“Dad, I’m worried,” Lily said. They sat together on one of the cathedral’s rock-hard pews. The guards had departed and brought two people; they introduced themselves as Lady Ravenwood and Master Bringle. The lady was young, blonde woman and wore fine chainmail armor. Over it was a white surcoat with a golden eagle emblazoned upon the chest. The man was older man, tall and lanky, and wrapped in a mud stained trench coat. Pockmarks covered his thin face and he smelled of alcohol. The angel had alighted again, floating above the altar on shimmering wings of light, resumed her low, sweet singing. Frank could not make out the words but it filled the church with an aura of safety and peace.

He’d explained events to them. They’d taken the necklace Lily wore and interrogated the cult leader. Now they stood away from him, heads bowed, ugently whispering.

“It will be fine,” he said, rubbing his daughter’s small shoulder. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“No.” The head that rested against his chest shook. “I’m worried that the diseases we’ll carry will make people sick. They don’t have the antibodies modern people have. What if we’re like Europeans spreading Small Pox to the Indians?”

Frank paused in his rubbing. He hadn’t considered that. It would have never occurred to him, and given the circumstance, would be the last thing on his mind. Their own safety was more important. Lily sounded serious though.

“I’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t think this is Earth,” he ventured. “They might not even be humans like us. And, um, they have angels. I’m sure the angel who fixed you could deal with small pox.” Frank was pulling ideas from out his hairy butt-cheeks, but it sounded rational. The important thing was that it seemed to relieve her.

Lily fell back into silence. Her unfocused gaze resting on the angel. Probably wondering why it had wings when it just hovered in the air, or something like that.

Clara paced around the cathedral. Arms crossed over her chest as she walked the periphery, studying the statues and mosaics. This was exactly the sort of thing she’d like back home. Not that it gave her any joy now.

The two important looking people continued to talk. The lady knight studying the necklace intently. Frank wanted nothing more than to barge between them and demand answers. If he’d been alone, he might have done so.

Their faces were tight. The woman kept a gloved hand on the pommel of her longsword while the man’s bobbed his head with a nervous rapidness as he spoke. A few times they glanced at where he and Lily sat, and Frank unconsciously tightened his grip on his daughter.

Eventually, they broke. The younger woman made a small gesture and the man fell silent. She approached Frank. He stood, immediately picking up that she was someone important and not wanting to ruffle feathers.

“Goodman Martino,” she said. Though young, her voice was calm and authoritative. “I would first like to express my regrets that you came to our realm under such deplorable circumstances. The villain you brought in shall be punished, and we have sent guards to where he indicated the ritual had occurred. If any of the fiends remain, they will be caught.”

“Thank you,” he said, mimicking the head bob he’d seen the others do around her. “But what we need to do is get home.”

“I understand your desire to return to your realm and I will do what I can to aid you. In the morning, I will send word to the Academy of what transpired so that the scholars there may look for a solution. The grimoire you recovered –“ She indicated the heavy, leather bound tome the cultists had used “- may be of aid in this regard, but demon tainted objects can corrupt the mind. It will take some time to study the ritual safely.”

He swallowed, hating to ask the next question. “But… you can send us back, right?

Lady Ravenwood’s lips pressed together subtlety and her gaze dropped for a moment - Frank’s heart fell.

“In truth, I do not know. This is beyond my expertise. The magical scholars at the Academy are very learned, however. If there is a way to aid you, I assure you that it will be found.” Her words were smooth and diplomatic, but Frank’s face flushed in anger. He had to look away as he balled up his fist.

This wasn’t her fault. He appreciated her lack of bullshiting, and he was lucky to that the person in charge even gave a damn about him or his family. It was those damned cultists who’d done this to him! Insane fuckers who wanted to give his daughter away to a demon. He wished he had pounded them a bit harder before he’d left.

The lady picked up on his mood. “There is a station nearby for pilgrims, travelers, and others in need of the cathedral’s aid. We can house you there until such time as you we can return you to your realms – it is safe, secure, and your needs will be provided for.

