Colemenoport
Port Security Office
They were locked in.
The room was bright, the chairs comfortable, and surely it was far better than standing two alone before an enraged crowd.
“I thought, rather, frightened,” Dyoli murmured, as if he had spoken aloud. “Certainly, the desserts server was terrified of us.”
“Better she had run, then,” Mar Tyn said. There was a limit to what they might say, here, for surely there were listeners. Still, with the door locked, it was a comfort to talk.
“Better, perhaps, for us,” Dyoli said. “But not, I think, for her. The grief she carries nearly strangled me—one could not help but feel it! Now that she has been taken up by those in authority, she may be offered a Healing.”
Their accuser, one Jayla ezinGaril, had been taken to speak with the Truthseer. Mar Tyn noted, rather bitterly, that they had not been offered a Truthseer before they had been locked into a room.
He took a deep breath. Now that the guards were no longer present to enforce calm, Mar Tyn was angry, afraid, and—baffled.
Dyoli had explained that each person had an inner tapestry, which was an explication of themselves. Such tapestries were perfectly accessible to those who had the proper Sight.
She had also explained that the Mistress’s binding had left a . . . unique mark in his tapestry, and hers, which would also be perfectly visible to those who had the proper Sight.
Not only had they wandered Colemenoport at will for some number of days now, and met many persons, all Talents, some of whom must have been able to See their—inner tapestry. Not only that, but they had previously been examined by a specialist recommended by a member of Colemeno’s ruling council.
The specialist had pronounced them Healer and Serendipitist, welcomed them to Colemeno, and made no mention of “Reavers.”
While Mar Tyn supposed it was possible that they had been dealing only with improperly Sighted persons, surely an expert in evaluating those who were Talented would be so Gifted.
The fact that Evaluator ringZun had made no mention of this mark, nor immediately called Security to come and lock them away, led one to wonder what the desserts server had Seen that no one else had.
Or, Mar Tyn thought suddenly, perhaps the desserts server was distracted. If her grief was as crushing as Dyoli had said, might her reason have suffered?
He glanced at Dyoli, who was sitting with her hands loosely folded in her lap, eyes closed, breathing slow and calm. A meditation, Mar Tyn understood, having seen this before, and did not speak.
He closed his own eyes, thinking back to the moment the server had assaulted them, feeling Dyoli catch his arm. He had felt their shared Talent shiver, and knew they were about to do something—very wrong.
That was why he had snatched himself away, allowing whatever future they had begun spinning to unravel into the overwrought present.
That . . . was not how their shared Talent operated, in Mar Tyn’s experience. Certainly, it was not how his Talent operated. He had never in his life been able to gainsay his Gift once it had roused, and yet he felt—he believed—that he had averted a tragedy.
He needed to talk to Dyoli about this; get her impressions; find if she were angry, or relieved.
But not here, where enemies were listening.
Mar Tyn sighed. Almost, he could wish that the Talent they shared was the ability to speak to each other mind-to-mind, as the Mistress had been able to do with those she had bound closest.
In the meanwhile, the door was still locked, and he began to fear that it would remain so for some time.
“We should be called soon, my Mar Tyn,” Dyoli said, calmly.
He looked at her in surprise, finding her with raised brows, and a slightly tipped head.
Yes, well.
Dyoli was a Healer. She would not have heard his thoughts, but she would have felt his dismay, very clearly.
His smile was stiff on his lips.
“I find being locked in . . . stressful,” he murmured.
“As who does not? Be of good heart. The master trader will soon arrive, and see the door opened for us.”
He might have thought that a fantasy proposed for the interest of their listeners, save at that very moment—
The door to their cell was opened.
Æ
The desk sergeant had directed Bentamin to the high-security wing, and did not offer an escort, which was perfectly in keeping with Officer roninPel’s character. If Bentamin had insisted, a lesser officer would have been brought forward to perform the honor of escorting the Warden, but there was no need. The Warden knew the way.
The security field glittered across the hallway, a bright amber mist of chorded energies. Should anyone whose signature was not on file attempt to push through, the mist would entangle them and alarms would sound.
The Warden’s signature of course being on file, the field faded, allowing him to pass.
Someone ahead of him was shouting. Bentamin paused to listen.
“Didn’t you think to mention it?” demanded Security Chief bennaFalm, his voice unmistakable even at a shout.
“No, I didn’t think to mention it!” came an answering shout.
Bentamin frowned. He knew that voice, too, though it was not one he had previously heard at such volume.
“They were brought by seelyFaire!” the second voice continued. “Surely, she had Seen! And if—”
Bentamin’s frown cleared. Ah, of course. Kayla ringZun. Councilor seelyFaire’s pet evaluator.
He moved on, toward the altercation.
