CHALLENGE#30 for the week of 08-12-01

TRIO CHALLENGE: a coin, a pearl necklace, an apple tart

QUOTE 1: "Through a glass and darkly, I fought that strife, under many guises and many names, but always me." --Patton

QUOTE 2: "Regret and misery like ashes in the mouth" -Mia Vendaval

QUOTE 3: "Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest."- Mark Twain

WORDS: satrap, finial, gnomon

SENTENCES: "Reaching into the saddlebag she felt a live object that squirmed in her grasp."

"Jumping across the crevice, the rider missed the other side by inches."

"Help arrived minutes too late."

AUTHORS: Jim, Jo, Lisa, Maril and Rodlox

By Jim
zankoku1946@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Fireworks owns them but they really belong to the fans
Rating: G
Trio: A coin, Pearl necklace, Apple Tart plus
Words: Gnomon
Sentence: Reaching into the saddlebag, she felt a live object that squirmed in her hand
Thanks George for the suggestion

~~~~~

Doctor Helm straightened up his office after the last patient. A patient who was more interested in getting to the bazaar that being examined. The supply ship was in. Helm shook his head. Normally he would walk down to the beach to see what rascal would land in Santa Helena, but today he could care less.

He took out the pocket watch from his vest pocket. Nine o'clock. It showed the same time it did three patients ago. "Damn, I forgot to wind the bloody thing. Now I have to go check the gnomon on the town's sundial.

A knock on the door startled him. No one in this town ever knocked, they barged in as if his office was an emporium or café. Must be a stranger, he thought as he opened the door. To his amazement it was the Garcia boy and he was carrying a package.

"Senor, a package came for you on the supply ship." The boy handed him the package and started to leave.

"Un momento, por favor. I have something for you." Helm tossed the boy a coin.

"Senor a reale? For delivering a package?"

"No, for being polite enough to knock on the door." Helm turned back into his office as the boy ran to his mother on the other side of the square, coin tightly clutched in his hand.

Helm was surprised at receiving a package but even more surprised at the contents. A letter was in the package.

My Dearest Robert,
Give this to the woman who has stolen your heart and kept you from us.
Love
Mother

Helm stood look at the contents. He knew only one thief who had stolen his heart. On a whim, he grabbed his saddlebags and headed out the door. He made a beeline to a particular stall at the bazaar that he had heard about. Making his purchase, he placed both items in the saddlebag and went to get his horse.

On the ride out to the Alvarado hacienda, Helm took his purchase out of the saddlebag and held it in his lap. At the Alvarado hacienda, he dismounted and placed the item in the saddlebag once again and strapped it shut. He approached the door and did something no one else did. He knocked on the door.

A somewhat surprised Tessa opened the door. In her peasant blouse, colorful gitano skirt, a Kabushka on her head, her hair in a single braid and a feather duster in her hand, she looked like a maid.

"Doctor Helm, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you out here?"

"Senorita, I came to see Senorita Alvarado, is she at home?

"Doctor Helm!" she stamped her foot and then saw the grin on the doctor's face. "You're teasing me. Marta and I were cleaning a certain room in the basement." Doctor Helm reached out and rubbed the dust off of her nose.

"I never would have guessed. Now why am I here? Oh yes, I have a present for you."

"A present for me?"

Helm held the bag so one side faced Tessa. She quickly opened the side with a slight bulge and reaching into the saddlebag, she felt a live object that squirmed in her hand. She let out a sudden squeal and jumped back. Helm let out a howl, which brought Marta running from the kitchen. She stopped inside the doorway to see what mischief the good doctor was up to.

Tessa bent down and lifted the flap of the saddlebag and stepped back. Two furry pointed grayish ears suddenly rose from the bag and twitched. Two round eyes and a pink tipped nose popped out, the eyes fixated on Tessa. The creature opened its mouth.

"MEOW!" it said and leapt landing on Tessa's head. Tessa carefully stood up. The Siamese kitten curled around Tessa's neck and under her braid. Marta couldn't control her self any longer and laughed at her charge's antics.

"It's adorable, what it's name?"

"Princesa."

"How do you know it's a female?"

"I'm a doctor, I checked. What about the other present?"

Tessa eyed the other saddlebag with suspicion and opened the flap carefully. When nothing happened she peaked in. She put her hand in and retrieved the package. She opened it and gasped. She stretched out the Mother of Pearl necklace in her hands.

"There beautiful, Robert." Tessa hugged him and gave him and a kiss that sent shockwaves down to his heels and aroused everything between his lips and his toes.

"Tessa, my mother said to give these to the woman who has stolen my heart. You are the thief of my heart."

Tessa resumed kissing him while Princesa decided to leave Tessa's neck and perch upon Helm's head.

"MEOW," came the comment from the Princess.

END

By Jo
EnyaJo@aol.com

Takes place after my response last week where Luis has just returned from the future.
Trio: Coin, pearl necklace, apple tart (I'm assuming the dessert, and not the Episode Guide page on Manzana Core, Maril <g>)
Quote 3 and all of the words, and also, thanks George for the sentence.

~~~~~

Beatriz was ticked. The dining room table was elegantly set for three and Beatriz sat alone, tapping her cane angrily on the tiled floor. When she was in such a mood, no one who worked in Montoya's house dared disturb her. Even though she was an old woman, Beatriz could also be the poster child for 'cranky'. She was determined also. She had been waiting for almost seven hours, refusing to let the staff clear the table or prepare something fresh for her to eat. Beatriz's stomach was rolling from hunger, but stubbornness precluded her from taking them up on their kind offer. Her pursed lips clenched, her fingers and cane tapping in rhythmic succession, her gray eyes glaring at the door, her best dress wrinkled and also stained from a spot of wine, the only thing that she had disturbed on the table since it was set for her birthday lunch.

Suddenly, the quiet was disrupted by a flurry of activity out in the hall. She heard Luis call out, "There's no place like home!" and she heard his minions reply, "Si, Colonel," in a confused manner. She heard heavy footsteps run up the stairs, thinking there was a herd of horses thundering up the stairs, then Luis walked into the dining room.

He was wearing what Beatriz pegged as a ridiculous getup. He was a colonel, not a farmhand. The boots he wore were heavy. His pants were dark blue, but faded. His white shirt read "Garcia Forever" on it. That dusty, black leather jacket had certainly seen better days. His long hair was hanging loose and he hadn't shaved in days. He was supposed to have come back from his meeting with the Governor that morning, and he was dressed like that?

"The gnomon shows seven, Luis," Beatriz bitterly said, focusing her steely eyes on him.

"Auntie," Luis gleefully said as he walked to her and gathered the old woman into his arms and lifted her up and swung her around.

"Bunky! You could break every bone in my poor, decrepit body! What has gotten into you? Put me down! I am mad at you!"

