Disclaimers: The characters from the Queen of Swords are
copyright to Fireworks Productions. No infringement of
copyright is intended or revenue expected from their use.
The story plot and other original characters are
copyright to the author.
Acknowledgements: To Judith Hill for betaing this with
her usual thoroughness.
Note: This story is part of Channel QoS-VS, the Queen of
Swords Virtual Second Season. It can be read on its own,
but does incorporate backstory from the rest of the
season, which can be found at:
http://www3.sympatico.ca/maril.swan/qosvs/
Summary: Dr. Helm has a very bad day at work.
Entre L'Espadatxina i la Paret [Between the Swordswoman
and the Wall]
by Paula Stiles
Virtual Season Episode #226
Helm hated thunder. It reminded him of things.
Cursing, frightened men dragging a cannon through the
mud. Gunfire. Flash floods and collapsing hillsides.
Barns where the water dripped through the roof onto his
face all night--and dripped...and dripped. He'd almost
prefer being tortured.
The sound woke him right after dawn, still so faint
that he wagered only he and Equus could hear it. He
turned in his cot, groaning at a stab of pain from the
still-healing wound in his right shoulder. Damn that
bastard Grisham for getting him shot. The faint, unsteady
purr of thunder distracted him from thoughts of revenge.
He had heard it rumbling off and on for weeks. Rain. He
should have been happy. The drought wasn't bad yet, but
the farmers had begun to complain. And the children had
begun to sicken, as happened when the wells sank into
sludge. Once the rain came, everybody would be happier.
But not him, not even when it made his job easier.
Helm rolled off his cot and dressed quickly, though
his body ached for more sleep. When the rain came, it
would be in the afternoon. He intended to be back inside
his hut, getting quietly drunk, by then. He would do his
few morning chores, finish up that batch of fever powder
he'd started, and open his office an hour or two earlier.
Hopefully, no busybodies like Senora Hidalgo would show
up. Dear God, that woman was a menace!
*********
Tessa was having a very good day. She had slipped in
early to find apples; the fruit stand always emptied
first. Vera Hidalgo had just told her there that Grisham
and Montoya would be out at Senor Vitorio's ranch for the
next two days. They had no choice, as it took nearly a
day to ride out, and one to ride back. They had left
early that morning, with a small escort. Best of all, it
was market day, with plenty of crowd to mask her
activities. Already, she had a plan. She wanted a better
look at Montoya's office--specifically, his new tax
shipment schedule. Today was just the day to do it.
She skipped around a corner, barely remembering to
simper, and nearly ran into Dr. Helm, in his hat and
duster, saddling his horse, Equus. Robert was cursing
Equus in English (*since when did you start calling him
"Roberto"?* she scolded herself), as he struggled to get
a bit into the horse's mouth. Equus shook his head from
side to side, nickering.
"Dr. Helm, whatever are you doing going out so
early?" Tessa exclaimed. He did not generally go visiting
patients until noon on market day.
"I have rounds to make, Senorita," Helm replied. She
was surprised at his sullen tone. She had thought the
recent weeks had brought the two of them to some sort of
understanding, even brought Helm to an affection of sorts
for Tessa as well as the Queen. Just a few weeks ago, he
had kissed and flirted with her, as Tessa, and she had
hoped.... Now, he turned away from her, looking impatient
and hostile, while he worked to get the bit in. Finally,
Equus seemed to take pity on him and let the bit slide
in.
"It seems very early for you to do that," Tessa
pointed out. "Are you not usually in your office at this
time of day? Market day, especially?"
He frowned at her. "Can't you hear the rain?" He
shivered.
She stared at him. He seemed so odd, today. "No. I
have not, Doctor. What makes you believe that it will
rain?" Perhaps this was some evil fantasy from his time
in the war?
"It has been threatening for weeks, Senorita
Alvarado," Helm retorted. "I don't expect a city-bred
noblewoman to sense such things, but if you look, you can
see it on the horizon. It's just a line of thin blue
right now, but it is there. If you listen carefully, you
can hear it." He brushed the back of his neck; Tessa
wondered if he realised what an evocative gesture it was,
and suppressed her own shiver. "You can feel it, on the
hairs on the back of your neck." An odd look came over
his face, one of both fear and longing.
"Doctor Helm," Tessa said sharply. "It is a
perfectly clear day. And while I may have spent some of
my time in Spain at court, I was born here. I am
perfectly capable of reading the weather. Perhaps you
have had a touch of the sun." She snapped out her fan and
glared at him over it.
He glared back. "Fine! Don't listen to me. Your
hacienda is only a few miles away, so I suppose you can
afford to be careless. Though, after your experience with
Senora Hidalgo in the flash flood last fall, I'm very
surprised that you can be so dismissive of a coming
storm."
Tessa felt a flash of anger. "Are you saying that
Vera and I were nearly washed away because we were
careless, Doctor? I assure you that we took great care."
"I have no doubt that you did." The sarcasm in his
tone spoiled the sincerity of his words. "I, however,
would like to learn from your unfortunate experience, and
I have many patients to see today. Buenos Dias,
Senorita." Before Tessa could think of a suitable retort,
he mounted his horse and rode past her out into the
rapidly growing market. Despite her anger, Tessa noted
that he was sitting his horse much better than when he
had first come to Santa Helena--though perhaps improving
on a sack of grain was not so difficult. Fuming at his
dismissal, she stomped off in the opposite direction. She
had things to do.
*********
Damn that girl! Did she think he could stand around
all day listening to her nattering? She was as
irritating, in her own way, as the Queen. That errant
thought tickled across the back of Helm's mind, making
him uneasy, as thoughts of the Queen always did. The
truth was that he had feelings for both women, had
flirted and made a fool of himself with each of them. He
did not consider himself a cheat. That would make him
like Grisham. And yet, here he was, an honest man (or so
he'd always told himself), playing away with two
noblewomen, imperiling their honour and his own
reputation. What the Hell was he thinking?
He was soon distracted by the difficulty of the
trail rising up the hill ahead of him. He wasn't sure
which of them was clumsier, he or Equus. Equus picked his
way carefully up the trail, snorting uneasily. Equus did
not seem to like narrow, switchback trails with nasty
drops any more than his owner did.
After a long exhausting ride, horse and man finally
arrived at the top of the small mesa, tired but safe. It
was an easy ride the rest of the way to the village. As
he trotted into the large space between the cluster of
houses, Helm noticed something wrong. Nobody was there.
"Hola!" he called out to the empty square. "Buenos
dias! Quien es?" No answer but the wind.
Helm slowly dismounted, rubbing his sore shoulder
while looking about. "Que pasa?" he tried again. "Donde
esta todo el mundo?" Nothing. "Hello?" he said more
quietly, in English. "Is anybody here?" Christ, he hated
when they did this to him. It didn't happen every time,
or with every village, but that somehow made it all the
worse. And if he refused to come back, they would whine
and beg until he gave in. One village had even tried to
complain officially to Montoya, who ignored them, thank
God. Montoya was not a nice man, but he could back up his
employees, when it suited him.
