MARIL RESPONSE FILE 2

By Maril
maril.swan@sympatico.ca

DISCLAIMER: They belong to Fireworks, et al. It's not my fault they act the way they do. <g>
RATED: G
TRIO CHALLENGE: bedpost, knife, rope

~~~~~

He was driving her to distraction! Vera fiddled with the tassel on the red velvet rope that held back the brocade drape around their huge four-poster bed. She sighed heavily and leaned against the bedpost, impatiently waiting for Gaspar to finish peeling the apple with his small clasp knife. He did it slowly and methodically, with total concentration, the way he did everything. It drove her mad to watch.

Seeming to sense her tension, he looked up and caught the vexed expression on her lovely face. He smiled affectionately. "Is there something wrong this morning, my petal? I must say, this breakfast in bed was a most pleasant surprise. What is the occasion?" He brightened suddenly. "Do you have some news for me?"

Vera looked away quickly and Gaspar knew he had erred. She was in a mood he did not recognize and now he had wounded her with the reminder of her failure to conceive. She was restless, he could see that plainly. There was nothing for a young woman to do on a hacienda other than care for children, and they had none. Not yet.

She drew a deep breath and said, "Gaspar, I think I will go visit Tessa this morning. I haven't seen her for a while." The brilliant blue eyes watched him as he considered this idea in his slow, deliberate manner. Outwardly, she was placid and composed, but inside, Vera was seething with exasperation that she needed his permission to go out, and had to explain where she was going. She had no intention of seeing Tessa, but had arranged a picnic with Marcus.

"Did you not visit Tessa only a couple of days ago, my dear? You must remember she has a hacienda to run, and does not have so much free time as other women." His eyes grew soft as they slid over the satin gown that clung smoothly to the curves of her body. Perhaps some gentle loving was all she needed. "Come back into bed, my pet," he said as he lifted the sheet invitingly to make a space for her.

Vera quickly calculated the time and decided she could still be there when Marcus arrived at their rendezvous. With a seductive smile she climbed into the bed and snuggled up to her husband. This would not take long and she could even stop in to see Tessa along the way. In case Gaspar should ever ask.

- Maril

(the smut metre hardly budged at all <g>)

A child's game where the blindfolded player tries to guess whom they are touching
DISCLAIMERS: The characters belong to Fireworks for now, the story is mine.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please

~~~~~

As he rode in silence by her side, he glanced at her now and then, not knowing what to say. They had almost become lovers but now she seemed so distant she might as well have been on another planet. He opened his mouth several times to speak and closed it again. The words he tried to voice seemed all wrong. Finally he said, "I'm sorry." Seconds passed without a response. More loudly, he said again, "I'm sorry."

"The wound did not impair my hearing, Doctor. I heard you the first time." She gave him a coolly critical look and turned back to stare ahead at the trail. What did he have to be sorry about? Tessa's thoughts turned back to the hazy events of the last two days.

Tessa remembers...

Grisham and his men had been more relentless than ever, driving her further than she had been before, into the badlands. At least the hail of bullets had stopped as the Queen of Swords managed to put more distance between herself and the soldiers. It seemed like hours before she dared to turn around to see if they were still pursuing her. With relief, she noted the flat prairie was empty; no dust clouds marred the horizon.

Tessa slid off Chico's back and pulled her canteen from the saddle. The tepid water felt so good going down her dry throat. Guiltily, she thought of her horse. He must be thirsty too. She cupped her hand and poured some water into it and offered it to him. The horse slurped at it noisily as Tessa continued to refill her hand over and over. The water was nearly gone. And she was far from the hacienda.

All she could see were cactus and brush, and the distant mountains. If I retrace my trail, they may be waiting for me, she thought, recalling a similar incident not long ago when Corporal Garcia had captured her. I won't make that mistake again, she reassured herself.

Scanning the horizon, she looked for any landmarks that she could ride toward. She didn't recognize anything. With a sinking feeling, she realized she was lost. Chico's trail is still fresh, so I'll have to take my chances on that, she decided. I'll walk him for a while, poor fellow. He's had a hard day. Tessa took the reins and began to lead the horse as she followed his hoof marks in the hard earth. Anxiety roiled in her stomach as she noted the long shadows on the ground. The sun will be setting soon, she realized, and I won't be able to see the trail. I may have to stay out here all night. Marta will be worried but she knows I will be all right. I have been gone all night before.

Suddenly, Chico reared, pulling her off balance and she fell. She felt a sharp pain in her leg, then her head hit the ground and all was blackness.

Helm remembers...

He dismounted and nodded toward Pancho, a young peon who worked on the Alvarado hacienda. As he strode toward the house, Helm saw Marta seated on the verandah. A smile creased his face as he closed the distance. He like Marta; she was a kindred spirit, unlike her mistress. "Buenos dias, Marta," he said as he pulled off his hat.

Immediately, he sensed something was amiss. Her usual sharp reply never came, nor did she seem pleased to see him. In fact, her eyes were anxious and red-rimmed as if she had not slept. "Is there something wrong, Marta? Maybe I can help. Is the señorita sick? Where is Señorita Alvarado anyway? Out gallivanting around while others are working?" He meant his question to be a jest, and was not prepared for the violence of her reaction.

"What do you know about her? You know nothing!" Marta snapped at him sharply and got up to move swiftly away.

He caught up to her and stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Tell me what's wrong." Just then, a shout from the stable yard caused them to turn.

Pancho came running up to Marta, panting with excitement. "Marta, the señorita's horse has come back... without her!"

In a flash, Marta was running toward the stables. It took Helm a second to react, then he dashed after her. They arrived at the same time to view the spavined horse, dusty and weary as it grunted and ambled toward them. Marta's face paled as she looked at the empty saddle. Barely audibly, she said, "Take care of the horse, Pancho." She waited until the boy had led Chico away, then said to Helm, "Now you know what is wrong. She did not come home last night."

