just that he had known himself caught and had slithered off.

"It was a pretty good day, considering it started with someone almost running me over," Jack commented, as they got ready for bed. He had mostly gotten over the shock of the car trying to run him over during the course of the day and could look back at seeing Jones vanish into a newt with real pleasure, knowing the horrible man would never threaten him or his friends again.

"As long as no one tries to kill you tomorrow," Angus muttered, in no way amused, unable to help imagining what might have happened to Jack if Mary Poppins hadn't been there.

"Jones is gone," Fred pointed out, in much lighter tones. The fact that Jack was fine allowed most of the other slaves to look on what they all agreed to be a murder attempt with humor, considering how it ended. So Fred laughed and added, "And who else would want our Jack dead?"

The answer to that question was meant to be 'no one' so most of the leeries grinned, still imagining Jones having to rough it as a newt, or maybe already being a snack to some vicious alley animal. Unfortunately, the answer was not 'no one'. As they would learn all too soon the next day.