Helm began to search through the huts for somebody
to tell him what had happened. Otherwise, they might
claim later that he had not come at all. He had not
ridden this far to put up with that. The wind whipped
dust around his boots as he strode from house to house,
peering inside each door. In this village, people were
too poor to lock up their houses--they had nothing worth
stealing. In some villages just as destitute as this one,
the people took pride in what few possessions they had,
and their houses were neat and well-kept. Not this
village. Here, mud bricks were slapped one on top of the
other, often without any kind of mortar. Straw rotted on
the roof eaves. Even outside, the place stank of moldy
hay. Helm pushed open one door, swearing in disgust as
two rats scurried away from an overturned bowl of
cornmeal gruel inside. Poverty did different things to
different people. He had been poor, he had been homeless,
and he had been hungry. But he had never lost his pride.
These people, he suspected, had never had any.
At the sixth house, he found someone. It was a man,
asleep on a straw bed in a corner, a bottle crooked into
his arm. Standing in the doorway, Helm watched him for a
few moments. He wondered if this was how he looked after
one of his own drunken nights. He had had too many
lately; the prospect of rain did that to him.
No. When it came to the drink, he had to be honest.
He did it to himself.
He went up to the man and prodded him with his foot.
The man grunted, but made no other move. Helm kicked him
hard in the ribs. "Wake up!" he said sharply.
The man groaned and rolled over, squinting up at
Helm. There were sores on his face and he looked filthy.
The sharp smell of home-brewed wine and vomit rose from
him, reminding Helm of more than one of his own bad
nights. Helm remembered him from previous visits. He was
the village drunk. Every village needed one, especially a
village like this.
"'Pedro', isn't it?" Helm said, dredging up a name
from somewhere.
"Eh." The man spat to one side of Helm's left boot.
"Si."
"Where is everybody? Donde esta todo el mundo?" Helm
said, looking down at the man in disgust.
"Out planting," the man replied in Spanish, as if
this were so obvious, it needed no explanation.
"They told me to come today. They said that they
would be here today," Helm insisted, gritting his teeth
to keep down his anger.
The man shrugged. "The rain is coming. They have to
get the fields ready--dig channels so it won't all wash
away. More important than you."
Helm swore loudly--in Spanish, English, French and
Catalan--and punched a wall. It shook. Dust and straw
spattered him, causing him to curse more. He stopped when
he saw the drunk shrink away from him. Helm threw his
head back, closed his eyes, bit his lips and counted
silently. When he had recovered his calm, he opened his
eyes and looked down at the peasant, who stared
mistrustfully up at him. Helm crouched next to the man.
"Tell them," he said. "That I am not coming back
again. Tell them that if they need a doctor, they can
come get me in town. Do you understand? Can you remember
to tell them that?" It was all bravado, of course. They
would whine and beg, and he would be back out here,
shouting at the same drunk in the same empty village,
next month.
The man looked truculent. "Doesn't matter what you
do. They don't care."
Helm sighed and hung his head. "No. I don't suppose
they do. That's why they're peasants." Unlike the Queen
of Swords, he had no illusions about peasants. Or dons.
He stood up and turned to go. At the doorway, he
hesitated.
"I can do something about those sores, at least," he
offered, but the drunk was already rolling over to face
the wall. Helm left.
Outside, Equus had slipped his tether and gone off
to graze on the other side of the huts. Helm went to get
him, but was so rough and irritable that Equus kept
shying away from him. After several tries to mount, Helm
exploded at the horse.
"Damn you, Equus, I'm infantry, not bloody cavalry!"
he spluttered. Equus spooked and tried to bolt, dragging
Helm along at a trot for several yards. Helm had to grab
the saddle and yank on the reins, forcing Equus to go in
a circle. Finally, he calmed the horse enough to get on.
*I'll just bet the Queen of Swords never has these
problems,* he told himself darkly, as he trotted back out
of the village.
*********
Tessa was having a grand day. Rather than change
into her Queen clothes and risk discovery, she decided to
brazen her way into Colonel Montoya's office as Tessa
Alvarado. After all, she had been engaged to him only a
few months ago. It made sense that she would still feel a
bit free about his territory. At least, it might make
sense to a not particularly bright guard.
She simpered her way through the market, looking at
an apple here (which she bought and ate) and some nuts,
there. Some of the bolts of cloth were pretty, although
the material was cheap. Marta had stayed back at the
hacienda, busy cooking something special for dinner. She
claimed that it would be worth spending the day doing it.
Tessa suspected that Marta simply wanted to get her out
from underfoot and out of the house.
Tessa paused to gossip with Vera about the market. A
small group of older donas looked on disapprovingly
(would they ever learn to accept Vera as one of their
own?). Tessa ignored them. Vera was her friend, more so
than the other don's wives and daughters. She might be a
flirt and a tease, but she was also a good friend, and
she kept her head in dangers that would have killed other
women. She was the only woman in Santa Helena, aside from
Marta, whom Tessa truly trusted and respected.
As it turned out, even persuading a guard was not a
problem. As she skipped around the corner to Montoya's
office, she noticed that the bored-looking guard was
glancing around nervously. She ducked back behind the
corner, to see what he would do. Sure enough, after
establishing that nobody was around, he sneaked off down
the hallway in the opposite direction. No doubt, he
wanted to see the market. This was definitely her day!
Silently thanking Dr. Helm (even if he was a grump)
for his advice about lock-picking, Tessa slipped a small
knife out of her bodice and set to work. It was very
quick, and within a moment or two, she was inside. She
wondered, not for the first time, where Helm had got so
many odd skills. However, she soon found herself
distracted by the job at hand. Montoya's office lay,
deceptively open and ready to be plundered, before her.
His tax shipments would not be right on top of the
desk, she knew that. If they had been, she would feel
very suspicious. Even now, she wondered if Montoya and
Grisham's little trip was not some sort of trap. Montoya
had been looking strangely at her, the past month or so.
Could he have guessed her secret? She supposed so. But to
expose her, he would need proof. Indeed, he would need to
capture her redhanded as the Queen of Swords. The other
dons would never accept her guilt otherwise. Montoya
surely knew that.
One more excellent reason to be in here as Tessa,
where she could pretend to be "lost", rather than as the
Queen, who certainly would be if somebody walked in on
her right now.
Tessa searched the top of the desk. The only
documents there were some letters from Monterey and a
letter that Montoya had begun to draft to a friend in
Spain. While personally interesting (it discussed, in
lively detail, a horse that Montoya had once trained for
a nobleman in Alava) it held nothing about tax shipments
or carriage routes. She decided to look closer. The
drawer was locked; she picked it. And there right on top
of everything else, was the tax shipment. She took it
out, expecting some sort of tripwire or other trap.
Nothing happened. It was a perfectly ordinary piece of
paper.
She looked it over. Everything was straightforward:
all the moneys and the villages and haciendas from which
they had come, the nature of the shipment (coin), the
strongboxes in which it was contained.... The route was
very neatly laid out--a desolate and unusually roundabout
route to Monterey. Ah. So, the trap was not in the paper
at all, but in what was written on it.