"I'll go into town and get Grisham and his men to organize a search party. We'll find her, Marta," he said reassuringly.

She gripped his arm firmly as he turned toward his horse. "No! You cannot tell anyone she is missing." Marta had nearly laughed at the idea of Grisham searching for Tessa. It was because of him that Tessa was missing. Carefully, Marta said, "Did you hear anything last night about the Queen of Swords?"

The question was such a non sequitur that Helm was at a loss for a few seconds. Then, it made sense and his scalp prickled with the realization of what she was suggesting. A tight band seemed to have wound itself around his chest and he was having a hard time getting his breath to answer her. Finally, he said, "Grisham and his men came back late last night. I tended a few saddle sores, nothing serious. The men told me they had chased her nearly all day and finally had to give up. They were in the badlands without any provisions."

She said something under her breath that sounded like a prayer or an imprecation. Helm couldn't tell as it was in a language he didn't know. But he could see by her ashen face that she was already beginning to mourn her loss. Her eyes were hopeless as she gazed out across the hilly lands of the hacienda.

"I'll go after her, Marta. I may be able to follow her horse's trail back to her. I'm sure she's all right. The horse might have spooked and thrown her. I'll find her." He didn't add that his training in His Majesty's Secret Service included tracking. He had been trained by an expert during a brief tour of duty in the Canadas - an Algonquin scout. He wished heartily that his Indian mentor was with him now. "Help me get some provisions, Marta and I'll get started."

"I'll go with you," Marta said quickly, a sudden hope arising in her eyes.

"Someone has to be here in case anyone comes around looking for Tessa. We don't want to arouse any suspicions."

Marta nodded and began to walk toward the house. Her step was more confident as she thought with renewed hope, maybe he can find her. She has been through tough spots before and returned home safely. Maybe he will find her and bring her back to me.

Tessa remembers...
She heard someone scream in pain -- it seemed to echo forever in her head. Who was it? In the velvet blackness that enveloped like a warm blanket, she felt safe, comforted. Ahead was a dim light and she started towards it. As she closed the distance, it became brighter, and shadowy figures hovered like wraiths just inside the light. She knew them and tried to hurry forward, her arms outstretched to embrace them. "Mama, Papa," she cried out, but her legs seemed leaden suddenly and her progress was hampered by some force that held her back. Even as she struggled against the constraint, the shadows moved away, fading into the light. Somewhere, someone was crying. Who was it? She heard another scream and it shocked her as she tried to imagine who was in such pain.

The scent of smoke and other harsh odours assailed her as she became aware that she was not alone. Voices murmured in a strange language nearby. She tried to open her eyes and could not. A hand lifted her head and a cup touched her lips. She forced her dry mouth open to accept the drink. She was so thirsty. When the fluid touched her tongue, she struggled to close her mouth. It was too bitter. Marta, she thought angrily, you didn't put any honey into the medicine this time. I won't take it! The hand relentlessly forced the medicine into her mouth and she swallowed it, gagging on its bitterness. The struggle had taken all her strength. She drifted back into the abysmal darkness.

A cool cloth touched her forehead and a woman's voice reached her. The woman was singing something in a strange language that sounded like an incantation or prayer. It was gentle and soothing. Tessa opened her eyes to see a dark face smiling widely at her. The woman was dressed in colourful clothing, marked by painted designs, and around her neck she wore beads and feathers woven into an intricate and beautiful necklace. Her dark eyes were soft like a doe's. The woman moved to pick up a gourd, and placed it at Tessa's lips.

Tessa tried to move her head away. She remembered the distasteful liquid that had been poured into her mouth before. But the woman lifted the gourd and took a sip herself, then smiled reassuringly. She offered it again, and with a tentative taste, Tessa found it was only clear water. She drank thirstily and sighed with gratitude. She looked around at her surroundings. It was dark inside and above she saw the rock ceiling. She realized she was in a cave. But how had she got here?

A man's voice attracted her attention to the entrance of the cave. He was of medium height, strongly built and dressed in a similar costume to that of the woman. He spoke to the Indian woman and she replied in her staccato tongue, then nodded her head vigorously and laughed. Tessa assumed they were talking about her, but could not understand anything that was said. The man moved past the woman and squatted beside Tessa.

He gave her a very pleased grin, and said in Spanish, "You have been walking with your ancestors, señorita. I was afraid you were going to remain with them. The Great Spirit has let you return to fulfill your destiny."

For a second, Tessa was too astonished at hearing him speaking her language to reply. Then she asked, "Where am I? What happened to me?"

His soft eyes contemplated her for a moment. "You were bitten by a rattlesnake. The poison is often fatal, but one of our men found you in time. He tied your handkerchief above the bite, and sucked out the poison. Some of it must have remained in your body. You also hit your head on the ground when you fell."

"I am grateful, señor Indio. How long have I been here?"

"Two nights, two days," he replied. "This is the first time you have been awake since you came to us. Unfortunately, your horse ran off before we could catch him. But when you are stronger, we will return you to your home."

A sudden worry nudged its way into her mind. Did they know about the Queen of Swords? Her mask was gone and she realized by the scratchiness of the colourful woven blanket that covered her, so were most of her clothes.

Almost as if reading her mind, he said, "I know your secret, señorita. But we keep to ourselves out here. We care nothing for the towns of the white man. I learned to speak your language at the mission, but I ran away and joined these people. We are peaceful but we want nothing to do with the Spanish or their three terrible gods." He got up and beamed on her with his gentle smile. "Do not worry, Señorita Reina. No one else knows about you, but me. I will keep your secret. Now, you should rest."

In spite of his recommendation to rest, Tessa's mind whirled with anxious thoughts and rest would not come. She worried about Marta. She must think I'm dead by now. I've never been away this long. Not since the time I was kidnapped. And what about Vera and others. If they come to visit, what will Marta say? I must get out of here and get back home.

