Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

||From the eyes of an observer||

“Fuck, this way men! Watch your footing!”

The rain never seemed to stop, and the mud didn’t seem to end; it was bad enough the group of men were weighed down with rations riddled with bullet holes that no one wanted to eat. Another body hit the dark liquid, another bit-back curse but none of them could stop – they had to keep going. It was either get to shelter or be found dead by the Germans. Their spines screamed as much as their muscles burned at being forced to bend down even further as a spray of bullets flew overhead. The plan had been to traverse the mud and water of the valley, secure a passage through no man’s land and if they were fortunate in their timing; to get to a safe port on the other side where their allies were waiting.

“Crawl!”

Was all they heard before the man at the front of the group, the third this evening was shot to bits for announcing the sudden appearance of wires; they had dropped the wire cutters at some point earlier, and none of them had the foresight to try and dig around in the sludge to relocate them. Still the flying of bullets and the heat of the overtaxed German barrels were for the most part the only light that these soldiers could see in the distance or around them. This was their only guiding beacon in a sea of danger and darkness. Course, there had been the thought to conjure up their own light, but it would be utter suicide for the entire group if they decided to light a flare.

Dropping down on their bellies, Thomas was glad he wouldn’t be the first one to try to get through the mess of wires and poles, wouldn’t have to be the one whose uniform was shredded and destroyed trying to rush through. There was a yelp and a hand clapping over a mouth as another spray of bullets flew past them, these Germans sure were trigger happy… figured – they were the ones with ammunition.

This small group of soldiers that totalled twenty originally, had been reduced to the size of six. A situation like this could have been avoided if the chain of command had any sense. Alas here they were trying to get through no man’s land against a force that had decided to utilise the stolen shit they had ransacked from the British forces they had slain.

Just the thought of the inventory, of the shit they had stolen were crucial air-drop items that the struggling British forces needed desperately, in their struggle to continue and keep their trenches, their lines solid. When this was first proposed, it had been explained that the whole idea of the mission had been to retrieve what they could, no such luck. These Germans had known about the drops, had known what to take and what to leave, errant items that weren’t able to do much with corresponding parts.

“We should make for the river. Might be easier to get back that way.”

“Have you forgotten? Now with only the six of us. We failed, we don’t have enough to eat and we’re two seconds from being blown to hell.”

Hissed one of soldiers as the three of them, including half of Thomas had gotten under the wire barrier; done poorly and so therefore easy to traverse and crawl/slide under. They started to change their course, rather than heading straight ahead like they had been, they were going to start moving to the right, like crabs. Thomas remembered for a brief moment that there was a village nearby to the right, perhaps they could find supplies and salvation there, one could only hope… right?

Hisakata clicked the top of her pocket watch, her other fingers tapping a simple three-beat rhythm on her silk skirt. Perhaps, in a safer more peaceful time it would have been a song that French children sung or danced to. Though not a period she would have preferred by any means, she had decided to bring her wards, her dearest children to this war-torn mess.

Settling here was both equally lucky, as it was dangerous. Lucky, in that the superstitious war-torn people of France, had abandoned this place, too many bad memories, too many air-raids, the bombs dropping like confetti at a spring festival. The Germans had left the place in shambles; the place was equal parts rubble as it was just the trace remains of a once beloved home. Unfortunate in that, by its nature of being a good hiding spot, that the Germans might just attempt to return and establish a base here, one could only hope that they were bogged down elsewhere and not in the mood to waste their resources.

Course she would have preferred to find a place a little more remote and removed from everything that the war had to offer; but it was either this or nowhere else and her wards had already obediently followed her far and wide to another home. The last one had been discovered by Hollows and thankfully their escape route had worked – no one had been lost, but now they had been teleported to a place held by an enemy who would likely do as much damage to her and her children as the Hallows who sought them out.

German held France was the last place amongst a variable list of horrors Hisakata ever wanted to find herself and her children in…

Rewinding the time until the beginning of the day, she let out a sigh of agitation. She would have to ask the children to set to work in making this town a home. Placing the watch back in her pocket, she looked at the group of children who were no longer huddled underneath her parasol. The rain had never bothered her… not in the slightest.

“Stay here, I will be back shortly. Do not move from underneath the parasol.”

With much reluctance, the children remained idle underneath the small circular shelter provided, between the space of one breath and the next, she transformed into her avian form, wasting no time, she did a thorough sweep of the surrounding area, mentally thinking of where to put the invisible perimeter that this loop would embrace.

Noting down mentally the dangers they faced at the rubble and hodgepodge mix of buildings that remained standing, she was assured a little by the stability of the ones which had survived the bombing. None of them were likely to find a ceiling which would collapse onto them in their sleep.

Hisakata returned just as one of the children thought to test the limits of her command by reaching out into the arid space.

“Are we safe Miss Crane?”

“We are Galen. Bernice be a dear, call out to the creatures and determine if any are likely to be a problem.”

Galen, fourteen and Bernice his slightly older twin sister had been the first two wards she had ever been given to protect under her wing. Barely four years old when their former Ymbryne Miss Woodcock had broken her wings; having fallen from a great height,  she could no longer fly nor serve in peculiar protection.

The red haired, springy footed teen jumped just slightly out of her reach and let out an inaudible sound, by doing so all manner of creature no matter how big or small would hear her and make themselves known; the other children looked at each other in anticipation as Bernice smiled:

“We’re not going to have a problem Miss.”

“Confirmation Galen?”

“She’s right Miss.”

“Very good Bernice.”

The twins had opposing peculiar gifts, Bernice could attract and understand animals, but Galen could decimate and diminish any life form – provided he concentrated on the area surrounding him. It was therefore a very good thing as well that he had always been the less sure of his talents – it meant that the other children were at a far lesser risk of potential harm. Bernice clapped her hands and spun around as the children realising, they were no longer on the run could take a deep breath of relief.

Hisakata took charge once the relief had cemented itself in the soles of their feet.

“We shall split up into two teams. Bernice’s group will consist of the younger ones, you’ll be assisting me in finding food. Angelo and the older children, find some beds, blankets and a room or building big enough for all of us to rest comfortably.”

Course, they had brought along any belongings they could carry from the previous time loop they had occupied, but that was not going to be enough, not at all if they wanted to thrive here. Hisakata stretched her arms, and the small group of orphan peculiars got to work. Never out of reach nor earshot of any of the children.

When there was uncertainty in the safety of a building, the children would return, approaching her, gesturing towards the space of their inquiry, so she would transform and make a sweep, assessing why they might have pointed out a place’s flaws. But they also trusted her judgement upon her return that they would not find themselves hurt were they to dig around a little further.

Thomas was so close, they had been less than a mile away from the shelter of the village when a small German truck of soldiers spotted them; the rest of the squad including himself did not stand a chance against the barrage of bullets; he had been lucky, for he had been standing behind three of the surviving men, down to only four after two more stepped on mines were blown to smithereens.

The dying men groaned and all four could hear the Germans coming around again in their little truck, perhaps Thomas thought that playing dead would ease the fact that he was indeed about to die. He was just about to shut his eyes, not wanting to meet death in the face, when he could have sworn a large bird flew overhead, white as snow and fast – he wondered if it was actually an angel. Meanwhile, the soldiers despite having a truck seemed to scatter, and although he was on the ground, he could just about make out the sound of tires squealing as the truck lurched sharply to the right and towards the opposite direction that Thomas and his comrades were. Or what had been his comrades. Not that it mattered, they were all dead now. Thomas was the last one standing.

The giggle of a childlike voice was what Thomas woke up to next, he groaned and reached for his rifle, one that he usually had by his hip and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. There was no rifle but a gasp instead, he tried to sit up; his heart pounding, afraid he had been captured by the Germans after all.

“At ease.” An oddly accented voice warned him.

He turned his head and realised that he had been gripping the life out of a little girl’s hand, her hand was glowing, and she looked terrified.

“Let Anastasia finish, she’s not done healing you.”

“Healing me? What kind of witchcraft is this?”

He flinched as the little girl freed her hand and stepped back into the bellowing skirts of the woman who was speaking. The woman in question was wearing a style of dress he had never seen before, colourful, and definitely not of this era… her hair was adorned with precious jewels, and her face was painted like a ghost. The most startling thing about her face was the fact her lips were so crimson. He had to be dead, no woman ever looked like that, least from what he knew of the world.

“That’ll do, Ana; help the others with supper. Let me speak to our guest.”

“Okay, Miss Crane.”

The little girl’s footsteps receded until the room was silent, the lady took her place by the bed and placed one of her hands on her lap, the other reaching for an ornate stopwatch that hummed and buzzed as though a hummingbird lived inside it.

“Who are you, where are we? What happened?”

“It’s only been a day since you lost consciousness Sargent Shelby.”

“I can barely understand you.” All her words lilted too high or too low and it hurt his ears.

“Understandable, I am not from here… nor are my wards.”

“Is the war over?”

“No, you are the only survivor of the squad though. I buried the men outside the village and got rid of the men who killed them.”

“Can you slow down?” He was still trying to decipher her words.

She chuckled and nodded and reached into her pockets again and took out a paper notebook, there with the attached pen she wrote down in font so small that Thomas wished he had his spectacles.

Hisakata Crane, call me Miss Crane if that’s easier on your tongue. The Germans did not manage to advance any further from your previous position. You are safe inside a time loop that I have created. Yes, it sounds… almost impossible but once you have healed, I can explain in further detail. The fact you could see me in my avian form tells me that you’re not at all a human soldier.

Chapter Text

||From the eyes of an observer|

Hisakata sliced the roots off of the carrots meticulously, she had half the children peeling potatoes and the other half chopping up other ingredients for their dinner, they all worked in silence.

So, it was easy to hear the heavy footsteps of Thomas Shelby trying to navigate the small three storey apartment building they had chosen to call their main home for the moment. It felt almost as if thunder was directly above them; some of the children looked at each other nervously as she stood up, placing the knife in the trusted hands of Bernice who resumed removing roots as though she had been the one to do the task originally

Amongst the many loops located throughout time, Hisakata belonged to a unique group, separated from the rest, she had been one of the few of her generation to complete the crucial and compulsory training as a Japanese Ymbryne. Born from a long and distinguished line of timekeeping guardians, it went back generations, each female member of her family had been just like her. Doing the exact same job, fulfilling the exact same duty.

Tasked with the important role of keeping Peculiars of all ages, shapes, and sizes safe from the notoriously dangerous and disgustingly judgemental humans. Hisakata had been at this job for the last ten years and hadn’t aged past a year since her eighteenth birthday.

Hisakata could hear him struggling to get down the stairs and wondered if it had anything to do with the fragment remains of what was supposed to be a bullet that had been lodged in his thigh. As it was such a gruesome task, she hadn’t wanted Ana to see it. So, she had been the one to carry him up the entire length and height of the building, had been the one to strip him of his bloodied clothing, had been the one to remove the fragments before asking for Anastasia’s presence.

Looking over each of her wards, twelve children:  Galen, Bernice, Anastasia, Oliver, Holly, Gertrude, Brian, Maggie, Phillip, Rebecca, Jasper, and the youngest at just three years old Rudy. Who usually rested at her hip when she was with the children and not worrying about her duties as their guardian. Was happily working at peeling the layers of onions free from each other, comfortably resting atop a wooden highchair. She knew she would be able to leave the children for a short while and they would be safe to complete the preparation of the meal.

Hisakata spelt their names in her mind eye and listed their abilities mentally as she finally reached where Thomas was sat on the staircase out of breath with a growling stomach. He looked up her, startled.

“Good afternoon Mr. Shelby.”

“No painted face?” He asked wearily

“No, I don’t often paint my face after first meeting someone.”

She watched as he digested this morsel of information, Oliver aged nine whose peculiar gift came from his larger-than-life ears made a noise of surprise and she could hear him telling everyone their guest was awake.

Lowering herself even further onto the dust covered wooden floorboards so that her eyes met directly with Thomas, he was still wheezing. She would give him a moment to compose himself. After he was no longer struggling to breathe – which took longer than she was actually willing to wait, she announced.

“Dinner will be ready soon, is there anything you don’t eat?”

“I’ve been fighting a war for nearly eight months. I’ll eat anything that doesn’t come out of a tin.”

“Ahh yes. Food rations from this time. How undesirable. Stay here or follow me. I will bring you a plate.”

“How can I trust you won’t poison it?”

Ever suspicious. She supposed she could not blame him for it.

“If we wanted you to die, we would have let you die. However, that would be cruel, and I don’t believe in wasting lives.”

Thomas who was still getting used to her voice and the way she spoke, looked at her with uncertain hope as she stood back up, dusted herself off and returned to where he presumed a working kitchen was. Lord, he wanted to get back to the front and he wanted to be out of this strange place… arrangement? Could he call it that?

How long had it been since he had a hot meal that didn’t look like it had come out of a dog’s digestive system? Forcing himself to his feet, he reached for the next piece of furniture, this one a dresser to help steady him… maybe with how injured he was, he’d be sent home, and he could forget he ever fought in the war.

It was pure agony, trying to step or put any weight on his legs, but he didn’t want to crawl anymore. Crawling made him look rather infirm and as though he’d lost his bloody mind. He’d done enough crawling through mud, gore and God knows what else.

“Just a pinch Holly. That’s a good girl.”

Eleven sets of eyes belonging to children of differing ages greeted Thomas as he finally slumped defeated to the floor, one of them… the girl who had helped him stepped forward.

“What’s wrong with his legs?” One particularly mousy looking boy pointed, again these accents… why had he never come across them during his time as a soldier?

“That’s not very nice.” Another one, potentially a teen admonished.

“Holly, please lift Sargant Shelby to the couch.”

The same girl who had, only mere seconds ago had been standing perched over a giant pot with a pinch of salt in hand, stepped away from the pot and moved past the rest of the children. Most of them had stopped to watch, forgetting what they had been doing just mere seconds ago. A directed look from their guardian had them picking up their previous activity, though absentmindedly at best, He lifted his head to be able to look Holly in the eye… she reminded him of a girl that he used to go to school with; what had her name been?

Dressed in a rather pretty gingham dress, Holly bent over him and placed her small doll-like hands on his shoulders. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have realised for how soft her touch was. Now, as if gravity had no pull on him whatsoever, he began to float. The pit of his stomach seemed to jump up into his chest, where his heart was. How was this even possible? Holly stepped back and gestured gently at the couch, without so much time as to blink, he landed on the couch she had directed him towards before the weight of the world came crashing back onto his shoulders.

“Thank you, Holly. Now, who wants to set the table?”

“I do! I do!”

Three very-high bird-song voices said in union, Thomas able to now prop himself against the couch. Observed with far too much ferocity for a casual observer, as Hisakata gently nodded to three of the children in turn.

Thomas watched as the first of the volunteers, a boy in what had to be the cleanest naval sailor costume Thomas had ever laid his eyes on, approached the table, a long sturdy wooden table, the type of table Thomas had hoped, if he weren’t a soldier in his Majesty’s service, to have had in his own home.

This unnamed boy started to tap several spots meticulously. As he did, cutlery from all different parts of the room seemed to enter and settled exactly as he touched the table. All the metal seemed bright and could be mistaken for precious metals for how much they shone. Thomas rubbed his eyes just as the next another girl in a similar though more floral style of dress to Holly with her arms full of fragile glass sped around the room like one of those dreaded German planes, raining terror down on his homeland. She was relatively graceful despite it looking all a blur. She came to a stop in front of Thomas and smiled. Last but not least was the boy with crooked oversized teeth for a boy so small, wearing taped up spectacles.

“What does everyone want to drink?” He asked.

It felt like a whole chorus, no… it was a whole tsunami full of voices started to speak. All of the children trying harder than ever to be louder than the other until the smallest… and Thomas realised the only toddler of the group – attached to Hisakata’s hip put a finger to his lips and blew a raspberry, when he did. Silence swallowed the room.

“Thank you, Rudy. Now Phillip I believe half of the table would like chocolate milk and the others would like some apple juice.”

The kid with the crooked teeth and taped up spectacles, walked around the table with a jug of water, or at least that’s what Thomas thought it contained. For as he poured it, the clear liquid transformed first into apple juice and then to brown coloured milk the next, without so much as a need to change jugs.

Thomas felt confounded, there was absolutely no way in all of God’s many wonders, that this child had just transfigured water into two different liquids. All that he had witnessed thus far, felt like the warning signs of a man in delusion, the sort brought on by the brain as it succumbed to substances like mustard gas.

“What about… him?”

“Me? Uh… just water is fine for me.”

“Ok.” Phillip nodded, this time, it was as expected, just an ordinary glass of water for Thomas.

Now it was time to figure out just exactly the children and Hisakata had been working on when he had first interrupted their routine. With more marvel at the majesty and miracle of the action of these particular children, the large metal pot, lifted steadily above the children, allowing for the stove to be shut off, and floated almost serenely onto the table, centring itself in the very middle. He barely needed to adjust his position to be able to smell the contents, it was utterly divine and the rush of hunger and embarrassment both, lit Thomas’ face up. A rumble of his stomach confirmed to the group what he was feeling most of all.

“I hope you’re fine with curry rice.”

“Curry rice. Yes. Please.”

“Unlike curry you might have had, in the past. This one is considerably sweeter and milder, which is how the children like it.”

Once all the plates, each with variable sizes and portions of identical white rice, steaming and with swollen grains that looked a treat to eat, had been placed down on the table from a less sizeable metal container, Thomas realised that unlike when Hisakata addressed the children in fast rushed sentences, she seemed to slow down and take care when speaking to him, this change gave Thomas the chance to understand and absorb the words, rather than not know what to make of the audible garble.

Thomas resumed a silent vigil as the children seem to sit at a designated spot, all of them eagerly waiting as their guardian walked around the table, ladling equal portions of the softly brown-orange mixture, dotted with pale yellow chunks onto plates, with a round of soft ‘thank you Mis’ going around the table. Last but not least, he was served. He could hardly adjust his posture and sit up straight. But Hisakata made no comment and returned to the head of the table. Sitting down without serving herself.

“Let’s eat shall we.”

Eat he and they the children did…

Chapter Text

Hisakata POV

||Later that evening||

Brushing the unruly curls of Maggie’s fringe away from her eyes, I notice her glancing down at her hands – which were the same shade of colour as the sink, a perfect metallic replication. Quickly freed, and returning to normal, Maggie stepped off the stool and gave me a squeeze of appreciation. No doubt pleased at her readiness for bed. As soon as she stepped out of the bathroom I had commandeered for the evening, I summoned the next and last child to come and get ready for bed.

“Rebecca, your turn.”

“Yes Miss.”

For each of the children, I had ensured the porcelain tub and metal sink were filled with equal measures of steaming water, each time emptying the sink when a child was finished and refilling it quickly so the next wouldn’t have to wait.

Of all of the children I had come to be responsible for and raise to the best of my abilities, it’s Rebecca who has never enjoyed baths or showers. I’ve never gotten to the bottom of why, and I wonder if maybe one day she’ll tell me in her own way.

Dipping and then wringing out a warm damp cloth, I turn away as I hear her strip and wipe herself down, occasionally she dips the cloth back in the water and resumes silently. As she does so, I reach into the very bottom of my self-expanding suitcase and locate her pyjamas. It’s one of the very few items I was given as a graduation gift from my mother before I had entered my term and service as a qualified Ymbryne.

“Finished.” Rebecca murmurs.

We exchange cloth for clothing, and when she’s finished and taps me to let me know I can look, I notice she’s missed a spot on her nose, I can’t fault her for it, the mirrors in this place, like the rest are shattered. It’ll be one thing we’ll have to get used to, unless of course I task myself with repairing what’s been damaged, this kind of work is too dangerous for Rebecca at her age.

“Go pick a room and I will be with you shortly.”

“Are we safe here?” she asked, her hand tucking loose strands behind her ear.

“Yes, we won’t have to run anymore. This will be our home.”

“There’s nothing to fix.”

“Nothing on this floor, no. But there are plenty of things for you to look at tomorrow.”

With that the most independent of my wards leaves to go pick a room, I had told the children after they had a small bit of flan from my ever evolving and subtly reducing enchanted food storage container. That there were several comfortable rooms and beds on different floors, and it was at their leisure to pick which bed they wanted and to let me know in the morning which room they had decided on. Though most of them would start off in one place, knowing how uneasy they felt, It, was likely half of them would shift to another space in the middle of the night.