"Why?" Luis said, making sure that her feet were firmly planted on the floor. "I am your favorite nephew," he said with a wondrous look around at his possessions.

"You are late!" Beatriz said, sitting again at the table. She picked a piece off of her birthday cake and chewed, finally giving in to her hunger. "Jorge left!"

"Who?" Luis was admiring his portrait on the wall that had been done when he had just received the rank of Colonel.

"Jorge! My boyfriend! Soon to be your uncle, if you are lucky! You were not here to lunch, so he got nervous and left."

Luis laughed as he looked over the table, set with his best china and crystal. In the middle of the table was a goose, that was probably prepared perfectly and would look delicious if it had not been sitting there all day. The dessert cart held the cake with one unused candle atop it. The wine holder held an empty bottle of wine. He looked at his aunt and said, "Happy Birthday, Tía! How many years have you been gracing us with your wonderful disposition?"

"You know how exactly how old I am, and if you tell anyone, I will have your head... favorite nephew or not. Where were you?"

"You would never believe it, Auntie," Luis said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans that Frohike had lent him. He pulled out a round disk. He held it in his hand and realized that it was one of those coins that the Gunmen had used to put their clothes into metal barrels and they came out wet, then they would need more of the coins for another contraption that would dry them. It really was a miracle! Luis took a seat at the table and wondered if he had dreamt the entire three days and all the awe inspiring things that he had seen. He always had a vibrant imagination, maybe he thought up those conveniences... But he had the coin...

"Where is my present, Bunky?" Beatriz asked. Her nephew had to have had a long, arduous journey back from Monterrey, and as long as the gift was appropriately expensive, she would forgive him.

"Come with me," Luis respectfully said, as he held out his hand to her, slightly bowing.

She took his hand and he carefully helped her up and walked her out of the room. "What has been going on since I left for Monterrey?"

"That satrap that goes by the name of Grisham has been strutting around like a peacock. You had better keep your eye on him, Luis. I found him sitting behind your desk one day."

"He was?" Luis asked with a grin, knowing that he would. "I am sure he was not sitting behind it long after you found him."

"Nope," Beatriz proudly said. "I took a broom after him. I can be quite fast if I set my mind to it."

"And formidable. You are a Montoya, all right. I am just pleased that you are on my side," Luis said, stopping before the stairs to help her up.

"What do I have to go up there for? It is not my bedtime."

"Your present is up there."

"Oh," Beatriz said, instantly taking the stairs. "In that case... but I thought you would be buying me fancy clothes, jewelry, a new rug for my bedroom, while you were in Monterrey."

Luis brought her into his bedroom and said, "No, Auntie. I have had this chosen for you since your blessed arrival four months ago."

"What is it?" Beatriz excitedly said, dropping her cane and clapping her hands.

Luis laughed with her, then realized that his tía was a child trapped in an old, alcoholic woman's body. He sat her on his bed so she wouldn't fall and then went to his armoire and pulled on the finial. A drawer popped out of the side. Beatriz said, "Luis! I did not know that was there."

Luis took out a leather thin, oblong box and sat along side her on the bed. "No one does. If you are wise, you will not tell anyone."

Beatriz did a locking motion on her mouth and grabbed for the box. Luis stopped her and said, "This is the only thing I have of my mother's, your sister's. Please wear it in good health, Auntie."

He flipped the latch and opened the box to reveal a pearl necklace. Beatriz gasped at the sight she remembered so well. "That is where my necklace went! You have it! How did you get it?"

"What?"

"She stole it from me!" Beatriz grabbed the necklace. "This was the last time I ever let your mother borrow anything of mine. I lent it to her to wear to your christening..." Beatriz's voice darkened. "She said she lost it!"

"What are you talking about? This was my mother's necklace."

"No, it was given to me by our father. She was always jealous of me. I got it, but she wanted it. She received a horse that Christmas. I never did get to ride that damn mule. Kicked me in the head once."

Luis asked incredulously, "My mother stole this from you?"

"Yes! Thank you for giving it back. Now where's my present?"

"But...," Luis said, pointing at the necklace.

"I see." Beatriz went into auntie mode and patted his hand and kissed his forehead. "This is a marvelous gift, Luis. I am glad to have it back. I am pleased she did not lose it after all. Thank you."

Grisham walked in and saw them in a familial mode and coughed and stepped back to the hall. Luis said, "Marcus! So good to see you."

Grisham, caught off guard by the use of his first name, awkwardly smiled and then nervously entered the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt you both, Colonel..." He tipped his hat to Beatriz. "Ma'am."

"What can I do for you, Capitan?" Luis asked, standing straight in his jeans and leather jacket.

Grisham's eyes did a quick once over of his Colonel and said, "Welcome back, Colonel. You will see that I have kept the peace here in Santa Helena during your absence."

"Wonderful," Luis said, then thought, A miracle...

Grisham proudly said, "This morning, me and my men cleared out Beggar's Canyon and are holding them in the jail."

"Excuse me," Luis asked, squinting his eyes at his minion.

"Yeah, we cleared it out. We have them all in jail," Grisham said, a little less forcefully. Then he explained, "I thought that..."

"You thought..." Luis said, shaking his head with an ironic smile. "Please, do not think, Grisham. The reason I have not cleared out Beggar's Canyon in the past was because it is not only a safe haven for bandolero, but there are also homeless people living there. Families. People who are unlucky. People who are not thieves, but are just trying to survive. People, Grisham, who the Queen protects."

Luis stared down Grisham for a moment, giving the Captain time to let that information creep into his mind while Beatriz was trying to put her necklace on but was having trouble with her arthritic hands. She looked up to get Luis to help her, but saw that Grisham was about ready to dig a hole to hide in.

Luis asked in a mocking tone, "Why rile the Queen when we do not need to? Do you at least have a plan of entrapment for her?" Luis sighed heavily, and shook his head. Help arrived moments too late. He came back just in time to see his men once again look like fools, again. He pushed Grisham to the hall. "Well, go do something! Do I have to think of everything? Get her when she comes!"

"Yes, sir!" Grisham said, saluting, and disappeared down the hall.

Luis heavily sat down on the bed again, his head in his hand. Beatriz patted his back and said, "So, you want this Queen of Swords..."

"How could you possibly tell? I have a pueblo to run," Luis angrily said. He stood and then paced. "I have a Governor breathing down my neck for the gold mine to be productive and for the Queen to be captured." Then he stopped and remembered. "Damn that woman! She saved my life today."

"She did what?"

"Never mind."

"All right," Beatriz said, a little more confused than usual when it came to her nephew's motivations. "If you want her, use sugar. Be sweet."

"I see that bottle of wine has affected you."

"Bunky, you are not going to get anywhere by sending inept men to do your dirty work. If you want her, you have to get her yourself. Propose a detente. Butter her up. Invite her to dinner. I will make a fabulous meal for her. Just as she is enjoying my apple tart, you set some rules."