Tessa smiled to herself. Well, just because the trap
had been laid for her, didn't mean that she had to walk
right into it. But one did not just leave such things
lying around unsprung, either. Perhaps, with a little
forethought, she might turn this to her advantage, and
string up Montoya by his own rope.
Humming to herself, Tessa replaced the paper and
carefully closed the drawer. Re-locking it was trickier,
but not impossible. Then, she stood up and let herself
quietly out of the office. She heard a noise from the
hallway and hurried back down the other way. When she
risked a peek back around the corner, she saw the guard
return to his post, happier and a little drunk. Perfect.
Tessa slipped back out into the marketplace and made
her rounds again. She wanted people to remember that
Tessa Alvarado had participated in the market that day,
and enjoyed it fully. As she drifted from stall to stall,
she surreptitiously edged towards Chico at the other end
of the square. Meanwhile, she planned. This was going to
be a very busy day--and a productive one, too, as long as
she was careful.
*********
Helm was in a bitter mood. The sun was very hot, and
the wind had begun to pick up, blowing grit into his eyes
and nose. The second village he visited had also been
deserted. This time, he did not even find any unhelpful
drunks. He hung around the square, drinking water from
his canteen and nervously eyeing the horizon for awhile,
then got back on Equus and rode away. Shortly after that,
Equus spooked at a snake and dumped him on the trail. By
this time, Helm had learned the hard way not to curse and
swear, though he found it difficult to walk straight for
some time and his shoulder hurt like hell. It was just as
well that Equus did not go far this time because Helm was
much too tired to chase him. And to think it was barely
past noon. He limped after Equus, who had stopped to
graze on some nearby scrub, and got back on. For the
hundredth time, Helm asked himself why he had not
considered what sort of transportation a country doctor
would need to use in visiting his patients. All he wanted
to do now was to go back into town and get drunk. He
hated horses. He hated Equus. He hated riding. His entire
body ached. And as long as he stayed in Santa Helena, he
was stuck with it all.
He did not look forward to the next village at all.
It was dominated by an ancient priest. The priest did not
like Helm. Nor did Helm like him. Helm thought he was a
bully who enjoyed lording it over his tiny kingdom. There
were entirely too many bullies in Alta California for
Helm's liking. The priest would probably send Helm
packing (he usually did), but Helm still had to try. That
was his job, and he loved his job. It was just that some
days, it was difficult to remember that.
*********
Tessa sat on Chico and watched the wagon through her
spyglass. She had a plan, but it was going to be
dangerous. The escort was there, she could tell, but not
in sight. She suspected that either Montoya or Grisham
was inside the wagon itself, lying hidden. She could work
this to her favour. There was a small canyon where the
wagon had to pass through. It would be easy to stage an
ambush from there, especially since she had come
prepared. Time to move into position.
While the sun climbed to noonday, she watched the
wagon make its slow way into the canyon. She smiled as it
stopped at the large pile of brush blocking the canyon
right in front of her. The horses snorted and refused to
go forward, no matter how much the driver whipped them.
She heard Grisham curse from inside the wagon.
*Come out. Come out, Marcus,* she though. *I know
you want to.*
"Get those mangy nags moving out there!" Grisham
yelled.
"But senor, the brush, it is in the way," the driver
protested. "I cannot make them go until we clear it."
Swearing like the soldier he was (thankfully in
English, for the most part) Grisham jumped out of the
wagon. "Come on!" he yelled at somebody inside the wagon.
Out came three soldiers, who hurried after him as he
stomped up to the brush.
He pointed at the brush. "Clear it out. Hurry up!"
The men rushed to obey. Tessa slunk further back under
the blind, pulling her bag with her. If she only waited a
little more...sure enough, Grisham soon lost his patience
with the guards' progress and started pitching away
branches, himself. Tessa was glad that she had been able
to find the pile of brush on the cliff above. It had
saved her a lot of effort just shoving it over the edge
into the canyon below. Grisham and his men had no such
luck with the pile. In no time, all four men were panting
and sweating.
She waited until they had cleared most of the brush
away and Grisham was within a few feet of her before she
made her move. As he turned his back to yank at one
stubborn branch, she lunged to her feet and grabbed him
from behind, putting her knife to his throat. He yelped.
She choked it off by pressing the blade against his
throat.
She turned him so that they faced the other
soldiers, now exhausted from dragging brush. They gaped
at her. One of the men went for his sword, since they all
appeared to have left their rifles inside the wagon. How
careless of them. Well, they were only recruits, and not
very willing ones, either.
"Drop them, boys," she told the soldiers, as the
other two also started to draw their swords, "or the good
capitan loses an important part of his body, even if he
doesn't use it much. You, too!" she called up at the
driver, who had not forgotten his rifle. "Drop it over
the side." The man lowered the rifle slowly, then dropped
it over the side. "Get over with the others." He obeyed.
Oh, this was going so well!
She felt around Grisham's waist for his pistol.
"Hey!" he protested. "We are not that close!"
She snickered. "And here I thought we were such good
friends, Marcus. Practically married." She found the
pistol and shoved it into his back. "Get over there." He
went, grumbling, to stand next to his men against the
canyon wall.
"Think you outsmarted yourself this time, Queenie,"
he snarled at her, as she climbed up the wagon into the
driver's seat, dragging her bag behind her. "The Colonel
will be here any minute, y'know." As if on cue, hoofbeats
rang in the canyon behind her. Tessa groped in her bag,
still keeping the pistol trained on Grisham and the
guard.
"Don't think is your lucky day, Marcus. Sorry." When
she pulled out the small canister of gunpowder, Grisham's
eyes widened in horror.
"You wouldn't!" She dumped the bullets from his
pistol, then pulled the trigger, lighting the canister's
fuse with the flintlock's spark. "You would!"
"Better get out of the way, Marcus," she trilled.
Grisham and the guards scrambled away from the wagon. One
guard even tried to climb the steep walls of the canyon.
"Stop!" shouted Montoya as he and his escort of five
mounted men cantered up behind the wagon. "I have you
now, Mi Reina--"
Tessa turned half around, raising the lit canister.
Montoya's jaw dropped. "Surprise," she purred. Almost all
of the injuries that she had suffered at his hands were
worth the look on his face as he backed up his horse
before turning to flee back down the canyon, his men in
panicked tow. She tossed the canister over the back of
the wagon, as far behind as she could. Then she turned
back around and reached down for the reins, frantically
wrapping them around her hands.
The blast was impressive, the sound magnified by the
small canyon. The wagon horses spooked. Leaping over the
remainder of the brush, they bolted down the canyon,
whinnying in terror. Tessa held on like grim death to the
reins, laughing. It had worked!
"Adios, Colonel!" she called back over her shoulder
as the horses carried her and Montoya's gold away. "Maybe
you'll catch me another day!"
