THE GIFT

By Julie
juliewriting@yahoo.com

TRIO CHALLENGE: Kachina doll, corset, pitchfork

~~~~~

"Do I really have to wear this thing tonight?" In response, Marta just pulled the corset strings
tighter. Tessa continued to fidget and looked about the room for a distraction, or better yet, an excuse to avoid Colonel Montoya's birthday ball. Her eye fell on a wooden carving set on the dressing table. She twisted to reach for it and, in the process, managed to loosen everything Marta had just tightened.

"What's this? I've never seen anything quite like it."

"It's called a kachina." Marta spoke the word slowly, enjoying the play of the newly-learned syllables across her tongue. "A traveler from far inland passed by this morning requesting food and water. I gave him some, and then he gave me this."

"It looks like a woman or a girl, but why is her hair so odd?"

"She is called the warrior girl, and the legend is that her mother was putting up her hair when they saw raiders sneaking into the village. With half her hair still flowing, she grabbed her bow and arrow and helped to save her people."

"What a delightful story!"

Marta watched Tessa as she happily examined the doll. Sometimes she looked every bit as young as she was, and Marta treasured those moments. They were like a ray of sunshine breaking through a potent cloud of destiny. "I thought you might enjoy it. Now come on, my warrior girl," Marta said gently. "We still need to get your hair up, too."

Tessa had just set the doll down when a whinny from the horses startled the women. They heard the stomping of hooves and restless snorts. Tessa threw her robe over her shoulders and dashed out toward the stables with Marta close on her heels. The horses were gathered at one end of the corral, as far from the stables as possible. Tessa cautiously approached the building, picking up the pitchfork as she passed.

"Who's there," she demanded at the doorway. Only silence and shadows answered her. Tessa ventured further in, her pitchfork at the ready, her eyes searching the dim corners. Suddenly she spun and jabbed, but there was nothing there. She spun again, sure she had seen something in the corner of her eye, but the pitchfork encountered nothing more than a bale of hay. Jerking it out, she lost her balance and slipped on something slick. She grimaced as she realized exactly what she had slipped on, but she rose again, poised for another strike. "There is something in here!"

"Yes, there is." Marta's voice came soft and gentle, and Tessa turned to see her picking up a wooden carving. "It's another kachina."

Tessa gave one last look around the stables, still distrustful of the shadows, and then moved to Marta's side. "What is this one's story, I wonder. It looks more animal-like, except for that grin. Is it a dog perhaps?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe a coyote. This one does have the distinct feel of a trickster."

"Trickster? Surely you don't think the kachina could ..." Tessa's voice trailed off as she looked around, realizing the horses were now quietly munching their hay and that the stables had lost all hint of menace. "No, that's just superstition."

Marta merely shrugged her shoulders and gave an enigmatic smile. Tessa stared at the doll balefully for a moment, but then a wicked grin began to play at the corners of her mouth. "Well, I'd better hurry and get cleaned up. I don't want to be late for the ball."

Marta raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't want to go?"

Tessa smiled her most innocent smile. "How could I miss it? You know the interest the Colonel takes in native artifacts, and now I have the perfect birthday present for him."

END

DISCLAIMERS: Don't own Montoya, Helm or Byron. But I'll take credit for the horse.
Quote/Trio challenge - 3/18/01

~~~~~

Though wit may flash from fluent lips,
and mirth distract the breast,
Through midnight hours that yield no
more their former hope of rest;
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the
ruin'd turret wreathe,
All green and wildly fresh without,
but worn and gray beneath.
-George Gordon, Lord Byron
"Youth and Age"

The night was quiet. A soft breeze had driven away the last of the sun's heat, and the stars invited cool reflection as Robert Helm paced through the pueblo. All the good people of the town seemed to have found sleep's sweet peace. Even a few of the not-so-good, Robert thought to himself, noting the Colonel's darkened windows.

Surely he couldn't be the only one not yet ready to surrender to his dreams. He walked a little further, and when he rounded a corner, a light beckoned from the stables. He stepped in warily and discovered Colonel Montoya sitting against the far wall, a book in his hand, a lantern and a glass of wine on an overturned crate at his side.

"Good evening, Doctor. What has you creeping about so late?"

"Trouble sleeping. What's your excuse?"

"The mare, she has been restless today, and she is very near foaling. I thought someone should stay with her."

"Don't you have grooms or something for that?"

The Colonel made a dismissive gesture. "Bah. Leon is in charge of the stables, and the fool could not tell a stallion from a mule."

"I see," Helm answered, though he did not understand at all.

The Colonel sighed one of the sighs reserved for ignorant Englishmen and changed the subject. "I've acquired some new books recently. This is one of your English poets, Lord Byron."

"Byron, eh?" Helm stepped closer, curious. English books were hard to come by in this part of the world.

"You have read him, no?"