"There are no rules! You are talking nonsense."

"Of course there are no rules... now. And look what you have accomplished. Nothing."

Luis looked at the old woman for a very long time, remembering all the advice she had given him over the years. They heard shouts outside, "La Reina!", and "Get her!". Luis heavily trudged to the balcony to look at the foolish game that happened every time the woman in black came to Santa Helena on a mission.

Beatriz toddled over to stand alongside him and shook her head. "Those are trained men. She is only one woman. What is the problem?"

Luis was going to speak, but Beatriz hushed him. "I will tell you what the problem is. She is a woman and women are resourceful. We think and feel with our heart and therefore will always find a way to win, or escape. Men think with their heads, usually, and the overall, or ways for her to escape, escapes you. You going about this all wrong. Think like a woman, Luis. Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest." Beatriz squeezed his cheeks for old time's sake. "Including that woman who wears black."

Luis couldn't look at the mess in the square, and looked at his aunt, thinking over her words. Then, his lips curled into a beautiful, healthy smile and his eyes danced with possibilities. "Interesting..."

~~Jo

By Lisa
lisa_weston@csufresno.edu

A plot-writing exercise collides with Challenge #30...

Trio: coin, pearl necklace, apple tart
Quote: "Regret and misery like ashes in the mouth"
Word: finial
Cliffhanger/Sentence: "Help arrived minutes too late"
It's just another day in Santa Helena: a little death, a little larceny. But despite the presence of a tart, neither slash nor smut. <g>

~~~~~

Was it true that a dead man's eyes held his murderer's image fixed within their pale and glassy depths?

Colonel Montoya sighed as he looked around the scene of the crime. The hotel room offered such a banal setting for a mystery. It was so ordinary, just a room like many another--except, of course, for the body hanging limply from the lariat knotted around a decorative finial on the oak wardrobe, and the scattering of coins at its feet.

"I'd say the killer was interrupted while robbing the room, and dropped the money as he left." The suggestion sounded more hopeful than confident.

"Would you, Grisham?" Montoya answered as he knelt and picked up one of the silver reales. "I, on the other hand, would say no such thing. Hanging a man, especially in so awkward a fashion, is hardly the impulse of a thief. And look how the coins are arranged, all face down." He returned the coin to the pile and stood up. "Hmmm."

"Hmmm?"

"Thirty pieces of silver and a hanged man. This suggests nothing?"

Grisham shifted his weight as he thought, then he smiled broadly. "Oh, I get it. Judas."

"Exactly, Grisham." The setting, the overdone symbolism, everything bespoke a sordid melodrama of betrayal and retribution. Montoya smiled to himself. Betrayal meant a secret, and where there was a secret dangerous enough to kill for... Well, this murderously dark cloud on his day might yet disclose a silver--or golden--lining. He gestured for his men to take the body down.

Juan Munoz had arrived on the Monterey coach a few days earlier and taken the smallest, cheapest room in the hotel. His clothing, too, was decently petty-bourgeois but showing signs of long, hard service. The shirt-cuffs, for example, had obviously been turned and the worn military boots repeatedly resoled. The silver coins might not amount to a fortune, but they comprised a larger sum than was likely to have belonged to the dead man.

"It's suicide, then?" Grisham stood at his Colonel's side glancing over the body. "I mean, in the Bible Judas hanged himself, right?"

Montoya turned the corpse's head to one side. "If he hanged himself, Capitan, he must have been very determined." He passed his fingers over two sets of abrasions on the neck. "Here, slanting upwards, are the marks of the noose. But what are these other, deeper ones, I wonder?" Very much, he thought, as if the lariat had first been wielded as a garrote.

The dead man's effects were as anonymous as the man himself, though such extreme anonymity was in itself not a little suspicious. Munoz had carried no personal letters, no sentimental souvenirs. Nor had he been a man of high literary tastes. Montoya ruffled through the pages of the one book in the room, a torn-covered novela policia--some lurid tale of bandits, no doubt, or of revolutionaries and spies. A folded paper fell out. Montoya frowned as he scanned the handwritten sheet: it appeared to be a fair copy of a police statement, the testimony of an informer and the report of an arrest made by one Sergeant Juan Munoz, October 1810. Ah, now that was curious. A dangerous secret indeed.

"You are no doubt correct, Grisham," Montoya remarked at last. "Suicide. Officially. A tragedy, truly. And yet we must look on the bright side, no? This stranger's death need not disturb our fair pueblo's peace. 'We that have free souls,' as the Bard says, 'it touches us not.'"

"Yeah, sure," Grisham agreed as he followed his commander out of the room. "Whatever you say."

~~~~~

A crowd had gathered outside the hotel. Had the citizens of Santa Helena nothing better to do than loiter in the plaza? Most, however, contented themselves with gawking silently and gossiping afterwards. They dutifully cleared a path for the Colonel, his men and the corpse.

Most of them.

"Oh, Colonel. How horrible!" Senorita Alvarado slipped up beside Montoya and placed her hand on his arm. Why did her presence not surprise him? "Whatever happened to that poor man?" She batted her eyes coyly, but he caught the sharp, knowing curiosity she attempted to conceal.

"Capitan Grisham assures us it was a suicide. Very distressing, to be sure," Montoya murmured consolingly as he steered her away from the cortege. "But nothing to concern you, Senorita." The fewer people who saw the body--especially those who might look too closely--the better.

A woman suddenly cried out a few steps behind them, and they both turned. Montoya had to think a moment before he could put a name to the fainting figure. Margarita Sandoval was wife to one of the less important, less wealthy dons. She pressed a hand to her throat, her fingers grasping at a pearl necklace half-concealed within the high collar of her morning dress. But Montoya barely noticed: his memory flashed another image, of the lady's taciturn husband, his hand counting out the reales as he paid his taxes, meticulously laying each coin face down upon the desk.

Senorita Alvarado rushed to the woman's side and fluttered her fan to revive her.

"Ah, you see," Montoya remarked, "how such a tragic sight affects the sensitive. Perhaps, my dear Maria Theresa, I may ask you to take care of Dona Margarita? Perhaps the Doctor...?" He let the suggestion hang in the air, knowing full well that the Alvarado girl would be willing enough. While an alliance between the rich heiress and the troublesome Englishman was not one he wished to encourage, Doctor Helm's damned infatuation with the Queen of Swords rendered him safe enough. Montoya narrowed his eyes as he glanced back. Not for the first time it crossed his mind that the Senorita and the Queen... He shook his head to clear his thoughts. One mystery was quite enough for the time being, and the death of the mysterious Senor Munoz was one he needed to solve soon. Before the Doctor examined the body and, inevitably, barged into his office demanding to know why the hell so clear a case of murder was being concealed beneath a verdict of suicide. Before, just as inevitably, the Queen interfered with the plan he was beginning to form.