Tessa began to push off the blanket to get up, but a hand restrained her and a voice softly but firmly spoke to her. She realized she was not going anywhere just yet. Maybe under the cover of darkness, she could slip away from this benevolent imprisonment. The woman who restrained her was the same one who had been singing. Tessa assumed she must be a female shaman or healer. The woman gave her another gourd to drink from and this contained the bitter medicine she had tried to reject. With an ill will, she swallowed it, then laid back down. A sudden lassitude overcame her, and she wondered as she drifted off, what else was in that concoction.

Helm remembers...

The trail was still easily visible even to an untrained eye. Helm cantered along, his eyes fixed on the hoof prints, as he rode further into the badlands. So far, he hadn't seen another soul. Tessa's horse cantered behind him, his reins tied to Helm's saddle. At length, the prints stopped, and scuff marks on the ground suggested a sort of struggle. He got down to examine the earth more closely. There was a rusty spot on a rock. With a sudden chill, he recognized it as blood. She must have fallen from her horse. Something had scared it. But what? A puma, a coyote, a sidewinder? Where was she now?

Carefully, he stepped around the area, searching for footprints. He widened his search and was rewarded with a new set of hoof prints leading toward the distant mountains. So, he deduced, someone, not wearing boots obviously due to the lack of footprints, must have picked her up and taken her into those mountains on his horse. He smiled broadly to himself. A great relief spread through him as he realized he was near the end of his quest. He would find her. The elation deflated almost immediately as he wondered if he would find her still alive.

To give the horse a break from his weight, Helm led the horse along the well-marked trail. He had not gone far before a group of riders appeared in the distance from direction of the mountains. Indians! There was no choice but to wait for them. He continued walking steadily forward and soon they drew up and began to gesture at him. They were colourfully dressed and carrying weapons. A hunting party, Helm wondered. What were they hunting?

From their hand gestures and rapid speech, he assumed they wanted him to follow them. He remounted his horse and joined their group.

Tessa remembers...

The excited sounds reached her and she opened her eyes. It was evident something unusual was happening among these quiet people. Tessa drew the blanket around herself and tried to stand. The effort seemed beyond her strength. She remained sitting and waited while a group entered the cave. Among them was the one person she had never expected to see. Doctor Helm!

He spied her immediately, and strode over to her quickly. He squatted beside her and grinned into her eyes with a look that warmed her. He was actually glad to see her! She glanced away to hide the sudden tears that threatened behind her eyes.

For a long moment, Helm said nothing, then took her hand. "You can't imagine how relieved I am to see you." The words were soft as if his heart were in them. He touched her cheek to turn her head so he could see her eyes. She resisted and he said in a somewhat impatient tone, "I should see to you wounds. The shaman told me you had suffered a severe fall and a rattlesnake bite. Either could have been fatal." His words had the sting of a reprimand.

"What does not destroy me, makes me stronger," Tessa said with a haughty look.

Helm laughed. Nothing has damaged her spirit, he thought wryly. "I'd better look at the snake bite first. Where is it?" He took hold of the blanket and began to pull it away.

She tightened her grip on it and said indignantly, "Doctor! There are a dozen people standing around watching us. My wound has been tended to just fine." Her face flushed hotly as she watched him grinning at her.

"That didn't seem to bother you before."

"I was unconscious before. Now, if you would find my clothes for me, we can go home."

With a resigned sigh, he arose and handed her the saddlebag he had carried in. "Marta sent these along ... in case I found you. You might have asked me how she was." He turned on his heel and strode away, pushing through the group that stood gaping at her.

Tessa opened the leather satchel and found a skirt, a blouse and some fresh linens. She smiled at Marta's thoughtfulness, warmed by the reminder of the love of her friend. Dr. Helm was right, she thought guiltily. My first thought was for him, not Marta.

She looked up at the Indian woman who had been tending her and gestured to the clothes, then the group in the cave. At first, the woman didn't understand what she wanted, then she grinned and began to push the people out of the cave, with an unrelenting chatter of her strange language. The woman came back and helped Tessa as she unsteadily stood up and began to dress.

~~~~~

As she rode by Helm's side, Tessa wondered again what he was sorry about. It nagged at her curiosity and finally she had to ask. "What did you mean, 'I'm sorry'? Sorry for what?" Her voice sounded harsher than she meant it to be.

He glanced at her in annoyance and almost said, I'm sorry I found you. What did I expect? She would throw herself into my arms in an ecstasy of gratitude? Her pride is hurt and I haven't helped to heal it, only abraded it more. Somehow, everything I say seems to rub her the wrong way. Instead he said, "Forget it. Let's just get you back to your hacienda. Marta has been frantic with worry. Though that doesn't seem to concern you overmuch, does it?" He felt like biting his tongue as that last slipped out.

She pulled herself up more rigidly in the saddle as her chin lifted and she took a deep breath. "What do you know about my feelings?" She turned on him with a fierce glare. "They've never concerned you overmuch." With that, she kneed the horse into a canter, preventing any further conversation.

Helm hung back for a second, stung by her words. It was true. He had always treated Maria Theresa cavalierly. His finer feelings were reserved for her alter-ego, the Queen. Without thinking, he had reverted back to his disdainful manner with her, even though he now knew they were one and the same. Was there no way to get back the easy relationship he had built with the Queen? His mind was in turmoil as he urged his horse to follow hers. How was he to resolve this dilemma?

THE END

DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks, etc.

RATING: G

~~~~~

Tessa's head turned suddenly at the loud rattling and jangling of the coach as it halted in a cloud of dust in front of the hotel. The arrival of the stage coach was always an event, like the anchoring of a ship in Santa Helena's small harbour. Either event usually signalled a break in the dull routine of the sleepy little California pueblo. Her curiosity was piqued when the driver leaped to the ground and pulled down the step, then opened the coach door.