“You let known Reavers—”
“They are not Reavers!”
“What else are they, Evaluator, with that mark upon them?”
Bentamin stepped into the conference room and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
ringZun and bennaFalm were both on their feet, shouting across a conference table set with a tea service and cake.
“That mark—” ringZun began, and abruptly stopped. He closed his eyes, and took three deep, deliberate breaths.
“They do bear the sign we had been taught to look for,” he said, no longer shouting, though his voice was not completely steady. He raised a hand, apparently to forestall another outburst from bennaFalm, who closed his mouth, and stood silent, glaring.
“However, the thread is not active,” ringZun continued. “In both instances it is an—artifact, a relic, a memory, if you will, of a relationship. There is no connection; no—energy.” Another deep breath. “Scar tissue,” he said, and turned the palms of his hands up. “That’s all.”
“So, they had been Reavers?” bennaFalm asked, still angry, but no longer bellowing.
“I think, rather, touched by Reavers,” ringZun said. “That was my reading, but my reading was cursory, as I have said. Councilor seelyFaire wished me to evaluate their Talents, receptor strength, and sensitivity levels. Which is what I did.”
“And what did you find?” Bentamin asked from his lean against the wall.
ringZun turned to face him.
“Warden. I found a classically trained Healer and a Serendipitist. Neither seemed overly sensitive to the ambient, though a Serendipitist—”
“Quite,” Bentamin interrupted, and looked to Chief bennaFalm.
“I’m told that our guests are being held as high-risk.”
“That is correct, Warden. We cannot afford to be careless.”
“Certainly not, but now that I am here, perhaps they could be brought out, and given tea, like civilized persons?”
“We are waiting for Master Trader yos’Galan,” bennaFalm said stolidly. “When he has arrived—”
“Which he has just done!” a gay voice came from the hallway. Bentamin turned to stare at the tall man, his white hair crisp, his eyes so light a blue they seemed silver in the spare brown face. He was wearing a jacket with the venerable Tree-and-Dragon on the breast, “Dutiful Passage,” stitched above it, and below, “yos’Galan.”
He was an elegant man, the master trader, and mannered, as he now demonstrated by turning to the portly person who tarried at his side with a smile and a slight inclination of the head.
“Thank you, Officer roninPel,” he said warmly. “I am sure I would have never arrived so quickly without your assistance.”
Officer roninPel made a slightly flustered bow.
“It is—an honor, Master Trader.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you to say. I expect that I will be quite safe with these gentles, and when we are done, one of them will see me out. Please do take good care of Grad and tell him that we will be reunited as quickly as I can manage it.”
“I will do so, Master Trader,” Officer roninPel said, as if he were taking a vow.
He bowed again, unsteadily, and left them. Bentamin extended a bare cat-whisker of thought, searching for any influence the master trader might have exerted, but—no. Apparently the man had produced this effect on the famously reticent desk sergeant by force of personality alone.
The master trader stepped into the room, his silver gaze touching each face in turn. He bowed gently to Bentamin.
“Warden, a pleasure to see you. Please make me known to your associates.”
Really, the man had too much presence. Bentamin returned the bow, and moved his hand, showing bennaFalm to the master trader.
“Here is Chief Valorian bennaFalm, responsible for keeping Colemenoport secure and safe for all. Chief bennaFalm, Master Trader Shan yos’Galan, who leads the Tree-and-Dragon Trade Mission.”
“Chief bennaFalm.” The master trader inclined slightly from the waist. Apparently the head of Port Security did not rate a full bow from a master trader, Bentamin thought, amused despite himself.
Chief bennaFalm gave a brusque nod.
“Master Trader yos’Galan. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“I could hardly do otherwise,” the master trader said gently, “when you have arrested two members of my team.”
He turned toward ringZun without waiting for a reply, and shot an inquisitive glance to Bentamin.
“And this gentle is—?”
“This is Evaluation Expert Kayla ringZun,” Bentamin began, but before he could complete the form, ringZun had spun, one hand extended toward the master trader.
“If it comes to that, he bears the same damned mark—twice!”
bennaFalm actually paled. The master trader raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Bentamin lifted his hand.
The master trader glanced at him. “Yes?”
“May I verify?”
“By all means. I thank you for asking. We were taught to ask first, at the Hall where I was trained.”
ringZun flushed. Bentamin bent his concentration on the master trader’s core.
The pattern was rich, beguiling, and, largely, benevolent. The master trader rejoiced in many connections, embracing as he did two vocations that depended upon personal interaction. Bentamin found the particular pattern associated with Healers; the webwork of his Healings surprisingly dense for one who did not practice that calling exclusively. Still, there was nothing that might cause undue—
And there it was. The mark that every Reaver had carried, black, pitiless, and intricate, woven deep into the master trader’s core. Twice.
