Chapter Two: Not in Kansas Anymore

Constable Michelangelo 'Spike' Scarlatti had seen quite a bit since finding out about magic. He'd learned how to work around spells, identify potions, fight both wizards and magical creatures. He'd time-traveled to save the world, gone into a demon realm to rescue his boss, and fought to keep the peace, no matter what. He'd even found out that Merlin was a real person and Camelot had been a real place – a place where magic had been outlawed, on pain of death. In short, Spike had seen it all.

Staring at two Camelotean knights, their hair disheveled, their armor scored and bloody, and their swords even bloodier, Spike realized. No matter how much he'd seen, there was always something he hadn't seen and couldn't comprehend. Like two men from the Middle Ages showing up in modern day Toronto and saving his life.

Which they had; their victim and Team One's primary subject lay in a widening pool of blood, revolver still clenched tightly in his hands. Behind him and the knights, Spike finally saw what he'd missed. An open door that led into the main part of the house. Even with the door swinging on its hinges, Spike could see that the outside of the door was adorned with tools and gardening equipment. Little wonder he hadn't realized there were two doors in the garage.

Leon gawped openly at the second man. The stance reminded the knight of Camelot's best guardsmen, those who were well trained and used to fighting alongside himself and his fellow knights. Dark eyes were wide with surprise and even a bit of fear; the guardsman's black hair stuck up all over, matching the hue of his clothing. He wasn't wearing armor and the object in his hands – it had to be a weapon, for the man held it as such. Perhaps a crossbow of sorts?

Beside Leon, Percival shifted uneasily, inspecting their surroundings and thoroughly unnerved by how strange they were. The walls and roof were easily identifiable, if structured differently than both knights were used to, but the objects scattered hither and yon… Leon longed to know what they were and what they did.

Silence hung, increasing the tension around the three. After a few moments, Leon asked, "Who are you?"

Spike came close to jumping right out of his skin. That…hadn't been English. Not modern English and not Old English – Narnian, his mind whispered – either. But he'd understood the knight. Perfectly. How?

"Spike! Report in!"

The bomb tech winced at Ed's bark, but raised his hand to the comm nonetheless. "No harm," he reported. "Subject is down."

"Down?" the Boss pressed. "Spike?"

Glancing between the dead subject and the tensing knights, Spike mentally gulped and lifted a finger in an attempt to get them to hold on a moment. "Yeah, subject's down, Boss. And…um…we got a problem." One that had just gotten worse, he just knew it; his radio wasn't magic, but to any one from the Middle Ages, it probably looked like magic.

Leon stiffened when the man winced and lifted a hand to his ear, speaking in another language as he glanced between Leon, Percival, and the dead bandit. The tone was brisk, that of a guardsman reporting in, but there was no one to report to! Unless the guardsman was using magic. Or insane.

Glancing up at Percival, Leon did his best to silently communicate his concern. The big knight nodded agreement, shoulders stiff with tension as he eyed the possible sorcerer on the other side of the stone building.

A sound came from the doorway and Leon's tension coiled as two more men appeared, dressed much the same as the first guardsman. One was just as tall as Leon himself and bald with piercing blue eyes. The other was of a similar height and build to the first guardsman, with blond hair that reminded Leon, painfully, of his King. Especially since the blond's eyes were also blue, though his hair was much shorter. Both newcomers started at the sight of the two knights with their swords partially raised.

"Whoa," Sam breathed. Spike hadn't been kidding – how were they supposed to explain that their primary warrant subject had been killed by two guys straight out of the Middle Ages? Then the blond's gaze snagged on the knights' crests. Dragon. Pendragon. As in, Camelot. As in, magic-hating, witch-burning Camelot. Oh. Joy.

"You are using magic?" the curly-haired, bearded, brunet knight demanded.

The sniper's jaw dropped open. Behind him, he could practically feel Ed gawping, too.

"No!" the first guardsman blurted, jerking back briefly in surprise as if his own sentence had caught him off guard.

"No?" Leon repeated, eyes narrowing and his sword shifting up to the ready position.

"It's technology," the guardsman babbled out, releasing his weapon; it dangled on a strap of some kind and Leon found himself reluctantly impressed. The guardsman could hardly lose his weapon to an attacker if it was attached to his clothing. "No magic at all," the man insisted. One hand lifted in a 'wait' motion while the other tugged a dark colored device off the man's belt. Cautiously, the guardsman held it out for Leon and Percival to see. "It's called a radio," he explained. "I use it to talk to my teammates."

"We all have them," the blond broke in, a flash of startlement darting across his face before he reached down and pulled an identical device off his own belt.

"Here," the raven guardsman offered, edging forward with his…radio. "Take a look."

Leon kept his sword up as Percival reached out and took the object. Both knights inspected the device, Percival prodding at it curiously while Leon divided his attention between the…radio…and the possible sorcerers. A crackling sound rose from the device when Percival turned something at the top; both men jumped, but nothing else happened. The big knight turned the object over in his hands, squinting at the unfamiliar language on the device, but it was nothing like what Leon usually viewed as 'magical'. It looked more like it had been crafted by a master tradesman, though the knight had little idea as to what sort of smith would craft such an object.