A dapper, but portly older man got out, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Tessa recognized him right away, and with a wide smile, walked swiftly toward the coach to greet him.

"Senor Wellesley!" she hailed. "What an unexpected pleasure to see you here again so soon." She held her hand out, and Edward Wellesley raised it to his lips and gallantly kissed it.

"The long journey was worth it to see your lovely face here to welcome me, Senorita Alvarado," he said, bowing effusively. "And how have things been in this Garden of Eden since I left?"

"Other than a few snakes, Senor Wellesley, it has been very peaceful." Tessa laughed, as she enjoyed watching the look of good humour on the Englishman's florid face. His high colour reminded her that he was probably suffering from the heat, especially in the dark suit that hung in rumpled creases on his ample frame. A man used to rich foods and good living, she thought, but this torridness may cause him a stroke if he does not get out of the sun soon. "Let us sit in the cantina and refresh ourselves, senor. It is much cooler in there."

"I must attend to my baggage first, senorita. Then get lodgings at the hotel. Perhaps we can meet a bit later." Wellesley pulled out a white handkerchief and mopped at his perspiring brow.

"But, of course, you will not stay in the hotel!" Tessa exclaimed as she smiled into his twinkling grey eyes. "Please accept the hospitality of my hacienda for your visit."

Wellesley raised his eyebrows slightly then laughed. "Spanish hospitality. It always surprises me. Your generous offer is accepted, Senorita Alvarado. Thank you. I have stayed in this hotel before and the food is not fit for pigs. The rooms are just barely passable. Of course, I have stayed in worse places, but I don't know where," he jested.

Tessa saw the coach driver watching them with apparent impatience. She said, "Driver, put Senor Wellesley's bags in that wagon over by the horse trough. Gracias," she added as he climbed onto the coach roof to remove the luggage. "That takes care of the your baggage, now shall we go to the cantina? Marta is in the market but perhaps she will join us when she is finished."

Minutes later, they were comfortably seated at a table which overlooked the town plaza. It was busy and colourful with stalls of goods and food, and crowded with people, shopping and chatting. Tessa spied Marta and signalled to her.

Marta set her market basket in the wagon, and walked over to the cantina to join the two at the table. Her face showed her pleasure at seeing Wellesley again, and she greeted him warmly. "Senor Wellesley, we did not expect to see you again so soon." She looked around and added, "No Spanish Ambassador, this time?" She grinned at his look of distaste.

"Thank God, no, Marta." He bent forward as if to offer a confidence. The two women leaned toward him. "I have a present for the Queen of Swords." He sat back in satisfaction at the curiosity he saw forming in their eyes.

Finally, Tessa blurted, "What is it? May I see?"

Wellesley looked around cautiously then slid something out of an inner pocket of his jacket. It seemed to be a small book, a slim volume with a soft leather cover. With a furtive air, he handed it to Tessa. "Don't let anyone see this, my dear. If Montoya got hold of it, it could mean my life." He seemed satisfied that she took in the import of his words and settled back to watch her open the book.

She gasped and her eyes flew to Marta's. Recovering quickly, she smiled at Wellesley. "The Adventures of the Avenging Angel? You wrote this?" she said in a conspiratorial tone. He nodded. She said, "I don't know what could be in here that could be so risky for you. Did you say anything about Montoya?"

"The truth." Wellesley's usually affable face grew serious. "Truth is always dangerous, even when you try to hide it in a work of supposed fiction. I changed the names, but the facts are there for anyone who knows them."

"I would like to read your book, Senor Wellesley. That is, if you have another copy."

"As it happens, I do. That copy is a gift from me to you." He bowed slightly and smiled at the way she clutched the book.

"Thank you, Senor Wellesley! Let us finish our wine and go to the hacienda," Tessa remarked as she placed the book under her shawl.

Her impatience amused him. Wellesley's eyes twinkled with pleasure at the sudden flush that rose to her cheeks, and the bright excitement in her dark eyes. What a beauty, he thought fondly. My descriptions of her in the book hardly begin to do her justice. Maybe the next novel. He arose and pulled out her chair, offering his arm gallantly as they stepped out into the blinding sunlight of the street.

**************

"I must see the Queen of Swords as soon as possible. Is there some way to contact her?" The corpulent Englishman glanced inquiringly between the two women, as he filled his briar pipe. He leaned back against the wicker chair on the Alvarado verandah, and waited for an answer.

"You could find yourself on the gallows for doing nothing. That always seems to work," Marta said drily.

Wellesley laughed. "Marta, you have such a sharp wit."

"Have I? I wasn't joking." Marta looked toward Tessa as if for corroboration.

"Why do you need to see her, Senor Wellesley? Just to give her the book or for a story?" Tessa asked carefully.

"Actually, I have a message for her ...from Spain." Wellesley noted the slight rise of the young senorita's eyebrows, and the sudden wariness in her eyes. The eyes always give the game away, he thought with grim satisfaction. "It's for her ears only. Since the deaths of the Viceroy and the Spanish Ambassador, this little pueblo has become a centre of attention at the High Court. There was some talk of either replacing Colonel Montoya with a more competent, and possibly more ruthless man, or sending a large contingent of soldiers here to increase the garrison. A third option has been proposed. That is my mission here. To offer the third option." He kept his face bland and affable, taking great care lighting his pipe, drawing on it with slow deliberate breaths. Buying time while the information sank in.

Finally, Tessa said, "I don't know of any way you could get to meet her, Senor Wellesley. She just seems to appear and disappear suddenly. No one knows who she is or where she lives. I would imagine she is very wary of traps, so you may have no luck in your quest."

