Emma's POV
The English cries of street-sellers echoing around me and the neighing of the cab horses made it pretty clear that I, unfortunately, did not land in the training room.
Marching through the narrow and cobblestone-paved streets, I started examining my surroundings. On both sides, gas lamps decorated the alley every few meters. Tiny old shops were bespeckling the area, with the owners' houses just above. The boutiques' names, as well as the English-written placards placed in front of them, left no doubt as to where I was.
I had landed in England.
Trying to deduce in which decade I had arrived, I scanned the various stores around me more intently. One of them, I noticed, had a painting of Queen Victoria hanging on its window. Someone had, on the bottom of the picture, beautifully calligraphed a "Long Live The Queen."
"So I was in the Victorian Era," I thought. "Wonderful."
Now, all I had to do was search for a deserted backstreet, and I could finally time-travel in peace back to the base.
Throwing a look behind my back, I noticed the weird glances I was getting from the people all around. Be they passers-by or shop owners, all of them were looking at me as if I had grown a third ear.
I continued to walk straight ahead, hoping they would forget about me and start minding their own business again. I stayed like that for a minute or so, not daring to look back. However, by the time I reached the end of the alleyway, I felt that the people intensely watching me had doubled, if not tripled.
Shivers crawled up my spine. Murmurs were starting to rise from behind, yet I did not succumb to the urge of glancing at my newly-made public.
Only when I heard shouting from afar did I realize how wrong this decision was.
I whipped my head towards the origin of the sound and saw two police officers walking down the road.
-"I saw her appear out of nowhere!" a person whispered to the officers.
-"She wasn't there five minutes ago!" another one added.
-"Oy, lad, she does look like a witch," one of the officers admitted.
-"If that's the case, officers, then what the bloody hell are you waiting for?" barked an old man from behind, who, I assumed, was their sergeant. He was wearing the same uniform the other two had on, the difference being that his' was slightly more orned, with a few shiny medallions here and there. "Go arrest her!"
And that was, I figured, my cue to run. I took a turn and dashed down the new street I was in, bumping into a few shoulders who dared stand in my way. A few women screamed when I got near them. Some hid behind their husbands, urging their kids to get inside and away from the dangerous mad witch.
I started running faster. People were backing away and trying to avoid me, which made the run quite easy.
There was one man, however, who wasn't so keen on letting me pass.
Towering over me in his 6 foot 2 inches and his bulky shoulders, he stood there, making me halt.
-"Umm, sir," I started, and motioned for him to move away.
-"Sir, can you move?" I said, more straightforward this time, in case he didn't get it before. "I need to go."
-"Oh, I know that, young lady. But you ain't getting nowhere. At least, not on my watch." And tilting his head towards the running officers behind me, he shouted: "Officers! She's here!"
Hearing this, they sprinted in our direction.
-"Well, shit," I muttered under my breath.
-"What did you say?" asked me the jerk of a man.
-"Oh, nothing," I sweetly replied, my heavy French accent giving away my nationality. "I was just assessing how much of a gentleman you are."
-"Ah. Well, in that case, let me kindly escort you to those three lads running towards us, French witch."
And, not so kindly, he grabbed me by the arm and started leading me up the street towards the officers, who were, in turn, taking me to their prison.
Although, now that I think of it, going to jail wasn't a bad idea.
After all, if they were going to throw me in a cell, I could always wait for them to go and time-travel in peace back to the base. That way, no one would be watching me, and the time-travel would be just fine.
Soon enough, the hand on my arm got replaced, and the officers took me to their damned jailhouse.
-"It's weird that she hadn't counter-attacked or tried to defend herself and escape," I heard one of them say on our way.
-"It's because you, lads, aren't even worth my time," I retorted. "I'm not wasting precious moments fighting you."
-"How dare you insult high-ranking officers like that?"
-"I truly doubt the 'high-ranking' part, loves," I scoffed. "I mean, you people consider witches like garbage, right? Since when do influential officers take the garbage out? Is it a new function or something?"
-"Sir, can we gag her?" one of them asked, his ego obviously suffering.
-"I'm afraid that's something we can't do," the old man answered.
I snorted.
-"So just a mere few seconds ago, you were complaining about how I was not uttering a single word, and now you want me to shut up?" I told them, raising an eyebrow.
They looked at me as if I was crazy. Which I probably was, but that's not the point.
