1-22-01 The First Challenge

TRIO CHALLENGE: A rose, Don Quixote and a jar of pickles

or

QUOTE CHALLENGE: "I said it was for medicinal purposes only!"

Authors in alphabetical order:

Anthony, Eliza, JoLayne, Lisa, Maril, MnD, Robin (brig)

SCHOOL DAYZ

by Anthony
Rodlox@hotmail.com

SPOILERS: none really.

REASON FOR WRITING THIS: response to a Challenge.

~~~~~

"Cicero once said 'A room without books is like a body without a soul'," Dr Engval told her class. "Now, armed with this assumption, what could we say about the archeological dig site we visited last week?" Three students raised their hands. "Yes Pablo?" calling on one of other students.

Pablo Grisham squeezed his eyelids shut as he answered, "That Governor Montoya had a large soul?" and waited for the laughter. Laughter that didn't come. He opened his eyes, and saw that their raven-haired teacher was writing on the blackboard.

"Pablo's right," she said. "Not only did Governor Montoya keep a large library that was later opened to the public, he also engaged in many civic projects that enriched the lives of the Dons and peasants. Add to that the fact that he managed to hold the country together in it's formative years, holding both America and Mexico at bay...and you have a legend right there."

"But what about reports of the abuses of power that he engaged in while he was a Colonel?" asked Jaq.

Dr Engval looked at Jaq, dusky skin looking at dusky skin. "Undoubtedly, they come from the same place as stories which claim that the Hidalgo marriage was rife with infidelity or that the Old San Luis," as they lived in the New San Luis, "played host to such diverse people as Zorro, Don Quixote, and even El Cid: old wives' tales. There is no evidence whatsoever which supports either statement."

As Dr Engval looked around at her class, the students all got very nervous. Now was the time, since class time was almost over, that she would hand out projects for them to do over the break.

"Lucy, you and Hobb's assignment is to write a biography of Governor Luis Montoya. Rafael and Ben, yours is a report on how the Hidalgo family influenced our nation's relationship with Imperial Russia.

"Paul and Amber, yours is a report on the Appended Acts to the Third Principle," the Principles being the founding document of their nation. "Donna, Ariman, and Jaq, the three of you are to write about the Legend of the Sword, and if it has any basis in historical fact." The bell rang. "Class dismissed," her large brown eyes twinkling with relief; teaching could be a joy at times...but it also could be wearying.

~~~~~

"Oh come on," Lucy said as the nine of them walked down the sidewalk between the two rose hedges; let the Americanos have bare lawns, civilized people have roses. "Come on, don't tell me you actually believe that stuff. The Legend is just that - a legend."

Pablo made a face. "I'm not so sure...I mean, look at all the references to the Sword Queen in historical documents of that time. If she didn't exist, why would they invent her?"

"Same reason Plato invented Atlantis," Ariman answered. "To provide a moral lesson. What better reason is there than that?"

Pablo wasn't sure he wanted to try answering that, so he focused his attention on the single white rose that was growing on a cluster of red rose vines. It was very pretty...

"Comprende?" Donna said into Pablo's ear, her voice startling him just as much as her blonde hair was tickling his ear. When he looked over at her, he saw that most of them had left - probably to get started on the projects. But lovely blue-eyed Donna was still there...and Ariman was too. "We were thinking about heading over to the deli for a bite to eat," she told him; "Would you like to come?"

Oh he wanted to, very much so...but - "I promised my mom I'd bring home a jar of pickles."

"Okay, maybe next time?" He nodded vigorously. "'Kay, bye."

THE END

QOSFANFIC CHALLENGE#1

by Eliza
elizawpg@home.com

I gave the Trio Challenge a try, though one of the items ended up being metaphorical. <g> (Or was it used in a simile, I always get those mixed up)

SPOILERS: Just to be safe I'll mention one for "Duel with a Stranger"