*********
The wind had come up. The sky darkened as the
afternoon dragged on. Helm was kicking and cursing Equus
up the trail towards his last visit, a woman who had been
slowly dying of a sickness since she had lost her child a
few months ago, when he met the Queen driving a wagon the
other way. She looked in high spirits as she pulled up
beside him. Equus shied at the commotion, and Helm nearly
lost his seat for the second time that day.
"Do you have to be such a bloody menace every time
we meet?" he snapped, struggling to right himself in his
saddle. First Tessa, now the Queen. What next, Montoya
telling him he had to do another four years in this
hellhole? Her timing, as usual, was bad. The last thing
he wanted to be doing was wasting time doing her bidding
out here.
"Why Doctor," she replied breathlessly. "One would
think that you weren't very happy to see me."
"One might be right," he gritted back. He settled
back in his saddle, wishing he were home, small and
pitiful though his home was. The priest had been more
unpleasant than usual, meeting him at the edge of the
village before he could speak to anyone there. Father
Bernardo, grim and forbidding in his black cassock, had
made it very clear how unwelcome Helm was. Helm had been
tempted to ride right over the old man and into the
square. He had replied with a few unwise words of his
own, before he rode off. He wouldn't be welcome in that
village anytime soon. Damn that old man. Who had taught
him that medicine and faith didn't mix? Helm knew he
shouldn't take his anger out on the next person he met
(especially when that person was the Queen) but right now
he could not be bothered to listen to reason, even his
own.
"Going on a visit?" the Queen asked. Perfect. She
even had the sun at her back.
"Yes. Go away."
"Is it far?" She squinted at the horizon, where the
clouds were multiplying.
"Far enough." He wanted to be away and get this
visit done with. The woman was very sick. Though he
hadn't been able to help her much, he couldn't avoid
going. "Don't you have somewhere to go, some plan of
Montoya's to wreck?" He eyed the wagon suspiciously.
"Why don't I unhitch these horses and ride on with
you?" The Queen said, rather than answering his question.
Typical. "That rain looks close." Patronising little
girl. Did she really think that a man who had fought his
way up from private to the officer class needed her help
getting through his day? Why couldn't he fall in love
with a sensible woman his own age, like Marta, instead of
getting into a tangle with some wild country aristocrat
and her city-bred cousin? He felt uneasy again, as though
he were missing something important.
"What's the matter, Doctor?" the Queen said. "Don't
you want my help? You never seemed to mind it before."
Helm shook his head in angry amazement at her
indifference to his uncertain position. "I can't be seen
with you! Not on my rounds. Montoya would hang me the
very next morning if he could prove that I've been
helping you. Hell, he suspects something already. He's
been watching me for weeks. You, too. What the hell have
you gone off and done now?" He took a closer look at the
wagon and groaned. "Please don't tell me that that is the
tax shipment to Monterey."
She stared back at him mockingly. "What's the
matter, Doctor? Doesn't it bother you to see the peasants
suffering from the good Colonel's taxation? Do you like
watching him get rich?" He could see that he was
dampening her good mood.
Helm laughed bitterly. "I see much more of the
peasants' 'suffering' than anyone else in Santa Helena,
including you. And if anybody gets it in the neck due to
your adventures, it will most likely be me." Her face
darkened at that. So much for his getting more than a
kiss and a grope out of her any time soon. Might as well
put it all out in the open, then. In for a penny, in for
a big, fat guinea. "How much are you really helping the
people here, playing your silly, little games? Have you
thought about that? What are you trying to prove? That
Montoya is a cold-hearted bastard? Of course he is! He is
out here in the middle of nowhere, with the power of life
and death over everyone from here to Monterey! How does
making him more of a tyrant help any of us? I don't give
a damn whether he gets rich or not. I just know that if
he does not get this shipment to Monterey, he will take
the next shipment out of the pay of his men *and* off the
backs of those peasants you love so much. In case you
haven't noticed, I do work for the man. He hasn't paid me
for the past three months as it is."
"Well, then, by all means, Doctor, help yourself."
She spread her arm to indicate the wagon door.
Damn her. Licking his lips, he gave the door, and
the imagined gold behind it, a brief, longing look, then
glared up at her. "You must be joking. I can't use that
money." Not only could he not get laid, he couldn't get
paid. Life was not fair.
She smiled grimly down at him. "Why would I be
joking, Doctor? Don't you want to get paid?"
"There is no way that I could ever use that money,
you know that. If Montoya saw me spending any more than
he knows I have now, he would search my house and I would
be dangling from a rope by the end of the day. Not that
you care. I am just a pawn in your games with him."
"Then, you have a problem, don't you, Roberto?" She
shifted on her perch. Had he made her uncomfortable?
Good. He was tired of being used. "And here I thought you
liked being on his leash." Oh, if she only knew--but she
would never hear it from him. He still had some pride.
He looked her in the eye. Time to get rid of her. He
had places to be, out of the rain. "Not all of us have
masks to hide behind, little girl."
Her face tightened with anger. That had done the
trick. "Fine! Be that way!" She picked up the reins and
snapped them at the wagon horses. He watched her ride
off. Good riddance. God, how she frustrated him. She
looked so familiar; why could he never place her, despite
their frequent encounters? She must be from one of the
haciendas. He had certainly met her elsewhere, probably
at one of Montoya's parties. Perhaps he simply didn't
want to know. It did make things easier. He could never
woo such a high-born woman openly.
Now that she was going, he felt wistful. Why
couldn't they have a simple conversation without fighting
in daylight or groping at each other in the dark? It did
not bode well for his fantasies of growing old with her--
even if he would grow old first.
The rumble of thunder distracted him from his circle
of thought. With an unhappy glance at the darkening
horizon, he kicked Equus, who grunted and continued up
the trail.
*********
"Tessa, do not tell me that you left Dr. Helm out
there by himself." Marta stood, her hands on her hips, as
Tessa changed out of her Queen costume.
Tessa shook her head crossly. "Marta, Dr. Helm is a
grown man. He is perfectly capable of taking care of
himself." She yanked off her blouse sleeves and fumbled
at her corset stays, getting them thoroughly fouled up.
Helm's bitter words still rang in her ears, fueling her
temper. Marta stepped forward to help her.
"Full grown man or not, there is a storm coming."
Marta yanked on a stay, probably harder than she needed
to. Tessa grunted and winced. "You know perfectly well
what that means. After you and Vera were caught in that
flash flood last fall, I am very surprised to find you
willing to leave anyone else to such a fate, especially a
man whom you have been mooning over like a lovesick cow
for nearly two years."
" I have *not* been 'mooning over' him. Marta, stop
yanking so hard! Dr. Helm made it very clear that he
didn't need my help. I respected his wishes. I am sure
that he will be fine."
Marta frowned at Tessa, but only shook her head.
"Don't forget: Pride goeth before a fall, my Tessita. And
sometimes it is someone else who must take the fall."
Tessa turned her face away as Marta untangled the
rest of her corset stays. In truth, Tessa was already
regretting her action, but there was nothing to do about
it now. The rain was nearly here. She could hear thunder
rumbling nearby. Hopefully, the Doctor had either stayed
at the hacienda where he had his last visit, or had
returned home. She tried not to think about what might
happen if he were caught on the road, and that if he
were, whatever happened would be her fault.
