The Geek Movement

They were drinking port in a dockside alehouse when the revolution ended. The door to the street flew open, a cold gust of wind blowing out the flames of the rush lamps—plunging the room into darkness—such that the light from the street silhouetted the soldiers in the doorframe. They knew, before the warrant was read, that someone had betrayed them. The presence of the King’s own guard here, in their sanctuary, was evidence enough of that. The older of the two men, grizzled and careworn with hard years of planning, turned to his younger companion and raised his goblet in silent salute. If this was to be his end, he would face it with dignity to the last breath. His companion locked eyes with him and returned the toast, raising the cup to his lips. Both drank deeply, and a look of triumph darted across the young man’s face. Too late, the leader of the revolution saw the pepperbox revolver in his young companion’s hand, but even as he moved to rise his vision began to swim. “You?” he said dumbly. “You poisoned the port!” Revelation dawned as the world went dark. “Of course.” the other replied, smiling. “We couldn’t take any chances.”