Montoya passed through the coolness of his beloved Rose Courtyard, choosing neither the stairs to his office not those to his private apartments. He knew very little about the Sandovals; they kept to themselves and participated only rarely in the town's social life. But who knew more about a household than its servants? And servants did gossip. That was a fact a man like himself could never afford to forget. He strode purposefully through the more public rooms of his Residence, then slowed his steps and strolled casually into the warmth and bustle of the kitchen.

"Ay! Senor Colonel!" The cook gasped. A momentary smile broke across her broad, sun-wrinkled features, but was replaced with a worried frown. "There is something wrong? Oya, ninas," she began to scold the two younger housemaids.

"No, no, Guadalupe." Montoya spread his hands engagingly. A man must know when to command and when to charm his subordinates. "I came only to find out what could possibly smell so delicious." And indeed the air savored of brandy and mace and the raisins steeping in the liquor. A chopping board was piled high with apple slices, and a high-rimmed pie dish was already lined with pastry. "Ah, torta de manzanas. You spoil me," he smiled in delight. "I shall look forward to such a treat after this difficult day."

"Si, si. The dead man." The cook nodded and sketched the sign of the Cross. It was hardly surprising that even without leaving her kitchen she had already heard: Guadalupe Uriarte was mother to two of his soldiers, mother-in-law to yet another, and beloved abuelita in spirit if not in flesh to the whole garrison. "God have mercy on his soul."

"Indeed. It is a great shame. A shock." Montoya watched her begin layering the apples in the pastry. "Senora Sandoval was quite overcome."

"Que pobrecita. So much sadness in her life."

"Really?"

"Oh, si." Guadalupe sprinkled raisins among the apple slices, then added some finely chopped membrillo and a few pinches of piloncillo sugar. "There are no children, and that is always a pity, no?"

Montoya smiled and nodded. She began a second layer of fruit as she continued. Carlos and Margarita Sandoval were recent arrivals in Alta California, having come north from Mexico barely ten years before. Not Spaniards, their pride in being criollos, born and bred in this New World, kept them apart from most of the other dons, who reveled in their connections (real or imagined) with the Spanish court. The Senora had had a brother, Tomas, but he was long dead, and tragically; both the Sandovals venerated his memory as if he were one of God's martyrs... As Montoya had suspected, Guadalupe knew far more about the household through servants' gossip than the most diligent police spy might require.

Having finished filling the pie, she covered it with a final thick layer of chopped nuts and more of the course, unrefined sugar, which would caramelize as the confection baked.

"Such a desert, Guadalupe. Perhaps I should invite Doctor Helm to join me for supper; I understand he is fond of an apple tart."

One of the housemaids dropped a pan, and Montoya noticed the blush on her cheeks as she bent to pick it up. Oh, dear. So it seemed his physician had yet another admirer. The Queen, Senorita Alvarado and who knew how many other girls of good family, even Vera Hidalgo--Montoya grinned--and now at least one of his own servants. Really, were it not for English restraint the man might make quite the egalitarian Don Juan.

Egalitarian... The word echoed in Montoya's mind as he walked back to his office. Equality. Liberty. Republic. The fine words colored the banality of Munoz' death scene. 1810, the year of Miguel Hidalgo, El Grito and the first stirrings of revolt in Mexico. Revolution, police spies and betrayals. And Carlos Sandoval's way of laying out his coins so carefully, the King's head always downward, stood revealed not as an idiosyncrasy but as a covert political statement: abajo el Rey, down with the King.

Oh, yes. Such a secret, one tasting of regret and misery like ashes in the mouth, would certainly be worth paying to keep in silence. The Sandovals' holdings were not extensive, but they were nicely situated and well-watered. Perhaps half might constitute a fair price to insure that such a secret remained a secret?

"Corporal," Montoya called out as he took Munoz' manuscript from his pocket. "My horse, and a half dozen men ready to ride."

"Si, Colonel."

Montoya spread Munoz' report on his desk and read it again more carefully. He needed names, dates, places. "...The informer stated that she had seen Tomas Gallego and three or four others..." Montoya saw again, as if for the first time, Senora Sandoval's surprise, her shock of recognition upon seeing the dead man. He cursed the rare failure of his imagination. Carlos Sandoval was a true believer, a zealot; he had not been the informer, his wife had, and her own brother had died because of it. The blood money had bought a new life in California. Dios! Did Sandoval know? But of course, he did: had he not returned the price of betrayal to Munoz as Judas had to the high priest in the Temple?

~~~~~

The Sandoval hacienda stood picturesquely amid a grove of live oaks, the model of quiet propriety. Montoya pushed open the door. The empty rooms rang with the echo of his boot heels against the tile floor as he passed through. He paused for a moment as entered the back parlor. Its frame shattered, a simple pencil and crayon sketch of a young man lay thrown down upon the carpet. Montoya stooped to pick it up and was monetarily caught by the earnestness of the expression and the romantic idealism of the pose and costume, a loose white shirt and patriotic green and red bandana. He dropped the drawing back on the floor. As he stood to face the open window his foot brushed against a few pearls torn from a broken necklace.

A pistol shot splintered the silence, and Montoya ran to the window. Carlos Sandoval's body lay stretched out on the ground at the roots of one of the oaks, the wound in his chest oozing the last of his life. Dona Margarita's body swung like a slow pendulum above him. Dislodged by her husband's fall, the stool on which she had been perched rolled slowly away. For that daughter of Judas help arrived minutes too late.

END

By Maril
maril.swan@sympatico.ca

Disclaimers: Fireworks still owns the copyrights, and we own their stories.
Rating: G
"Regret and misery are like ashes in the mouth" -Mia Vendaval
a coin, a pearl necklace, an apple tart

~~~~~

The figure spun wildly as the sword flew across the room. Tessa, her chest heaving and her brow rimed with sweat, prepared to lunge and finish it. She checked her thrust as a voice wailed from the behind.

"What do you think you are doing?" Marta rushed in and placed herself protectively in front of the figure. "I waited months for that dressmaker's dummy and you will not puncture it with a sword." She planted her feet firmly with her hands on her hips and regarded Tessa with a determined look in her eye.

"Marta, I'm so bored I could scream with frustration. I'm afraid I'm losing my edge." Tessa set her sword on a nearby table in the hidden room and rubbed her arm across her moist brow. Abstractedly, she took a sip from the water glass. "It has been weeks since the Queen was needed and even then, I did not have to fence with anyone. I'm out of practice. I need to get back to where I was when we left Madrid. I need the thrill of competition."

"You don't find fighting with the soldiers to save your life thrilling enough?" Marta shook her head worriedly. When Tessa got into these moods, anything could happen. She decided to tread carefully.

"They don't fight by any rules, just slash and thrust. There's no grace or beauty in that," Tessa said disgustedly.