Letting out what I can only surmise is a breath of sheer exhaustion, I know the day isn’t over and as I check my near constant companion for the time. I give myself one second of rest before folding forward into my avian identity. Though the transformation barely registers as an ache these days, I can remember fondly the first few times I had to transform at will and finding myself unable to move after reverting for the fire in my bones. Shaking out the cold and damp of the bathroom and this collective place, it’s a good reminder that maybe Rebecca will have a project after all, she’ll enjoy fixing up and running the radiators, I just need to give her the go-ahead to do so. With one active flap of my wings, I lift myself up and into the airless hallways to begin the new nightly routine.

It's easy enough to locate what rooms and why the children have picked which that they have. All of them have a preference, some of them prefer to sleep by the window, others almost in the very tightest corners of the room, as if squeezing into the very marrow of the building.

For example, tangled in limbs are Galen and Bernice, her head tucked into his shoulder and his legs strewn across her hips. They sleep together on a faded leather couch, their blanket encompassing them in a cocoon of warmth. The twins will more likely than not, always prefer to sleep in this arrangement, I’ve tried to separate them in the past, but with neither of them being able to sleep and so leading to days of grumpiness and accidents, it's easier to let them be.

Anastasia likes to stow away in wooden wardrobes, leaving just a crack in the door to allow for air flow, she sleeps in a ball with her pillow as a seat and her elbows keeping her head from crashing into the wall. I ensure there’s another pillow waiting just in case her elbows give out; she’ll thank me in the morning.

Oliver, Holly and Brian have all chosen to sleep in three separate rooms next to each other, although I wouldn’t know why Brian thinks sleeping under coffee tables is his first port of call, or why Holly tends to turn on all the lights, keeping them on like a halo of brightness. Oliver is the least creative, in that he picks a bed, but has his head hanging off of the edge, his ears flopping to either side, sleeping on them causes him relative pain, but the head-rush in the mornings must be something he wishes didn’t need to happen.

Gertrude being one of my shier older kids, sleeps with the younger ones that I tend to sleep closest too, and where Gertrude goes, Rebecca is usually following. They – or rather should I say Rebecca has altered the frame of two single beds, making it into an improvised bunk bed, Gertrude sleeps on the bottom with her knees tucked tight to her chest. Rebecca sleeps on the top with no pillow – the pillow having been taken by Gertrude as a makeshift soft toy, I’ll have to see if I can locate a plushie so that Gertrude doesn’t feel the need to steal someone else’s pillow.

Phillip, Jasper and Rudy are precisely where I left them, sleeping like tightly packed sardines in the room adjoining my own. The three have in theory only just come into their peculiar powers and so are easily spooked awake. Jasper kicks in his sleep whereas Phillip tosses and turns, one hand searching for his spectacles. Rudy sleeps like the dead, straight as a pencil, not moving, his shoulders raising and falling the only indication of life. Though as his thumb quickly settles between his lips, I know he’ll be pleasantly dreaming tonight.

I continue to glide around the building, tucking in and gently petting my wards with my wings here and there.

At last, with the certainty that all are asleep and well. I can return once more to my more static, human form. With my clock tucked tightly into my pocket, I reach for the warm familiarity of humming metal and note that I’m just on time.

“Hisakata?”

I lift my head to see Thomas leaning against the door, his brows furrowed, and I’ve noticed he’s changed back into the clothes we found him in earlier, I’ve mended it as best I could, but I can still tell that it is rather too thin and worn in places.

“Yes?”

“Where are you going?”

“To do my job.”

“Your job?”

“I don’t just look after those of us with peculiar gifts. I must reset the loop.”

That was as much as I was willing to divulge as I slipped past the injured soldier, he was limping still. Following me as I stepped out of the ruins of what I presumed was once a grand oak front door to this airy apartment. Reaching for the umbrella I kept tucked into one of my other pockets, I opened it just as a casual deluge of water began to fall around me. Humming I didn’t bother to look back as I made my way over the broken pavement, the glass and all the other remains of civilisation for the first world war. As soon as I was at the edge of the town, several metres away from a rather sparse forest and where Thomas was close to before he saw me flying.

“Are you mad? What if the enemies spot us!”

I snort, adjusting the umbrella and holding the clock in front of me. I began the meticulous task of rewinding the loop. I could hear Thomas gasp as the events of the previous day – before I had captured this moment unfolded, he let out a shout of fear as a group of patrolling German soldiers slipping through me like liquid.

“What the hell!”

“Hush, this is how I reset the loop. Ordinary humans rarely notice a presence like my own. After all, I am from another time entirely. All humans feel as they cross into this loop is the sense of being rather lost. They go on their way wondering why they ever bothered coming near.”

“And you do this… every day?”

“Yes, if I don’t. The loop fails and we are vulnerable to…”

I don’t say the word. Lest they hear me summoning them. He moves as fast as he’s able with his injury until he’s standing under the umbrella. I snort. He’s not realised that the rain hasn’t at all touched him. It’s all part of the illusion created by the loop.

“Why did you save me then?”

“It’s not a matter of why. More so what brought us into each other’s paths.”

“You said I wasn’t human.”

“Mhmm. We peculiars rarely are.”

“So, I am a peculiar?”

“Yes,”

“Like you?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. No, I believe you’re a Diviner. Someone who can detect the entrance to loops. It makes you… rather dangerous.”

“Me? Dangerous?”

“Mm. You could lead… them to us.”

“Who? The Germans?”

“No, I will not speak their name. Lest they are encouraged to find my children and me. For the time being, I would ask you stay inside the loop.”

“I have duties. People probably think I am dead.”

“Certainly not, I have already been to where your base is. I have altered memories and have made it seem as though you returned and have just been sent out again." 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Thomas, my wards, and I saved your life. It’s regrettable that we could not save the other men. They were maggot food by the time I was able to have Holly and Galen escort you towards where we now reside.”

I give him a moment to digest my words; he’s standing so close to me that I can feel the warmth coming off of him in waves. I have to mentally tell myself to focus on my duty and not on the fact Thomas is the first male adult peculiar I’ve ever encountered during my time as a sworn-in Ymbryne.

Thomas POV

All of this makes my head feel like it’ll implode. Pinching my temple, I’m relieved to know that the army won’t send a message to Polly telling them I’m dead… just as I’m about to let out a breath of relief. My stomach, full of my first hot decent meal in months, suddenly becomes cold.

“Shit.” I let out the curse.

Whilst I’ve been here, Arthur and the others must think the army is lying and that I am in fact dead. As a smaller Oriental, Hisakata shuts her umbrella, and I realise that the rain that just fell around us, never even touched us. I blush at this realisation and wait for her to say something else. To tell me something else about this strange new situation I have found myself in.

“Shall we go in? You can ask me more questions now that the children are asleep.”

“Just where are you from?”

“Does it matter? For the moment this is the present.”

“We’re in 1916.” As if telling her this will help her loosen up.

“I am aware. If you must know. I as well as most of my wards come from both the 1800s and well into the 2000s. I myself was born far into the future.”

Chapter Text

Thomas POV

Thus far, Hisakata’s mood has been as volatile as the weather, even after returning to the safety of the building, which looks less war torn than it did the previous day – how this feat was managed and in such a short time, is nothing short of a miracle to me. As she climbs the steps, two at a time, I’m about to follow suit when Hisakata separates us by sliding a door into its frame.

Left to wander, my eyes roaming over the cracks and lines of the ancient timber wood panelling. A strange choking-guffaw sound has me raising my arms, as though I am about to fight another German. Where the hell is my rifle? I should probably ask for it back.

Anyhow, the source of the sound is quickly revealed. Standing on hind hooves and dressed in a multi-coloured monstrosity of fabric with a wide brimmed hat more suited to my very dead female ancestors is from the outlines I can make out…

A donkey, just as surprised to see me falls back onto his fore hooves and narrows what I can only assume is a blinded eye at me.

“’hat did the ca’ brin’ in?”

His voice, both wheezing and like what one expects of a donkey, is also entirely removed from the god-fearing world that I’ve come to know. Polly must be smoking something to keep such trivialities from me, probably because of those bastards in the church. My silence and refusal to answer gives this impossible creature another chance to speak.

“I ‘aid whose you?”

This time I’m able to sputter out words.

“Pardon me?”

Before I can make an even bigger ass out of myself, the door panel that Hisakata had disappeared behind, shifts from its place. This time she’s adorned in clothes that leaves very little to the imagination, clapping my hands over my eyes, the speaking donkey lets out a jovial albeit human snort of laughter.

“Angelo, pipe down.” Hisakata seemingly unfazed by the donkey, or my reaction hisses.

“A-Angelo?”

“’hat me! ‘Ous an eejit.”

“Manners. You should be on patrol.” Hisakata continues.

Between having been saved by a young woman who can control time, all her wards with their peculiar conditions and now a talking donkey. I’m starting to think Arthur’s right about being on poppy – least if you’re already seeing paradise in one sense, regardless of its short-lived nature, it’s probably better than the fantasy I’ve found myself in.

Clicking his hooves, and with another string of barely recognisable words, I watch in some amount of shock and awe as Angelo, from the cracks of light filtering through my fingers that I’ve allowed myself to see through. As the damn donkey just leaps and lands without breaking a sweat on the first floor of the building, skipping the many flights of stairs altogether. Hisakata lets out a sigh.

“Do not mind him.”

“Talking Donkeys. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Animals can be just as peculiar as we are. You ought to be glad he wasn’t in a foul mood.”

I still cannot fathom the thought of looking at Hisakata, lowering my hand I decide its best to stare directly at the stair railings. Perhaps I should mention my discomfort? My nose tells me that she’s just washed and dried herself, the scent of a flower beyond my comprehension and knowledge of botanicals wafts from her skin in waves.

“Are you coming in?”

“I… uh….”

“Need me to cover myself?” she asks teasingly.

“Y-yes, please. I…”

“No need to apologise, sleeping clothes like mine, belong in my time. Not here.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hisakata disappears behind the door before emerging in a long sweater-shirt type contraption, again something that is completely unfamiliar to me. She gives me the age-old look of ‘come inside.’ And so, I do, following her through the door, which she slides back into its place.

