1????????Soul Bound
1.3??????Making a Splash
1.3.2????An Allotropic Realignment
1.3.2.4? Mirrors
5:15 am, Sunday June 11th, 2045
2 bells of the forenoon watch
Morday full, 17th day of the month of KrevinBelember, A2F1600
Tomsk had his arms around a noble woman three times his own height. Behind him, an intent look upon her face, Columbina was raising a hammer to strike.
What?
Kafana tried to cry out a warning, but only a wheeze passed her lips. Her stamina bar was nearly empty, and her chest burned from lack of breath. Had there been a fight? Was Grattelard, the bardic assassin, controlling people?
Wellington: “Tomsk, four centimeters to the left. Stop.”
Alderney: “Looks good to me.”
Columbina swung the hammer past Tomsk’s nose and, with great precision, drove a nail deep into the noble woman’s stomach.
The woman had an unpleasant sneer upon her face, and a double chin that wobbled with every hammer blow. She was also, from the sound of it, made of wood.
Peering closer, she noticed the rich red fabric of the dress was dyed fustian rather than expensive velvet, and the decorative tracing was composed of thousands of tiny nail heads, highly polished, rather than of silver sequins. The statue itself stood at one end of a wooden deck wide enough for twenty people to dance upon, in an area that looked like the boudoir of a pink-addicted giantess, facing a lady’s vanity covered in beauty products and topped by a framed shiny surface obviously intended to represent a mirror.
Looking over the edge of the decking, to where Bungo and Bulgaria stood chatting with Harlequin, Kafana realised that she was standing on a flat bottomed scow - though it was nestled inside a low cradle supported by eight sturdy wagon wheels, rather than bobbing on a canal. It was standing in the center of a ramshackle courtyard filled with people, half of whom were busy adding the finishing touches to the vehicle. The other half, sitting on back doorsteps making lace or hanging out of windows on the upper stories, contented themselves with calling out ‘constructive’ advice and jeering at suggestions.
They might have a common purpose, but she’d never seen such a varied bunch of people. As Columbina finished securing the statue, she switched on her Truesight skill and searched for patterns. Several of the people were extraordinarily tall and bristly like Rudolfo, the Sanctum’s chief smith who’d taken on Alderney as a journeyman crafter. Some were tiny - adults, but even shorter than Harlequin or Pantalone, many with skulls that seemed distorted in one way or another. A few moved with the eye-attracting confidence seen in wild predators, while others walked with an unsteady gait, as though some of their joints faced in the wrong direction. Most would pass unremarked on the streets, their differences minor or easy to disguise except when grouped with those sharing their traits. A few individuals stood out as different in her magic enhanced sight, but didn’t seem to be part of the larger groups - either because they mixed traits from several groups or because they came from a rarer group that didn’t have sufficient members present for her skill to identify.
Harlequin doffed his white cap as she descended, then stepped back as though afraid, gnawing nervously at the soft felt rim.
Harlequin: “Madame Kafana, welcome to Gobwell - home to all those rejected by the nobility as unfit to reside within Torello’s walls. I hear rumours that you yourself might join that hallowed throng. Dare you be seen consorting with such common unsightly folk?”
He’d heard rumours? Well, yes he would, stationed as he was in a shop directly opposite Signora Moda where he gossiped with and served all the most fashionable ladies of Torello, even as he mocked them. Hmm, mockery. She glanced up at the statue, and a curl stole along her lips as she gave way to impulse.
She stepped back herself, opening her eyes wide in exaggerated surprise.
Kafana: “You''re right!”
She pointed dramatically at Bungo and Bulgaria, then raised her voice to a screech: “Servants! These people are filthy. Clean them at once. I’m too delicate. Even the sight of mud makes me go all faint. And don’t forget to polish behind their ears!”
