"Mmm..."
The Aeldari woman let out a thoughtful hum, such a rare occurrence that it nearly made me show genuine surprise. That was how infrequently she made any sound at all.
After a moment, however, she nodded in agreement, her mismatched eyes gleaming with interest.
With the matter settled, we headed straight for the armory.
Once we reached the quartermaster, we obtained more sophisticated disguise devices. Unlike holo-suits, which relied on overwhelming the senses with endless shifting colors and elaborate illusions, these were designed for genuine psychic camouflage, allowing the wearer to appear as an entirely different species.
The Alpha Legion would eventually possess armor capable of something similar.
Naturally, the Aeldari had invented the concept long before that.
The only real drawback was that powerful psykers remained extremely difficult to deceive.
"Macragge next."
I fastened the device to my belt. It resembled a pale blue and white ring, somewhere between a doughnut and an ornamental bracelet.
Killing Mockery shot me a questioning look while securing her own.
"That's the name of a human world where theater is especially popular."
I shrugged as we walked side by side through one of the countless corridors crisscrossing the heart of the Black Library. The place was riddled with passageways, just as the Webway itself was riddled with tunnels.
It was toward one of those gateways that we headed.
There was no need to notify any superiors of our departure. Harlequins weren't really an organization. We weren't a cult, a church, an army, or anything else that fit neatly into a single category. We were divided into troupes whose leaders changed from mission to mission, and into Masques. Beyond that, there was no higher authority except Cegorach himself.
I glanced at Killing Mockery as she strode beside me.
The Laughing God undoubtedly knew about our conversation. If He opposed our little excursion or suddenly needed us elsewhere, He would simply tell us Himself, or send another Harlequin to retrieve us.
Nothing of the sort happened.
We entered the ancient pathways of the Webway without interruption.
This time, we traveled without a ship.
Macragge had retained more relics of humanity's Dark Age of Technology than most worlds, and without specialized systems my stolen freighter would eventually attract attention.
"Let's move."
I gave my bodyguard and partner a brief nod, and together we broke into a light run, carefully pacing ourselves to conserve stamina.
No enemies appeared.
No daemonic incursions.
No cultist ambushes.
Only silence.
Even the sound of our footsteps was barely audible to our enhanced Aeldari hearing.
The journey itself was long.
We traveled for roughly a day, though within the Webway, distance was a strangely fluid concept. Hundreds of kilometers traversed through its tunnels could correspond to tens of thousands of light-years in realspace.
It was an absurdly efficient means of travel.
Now I understand why the Emperor wanted to seize it... or build his own version of it.
...
Future Ultramar Subsector, Macragge
Later
The Webway stretched so extensively throughout the galaxy that even the future homeworld of Roboute Guilliman lay within its reach.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Here stood one of the countless observation outposts built by the Aeldari millions of years ago, back when my race had yet to drown itself in decadence and vice. Because psycho-plastic and wraithbone were practically eternal materials, ignoring many of the normal laws governing chemical decay, both the outpost and its Webway gate remained perfectly intact.
"Did they really have to hide it this deep in the mountains?"
I grumbled as a raging blizzard battered the lenses of my mask high among the snow-covered peaks.
My companion expressed equal displeasure.
At least...
She tried to.
Personally, I thought she was exaggerating rather dramatically.
Eventually, we descended the mountains on foot and reached one of the nearby cities.
Entering proved remarkably easy.
After briefly roleplaying as a pair of elven ninjas, we activated our disguises.
The camouflage fields were exceptional.
They weren't entirely physical constructs and could withstand only light contact. Stronger interactions risked exposing the illusion. In exchange, however, no local detection system, and certainly no ordinary human eye, could possibly see through them.
My disguise took the form of a handsome, sun-tanned, red-haired human male dressed in flowing Macraggian garments heavily inspired by ancient Greek fashion.
Local security forces tended to scrutinize people who looked ordinary and forgettable.
Not wealthy young aristocrats.
Arresting one of those could create scandal, political complications, and an intolerable amount of paperwork.
No sensible guard wanted that.
Beside me walked a woman who appeared every bit as aristocratic. Everything about her suggested noble birth, wealth, and influence. Whether she belonged to this city or another hardly mattered.