Trading glances with Leon, the big knight offered the device back to its owner. He took it, adjusting the same thing Percival had, though he turned it in the opposite direction and back to its original position. "What else do you use?" Percival asked, catching Leon off guard. His fellow knight tended to be rather quiet and a bit shy, even with his friends. But there was an undeniable gleam of interest in the other knight's dark brown eyes.

The guardsman perked up for an instant, then turned wary and guarded. "All sorts of stuff," he replied vaguely, clipping the radio back to his belt. Turning towards his two fellow guardsman, he asked, "Ed?"

Ed huffed, moving around Sam to inspect the subject. Like Sam and Spike, he'd been able to understand their…guests…perfectly, though how was an open question. Though a better question was, how were Sam and Spike speaking yet another foreign language they'd never heard before?

Crouching in front of the body, the team leader grimaced. Sword, in through the back and out through the chest. Not exactly a conventional way to die in 21st century Toronto. Lifting a hand to his radio, he requested, "Boss, can you come here?"

"On my way," the Sarge agreed.

Glancing up, Ed turned towards Sam. "Sam, go get some supplies from the truck."

His fellow sniper made a face, understanding. They were going to have to hide the knights' swords, but asking them to sheath bloody swords was a bit much. Fortunately, Team One's supplies did include space blankets.

"Sam, go in my kit," Spike suggested.

Ed blinked, then nodded approval. Rags – even better than the space blankets. The team leader stayed where he was as the Boss entered, he and Sam doing a bit of a shuffle to avoid a collision in the doorway. Parker's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the knights, the body, and his teammates' positions.

"Spike?"

Spike ducked his head, chagrin apparent. "I, uh, I missed a door," he admitted, gesturing past the knights to the opposite side of the garage where a door hung open. Ed winced internally as he filled in the rest. The subject, about to get the drop on Spike, had been attacked from behind himself. Ironic – two magic-hating knights had saved an Auror.

Greg's eyes tightened as he regarded his team leader and the knights, clearly ordering his strategy. "Ed?"

The sniper shook his head. "In through the back, looks like it went right through his heart," he reported. "No way we can classify this call, Boss." Not a warrant call that shouldn't have had so much as a hint of magic involved. Regret shone in Ed's eyes as he looked up. "We're gonna have to cover this one up, Greg." And it would have to be Spike who shot the body – no other member of Team One had been in the garage and the transcript already had Sam on record as having lost their primary subject during his pursuit.

Equal regret glimmered in hazel, but the Sergeant nodded, accepting his team leader's advice without protest. Half-turning, Greg keyed his radio. "Lou, get started on the transcript and audio, please. Wordy, can you help Ed and Spike with the staging?"

"Sure thing, Sarge."

Cover up dealt with or at least started, Greg shifted his attention to the two unnerved knights. Without skipping a beat, the Sergeant switched his radio off and said, "I'm Sergeant Greg Parker; Toronto Police Strategic Response Unit." Dipping his head in a brief nod, he continued, "Thank you for rescuing my constable."

The tall, curly-haired, and bearded brunet took the lead. "Sir Leon, Knight of Camelot," he introduced himself. Tilting his head sideways, he added, "This is Sir Percival."

Ed was grateful the knights weren't looking at him – they were knights of the Round Table. The only two knights of that august group to survive Camlann. To think that they knew his boss's ancestor. To think that these were two of Merlin's closest friends. He traded a quick, awed glance with Spike. Living history, close enough to touch and talk to.

The team leader re-focused on the conversation in time to hear Sir Leon say, "I'm not sure how we arrived here, Sergeant." Flicking another look around the garage, the knight explained, "We were fighting a hydra on Camelot's outskirts when suddenly we were here."

Greg frowned. "Nothing magical other than the hydra?" he probed.

Sir Leon shook his head firmly and Ed was inclined to believe the knight. Given Camelot's views on magic, there was little chance of the knights missing obvious magic use, even in the middle of a fight. Although, Ed mused, they never did catch onto Merlin. He opted not to voice that particular thought.

His boss considered a minute, watching as Sam came back with rags from Spike's bomb kit. "Gentlemen," the Sergeant said, "If you'll bear with my team a bit longer, we can get to another location where we can discuss the situation in more detail and start working on getting you home."

The knights traded looks, wary and nervous, but Leon hesitantly voiced agreement with the plan.

"Sam." The blond sniper passed the rags over before heading over to help Wordy with getting their dead subject upright enough for Spike to shoot the body, so they could cover up the sword wound through the man's chest. Greg sighed quietly, then offered the rags. "Clean up your swords and get them sheathed, please. Outside, you're going to see our transportation; I imagine it will look quite a bit different from what you're used to, but they're not magic and they won't hurt you."

"You don't have horses?" Sir Leon asked, surprise ringing.

Greg's smile was thin. "It's been over a thousand years, sir knights. Things change, some more than others."

Ed moved to help his teammates, but couldn't help but notice the fear in the knights' eyes. He couldn't blame them. If he'd found himself in a totally different world, he'd probably freak out, too. And probably a whole heck of a lot worse than their two guests.