"Some. When I was in Europe."

"In Europe, yes." Montoya chuckled. "The English finally get a poet who can wrest some beauty from their feeble language, and then they can't tolerate him."

Helm decided not to argue the point. "Well, at least you've discovered an Englishman you can admire."
"I admire his ability. Consider this:"

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

"Very beautiful, no?"

"Quite," Helm murmured distantly. The beauty of the passage read with the Colonel's soft voice and Spanish accent had taken his mind far away to a different beauty, one who perhaps also paced the night.

"But, like all poets, this Lord Byron is a fool."

"Excuse me?" Helm returned his mind to the present, wondering if he'd missed something. "Why do you say that."

"Because he writes of women and speaks of their 'purity,' their 'goodness.' Hear the last line here:
'A heart whose love is innocent.' There is no woman on earth with an innocent heart."

"I'm beginning to understand why you spend so much time in the stables," Helm said dryly.

In response, Montoya gave an enigmatic smile and rose to look in on the mare. "Horses have all the beauty of women and all the power of men, but unlike us, they are honest creatures."

Montoya paused to sip his wine, and Robert relaxed against the wall, curious about this mood of the Colonel's.

"Many, many years ago, when I was little more than a boy, I sat up late in the stables watching over my favorite mare on a night not unlike this. She was a fine animal with bloodlines every bit as impressive as Estrella here."

On hearing her name, the horse looked up and moved closer. Montoya gave her some soothing words and soft strokes before returning to his story. "The result of that night's vigil was a most perfect filly. I helped train her, and when she was old enough, when she was ready, I gave her to the girl I loved more than anything else in the world."

"Quite a gift," Robert said softly, hoping to encourage the Colonel to continue.

"It took some sacrifices to arrange. I gave up my own opportunity for a new mount, among other things. But it was worth it. She loved that horse. She told me she loved it almost as much as she loved me."

"So what happened?" Robert asked the question fearing he already know the answer.

"We were very happy. Our families were close, and we saw each other constantly. I worked hard so that when I was old enough, I would be worthy to ask for her hand. And she..." Montoya paused and shook his head.

A sad smile of memory touched his face. "She worked hard to keep her father tied tight around her finger so that when she was old enough to marry, he would mind her wishes in the matter.

"They were happy years. We danced at every fiesta, went on riding parties, wrote long letters whenever we had to be apart and went off to the stables together whenever we had the chance. It was in the stables that I asked her to marry me. My regiment was marching north the next day to fight for the glory of my country's flag. I wanted her word, and she gave it to me, swore she'd wait for me, declared she'd take the veil rather than marry any other man alive. She was so beautiful that night, like a dancing flame trapped in human flesh. What a waste of beauty."

"Where is she now?"

Montoya refilled his wine glass and took a long sip before answering. "She is in Madrid married to a rich and powerful man. I read of her now and then. Her 'dazzling' parties are often mentioned in the newspapers the supply ships bring."

"I'm sorry, Luis." Robert spoke gently.

"Sorry? Whatever for? A young man's broken heart? That is inevitable, is it not?"

The Colonel gave an inquiring look, but Robert wasn't up to revealing his own secrets of the heart. "Every man must learn the treachery of a woman's heart sooner or later. Learning it sooner proved valuable to my career. Did you know that I was commended for bravery on the battlefield? It is a very simple thing to be brave when you don't care if you live or die."

Doctor Helm frowned. This was something he understood too well. "I think I'd rather speak of
poetry than war, if you don't mind."

Another enigmatic smile. "Here my friend. Why don't you take the book, and perhaps it will help you sleep. I will return to a more sensible Spanish writer."

Montoya turned again to the horse, and Robert had the distinct feeling he'd just been dismissed. He murmured his thanks and returned through the dark streets to his bed. Perhaps poetry would help him sleep. If nothing else, it might served to remind him that this, too, shall pass away.