*********
Helm sensed that the news was bad, even as he rode
into the small courtyard of the hacienda. He thought he
could hear wailing, even above the rising wind.
"Hola!" he called out as he rode up to the railing.
He dismounted and tethered Equus to it, lightly so that
the horse would not spook and break the railing as he had
done in other places. A man came out onto the steps, Don
Raymundo, the sick woman's husband.
"Ah, Doctor Helm," he said, coming down the steps to
clasp both Helm's hands, "I am so sorry to have you come
out for no good reason on such a day."
"I see," Helm said, feeling ill. "Dona Aliz, is
she...?"
The man nodded. Tears streaked his browned face.
"She was very restless last night, despite the medicine
that you gave us. In the morning, she fell asleep. We
thought it was a good sign, but she..." he paused to wipe
his nose. "She died around noon. It was very peaceful,
thank God."
"Don Raymundo, I am so sorry." Helm felt guilty.
Could he have come sooner, if he had not wasted the
morning on people who didn't want to see him? "If only I
had come sooner--"
"No, no." Don Raymundo shook his head and waved his
hand vigorously in the air. "There was nothing you could
have done. It was her time. God decides these things, not
we mortals." He tugged at Helm's hands. "Come. Come
inside. We have laid her out."
Reluctantly, Helm followed him into the house. He
really did not want to see Dona Aliz's body, but he
couldn't see how he could get out of it and still do his
duty. The house was small, and neat, but Don Raymundo was
clearly too poor to keep it up properly. He was scarcely
above a peasant in station himself. There were only a few
bedrooms, a kitchen in a building out back and the living
room, where the dead woman was laid out on a table. A
candle had been lit at her head and she had been dressed
in what looked to Helm like her best clothing. Around the
table huddled her four orphaned children, who all looked
sad and underfed. The oldest daughter sat beside the
body, reading from a prayer book. She looked up as Helm
came in.
"Look, Maria, Dr. Helm is here," said her father.
"Oh, Dr. Helm, thank you for coming!" With her
mother's grace, the girl stood up and came forward to
clasp Helm's hand. Helm was becoming more uncomfortable
by the minute. He had been cursing his patients all day
for spurning his help, and now, here where he could do no
more good, they were treating him as if he were a king.
"I am very sorry about your mother, Maria," he said,
patting her hand. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, as well as we can." She went to her father, who
hugged her and stroked her hair. They both burst into
tears. Helm scuffed his feet uneasily. He looked away
from the bereft father and daughter and tried to smile at
the other children. They stared back as though they had
never seen a smile, and would never do so again. He
remembered them as lively children, whom the eldest
daughter had to keep in check so as not to disturb the
mother. Today, they were eerily silent. He swallowed. He
did not want to be here, in this house. He so much wanted
to be far away and back on the trail. He had become too
familiar with death. Why did he not pick some other
profession when he fled the Army?
"Dr. Helm, you should stay with us tonight," Don
Raymundo said, looking up from his daughter's embrace.
"The rain will be coming soon."
Helm glanced around at the shabby house, the skinny
children. The family could not afford to give him such a
kindness, even for one night. "It is all right, Don
Raymundo. I don't want to put you out. I really ought to
get back to Santa Helena."
Don Raymundo grimaced. "I would insist, but...." He
looked around the house, perhaps seeing it the way Helm
saw it, instead of as just home.
"It is all right," Helm assured him. "I don't want
to take food out of your children's mouths, even for one
night." He backed towards the door. "I should get back
before the rain starts. Will you be all right?"
"We will manage, Doctor, thank you." Don Raymundo
still held his daughter, who still wept into his coat.
"I could send someone out tomorrow to help with the
house," Helm offered. "Marta from Senorita Alvarado's
ranch or perhaps Dona Hidalgo."
"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Doctor. You are
most kind."
Helm muttered a goodbye, then turned and fled the
house.
Outside, the sky had darkened considerably, so that
mid-afternoon now looked like dusk. Equus twisted
restlessly at the end of his tether as clouds scudded
overhead. The light blue line on the horizon had
darkened, pushing mounds of clouds before it. It advanced
over the sky like a threatening hand. Helm shivered and
hunched his shoulders. He had not wanted this, not at
all, and yet, he had known that he would be caught out in
the storm somehow. It was his curse.
It took too long to mount Equus, who would not
cooperate, and it felt twice as hard since he didn't dare
curse out loud, not in front of this house. Once mounted,
he kicked the horse out of the courtyard. Equus pranced
and snorted. Back out on the trail, Helm had more
difficulty reining the horse in than urging him on.
He got Equus into a slow canter, alternating with a
fast trot. For awhile he fooled himself that he might
make it home in time. Then, he saw it--a great, grey
curtain, rippling with twisted ropes of rain. It rose
before his eyes like some misty nightmare, spreading its
dark wings on either side to snare him. There was nowhere
to go; it was directly in front of the trail and coming
fast. He couldn't go back. He was already half-way to
Santa Helena from Don Raymundo's ranch and this section
of the trail went near no haciendas at all. The nearest
was Tessa Alvarado's. There was nothing for it. He
hunkered down and urged Equus forward. He would have to
go straight through.
The first wave hit--great drops of rain plopping in
the dust around Equus's hooves, on him, on Equus, scaring
the horse. Equus shied and snorted. Helm struggled to
keep the horse on the trail; the cliff was too close.
The top of the trail was not the worst spot. Coming
down the hill, Equus slipped several times in the
congealing dust, nearly dumping Helm. Man and horse
arrived, shaking, at the bottom to find a small river
flowing across the trail. Equus did not want to ford the
temporary stream. Helm bullied him through. Going up the
ravine proved more difficult, as water was now running
down the trail, making its own stream. Helm had to get
off and lead Equus up the hill as the trail turned
slippery. The muddy water ran over Equus' hooves and
soaked Helm's boots. Equus laboured and scrabbled in the
mud, slobbering in Helm's ear. Helm himself had to go
nearly on all fours to get purchase, panting into the
collar of his duster. His sodden hat drooped over his
head from the force of the rain. At least the duster was
waterproof.
There was a level spot of trail at the top, for
which Helm was immensely grateful. The last time he was
in rain this hard, he had been helping with a cannon
emplacement in Catalonia, during the War. The cannon
slipped and rolled over a corporal in the middle of one
of the new streams. They had not been able to get him
out. Helm watched the corporal drown--his face inches
from the surface, eyes wide, mouth open, choking. That
kind of sight gave a man nightmares when he didn't have
the sense to drink himself unconscious at night.
There was no question of trotting at this point, or
even of getting back on and riding. This was going to be
a very long walk home. Helm trudged through the mud,
leading an increasingly reluctant Equus, and tried not to
count up the number of ravines between here and Santa
Helena.