Wellesley had to admire her poise. She must be dying of curiosity about that message, but she has kept her head. What a spy she would have made during the War! "I will just put it about that I want to meet with her for an interview, and perhaps she will come out of hiding. When she hears what I have come to say, it may make all the difference in the world to her."

He laid that ace card before her, and drew heavily on his pipe, casually blowing the smoke away from the ladies. He saw a look pass between the women and Marta's eyes almost imperceptibly warning 'no'. So that's the lay of the land, is it? Wellesley took another careful look at Marta. He had merely take her for a faithful servant, but now he could see she was much more than that to the senorita. An accomplice or a mentor? Most likely both, he decided. The Gypsy woman was far sharper than most would give her credit for. Not to be dismissed lightly. Wellesley congratulated himself on his keen perception. No wonder Montoya could never catch the Queen! He was only looking at part of the picture, the obvious part.

Wellesley could almost see the wheels turning in Tessa's mind as she processed the information. What would she do? This was always the exciting part. Watching the mouse scent the cheese, then audaciously but warily approach, unable to resist the lure. Could she resist? He would know in a few days. I am blessed with limitless patience, he complimented himself, and a penchant for taking infinite pains over my assignments. This little trip should earn enough for a comfortable retirement.

************

The Queen turned suddenly to find two soldiers closing in on her. "You bastard!" she shouted at Wellesley. "You set me up!"

As the first soldier reached for her, she jammed her boot into his knee and he hopped away, howling in agony. The second soldier pulled his gun but Tessa threw herself against him and he sprawled onto the ground. A boot to the jaw stopped his effort to get up, and she turned again on the first soldier. He held his sword uncertainly as she pulled her own and advanced on him. His face was pale and he seemed to want nothing more than to escape with his life. Suddenly, he threw his sword on the ground and ran to his horse.

As she watched him ride away, Tessa felt the hard barrel of a pistol shoved in her back.

"Drop your weapon, my dear. We'll have no more of that," a smooth English voice said behind her. He chuckled softly. "I have some advice for you, senorita. Trust no one."

"Thanks, but it comes a bit late, don't you think?"

Wellesley smirked to himself. It had been so easy. Why did Montoya fail time after time? He had scarcely finished this thought when she whirled and caught him in the midriff with a solid punch that dropped him as if he'd been poleaxed. He grunted in pain, as he doubled over on the hard ground, trying to catch his breath.

Tessa stood above him, holding her sword very near his heart. "What was it, Wellesley? The story or the reward?" she asked harshly.

Wellesley was finally able to breath and looked up at her. In her eyes was the anguish of betrayal. Yes, Wellesley thought, those eyes will give you away every time. So soulful and expressive. She's hurt and it shows. He felt a moment of pity for her. She had a hard lesson to learn.

"It was both, and something else."

"What? This phoney message that you lured me into a trap with?" she said bitterly. She had fallen for this meeting, supposedly arranged through Senorita Alvarado. The abandoned mission had seemed like a safe place, except for his double-dealing. She wondered why there were only two soldiers. Did he plan to kill them to get the reward for himself?

"I do have a message for you. From the King of Spain." Wellesley pushed himself to a sitting position. He decided not to risk trying to stand, not with that blade so close to his heart. He had no doubt she would plunge it in if he tried anything. Her eyes told him she was in deadly earnest. He saw a flicker of interest as she glared down at him. He could work with that.

"A petition has been made at the High Court that you receive a full pardon." Wellesley waited patiently while she absorbed this momentous bit of news.

For long minutes, she studied him, watching for a sign of deceit.

He remained perfectly still, allowing her scrutiny for as long as she wanted. He was a patient man.

At length, she said, "Why would anyone petition for my pardon? Who was it?"

"Don Alejandro Alvarado." Wellesley noted that her mouth opened slightly in surprise and she jerked back slightly as if warding off a blow. You'll need a lot more practice at deception, my dear, if you expect to survive, he thought. How have you lived this long?

"Why would he petition the King for me? I don't understand this."

"I spoke to Don Alejandro at the Royal Court just after he put in his petition. As you may know, the don has a lot of influence at Court, being a member of the Cortes. There is great turmoil at the Court these days. Trouble in all the Spanish colonies. Don Alejandro suggested that instead of sending more soldiers, which the Court could ill afford, they simply offer an unconditional pardon for the vigilante known as the Queen of Swords. She would stop her lawlessness, and the pueblo Santa Helena would be peaceful again. That is the option I was instructed to offer you, Senorita Reina."

"And if I refuse this pardon?" she asked breathlessly. The immensity of what was offered had nearly made her stagger. But it would not solve Santa Helena's problems, only her own. "Perhaps you do not understand the situation here, Senor Wellesley. I became a vigilante to try to curb the injustice and tyranny here in this area. The job won't be finished until Montoya is gone."

Wellesley laughed shortly. "Do you really think removing one tyrant will solve anything? 'I fear there will a worse come in his place.' From Shakespeare. It's the power that corrupts men, my dear. And some men, like Montoya, have dreams of empire, and like Napoleon, have no compunctions about sacrificing other men's lives to achieve their dreams. You can't fight them all, my dear girl. All that you will accomplish is to stave off the day when he wins. He has the power. You do not."

Tessa lowered her sword slightly, but kept it at the ready. The offer was so tempting. To quit while she was still young enough to begin her life again. If I take the pardon, what will happen? Will Montoya know about it? Will I be immune to arrest if he ever finds out I am the Queen? And if I quit, will his regime become more ruthless than ever with no one to stand against him?

She backed away warily, keeping an eye on Wellesley and the unconscious soldier. A whistle brought her horse to her and Tessa mounted quickly. "I will consider the offer, and let you know, Senor Wellesley." She kneed Chico into a fast gallop and headed for the Sacred Valley. It was the most peaceful place she knew, a place where she could think. I should see Marta and ask her advice, but right now I just want to be alone for a while.