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ozymandias of Egypt

QOS Challenge Trio - Knife, Rope, Bedpost
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Don't own any of the Queen of Swords characters. Just playing. Also don't own any other copyrighted, registered, trademarked, certified or certifiable characters who might pop up.

~~~~~

"Doctor Helm! Come quickly! Captain Grisham is dead!"

The man behind the desk looked up from the desk where he had been poring over a large book. He held the pages open with a long piece of metal. "Somebody's dead, you say?"

"Yes, the Captain. In the hall."

"Oh. Well, I assure you, I've been here in the study all evening."

"Doctor, what does that have to do with anything? I need your help!"

"Actually, I prefer to be addressed as professor. 'Doctor' just seems so prosaic."

Tessa sighed in frustration. What was wrong with him tonight? "Okay, Professor Helm. Are you coming?"

"Your accent is charming, my dear girl, but I'm afraid you've got the pronunciation all wrong. It's
not Helm. It's P--"

"Whatever. Listen, If you're not going to help, I'll just find somebody else."

Tessa backed out of the room and went on through the house until she came to a set of double doors opening into a ballroom. Inside she saw a familiar figure wearing a ruby-red gown and dancing with an imaginary partner. "Oh dear, Vera. I'm afraid something terrible has happened to Captain Grisham."

"Something terrible? How sad. But who is this Grisham?" A confused look crept across the lovely
face. "And who is Vera?"

The situation was getting stranger. Why would Vera act this way? And since when did she start carrying a knife?

The beautiful blonde followed Tessa's eyes and smiled. "Do not be concerned about this, Senorita. It is just something I found here in the ballroom." With that, she threw the knife expertly, embedding it dead center in a pillar across the room.

Tessa bolted. When she reached the library, she entered cautiously and saw yet another familiar face. "Colonel? Is that you?"

The man looked up from his work and smiled affably. "Well, of course, who were you expecting?"

"I'm sorry. It's just that people have been very strange this evening, and I have distressing news.
Captain Grisham is dead."

"Dead, eh? Well, that is distressing. We can't just have dead bodies littering up the house. Where did you say it was?"

"In the hall."

"And how was he killed?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"Not sure? That is a most crucial piece of information. Was he shot? Was he bludgeoned? Was he
stabbed?" The Colonel paused and held up the rope he had fashioned into a noose. "Was he hung?"

"Er... What did you say your name was again?"

"Mustard. Colonel Mustard."

Tessa woke with a start. "Marta! Marta! I've just had the strangest dream."

Marta walked into the room wearing a gaudy blue silk dress. "What is wrong, dear? You've been making quite a lot of noise in here."

"It's just this dream I was having. And Captain Grisham was dead. And the Colonel and the Doctor and Vera were there, and they were so odd. And ... Marta, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me so strangely? And where did you get that hat? Are those peacock feathers?"

"You seem quite distraught, child. I'll bring you a cup of tea, just as soon as I return this candlestick to the dining room."

Tessa gripped the bedpost as tight as she could. "Noooooooooo!"

END

DISCLAIMER: Fireworks owns the characters. I just give them grief.
RATING: PG
NOTE: This did NOT turn out at all like I planned. But I suppose sometimes that's a good thing.
TRIO: bullet, handkerchief, cactus

~~~~~

The senorita was distracting - her closeness, the smell of her perfume, the hand on his arm, the panicked breathing that caused her chest to rise and fall enticingly. But it would not do to stare lustfully at the wealthy young land owner, so Colonel Montoya gave her hand a paternal pat and put on his most reassuring face.

"Do not be concerned, Maria Theresa. We shall have those bandits behind bars in no time For now, I suggest you remain indoors, and I shall post some men near your hacienda."

She thanked him profusely in the style of a perfect Spanish maiden. Too perfect, he thought, as he shooed the lady and her servant into the house. Too perfect, too innocent, too vulnerable, too lovely.

The Colonel returned his full attention to the task at hand, capturing the band of riffraff who had eluded Grisham twice. The Colonel wanted to be sure the third time was the charm.

He was giving instructions to his men when one of the soldiers cried out. The gang had been spotted.

Brazen bastards, heading straight for the house. Montoya mounted his horse and directed his men. The bandits would not escape his trap.

In a short time, two of the bandits were dead, the rest surrounded. Even the crazed leader was holding up his pistol in a gesture of peace.

"A wise choice, sir. Now throw down the weapon," Montoya commanded.

The man turned slowly toward the voice, and his eyes lit on the Colonel.

"You the one in charge here?"

"Yes. Now throw down your weapon or die."

As soon as he saw the smile ooze across the bandit's face, Luis knew he had made a tactical error. This man wanted to die. But not alone.

Everything moved with supernal slowness. Later, Luis could swear that he saw the bullet clearly before it struck.

~~~~~

The angel hovered over him, her soft sweet voice singing words he could not make out. Her long, dark hair flowed down, brushing his face. He longed to touch it, but his arms refused to move.

She looked at him, her face all peace and kindness. The lovely senorita. He tried to speak, but she laid a gentle finger across his lips. She bent low and told him to be silent, speaking softly into his ear, her lips grazing the sensitive lobe.

The senorita rose and lifted a blood-stained handkerchief to her breast. A vivid slash of red spread across her snow-white gown. Where could it have all come from?

"It's your blood, Luis."

Oh yes. Of course. The bandit. That explained it.

Luis drifted as the senorita stroked his hair. Ah yes, just like that, my dear. And don't cry. Dying is quite painless.

"I wouldn't count on that."

Luis could no longer see, but he knew she was there in all her black-clad glory, this demon who haunted his dreams. And know, it seemed, his death.

She leaned across him, her breasts pressing against his chest. He could feel his angel slipping away as the harlot raised her knife. His body convulsed with agony. A thousand cactus needles of pain radiated out from his shoulder. Pain coursed through his veins, clearing his mind, sharpening his hate.

He could see her now, standing over him, gloating, one hand on her hip, the other tossing a bloodied bullet into the air.

"Got that nasty thing out of there. Let's see what else we can do."

She leaned in close, and her scent filled him. She smelled of blood and sweat and earth and something else, something of power and passion. Her full, sensual lips came to his ear.

"You didn't really want to run off with that simpering thing in white, did you?"

He was shaking now with fury. Gone was the peace and acceptance. Now he wanted to force his limbs to move, his mouth to speak. He wanted to scream his loathing for this woman-beast.

"But for that, you'll have to live."

She was standing away from him now. Her lips smiling. Her arms beckoning. Her hips swaying. She was dancing to the sacred music of his vengeance.