*********
Tessa stood on the verandah, stared out at the rain
and tried not to think about Dr. Helm, or where he might
be out in the storm. She was regretting her earlier rash
words more and more. Earlier, during her argument with
Marta, she had wanted to blame Helm, but this was
becoming much more difficult. What could she really
expect, when she had lied to him, endangered him and
confused him? Of course he would reject her in the end.
He still did not know her true identity. He seemed uneasy
with simply abandoning the Queen for the more
marriageable Tessa, which was admirable, albeit
frustrating to her. Why was she tearing at his loyalties
by trying to seduce him as Tessa? Could she really be
that thoughtless and selfish?
She had to tell him the truth. Soon. But not today.
Today, she just wanted to make sure that he was out of
the rain and safe.
Marta came out with a lit lamp. She stood behind
Tessa and patted her arm. "There is nothing to be done
now but wait, Tessita," she said.
Tessa shook her head. "I keep thinking that I should
be out there doing something; that I should have done
something before."
"We often think of these things too late," Marta
replied gently. "But Dr. Helm is a strong, resourceful
man. For all we know, he could be home and safe by now.
There is no point in chastising yourself over this."
Tessa lowered her head. "I know. But I still feel
responsible. I need to do something."
"Come to dinner, then. Starving yourself into a
faint will not help him." Tessa chuckled at Marta's
sensible wit. She let herself be pulled away from the
window and back into the house. At the door, she paused
to look out a final time. The rain came down in sheets,
turning the courtyard into a restless lake. Tessa peered
through the rain and the growing darkness for a man on a
horse, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.
*********
The rain came steadily now, though the wind blew it
back and forth across the trail. The air stank of worms.
Helm's feet were soaked; he hated that. He had been cold
and wet too many times in his life. He was tired of it
and he wanted it to stop. Equus had stopped fighting him
and now tromped along behind him, his lowered head
bumping against Helm's back. The last stream had been
difficult, and Helm had been nearly carried away by the
current. He barely managed to struggle up the bank,
dragged by Equus. Next time, he was riding the damned
horse across.
Counting the ravines, he realised that he was still
a few miles away from Santa Helena, but the turn-off to
the Alvarado hacienda was quite close, and he only had to
cross one more ravine to get there. Maybe he should break
for that. He recalled his sharp words to Tessa Alvarado
that morning with a wince. Surely she wouldn't hold that
against him now? She'd let him sleep in the stable with
the horses, at least. That sounded so lovely right now--
to be warm and dry, and safe. He spat out putrid mud from
the last ravine and concentrated on his goal.
There was one more ravine, though, before he reached
the hacienda. As he and Equus reached the top of the
hill, Helm's heart sank when he heard the roar of water
on the other side. At the top, he saw it. Where there had
been an empty gully yesterday was a river today--fast-
flowing, chaotic, full of flotsam and jetsam. How the
hell was he going to get Equus across that? It looked
impossible.
"Come on, horse. You've got some oats to earn."
Equus shied a bit, but was otherwise too miserable to
make trouble for Helm when he mounted. The difficulty
began when Helm tried to urge Equus down into the loud,
foaming water. Equus did not want anything to do with the
affair, but there was no going back, only forward. Helm
doubted that they could turn around, let alone get back
up to the top of the ravine. They were caught "entre
l'espasa i la paret"--between the sword and the wall--as
the peasants said in Catalonia. It had been a favourite
unofficial motto of the men in his regiment. In his case,
he was really caught between the Queen and Montoya, today
and forever, it seemed. Or at any rate, for the next two
years, if he lived that long.
"Damn you, horse! Get in there!" Helm kicked and
shouted at the tired gelding, barely able to hear himself
about the roar of the flood and the rain. Equus tried to
turn back, but the trail was too narrow and slippery and
Helm wouldn't let him. Slowly, reluctantly, the horse
edged down into the water. Helm felt a chill of fear as
the water rose over his boots and knees and above Equus'
flanks. He hadn't reckoned on the water being so deep.
For a heartstopping moment, Equus scrabbled for footing
as the ground dropped out from under him. In the sick
moment as they came unstuck, Helm frantically kicked out
of his stirrups. It did him no good. Equus was flung onto
his side by a wave and as he rolled over, Helm went under
him. He saw, in a flash, the poor bastard who had drowned
under that cannon so long ago. He was going to die the
same way. They would find him miles downriver tomorrow,
caught up in driftwood and face down in some small,
sticky puddle under his horse, dead as a stone--assuming
they found him.
As his head went under the water, Helm's panic
crystalised into a strange calm. Everything slowed; muted
monster noises surrounded him, sodden weeds caressed his
face. He couldn't see a thing. He clung to Equus and
pushed himself up, refusing to let the horse grind him
into the mud. His head broke the surface. Coughing and
shaking his head, he tried to spot the bank through the
mud in his eyes and the sheets of rain. He and Equus were
tumbling down the river. Oh, this was so very, very bad.
The horse was panicking, whinnying and flailing in the
water. Helm had to get out from under the animal
completely, or he would be pushed under again. He yanked
up the leg that was under Equus' submerged side, bracing
his boot against the cantle of his saddle. His back hit
ground, jarring his hurt shoulder. Equus hit, too. With a
snort, the horse dug in. Helm grabbed at the reins and
the pommel as Equus scrambled to his feet against the
river flow and up the bank out of the water. The bank,
thank God Almighty, was more shallow than in other
places. Equus faltered, then redoubled his effort when
Helm screamed in his ears. Helm wanted out of that river.
He wanted to be safe, he wanted to be dry and if he
killed Equus getting there, that was fine with him.
With a final straining push, Equus got up the bank,
dragging Helm with him. As they neared the top, Helm saw
that the horse was lame. The trail, he had to find the
trail. He got off, grabbed the reins and coaxed the
limping horse upstream, along the ridge. At least now
they were on the other side. It seemed a miserable
forever time before he saw any familiar landmarks in the
gloom. When he found the trail, he almost walked right
over it before he realised where he was and stopped. He
wanted to fall down and kiss the ground, but he was so
tired he feared he wouldn't get back up. Instead, with
Equus blowing on his shoulder, he hung his head and wept.
*********
Tessa had gone to bed, but still could not sleep.
She lay staring at the ceiling, imagining that she heard
Helm crying out to her from some watery grave. The cries
seemed to grow louder on the moaning wind, haunting her.
"Tessa! TESSA!" Tessa bolted out of her doze. The
cry had come from just outside her window. She heard it
again. Dios, was he really here? As she pulled on her
robe, her question seemed answered by the slamming of
Marta's bedroom door. She grabbed her bedroom lamp and
rushed out into the hallway. Marta stood there, carrying
her own lamp.
They stared at each other. "You heard it, too?"
Tessa asked. Marta nodded. "The road to Santa Helena must
be washed out if he has come here."
"Perhaps," Marta replied. "Or perhaps he was caught
too far out on the road to get back before dark and
decided to try for us instead. It would be the sensible
thing."