See what happens when you've got two plot bunnies running around and no sense to keep them apart.

~~~~~

Montoya had just trimmed a wayward rose from a trellis in the well kept garden when his eye fell on the book on the nearby table. It had just arrived from Monterey on the stage and had contained some interesting information. The colonel knew the sender would not just send a gift for its own sake and so, after careful examination, he had found the letter that had been hidden within the cover. After he had read it, the letter went into the fire. The book, however, would not suffer the same fate; it was a beautiful volume.

"Colonel," came a voice from behind him. Montoya continued his pruning, letting Grisham wait. He had sent for the captain at least half an hour ago.

The captain sighed, sat at the table and picked up the book. He opened the cover and smirked as he read the inscription aloud -- "The pursuit of past glory is always at the expense of present joy. I pray you make the effort to live in the present more often, Luis. -- M."

Grisham frowned in thought for a moment then said, "The only 'M' I can think of is Tessa Alvarado's maid, Marta. She wouldn't be inscribing books to you, whenever she looks at you her expression is sourer than a jar of pickles."

"There's a charming image." Montoya's sarcasm brought a grin to Grisham's face. The smile faded as Montoya moved toward the table and continued, "A two hundred year old book inscribed in English--no, I don't think Marta would be my benefactor. Which reminds me of why I wanted to see you, how is your courtship of Maria Teresa Alvarado proceeding?"

Grisham froze for a moment then started to squirm. "With Antonio showing up and his untimely demise..."

"You mean your shooting him."

"Yes... Well... I didn't think I would be welcome for a while after that. Then she started mooning after Doctor Helm..."

"Who has shown no interest in her at all."

"I don't need to chase after someone who is attracted to someone else." Grisham's tone was defiant but his eyes were darting around the courtyard as if he was searching for a distraction. They focused again on Montoya's copy of 'Don Quixote', still open to the inscription. The feigned innocence of Grisham's tone conveyed more of the message he was trying to send then the words did. "This is written in a very masculine hand. Who is this 'M', Colonel?"

Montoya retrieved the book as he walked past the captain. The colonel paused for a moment while he dispelled the images running through his mind involving that very masculine hand. Grisham was trying to unnerve him but it would take much more then mild insinuation to do that. Contradicting information should be enough to throw the captain off balance, which was always amusing. "Someone who reminded me never to send a boy," the phrase was punctuated by the sound of the book quickly meeting the back of Grisham's head, "to do a man's job. Senorita Alvarado's marital status is now my concern. You are off the hook, Grisham."

Seeing the captain's stunned surprise was very gratifying but Montoya wanted him gone. "It's Tuesday. Don't you have an... appointment?" The reminder was accompanied by an obvious motion to the courtyard entrance. Grisham recovered enough to take escape as it was offered.

As Montoya turned to the house it was his turn to grin was he heard the captain mutter, "Just when I think I've got him figured out."

THE END

QOS CHALLENGE #1

by JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com

Rose, Don Quixote, jar of pickles.

~~~~~

Helm walked out of his office and looked up at the vibrant sky. He stretched to loosen the tightness in his shoulders from being hunched over patients all day. He went back into his office, then into his private quarters and grabbed the leather bound book that was on the night stand.

Across the square from his office, he sat at a table in the outdoor cantina. As soon as he sat at a table, a waitress came to take his order. "Just a nice glass of white wine, please," he told her.

He pushed the single rose in a vase at the center of the table back and set the novel, Don Quixote, before him. He opened it to the ear-marked page that he had last read from the book the evening before. Quixote and Sancho Panza were in the midst of an argument about windmills. Helm tried to find the paragraph that he last remembered reading.

The waitress set the wine glass on the table and smiled to him when he looked up. "Is there anything else I could get you, Doctor?"

"Not right now," he easily said, then she left him alone with the book.

A peasant woman carrying a filled basket walked by and noticed the doctor at the table. "Doctor Helm!" Her shout made Helm snap his head up to wonder who was hurt and what he would need to do. He saw the woman lugging the heavy basket rush to his table at the edge of the porch. "Doctor Helm," she said, almost out of breath. "You are such a miracle worker. Thank you again for saving my dear Javier's life. I don't know how we can ever pay you for your kindness."

Helm took her hand when she offered it and smoothly said, "I didn't save his life. I just set his broken leg and I was proud to do it. How is Javier doing?"

"He's running around and playing as if he hadn't broke his leg last summer. Thank you so much!"

Helm saw the tears in her eyes, and remembered the worried look on her face when she and her husband brought their son to his office after the boy had fallen from a moving wagon. "I'm glad he's all right. That's all the thanks I need."