~~~~~

Voices swirled around him. He could make out Helm discussing him in that crisp, detached English manner.

"Doctor, look. He seems to be waking up."

Her voice. Was it his angel or his demon? Luis knew he could find the answer if he could just fight his way through the pain.

More voices, calling him, drawing him back to the surface. He could open his eyes, but where was she? He caught a glimpse of dark hair, but when he looked again, it was only the Alvarado servant bringing a glass to his lips.

She'd slipped through his fingers again, and now this was only an ordinary room with ordinary people.

But he was alive. He would not die today. What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. And my strength shall assure me my revenge.

END

TRIO CHALLENGE: Fog, spectacles, a message
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Characters not mine, etc.

~~~~~

Old Mark stepped out from his lodgings and pulled his scarf tight around his neck, trying to keep out the cold. It was yet another battle he seemed never to win. The cold was always there, stealing through the cracks in the walls, biting at his fingers, creeping into his bones and joints and reminding him of every old wound. And making him forget that he'd ever known a place of endless summer.

Whiskey, that was the weapon he need to fight this foe. The bottle in his room had gone mysteriously dry, but he had a few coins, enough to warm him at the Black Adder. He preferred the Black Adder to the tavern on the corner, though it meant a bit of a walk.

But it would be full of old men, men with beards even more grizzled than his own, men who never begged to hear the stories that were lies. They never asked for the stories that were true, either, but when he had a need to tell those, they listened and nodded their heads in silent acceptance.

He walked along the wharf, familiar territory now. He knew every twist and turn despite the fog obscuring his vision. Knew every corner where a thief or cutthroat might hide. He paused in his journey and faced the Atlantic, dark and obscure now. He could hear the waves beating against the sea wall, could feel the salt in the stiff breeze, but he could see nothing. Still, he looked, as though if he looked hard enough he could see the sunny shores of Spain.

He pulled the letter from his pocket, liking the feel of it. He couldn't read it now. Even if he had light, he'd left his spectacles back in his room. But it didn't matter. He'd read it a hundred times and knew it by heart.

"Dear Capitan," it began. When was the last time anyone had called him that?

"It is my sad duty to inform you that my mother, Dona Vera Hidalgo, passed from this earth on 18 July 1852. The Lord was merciful and took her into His arms with little pain. Her body rests with my father in the family mausoleum in Seville."

He tried not to think of her in a cold, dark tomb. He pictured her in the sun, surrounded by flowers. Like the time he'd stolen roses from the Colonel's garden for her. He smiled ruefully at the memory of the act and its consequences. It had been worth it.

"My mother asked me to send a message to you. She said, 'Tell him I forgive him. Tell him I am sorry, and please, please, ask him to forgive me.'"

Oh Vera, what was there to forgive? You were an angel traveling in a woman's life. That you could forgive me, that you could even care for me, think of me with kindness, it's more than I deserve.

"I do not understand my mother's request, but my promise to write you gave her great comfort, and I would not deny her spirit any comfort. I hope you will do her the same honour.

May God go with you,
Marcella, Baroness Wurtenburg"

Baroness. The girl had done well for herself, and he was sure Vera had been proud. It was important to her that the child have rank and wealth and privilege, all the things she had lacked growing up, all the things Marcus could not provide.

He refolded the letter as carefully as he could. Between the old aches and the cold, his fingers didn't work as well as they used to. He looked again to the east, to the nothingness of the ocean.

"I shall drink a toast to you, Vera, to the finest woman who ever walked this land. And to you to, Marcella. Go with God, child, and do your daddy proud."

END

~~~~~

Marcus heard the knock and looked around. Everything was ready. Perfect timing, for once.

He gathered up the bouquet he'd formed and hid it behind his back before cracking open the door. She stepped through quickly, worried about being seen. On impulse, he dropped to one knee and presented the flowers. "For you, my dear. Though the roses' beauty pales in comparison to yours."

"Oh Marcus," she cooed, accepting his offering and rubbing the soft petals against her cheek. "They're beautiful."