She attempted an artful faint that nearly squashed Alderney and knocked them both into a pile of wood shavings. Bungo and Bulgaria simultaneously produced pocket handkerchiefs which they spat into then held en garde like sabers, before scuttling sideways, bumping into each other and spinning around. It wasn’t until they’d accidentally polished each other’s faces, then got into an argument over it, that she recognised they were imitating Ugo and Odo - the most hapless pair of guards in all of Torello. She sat up, her hair and clothing now covered in shavings; Alderney went one better, spitting shavings out of her mouth like a fountain. The audience howled with laughter and the four of them froze in place for an endless moment.
System: [Group skill “mime tableaux” has reached level 3.]
She ignored the reputation gain messages as she brushed herself off.
Kafana: “What is that monstrosity?”
Harlequin: “That is Lady Unguosa, the wife of Ortensio Bruno, Count Alto. Every time she enters my shop, she has to turn sideways to fit through the door. I charge her triple, and in return she gets to boast about buying more expensive necklaces than her neighbours.”
Kafana: “No, I mean the whole thing.”
Harlequin looked deeply wounded.
Harlequin: “You can not mean The Float. The float that will represent Gobwell in the Carnivale Parade. The float that will be seen by all Torello as we wheel it all the way to Bedlam Pier, launch it to join the others, poll it down river past the plazas of Centrale and then the full length of the Canalasso, until it ends up at the Stadia. The float whose design has been a jealousy guarded secret, protected from all others until the last moment ‘lest they copy it. The float that the members of Unity Krewe have spent their every spare moment for fifteen months ensuring will outshine all others? The Krewe that every true Gobwell lad and lass hopes one day to be invited to join like their parents were, because only those trusted to be loyal are honoured with an invite? The float that represents our pride, our unity, and everything value we stand for? A monstrosity?”
His voice and arm motions grew more strident with each sentence, but she suppressed a grin. She had the measure of him now.
Kafana: “Damn right. That float. It’s hideous!”
Harlequin relaxed.
Harlequin: “Well, I certainly hope so. Nothing worse than a float that doesn’t stand out and doesn’t get talked about. The parades originated as a show of loyalty by guilds and families to the bloodline of the High Kings, but the same thing each time would be boring so a theme for each one is announced two years in advance. The theme for this year’s Lammas parade is ‘Fables’, and we’ve chosen the one about Archmage Marisu.”
Bulgaria’s ears nearly twitched at the prospect of a story he hadn’t heard, and smoothly joined in.
Bulgaria: “A fable as in a story with a moral to it? I’ve heard her mentioned before, and there’s a tavern in the Arsenal named after her I think, but I’ve not heard the tale.”
Harlequin nodded. “That’s right, Marisu’s Mirror. She was a glass witch, and not just limited to scrying with them. They say she could shape flesh and steal souls. The story goes that she worked upon her own appearance, real changes not just illusion, and was overwhelmingly proud of the results. To the point of becoming enraged any time another woman was rumoured to be prettier than her. According to the fable, a foolish queen who’d just ascended to her throne, felt confident in her guards and wards, and issued a coin to commemorate the coronation stamped on one side with an image of her youthful beauty.”This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
Bungo: “It didn’t turn out well for her?”
Harlequin: “You could say that. When Marisu received one of the coins she gazed upon it and grew wroth indeed. From an enchanted mirror in her Mage Tower, she reached a sharp clawed hand right through to a mirror in a bedroom of the palace where the Queen sat, using it to perfect her makeup. Then she tore the flesh and skin off half the Queen’s face, right down to the bones of her jaws and teeth. It wasn’t a wound, nor anything that could be healed. The change was permanent, and the Queen lived like that for the rest of her life.”
Bulgaria: “I’m surprised the Queen let people find out.”
Harlequin grinned. “Covering up wasn’t an option. The next morning people awoke to discover all the coins had been changed too. The original beautiful image was still there. But now, illustrated in exquisite detail upon the reverse side of each coin was an additional image - the new bare face, Royalty unmasked. We’ve recreated thousands of them, in cheap pot metal, to throw from the float to people we like or who cheer us the most.”