"No, no, Senor," she said, shaking her head. She set the basket on the ground and rummaged through it. "These are things I was bringing to a friend, Rosa. I'm sure she wouldn't mind...," she said as she pulled out a jar. "If I give you this as payment for your work." She thrust the jar of pickles into his hand, "Please, take it."

Helm did enjoy the manner in which people paid their medical bills. He'd receive an invitation for a home-cooked meal. A woman would show up to clean the office because he had bandaged her husband. Montoya would grunt. One day, Helm opened his office door to find a goat tied to the doorknob. Now pickles. He smiled, "Thank you, Senora Flores. I'm sure I will enjoy them."

THE END

QOS CHALLENGE #1

by Lisa Weston
lisa_weston@csufresno.edu

OK. Here goes . . . A rose, Don Quixote and a jar of pickles, eh?

~~~~~

Ah, yes, the exact one. The deep, rich, almost purple red would make a good match for the brocade waistcoat he had chosen this fine day. Colonel Montoya snipped the rose neatly and secured it on the lapel of his dark frock coat. This afternoon he would play the aristocrat rather than the soldier. In the pursuit of political power, urbane implication was a keen rapier often more useful than blunt intimidation.

But first, before he rode out on his errand of polite terrorism... He picked the book off the table and brushed his hand fondly over the weathered cover. Opening it, he smiled at the fading inscription. His father had given him this copy of Don Quixote for his twelfth birthday and he had loved it almost as much as he now loved the Bard's great plays. He had read it and re-read it and read it again, until in his boyish imagination its romance-tinged world seemed more palpable than the dull reality around him. Of course, that was when he was a child, and he had long ago put away childish things. He read the text differently these days. He closed the book and tucked it under his arm, then drew on the black leather riding gloves and smoothed them over his fingers.

"Saddle my horse. Have it waiting for me when I return."

Knowing without looking behind him that the servant was scurrying to carry out his order, Montoya crossed the dusty plaza from the palatial commandante's residence to the small adobe house that served Doctor Helm as both office and home. His curt knock went unanswered, but he opened the door and entered anyway.

"Doctor Helm?"

There was no answer. No one was in the surgery and through an open doorway into the doctor's private quarters he could see the makings of a simple meal spread out on a table. Obviously the physician had been called away suddenly. The colonel grimaced in annoyance; he would have to come back later, then.

The door opened behind him and he turned.

"Colonel Montoya." The mellow, cultivated voice carried the slightest edge of wariness. "Always a pleasure to find you in my home." The doctor's collar was loosened; coatless and with his shirt sleeves rolled up, he hardly looked the well-born, educated man his accent suggested.

"And you, always the dedicated healer. May I at least hope that it was not some hunted criminal this time?"

Helm ignored the jibe. Placing his medical bag on the work bench he sauntered almost defiantly by the colonel into the back room.

"Actually," Montoya continued as he followed him, "I've brought you something." He laid the book on the table next to the food laid out there. A peasant's meal, he noticed idly, or a soldier's, perhaps, rather than the repast of a gentleman: a small basket of the flour tortillas that passed for bread in the pueblo's poorer kitchens; some pale, crumbly cheese; a jar of pickles; a bottle of the rough local wine. How egalitarian--no, how penitential--for someone obviously bred to a better and more civilized life. Someday, Montoya vowed, he would discover exactly what sins required such an exile for their expiation. "You mentioned the other evening that you knew Cervantes only in translation. I thought it might be time for you to read his work in the original." He tapped the cover of the book lightly, lovingly, and turned to leave. "Perhaps it will remind you how dangerous idealism and romantic illusions can be."

THE END

QOS CHALLENGE #1

by Maril Swan
maril.swan@sympatico.ca

For the Quote Challenge, here's my response.

~~~~~

Nerves were fraying and tempers flaring as the two women sat poring over the route map. One plan after another had been advanced and discarded. Finally, Marta stood up, shaking her head. "Impossible! There is no way you can intercept the gold shipment and get away safely on this route. But I have an idea." Tessa raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Marta continued, "Let the gold shipment go through to Monterey."

Tessa gasped and rose abruptly. "Brilliant!" she snapped. "Let their biggest gold shipment get through so Montoya looks like a hero. That's your plan?"

"Dios mio," Marta muttered, "Give me patience." Taking a deep breath, she added, "There is more."

