I spent whole night and most of the next day reading and sorting the information. I also read the news I had missed, but because of the skewed time flow, the six months old events felt like distant, insignificant ripples that I could not make myself to care about.

It was already dark again when I packed my things and left the hotel. It was raining, so I leisurely walked over to the car that was now in charge of shadowing me.

I knocked on the driver’s window and waited for the glass to slide down. I showed a cheerful smile: “How much for the trip to Bevis Marks, gentlemen?”

“We aren’t…” - began a dark-haired man, but he was interrupted by his red-haired companion: “We are busted just like Marlow. And we are still here, so let’s just do it.”

“Wonderful.” - I commented as I opened the door and squeezed myself in. “Victor.” - I tried to introduce myself.

“Erm, Jack. And that is… John.” - explained the red-haired guy while ‘John’ drove us away. Yes, John and Jack, I totally believed that.

“MI-5?” - I inquired.

“Can’t say.” - harrumphed “John” while “Jack” intervened: “Nope, SAS.”. He looked at John who scowled at him and said: “What? He knew where we were, and he isn’t some target either. Bet some bigshot or something.”. He turned towards me: “You are, aren’t you?”.

Was it really alright to have such a chatterbox as a spy? I resisted an urge to roll my eyes and gave a short reply: “Foreign partner.”. That seemed to be enough for ‘Jack’ to shut up.

---

Two large windowless vans were waiting at our destination. Two men in civilian clothes were trying to look inconspicuous under the pouring rain. They failed because no sane human being would endure such rain if it was possible to find cover under a gateway just a few meters away..

I dropped a ten-pound note to my drivers, which earned another dirty look from John and a cheerful “We will be so screwed after Boss hears about that!” from Jack.

Yes, I found it to be impossible to resist annoying some people, especially if they had spent hours staring at your window.

When I got out of the car, one of the men clicked his radio twice and Captain Aitan Es emerged from one of the vans. He made a slight bow and said: “Welcome, we are ready when you are.”

I held up my travel case: “Got enough space for that?”

***

Inside the van, there were already ten soldiers inside. With me, rabbi and one of the men who had stood outside, we were thirteen. The other van was for equipment and luggage, so it held four men only. Altogether, this troop had sixteen members, with me as a bonus.

What surprised me, was that everyone were wearing ordinary clothes. We sat down on the free seats in front and Rabbi Es ordered to drive out.

I observed the soldiers that sat around me. To my surprise, I saw a woman with us. I tilted my head towards her and asked Aitan who sat nearby: “Medic?”

“No.” - he shook his head: “She is marksman, or, er, as some prefer, markswoman.”

“Your grandma is markswoman, Cap.” - interrupted the woman and added after a second: “Pardon me for the offense…~Sir.”. She even winked.

Captain pinched the bridge of his nose: “Yes, yes. What is your code for this mission again?”

She shuddered exaggeratedly: “Don’t act as if you forgot this. Those dumbasses assigned me ‘Tomb’. Tomb, my ass. Only because I got a degree in archeology and you needed one to evaluate stuff.”

“Anyway.” - Aitan cut her off: “Medic is, um, I think he is Oak for now, there.”. He pointed over his shoulder at a real human-shaped mountain of muscle sitting at the back.

Near-Eastern looking Oak waved: “Yo. Five years in emergency care.”

I found nothing to say except: “Obviously.”

From a side came a question from a man remarkable for his entirely unremarkable looks: “Cap had briefed us that you are super-powerful and stuff. We are, very,” - he paused for a second before continuing: “...honored to conduct the mission with you.”. He waved his fingers a bit before hesitatingly continuing: “You, sir, don’t need sacrifices or something?”.

I deemed that showing a facepalm would undermine my authority and answered: “Not virgins, no.”

That managed to force out a few chuckles and relaxed the tension that had cropped up with the question. Some whispers and winks suggested that this would be a joke the poor man would have to put up with for years to come.

---

Soon, the conversations died off and nobody really dared to talk to me anyway, so I closed my eyes and continued my everlasting training. A few snores and slowed heartbeat rate proved that soldiers were truly able to sleep anywhere and anytime. An enviable trait, I thought. As for me, I was immune to the boredom that was induced by mental fatigue, but I was finding long periods of inactivity extremely tedious.

In just a bit over 5 hours, deep in the night, we finally reached the vicinity of Newcastle upon Tyne. After driving through some suburbs and passing a checkpoint, we stopped somewhere called Army Reserve Centre, which apparently housed everything from Military Intelligence to Artillery Regiment Headquarters.The sleeping SAS woke up immediately, those who did not sleep stretched a bit. Then, without any signs of sleepiness and being guided by two young cadets, they proceeded into a nearby building.

I was shown into a private room by an apparently senior-ranking officer who looked like an aging bulldog with greying hair and wearing insignias with a crown and three stars. I had no idea what rank was that, and I chose to not show off my ignorance either. He did not ask about my odd and young appearance, as he had clearly been bred to follow the orders and do his work without any unnecessary questions.