The space she has elected to carve out for herself is a near intact apartment, no blast holes, no broken windows. All of it seems pre-war domestic. A place somewhere Polly or Ada would like.

There’s an adjoining room, one with a fully intact functioning door. I can only guess it’s shut to block out our voices, there must be children sleeping behind it.

Hisakata gestures to a deep brown armchair, as if silently saying ‘sit.’ As we continue along the carpeted interior of this space. From out of nowhere, or perhaps Hisakata like every man in the trenches, came prepared with her own drink of choice, the golden-brown liquid is contained within an opaque and stylish bottle, Hisakata pops the cork and offers it to me as I finally take the chance to sit and rest.

“How’s the pain?”

“It’s… more bearable than I’d thought it would be. All things considered.”

“Mm. You’ll have to thank Anastasia.”

“What is this?” the liquid smells like whiskey, but better to ask.

“Just something I keep for situations like this. I don’t drink myself. Can’t with so many children to keep an eye on.”

She folds herself, almost as though she is made of paper and not a human, into a posture of comfort that can’t be comfortable I surmise. Without having a glass to pour myself, I decide to hell with it and take a long sip from the glass container. Instantly I’m met with the burn of the alcohol as it coats my throat and fills me with the sensation that maybe, just maybe I’ll make it another day in the army and maybe just maybe I’ll see life after the war.

“Who is Anastasia?”

“One of the children, a peculiar with a knack for healing any and all recoverable wounds."

“I see. I’ll thank her in the morning.”

Hisakata POV

Thomas settles into a sort of shallow routine, sipping, watching, sipping and watching. He’s definitely more relaxed now that there’s liquid courage in his system and less offended by my choice of attire.

“Once you’re all better, you’ll be able to return to the front lines.”

“And what about you and the children, it can’t be a good idea to dwell here.”

By here, he means an abandoned building, but he doesn’t realise that the loop is practically impenetrable so long as I make sure to reset it and no physical threats come knocking. Still, it’s really not worth thinking about.

“How will I know all of you are safe.”

“You won’t, that’s the joy of being able to travel through time, making a home wherever we can. I assure you; this is not my first time in a period as dangerous as like this. I appreciate the concern nonetheless.”

||Two days later||

The children stand almost in a circle around me, all of them with one or both hands up. Waving, some of them are doing their best not to cry as Thomas takes measured steps towards the limit of the loop, he’ll return to the life he’s supposed to living and hopefully he won’t need to return, and I won’t have to see him again.

Though it was nice to have another adult around for a little while, he was a dangerous distraction, one that might have led to further complications, the kinds that I cannot afford to have, not when I have so many children to protect.

“Come, back inside. We have chores to complete.”

I’m a little less stern with the children as they wipe their teary eyes on their shift sleeves or on each other. As each of them break away from the semblance of the huddled circle, I check my watch and let out a breath of relief, there’s still plenty of time in this newly established loop of ours to settle into a proper routine.

“’Ou miss ‘im?” Angelo asks me, he’s the last one standing, waiting.

“No, I won’t. I need to patrol; will you watch the children for me?”

“’onsider it ‘one. We will be ‘aiting here.”

I thank Angelo by running one of my hands through his scruffy mane, he bays with some amusement before he trots off to accompany the very youngest who are able to move to their chores, or whatever else the children feel like doing, knowing that the even younger weren’t awake to see Thomas go, makes my heart sink a little, but then again, he’s just a temporary visitor, or rather he was, he’s gone back to the war and I have a job to do.

Chapter Text

Thomas POV

Beggar’s belief, I wish I had been injured more when Hisakata and her wards found me. Their relative comfort is a godsend in comparison to the readjusting of living in a water-logged trench full of injured, sick, depressed men.

“Tommy!”

Arthur shouts as a particularly loud explosion – from a shell, no doubt hits somewhere in the distance and causes us to send back our own.

My brother gives me a hug, and we both exchange looks to confirm to the other knowledge of our safety, that our friends and younger brother John are still alive, that no one’s died on my ‘extended mission out of the trench.’ As part of the farewell gift Hisakata scrounged together before sending me away from the loop, are a few tins of perishable items that could in theory just belong to some dead German.

Lifting my worn jacket and showing these particular tins to my brother, he lets out a large whoop and a hefty clap on my back is my reward as he turns to some of the men who have noticed my return.

“We’ll be eating good tonight lads! Tommy’s done and got us some decent food! Don’t tell the others, won’t be enough to spare otherwise!”

In the parcel of things Hisakata gave me, are two decent servings of Erbs Wurst – something that can be made into soup, she tells me if I add it to whatever water I can boil or manage to find that isn’t contaminated. Otherwise, it can be eaten as is, some dried bread, I think it might be wheat or rye, but I’m not complaining, enough powdered milk and premium tea leaves for a single kettle, dried or smoked bacon rashers, some dried carrots, legumes and a potato or two, a jar of marmalade and a container of leftover curry and rice that I will not be sharing with anyone.

We all know the chain of command will hear I’ve returned, they’ll be expecting me to hand over the goods, but I can’t, not without them asking me questions about just how I precured some of the rarer items. Items which some of the men around me haven’t had in months since the rations got smaller, leaner, less easy to come upon.

So, we move over to the soiled and dank-smoke embers meant to be providing warmth to the men around me, it’s pitiful but then again, Hisakata didn’t leave me without something to make the fire come back to life, least for a little while. Again, she must have seen the state of the trenches and with her modern fritillaries thought I deserved to at least the boys with some measure of comfort.

Arthur covers for me as I gently put onto the mound a bit of dried cinder wood and with some use of a flint and steel striker, the fire bursts into life and Arthur, with his fingerless gloves quickly puts his fingers almost too close to the orange flames.

I set to work preparing a meal for the men, John having rejoined us alongside Freddie, both of them barely having cleaned up after digging another tunnel and looking like neither has slept much over the few days I’ve not been here.

Soon there are at least eight of us, four men who I don’t care to remember the names of, sitting pretty with dented cups steaming with tea and milk, gnawing and chewing on the very last pieces of the parcel, though my container of curry and rice is yet undiscovered and still hidden.

I recall the last conversation shared between Hisakata and I.

“I’ve given you two different parcels, one you should use as soon as you get back, as quickly as possible to raise the morale of the men you’ve got with you. The next, you’ll reveal to your superiors and only them.”  

“Are you sure, you don’t need this?”

“No, we’ll be fine. This is as much as I can do to help you. Without interfering anymore. If anyone asks, just tell them you struck it lucky with the company you did have, I’ve scattered some parcels of the same type around the trenches in the dead of night when nothing was happening. No one will be complaining, they’ll just know it’s from you.”

Still as we enjoy the rest of our meal, I’m glad in part to know that tomorrow we’ll still have something to look forward to, having not used the Erbs Wurst, it’ll make a fine morning meal of soup, or if Hisakata can be believed, eaten as is in its solid form. I’m brought back to the present when Freddie comments almost like he’s lost in fever.

“I swear, angel with black hair. Is what I saw.”

The food and drink seem to turn to something like sand as I listen to their conversation.

“She came, I saw her, heavenly. Long black hair with white wings. In a dress I’ve only seen in those painted pictures Ada has.”

“We all know angels have blonde hair and blue eyes.” John remarks.

Well, yes, that’s the stereotype, but Freddie’s description of a woman with black hair in a dress that’s entirely unfamiliar to him or to anyone else. Tells me that he’s spotted Hisakata as she made her rounds. Either she let him see her, or she had no idea he was watching.

“Should have told her to take you then, go to heaven or wherever.”

“I wanted to, almost did. But she vanished.”

“People don’t just vanish into thin air. Christ Freddie, maybe you should take a break.”

No longer wanting to hear John and Freddie speculate on whether or not Hisakata is real, I take my dented cup and move away from the fire and start making my way down the line and towards where I know the men who await the second parcel are waiting.

It pisses me off to see them in their tent, comfy, having probably been given a ration of some spirit to take the ease off of their so-called ‘taxing’ roles. The men inside all look at me with some of confusion, shock and then understanding.

“Welcome back Shelby took you long enough. Thought we’d have to come looking’ for you.”

“I’ve come to report in and give you this.”

Hisakata had been at pains to tell me not to open this second parcel, telling me it would all be revealed in time once it was in the hands of the proper authorities, and despite wanting to know, I trust her intuition and as she hadn’t tried to kill me and hadn’t tried to do anything that would have any of the sirens in my head, ringing. I can only trust now that she’s continuing her work or whatever she thinks she owes me… or do I owe her and this just her way of letting me know that the balance is settled.

The second parcel is tubular, almost like it’s got some kind of map – which I’m guessing is the point, only the boys who go in and out running with correspondence ever have these kinds of waxy tubes with them. I don’t care which one opens it, but when they do and with a knife to scrape off the sticky black wax seal, I almost want to turn and move away.

“Fucking hell! Is that what I think it is! Where the fuck did you get this!”

There, unrolled and quite clearly a map, one that I don’t recognise because of how neat and polished it looks, my commanding officers look at each other, then the map and finally look at me with eyes of utter astonishment. Stepping closer as to examine the map in further detail, the feeling of fear and somewhat revulsion for the men in my company turns to one of utter joy and satisfaction.

I’m not sure how Hisakata managed it, and I don’t frankly think I’ll ever get the chance to ask, but in the time since leaving her, being with her wards etc. she’s gone and stolen the most detailed map of the German’s camp any of us are ever likely to see. But it’s not just that, behind the first piece of waxy paper is a record of the happenings and routines of the German’s camp. With the very last piece of paper revealed it indicates where they are digging and how close they are to breaching some of our lines.

“Fuck we need to tell the men to seal the tunnels or arm them.”

‘We need to tell command about this.”

“Just how did you manage this?”

All the words come flying out of our mouths at once.

Chapter Text

Hisakata POV

It’s as Bernice and I are plucking the feathers off of a game bird for our meal tonight that she stops and turns in the direction of where the younger children sit and play on the mat, most of them are old enough to be doing chores, but due to their age and because they’re still relatively coming into their power, more so than other, Rudy, Phillip and Jasper are given most of the day to learn to read, write and play. For the moment, the three seem content to play with the small assortment of wooden blocks and other bric-a-brac I’ve found whilst exploring the ruins of a nearby kindergarten.