“Sister Marshall can take you, Goodwife Martino, and your daughter to the station.” Ravenwood indicated a nun who waddled forward. She was a foot shorter than Frank but twice as wide. Her body and hair covered save for her pudgy face. A wooden truncheon hung at her belt, and Frank wondered why she needed it.

Frank felt he was being dismissed and struggled think of the right thing to say. Would they be stuck in barn somewhere for months in the hope that a professor of magic might figure out a solution? What if one couldn’t be found?

“Will you be visiting us?” he asked, hopefully. “To keep us up to date and I’m worried they might come after my daughter.”

“Yes, your daughter…” she favored Lily with a troubled look. “It might be best if she remained with me instead of at the station. The fortress of the Order—”

“No!” Frank yelled. “Lily stays with us. We can all go together to your fortress.”

Lady Ravenwood raised a precise eyebrow at his outburst. Frank reminded himself that he wanted this lady on his side. He calmed and tried again: “She’s young… only thirteen. And she’s been through a great deal. She should stay with us.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“As you wish,” replied Lady Ravenwood. “She will stay with you. Master Bringle is the head of the Witch-Hunters in Culvert and the outlaying lands. The matter of the cult’s interest in your daughter falls to him, and so I leave your family in his capable hands. As my duties are many, I will likely pass any necessary information on through him unless it is an urgent matter.”

Frank looked at the older man. He was a rough sort, no mistaking him for nobility. His iron blue eyes stared out at of a weathered face, measuring Frank up.

“You folk have had an ugly night. Let the Sister square you away for the evening and I’ll call on you come morning.”

The Sister led them out of the cathedral. She walked with a pronounced limp as she escorted them down the hill and to a fortified wooden building.

“Women and children take this bunk house,” she muttered.

“Is there no way Frank could stay with us?” asked Clara, resting a hand on his arm. “He’s my husband.”

“Rules are rules. Men in one building, women in children in another. It’s for the best. The grounds might be consecrated, but any sort can come off the road and beg the church for lodging. And all sorts do. Come morning, there’s breakfast served in the meeting hall. You can spend your days together there if you please.”

He would rather not be separated from his family, but he understood.

“I won’t be far,” he said, pointing to the larger men’s building farther down the hill. “You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” They hugged and kissed their goodbyes. After the Sister in charge took them in, Frank voiced the thoughts that had been troubling him.

“This place is very well guarded for church grounds. It’s almost like a little walled city in the city. And you said it’s consecrated. Consecrated from what?”

“The usual.” Sister Marshall shrugged her broad shoulders. “Ghouls, vampires, ghosts, wererats, demons – the angel’s singing keeps away every sort of dark critter.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. This was crazy talk. That didn’t mean Frank didn’t believe it – he was well past the point of any doubt. That didn’t make a world with vampires and demons any less crazy. His heart sped up in his chest as he remembered the walk to the cathedral. He’d felt something watching them, but had hoped it was his imagination. Who knows how many monsters they could have encountered traipsing around in the middle of the night?

His hand started to shake with panic as he realized where they’d been trapped. How could this have even happened to them? They were sitting at home eating dinner in an apartment only a couple of hours ago.

Frank tried to calm himself. Culvert was a city – he’d seen guards, that witch-hunter fellow, oil lanterns, and a clock tower. If packs of wererats (wererats? Like Splinter from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Did they live in the sewers?) roamed the streets tearing innocent people to bits, civilization would have collapsed already.

As bad as it seemed, there were probably cities on earth as dangerous as here. Even with the vampires and cultists, this place might be safer than Detroit or Rio De Janeiro.

The Sister was either oblivious or indifferent to his discomfort.

“Have things been stable in Culvert then?” he asked.

“Nah,” she said, “Blood moon in two months. Those Red God servants have been sacrificing people right and left, most of the Order’s gone east to fight in the war, and the witch-hunters are less useful than the rat catchers these days.” She twisted her thick neck to look at him, and noticed he’d gone pale. “You’re safe here though. All we need to do is batten down and wear out the storm.”