Moving across the room to a large trunk, Marta said, "I need to get some money for supplies. Are you coming into town with me?" She glanced at Tessa who seemed not to have heard. With a shrug, Marta bent to the trunk and lifting the lid, took out several gold coins. A long velvet box caught her eye and she picked it up. "Tessa, why do you never wear your mother's pearl necklace to any of Montoya's parties? I am sure she would have wanted you to use it." Marta opened the box and lifted the strand of pearls from its satin bed. As she tried to place the necklace on Tessa's neck, the younger woman moved to stop her.

"Papa never gave these to me. Perhaps he did not wish me to have the gift he gave Mama. She is wearing these in her portrait. It is practically the only memory I have of her." Tessa took the necklace and studied it wistfully. "Maybe it reminded him too much of all he lost when she died." She handed the pearls back to Marta and turned away.

"Regret and misery are like ashes in the mouth," Marta remarked. "You are not your mother. Pearls, they say, attain their best lustre when worn often, next to the skin. You should not leave them locked away in the dark." When Tessa did not reply, Marta replaced the necklace in its elegant box and put it back in the trunk. With a quiet sigh, she closed the lid. 'She has so much to try to live up to,' Marta thought. 'To be like her mother and to be as good as a son. It is too bad Don Rafael never saw her growing up. He would have been so proud.' A warmth of affection washed through her as she watched Tessa staring at the sword whose blade glowed like silver in the candlelight.

"Come, Tessa," she said. "Let us go into town and see what mischief you can get into. I have made an apple tart for Doctor Helm. Perhaps you would deliver it to him for me." Marta smiled at the arch look she received. As she took Tessa's arm to lead her from the room, Marta's eye lit upon a newspaper clipping lying near the sword. A quick perusal drew an alarmed exclamation from her. "You can't be thinking of..." she began.

Tessa grabbed her arms and stared into her eyes with an excited laugh. "But of course I am! Marta, it will be such fun. Just like old times. Please. Let's do it!"

"You want to go into a fencing competition in Monterrey? Are you crazy?" Marta pushed away, angrily shaking her head. "Why don't you just tell everyone in town that you are the Queen. It amounts to the same thing."

"I'll wear a disguise like before. No one needs to know who I am. Please, be with me in this. I need to do it." Tessa crossed to the Gypsy woman and embraced her fondly. "Please, Marta," she begged, then laughed lightly as she stepped away a few paces. "Remember the last competition I was in? I made it to the finals in the adult class when..." She began to laugh and Marta continued.

"When your false moustache fell off in the middle of the duel..." Marta laughed so hard her eyes streamed with tears.

Tessa was choking, trying to continue. "I thought the judge was going to have a stroke!" she giggled, holding onto a chair for support. "Poor Señor Torres. He never let me go into another competition," she added, wiping her eyes.

Marta said, "My heart was in my throat the whole time you were fencing. When you were discovered, I thought I would faint." She chuckled softly. More seriously she added, "It was lucky for your fencing master that the judges believed your story about lying about your age. If they had found out you were a woman, Señor Torres would have been struck from the Spanish Academy of Arms."

"Well, Marta, it was partly your fault. You said you wanted to see me fence."

"And you convinced Señor Torres to let you enter the competition. Poor man. You had him wrapped around your little finger. I think he was half in love with you." Marta regarded the other woman with pride. Tessa was tall and lithe, and moved with athletic grace. She had strength in her body and mind, not just the pretty object that others saw. Marta sighed as she looked at the resolute expression on Tessa's face and knew they were going to Monterrey.

--Maril

By Maril
maril.swan@sympatico.ca

Disclaimers: Fireworks has the copyrights
Rating: G
Feedback: yes, please
Satrap, finial and gnomon

~~~~~

The striped canvas canopy snapped and ballooned against the ropes as the workers hammered the wooden pegs into the ground. They strained to tighten the guy ropes to hold the canopy's supporting poles firmly upright. Marta watched apprehensively for a moment, then turned to Tessa.

"Do you think it was a good idea to have your party so near the ocean? That breeze is beginning to get stronger."

Tessa glanced at the tent with a slight frown then smiled. "This is the prettiest spot on the hacienda, Marta. Everyone remarks on the view from this cliff overlooking the ocean, ...and everything is already set up here. Look at the tables and chairs under the canopy, and the streamers and bunting..." Just then, a piece of the bunting tore loose from the tent and floated out over the cliff to finally snag on a scrubby bush on the rock face. Tessa shrugged and called loudly over the wind to the workers, "Tie the bunting on more securely."

"Now, what time is it, Marta? The party starts at one o'clock."

Marta peered at a tree whose shadow was like the gnomon of a sundial. "It is just past eleven. Shouldn't the musicians be here by now? Where are they?"

"I asked Rosa to give them a lunch in the kitchen before they came out."

A worried frown crossed Marta's brow. "Where is the wine for the party?"

"In the kitchen. Why?" Tessa's mouth dropped and she exclaimed, "Oh no."

Almost as one the two women raced to the wagon, and Marta grabbed the reins and whipped the team into a gallop as they sped back to the villa.

Rushing into the kitchen such a spectacle met their eyes, they were speechless. The musicians were hammering away on their guitars in a wild rendition of flamenco while Rosa, her bulky form jiggling and her skirts flying, danced in gay abandon. Many wine bottles lay empty on the floor and more were open as the men swigged down the wine while hardly missing a beat of the music.

When they saw Tessa and Marta in the doorway, the music stopped abruptly. Rosa flopped into a chair, huffing, her large bosom heaving, her moist round face crimson from the dancing.

One of the musicians stood up, wavering drunkenly, and with an exaggerated flourish of his sombrero, said, "Shenorita Alva ...Alverosa ...Eldorado, permit me to introduce myshelf. I am Miguel Mendoza, and this is my little band. We are honoured to play for you today. We thank you for your gracious hospitality." He stepped back to sit on his chair, missed and fell onto the floor. His companions laughed uproariously as their leader struggled to get back on his feet.

The kitchen was a shambles. All the hors d'oeuvres were either eaten or mashed beyond recognition. Much of the wine was gone. Of the desserts, Tessa could see nothing. Rosa was supposed to be working on them. Tessa glared at her.

Rosa seemed to be having difficulty focussing on her mistress. "I am sorry, patrona. I will finish the meal..." She yawned and leaned back in the chair. "As soon as I have a little siesta." With that, she abruptly fell asleep and began to snore.

Tessa looked around in panic. Nothing was ready for the party and the musicians were too drunk to play. She sent an imploring look at Marta, but her companion's face was a stormcloud of anger.

Marta marched over the leader. "I am going to make some coffee for you, and you had better get your band sobered up, pronto! I don't care how you do it." She grabbed his collar and gave him a shove toward the rest of the musicians, two of whom were snoozing with their heads resting on the kitchen table. "You don't want to know what kind of Gypsy curse I am planning for you if you fail to appear for the party."

The leader's eyes widened in fear. Quickly, he shook his men and they staggered out of the kitchen. Marta heaved a deep sigh and began to clean up the mess. "We still have a few hours. We can make everything again."

Tessa was shaking her head. "It's too late. We'll never make it. All those people coming here for my first party. It's a disaster." She gripped the finial on a chair, sunk in gloom as she gazed around the kitchen.

Marta chucked her under the chin. "I have an idea. Everything will be fine, chica. Go back and finish with the decorations. I will take care of the rest." Marta gave her a slight push toward the door and Tessa left after casting one last rueful glance at the mess.

