As I sat down at my desk, the chair creaked. It was exactly the sort of creak that was irritating when it happened, but one that you forgot about two seconds later and never did anything about. I hadn't done anything about it for the last six months and on some level I knew I wouldn't for at least six more.

There was more paperwork on my desk than I had time to deal with in a month, and I looked at it with the dread of knowing I had to try. I reached for the first case file. A missing persons with almost no leads. I had interviewed the mother myself and it sounded like a runaway.

One of the worst parts of being a detective in this kind of London borough was these kinds of crimes. The poorest in London often went overlooked when they lived so close to the richest. And with all the budget cuts, recessions and changes in government and monarch, everything had deteriorated fast.

Even if I wanted to find this kid, I was never going to get the chance to properly look. If I did find them, they rarely wanted to come back home, and if I did take them home, they were often missing again a month or so later.

I moved it to the side and picked up the next case. An attempted theft at the Tower of London. Someone had attempted, very unsuccessfully, to steal the crown jewels. They'd raved like a madman about them being owed to the people and added some spiel about inheritance tax that I'd had to listen to for far too long and then been put behind bars to let a judge decide what to do with them.

With the lawyer they had I strongly suspected they'd get off on an insanity plea. If not, they would need a miracle to appear sane.

At least that meant I could sign off my evidence and let the lawyers have at it. With a quick flick of my pen I added my signature and appreciated being able to get at least one of the many open cases off my desk.

When I went to put the pen back down again, I paused. My father had bought it for me the day I'd been promoted to detective. It said Jennifer on it and 2018. The year I'd got it.

Before I could grab the next case file there was the sound of a ruckus from outside my small office. Already desperate for a distraction, I got back up again. The chair creaked again. I winced. Really ought to fix it or get a new chair.

By the time I reached the glass pane that stood between me and the office, it was easy to see why. A tall man was being hauled into the station and toward one of the interview rooms by three of my strongest police officers. And he wasn't making it easy.

It wasn't as if he was resisting arrest or where he was going, so much as he wasn't going there any faster than he wanted to and he wasn't going quietly.

He had a tilt to his head and dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders, not a look many men sported these days, but it still looked manly enough he could easily get away with it.

Although his shoulders were no broader than average, the muscles beneath his shirt were clearly strong, one arm being pulled by each of two of the officers. The third was trying to push this mystery criminal or suspect along from behind, but they might as well have been trying to push a ten tonne boulder up a cliff face.

I walked out of my office and toward the fourth officer trailing behind them, wanting to know what the fuss was about.

"I insist you let me go!" The man called. "Or get me the steward of the city. I must speak to whoever is in charge, immediately."

No one responded as one of the assistants opened the door to an interview room and he was ushered inside. I lifted an eyebrow at the fourth officer and waited for him to explain.

"This one's a whack job and make no mistake. Turned up at the old castle and started trying to claim it. Said it belonged to him and where could he find the steward of the city." The guy's thick accent forced me to concentrate as he spoke, especially as his words came out in a rush. "Oh, and he was carrying this sword."

My mouth dropped open as officer Lewis lifted a transparent plastic wrapped sword almost as tall as the desk and held it out. I went to take it but he wasn't very keen to hand it over.

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"It's still sharp and our fella in there was very particular about it not being manhandled. Said it had a way of making the foolish wish they'd never touched it."

"Better put it in storage and we'll see if we need it."

"You want to interview this one?" Lewis looked at me with just enough hope in his eyes that I knew what my answer needed to be. Whatever this guy was and whatever his intention had been, he wasn't confident he could get the answers.

As two of the other officers exited the interview room I walked towards them.

"What's he said so far?" I asked Stafford, figuring that the sooner I got this started, the sooner I could get it over with. If all he'd done was parade around a castle with a sword that had stayed in the sheath and demand to see a steward, the most he was likely to get was a slap on the wrist. But was that all?

"Just keeps demanding to see the steward of the city. Didn't hurt anyone, but was scaring a few folk, asking people if they knew what the sword meant and making a nuisance of himself. They asked him to leave and he refused. That's when they called us."

I nodded, Stafford used to giving me the low down on a situation and making sure I knew the important parts with none of the fluff. If nothing else, I was grateful for that.

"He didn't come with us right away, but..." Stafford trailed off and frowned for a second. "He didn't know what police were. Genuinely had no clue. When we explained that we were officers of the crown and upheld the law of the land he told us he'd come with us if we took him to our superior."

"So he didn't resist arrest once he understood he was being arrested?" I asked, wanting to make sure.

"Not at all. Although he made a few choice comments about the state of the place, seemed to not like getting into the car and gasped in shock a few times when he saw us drive past technology we've had in place for years."

I could understand why Stafford had frowned. This was... puzzling. He'd been speaking English, so he wasn't foreign, but he wasn't familiar with the uniform for our police or the correct terminology for our leaders.

"That's all we got out of him. He might say more to you. Especially if he knows you're our boss."

"Thank you. Let's see if we can get him some food and drink. Have you got his photo or anything?" I started walking to the door shaking my head as I figured out where to begin sorting this muddle out.

"Nope. And he didn't know what I meant when I asked him for a passport or driver's license."

I stopped again, my hand pausing on the door handle. This was more and more confusing. Did I have another nut job who thought he was Elvis, or some reincarnated Egyptian God?

As the officers all stood around, no doubt curious and eager for answers, it would be down to me to get them. I looked upwards a moment, counted to ten and then strode in.

Mr storm the castle was sitting at the desk on the plastic chair we'd provided as if he was at an interview, his back straight and his head up. I hadn't noticed at first, but he was wearing a loose fitting cotton shirt that laced up and looked like it might be out of a history museum more than a city.

Possibly someone who thinks they're from the past then. Maybe my Egyptian God guess wasn't too far off.

"Are you here to serve me a drink or something?" he asked, his eyes quickly appraising me with a flick up and down.

"No. I've sent one of the officers who escorted you in to do that. I'm the detective in charge here."

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back a little, looking me over again. This time he took his time more.

"There is clearly a lot that has changed. I have a lot to learn and a day is not long enough."

I sat down, getting the feeling that this was going to take a while. So far all I knew was that this guy seemed stuck in the past and that was likely to come with a world of misogyny and sexism I wasn't going to appreciate.

"My men tell me that you were at the castle calling for the steward of the city. What do you want them for and what made you think to go to the castle to find them?"

He didn't reply at first, but he held my gaze and tilted his head ever so slightly to one side.

"I have a job to do, but I fear that it is a job I will have to be more careful of proclaiming until I understand more."

"I'm afraid I also now have a job to do and I need to understand more to know what I'm going to do with you next." I folded my arms across my chest, studying him to try and gauge his reaction as I subtly tried different attitudes and body language.

He still didn't reply. Tough and stern made him clam up more than offer answers then.

"Why don't we start with names? I'm Detective Knights. Jennifer Knights. Who are you?" As I spoke his mouth fell open.

"Guinevere?" he asked, leaning forward and reaching to take my hand. I backed up instantly.

Thankfully he got the hint and also pulled back until he was sitting as I'd found him, in his chair as if he was at an interview, hands clasped together on the edge of the table.

"Sorry," he said a moment later. "You just... remind me of someone I used to know and for a second there..."

He shook his head as if to jolt himself out of the memory. The sadness in his eyes when he looked at me made me feel sorry for him. Had he had some kind of psychotic break. Was he grieving?

"What's your name?" I asked more gently than before, hoping that kindness would do what sternness hadn't.

"Arthur," he replied. "I'm King Arthur."