Bungo: “Won’t the nobles see it as a direct threat against Lady Unguosa. How will you avoid House Bruno sending mages and warriors to destroy you all?”
An elderly dark skinned man, with long braided hair and loose clothes tied on with braided cords, came over from where he’d been carving intricate details upon a triple-scale perfume bottle. He stood tall and bore himself with unconscious authority, but his words were simple.
Madero: “Don’t you worry about that, lad. See, the parade theme may vary, but the older Krewes, the big ones, each have a reputation, a distinctive style to their entries. Some make lots of noise, hundreds of marchers in costume, or stunningly coordinated dancers. Guilds often use it to showcase their wealth or talents.”
Harlequin gestured towards the man, with more genuine respect than Kafana had ever seen him use before.
Harlequin: “Captain Madero, meet my apprentice, Alderney, and her friends. They’re not from around here, but I’ll vouch for them. Kafana, Bulgaria, Bungo, Alderney - this is Master Madero, captain of the Unity Krewe. As a previous King of the Carnivale, he’s part of the congress that runs the whole thing. A man of influence, in these parts.”
Madero laughed deprecatingly. “He means I help choose which performer does the flight, so he doesn’t want to piss me off too much. Never speaks plain, does he? But he’s a good ‘un at heart, always looking out for our Columbina.”
Bulgaria: “And the Unity Krewe have a reputation that will protect them from retaliation?”
Madero: “Our entries are always a bit political, a bit wicked. We’re known for being bold, for mocking the targets others want to mock but don’t dare offend, whether that’s officials, priests or nobles. Nothing’s sacred or off-limits to the Unity Krewe because Gobwell’s earned the right to criticise. Our community fully supports us, and everyone knows it. A house caught directly attacking the Gobwell float would make eight thousand lifelong enemies, and gain little by it.”
Bulgaria nodded. “And knowing that they might feature in your next float, helps temper the arrogance some nobles display when they deal with your businesses?”
Harlequin held up two fingers so they nearly touched.
Harlequin: “A little, perhaps. But chiefly it lets us vent. How could we remain unashamed of ourselves, if we always meekly accepted their false judgement with a cowed whimper rather than a roar of outrage? If we submit to the indignities they heap upon us, without even token revenge?”
Madero: “The true power of the float is not in the offence it gives. The true power is offending them in a way so skilled or cunning that, despite being offended, they’re forced to admit we’re their equals or betters, when it comes to entertaining the mob. Unity Krewe have been picked to provide a King more times than any except Tickton’s Rascals and Libri’s Firehands.”
Bulgaria had mentioned a strong sense of community in the Ghetto, when they’d been discussing the effect of architecture upon crime, and watching the people around her working together with such unified purpose, despite their their varied shapes and styles of clothing, Kafana could almost sense a gestalt between them without even using her skills to see the threads. They constantly prodded and tested each other, teasing any that stood out and projecting readiness to quickly rise up as one body, if a need arose for slamming closed the shutters of rejection upon any that wouldn’t declare allegiance to the clan.
Well, a little teasing never hurt anyone. And perhaps this was a good opportunity to find out more about what Harlequin was like when he wasn’t putting on a performance, from someone who’d known him for years.
Kafana: “I’m honoured to meet you, Krewe Captain. If the rest are anything like Harlequin and you ride herd on them, you bear a heavy load. Have you known him long? I’ve always wondered what he was like as a youngster and how he met Columbina, but I’ve never dared ask him. He’d spin me such a tale that I’d be forced to spend the rest of my life as a scribe in order to preserve its magnificence for posterity.”
Harlequin: “You’re calling me a liar?”
Kafana: “A magnificent one. Do you deny it?”
Columbina interrupted. While those below were talking she’d finished an energetic parting kiss with Tomsk and the two of them landed lightly beside the group, having disdained clambering down the cradle in favour of backflipping directly from the deck while still holding hands.