"They're for you. They're all for you." He stepped back and gestured around the room. Vera's eyes grew wide as she took in the sight. Roses everywhere - bouquets on the table, petals on the pillow, loose roses strewn across the bed.

"Oh Marcus!"

He grinned like a schoolboy. He loved the look of delight in her eyes, and he'd do anything to hear that soft "oh Marcus." Every time she said his name, he went weak in the knees.

He bounced down on the bed and scooped up a handful of the flowers. "I cut off all the thorns so you can wear them without any scratches on the perfect skin of yours. Now come here, darlin'."

She walked over and leaned close, allowing him to slide one of the roses into her corset. She put her hand on his cheek and gave him a worried look. "Did you take these roses from El Coronel's garden?"

Marcus grinned smugly and pulled her to his lap. "El Coronel won't be back from Monterey for a week."

"And what happens when he comes back? You know how much he values his garden." She put her arms around his neck and stroked his hair.

"He'll never find out it was me. Even if he did, what would he do? They're just flowers, and I'm indispensable to him."

"Oh my darling Capitan. The graveyards are full of indispensable men." She was worried about him, but knew her warnings would have no effect. She turned to actions which would have an effect.

~~~~~

Grisham heard a commotion outside and opened his eyes slowly. It was a good hour past dawn, later than he usually woke, but he considered this week something of a vacation.

Vera had gone long ago, but the smell of roses reminded him of her. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the memories of their tryst. The roses had been a stroke of genius.

He decided he'd better check out the cause of the commotion and was just putting on his trousers when he heard the banging at his door.

"Capitan! Capitan, hurry. There has been a terrible crime committed. My garden has been vandalized."

Montoya. Why couldn't that man stay on a schedule? Grisham started hopping toward the door, his pants only part way up, when he realized there were rose petals everywhere. He looked from the door to his own half-dressed state to the abundance of fragrant evidence.

"Damn, damn, damn," he muttered to himself as he stumbled around the room, stashing roses in draws, shoving loose petals under the sheets. He had to buy time. "I'll be right there, Colonel!"

Calling out had been a mistake. With his presence confirmed, Montoya just let himself in. "Captain Grisham, I do not have time to ..."

The Colonel's voice trailed off as he took in the room. Grisham was standing by the rumpled bed, one hand holding up his pants, the other behind his back. Grisham forced a smile to his face, hoping just maybe he could salvage this situation. And then one tell-tale petal drifted to the floor behind him.

END

DISCLAIMERS: Not mine, no money, no offense intended (although the Colonel is likely to be quite offended by the time this is over).
FEEDBACK: Please
NOTE: All this talk about Danny DeVito as the Colonel got me thinking (a dangerous activity at the best of times)

~~~~~

The carriage rolled into the market at the busiest time of the day, and the whole pueblo watched as a smartly-dressed soldier carried a footstep to the side and arranged it carefully before opening the door. He stepped back quickly and stood at attention as the passenger exited.

The market-goers watched as first a highly polished black boot emerged. The leg above it was covered with shining white silk. Next came an expansive belly girded with a red sash and topped by a brilliant blue jacket gilded with fancy gold braid. The owner of this sartorial masterpiece was a round-faced man with sparkling blue eyes and thick dark hair. He sported a long mustache as luxurious as his clothes. He was a short man, but what nature had denied him in height, he made up for in bulk. Despite his size, he carried himself with a regal grace as he stepped forward, his sharp eyes taking in everything around him.

Every eye followed the man as he walked through the market, pausing now and then to examine some merchandise, always greeting the vendors pleasantly, complimenting them on their wares be they apples or rosary beads. He stopped at one table full of fine silks and linens and fingered a blue shawl. Turning to the soldier who had dutifully trailed him, he asked, "Lieutenant, is this not precisely the color of your charming wife's eyes?"

"Very close, sir," he answered, a trace of longing in his voice.

"Then you must make a present of it to her, to make up for your long time apart." He handed the shawl to the soldier and flipped a coin to the young woman behind the table. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at it.

"Oh gracias, Senor! Gracias! Would you not also like some handkerchiefs? I have some lovely silk ones here."

She gestured at him with the cloth, but he set them back on the table and patted her hand, letting his hand cover hers as spoke. "Not right now, Senorita. Perhaps another time. I trust I shall see you again."

He smiled at her, revealing small, sharp teeth. The young lady blushed and pulled her hand away.

"I am here every market day, Senor."

"Then I shall most certainly see you again." The man continued on his way, gradually moving toward his true target.

Colonel Luis Montoya watched the commotion in the market for a moment and then returned to his office. He had a brief urge to lock the door and then just not answer it when Leon arrived. Childish, of course, but that was the kind of emotion his cousin inspired.