Tessa thought that was unlikely, considering the hot
words she had flung at him today, both as Tessa and as
the Queen. Her bitter musings were interrupted by another
cry. It was definitely Helm. He sounded exhausted and
forlorn, as though he did not expect anyone to answer
him. Tessa hurried down the hallway to the front door,
Marta at her back. She fumbled at the bolts and latches,
and flung back the door.
At first, she could not see him. Marta stepped out
from behind her onto the verandah, holding out her lamp
nearly into the streams of water that ran off the roof.
The flickering light caught a man standing next to a
horse, a few feet away from the steps. Both man and horse
were drenched and hung their heads in obvious exhaustion.
It was Dr. Helm and his gelding, Equus.
Marta turned to her. "I will get help," she said.
She went back into the house, shouting for the servants.
Tessa set her lamp down on the verandah before going out
to Helm. She ignored the rain that soaked through her
robe and nightdress and the mud that squelched between
her toes, taking Helm gently by the arm.
"Dr. Helm? Are you all right?" she said.
He raised his head and peered at her. "Senorita
Alvarado," he said brokenly. "Would you be so kind as to
let Equus and me stay in your barn? We won't be any
trouble." The formal phrases seemed to come out of him by
rote. "I'm sorry...." He shivered and leaned his head
against Equus' neck, closing his eyes. Tessa watched him
with concern. Had he struck his head or caught a chill?
"Don't be silly, Roberto," she said as one of the
stable boys ran up. "Rafael will take your horse to the
stable and bed him down. Come inside now." She pulled him
away from the gelding, tugging the reins out of his hand
and handing them to Rafael. The boy ducked his head and
led the exhausted horse away into the darkness. Tessa
noted that Equus was lame. She wondered how far Helm had
had to walk back, and through how many rivers. She felt
another stab of guilt. It was cut short when Helm swayed
and nearly fell. She put an arm around his waist to hold
him up. "Let's get you inside, Doctor, before you fall
asleep on your feet." She led him up the steps and into
the house.
Marta came up to them in the hallway with her lamp.
Going out to grab Tessa's, she came back in. "Should we
draw him a hot bath?" Tess asked worriedly. Helm's skin
felt wet and chilled next to hers. He was shivering.
Helm shook his head, his eyes half-closed. "No. No,
I just want to lie down and sleep."
Marta held up the lamps before his face, peering at
him. "I think we should worry about cleaning him up
tomorrow. Get his clothes off and get a hot drink into
him, first, I think. Then, put him to bed. We can wash
the sheets later."
"Let's get him to the guest bedroom, then." They led
him off down the hall and into the bedroom, where they
sat him down in a chair. Marta set one lamp down on a
table and went back down the hall to get the Doctor a hot
drink from the kitchen. Helm growled at Tessa when she
knelt down to pull off his boots.
"I can do it," he insisted, even as she worked one
off.
"Don't be silly, Doctor. It's no trouble." While he
was protesting, she got the other boot off. It was
difficult enough getting off one's own riding boots, even
half-boots like the Doctor's, when one was merely tired.
She thought that Helm had gone beyond that point hours
ago.
He balked at letting her take his duster. "No," he
said firmly, and stood up to pull it off. He let it drop
on the floor in a sodden heap. His waistcoat (the blue
one, she noted, which she rather liked) followed, but he
hesitated after that, giving her an injured look. She
smiled wryly at him and went to the big chest in the
corner of the room to pull out a nightshirt. She laid it
on the bed.
"I will wait outside while you change," she said. He
nodded wearily, and sat back down in the chair. She
retreated to her room, where she quickly exchanged her
wet clothing for dry. Even a moment in the rain had left
her soaked. On her way back to the guest bedroom, she met
Marta coming back from the kitchen with a hot drink.
"I thought you were going to stay with him," Marta
said, as they approached the guest room door.
"He wanted me to leave while he changed his
clothes," Tessa explained.
"Is he still doing that?" Marta looked worried. She
handed the drink to Tessa and knocked on the door. "Dr.
Helm?" There was a muffled reply. Marta pushed open the
door, Tessa followed her in.
Inside, Helm had already got into bed and pulled the
covers over himself. Marta went to sit on the bed beside
him. She felt his forehead. "I brought you a hot drink,"
she said. "Don't worry, I put sugar in it." Tessa bit
back a laugh. Helm did not approve of Marta's home
medicine.
"It's all right," Helm muttered. "I just want to
sleep."
Marta waved Tessa over to the bed and took the drink
out of her hand. "Please drink this first," she coaxed.
"I think you will feel much better for it." Looking as
though he would rather do anything else but obey her, he
sat up against the bedboard and took the cup from her.
His hands were unsteady, and he spilled some of the brew
when he drank it.
"You don't have to hover over me," he said a moment
later, with more of his usual energy. Handing the empty
cup back to Marta, he shivered and pulled the blankets up
to his shoulders, rubbing his right one where he had been
shot several weeks before. Tessa had not realised that it
still bothered him; he had never mentioned it. He looked
ill and badly used, like an overworked horse.
Tessa sat on the bed next to Marta. "I'm sorry to
put you out so much, Senorita," Helm said to her, seeming
to notice her for the first time since she had reentered
the room, "especially after the way I spoke to you this
morning. I will find a way to pay you back. I promise."
Apparently, he only felt comfortable using her Christian
name in extremis.
Tessa reached over Marta's knees and patted his
hand. "It is perfectly all right, Doctor. You don't have
to pay me anything. It's my pleasure to help you when I
can. I'm sorry that we exchanged such harsh words today
in the market. This must have been a bad day for you."
He hung his head. "They have all been bad days,
lately. That's how it feels. God, I hate the rain."
"Doctor," Tessa said gently, "I know that it has
been very hard for you since you came here, but please
don't leave. People here need you." *Like me,* she was
afraid to add.
He laughed a little. It sounded bitter. In the
lamplight, he looked old. "I can't leave. Whether I want
to be here or not, I have no choice but to stay." He
lifted his head to look her in the eye. "Montoya owns
me."
Beside Tessa, Marta stiffened. Tessa stared at Helm
in shock, forgetting for the moment to be coy or shallow
or even innocent about his admission. "What are you
saying, Doctor? What hold does Colonel Montoya have over
you?"
"It's not a pretty story," he replied quietly. "Not
a bedtime story at all."
"Tell us, Doctor," Marta said, her voice sounding
harsh and strained to Tessa. "At least give us a chance
to help you." Marta knew too much about exploitation. Her
people had suffered more than enough of it.
He sighed and coughed, sounding congested. He had
caught a chill, after all. "When I first left medical
school, I traveled through Spain. In Cadiz, I was called
to treat a nobleman and woman who had fallen ill." He
stared at his hands, spread out before him. "They died. I
tried my best, but nothing I did helped; it only made
things worse. I was thrown into the cellar in the family
house; the doctors were encouraging the family to murder
me. I was caught, as they say, between the sword and the
wall. After three days, Montoya came to me and offered me
a way out. Like any drowning man, I grabbed my chance.
The price was four years of my life."
"That is a very long time," Marta said.
Helm chuckled. "When the alternative is no more life
at all? It seemed like a miracle at the time."