"What else? I should escort the gold to see it gets there safely?"

"I need some medicine," Marta growled, pressing her hand to her head, as she turned and strode across the room to the credenza. Lifting a brandy bottle, she unstoppered it and splashed a large dollop into a glass, downing the contents in a quick gulp. She coughed as the strong liquor burned its way down to her stomach, and her eyes watered.

From behind, she heard Tessa say, "Marta, what are you doing? You never touch strong drink!"

"I said it is for medicinal purposes only! You are giving me a headache!" Facing Tessa, Marta began again, keeping her voice carefully level. "If you are finished acting like a spoiled child, I will tell you the rest of my plan."

Tessa raised her chin with that defiant, petulant look Marta knew so well, and which always provoked her into a wrath. The Gypsy woman turned and reached for the brandy bottle again. She heard Tessa laugh suddenly.

"You'd better pour me some of that medicine too, Marta. I think I'm going to need it to steady my nerves when I hear this plan!"

THE END

THE COURTSHIP

by Maril Swan
maril.swan@sympatico.ca

QoS Challenge #2-- couldn't resist, just had to. <g>

~~~~~

Montoya looked up from the book he had been reading while eating his meal at the cantina. A small rose stood in a slim vase on the table, next to a jar of pickles. Grisham stood awaiting acknowledgment of his presence while helping himself to the pickles. Waving him to a chair opposite, Montoya continued to chew meditatively, studying the captain's handsome face. Finally, he spoke.

"Your courtship of Senorita Alvarado has not been making much progress, Grisham."

"Well, colonel, she's the kind of woman you can't rush."

"Rush! A glacier moves faster!" Montoya glared at the captain. "Tessa is the kind of woman who needs to be courted with delicacy, with finesse." He gestured to the rose. "With flowers, flattery, and intellectually stimulating conversation. Such as discussing books like this." He passed Grisham the copy of Don Quixote he had been reading.

Grisham hefted the huge leather-bound volume and handed it back. "You must be joking, colonel. I'd never get through that in a year!"

"Of course you wouldn't. How foolish of me. Your lips would tire long before that." He thought a moment, then added, "Doctor Helm has been showing some interest in the senorita lately. You may have a rival for her affections. What do plan to do about it?"

Grisham laughed scornfully. "It's easy to see who's the better man. How many women has he had since he's been here? None! I've had at least a dozen."

"Well, I suppose you could use your usual technique on the senorita. You might try to get her drunk or offer to pay her as you do all the others." Montoya grimaced and returned to eating his meal, as if the captain was no longer there.

THE END

THE RECONNAISSANCE

by MnD
yuanne@aol.com

CHARACTERS: T M DrH

SYNOPSIS: The doctor does some snooping and makes a discovery…

COMMENTS: Response to the Core Challenge #1 -- Rose, Don Quixote, Jar of Pickles. Thanks to Ellayo for the quick brush-up.

~~~~~

Tessa and Marta strolled through the market, chattering good-naturedly as they browsed through the goods. Marta selected a jar of pickles and placed it in her basket along with a dozen apples. "They are red again this time, Marta. I do wish that they would send the golden ones; they seem much sweeter." Marta chuckled knowingly, remembering that Tessa and the rather handsome doctor had met over a bushel of golden apples; Helm had looked like a bandit, and Tessa had been absolutely aghast at his behavior and appearance. Fortunately, the man cleaned up very well, and proved to have near-courtly manners.

Robert Helm carefully opened the back door of the Alvarado house and paused, listening for any sounds of life. All was silent in the evening light. He closed the door and eased across the floor as easily and fluidly as a cat. Just because he had killed Latham for being a spy during the war didn't mean he didn't indulge in the annoying little habit himself. He pocketed the lock pick and straightened to his full height. Whereto start? From the ground up was always easiest. He made his way down to the wine cellar and looked around. It looked as if no one had been here for years; there were spider webs and dust mites everywhere. He lit a small lantern and raised it.

There were clear footprints in the thick dust leading to a certain shelf of wine. He frowned. All the bottles were still there, and all were still full. Which meant… he crouched down and examined the side of the shelf. Nothing there. He checked the other side. The dust had been cleared from the floor in a semi-circle about a foot wide. A secret room? Why would there be one at the Alvarado hacienda? Only Montoya had one, and the Colonel used it to store his stolen gold. But of course, Don Alvarado could have had it installed because he rightfully mistrusted the Colonel. Helm had heard rumours of the man's death.