They reached the men’s bunkhouse. A Brother with a shaved head unlatched the door and greeted them. Sister Marshall told the Brother what had happened and he listened with a frown. It was not the look of a man hearing shocking news but bad news that he’d heard many times before.

He took Frank in. Despite the Sister saying it was safe, the Brother held a heavy set of keys in his grasp, and he locked and barred the thick door behind them.

His name was Brother Thorough and he gave Frank a proper set of tunic and breaches to replace the cultist’s robe, which he burned. He couldn’t offer proper shoes though, only sandals that were slightly too small. He explained the rules of the bunkhouse: no drinking, no gambling, no sodomy, no fighting, and no stealing. Trouble-makers would be tossed outside of the cathedral’s grounds.

Breakfast was at fourth bell. Frank asked if that meant 4 am, but it seemed they didn’t divide the day into hours, but into eight bells total.

The beds were simply canvas cots on the ground. The other men within the bunkhouse were a mixed lot. Several were old and grey, some had missing limbs, and others looked like bums who crawled out from the gutter – a fair few were a blend of all three.

Frank laid down in the dark, listening to the other men snore. It smelled of sweat and damp wood with a hint of old piss. He hoped Clara and Lily’s place was nicer.

He tried to sleep but couldn’t. Every gust of wind outside or someone tossing in their sleep startled him. After about an hour, he began to itch and discovered tiny bug bites on his arms. Frank’s mind raced as he considered everything that might go wrong – several times, he sat up, listening and wondering if he should have left his wife and daughter alone. What if they couldn’t get home? How would they stay safe? They couldn’t live like this forever.

By dawn, he was both exhausted and wired with nervous energy. He sat on his cot and listened to the other men chat about the world – rumors of monsters in the city and surrounding town, rumors of war, rumors of sickness spreading in the ‘lower wards.’ He kept silent, a few glanced his way but no one bothered him.

At breakfast, he hugged Clara and Lily tight. Clara shot a worried look his way, knowing he hadn’t slept. Lily complained about his stubble and a baby who’d woken up crying several times last night.

Their breakfast was sausages, rye bread, and boiled cabbage with mugs of hot tea. The woman’s bunk was thankfully nicer than the one Frank had. Lily had thought to ask if anyone could read, and none of the other women could do so. Clara had started making friends, and it seemed a woman who could read, write, and do math was unusual here. If need be, she could get work as a scribe.

Frank stared at her over his boiled cabbage. His sleep deprived mind struggling to understand that after less than one day, she was considering leaving the safety of the cathedral grounds and getting a job in the city.

“No need,” he said. “We’ll be back home in no time.” This was what he wanted to believe, so he repeated it to himself and to reassure the other two. Clara gave him a doubtful look, but remained silent.

Master Bringle was late. Not that he’d been specific about what time he was coming, but the waiting seemed to last an eternity, so the man was late in Frank’s mind. He wore the same clothing and dirty coat that he had last night, though the smell of spirits had vanished. From the dark marks under his eyes, Frank guessed Bringle had gotten as much sleep as he had.

“What’s happening?” Frank asked. “What did you find? Did you get the others?”

“You didn’t mention you’d beat them senseless and left one man out to bleed like a stuck pig,” Master Bringle replied. He grinned, his teeth were crooked and blackened in spots.

“That’s how we got away,” said Frank, simply. Clara had actually stabbed the man, but there was no need to bring that up.

“Makes sense. The man you stabbed was alive, and offered up some names in exchange for poppy milk. I spent the night hunting them down, and I found one of their based. We’re moving on it in under an hour. The church, the Order, and the Academy all have their ways – good ways, honest ways – but the Witch-Hunters have our own ways.”

Again, he gave Frank a hard, evaluating look, and he seemed to like what he saw. “If you’re not one for waiting, you can join us. We can always use a big fellow like you who isn’t afraid of a man just because he wears a red robe. Who know, we might be able to solve your problem much faster than if you waited around for the Lady’s scholars to read your book. What do you say?”

Frank looked behind him. Clara was chatting with a woman holding a two-year-old. Their eyes met and she gave him a reassuring smile.

“I think,” he said, “I’ll take you up on that offer.”