Hank hops back in to the ship.
"I mean, we do plan to ransom some kings, in a manner of speaking. If all they can cough up is stuff that I can make in five seconds flat I'll be very disappointed. See how far you can get with the armor on your own and I'll do the zippers in the back if you need me to."
"Well, we do plan to ransom kings for unorthodox political concessions. Those are worth more than the usual."
It takes a few minutes for Hank to look scary again.
"Bernicia. I can't give the distance and direction, but we can follow above a certain Roman road until a city on a certain river. Start out going east and I'll be able to say which road to turn north at."
They pass above the spot where Cam made the arch, though they're going farther and faster now. Eventually they turn at Dere Street and after that, "I think that's probably the River Swale. Which would make that city our destination. British maps never reached this far, but can you make an atlas from your world to check?"
Hank catches it. "We're looking for Catraeth, and this says there's a city below us called Catterick. Throw in a millennium or two and it's probably the same place."
(Hank may be attracting attention on the way in. It's a side effect of wearing the world's scariest armor.)
Cam lurks and sends everyone who threatens Hank's structural integrity to sleepytime.
A bystander has noticed Cam. There's an obviously noble person dressed in nondescript black clothing, and he's lurking. And there's a black knight attacking the king.
Cam now has a dagger coming toward his throat.
Then he grins in the shadow of his hood, as he is slightly scratched, barely enough to bleed.
Then his attacker falls asleep.
Meanwhile, Hank has abandoned his ominous and indomitable act to run after the king. It is neither dignified nor effective.
Cam knocks the king over for Hank. He decides to try not knocking out the people who have weapons aimed at him. He just smiles faintly.
Hank has no idea whether Cam can put everyone to sleep at once. He stretches out an arm in case anyone is still fooled by the ruse and shouts "flashbang!"
Cam lets off a flashbang.
It is bright. It is loud.
Only two people in the room knew to expect it. Hank grabs the king and runs—well, staggers—for the door. The helmet was better than a complete lack of protection. "There's more of them!" he tries to say. He has no idea whether or not he's actually speaking. "Incoming from our right."
Cam sighs. He sleep-drugs everybody present besides himself and Hank, and waits for Hank's hearing to come back.
It eventually does. "That could have gone better," Hank understates. "Let's get out of here before it happens again."
"Yeah. I could have knocked them out but you weren't paying attention to them right then and it would have been too obvious I was doing it. As-is they could come up with some other reason I was indestructible and assume the first guy triggered some kind of backlash."
"Any mistake is better than none. At least nobody here was also at the angel incident; we're too far and across too many borders. So your face wasn't recognized at least."
"There's the hood. And my angel persona didn't have to demonstrate my indestructibility, thank goodness. Should I change my hair color? I could do my eyes too, or for that matter my skin, but they'd be harder to put back than hair."
"Attention is more of a risk than recognition; the other destination is even further from the arch. Can you make yourself look sicklier? That's probably what stands out the most; you don't look like you've ever been malnourished or deathly ill."