Luis took a deep breath and surveyed his office. All was the expression of power and wealth, from the thick oriental rug to the carefully collected books on the shelves to the heavy, ornate furniture. He had nothing to be ashamed of, yet he knew, somehow, Leon would find a way to make him feel ashamed. It was what he had always done. Luis considered pouring himself a drink in preparation, but decided he should be clear-headed. He looked critically at the bottle before him - one of his best ports. He quickly transferred it to a locked cabinet and replaced it with one less dear. Leon would surely help himself.

Leon had always helped himself to whatever he wanted: Luis' favorite toys, his sister's dolls, the cook's freshly baked tart. Luis frowned, remembering. Leon had gotten the whole tart, while Luis had gotten the blame and the business end of the cook's wooden spoon.

Luis was seated behind his desk when Leon finally made his appearance, pushing past the guard who had come to announce him.

"Cousin! Hello! Aren't you thrilled to see me?"

Luis dismissed the guard and forced a thin smile to his lips. "I have no words to express my joy."

Leon began to wander around the room, examining the books and the artwork. He paused long enough to pour himself a glass of port.

"Nice little set-up you've got here, Luis. Better than I expected."

"So glad it pleases you, cousin. You seem to have made quite an impression down in the market."

"Yes, they love me now. Of course, it is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both." Leon smiled smugly and poured himself another glass. "But we can get to fear later."

TO BE CONTINUED...

TRIO: salt, wooden crate, a pin
RATING: G
FEEDBACK: Yes, please

~~~~~

She sat on the windowsill, staring as the Colonel awoke. The early morning sun streamed in, making Luis squint, but his visitor gazed serenely, unblinking.

"You're looking awfully smug this morning," Luis said as he pushed back the sheet and sat up. "Not that I'm surprised. I heard your adventures last night. I suspect the entire pueblo heard you. A little modesty and restraint would be advisable."

The visitor made no response, but merely raised a delicate paw to her tongue and began her morning grooming. "Shameless hussy," Luis muttered as he moved to the wash basin and splashed water on his face.

By the time the Colonel was dressed and ready for his day, the cat had finished her washing and moved to the Colonel's bed, curling herself into a ball on the pillow.

"You won't be able to stay. The maid will throw you out."

The cat opened one eye at the sound of the Colonel's voice, and she looked at him for a moment, just long enough to communicate that his opinion was not required. Then she closed her eye and tucked her head back down under her paws.

"Have it your way then," Luis thought as he took one last look in the mirror, adjusting the pin in his cravat. Perhaps she would get her way. The maid was irrationally afraid of cats and might rearrange her cleaning schedule just to avoid a confrontation over the creature's preferred napping spot. The silly woman might even risk her employer's wrath about an unmade bed, so deep was her superstition.

The cat had first come to the Colonel's attention several weeks earlier when Grisham had tried to kick her in the stables. "Capitan!" the Colonel said sharply. "I am disappointed in you. No officer worth his salt should stoop so low as to be cruel to animals."

"I hate cats," the Captain answered, eyeing the creature, now perched on a wooden crate and well out of range of the soldier's boot. "I'd like to clear the stables of them."

"You would prefer the horses' feed to be overrun with rats?"

"We don't have rats in the stables!"

"No, we have cats." The Colonel walked to the cat and raised a hand, which the cat sniffed carefully before turning her head so the Colonel could better scratch her ears. Luis obliged and then ran a hand firmly along her back. "Cats which appear to be finding plenty of food. These animals serve an important function here. You should show them some respect."

The Captain had muttered something in response, but the Colonel feared his instruction had gone in one ear and out the other. Luis sighed. He wasted so much wisdom on this bull-headed American.

From that day on, the cat had paid special attention to the Colonel, first waiting at his horse's stall, later following him to his house and leaving gifts of dead rodents on the windowsill. The maid had not appreciated the gestures.

The Colonel had thought to discourage the cat until the day Doctor Helm barged in with his petty complaints about injured peasants.

The cat had decided to join the Colonel in his study, and while Luis made half-hearted attempts to shoo her out, he was distracted by the pile of correspondence that had just been delivered, all of which had to be read carefully and answered with discretion.

So it was that the Colonel was settled behind his desk and the cat was stretched along the back of the sofa when the doctor burst through the door. "Colonel, I demand to speak with you at once!"

"Doctor, what a surprise," the Colonel said calmly. "I didn't think the English ever displayed such passion. I also thought they were fastidious about knocking."

Helm had ignored the gibe and launched into his speech, griping about a soldier breaking a peasant's arm (the man had refused to pay his taxes) and a woman who had been knocked to the ground (soldiers had been searching for the Queen). He had been set to launch into a diatribe about the treatment of prisoners when he paused and looked about. His nose began to twitch (if a nose such as the doctor's could be said to do something as delicate as twitch). Finally, his gaze settled on the sofa and the alert and wide-eyed feline reclining there.

"You have a cat."

"You don't like cats, doctor?"

"Oh, they're fine creatures. I like them just fine." Despite his words, Helm was watching the cat warily and backing slowly away from the sofa. "The ancient Egyptians used to worship cats, you know."

"Yes, I know. That's why I've named her Cleopatra." Luis didn't knew what prompted him to say that. He'd never thought to give the cat a name, but she seized upon 'Cleopatra' with a loud meow as soon as she heard it.

"Cleopatra, eh? Very nice."

Upon hearing her newly-claimed name, the cat hopped off the sofa and began padding toward the doctor. Luis watched with some concern as the doctor continued to back away and rubbed at his eyes, which had now become watery.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh no, I'm just fi...." And then it struck, a sneeze that arrived with so much force the Colonel rose up in alarm.

"You are not well, Doctor."

"It's the ca...ca...caaaachooo!"

Luis came around the desk with an air of concern and placed on arm on the doctor's shoulder. "I think you had best return to your office, Doctor. Get some rest."

"I still need to talk to you abo... abo..."

The Colonel moved back with a look of distaste as yet another sneeze erupted. His voice, however, remained calm.

"About the prisoners, yes. Your devotion to your patients is admirable. I will come to your office to discuss this with you."

The Doctor was moving toward the door, but was not quite ready to give up. "Today?"

"I am quite busy today, Doctor. I have much work to do."

"Tomorrow then?" the doctor said between sniffles into his handkerchief.

The Colonel smiled benevolently as he continued to pushed the Doctor into the hall. "Soon. I promise. I will come as soon as I am able."

The Colonel closed the door firmly behind the departing Doctor and turned with relief back to the room and the cat sitting coolly in the middle of the carpet.

"Well, Cleopatra, it appears you have useful talents. Perhaps I will ask the cook to provide a saucer of cream with my noon meal."

Cleopatra stared for a moment and then blinked once before turning back to the soft cushions of the sofa.

END

RATING: G
DISCLAIMERS: Most of the characters belong to Fireworks (or whomever the judge decides). Mention of one of Maril's original characters.
FEEDBACK/BETA: Yes, please

TRIO CHALLENGE: Pinata, Medicine Bottle, Brick