************

Something seemed to tickle his neck and Wellesley tried to brush it off. His fingers encountered something cold and his eyes flew open. In the bright moonlight he saw the flash of a blade, held by a masked woman. He sighed with relief. "Thank God, it's you. I was afraid for a moment."

"Of what, ghosts?" the Queen asked, with a wry smile.

"Phantoms, more like." He pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed and focussed on the woman standing nonchalantly beside him. "Well, have you come to tell me your decision?"

Tessa wandered across the room and stood, uncertainty in her eyes as she watched him. "I've been tricked before, Senor Wellesley. How do I know you are bargaining in good faith?"

"If you will allow me, I will get the pardon and show you. It has the King's seal. All you have to do is sign it." He smiled benignly and the moonlight glinted in his eyes. She's like a deer that scents danger, he thought, as she moved uneasily around the room. A good hunter is patient, and lets the quarry settle before taking the shot.

"Let me see it." Tessa brought her sword up, and in her other hand was a pistol.

He hadn't reckoned on her having a gun. She's more dangerous than I thought. With a flourish, he threw off the bedclothes and stepped over to a leather valise that was sitting on the tiled floor. As he bent to open the catch, he heard the sound of a gun being cocked. So she knows how to use it too, he thought wryly.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," she warned. "I can't miss from this distance."

The moonlight was bright enough in the bedroom that he easily found the document and pulled it out. He began to move toward her with it, but she backed away.

"Put it on the desk and get back into bed." Tessa waited until he had obeyed her, then warily picked up the parchment and studied it in the bright moonlight. Sure enough, what looked like a royal seal was impressed upon it, with a scrawl that could have been a signature next to it. She held her breath, somewhat in awe of this page that had come from her King's hands. It was what Wellesley said it was. The room was light enough to make out the seductive words ...immunity from prosecution ...freedom of a Spanish citizen ...unconditional pardon for all previous offenses. Her heart beat wildly as she clutched the document. She trembled with the enormity of the offer.

On the desk was a quill pen and ink bottle. Tessa picked up the pen and stabbed it into the ink. Her gloved hand poised over the document. All she had to do was put her name on it. And she would be free of the masquerade with no fear of the consequence.

But what name, she wondered. Her real name? "What name am I expected to put on this document?" she asked.

"Why, the name you were christened with, my dear. Of course. It wouldn't be legal otherwise."

"What happens to the pardon after I sign it?" Her scalp prickled with a sense of danger suddenly.

"I will take it back to Spain with me and it will be recorded," Wellesley said casually. "Then you will be free to resume your life as a Spanish lady."

Tessa swallowed several times; the page shook in her hands. In a sudden rage, she ripped the document in half, then half again, and tossed it on the floor. She gave Wellesley a wry grin. "You nearly had me, Wellesley. I almost signed my own death warrant. But, no deal. Tell the King thanks, but no thanks. Not this time, anyway." She turned to leave but Wellesley's voice called her back.

"Brava, my dear," he said heartily as he got out of the bed. "Brava! That took courage ... and quick thinking. You have passed the test. Now I can tell you what my true mission is."

Tessa kept the gun pointed levelly at Wellesley's heart and he halted several feet from her. Her eyes hardened as if daring him to come closer. In a harsh voice, she asked, "Why should I trust you? You've been lying to me from the start. How do I know this isn't another part of an elaborate trap?"

Wellesley splayed his hands in front and sighed. "Does the name 'Wellesley' not suggest something to you, my dear?"

"Of course. Arthur Wellesley commanded the British troops in Spain during our War of Independence, which you call the Peninsular War." Tessa looked at the Englishman more closely. "Are you saying you are related to Wellington?"

"Distantly, but I am also in the service of his British Majesty. The Intelligence Service, actually." Wellesley sat down on the bed, seemingly relaxed in spite of the gun which was aimed at him. "The turmoil here in this area is part of a larger unrest everywhere in Spain's empire. The British have territories on this coast which we want to protect. If Montoya succeeds in gaining a strong foothold in Alta California, how far will he go? With the rumours of revolution in Mexico and South America, Spain has her hands full. She will not worry about a minor official in a small area like this. But we have seen tyrants rise before, and raise huge armies and take over whole continents. It is best to kill this one in the egg, before he gets a real start.'Tis the brighter day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking'." He smiled sheepishly, adding, "Shakespeare again. Sorry. Bad habit that."

Tessa frowned in confusion. Was he suggesting she kill Montoya? There had been many opportunities but she had always held back. Killing was a step she only took to save her own life. She had never done it in cold blood. Was that what his secret mission was?

"Why me, Senor Wellesley? If the British government wants to get rid of Montoya, why not kill him yourself?"

"Politics, my dear Queen. A British agent killing a Spanish official would cause a major rift in our relations with Spain. We've only had a few years of peace with your country as it is. No, it has to be done carefully, and subtly."

"I don't kill for anyone, Senor Wellesley!" Tessa rasped. "Only in self-defence. If you want Montoya removed, you will have to find someone else." She backed toward the open window, preparing to leave.

"We don't want him dead! That would ruin everything." He watched her expression change to surprise and enjoyed the sight immensely. "No, we only want you to keep him too busy to further him ambitions. Keep him off-balance and worried about his position. Sooner or later, Mexico will become independent, and may even take over Alta California. We have contingency plans for that. Meanwhile, we want to keep this area stabilized under Spanish control."

