Page 94 of By Any Means

“How old are they?”

Chary clutched his arms to himself. “Their school age or their real age?”

Most children were taught by their schoolmasters to say they were thirteen, minimum, even if they were half that. There wasn’t much stopping them. The most recent law passed by the state now required legal birth certificates for employers to have on file, replacing the affidavits Chary had mentioned, but actual compliance was rare.

Laurie paused to think. When, again, had the first Factory Act passed in the New York legislature? ’86? ’87? Maybe ’92? He worked in and reported on so many states, he knew more about national legislation. But New York led the nation in labor laws, and he lived there. The Factory Act had gone through the legislature so many times. Practically once a year since the late seventies.

1886, for the first passage. He was almost sure. He’d look it up later.

“Their real age,” Laurie said. “If you know it.”

Chary didn’t even pause. “Milo—Milovan—is eleven. The mold-tender, Liam: thirteen. The snapper-up…” Chary grimaced. “Filip. Nine. As close as I can tell. He won’t ever say.”

“Nine?” Laurie said, as though he hadn’t seen tinier fingers picking strawberries.

“Go ahead, tell the Deputy Inspector for the Bureau of Labor Statistics,” Chary said heatedly. “I wish you all luck. He was here last week. Did you see him walk in?”

Laurie shook his head. He said nothing for a little while. They listened to steamboats sound their night horns, watched the train chuff across the bridge and blink out the lights as it went.

He wished they could touch.

“What about the apprentice? Presumably Ira?”

“Sixteen. He’s very skilled. I did mean for him to take the place of blower eventually.”

“He looks skilled,” Laurie agreed. “Eventually… or soon?” Very soon, if he’d already warned his shop it would happen. “What did your brother’s death do to that plan? Anything?”

August’s death had done something to Chary’s life besides inheritance. Something catastrophic. He knew that. But for the first time in his career, Laurie was almost afraid to look too hard, for fear of what he’d see. For fear of what it would change about the man sitting beside him.

From the corner, the bell rang for meal’s end. They stood. Chary tried to crack his back, failed, and sighed.

“I’ll tell you in the morning. Tomorrow.” He managed a small smile, for it was twelve-thirty again. Already morning. “Until then, I have five hours left on shift.”

Laurie stopped him with a hand on his arm. “And how long do I have?”

Chary looked down at the hand. “For the story?”

No.

“Yeah. How long can I shadow you without raising suspicions?”

“How long do you need? You’re not going to ask questions yet, are you, about the gaffers? Not here.”

“I would if I thought I could get away with it.” Laurie wished, for the umpteenth time, that he could ask things of other workingmen directly without getting his block knocked off. Hello, what injustices have you been pitted against lately? Anybody been murdering ya? Not how people worked, though. “Probably I can’t. If Irving—my source—knew about the deaths third-hand, it’s been making the rounds long since, and folks’ll be more wary than they’d be otherwise. More importantly,” he said softly, “I’m here with you.” He squeezed his hand. “I won’t risk you drawing attention like that, not when you’ve already been targeted.”

Chary slid free—with a strangely guilty look. “Well, then, a few days or so. Today, tomorrow, as well as next week. I’ll have to talk to Ira.” He glanced over, unsure. “Is that enough?”

No, no, no.

“It’ll have to be.”

26

CHARY

This time, the beard came free without agony. And this time, it was done in neither rooming house nor hotel but Laurie's own 37th Street apartment—despite visitors of any kind being disallowed. It merely meant they were obliged to be as quiet as possible. And that they’d bribed the doorman.

It was a different New York, 37th Street, being the old Uptown; trees lined the streets and the sidewalks were white and clean. Concrete pots sat at corners, filled with neatly trimmed cones of Ilex opaca, evergreen holly. Laurie's apartment was a brick four-story with a stone façade, which had broad entrance steps and a sweet little arched entry, and even a wrought fence around the basement-level windows.