Bentamin Looked closer, finding no active linkage, nor any other dire thing. If he had not himself seen the signature alive and active in others, he would have observed these instances without the least feeling of dismay.
Bentamin withdrew his attention.
“I see the links. They are not active.”
“Precisely as it presents in the two persons presently confined in a high-risk room,” ringZun snarled.
The master trader looked to Chief bennaFalm.
“Confined?” he repeated.
“The room is very comfortable,” bennaFalm began. “Merely it is—”
“Locked,” the master trader said sharply. “I insist that my team members be released at once.”
bennaFalm opened his mouth; the master trader stepped toward the door.
“Come along, sir. I will accompany you, and guarantee their good behavior.”
Bentamin watched bennaFalm, who seemed for a moment as if he would dispute this. It was only a moment, though, before he bowed, and crossed to the door.
“If you will come this way, Master Trader. The high-risk room is just down the hall.”
Æ
The door opened, and it was the security chief who stood there, looking at them sourly.
Dyoli rose calmly, and Mar Tyn took his cue from her, stepping to her side, but no further, as much as he wished to be beyond that portal.
“Are we,” Dyoli inquired in a voice that was mannered without being the least bit courteous, “free to go?”
“Absolutely, you are free to come with us to a very well-appointed conference room and enjoy the refreshments that have been put out!”
Ridiculously, Mar Tyn felt his knees wobble, hearing that voice, not so much well known as impossible to mistake. He took a hard breath and made himself stand straight.
The master trader had, indeed, come.
In fact, he had replaced the security chief in the doorway, and stood with his back against the door, surveying them.
“Trader ven’Deelin, have you been offered insult or taken any harm?”
“Master Trader, I have not.”
“Excellent. Please, come forth.”
Dyoli moved without hurry, stepping past the master trader and into the hall.
Mar Tyn felt a spike of panic, and breathed it down. The master trader might be willing to trade a mere Luck for a daughter of a High Liaden House, though Mar Tyn did not believe it of him. Dyoli, however, would not abandon him. This he knew absolutely, having several times begged her to do just that.
“Master pai’Fortana.” The master trader’s voice was gentle. Mar Tyn looked up into quizzical silver eyes.
“Is all well with you, Master pai’Fortana?”
Mar Tyn knew better than to lie, but for a moment he was at a loss for truth.
“I am well, sir,” he managed, at last, which was true. But the master trader would have Seen at least his moment of panic, as Dyoli had Seen his earlier dismay. He ought, therefore, to say more.
“It is only,” Mar Tyn continued, “that I do not care to be locked in.” There, that was also truth, though not entirely happy, as he had spent some time locked into a room on the Dutiful Passage, just at first.
Master Trader yos’Galan inclined his head gravely. “I quite understand,” he said. “You have borne this insult to your liberty with great restraint. Pray, do come forth. The door will not close until you are through.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mar Tyn murmured. He took a breath, and moved his feet, walking with deliberation, if not calm, passing over the threshold of their cell and into the hallway, where the security chief’s glower was utterly eclipsed by Dyoli’s smile.
“There you are, my Mar Tyn,” she said, slipping her arm through his. “Now let us to this conference room and refreshments. I daresay we will all feel better for a cup of tea.”
Æ
“In your opinion, Specialist,” Bentamin said to ringZun, “are Trader ven’Deelin or Master pai’Fortana dangerous—either separately or acting together?”
ringZun looked goaded.
“You ask if they’re Civilized? As I said, neither seemed to be unnaturally excited by the ambient. The Healer’s pattern is very structured; much of that will have been imposed by her training, of course. The Serendipitist . . . his Talent is minor at best, his pattern full of air, as one finds with such Talents.”
“So, neither is a threat, in your estimation?”
ringZun took a breath.
“Now you ask me to second-guess Chief bennaFalm. I was surprised to find that they were being held so close. However, we are not our Talents, and it is possible that either one could have been carrying a weapon with intent to use it.”
“Very true,” Bentamin said. “Were they?”
“That, Warden,” ringZun said triumphantly, “is a question best addressed to Chief bennaFalm.”
That was, Bentamin allowed, the correct answer, and not a bit less irritating because it was.
There was a small sound at the door and he turned his head as Majel ziaGorn paused on the threshold and nodded to the young duty officer at his side.
“My thanks for the escort, Officer.”
“It is an honor to serve,” the officer assured him, and left.
“Warden. Specialist ringZun.” The tone was cool, the bow polite but not in the least obsequious.
“I was told,” he said, straightening, “that I would find Master Trader yos’Galan here, with two of his team, who have been . . . detained.”
“And so you have, Councilor.”