Wellesley smiled at her shocked look. "And in case you were wondering, The King of Spain did offer a pardon, the petition did come from your uncle and I was instructed to offer it to you. As a British agent, I have managed to get very close to the Spanish Court. Of course, they don't know about my real identity. That's between you and me. I know you can keep secrets, Maria Theresa Alvarado."

~~~~~

EPILOGUE

Tessa sat on the verandah, staring out across her lands. Marta followed her gaze and said, "It is peaceful again since Senor Wellesley left. He seems to bring trouble in his wake."

"But he is a good writer. And he said some very nice things about me in his book. Listen to this," Tessa said as she picked up the small volume. "The senorita was a feast for the eyes, a dark beauty with a flawless complexion and a hauntingly lovely smile. In sharp contrast was her frumpy old Gypsy duenna who ..." Tessa giggled as Marta dove toward the book and tried to take it.

"Let me see that! I kill him if he ever comes back!"

Tessa held firmly onto the book and laughed heartily, nearly falling off her chair at the look of vexation on Marta's face.

Marta wagged her finger warningly at the younger woman. "Someday, Tessa, you will go too far."

END

DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks owns them but doesn't deserve to.
RATING: G (for ghost)

~~~~~

It was one of the most amazing spectacles he had ever seen! Montoya stood transfixed by the vision as he stood upon the shore in the early morning chill. His gaze was directed at something far out on the ocean, beyond the combers that foamed over the reef, beyond the dark swells that billowed like blue satin in the weak sunlight, to the fog that shrouded the far horizon. Limned in the soft grey mist was the vague outline of a ship under full sail. From his vantage point, it looked ghostly, ephemeral. He felt his chest expand with longing as he watched the spectral ship which seemed to float eerily between ocean and sky. Like my dreams, he thought desolately, drifting elusively away just as they seem within sight. All my ambitions come to nothing, thwarted by Fate, by a masked woman who is determined to destroy me.

Montoya compressed his lips into a hard line, grimly remembering the cause of his being sent to this dreary outpost. Falsely accused of collaborating with the French during their occupation of Barcelona. I was only trying to keep the peace between the occupying army and the citizens. If I was a little harsh with the Barcelonians, it was only to stop the French from being more so. No one understood my intentions or believed me. Only my mother's title saved me from a worse fate than banishment to this hellish place. He sighed deeply as he watched the ship gliding southward. It's probably sailing back to Spain, he thought wistfully, as I wish I was able to do.

For long moments, Montoya contemplated the ghostly ship as it moved slowly across the horizon. The sound of hoofbeats on the strand made him turn with annoyance. A soldier rode up and leapt from his horse, then ran up to the colonel and snapped a smart salute.

"What is it?" Montoya rasped out irritably. "Can't a man have a few minutes to himself?"

The soldier swallowed loudly, and croaked, "I have a message for you, Colonel."

Montoya's shoulders sagged. He could guess what it was. "Well, give me the message, you idiot!"

"Senorita Alvarado asked me to tell you she is waiting in your office with the fine to pay for her worker who was arrested yesterday for drunkenness." The message came out in a great rush as if the soldier was glad to be rid of it. He watched the colonel warily, waiting for his reaction. It was not what he expected.

"Tell her I will be with her in a few minutes," the colonel said, world-weariness edging his tone. He turned to gaze once more at the ship, but it had vanished into the mist. He laughed shortly, but continued to watch the horizon, hoping for another glimpse of the ship. Somehow that vision seemed to tug on his soul, reminding him of the younger Montoya with his head full of dreams and heart full of passion. Now he felt dead inside except when roused to wrath. The only passion I seem to have left is rage, he thought morosely.

He didn't know how much time had passed before the sound of sand being scuffled brought him back to the present. Glancing to his right, he saw Senorita Alvarado trudging down the beach toward him, a grim expression on her face. He felt a moment of guilt, then annoyance. He remained where he stood, determined not to give way to her.

"Colonel Montoya," she began a little breathlessly. "I waited for you and you did not appear. The time for the punishment is getting close and I am here to pay the fine." Her voice was tinged with exasperation. She added, "I think Pedro has been punished enough for his misconduct. A night in your horrid jail and the sickness that followed his excesses will have taught him a lesson. There is no need for a flogging."

Though she tried to keep her voice reasonable, Tessa heard its hard edge and watched Montoya reacting to it. But I have to try, she thought in desperation. She noted the set of the colonel's jaw as he stood more rigidly and his cold eyes flicked over her. He is obstinately opposed to me for some reason, she mused as she searched for a way to ameliorate the cruel punishment that awaited her worker.

"Colonel, if you persist with this flogging, my worker will be disabled for days. There is much to do on my hacienda, and I can't spare even one man. Please, accept the fine, and dismiss the punishment."

"Senorita Alvarado," Montoya began patiently, "If I let him off so lightly, what message does that send to others? That they can do as they like and others will pay the price? The peons are like children. They require a firm hand, and as you seem unable to wield it, others must do it for you. The flogging will go on as planned, as much to punish the drunken peasant as a warning to others. Now, I must return to my duties to oversee the disciplining of your errant worker." This last was said as a rebuke and he observed with grim pleasure as Tessa recoiled slightly.

"Take half of the fine, and give half of the punishment, Colonel," Tessa persisted. She reached out to restrain him, and pleaded with her eyes. Marta had told it would be useless to reason with him, but Tessa would not give up so easily. She could see him considering, perhaps relenting. She watched his eyes warm slightly as they passed over her and wondered what he was thinking. A warm flush rose to her cheeks as it occurred to her that he might think she was offering herself in exchange for a pardon for her worker. She removed her hand from his sleeve and stepped back a pace.

He smiled grimly. "I accept your terms. Give the money to Grisham. Now, I must return to the pueblo to see to the discipline." He walked toward his horse, then turned. "Are you coming to watch, Senorita?" He saw her chin come up haughtily and her dark eyes flashed angrily at him. Why would she be interested in that bloodless English doctor, when she could have a Spaniard to unleash that passion that is always seething below the surface? A man like myself who knows the ways to please a woman, he thought, as his hot gaze slowly took in the way her breast rose and feel deeply with emotion. If only ... he left that thought unfinished as he waited for her answer.