He stood up again and examined each bottle closely. There were marks on a particular bottle, a San Marita 1705, made by small hands. A woman's hands, probably. He grasped the neck of the bottle and turned it to the right. There was a loud creak and the shelf swung open about a foot. Rays of light settled themselves on the floor, as if beckoning him inside. He froze, a knee-jerk reaction fathered by years in the military. Still safe. He slipped inside and looked around.

The room was filled with expensive and beautifully made things; the perfect picture of opulence. There were paintings and golden artifacts everywhere. He spotted a gilded copy of Don Quixote opened to the famed windmill scene laid on top of a silken shawl that had unraveled atone end. That was odd.

Everything else in this room was made of the finest quality. He moved the book aside and picked up the black lace, scrutinizing the frayed edge. The shawl had been cut, probably with sewing scissors, quite recently. His eyes narrowed and he ran his hand along the black rose pattern. It looked disturbingly familiar and he squinted, trying to remember where he had seen it before. The shawl dropped to the floor and his eyes widened with shock as the realization hit him. Tessa Alvarado the Queen of Swords?!

It made sense… her knowing remarks and comments about him, those subtle hints and goads; yes, they were the same height, and that set of their, no, her hips… He recalled when she had asked him what he thought of the Queen of Swords at Montoya's fiesta after the fever had hit. He had dismissed her smug expression and too wide eyes as her triumph in cornering him into adding to the town's gossip. How could he have been so blind? And Marta…Marta obviously knew, probably even helped Tessa in her crusade against the colonel. That's how the Queen…Tessa, had found out about his life in the army.

His revelations were interrupted by a loud slam of the door and female voices on the stairs. The room had obviously been soundproofed well if he had not heard their horses. He cursed avidly and hastily replaced the shawl and book. He grabbed and put out his lantern before dashing out of the door and closing it. He slipped behind a rack of wine bottles just as he heard Marta and Tessa come down the stairs. When he heard the door of the secret room open, he made a mad dash to the stairs and hastily ascended them; catching a glimpse of the black and red costume that he knew so well. He ran to where his horse was hidden and galloped away, his mind churning as much as the dust under his horse's feet.

~~~~~

Depending on feedback... to be continued?

~MnD
http://cataclaw.envy.nu
www.oocities.org/manzanacore

A Jar of Pickles, a Rose, and Don Quixote in the Wilderness
QoS Challenge #1

By Robin
bliteheart@fast.net

Here's my vignette drawn from the trio challenge.

~~~~~

Robert unlocked the door to his office and entered, aware of the silence filling the little room. It had been a busy day; he sometimes chose to make a circuit ride to various far-flung homes, checking up on former patients. An ounce of prevention and all that. He sighed and rubbed the small of his aching back, remembering yet again just how much he hated riding all day.

As he pushed aside the ragged curtain separating his own room from the office proper, his casual glance caught sight of something perched on the shabby table that served as writing desk and dining area. It was a basket, covered with a green cloth.

A basket? He didn't own any baskets--in fact he had few items of his own aside from the instruments in his satchel. Robert approached the splash of color with some caution and stood looking down at it for a moment.

Finally lean fingers tugged at the cloth. it came away with ease to reveal three items nestled in the basket's pristine interior: a rose, the crimson-streaked, creamy white petals a bit wilted but still soft and fresh; a jar of what looked for all the world like pickled cucumbers, and a small, battered book. There was no note. Robert reached in to take up the rose and jerked back. A tiny drop of blood welled up on his thumb. Instinctively he sucked it, his gaze moving to the book. He pushed it open and read the small inscription on the page, a reluctant smile curving his lips.

"From the Alvarado library . . ." he said aloud, and turned to the title page. This time a chuckle escaped him, the first glimmer of real humor he had felt in days.

"'Don Quixote, 'eh? Trying to tell me something, senorita?"

His glance fell back to the rose.

"No wonder you bit me," he told the small bloom as he lifted it up for examination. "Rosa mundi... Montoya would be terribly jealous."

The cucumbers would take some explaining though.

THE END