“Hollow.” She says under her breath.

“Where?”

“Sniffing around the edge of the loop, hasn’t found the entrance, but Angelo has smelt it too, it’s coming Miss Crane.”

“Gather the other children and hide, do not come out until either I come to get you or Angelo brays for you all to run. Galen knows what must be done, should I not return.”

Wiping our hands, Bernice rushes to pick up Rudy and coaxes Phillip and Jasper both to pick up a toy of their choosing before running, knowing that time is of the essence in cases like these, I reach into my pocket and easily locate the long set of throwing knives I keep for the purpose of protecting my children.

With nigh a breath between the transformation of woman to bird I swoop out of the building I am in and fly a hair breath too close to the other retreating children who are being led by Galen, in the case of my demise or in the case of the Hollow getting too close and potentially consuming their lives, Galen and I, came to the stipulation that he would kill not just himself but the other children, thereby rendering their eyes useless to the beasts and ensuring we would all be reunited in the land after death.

Angelo brays, he knows that speaking in any recognisable human tongue would only attract the Hollowgast towards him and thus the entrance of the loop. Knowing that I myself, could also potentially be a cause of exposure, I return to my human form and holding the throwing knives, reach once more into my extensive pockets for the strongest torch I can.

It's not impossible to make out one of the damned things, their smell for one is a big giveaway, even if they’re invisible and can only really be seen when feeding on the souls of our kind. Still, I make sure to direct as much light as I can, waiting, and holding my breath as I notice its lumbering body at the very edge of where the loop I have tirelessly constructed. One of its obscene tentacle tongues seems to swipe, and I can only just make out Angelo running back to a clear distance, waiting and listening to hear for any signs that I might die trying to protect my children.

Kissing the blades each in turn, I steady myself and when the monster takes one step too close, I strike.

The first blade slices one of its tongues like appendages clean off and it squeals and roars with indignity, its black blood dripping and spraying all over, the hiss of the acidic liquid making me cringe. The next blade lodges deep into its shoulder, so long as I can see it is bleeding, then I can just about make out where its heart should be, and failing that, I’ll aim my very last blade to cut its neck clean from its head. It staggers looking around, attempting to enter the loop, but without the knowledge it needs, it can only move about, it almost seems to enter. At that, I’m able to push back and then with a banshee-warrior cry of my own launch the third and usually the deadliest one of my blades into the fucker’s throat.

I decide to decrease the size of the loop by nearly four broken buildings once Galen, though apprehensive at first, ensures the Hollowgast is dead, his peculiar gift sends him crying into my arms, it’s a rotten feeling, and I know he hates using his gift, but it’s our last and only true defence, especially in times like this.

We might not have had to have left and jumped through many passages if not for the fact, the last time we came upon our natural enemies, they were being led by the man who made the modern-day iteration and my personal worst nightmare: Caul.

“We are safe, and we will move should another come. I promise.”

I tell my children that night, all of them having foregone their usual routine and are now in my bed, squished against each other. Once the Hollowgast that did come today was declared dead, I made sure to bury it as deep as one could with the tools that I had on hand, Angelo and Galen helped, so did Bernice and her many animal companions, but we all probably wished that one hadn’t found us so soon, not after we chose to settle here.

Knowing that I must report this encounter and the success in which I had with disposing of it, doesn’t make it easier to slide the door to my room with all twelve of my children inside easier. But I do what I must, standing by the door, my rarely used Ymbryne bound form of long-distance communication, it’s not a radio, nor a phone per se and we really only started getting these circa 2016 when one of the best hunters we had and associate of Miss Peregrine, Jacob Portman created a long form sort of locket that could be used to speak to any blood related Ymbryne or closely tied individual of a peculiar nature, in this case, I chose to bind mine to my mother and my mentor Miss Pygmy-Woodpecker. I’m not sure where either are at this moment, but I concentrate on getting my message across.

{1916, German Occupied France, Loop Day 5. Hollowgast dead by knives. Safe.}

I know it’s unlikely I’ll get a response back, but I wait anyway. Just in case. The locket grows heavy before producing a nearly inaudible ‘thunk, thunk’.

{{1981, M.C.sr. Message received.}}

Relieved to know that my mother knows and will likely share this knowledge with the rest of her sister loops, I shut the locket and put it back in and amongst my most crucial items. I’ll have to sharpen my knives and be on guard more so than usual for the coming days and nights until we’re sure there are no other dangers lurking.

Thomas POV

It’s backbreaking work but the satisfaction of hearing the Germans as they scream from being shattered to bits is a worthwhile one, Johnny, Arthur, Freddie and I clap each other’s backs as we hear several of the same concussive explosions go off in a row, the Germans thought they would breach our lines and kill us in our sleep, but with the map Hisakata procured for us, we’re able to fight back and with a vengeance not felt since we landed here to begin our mission to liberate France.

“They’ll think twice about digging here.” John says, trying to free his face of a thick film of dirt and charcoal. Splashing his face with what precious, clean water we’ve collected from the rain.

“No point cleaning up too much, we’ll be sent back out.”

“Yeah well, you never know do you, if the next time will be our last, might as well try to look presentable in case that angel comes by.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

John still teases Freddie about him having seen Hisakata, I have yet to comment on the fact that Freddie was not hallucinating when he saw her, but I also don’t want to explain how I know.

I relished the taste of the curry and rice, the very last hints of it still stick to my throat and every time I shut my eyes for a brief moment of respite, I’m back in that room, on that couch watching as the children shovel mouthfuls of food and Hisakata watches, pleased that she’s been able to provide food to them. I wonder what she’s up to now, if the children wonder where I am, even if I am nigh but a stranger to their unique style of living.

I do make sure none of us go near the direction of the town or where Hisakata told me was the start of the loop, for everyone but my own sake, especially if what she said was true and it’s likely the lot would lose their minds if I suddenly vanished into midair.

With the very last explosion behind us, we crawl-walk through the trenches, past the puddles where possible and back to where the rest of British civilisation – or what remains of it in this god forsaken city of tunnels and death, sits. Most of the men we pass, hold their rifles to their chests, others who are less patriotic and trying to past the time scribble barely legible words onto wax paper, others play cards and share pitiful cigarettes.

“Lord, what we need is another good break, like the one you got when you brought us that food, any of it left?”

“You know there isn’t, saw me cut up the rest of that pea-wurst shit.”

“Can only hope then you get sent out on another mission to scout for supplies, figure out where the allies who do want us to win the war are. Aye?”

“Never know, I suppose.”

Chapter Text

Thomas POV

A full-blown catastrophe occurs the next evening, it’s not that we didn’t prepare well in advance, by doing as we did, blowing up all the potential holes and tunnels that would have led to problems for our end of the war.

It starts when, one of the temporary dam-moats dug towards the very far end of the trenches, of the camp overflows with water, and it’s not that water is the issue here, no it’s the location of the flow of water and where it ends up.

It’s John who shouts down the ladder before he is swept from the rungs and before I can think to shout for my younger brother, I too am swept up the torrent of water and forced downwards, back down to the pit we’ve just secured.

When water can only go downwards, there’s no fighting the force of the flow. Thrown from one side to the next, I flap in vain, kicking and trying to find purchase against the shaft, reaching in vain for the ladder I know is there, I can only hope that John has had some amount of luck.

Lungs burning from lack of oxygen, I can feel the impending panic starting to build in my system, it’s a different kind of panic to being at gun point, the moving target for angry Germans.

I don’t know how I come to consciousness this time, or how I didn’t inhale enough muddy water to officially be considered one of those mummies they look all over for in the deserts of Egypt.

But I do and it is in a darkness that is cold and sodden, retching up and coughing up whatever water did manage to make it into my mouth and my stomach, I look around hopelessly for my brother.

“John!” I cough “Johnny! Are you there!”

Wiping away the mud and water from my face with my equally as soiled uniform shirt, and managing thankfully to move my legs, I get onto my knees and start crawling, hoping that I know this tunnel system well enough to find the next ladder, the next possible escape from this hellhole. The entire time I keep my ears peeled for any sign of John, my eyes are useless in this darkness. There’s nothing but the scent of water and mud here, unless I want to conclusively add the scent of my own sweat and panic to the list of things I need to worry about.

Polly will be furious if I’ve managed to lose my younger brother to the war, so will Arthur… who is probably above ground and wondering where we are, or maybe if was there when the water started, he wonders if we’re dead and he’s the last surviving Shelby here at the warfront.

Hisakata POV

Bernice screams, her hands rushing to her ears in a sudden motion to protect them, that she elbows Galen’s chin and causes him to hit his head against the rest of her arm, he lets out a yelp of surprise before the blood begins to spill from his nose, the twins have relocated to the very edge of the where we inhibit and where I will allow the children to sleep.

“Bernice.”

Gently, as she shakes and sobs, her head moving back and forth as she seems to hear something shouting. Galen, holding his head as high as he can, moves in my direction as I give him something to stem the flow and try to figure out what has frightened the eldest of my wards into such a furious state of panic.

It’s between one breath and another shriek of fear that any amount of legible sense seems to leave Bernice, and it’s Galen who picks up on what his sister is failing to say, muffled from the tissue and looking at me as if to say ‘please do something, this is not normal for my sister. Help us’, I lower my stance so that I can wrap my arms around the shaking teenager and wait as the shrieking turns into sobbing, but her heart won’t slow and she’s still panicking.

“Thomas, danger, water. The moles! It’s a flood!”

Thomas, I pull back and assess her as she sniffles and then looks to her brother, before bursting once more into inconsolable tears. Hearing the click-clack of Angelo’s hooves, I’m grateful when the grumpy often times belligerent donkey, kicks his fore hooves and looks at me.

“’O, will ‘ettle ‘em.”

“Galen, your nose, will you be alright?”

“Yes Miss, not broken, just bumped hard against Bernice’s arm.”

“Alright, I’ll go see if Sargant Thomas needs help, where did the moles who fled say he was?”

