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[Harlequin]

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“Ahhh RUBBISH!” Harlequin uttered an oath as she woke with Ansel perched atop her bedpost staring at her. The pied crow had been sent weeks ago with a message for a technomancer in Umbra. The request had apparently been ignored, and Ansel must have given up and returned home. He carried no return message.

It must be the small hours of the morning. The dark sky didn’t yet hint at daybreak, and the moons shined in the window, illuminating Ansel’s hungry stare.

Harlequin watched his intent and unwavering glare until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Fine, fine….” She threw back the blankets and slid out of bed. The stone floor of the cabin was cold on her bare feet as she shuffled to the kitchen and tore off half a loaf of bread. She didn’t bother to tear it up, so it landed with a loud thunk as she tossed it on the floor in the center of the cabin. Ansel squawked once loudly, then attacked the bread ravenously, swooping down from his perch on the bedpost.

“Maybe I’m not important enough, but my gold’s as good as anyone else’s.” She slammed the other half of the loaf down on the counter, startling Ansel into a flutter. “If she doesn’t want to help me, I’ll find someone who will.” Harlequin muttered to herself as she lit the lantern on her dressing table and plopped down on the stool in front of the mirror. Almost instantly, her demeanour changed. Her posture became straighter, her movements fluid, untouched by anger. Her expression went from furrowed to serene.

Her tubes of paint were lined up perfectly before the mirror, as always, underlined by a thin, meticulously cleaned paintbrush. She swept her fingertips across the line of paints, grazing each tube lightly in turn, and careful not to move anything out of place. She pulled her long black hair into a ponytail and tied it with a strip of white cloth. She took out clean balls of cotton and soaked them from a bottle that smelled bitterly of herbs, then cleansed her face methodically.

Only when her skin was flawlessly scoured did she begin anew to paint it. This was not her face. This was only a canvas. Her true face was that which she allowed the world to see.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Harlequin]

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Ansel had long finished his bread, every last crumb, and now perched dozing on a chairback, his black beak nestled in his puffed-up white gullet.

Harlequin had finished the flourishes of black on her pale white face, realigned the tubes carefully, and a blew out the lantern on the dressing table. She slipped out of her nightgown and into a charcoal black dress, smoothing the creases. Finally, she loosed the ponytail, allowing her dark hair to spill over her shoulders. It was hard to tell where black ended, and black began. Finally, she slipped out the door, bound for Umbra, and shut it quietly behind her.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Harlequin]

---

The sun fought its way through the hazy darkness of umbra, clawing for every inch of purchase it made. The walk had seemed short today, fueled by the anger of being snubbed by the technomancer. The light clack clack of her sandals on the dark cobblestones seemed oddly out of place, but she paid it no mind and pushed through throngs of soft-shoed mages and heavy-booted meatshields toward the bank.

She made a quiet request of the minter as she perused her bank box. “Technomancy,” she repeated as the minter scratched his head. “Do you know anyone who—“

“Pssst…PSST…” A hiss came from the shadowy corner of the bank. The cloaked figure in the corner made eye contact with Harlequin and then swiftly stepped outside and stalked off to the west.

Harlequin looked from the dark figure back to the Minter. “Nevermind, Sir. I think I…may have found what I was looking for. Thank you ever-so-kindly.” She curtsied as she handed her bank box back to the minter and swiftly followed the cloaked man. Several others peered through the archway in the direction he had gone. Harlequin smiled meekly as she pushed through the onlookers.

He’d stopped beside a dark alley stone wall and leaned back against it, grinning sleazily and chewing a toothpick. With one hand he flipped a gold coin. He looked Harlequin up and down slowly. “You are clearly the kind of girl who needs a technomancer….among other things.” He licked his lips.

Harlequin smiled wryly, barely altering the emotionless painted expression he would have seen. “And you’re clearly the type of guy who doesn’t know the meaning of the word discreet.”

He laughed. “Sweetness, I don’t need to be discreet around here. You think anyone here cares what I’m selling?” Greasy tendrils of hair snaked down around his face and neck from beneath the hood of his cloak as he unwrapped one shoulder and held the cloak open to one side. Various shiny pendants, gears, and cogs dangled inside it with paper price tags hanging from each one.

It was Harlequin’s turn to laugh. “Gods, you are a walking metaphor aren’t you?”

The man’s brow knitted at the word, which he obviously didn’t understand. His hand made intention toward his dagger. Harlequin waved dismissively with one hand and chuckled. “Nevermind…I am looking to begin a project. I have no experience or knowledge of technomancy. I am willing to pay well for your time, if you can help me get it started.”

“I’ll do better than that, Sweetness. I’ll help you get started and build a kit so's you can finish it up yourself. Be quite a clutch o’ coin though. You good for it?”

“If you can do what you say, I will pay a million gold coins.”

The man boggled, nearly swallowing the grubby toothpick he’d been mangling with all six of his teeth. “Sweets, you got yerself a technomancer.”
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Harlequin]

---

Months had passed since the day Quinn met the shady technomancer in an Umbran back alley. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he had proven most useful. What she had needed was a hands-on approach to technomancy and a project she could compete. Unfortunately, what she had found was a hands-on technomancer, but at least she got the project started, and made sure she could complete it alone before she put him at the bottom of a hole in the desert.

And today, the project would finally be complete. Harlequin’s painted face solemn with concentration, she took a small metal nut marked with a scorched rune and tightened it into place, then leaned back to admire her handiwork. The creation that came to life was what she could only describe as a mechanical chicken. The beak was different, and it bounced comically when it walked, but it scoured the surface of the table with its purple glowing eyes and spied a small metal clip. With haste, the clankity contraption bobbled and bounced over to the clip and gobbled it up. Quinn’s eyes went wide as a tiny wisp of smoke came out the back end of the device with a soft hiss.

Enthusiastically, the clinking mechanical chicken trotted across the table and, finding a spare metal gear, made a rather realistic squawk and gobbled it up as well. Again, a tiny puff of smoke out the backside, and the gear was no more than a memory.

Harlequin howled with laughter as the device cocked its head, spotting a shiny pendant that Ansel kept hanging over the bedpost where he slept. Ansel was way ahead of this new rival, and puffed up menacingly, lowering his head in warning as he guarded the pendant.

“Enough, enough!” Quinn laughed as she caught the contraption as it made straight for the pendant, and she tucked its head under a mechanized wing. Instantly, the thing fell silent and still. Ansel, unconvinced, uttered what could only be construed as a growl as he stared down the new toy.

“There, there. Soon he’ll be Gray’s new pet, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” She fluttered her fingertips soothingly on the top of the pied crow’s head and flounced off to her study to write a letter.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar