Colemenoport
Zephyr’s Edge
“Shall we have a sweet?” Dyoli asked.
Their waiter had left them alone with the last of their wine, which suited them well, as neither was inclined, just yet, to rise and return to quarters.
Mar Tyn followed Dyoli’s gaze. A woman in the livery of the restaurant staff was slowly pushing a mirrored tray past the tables to their right. The tray was crowded with what Mar Tyn supposed must be Dyoli’s sweets.
He considered. The meal had been plentiful and good, and he certainly did not feel the need for more food. It had, in fact, been quite some time since he had felt that he had not eaten enough. A sweet would be pleasant, though not at all necessary, only—
There was an itch in the back of his mind.
“Perhaps we should choose enough for all, and take them home to share,” he heard himself say with some astonishment.
Dyoli’s eyebrows lifted, even as she inclined her head.
“An excellent notion,” she said, and raised her hand.
The woman with the sweets tray saw, and turned their way, smiling—
And then not smiling, her face gone ashen and her eyes wide and wild.
“Murderers!” she screamed, and shoved the tray violently toward their table.
Dyoli leapt to her feet and Mar Tyn with her.
“Mind stealers!” the server screamed more loudly, and now other diners were rising, some moving toward them, others backing away.
“Monsters! Reavers!”
It was the last word that tipped the scales.
People began to shout, and rushed forward.
The server threw herself at Dyoli, who sidestepped nimbly, her hand falling onto Mar Tyn’s arm. She pulled him back with her, as if she might run into the restaurant.
But there was no place to go. Mar Tyn felt the particular electric tingle that meant the Gift that Dyoli and he held together was working, and he swallowed in horror.
They were going to change the future, he knew it.
And people were going to be hurt because of it.
He snatched his arm away, and spun to face the mob at the rear, back-to-back with Dyoli.
“Reavers!” the man nearest Mar Tyn shouted and lunged—
Only to be snatched back by a tall, broad woman in a security vest, who landed light on her feet, grabbed Mar Tyn’s arm and Dyoli’s and raised her voice.
“Security! The matter is in hand! Everyone resume your seats. The matter is in hand!”
The air warmed, and Mar Tyn was suddenly calm. Very calm. He watched as the effect spread out into the mob. Angry faces became peaceful; tension was shrugged out of shoulders, as people turned back to their tables and their interrupted meals.
He turned his head, and over his shoulder saw another person in a security vest, holding the now-drooping server.
“But they killed Sylk,” the server whispered, disconsolate. “They’re Reavers.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said the guard holding her. “You all need to go to the guard house. There’s a Truthseer there. She’ll sort everything out, never fear it.”
Two more uniformed persons were approaching. Port Security, Mar Tyn thought, which ought to have produced concern, if not actual fear, but he was merely calm in the grasp of his captor.
“That’s right, now,” she said, and adjusted her grip on his arm, bringing him up beside Dyoli.
“Port Security’s here, and we’re all going to go with them, peacefully.”
She began to walk, and they with her.