"Milord, we leave now. Follow me." Secondhand emerged from his stasis as Phantom Stranger stepped back into a shadowed corner with a whispered, "It begins." The corner was the one holding the expired donor of John's own armor and John swallowed hard.

"Wait, wait!" Firsthand dithered. "Your gauntlets! One moment!" The white hair and beard of the man belied a powerful physique, although the strain of untold miseries pitched his voice high. "It is enough that the loss of a chain mail gorget and solid helmet endanger you, you must keep your sword arm in good stead or - "

John finished, "Or I'm of no use to you. I get it."

Now Firsthand nearly wept. "I meant no offense, I fear the enemy will carve your head from your body as trophy when they see your famed face and sooner would I die than witness that." His voice strengthened. "Keeping your sword arm safe preserves you from that indignity - "

"As long as possible?" John sliced his fingers across his throat in the immortal gesture. "I'm in the fight as much as I can be, mate." He shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently as Thirdhand embraced Firsthand before pillaging gauntlets from the dead soldier. John saluted the body before Thirdhand slid chain mail fingerless gauntlets on him and cinched a belt holding a scabbard about his waist. The gauntlets looked like iron or steel, at least, and not brass; they covered his forearms, leaving the elbow and fingers vulnerable. He made a subtle pass as he Reached for a simple flame spell; nothing happened. "That's it, everything you've got?"

All three nodded, their faces downcast. "Your majestic manner yet shines through - " moped Firsthand until John stopped him after smushing down his red turban more firmly onto his head.

"Stuff it. Let's go."

"Wait, wait!" Firsthand exclaimed again. "What if we simply bide in this shop as long as we can? At the least until dark? We are safe here."

Secondhand and Thirdhand conferred with a look. Secondhand said softly, gently, "Old friend, the thousands upon thousands of enemy troops will overwhelm us as they claim the three days of pillage granted by their laws. We risk everything by waiting until they discover us like - "

"Rats in a trap." John seized leadership. "I said come on. Who's with me?" He flourished his sword. "Where's the back door?"

Secondhand unbarred the back door and John peered out into a brightly lit alley. High noon, the Stranger had said, not John's best time of day because so many fascinating things happened in the dark. He signaled the three to follow, jostling them aside when they surged to the front of the protective formation the trio had planned for him. He shook his finger at them and winked. "Naughty boys," he whispered. "Papa goes first."

"Milord - "

"Hsst!"

"But - "

"Hssssssttt!"

And John fit actions to words, not looking behind him to see if he were being followed because surely Constantine The Real would have done the same.

Like all city dwellers in these and other times, not one soul accosted them to offer shelter. It was each man, woman, or Corgi for himself and John approved of the sentiment.

From some streets away, screams of agony from outraged women clawed at his heart as the enemy took possession of the city. He could not think of them, he told himself. He had to survive for many reasons. He turned onto a broad road before Thirdhand yanked him back. "The hidden ways, I know much of the secret ways to Saint Romanus gate. Allow me to guide you, milord."

"Right on." And the four heeded Thirdhand as he pointed the group away from tramping feet and brusquely shouted orders. The city thinned out to John's surprise, because there stretched several London blocks' worth of open land that held crushed, ruined crops. Past the fields, John saw more of what he called Cityscape: small outbuildings leading into taller ones but still modest appearing, like a strip mall in Manchester. He foresaw alleys and other inviting dark spaces to slip into, but right now it was hustle like The Arsenal in the FA Cup Final. He thrust his sword into its scabbard, charged and heard but did not see his entourage racing behind him out of cover. Two hours and one more open space later, an arch gaped before them. John took over from Thirdhand at that point, hustling them all by a dark door as yet unburst by opportunistic hands. The shadows that grew at two in the afternoon turned into something John could work with.

"We could use some help. Where are me forces?" John whispered and then, "Heck, they're playing music and singing?"

The gate, breached and oh so promising for escape, held twenty enemy guards to each side of the gap, waving pikes as they wailed victory songs beside a pile of splintered timber. John couldn't make out the words through the pounding drums and trilling flutes but it was just as well. He doubted the Stranger's hallucinatory shroud extended to translating more than the ancient speech of his three compatriots.

John crouched to make himself a smaller target should the guards notice him. "Me army got smashed, dinnit." It wasn't a question.

Secondhand knelt beside him as John turned to look him square in the eyes. "Your army could not win against so many but there are alternatives to fighting, milord."