In my assigned room, I sat through the night while continuously training, practicing and reviewing the information. Everything to keep my mind busy and stave off the boredom. The room was clean, tidy but fairly Spartan. Just a desk, a chair, a bed and a wardrobe with mirror. Not that I needed much, but it simply felt too much like a sterile operating room.

---

In the morning, a soft knock announced a visitor that I was already aware of. Of course, it was Rabbi Es. He guided me towards the meeting room where the rest of the team was already waiting.

He asked me first: “Should we go as civilians or in combat suits?”

Oh, now that was the question I would have liked to know myself. It was time to gamble.

“I would suggest civilian if you got coloured lenses and some makeup.” - I slowly explained, and finished with: “But if you don’t, we can go with suits. Make it look like some private corps or something? You did not bring stuff with badges, flags and built-in anthem effects, I hope?”

That got a few chuckles out of the crowd, but these quieted down under the stern gaze of Captain Aitan. His reply was: “No disguises, I am very sorry about that. And yes, we got full sets of suits without identification. No badges, no numbers to track.”

Then it was time to study the map. The venue was somewhere near the northern end of the Swing Bridge that crossed the Tyne river near the city centre. SAS had found out that there used to be Roman fort with a bridge called Pons Aelius over two thousand years ago. But now there was a fairly small neighbourhood with a few hotels and bars, and lacking any obvious venues suitable for a large-scale market.

“There.” - pointed a man I could not recognize. He had not arrived together with us, I was sure about that. His finger was at the right side of the bridge’s end. “People are appearing and disappearing from the cameras there.” - he added.

Camouflage? Hiding spells? I had no idea but I suggested these as a possibility. SAS nodded in agreement, while Rabbi Es grumbled: “That would explain a lot.”

---

SAS offered me a suit, but I politely declined, saying that it would be inefficient to try adjusting it at such short notice. The sixteen people of the troop were divided into three teams. Two teams, five soldiers each, were meant to stay around and cover us who were going in. They were supposed to set up suitable positions to offer us support in case we needed it. The team which was going in with me and Aitan was mostly made of close quarters combat specialists.

Aitan and the rest only carried small short-range firearms like pistols and submachine guns. Everyone also had a long tactical knife, that could easily be called a short sword. These blades had dark oxide finish, with profile resembling a straight combination of miaodao and chokutō, causing me endless frustration when I tried to classify it. People held no respect for sword classifications anymore, it seemed.

I was also shown the artifacts that the British government had coughed up for us to use in trade. There were several cases full of insulation foam, where a bunch of all sort of odd trinkets were laid out. Lots of daggers, hoops, assorted jewelry, marked stones and even a piece of pottery that attempted to levitate and was thus fixed into place by some rubber bands.

“Let us hope these are of any value for the locals.” - I commented while closing the cases. In the end, I was even forced to sign another batch of documents confirming that I had seen the artifacts.

***

We stood in front of the wall that was part of the pier at the end of the bridge. People had appeared and disappeared here, but the wall looked solid enough. It was solid to the touch, so it was not an illusion or a way to the platform 9 ¾ either.

But I could sense that there were signs of life force behind the wall. I let a small strand of my armor to climb up my face to create a thin mask to cover my facial features. I looked at Aitan, who had put an ordinary-looking shirt over his bullet-and stabproof vest and was the only SAS man without a helmet. He used the glasses that apparently used augmented reality technology instead.

The rest of the men stood straight, looking very imposing in their dark high-tech combat suits, covered in dull carbon fiber protectors and wearing tactical helmets with visors. They had an appearance of indomitable robot warriors, and hopefully that look would be enough to impress the supernaturals.

Just as I raised my fist to try to break through the wall, the solid stonework rippled and a person appeared. The man was skeletally thin with long, wispy dark hair covering his progressing baldness. He was not wearing any sort of stereotypical mantle, but instead a slightly old-fashioned white shirt with brocade vest. He smiled at us and made a deep bow.

Then he straightened up and said: “Excuse me for my late arrival, no need to knock, if you would be so kind. We were not aware that such sirs would come, so it took time to obtain the recognition from the masters.”. There was a hidden message that they had observed us for a while. But apparently, we had passed the test.

The man continued without waiting for us to speak: “The rules are as usual: no fighting, all disagreements are to be solved outside of the premises. We do not offer any guaranties pertaining private transactions between guests, so make sure you know what you are agreeing to. We do not ask who you are, and hope that you will maintain the corresponding discretion during your visit. The conduct of companions, guards, slaves, children and other dependants is the responsibility of the group’s leader. Please follow me and enjoy your stay.”

He turned around and passed again through the wall. I looked at Aitan, shrugged and followed the man. SAS, after a split second of hesitation and with rapidly accelerating heartbeat, followed after me.