~~~~~

Soft music rose above the crackling of the tent flaps as the guests milled around under the canopy or strolled near the cliff to enjoy the view. The four musicians sat with their sombreros pulled low over their bloodshot eyes, and if their playing was less enthusiastic than previously, no one seemed to notice.

Tessa smiled and greeted her guests, stopping here and there to chat. Now and then, she cast an anxious glance at the road that led to her villa, then at the nearly empty tables inside the tent. Only the wine had arrived so far. 'Perhaps,' Tessa thought hopefully, 'if the guests drink a lot of wine, they won't notice there is no food.' That vain hope sank when Colonel Montoya strolled over after dismounting from his horse. He looked regal, like a satrap, in his gold-braided uniform and impeccably white shirt.

Taking her hand and kissing it briefly, he said, "Señorita Alvarado, what a charming place for a fiesta. My poor Rose Courtyard pales in comparison with the beauty of these natural wonders." Montoya gestured broadly to the rugged cliffs and the crashing surf on the beach below. "You are to be congratulated on your hospitality. It is such a pleasure to be a guest for a change at one of these fiestas. Alas, I see I have arrived too late for the meal."

"Actually, Colonel, I must confess ..." Tessa stopped as a general murmur arose from her guests and she followed the direction of their gaze to the road. A line of wagons could be seen coming over a slight rise, heading toward the fiesta site.

A half dozen wagons and carts drew up near the tent and immediately the workers began unloading baskets and bowls, carrying them inside the tent. Marta dismounted one of the carts and went into the tent, directing the placement of the food.

Tessa excused herself from the colonel and hurried to Marta's side. "Marta, how did you do it? All this food in such a short time."

Marta took her arm and led her a short distance away. In a lowered voice, she said, "These are the workers' lunches. There is quite a variety of foods here, though not the fare the guests may be used to. Do not tell them what the meats are, they may not eat it." Marta chuckled at the shocked look on Tessa's face. "Now let us feed the guests. By now, they must be ready to eat just about anything."

Tessa could only mumble, "Thank you, Marta." Her radiant smile said the rest as she went back into the tent to invite her elegant guests to partake of the peasant meal.

END

By Rodlox
rodlox@hotmail.com

rating: PG-17 for language, innuendo
quote: "One hand fired the gun, but there were many fingers on the trigger." {something the QOS writers and fans abruptly forgot}.
note: Brig's going to shoot me for quoting Methos.
also: I started writing this after last week's Challenge things were posted. this has all the challenge items from last week and this week.

~~~~~

MID-DAY, THE PAST....

Help arrived minutes too late.

Captain Marcus Grisham, loyal servant of the Crown, drew his horse to a stop. He'd let the man's horse tire itself before giving chase to it.

"Rafael Alvarado," Grisham informed the fallen corpse, "you're under arrest for plotting against His Most Royal Majesty."

~~~~~

THE PRESENT...
EARLY MORNING....

"Some days," Marcus Grisham said as he rolled over in bed, "if it's all worth it."

"If you are going to complain, Marcus," Vera said.

"I know, I know," Marcus answered. "There's the door.

"It's just - don't you get tired of all this? The lies and the secrecy?"

Vera sighed. He was in one of those moods again; they were becoming frequent. "Yes, Marcus, I do tire. But we must keep secret. Otherwise...

Marcus nodded, kissing those lovely lips of hers. The alternative to their actions, it was unthinkable.

~~~~~

LATE MORNING....

Seamus Ness, emissary from the British Royal Court, ambassador to this heathenistic realm of scorpions and Spaniards - and which was worse, he wondered - walked from the stagecoach into town.

Town, pueblo, whatever....and nearly ran over one of the residents - the Spaniard kind, not the scorpions.

"What a lovely bijou," Tessa complimented, looking at the thing wrapped around his wrist.

Ness snorted. To him, it was bad enough getting jokes about his Celt heritage - now this fop was too? "Trust a Spaniard to use a French word like that." He looked closely at her. "But then again, I suppose it's not your fault your country rolled over with legs wide."

Tessa slapped him - most very quite hard - and walked off in a huff. So angry was Tessa that she nearly ran Doctor Helm over.

To be fair, his head was still turned toward the building he had just left - the house of ill repute - saying "Try to stay off the saddle and that leg for a couple of weeks," and then crashed into Tessa.

"What were you doing there?" Tessa demanded, a large part of her feeling hurt that he'd go there before going to her or the Queen. "Nevermind, I don't want to know."

"Good."

"Good???" Tessa repeated.

Helm nodded. "Yes. After all, the doctor-patient priviledge applies even to Spanish women."

"Those weren't women! They're - They're - they're --"

"Demons, fallen angels, temptresses, harlots, thieves, apple-eating tarts, swine?" Robert guessed. Tessa nodded. "So was my mother; she raised me in the slums of London." Then, "What was that all about?" asked doctor Helm, attempting to change the subject.

"What was what?"

"You were already in a bad mood before I said anything. I'd like to know why."

"He insulted me, doctor!" Tessa exclaimed. "He insulted me, my country, and her soldiers!"

With an eyebrow raised, Robert replied, "I'm sure it was just an obiter dictum."

"A what??"

"A passing comment, something said offhandedly."

That didn't help Tessa's mood any.

~~~~~

THAT NIGHT...

For the Queen of Swords, it was simplicity itself to jimmy the window open. She wanted to talk with this Brit, to try to convince him to leave here now

"How did you know I'd be here?" the Queen asked.

"Puh-leese," Grisham said in English, then switched back to Spanish. "Everytime somebody knew arrives in town, you show up in their bedroom." A pause, jokingly considering, "Even the doc's old flame."

"Is there a point to all this?" the Queen retorted.

"Oh, just idle wondering so far."

"What I do is none of your business."

A chuckle; but instead of him ribbing her about what that statement might mean, he said: "Has it ever occurred to you," Grisham asked, "that maybe I'm not on Montoya's side?"

"Sure, Capitan," she answered. "You're on your own side."

"Are you Catholic, senora?"

"I am, not that it matters now - does it?"

"Then you know about Judas?"

The Queen paused, backing up, away from his sword. "You're trying to kill Montoya."

Grisham grimaced. "Not just kill him - discredit him. Make it easy for me to take over."