Thirdhand remained standing, his grip squeezing John's shoulder to the point of pain. "Many of our fellows die as I speak, more will be sold into slavery as this horrible day wears on. Your troops are fit and young, most of them. The old and the proud will fight to their own end rather than live enslaved, but the young have yet hope of a life even as slaves."

Always a comfort, always positive, always seeing the good, John thought. Like Zee. "Where are me, er, common people?"

Firsthand stood in front of his three countrymen, sword up, aged body still upright as a youth's. "We prepared our thirty-two thousand simpler folk for this ill turn, milord. They seek divine aid at the largest holy church. The Lord shall provide it."

Uh oh, how to juggle that? "If you say so, but where are the rest because I've not seen any blood-er, single soul and not everyone can fit inside - "

The door opened inwards behind them, John tumbled backwards and each lord of the realm gasped as a black cloaked figure wearing a fedora muscled them inside the building. "Stranger!" John exclaimed. "Helping despite yourself, eh?"

"Who are you?" Firsthand rasped, pointing his sword at the Stranger's heart. "Friend or foe?"

Secondhand stayed his friend's quick anger as he pushed down the weapon. "I think his actions speak for themselves and surely a friend giving shelter would not betray us?" The kind gaze swept from John to the Stranger. "Your Emperor seeks your help, citizen, and we his protectors will not endanger you by staying under your roof for long. Come and take counsel." He found the sturdiest chair and sat, wiping his brow.

What was it with the Stranger's hushed, humble manner? A straight up mystery in a day of mysteries, thought John, but what came out was, "He's a stranger."

Thirdhand's shoulders slumped in relief. "A blessing is what he is to us all." He looked around for a place to rest before deciding on hovering at his ruler's elbow, who commandeered the biggest chair at the home's dinner table.

"None of me people here, either, eh, Stranger?"

The Stranger still stared at Secondhand as if he knew him. "Th-They fled to sanctuary at the largest church farthest away from the mob. The invaders followed and unspeakable evil happens this very moment." He roused himself. "Constantine, I discovered a way to make straight your path to freedom. I will accompany you to lend my best concealment."

Firsthand snorted. "And how will you do that without witchcraft?" He raised his sword to point at the door. "Once outside and on the move in daylight, not even your black cloak will hide us five and I spy that you have no melee weapon or light cannon that we relied upon to defend our walls for aught it accomplished." He flopped onto a chair that creaked with his weight as he gave in to weariness at last.

"Oh, don't put down witchcraft - " began John but thought better of it as an outrageous notion popped into his head. "Who's to say he's not an angel instead?"

Everyone in the room turned to him and the Stranger's mouth dropped open. "If you only knew how far you are from the truth," Stranger whispered before his voice firmed. "The One who placed you in this time awaits your choices." He moved to a bucket sitting on the table, swished the water around and sipped from a ladle before offering it to John.

"Mmmmm," was all John said as he tried to discern motives without a scrying orb or athamé reading or anything else comforting like that. Water, now water in a plain shallow pan was best but he wouldn't be a mage if he didn't know of many ways to tell the future with hydromancy. He took the ladle, dipped it into the bucket and turned his back to the group as he drank, his dark arts teacher's words echoing inside his sweaty head before he spoke them aloud. "Whisper mysterious and personal words over water and see if it bubbles and how much, you said, Necru. Right on, I'll give everything I've got to help Constantine The Bloody Saint escape oh mercy me I must nick more water."

"Sorry, I need more than me share of the water," he explained as he turned back and dipped again from the bucket. To his utter non-surprise, Secondhand excused the action.

"Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown, milord. We understand."

"Um, yeah. Ta." John faced away again and mentally pushed everyone in his world aside to concentrate on personal words he remembered from a certain Halloween night in London among dead wax statues of celebrities. The gloriously alive Zee's voice came back to him as he repeated her spell. "Em ssik dna pu tuhs."

He Reached with all he had inside him, why didn't this work, why couldn't he catch a break? The water in the ladle did not bubble or boil and rippled only because he was holding the handle so hard that his grip shook. He tried again; still nothing.

Someone cleared his throat behind him and John turned back, holding out the ladle blindly. Like it or not, the Stranger's proposition contained the best bet for escaping this mess.

He did not trust the Stranger as far as he could throw him.

He did trust these three praiseworthy gentlemen.

"Lead on, Stranger," John said.