It’s a hodgepodge mix of words, crying, begging for forgiveness and fear but I eventually get some kind of idea of where to look for Thomas, and presumably according to Bernice at least, a younger brother who might also need aid. Kissing both my wards where I can, I squeeze Bernice once before releasing her to be held by Galen who nods that he’s got things handled. Angelo doesn’t leave and when I can’t detect any of the children are awake or disturbed by this, I transform and make my way out of the loop and towards where I know Thomas might desperately need my help.

Every part of my Ymbryne protocol training tells me that I should not be leaving my loop or my ward without a purpose such as rescuing a spotted peculiar child with nowhere else to go, or to go collect help from a sister loop. Especially not after that Hollowgast made itself known before I shrunk the loop and told the children we would leave if another came. I know I should be doing my duties and prioritising a dozen lives over one adult like Thomas Shelby – and I suppose by extension, his brother who is in danger. But knowing how perilous a time this is, and how rare a peculiar like Thomas is, I cannot let this opportunity go by to save his life in hope that one day, if he makes it after the war, he'll marry and have a child with the same inherited gifts, he’s exactly the kind of peculiar that Jacob Portman needs plenty more of.

Mostly because if round up those who can find the loops that might have been abandoned or worse still, destroyed by the likes of Caul and his associates, if we can have as many as possible, then we can devise a better way to keep the loops safer, harder to find and thus creating better sanctuaries for the children we protect.

I wish I could consult my mother on this matter, because she too was left in a situation like this once, or rather when this situation occurred, I was the resulting child and next in line to take up her mantle. I never knew my father, and gods forbid I accidentally stumble across him, be it here, or in another time.

The French countryside air, at night for what it is, is not as harsh or as icy as that of the Arctic winds or the Northern Japanese winds I’ve had to deal with before when flying around patrolling, but still, I’m grateful that it’s an overcast night and that the light of the moon is obscured, because it means I’m less likely to be shot down by a soldier hoping to make a meal out of my avian form.

I can spot the source of the water and the panic, there are men running to and from, most of them trying to be quiet and running in the dark, too afraid to let the Germans know what’s happened, listening keenly I can barely make out the attempts at whisper-shouts.

“Shelby! Two of them, down there! Fuck, we can’t find them! The lanterns are done for.”

“Where’s the fucking map!”

“Tommy! Johnny!”

This voice, presumably someone close to them is bereaved, like the source believes the two men are already dead, I can only guess the second name belongs to just as precious. Finding the emptiest area that I can, I revert to my human form, knowing it’s a risk, but also remembering that I can just erase the minds of these men, I find one of many entrances, to where I presume the flood of water has traversed down. I probably look a sight or will look a sight to whichever man finds me like this, but as I start down the ladder, I force my ears to do most of the navigating for me.

I scowl when I finally reach the bottom, there’s no water left, most of it is further afield or soaked into the walls, but it’s an unpleasant feeling under my heeled boots. But this space isn’t the kind where I can transform and walk around, my wings would be a hinderance down here. Reaching into my pockets for a modern day convenience, I have to whack it once or twice but the torch sparks to life and I wonder why I didn’t just do this to begin with, it’s soft plastic can easily be held in my teeth, patting down my baggy pants, I start walking, listening for Thomas and whoever this Johnny person is.

“Johnny, stay with me.”

A harsh gasp, a series of them. A sinister bone cracking, I can only surmise that it has to be someone who’s trying to resuscitate another and has likely cracked Johnny’s ribs in the process.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing here!”

The man who I didn’t realise was behind me, doesn’t have much a chance against me, because I have up against the wall and a long flight feather of mine under his nose, he sneezes but his eyes go blank in that telltale sign of a human whose had their memories altered. I whisper into his ear.

“Go back, tell them the length you’ve so far travelled is emptied, nothing to report. Nothing to see.”

Turning him back, I watch as he staggers off and I resume on my journey. Now pinprick focused on the voice of the person no, persons who are trying to resuscitate Johnny.

I see the top of Thomas’ head before he can see me, he’s currently bent over the form of body, his elbows working hard with effort. His companion clearly spent and exhausted, wipes at his mouth and is trying to recover some kind of energy. Thomas is just about to go for another breath when he spies me and flinches, his reaction causes his companion to look over and I hear the strangest combination of words I’ve thus far heard whilst being down here in the trenches and whatever else the British army is currently using to defend against the Germans.

“Fuck! It’s the black-haired angel!”

“Shut–the–fuck–up.” Thomas says between breaths.

“I told you; I told you, didn’t I?”

“I’m no angel.” I interrupt this man. “Now, out of the way”

“Here to collect John’s soul, like hell!”

“FOR FUCK SAKES.” Thomas shouts at his companion. “FREDDIE. NOT NOW.”

But this Freddie person, doesn’t stop, no he pulls a revolver on me. He has it pointed at his chest, and I narrow my eyes, reaching for my own set of knives, whilst we’re not supposed to kill humans, I’ll do it to save my life and then I’m getting back to my children and pretending I wasn’t so foolish as to come here. Thomas looks at me, pleading that I don’t do anything as he grapples with the man for the gun.

One bullet goes into the wet dirt with a pop-crack and both men cough at the smoke which I wave away, Thomas manages to finally get the gun away and throws it a fair distance away. He shakes the man as I finally come to crouch by the man who the pair have probably been working on for the past who knows how long.

“Yes, she’s real. But she ain’t no angel and she’s here to save Johnny’s life. I promise, I’ll tell you everything.”

Not everything, especially if he’s no peculiar Thomas. Please.

“She’s the black-haired angel, she’s here for death, god couldn’t send the fucking reaper.”

Adjusting my stance and cracking my knuckles. I place my fingers to the man’s neck, there’s a weak pulse, but based on Thomas and Freddie’s ministrations, he hasn’t coughed or given them any sign of life. His soaked body is cold to the touch, and I cringe as I turn him on his side, and without preamble or permission whack him once, twice, three times on the back.

It's just as I’m about to slap his back a fourth time, that he spits out and vomits a rather sensational amount of water, and once that’s out of his system his eyes open and he coughs and coughs, water streams out of his nose just as much as it does eyes, and Thomas now sure that Freddie won’t try anything wraps his arms around the man and lets out a joyous sob of relief.

“Oh, my fucking god, Johnny, we nearly lost you.” Thomas sobs.

“Careful.” I tell Thomas, now getting a chance to assess the man’s other injuries that I can see. He’s broken his right arm, and will need that to be set as soon as possible, and knowing that there’s only ladders between here and the first aid areas, I reach into my pockets for the starts of what will likely be a field sling.

Johnny, if that is actually his name, looks around in the dark tunnel and then at me with my torch and flinches. I give him a nod of acknowledgement. Before deciding to deal with the trigger-happy gun slinger, standing so much as I can on this filthy waterlogged dirt and putting my hands on my hips, torch light shining at a distance away from them.

“I am no angel, and I do not care to have a gun pointed at me. What I am is also none of your concern and if not for Sargent Shelby and I being familiar, I would not be here.”

“Hisakata, thank you.” Thomas murmurs into Johnny’s hair.

Extracting the same feather out from it was hidden under my sleeve, I shove Freddie back and he hits the floor, quickly straddling him much to the surprise of Thomas and Johnny both, I alter the man’s memories of the evening so he doesn’t remember me whatsoever and so I don’t ever have to cross paths with the ingrate ever again. Once he’s unconscious, I look at John who is now in a lot of pain and is clutching his arm.

“I need to set the bone, or it will never heal. I have something for the pain.”

Again, rummaging around until I’ve located the same liquor bottle that I offered Thomas, several nights ago, I uncork it and offer it to Johnny before gesturing for Thomas to move aside so I can treat Johnny.

“So, not an angel. Then what?”

“A friend, what’s the connection between you both?”

“We’re brothers, John’s my younger brother. Our older brother is up top. Probably thinks we’re dead.”

“Ahh, so he was the one already crying. Gotcha, well. He’ll be relieved to know no one is dead today.”

It’s a bad break, but the bone hasn’t split the skin, and the muscle doesn’t look to be too torn, still John will be out of action for a while, and can presumably be sent home, and I think Thomas knows that as I gently prod at the limb. John, for what it’s worth has already gulped down several mouthfuls of the liquor and his breathing is easing.

“Now, you’ll either want to bite into this,” offering him the cork “or you can squeeze the life out of your brother’s hand, it matters not, but this will be unpleasant before it will be better.”

“Do it. I’ll take the cork.”

“Good man.”

Chapter Text

Thomas POV

When Hisakata leaves this time, having saved my brother and my life for the second time, it’s not without me wanting to go with her.

But she leaves and John and I both decide it’s best not to speak on the topic, or for that matter act as if anything else out of the ordinary happened, saved that I well, according to ‘pain-delirious’ sibling somehow knew how to set a broken arm. But none of the commanding officers question it, not even Freddie – who from what Hisakata did to him, believes he must have skipped or slipped from the sodden rungs. The large bandage on his head, this time from me actually punching the man whilst he was unconscious, was enough to have Freddie sent to the concussion ward in some other area of the medic field hospital and John, Arthur and I over to the long-term convalescing area.

“You two, scaring me like, thought I was the only one going home.”

Arthur moans for the hundredth or so time since John’s been given the orders he’ll be sent home as soon as they can secure transport for him and three other men, all of whom have long-term sustained injuries that’ll see them out of action for months, maybe even years with the physical recovery ahead of them.

“Well, we didn’t. So, save your tears for Ada or Polly.” John points to his broken arm.

“How’d you, do it?”

Arthur is the only one who doesn’t believe the miraculous story that I, Thomas Shelby, his slightly younger brother was taught how to set a broken arm by watching medics do it.

“Does it really matter? It’ll heal right.”

“You’ve been havin’ a lot of luck lately. Save some for us, yeah?”

“Not like it’s got anywhere else to go. We’ll make it home; Johnny’s just lucky he’s getting a first-class ticket home.”

“Not like I want to leave.” John mutters.

“We know, but this is good. At least one of us can stick to the King and his idiot government and go home knowing that the others will follow suit.”

The repairs of the damaged dam and other such intricate matters, seems to happen overnight and I suspect that it may have something to do with a little time bending on Hisakata’s part, that and a changed attitude amongst the officers and every other prick in charge of the hellscape of war.