"Hardly a recommendation," the Queen quipped. "And then what? You'd turn over a new leaf?"

Grisham smiled. "Privledged information, bunky. And you don't get it for free." And, with that, he turned and headed off.

The Queen was too busy considering what he'd meant to chase him down.

~~~~~

THAT NIGHT....

Tessa steadfastly refusd to discuss what had happened between Tessa and the Doctor during her ride into the pueblo, leaving Marta to wonder. But Tessa did talk about something -

"And how do you know if you can trust what Grisham is saying?" Marta asked.

"Because if there's even a chance that what he's saying is the truth," Tessa answered, "I have to take it."

"Why?"

"Whenever I'm caught between two evils, I take the one I've never tried," Tessa said, trying her mask.

~~

NEXT DAY, HELM'S OFFICE....

"Yes?" Robert called as someone knocked on his door. "Come in, it's open."

Captain Grisham entered. "And what can I do for you?" he inquired.

"Just a little something," Grisham replied, shutting the door behind him.

~~

NEARLY NOONTIME....

"Capitan?" the Queen called softly. The man didn't seem to be in his home. "Where are you?" Silence....

"Rule number one," Grisham then told her, coming out of nowhere from behind, arms encircling her. "Don't try to sneak up on a soldier."

"It's worked so far," the Queen shrugged.

"Those weren't soldiers," Grisham remarked. "Those were conscripts. I would have thought that you of all people would comprehend such a distinction."

Like Montoya, the Queen also became nervous when the capitan used big words. Like now, for example.

And in one of his hands, there was an oddly-designed sword. It started ordinarily enough, but scant inches from the pommel, it curved in a `U' and ended in a sharp point. She did not know that it was an Egyptian weapon.

"One of the really fun things about this," Marcus told her, lightly pressing the flat of the Egyptian blade in her tummy, "is that it's double-sided. A.k.a, it cuts both ways." He cleared his throat. "So don't try fighting.

"After all, my intentions are purely honorable."

The Queen snorted. "And I'm the Archduchess of Vienna."

Grisham chuckled. "No, no you're not. I met her once - nice old lady, if a tad crochety." A pause. Tessa found she could breathe normally, so long as she didn't try for any long wheezing breaths. "Now, I'm going to ask you one last time to stay out of my business," with the final sylable, he let go of her, the blade harmlessly going to his side.

The Queen turned around and stepped away from him. "Fighting for justice is why I'm here. I'm not going to stop just because you ask me to!" Grisham chuckled, a "tsk-tsk" sound coming after the laugh. "You find justice amusing?"

"Oh, only when the search for it only serves to reinforce the lack thereof. Ya see, you're fighting the corruption in the Spanish system. You're not going to find an answer in it."

"What would you suggest?" she asked.

Grisham shrugged. "Legal alternatives. Other nations." A pause. "Something other than the project don Alvarado held."

"And what was that?" she asked.

Marcus gave a bemused look. "You're the Queen Of Swords -- don't you know?" and headed for the door. "Oh, and don't try following me."

~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER....

"Thank you again," Vera said, kissing her Gaspar on the cheek affectionately. The delicate feel of the pearls on her new necklace, lovely.

"It was nothing, my petal," he told her as they stepped down from the walkway around one cluster of stores, and walked towards the next one. After all, Gaspar needed a new tie for the upcoming social event.

They heard hoofbeats approaching, and turned to see the Queen of Swords roaring down an alleyway - towards them!

The Queen didn't see them - she was looking over her shoulder, congratulating herself on turning the tables: from her following Grisham, to him giving chase to her.

Vera was frozen, caught by fear. It was too late for the Queen to stop her horse from hitting Vera.

Vera fell.

Making sure her horse side-stepped the fallen Vera, the Queen raced for the open mesas . . . she knew that don Hidalgo would see to Vera -and, if she would allow herself to be honest with herself, Tessa didn't want to see the anger in his eyes.

She prefered sunburn and heat.

~~

MUCH, MUCH LATER, IN TESSA'S DREAM [while out in the desert]....

Remembering what Marta had told her about dreams being a place for wish fufilment, Tessa put her hand into the saddlebag. Reaching into the saddlebag she felt a live object that squirmed in her grasp.

Tessa sqeezed, in case it was about to attack her.

Out of nowhere, in the air, the wind filled with a distinctive scream - the like of which she had never heard before. A very British scream of pain - and it was becoming soprano.

Then the winds were silent.

But now there were two people, one on either side of her. Don Hidalgo to her left, Captain Grisham to her right.

Gaspar spoke to her: ""Regret and misery like ashes in the mouth"

"Always do right," Grisham told her. "This will gratify some people and astonish the rest."

Also remembering what Marta had said about the dreams being able to torture people, Tessa spurred her horse to trot away from them both. Trotting, trotting, trotting away . . . up to a crevice in the ground.

A crevice that grew and grew and grew.

Tessa urged her horse to jump.

Jumping across the crevice, the rider missed the other side by inches.

~~~~~

After a minute of not falling - or moving at all - Tessa opened her eyes.

The desert was gone. Her horse was gone. The saddlebag was gone. Everything was gone....except the spiderwebs that were everywhere around her. It was as though she was in a cobweb-filled house, though she couldn't see anything but the webs.

"Hello?" Tessa called out.

"Hello," answered a man's voice. In front of her, forming from cobwebs, stood a man.

"Who are you?" Tessa asked, not recognizing him.

"Your culture has no delineation for me yet, so you can call me Zeit, if it helps any." Just one name among many.

"Is this still the dream?"

Zeit shook his head. "No, I made certain long ago - or was it recently? - that I could never enter someone's mind."

"Then, am I dead?" Zeit shook his head again. "Then - what - where am I?"

"Think of this as a place well-hidden, Maria Theresa," Zeit told her; zero-space was a convoluted topic.

"Okay," Tessa said, reasoning that at least she now had a label for it.

"You have to stop, Tessa. You must cease your attacks."

"The peasants depend on me," Tessa said, defending her actions. "My father - his legacy, his memory, his spirit - depends on me!"

Zeit looked amused. "And those few outweigh the despair you are unwittingly inflicting on the children of the future?"

Now Tessa was baffled. "What are you talking about?"

One of the spiderwebs in front of Tessa turned into a window, a peek into "The future," Zeit confirmed. "Or rather, one potential future." Cocking his nonsubstantial head, "This one is what will happen if you continue your act as the Queen."

A voice seemed to rise from the image, almost dispassionate: "Another car bomb went off in the West Bank today, signalling an end to the three weeks of peace between..." and the voice changed to cover: "This day marks the thirtieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War," and showed Tessa the images what'd lain within the German Death Camps.

"Dios Mio!" Tessa exclaimed, one hand flying up, covering her mouth. The spiderweb returned to being just a spiderweb. "Thank you," she told Zeit.

