Baker and Jones Ch. 07

Annette knows the answer. If Cordelia threw Annette out or resold her contract, Pullwater would simply call it a fitting punishment for her behavior... especially after Simon tells her what Annette did at the ball. Maybe she should go back to Simon and apologize, and attempt to plead for forgiveness? It wouldn't be impossible to lie and say her outburst was a remnant of the "wickedness in her soul" or something cliche like that. But even as she considers it Annette can feel her heart and pride reject it outright. She'd hold onto her dignity.

"Pardon me, Miss?"

"What?" Annette snips back at the stranger, turning and scowling deeply.

"I noticed you seem disgruntled."

Annette glares at the man, possibly around twenty-five and wearing the thick clothes of a typical factory worker. His forehead is covered in soot, and his unkempt hair looks matted and pushed down from wearing a hat all day. He leans up against the post of a nearby vendor, looking at her with a purposeful sympathy.

"Observant, are you?"

"Simply concerned for a fellow laborer," he answers.

"Perhaps your concern could be less vocalized."

He smirks, looking away. His eyes scan the crowd and his voice drops lower. "I noticed your collar. Might the source of your displeasure be related to your contract?"

Annette sighs and stares at him.

"No answer necessary, Miss," he nods. "Might I speak with you a moment regarding this arrangement?"

"Only if you can promise this conversation to be over by the time I've selected my onions," she rolls her eyes, returning her focus to the produce in front of her.

"Quick pitch, then," he smiles. "You deserve freedom."

"I am free."

"Freemen aren't required to wear collars full-time."

"Mine is simply fashion," she deflects dispassionately.

"There's no need to be afraid, Miss," he leans forward. "I represent a group looking to increase options for the everyday laborer."

"You're a unionist."

He snorts.

"I wasn't aware I told a joke," she scowls, feeling a strange tingling at the base of her neck.

"Unions are too narrow," he shakes his head. "If I told you that you had a choice between starving to death or being whipped to death, have I really provided any option?"

"Is 'talked to death' a possibility as well?"

"Lacking in choice regardless. Why can't any of the options allow a man to live free and clear of his own volition?"

"Might a woman still require a collar round her neck or a ring upon her finger?"

"Pardon?"

Annette lets out a tense breath and rolls her eyes again. "Ignore me."

"Our freedom is inhibited by bigger men building bigger and bigger machines, taking over whole cities just to run their engines. I say, why not put a stop to them?"

"If you believe I somehow possess such an ability you're sorely mistake-,"

"It's all about solidarity," he explains. "More of us the better."

"Us?"

"Laborers, united under a single banner."

"A union."

"It's more than unions, Miss," he asserts.

Annette shrugs, picking her final onion and closing her bag. "I think that's the most conversational produce selection I've yet to make. I'll be on my way. Good day."

"It's a revolution," he says quickly, his voice bouncing excitedly.

Annette turns back, eager to dismiss him one last time as an overzealous fool, when she sees his outstretched palm, holding a small piece of parchment on it with a single stamp: a mallet striking a nail, circled by smoke and steam.

A shiver descends down her spine and she feels her heart skip, the buzzing of necessity bouncing in her head. "What... what is that?" She asks, feeling her legs tingle as though preparing to sprint.

"Thursday eve, Docksims Square Park," his eyes meet hers, brow furrowing seriously. "This is your ticket to a new world." He folds the slip of paper into her hand, nodding once more and disappearing into the crowd, surely to corner yet another promising laborer.

Annette's hand trembles as she holds the paper, glaring at it for a long moment while the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. She races home, wondering if she was lying to herself when she told Cordelia she didn't feel the feeling that the detective speaks so importantly about.