Columbina: “Before answering that, Harlequin dear, bear in mind that the last three times you’ve been asked, you claimed you rescued me from a dragon, that I seduced you into a life of sin, and that I forced you to sign a contract by threatening your father with a knife.”
Harlequin: “All true. The jeweler I worked for in Tickton was as miserly as a dragon, and would have sold you for soap if I hadn’t saved your thieving hide from the trap I found you in. You did lure me into a life of crime, by offering to pay more than the pittance he gave me, if I’d make traps for you instead, and come with you to find others to dismantle. You did sign a partnership contract with me, after I’d taught you sufficient acrobatics and clowning to be an asset. And you’ve threatened so many people with your knives that my father might well number among them - my mother died so young that I never learned his name.”
Kafana shrugged her shoulders and tried to convey to Madero with her look: “See what I mean about the tales?” He got the message and nodded.
Madero: “I’ve known him since his mother was fired from her job in Mercato and returned to us, heavily pregnant and wracked by scrofula. He was a bold one, always getting into trouble; as quick to use his fists as to use his tongue. But under it he hid the soul of an artist, and eventually he learned he had a talent for performance, and could make friends and evade being picked upon by making others laugh. His kin did their best to raise him, got him an apprenticeship, but mostly he’s what he’s made of himself. He’s got his flaws but, Mercato shop or no, he’s no sawnoff. He’s one of us.”
He pronounced that last verdict with finality, as though it said all that anyone need know.
Columbina stuck her delicate tongue out at Harlequin, and he gave her a grumpy look before turning back to Kafana, to protest his innocence.
Harlequin: “I’m not a liar to everyone. I’m accommodating. Flexible. I become what others wish to believe of me. Treat me like a liar, and I’ll lie to you beguilingly. Ward against trickery by me, and I’ll make a game of testing your wards. Cruelty and injustice, trust and support - I’ll return each in kind, measure for measure.”
Kafana: “Then let me offer you a truth. You intrigue me, Harlequin. I look forward to dancing with you at the ball, but I want to dance with the real you, not some reflection you create for me based upon what you think I expect of you. Ballrooms have enough mirrors; I don’t need you to be one too.”
Harlequin: “You’d rather reality, in all its scary and wondrous strangeness? Even when greater comfort is offered by illusion, by the masks that politeness says we all should wear?”
He’d stepped closer, looking into her eyes, and she now stepped closer too.
Kafana: “Some politeness is good and some comfort is nice, but illusion doesn’t change reality. Looking under the mask risks disappointment but, if you’re never bold enough to try, how can you ever really love someone?”
He looked a little stunned, and at some level she was vaguely aware that this was a game and the points she’d put into her CHA stat might be affecting him. But she didn’t think on it further; all her attention was upon Harlequin and his answer. He opened his mouth and looked about to tell her something, but then closed it again before thinking and speaking carefully.
Harlequin: “Truth for truth, revelation for revelation. You’re a dangerous woman, Kafana Sincero, and you switch identities faster and more completely than I do. Who are you when you are not performing a role? Trust me with seeing the you that you are when alone and not meeting the expectations of others, and I’ll match that trust.”
Columbina coughed and tapped Kafana upon the tip of her nose, making her aware of the rapt audience watching the exchange.
Columbina: “Journeyman, as much as I enjoy a good show and watching Harlequin get a taste of his own medicine, I need to return to the Speckled Dove. So perhaps leave such jollity for later, when I can have a ring-side seat, and let the Krewe resume their work?”
Kafana blushed and stepped back, leaving Harlequin’s proposal unanswered. He covered his face with his cap, and then peeked around it, as though it were a mask.
Harlequin: “As you wish. Then for now we shall put our best faces on. You as a dignified adventurer, and I as a humble local boy, retained to guide you safely to the foundries while regaling you with tales of bygone days.”
He swept a florid bow to indicate the courtyard’s exit and, in doing so, stepped close enough that he could mutter in her ear.
Harlequin: “The offer stands, though. I do not ask just anyone to dance, and I too would prefer a dance with the real you.”