THE POLITICS OF MOONLIGHT

Written for the weekly challenge of 3-18-01-TheQueenofSwordsFanfic list on yahoogroups and Cobbler.

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One more variation on the Byron quote. . . . .

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The pale silver brightness of the new moon in the cloudless sky allowed almost as many shadows as daylight. Its glow transformed the otherwise unremarkable corner of the pueblo into the perfect setting for delicate romantic intrigues and the sharing of the most intimately secret desires.

Or for intrigues of a more gaudily heroic nature.

Hidden within the doorway's darkness, Colonel Montoya smiled to himself as he caught sight of the long-expected black-clad woman slipping from shadow to shadow. He waited until she had passed, then stepped out behind her.

"'She walks in beauty like the night,'" he began to recite softly in English, "'Of cloudless climes and starry skies.'" He spoke barely loud enough for her to hear. "'And all that's best of dark and bright / Meets in her aspect and her eyes.'" Was this, he wondered, how Helm saw her? The poem certainly fit her. She had stopped still, and he could see her hand move to the sword hilt. Unless she knew the language--and he was fairly sure she did not--she could only guess at what he might be saying. He kept his tone low and gently seductive. It was a pity that she could not know how well the poet had caught the melancholy paradox of perfect moonlit beauty, though that was hardly the point of this exercise. "'Thus mellowed to that tender light,'" he concluded, "'which heaven to gaudy day denies.'" He raised and cocked his pistol as she turned. "Good evening, your Majesty."

"Colonel."

"Do you read the English poets, Senorita?" She shook her head. "Pity. Some Englishmen can be quite passionate, do you not think?" She was clever, composed enough not to react to such obvious bait, but it would not hurt to remind her that he knew her weakness for the doctor. "Byron, in particular, is quite notorious: 'mad, bad, and dangerous to know.' But one might say much the same thing of you."

"Or you."

He inclined his head slightly. "Or me." Her hand had left her sword for the moment, so he lowered the pistol in return. "But can you be so sure I am really the villain you think me, Senorita? I am merely a servant of the Crown, enforcing the law in this lawless land."

"The law?" She tossed her hair back scornfully.

"Ah, you must not confuse the law with justice, my dear. What is it, for example, that brings you here this evening? You intend to release the thief, no?"

"Pedro is no thief--"

"He was caught in the act, Senorita." Montoya held up his free hand when he saw her about to object. "It is true that he stole only because his wife and children were starving. Four children, I believe, all very young, and his wife within a month of giving him another. And it is also true," he added, "that his so-called victim, Don Felipe, is a cruel and vicious man who exploits and degrades his workers. But the law--and the dons--demand Pedro's punishment. To allow him to go free would be to encourage banditry, revolution even. As for justice--"

He had her attention now, he knew. The mask hid most of her expression, but it wasn't difficult to imagine her frown as she tried to work out where his words were leading--and why he hadn't either summoned his soldiers or decided to fight her himself. "Justice," he went on, "is not so simple a matter. Let us say, for the sake of argument, that you succeed in rescuing Pedro this evening. What then? Will he leave the territory without his family? What will happen to them if he does? Or will he stay to protect them? How long before he is found and executed? Where is your justice, Queen, eh?"

"So you're saying I should let you hang him?"

"Did I say I would hang him?" Montoya took a step forward. She stiffened, but did not back up. "It is possible that in the morning I might commute his sentence--to a flogging, say. Enough to satisfy the dons and yet not so much that he will not survive. Possible that a sympathetic hand might be found to wield the whip. Possible that our good doctor might see to his care and recovery, and that charitable strangers might ensure the well-being of his family in the meantime."

"Why? Why would you do this?" She was troubled now, uncertain. She could not know whether she should trust him or not. He had been careful, after all, to promise nothing.

He shrugged. "Perhaps I, too, merely wish to see justice done." She would not believe him, which was wise of her. Nor would she be the worthy opponent he thought her if she yielded so easily. "But no. We both know I am too much the pragmatist for such idealism: I leave that to others." He smiled and took another step forward; her hand returned to her blade. "Even I, however, can be convinced of the expediency of mercy. And there are methods of persuasion, Senorita, more effective than a sword." With infinite care he removed her gloved hand from the hilt of the sword and raised it to his lips. The leather was as cool and emotionless as the dead flesh it was, but he was close enough to feel the heat of the body so close to his--close enough for her to feel his own fire.

Whatever else she might be, the quality and cut of her clothes, the faint perfume that clung to her all proclaimed the Queen a lady, and ladies learned early to interpret such actions. This was a language, a poetry of sorts, that she thought she could understand. The eyes behind the lace widened in surprise at his unexpected flirtation.

Montoya released her hand, stepped back and bowed formally. She hesitated only a moment before making her retreat. Her movements showed as much stealthy grace as ever, but she was unnerved enough to turn her back on him. He raised the pistol and aimed as she paused for a moment, the moonlight limning the darkness of her form. "All that's best of dark and bright," he repeated to himself, and fired.

The ball shattered a roof tile just above her head and alerted the garrison. She would get away, but she would know that he had, once more, refused to take her life. Montoya smiled into the night. There were, indeed, many ways to defeat an enemy. "Until next time, Maria Theresa."

END