Because for once in my life, well, depending on how you look at it, I’m a liar. I’m glad that I’m being sent out on another mission to see if there’s anything in the way of supplies to be had. Now that we know the Germans have retreated somewhat after having a small portion of their men blown to oriental porcelain; and we’ve also learnt based off of Hisakata’s detailed listings of their inventory – this time, the note came miraculously out of the blue from one of the men who’d taken out a particularly tall looking blonde one.

The Germans are indeed struggling for medical supplies, and their trucks no longer have enough fuel to be chasing us away, which means we’re partially all on the same footing for the first time since I arrived here in France to fight for my country.

It’s a small retinue of Arthur, Freddie – no longer concussed, but still a little confused, myself, and one Scotsman and Irishman who’ll be circumventing dead man’s land, the wire razor lines and instead we’re going through the surprisingly as of yet still woods that I remember walking through when I first departed from Hisakata and the loop.

She explained that the reason why the forest remained up and hadn’t been attacked eagerly by us or the Germans was because the wood was of poor quality and would smoke out our locations quicker than we could recite the King’s name and title. But nevertheless, it made for easier trekking and a good hiding spot if worst came to worse and we were down to another gunfight with the Germans.

I haven’t seen her avian form since the first night, or the second. I suspect something might have happened once I’d left the ragtag group of Ymbryne and Peculiar orphaned children. Something that Hisakata had been spooked by, but without getting to speak to her, to hear from her what’s happened, I can’t even be sure if they’re still here or if they’ve moved to another time.

“We’ll make camp here, tomorrow we’ll search the village’s southern third. Last part of the place we haven’t looked.”

Arthur says, both a little too loudly and little like he’s only just now learning what that technique Ada calls a ‘stage whisper’ is. By here, and by making camp he means in a little hollowed out lodge between two trees that have twisted and bent to make an almost illusion of a natural shield.

The five of us split, two of us will attempt to make a fire with the green wood – even if it does smoke, hopefully the trees and wind will keep us shielded. The other two, seem to suggest they’ll go see if there’s any game to be had in these woods – nothing short of a miracle if any of us were halfway decent hunters with knowledge of French wildlife. This leaves me with the unenviable and yet fortunate task of acting as lookout and scout for the other four, so much as I can.

Which means, there’s every chance that if I’m lucky, Hisakata might be aware of our proximity and might just poke her or one of the children’s heads out to say hello.

Hisakata POV

“I’m bored and Maggie keeps cheating!”

“Well, you’re cheating by running around so fast and scaring me!”

Maggie defends herself against Gertrude, both of whom have been getting on my nerves since they decided that they and the rest of the children – besides Rudy who sits on my lap, content with an ornate though resilient brass rocking horse circa 1900, are playing a building spanning game of hide and seek. I’ve told them that they could play so long as they were fair and no one used their peculiar gifts unduly. But, like all children in that range of preteen and not quite preteen, it’s the rebellion against instructions like mine, that brings them some kind of extreme pleasure.

Though not often, I let out a call worthy of my mother when she’s bellowing at her children for keeping abed during otherwise spectacular weather, all of the children, no matter where they seem to hide, emerge from their places and come to sit in front of me, laps crossed, arms hanging limply or hugging themselves.

Since Rebecca so eagerly fixed up the radiators, we’ve not had to worry about the consistent chill in the air. I gently lift Rudy up and spin him around before placing him between the space left by Holly and Oliver. Both of them shuffling ever so slightly in opposing directions. All pairs of eyes on me.

“Must I remind you of the agreement struck when you first asked to play a game of hide and seek.”

“No.” most of the children respond in a simultaneous chorus. I lift a finger.

“Most of you are not at fault, but there are still disagreements and shows of peculiar abilities, in spite of the agreed terms. So, in light of it, and whilst I know some of you are eager to keep playing. We’re going to stop and do some chores.”

This courses a surge of angry fingers, pointing at different parties and cries of forgiveness, I’m not sure if they’re asking me for forgiveness or leniency or if they’re demanding it from the others. Rudy intervenes by blowing a harsh raspberry and crossing his arms, lips pouting and toy left rocking in front of him.

“Thank you, Rudy. This discussion is not up for debate. If, the chores are done accordingly and quickly I may allow for another round that I will supervise. Lunch will also need to be prepared soon, and I also have some exciting news to share at the end of all the things we need to do.”

Chapter Text

||From the eyes of an observer||

It matters not what period of time a child is born, and lives.

None who call themselves a decent adult should ever deign to drop a child in a war zone, let alone expect the child to survive in such a hostile and violent place.

Maggie, the second eldest of the twelve wards assigned to Hisakata Crane was the most obvious example of a child barely surviving her first war, making it out and now being brought back into a situation where war was on the very precipice of devouring the life she now lived, with the people she now cared for sincerely.

Hisakata and Maggie were first acquainted when the girl had just turned ten, though the long periods of close to lethal starvation, malnutrition and psychological trauma made it so that the girl seemed both too young to be ten and too old. Considered too troublesome by a host of other Ymbryne guardians who’d had picked Maggie up only to drop her off at the nearest conveniently placed loop with an animal or two.

||Copenhagen, 1803, menagerie loop||

 {Population: 22 peculiar animals, 1 absent Ymbryne, 1 peculiar child}

Hisakata POV

“By Jove miss, look at that!”

Galen and Beatrice had both been accompanying me, along with Angelo as we’d set about finding a new home, our previous now collapsed loop, in the year 1989 was no longer able to serve as our home, not with the news that I would soon be tasked with taking on more wards than the current two that I had. Angelo had suggested we come and visited a loop that he had stayed in prior to his departure to come and live with my mother. In some ways, the donkey was a gift from my mother to me, she’d stated that it was damn useful having a peculiar animal of Angelo’s particular talents who could speak and jump at variable heights, would make transporting goods and our belongings much easier.

Still, when he’d told us about this loop in the city of Copenhagen during a time where Napoleon was still trying to conquer the rest of Europe and bring it into some kind of unified empire, I’d told him that it was unlikely that we’d be welcomed or that we’d be staying for very long. It was one of the few loops I’d traversed so far back into that I didn’t personally want to stay in, not that there’s anything wrong with menagerie loops, they’re just better laid out for peculiar animals than they are for peculiars like Galen, Beatrice and me.

“Who’s in charge of this one?”

“’an’t ‘ay.” Angelo piped, not at all helpful.

This, being the loop that was so far as I could make out, a hodge–podge backyard made up of several annexed backyards, all of them with barely threadbare fences and gates, with rickety chicken coops type structures. Where the hell was my fellow Ymbryne supposed to stay then? Surely not in one of the haphazardly made buildings.

A polka-dotted series of miniature giraffes stacked atop each other greeted us, each of them wobbly legged and jumping from off of the other and standing in a line. Weary and honestly wanting to be out of here with my children as quick as possible, I was about to start demanding to speak to their caretaker when a loud shriek – the kind of shriek that any good Ymbryne of civility knows comes from a terrified peculiar child. Both twins, went from gawking and pointing at the beasts who’d come to greet us, to tilting their heads and hugging themselves and the other.

“Angelo, stay here with the twins. Children I ask that you do not leave Angelo’s side. Despite the temptation to explore and speak to the creatures here, we are not staying long.”

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I stomped past the animals, in the general direction of the shrieking, as I got closer, the clearer the sounds of someone hitting flesh against flesh – in a kind of sickening tableau. Thump. Thwack. Thump. Thwack.

A certain sort of whoosh, which could only be made by fabric being whipped furiously finally forced my hand and I didn’t even think to be nice when I punched my arm clear through the tinny wall of the container keeping me from protecting the peculiar child who inhabited this insufficiently cared for loop.

My curled fist was not left empty for long, for as the wall collapsed– bringing about the riotous groaning of metal tin sheets falling and crashing, until there was nothing standing there, found purchase on what might have been the arm of a fellow bird, were it not for the absence of feathers and its odd mottled metallic appearance.

The offending party was however more familiar to me, in that it was the Ymbryne who I presume was supposed to be the one in charge of this place. The guilty party holding a long thin, thick strip of leather. Dropping it as the woman with heaving shoulders turned to look at what had brought about the interruption to what I could only say was an insurmountable violation of the code of conduct we Ymbryne adhere to at all costs.

My eyes must have looked similar to a slitted cat, because whatever or whomever I was holding, was vibrating like a hot stone on molten metal. I didn’t care to look down, but I did loosen my grip just so, releasing whatever I was in fact holding and hearing whoever it was, rush to hide behind me, their bony fingers wrapping around my waist, pulling me into a weak but all the same needed hug.

“What may I ask, are you doing to the child.”

“The child! Is a brute! She smashed and ate those eggs…”

“Are you the Ymbryne of this loop.”

“Well of course I am! Who are you! Having the audacity to come here!”

“My name is Hisakata Crane. I came at the request of my animal companion Angelo, and it would seem I have arrived not a moment too soon”

“You dare to speak to me like that! Wait… there is already another Crane, you must be mistaken!!”

“The Miss Crane you speak of, is my mother. Whom is the senior Crane. I am her daughter. Care to share your name so I can report your violations to the council.”

Rendered speechless, and probably because of my anger. I don’t dare to turn to attend to the child behind me just yet. I need to be sure that I won’t be savaged by my fellow Ymbryne first. When she doesn’t move and she doesn’t speak, I turn at a forty-five-degree angle, keeping my hands in clear view of the child who is still gripping me like I’m a life preserver.

“Sweetling, may I turn to face you?”

“NO. NO. YOU’LL THINK I…”

She starts screaming, shrieking again as though I’m the one whose about to whip her. Still without so much as putting my hands on her, I force myself to bend and cover her in my Furisode. The child lets go if only to now hide in the sleeves and I witness her mottled metallic skin turn into the exact same shade of soft cerise at the very edge. Her shoulders lift and fall as she cries; she can’t be much older or younger than Bernice or Galen.

Scooping her up is easy, and she’s much too light for a child her size and age. Presumably, this archaic punishment has been doled out because the girl has tried to survive, I don’t want to think about what else has transpired, but I’m now glad that Angelo recommended we come visit, because it means this child can come with me.