-"Fine, I'll do it. I'll shut up," I ended, and shrugged.
-"How much time until we arrive?" I inquired, after a few moments of silence.
-"I don't think you need to know, woman."
-"Rude much," I observed, rolling my eyes.
But I didn't need the officers' response, because a few steps later, a gloomy and miserable building appeared at the end of the street. The words "Newgate Prison" were plastered on it.
-"Welcome home, you vicious hex," one of the so-called law-defenders threw at me.
And pushing me inside, they made me climb the porch steps and walk through a rather obnoxious corridor whose walls needed an ultimate and urgent makeover.
They made me enter a dark, small room, where a higher-ranked officer was sitting behind a wooden desk.
-"Sir, we found this witch running around Broad Street Avenue. People claimed to have seen her appear out of nowhere. I ain't sure that's what truly happened, though. You know how Londoners can be, Sir. A single hallucination can spread like wildfire, and, next thing you know, the incident becomes the talk of the town."
-"Thank you, sergeant McKinney. Leave the witch with me. I'll ask her a few questions. Now, off you go. You're all dismissed."
-"Thank you so much!" I replied cheerfully and turned towards the door, ready to follow the officers.
-"Not you, young lady. You're staying with me."
-"Oh, sir, I promise, that is not necessary! I can go to my cell, sit there, and leave you alone in your office. After all, I wouldn't want to bother such an important and busy man, am I right?"
-"What a decent and well-mannered woman you are. I cannot seem to get how did they perceive you as a witch."
-"Oh, you know how Londoners can be," I sweetly said, acting innocently.
-"Aye. But I'll still have to put you in jail for a few days, just to pass the message to the others. And to you, as well. We wouldn't want you to act like a witch ever again."
Strange answer. Strange behavior, too. Why was this lieutenant acting so nonchalantly?
-"Oh, I don't really believe all these witchcraft stories," he commented, seeing my expression and guessing my thoughts. "So unless a higher authority demands to send someone to jail or execute him, I don't see the need to keep individuals suspected of being wizards or witches more than a few days here."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise.
-"But anyway, we must abide by the regulations, and so you shall give me everything you have on you. Like that necklace, for example."
-"Woah, hold on, Sir. There's no way in hell you're touching that," I told him, taking a step backward.
-"And here I thought you were a respectable young woman," he replied, shaking his head.
-"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I need that!"
-"Is that so? Is this something you need for your weird sorceress rituals?"
-"I thought you didn't believe in those things!"
-"I don't. It was a joke. Don't you have a sense of humor?"
-"I... Sir, please."
-"Sorry, little lady. Rules are rules. There's nothing I can do about it," he ended, throwing me an apologetic smile.
He then turned and called: "Richard, Leonard!"
In the blink of an eye, two officers appeared at the doorway, and, at the lieutenant's orders, they approached me, threatening to do some awful things if I didn't cooperate.
-"Alright, alright! I'll give you all my belongings!" I half-cried.
And, removing the sandglass from around my neck, I gave it to the officers, along with my various bracelets and other metallic accessories I had on me.
-"Happy now?" I told them.
-"Quite so," the lieutenant replied. "Now, Richard, take her to an empty cell."
-"But Sir, none are empty today."
-"Ah. If that's the case, then put her in the same cell as that guy who doesn't want to get out."
-"Sure thing, Sir!" the so-called Richard said and saluted, before taking me to the underground floor.
We arrived in front of a row of cells. Richard led me towards the first one on the left. In other words, the one that looked the most deteriorated and shabby.
Wonderful. Simply wonderful.
Taking the keys out of his pocket, he opened the door for me, and in a swift motion, urged me to enter.
-"Enjoy your stay!" He wickedly said while locking the door behind me.
-"Bastards," I mumbled after he left.
-"I know, right? They are. Although, they can be quite sensible, at times. Like, they give me food and everything, and the only way I'm not dead is because of them. So they ain't that bad. You'll see. You gonna get used to them."
I turned my head towards the origin of the voice.
I couldn't quite see him in the dark, but I vaguely noticed his middle-length blonde hair and his light-colored eyes. I couldn't tell if they were blue or green, but I knew for a fact that they weren't brown nor black since the glint in his eyes could lighten up the whole room.
-"Ah, yes, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Mike. Mike Davis."