"A very convenient miracle," Tessa muttered, but not
quietly enough to avoid Helm's notice.
"You think that, too?" he said, eyeing her as if he
were seeing her in a new way. "Well, it doesn't matter
now. When the noose is over your head, you don't care who
loosens it, only that you get to live another day." He
covered his face with his hands. "This wasn't how my life
was supposed to end up. I had different ideas once."
Tessa wanted to go to him and comfort him, but she
could not. It was inappropriate to her station and
neither Marta nor Helm would approve. She must play her
role, even when the court senorita's words and laugh
tasted bitter in her mouth.
"This...agreement. Is it on paper?" Marta asked.
He shook his head. He let his hands fall away. "Not
that it matters," he said. "Montoya is the law out here.
It is my word against his, and we all know how that case
would turn out."
"Dr. Helm, nobody cares what hold Colonel Montoya
has on you," Tessa insisted "If you ever needed refuge
from him, there are many of us in Santa Helena who would
gladly give it to you." The bravado of her own words
sounded false next to the memory of their argument that
afternoon. Helm was right. In a way, Montoya owned them
all. "Try to get some sleep. We will talk in the morning
when you are feeling better." Helm smiled sleepily at her
encouragement. She did not think he had really heard her.
It was time to let him rest. She exchanged a look with
Marta, and they both stood up to get their lanterns. Helm
lay down, wincing at he turned on his right side, and
pulled the covers over his head. He seemed to fall asleep
even before they left the room. Tessa led Marta out into
the hallway, closing the door gently behind them. She
took Marta's arm. They went back to Tessa's room. Once
inside, with the door closed behind them, Tessa felt safe
enough to be honest.
Marta spoke first. "This is very bad. Dr. Helm
cannot help us if he is dangling at the end of Montoya's
noose."
Tessa set her lamp on a table. She noticed that her
hand was shaking. "We have to help him, Marta. He has
risked his life too many times to save me for us to stand
and watch Montoya destroy him."
Marta snorted. "Montoya does not need to destroy
him. He seems to be doing quite enough damage to himself.
He will be in bed for a week if he is lucky."
Tessa sat down on her bed. Marta sat next her and
stroked her hair. "I have to help him, Marta," Tessa
said. "He was right, and so were you. I'm only playing at
being the hero, while others must dance to the tune that
I leave them to play. I shouldn't have left him out
there."
"No, Tessa. You should not have left him out there."
Marta's tone was kind but firm. "For some people, heroism
is a game. But for some, it is only doing their job. That
is a far more difficult thing, because they can never
leave it when they tire of it or when it becomes too
dangerous."
"I lost sight of why I became the Queen in the first
place. I have to stop playing at this as if it were a
game. It's not a game; it is very real."
"Yes, it is," Marta agreed. "You need to listen to
Dr. Helm more, Tessa. He has wisdom well beyond your
years. It is bad luck to mock such a gift when he offers
it. He has seen and done many hard things, and he has
done them in the open, where he must take responsibility
for them all. Not everyone can hide behind a mask."
"That is just what he said to me today, when we
argued."
"Then, perhaps he has finally taught you a lesson
that made you pay attention." Marta hugged her.
"Perhaps." Tessa laid her head on Marta's shoulder.
She could not imagine life without Marta. Marta was the
only true family that she had left. Perhaps Robert had
had such a person in his life once, but that person must
have died or abandoned him long ago. He was so very
lonely; she could not imagine how much. She would help
him escape Montoya's yoke, she decided. Perhaps, once he
was free, he might want to stay in Santa Helena, want to
love her freely. Perhaps then she could face him without
her masks, show him that he loved the same woman under
all of them. Until then, she could only hope.
*********
The river flowed over his face, murky and brown,
cold and prickly. He couldn't breathe. A bright red flash
drew him to the river bottom. A body in the rags of a
British regimental uniform lay there, wrapped up in an
anchor chain. Helm struggled for the surface, but the
chain dragged him down. The body raised a moldy arm and
beckoned. He thought he had left it behind. The face with
its empty eyes tilted up at him. *At least it's finally
dead,* he thought, but he was wrong, tricked by the
darkness. The uniform shone new and complete, every
button in place; the body underneath it filled out.
Despite his fear, he felt pride that he could still turn
himself out so well. The flush of life still lit the
sharp face. He remembered how that felt. The eyes, when
they opened, gleamed with cheer and malice. Lt. Robert
Helm of His Majesty's Service, soldier, spy and murdering
bastard, smiled up at Dr. Helm. Dr. Helm smiled back.
Helm woke himself coughing. The rain and wind had
died down, and a chill had settled into his chest. He
would be imposing on Senorita Alvarado's hospitality
longer than he had feared. It didn't matter that she
seemed happy to let him do it. It made him feel helpless,
especially when it hurt so much to breathe. He felt tired
and old. He propped himself up with the pillows and
listened to the wet rasp of his breathing. *Maybe you've
caught your death after all, Robbie, old man,* he told
himself.
*That wasn't your death you saw on the river
bottom,* the old, seductive voice whispered. *Montoya's,
perhaps, but not yours.* He remembered these ghostly
conversations from his lowest points in the War. The
tactic had got him out of more than one scrape. A council
of one.
*I won't kill him,* he told himself. *I swore to do
no harm, even to a man like Montoya.*
*Don't be such a fool. Stop letting others fight
your battles. You've had targets you couldn't kill
before. You know what to do. So, do it.*
*I won't go back to being you.*
The sigh seemed to come from the very bottom of the
river. *There is no "you"; there is no "I". You're
feverish and half-asleep, you silly bastard. You are
talking to yourself.*
Helm shook his head. He had to breathe through his
mouth in order to breathe at all. *It's the best I can
do. There's nobody else. He's got me by the throat. I
can't get out.*
*Of course you can. Montoya thinks he owns you;
that's his first mistake. Pull him in. Hint at your other
skills. Eventually, he will want to use them, and that
will give you an opportunity.*
*The Queen won't like it.*
*Then you explain it to her. For all you know, she
is playing the same game with him. Maybe you could even
work together instead of flailing in the dark.* Helm felt
again that momentary unease, the sense that he was
missing a piece in the puzzle that was the Queen. He
might have promised her he would stop his investigations
into her identity, but that didn't mean he could never
ponder it.
*There you go, Robbie. Now, you're thinking instead
of moping. I feel better already.*
Yes. That was it. The disaster in Cadiz had knocked
him down, convinced him that he was a killer and always
would be. Well, what if he was? He was a healer as well.
Maybe it was time to start balancing the two, instead of
denying half of himself. And maybe it was time he
admitted why he hadn't yet run. He could escape Santa
Helena easily enough--he did not think that Montoya would
follow. But he loved Santa Helena, and he was damned if
he was going to let Montoya or the Queen or some bloody
priest run him off. He would deal with the priest first,
after he got out of this sickbed. He smiled at that
thought. After that, it was time to bargain strategy with
the Queen. And after that.... Helm chuckled to himself.
Montoya was not the only one who could wait.
END
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