It’s once she’s closer to my chest that I feel her move, her twig-like appendages come to wrap around my neck, her hollowed streaming wet cheeks resting against my chest. She hiccups and sobs, her skin becoming more and more humanlike with each passing second, the welts and bruises appearing in sickening defiling ways that make me want to curse out the Ymbryne still standing motionless. Like she’s just about fucking remembered that our duty as the guardians of peculiar kind, extend specifically to the care of our youngest and most vulnerable peculiar members.

“What is your name sweetling, do you have one?”

Her chin jabs into mine, a strong indication or attempt at ‘no’ I do my best not to wince at this oversight, and step around the tarnished broken metal, moving even closer to where I know Bernice and Galen as well as Angelo will be. We need to get out of this place and find a loop where I can begin to assess and hopefully mend the broken chick in my arms.

My mother always told me that it was hard not to refer to the broken souls we find, as chicks, like the term children wasn’t suited to the instinctive avian side of us. I don’t let either Bernice or Galen to get to close as I continue to hold onto the poor dear.

“Bernice, grab one of the large blankets out please, place it on Angelo.”

“Yes Miss.”

“Do not let go”

The as of yet unnamed peculiar child chokes into my clothes, her eyes screwed shut. A cavernous and heart-wrenching sob rips through her once more, she’s exhausted, starving and barely hanging onto life. These tears will only make her dehydration worse, and it means I need to hurry up and find a safe nest, a safe loop to begin her journey to recovery.

“You are scared, and that is ok, but can you please hold onto our Donkey, Angelo? Once we are far away from this place, I promise you can hold onto me.”

Galen I can just about hear, asking Bernice to figure out why the girl in my arms looks the way she does and why the animals are now restless at our arrival, fortunately my bright beautiful Bernice doesn’t deign to respond, instead once she’s sure the blanket is nice and secure, tugs on the rope that Angelo prefers we didn’t use, but knew we had to when travelling. To lead him in the direction of where we came.

Thomas POV

Clear of the trees, roots, leaves and other underbrush, I wipe with my sleeve the sweat that I know is pouring profusely from my forehead, nothing of note has happened and I’m hoping that my brother and the others won’t need me as I try to sense where the loop entrance is. I know it’s risky, but if I can maybe just speak to Hisakata again, and maybe even speak to the children, I’ll be able to get some kind of half decent ration from her and make this mission a bit more cheerful.

But when I can’t find it, especially after walking around the area I know it had to be when I left, I start to worry that she’s taken the children and left and that I’ll never see them again, which I suppose is probably for the best.

“Fucking hell.” Cursing under my breath.

I’m just about to head back when I hear hurried footsteps, and not ones that belong to a man, like Arthur or any other adult in the vicinity, and I know it can’t be Hisakata whose oddly toed shoes, mean she’s on stilts. But I listen.

The steps get closer, more frantic, and I begin to turn in that direction only to feel the none to pleasant feeling of being tackled. Falling sideways into one of the larger trunks and whacking my head against the stump. I curse at the bright spot of pain that blooms from my right temple.

“S-sorry! Sorry… Mister Shelby! Oh! Oh, come! Quick! Miss Crane! She’s been shot!”

I can barely register the words before the child, having recovered a little too quickly for someone whose just tackled me to the ground, turns and leaps, running back in the direction they came from. I don’t even know which of the children it is, or how they knew it was me immediately, but without not much else to do and with the sky darkening to night. I do the one thing I’m not supposed to do…

I follow.

Chapter Text

Thomas POV

Maggie is just ahead of me, and I can only make out that it’s her from the way she comes rushing back to see if I’m following her, where I think is the start of the loop, turns out not to be and Maggie has to appear at least twice before I finally feel like I’ve walked through a cloud of mist, at least that’s the sensation where in reality there’s nothing there.

Initially, when I first started serving in the army and had yet to witness the death of any individual up close, I had been under the impression that dead bodies did not carry scents, which to most would be ridiculous, considering if a person was to die in a fire, and their body is burnt up, wouldn’t their flesh – or whatever remained of it smell like cooked meat.

But it’s clear from the moment we’re inside the loop that something has gone wrong, namely as Maggie comes crashing to a halt and almost like one of the comics I could have sworn Finn read before I was enlisted, she double backs and collides right back into me, expecting that she might have done this, I’m almost glad that I chose to steady myself with a stance meant for bracing.

Her eyes are squeezed shut and I partially want to reach for my gas mask to dissipate the horrendous acidic scent that washes over the space in waves. For the abomination I see before me, has me wishing I was a blind man.

It’s large and part of its chest is caved in, there is sinew everywhere and whatever is making the scent is clearly leaking from the corpse of the creature, its long legs are broken at twisted angles, like it’s been put in a glass bottle full of water and shaken to a point of no return. I can only hope that whatever it is, died quickly.

Walking with a child attached to my legs is difficult, but not impossible. Maggie refuses to speak, and when she does breathe, it’s through her mouth, her nose covered in the collar of her dress. It might be confused for that of a nurse’s uniform, with its sleek white lines divided identically by soft blue fabric. Really, it’s quite the sight to see a child blend into my form, with only her dress as an indication that she’s attached herself to me like a leech does to its prey.

I’m too afraid of whatever the dead abomination is to speak, or to pluck up the courage to ask if Hisakata is anywhere nearby, surely, she’s the one who’s taken the beast out. But as we round its slanted form and jump over the blood it leaks – confirming that indeed it’s the liquid that is the source of the atrocious smell. I’m rendered further speechless when I see the corpse of a German Soldier who has been impaled by knives – knives that are too oriental and ornate in style, the man is attached almost like Christ on a cross, his bayonetted rifle limply hanging at his hip, his jaw slack and eyes open with the shock only afforded to the dead.

Maggie is about to open her eyes, when I gently place a hand of mine over her.

“Don’t, just hold tight and do as you have been.”

I whisper, this is not the sort of sight I would want Maggie to see, as if the small, peculiar child, gifted with camouflage was suddenly my sister Ada. We continue to navigate the space, I can come back later and see if there’s anything to salvage off of the dead man – maybe take his ammunition, it’s not like he’ll need it anymore.

We’re about twenty or so paces away from the carnage when I finally spot the lowered head of Hisakata, her body splayed out and surrounded in a deep crimson pool of blood. Maggie, probably scenting her guardian’s blood starts to scream.

The clip-clop rhythm of the donkey, Angelo greets us, along with the voices of several of the children as they come rushing towards where Hisakata is laid against the beginnings of a damaged staircase that presumably leads to nowhere.

“Miss!”

One of the older girls, I think maybe the eldest, grasps Hisakata and tries in vain to find the source of the blood. Another, child, also a girl, starts to rip at her dress, trying to soak the blood up so that it doesn’t get on the other children who stand listlessly around in a circle, trying not to cry and holding onto each other like life preservers. Angelo bays, his right fore-hoof gently tapping Hisakata’s thigh, but when she doesn’t move and her shoulders don’t raise as they should to indicate breathing, I can’t help but fear the worst.

“Children.” I clear my throat, all twelve – thirteen pairs of eyes including Angelo’s stare at me. “Please, move away from Miss Crane, let me see if there’s anything I can do.”

“She’s alive…” the eldest female says, as if she’s reading my thoughts.

“How can you tell?”

“I can hear her. Her crane, inside her. Trapped. A man shot her.”

“Yes, I realise that a man might have done that.”

Perhaps this eldest of the children, a teenager is only lying to keep the rest of the children calm, it’s what I would do given the situation, but as I don’t understand the nature of her gift, it’s best not to argue in case I’m seen to be a fool later.

“Let’s go get some clean clothes and maybe fill up a tub with water. Miss Crane has taught us what to do if this happens.”

This time the eldest boy speaks, most of the children are quickly Shepard’d off until there’s only the eldest girl and the one, I fondly remember as Anastasia. Anastasia has now torn a significant amount of her skirt off and is quickly working to stem wherever the bleeding is coming from, or where she thinks it might be coming from.

Bending down so I’m crouching, I gently shift Hisakata’s chin so that it’s between my thumb and index finger, pinching it just enough to try and stir her from whatever state of unconsciousness she’s fallen into – maybe from the loss of blood.

“W-what are you doing?” the eldest girl asks.

“Doing something my aunt taught me, to wake her up. Hopefully. When did this happen… how did this happen?”

“It was the man who shot her, who brought that monster with him. She was only doing her job. The birds told me, none of us saw it, she managed to kill the monster, but the bullet still got her.”

Just when I think the advice Polly gave me won’t work given Hisakata’s state, her eyes open and she lets out a prolonged sound that sounds much like a bird and a woman crying out at the same time. I shuffle back as her eyes come into focus, watching, until she nearly headbutts the eldest girl and Anastasia by moving so quickly. Anastasia almost sits on Hisakata to keep the woman from moving.

“Miss, miss. It’s just us.”

“W-where, is everyone…” Hisakata croaks.

“Getting a tub of water ready for your bath, miss. And towels and bandages. I can’t stop the bleeding, where are you hurt?”

“Is the Hollow d-dead?”

“Hollow?”

Hisakata’s eyes meet mine, scrutinising me like I’m a stranger before she reels back and lifts her arm up, rubbing her eyes and then letting out a string of words in a language I’ve never heard before and definitely don’t sound like anything the orients back in England would say at a time like this. She gets it all out and then pats Anastasia to get off of her, the child complies wearily.

“That… man, who hurt me. One of his bullets is lodged in my thigh, it’s where the blood is coming from. His other bullet… my watch, it’s broken, the loop is liable to collapse.”

“You’re making no sense.”  I tell her.

“Oh, this is bad. Really, really bad. We need to contact Ms Crane.” The still as of yet teen girl says, her eyes widening and her body beginning to shake.

“First things, first. What do you mean the loop is going to collapse?”

“I am injured; I am unable to use my peculiar gift to keep it running without my pocket watch. One that cannot easily be repaired with the means we have. The children currently do not have a guardian.”

“They have you.”

“No, not like this. When a Ymbryne is injured as I am, we are rendered useless until we recover, and with the scope of the injury I have, I may not be better for a long time… the children will be taken from me, by my mother.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“YES! IT’S THE WORST POSSIBLE OUTCOME!” Anastasia shrieks.

“They’ll likely never see me again, if they are taken away.” Hisakata groans.