"You are welcome."

"What was that?" she asked. "How could my actions have caused all that?"

Zeit would have sighed if he-it had been human, or even just living; instead, Zeit simply explained. "Luis Rimera Montoya came to Santa Helena as a clerk originally. He worked up through the ranks, patiently, steadily, relying only on his good deeds.

"Seeing what was around him, how hard the Military Governors and dons were squeezing the peasants, hearing the rumors about revolts led by the dons, Montoya formulated a plan should he ever come to a position of leadership."

"What sort of plan?" Tessa asked.

"Quite simply, a plan which would introduce reform, changing part of the social structure of the land in favor of the peasantry -- inspired, in part, by the Russian Tsar's similar actions." A psuedo-sigh. "Unfortunately, he has been prevented by you from carrying these out."

"And if I did stop?" Tessa asked, figuring that it never hurt to ask.

Zeit smiled. "Nations love to copy another's successes. Montoya's works would have spread across the globe." Another spiderweb lit up with images. A not-quite-dispassionate voice narrated: "And today marks the thirtieth anniversary of the International Space Station. Workers from Chile to the Ukraine recieved a pardon to take part in the celebrations. In the State of Japan and the Ottoman Emirate, a total of one hundred and fifty political prisoners were pardoned."

Tessa made a I'm-thinking face. "Now or later, that's the deal, isn't it?" Zeit nodded. "Are you sure those are the only two futures possible?"

Zeit knew what she was getting at. "There are other futures in potential from this point - but they differ largely in detail; there are only so many paths to tread."

Zeit flicked a coin up, from a hand that had previously been empty.

Tessa caught it as it fell back down. Looking it over, she could recognize none of the inscriptions on it. "What is this?"

"A five-denarus piece," Zeit told her patiently. "The picture on the other side of it is of Nissur, the _khshathrapavan_ of Athens."

"The who?" Tessa asked. "And why have I never heard of him?"

If Zeit had been real, he would have rolled his eyes. "The satrap who oversees the Athenian lands for the Persian king." He-it paused. "Would you like to meet him? He's quite sociable...and single."

"But if I leave Santa Helena -" Tessa started to say.

Zeit nodded. "That's right - you can't return. But remember what we discussed." Considering. "You have a week to choose."

~~~~~

Maria Theresa Alvarado woke up, finding herself lying alone on a white, fluffy thing. Roughly rectangular, the thing was holding her passively about a foot off the ground. As comfy as it was, Tessa knew she had to get going.

After getting off the thing, the Serta mattress vanished, as if it'd never been there.

Tessa headed for home.

~~~~~
IN THE REAL WORLD, AT THE ALVARADO HACIENDA.....LATER ON....

Marta was saying a prayer to the god she worshipped, when she heard a book slam just behind her. Marta nearly jumped; then, as calmly as she could, she turned around --

And saw Capitan Grisham.

"Got a little caught in the moment, Marta?" Grisham asked as he walked in, Vera right behind him. Grisham muttered to himself and Vera, "She should be thankful we didn't come with ill intent.

"The present moment is a powerful goddess," Marta answered, a half-retort...

And before Marta knew it, Grisham was behind her, twisting an arm behind her body. "Be glad we're not Spaniards," he advised, "or we'd have you on your back screaming -" and stopped. "Wait, that didn't come out right."

Vera covered her mouth to hide a smile.

"Why are you here?" Marta asked.

Grisham smiled a smile that made Marta nervous. "Here in Alta California, here in the Americas, here in the Spanish Realm?"

"In my house," Marta insisted.

Grisham raised an eyebrow. "Note to self - Marta has volunteered to pay the taxes for her hacienda." Marta made a face. "We're here to see your boss - senorita Alvarado - aka, the Queen Of Swords."

"And what makes you think Maria Theresa is the Queen of Swords?" Marta asked.

"Oh, basic math; not to mention several gnomon clues," Grisham answered. "Every time the Queen shows up, your boss's nowhere to be found." Tilting his head some, "And the fact you're the only one who never leaves the scene.

"All in all, a quite finial set of actions to cloak the truth."

"We only want to talk to her," Vera said to Marta. To Grisham, "Marcus," and he let Marta go.

Taking several steps to separate herself from Grisham, Marta thought. "I do not know. This smells of -"

"Please don't say `evil spirits'," Grisham advised.

~~~~~

The first thing Tessa - with a pounding headache and a bit dizzy - saw when she got home was Vera sitting as though everything was perfectly all right. "Vera!" Tessa exclaimed. "But how?" And then she saw Captain Grisham and Marta there too.

"Whatever else Doctor Helm is," Grisham remarked, "he's still a patriot."

"You're American," Tessa corrected.

Grisham just grinned.

"Marta!" Tessa exclaimed.

Marta shrugged. "They insisted - and were most insistant.

Tessa headed for the drawer with the -

Bolos which Grisham was holding in his hand. "Looking for these, senorita?" he asked innocently. Fingering the rawhide cords and eyeing the rocks they were tied around, "You know, this would break a lot of glass windowpanes over in the Crystal Gardens."

"Where??" Tessa asked.

Grisham breathed an exasperated sigh. "The Crystal Gardens, England."

"You were in England?" asked a now-amused Tessa.

"Born and raised there," Grisham answered. "As well as trained there, in his Majesty's service - just like your dear doc."

"And now you are a mercinary," Marta cursed, "working for the highest bidder."

Grisham just chuckled. "Da Vinci was right - it is possible to be too good at one's job."

Tessa shook her head with frustration. This arguing was getting nothing of substance that she could see. "The Queen told me that you said my father was involved in a project here," Tessa said. "What was it?"

"He never mentioned it to you?" Vera asked. Tessa shook her head. "Not in passing, in letters?" More `no's from dona Alvarado.

"Smart of him," Marcus said, "if short-sighted." He paused, taking a breath. Tessa waited, Marta figeted. "Your father, almost every time I saw him, was going on about the splendor of the past, of the golden times back then."

Tessa nodded. "Papa always did love history."

"Yeah," Marcus said, trying to be polite. "One of those people who'd live in the past if they could," saying `people' like it was bile. "One of the plans we learned of had to do with re-creating `the grand plan' of the Lollards and the Hussites."

Tessa looked on with genuine confusion. "I've heard those names, but who are they?"

"Attempts," Vera explained, "to create a theocracy - a country ruled by the priests, with no kings, emperors, or dons."

"With," Marcus kindly added, "the exception of a grand estate for the founder of the new realm -- your father's."

"You do see," Vera inquired, "that there's no room in Their Majesties' realms for a theocracy."

"'Their'?" Marta asked. "Who sent you? The Portugese? The Dutch? The Sicilians?"

"Not a Napoleonic realm, certainly," Grisham replied. "Through a glass and darkly, we fought that strife, under many guises and many names, but always the two of us."

END