~~~~~

Maria Theresa Alvarado surveyed the town square from her perch atop the wagon. All was peaceful this morning, and the only evidence of the Queen's latest skirmish was the brick layer making some repairs at the jail and the girl at the cantina sweeping up some debris. Tessa felt a twinge of guilt. Her fight with the soldiers had resulted in the destruction of the pinata meant for tonight's fiesta.

Tessa started the horses and took the wagon around to the church when she saw Marta emerge. "You're looking cheerful. Must have had quite a chat with Father Martinez."

"Confession is good for the soul, Tessita. And for the disposition." Marta climbed onto the seat next to Tessa and settled in for the trip back to the hacienda. "You should try it sometime."

"I can see it now. Maria Theresa comes in to confess and begins by telling of her lustful thoughts for a certain doctor and then how she lost Marta's medicine bottle and fibbed when asked if she'd seen it."

Marta started to respond with a lightly chiding remark, but fell silent as the young woman's face grew dark. Tessa sighed and snapped the reins, eager to leave the pueblo. "And then, oh yes, there's the little issue of killing a soldier the other night, one who was supposed to be married next month. I can't risk it, Marta. I can't go to confession without confessing the Queen's sins, too."

"Father Martinez is a good man. He would never violate the sanctity of the confession."

"But if he knew, he would never be able to look at me the same again. Then someone would notice. Montoya would notice. I swear the only reason that man attends mass is to watch the parishioners. I can't risk it."

"Confession need not take place in a church with a priest. There are many places and many ways in which one may talk to God."

Tessa looked sharply at the older woman at her side, worried that perhaps she had been spending too much time with Joachim learning of his ways. But Marta had always been a good Catholic, had always guided her well, hadn't she? The two women were silent for the rest of the trip home.

~~~~~

Maria Theresa Alvarado surveyed the mesa and the ocean far below. She had found the spot without difficulty and agreed with Marta that it was a holy place, radiating peace and calm. Solemnly, she knelt and made the sign of the cross. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned ..."

END

RATING: G
DISCLAIMERS: The characters belong to others. Angst belongs to everybody.
FEEDBACK/BETA: Yes, please

QUOTE CHALLENGE: Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever

~~~~~

A stiff breeze was blowing in from the sea as Colonel Montoya walked Salan along the beach. He appreciated the relief from the heat of the pueblo as well as the solitude of the sea as he exercised the stallion. He had attended a soldier's funeral this morning, and the image of the man's weeping fiancé and the hateful stares she had directed at him would not leave his mind. He had known little of the man. New to the regiment, he had not distinguished himself in any way, though Grisham said he had shown promise with a rifle. But it didn't matter now. He was just another dead soldier consigned to obscurity.

Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever, Napoleon had said. And was your own Napoleonic quest for glory the cause of that man's death?

Montoya frowned at the voice which had crept unbidden into his mind. "The Queen of Swords killed that man. She is the one who should bear the guilt, damn her!"

His words fell onto the sand, and the fundamental question still hung in the air. The Colonel stared out at the great expanse of the sea and spoke as though challenged. "Why should I not pursue glory? You are the one who gave me this mind and this body and these talents, and in so doing, did you not also give me this ambition? And would it not be sin to bury my talents and pursue a life of obscurity?"

No answer returned to him. There was only the steady beat of the waves against the shore. He spoke again, more softly now. "Yes, that man died to serve the cause of my glory. Such has always been the case, since the beginning of time. The weak and the poor and the ignorant die to serve the ambitious. Who am I to change the natural order of things?"

END

TRIO/QUOTE/WORD CHALLENGE
SUMMARY: Our beloved Colonel gets crabby, and our intrepid Queen has a frustrating experience.
DISCLAIMER: They belong to the TPTB. I'm just having a little fun with them.

~~~~~

"You and your quartan complaints, doctor! Do you make little notes upon your calendar, planning the days on which to vex me. Tuesday, it's some wretched labourer who must be excused from working. Saturday, it's the soldiers' revelries disturbing your patients. Today, it's the state of your supplies. As though I have control over the schedule of the supply ship."

Helm was surprised by the intensity of the Colonel's response. "I merely asked if you knew when the ship would arrive. It is quite late, and my stores of medicines are dangerously low."

"You want your medicines. Senora Hidalgo wants her new silk chemise. The Alvarado girl complains that she hasn't tasted an orange in months. We are all discommoded by the delay. Even I. My cook ran out of coffee." Montoya rubbed at his temples in a vain attempt to stop the dull pain which had persisted all day.

"I'd offer you something for that headache, Colonel, but I can't until the ship arrives with more laudanum."

Montoya shot the doctor a look of pure venom, but kept his voice soft. "It seems to me, Doctor, that your planning leaves something to be desired. I will help you to correct this problem. To start, I would like you to provide a complete inventory of all your supplies, plus a report on all that you have used since your arrival and your projected needs for the next year. I will expect this report by tomorrow morning."

"What? Are you mad? It would take hours to compile all that information."

"I pay for these supplies of yours, Doctor. I think that gives me the right to know how they are being used, no? Of course, if you are unwilling to provide such an accounting, I can have Captain Grisham do the inventory."

The thought of Grisham pawing through his office and lab was enough to make Helm shudder. "Fine, I'll do it."

A soldier knocked on the door with a message for the Colonel, and Helm took the opportunity to escape. He felt sorry for the young Sergeant making stammering responses to the Colonel's clipped questions. It wasn't going to be a good day for any of Montoya's staff. "When the head aches, all the members partake of the pain," he muttered, heading back to his office to begin his report.

~~~~~~~~~

"Mirabile dictu! I found it!" The old hermit emerged from the depths of the trunk, his mouth twisted into a toothless grin of victory and his hand holding something behind his back.

"What is it?" The Queen was anxious to see. The old man had promised her information on Montoya, but had then promptly disappeared. It had taken her a week of hard work to track down his ramshackle little hut. Now she held her breath as he brought his hands forward.

Tessa released her breath with an exasperated sigh. "That looks like an old croquet mallet."

"Not just any croquet mallet! A very special one! Her majesty Queen Caroline played with this very mallet." He grinned with pride, but then looked confused. "Or maybe it was one of her ladies-in-waiting. Or..."

He tossed the mallet over his shoulder, reacting not at all to the crashing sound it made as it landed. "Oh well, it hardly matters. Now, what can I do for you, my dear?"

"You said you had information on Colonel Montoya for me." Tessa spoke very slowly, trying hard to hide her impatience.

"Colonel Montoya, yes! Charming fellow, capital chap."

Tessa blinked in confusion. "I thought you hated the Colonel."

"Oh I did! I did! But I forgave him." The old man leaned close in a conspiratorial manner. "Always forgive your enemies. That's what they hate most."

Tessa leaned back. The man obviously had not bathed in some time, and getting too close made her eyes water. "But what about the papers you'd taken?"

"Papers? Oh yes, had lots of paper. Made fine kindling, and I do like a fire when the night gets cold."

"You burned the papers you stole from the Colonel?"

"Had to. How else could I have boiled the water to make the coffee?" The old man laughed at the expression on the Queen's face and patted her hand. "Don't worry, there's plenty left. I'll brew a pot right now. Mighty fine coffee, as I think you'll see. Take my advice, Missy. Always steal from folks with good taste."

END