The master trader’s voice again preceded him. Majel stepped aside, allowing Trader ven’Deelin to enter, followed by Master pai’Fortana, who was followed by the master trader. Security Chief bennaFalm came along behind, and he did not look happy.
“Sit down, please, Trader ven’Deelin, Master pai’Fortana,” the master trader said, quite as if he were the host and they his guests. “I’m sure you would welcome tea, and perhaps some cake.”
Majel ziaGorn stepped to the table, and poured tea into cups, offering first, not to the Warden of Civilization, who was surely the ranking person in the room, but to Trader ven’Deelin. The second cup went to her assistant, and the third to the master trader.
Only then did he pour for the Warden, Chief bennaFalm, and Specialist ringZun, keeping the final cup for himself as he sat down in the last chair of what had become a very crowded table.
“I am of course very pleased to see you, Councilor,” the master trader said. “But I wonder why you are here.”
“Trader yos’Galan called to apprise me of your situation, sir,” Majel said calmly. “I honor her decision to do so. As the trade team’s liaison, my presence is not only appropriate, but necessary.”
The master trader inclined his head, then glanced toward the door.
“Ah,” said Chief bennaFalm, “Truthseer. Please take your station.”
The robed figure bowed and moved to the left, to stand against the wall, hands folded into sleeves and hood pulled close around their face.
The master trader let his gaze rest on the still figure for a long moment, then looked to Chief bennaFalm.
“I require an explanation,” he said.
“It is our law that a Truthseer be present when persons are officially questioned. The accuser has already been asked and given her answers.”
“Was she offered a Healing?” Trader ven’Deelin asked, sharply, and looked to the master trader. “She was in a great deal of pain. It was . . . abundantly obvious.”
Silence followed this, Chief bennaFalm’s face hard. Bentamin sighed and looked to the back wall.
“Truthseer, you may answer the question.”
“The offer was made, and refused.” The Truthseer’s voice was cool and uninflected.
Trader ven’Deelin sagged in her chair.
“I fear for her,” she murmured, and raised a hand to the Truthseer. “Thank you for the information.”
“I apprehend that Trader ven’Deelin and Master pai’Fortana are about to be questioned,” the master trader said, looking around the table. “Are these matters usually handled by a committee?”
Chief bennaFalm looked as if he had bitten into bitter fruit.
“In the usual way of such things, the questions are asked and answered in private. However, the possibility of an incident increases, as you are—”
Bentamin saw him realize that he was about to be inept, and moved a hand.
“As you are strangers to our world and to our customs,” he said smoothly, and the master trader awarded him a half-smile.
“Indeed,” he said. “Best that we are all informed, so long as my colleagues are willing to answer questions.”
“I am willing,” Trader ven’Deelin said. Mar Tyn pai’Fortana gave a bare nod of his head.
“The first questions, establishing a baseline,” Chief bennaFalm said. “What are your names?”
“Dyoli ven’Deelin Clan Ixin.”
“That is true,” said the Truthseer.
“Mar Tyn pai’Fortana.”
“That is not wholly true,” said the Truthseer.
The Serendipitist tipped his head to one side, as if considering the merits of this statement.
“In fact, it may no longer be even slightly true,” he said, calmly. “I have not paid my dues to House Fortune in quite some time, a breach that would see me struck from the rolls. The name I bore previously was Mar Tyn eys’Ornstahl.”
“That is true.”
“What were you doing at Zephyr’s Edge Lounge?” asked Chief bennaFalm.
“Sharing a meal,” Trader ven’Deelin said.
“And talking,” Mar Tyn pai’Fortana added.
“Are you Reavers?” Chief bennaFalm snapped.
As an attempt to unnerve, Bentamin thought, it was a notable failure.
Dyoli ven’Deelin raised her eyebrows.
“What are Reavers?” she asked.
“Invaders,” Majel ziaGorn said, surprisingly. “They came on purpose to enslave Talents. They bore a distinctive mark, within their own Talent, by which they became known. The Haosa had the hunting of them, until all the Reavers died. There are no more Reavers on Colemeno.”
He looked to Bentamin.
“So it was reported to the Council. Have I adequately stated the case, Warden?”
“You have, and I thank you,” Bentamin said sincerely.
“The reason the Reavers died,” Master Trader yos’Galan said, “is because I cut the ties binding them to Dramliza Tarona Rusk. I did this in order to Heal her of dire wounds.”
He looked directly at Chief bennaFalm.
“That is why I bear the first of my marks. I bear the second because, after I had Healed her, and was dying of it, she went turnabout, and gave me back to myself.
“You will do well to understand, sir, that far from being vandals, these two people are victims, and survivors of a horrific event.”
“That,” the Truthseer said, “is true.”