The guards had absolutely no desire to find out.
To be honest, Killing Mockery attracted even more attention than necessary.
I couldn't blame the locals.
In her human disguise, she was absolutely stunning.
Especially in that outfit.
There was nothing revealing about it.
Everything that ought to have been covered remained covered.
And yet...
The ancients had clearly understood exactly how a woman should dress if she wanted to leave people utterly captivated.
The eye wasn't drawn toward cleavage or hips.
Instead, it lingered on bare shoulders and the elegant line of her upper back.
It was...
Magnificent.
Simply magnificent.
The disguised Harlequin knew exactly what effect she was having on everyone around her.
Including me.
The pleased expression on her face made that abundantly clear.
She looked like someone who had successfully pulled off a particularly clever prank.
Typical Harlequin.
Impressed.
Astonished.
Nearly smitten.
As the saying goes.
"I'm fairly certain my staring already conveyed everything I wanted to say..."
I rotated one hand vaguely while keeping my voice low.
The translator was still adapting to the local dialect of High Gothic. Despite humanity's tendency toward standardization, people remained people. During the Dark Age of Technology alone, they had created countless linguistic variations.
"But you look... Hmm... Beautiful? Too ordinary. Attractive? Even worse." I snapped my fingers. "Ah, here's a suitably dramatic word. You look absolutely enchanting, Minerva."
Killing Mockery might have been a veteran warrior from an ancient race, but she was still a woman.
We had chosen Roman deities as our aliases.
I became Janus, the two-faced god.
She became Minerva, the Roman counterpart of Athena.
The names suited us perfectly.
She had liked the idea as well, which only added another brick to the steadily growing wall of goodwill she seemed to be building toward me.
"Heh."
"We've successfully convinced the mon-keigh to admire us. Now it's time for the theater. I doubt even humans are foolish enough not to eventually discover us."
Chuckling, I offered her my arm.
"Would you allow me to play the gentleman, as humans like to say? Our camouflage fields have already synchronized. They won't collapse."
She regarded me with open suspicion.
Then came a more genuine nod.
Walking arm in arm with Killing Mockery, I found myself marveling at how rich our communication had become.
The woman hadn't spoken a single word in my presence.
Not one.
And yet, conversations with her somehow felt fuller than those I'd shared with many remarkably talkative people.
Perhaps that very strangeness was part of the appeal.
Humans and Aeldari alike had always been drawn toward the unusual.
Twenty-first-century Earth proved it for humanity.
The Fall proved it for the Aeldari.
The important thing was moderation.
A harmless fascination with a silent yet expressive woman was one thing.
Becoming obsessed was another.
Several minutes later, we arrived at the city's great Orchestrozeum.
An Orchestrozeum was essentially a hybrid between a classical Greek theater and the legendary Roman Colosseum. One day it might host dramatic performances.
The next, gladiatorial combat.
We took our seats among the enormous crowd.
Admission happened to be free because of a local festival.
That was the real reason we had chosen this venue.
Avoiding identity checks was always preferable.
One arrogant glance directed toward the guards, accompanied by a quiet laugh from my companion, had been enough to make every question disappear.
"Hmm..."
I watched the performance unfold before us.
"A mighty king slays another monster."
I sighed dramatically.
"How dreadfully boring."
Killing Mockery nodded with an expression of absolute seriousness.
"Perhaps this stagnant swamp of heroic epics could use a little variety, don't you think?"
The moment she sensed genuine mischief brewing, her heterochromatic eyes sparkled with unmistakable interest.
"In our finest phantasmagorical tradition, we'll perform something entirely unprecedented."
I smiled.
"Revolutionary, even."
"A masterpiece for this little patrician-and-plebeian swamp."
My gaze drifted toward the local ruler, or whatever equivalent occupied the most prestigious seat in the arena.
The man had the largest chair.
The largest belly.
Both were excellent indicators of wealth and status.
Oh yes.
This was going to be entertaining.
And judging by the delighted smile slowly spreading across Killing Mockery's lips, I wouldn't be the only one enjoying it.
At that very moment, tens of thousands of unsuspecting mon-keigh had absolutely no idea what sort of spectacle and chaos two servants of the Laughing God were about to unleash upon them.