"No!" she snapped, then more moderately added, "I will come to the doctor's office after he has attended to Pedro's wounds, then I will take him home in my wagon." She clenched her jaw and turned to look out over the ocean. The sound of hoofbeats diminished and Tessa's spirits dropped to a low ebb as she contemplated the fate awaiting her poor worker.

On the horizon, she saw a ship emerge from the mist, its white sails billowing in the warm breeze. Reflectively, she watched as it sailed south, probably on its way back to Spain. I wish I could be on that ship, she thought longingly. When I was in Spain, I had no responsibilities. I did as I liked. Now, I have so many burdens, it sometimes seems unbearable. A hacienda to run, workers to pay and their demands to attend to, and of course, the Queen's obligations and risks. What would it be like to be on that ship, free at last of all these cares? Like that ship, I am following my destiny, into whatever storms and perils it may lead me. Tessa sighed heavily, trying to keep her thoughts from what was happening in the pueblo.

Sunlight caught the sails of the ship suddenly, creating a radiance almost hurtful to look at. Will my future someday be as brilliant as those sails, she wondered hopefully.

END

DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks, etc.
RATING: G
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: This piece was inspired by brig's lovely and enigmatic vignette
FEEDBACK: always welcome

~~~~~

The sun angled through the window, one shaft highlighting her wild tangle of hair, as she set down her hairbrush. She grimaced at her reflection, giving up on trying to tame the unruly curls. She turned to survey her room--everything was neat and tidy, her bed made, clothing folded and put away. Her own things surrounded her in this big room, though it was sparsely furnished. She found an odd satisfaction in the bedroom's meagre adornments--the accumulation of a lifetime all gathered in one place, one solid place. She smiled at the thought. If she had remained with her people, she would have had none of this. All her belongings would have been crammed into a wagon that never stayed in one place very long.

Guiltily, she glanced at the letter on the table near the window. It seemed to beckon her with its demand to be read again... and answered. Her brother, Rafael, had written to her from somewhere in Andalusia. The red seal was broken though the letter had been refolded. What could she say to him? In his halting scrawl, he wrote to remind her of her duty to her own people. She felt the pull of the blood toward them. It was a constant in her life, this mystical union with the gitano. Like part of her own body, she was always aware of them; unconsciously she carried them in her mind. Now, Rafael wanted her to return and take her place as the healing woman for the band. The woman her mother had been training to take her place had married and left for another troupe. They needed her, Rafael said. Her mother was getting old; her days were numbered.

Marta sat at the table, taking up the letter to read it again. What can I say? Am I selfish to want to stay with someone I love? Am I abandoning my people to follow the destiny of another who needs me too? She thought of the small hoard of silver and gold coins she had saved. I have enough for my passage to Spain. I do not need to ask Tessa for it. I can go anytime I want to. She would never try to hold me. And yet, the thought of that parting made her heart heavy. And she was frightened to think of Tessa, here alone, facing the dangers she so recklessly plunged into. Marta shook her head, chilled at the thought. I could never forgive myself if anything should happen to her while I went back to take my place with the gitano. Which is the greater good? If I left her, would she continue to wear the mask, risk her life for justice? Marta sighed. She knew the answer. Even without me, she would do it.

She unstoppered an ink bottle near her hand and picked up a quill pen. After several more minutes of thought, Marta dipped the pen into the ink and began to write on a clean sheet of paper.

"My dear brother, I am pleased to find in your letter that Mama is well. I send you both my most heartfelt love. You are never absent from my thoughts and prayers. I have read your letter many times, and weighed my duty to my people against my duty to Tessa. This has not been an easy choice to make. But I am needed here more. I cannot explain why, but trust me, Rafael, when I say the band will survive without me, but Tessa may not...."

Later, as Marta folded the letter, she heard the sounds of someone else moving about the house. Tessa was up, probably getting her breakfast. She smiled to herself as she arose from the table. She doesn't need to know about the choice I have had to make. But I think, it was the right one, and I can live with it.

--Maril

RATING: G

"The backbone of surprise is fusing speed with secrecy. " - Von Clausewitz

~~~~~

MADRID, NOVEMBER 1812

The drumming of thousands of booted feet pounded through the Puerta del Sol, as the Madrileños watched the endless column of French soldiers parade past. The spectacle of this long line of grim-faced men, moving like some single-minded animal through their city, had the intended effect -- the citizens were terrified and drained of resistance.

Many furtive glances from the soldiers toward the dark-haired young woman, observing from the sidelines, brought a chill to her Gypsy companion. The stories of the atrocities committed by the armies of both sides on the towns they had 'liberated' rose alarmingly to her mind. Tessa must be protected from that. She took the young girl's arm. "Let's go, Tessa. We have seen what we came to see."

Reluctantly, the young woman allowed herself to pulled back through the crowd and they retraced their steps toward their villa on a back street near the Plaza Mayor. Tessa felt subdued by the sheer numbers of the soldiers, their unbending discipline. It was no wonder they had conquered half the world! The disorganized Spanish forces had no chance against them. Only the British could save Spain, if they only would.

As Tessa entered their villa, she was quiet, and preoccupied by the fate of her city, her country. Madrid had seemed like a pawn between the French invaders and the British liberators. It has passed back and forth several times, and was once more under occupation by the French. She sighed disconsolately as she climbed the stairs to her room. Once inside, she closed the door and suddenly felt a hand clamp over her mouth. Her brief struggle ended when Antonio whispered in her ear, "Tessa, it's me. I had to see you before I go."

She turned in his arms and embraced him fiercely. "No. Antonio, you must not go into the war. Finish your university. No one will think less of you."

"I will. Besides, I have to go. I think they suspect me." Antonio's handsome face studied hers with an intensity that Tessa found disconcerting. It was almost as if he was trying to imprint her features on his memory. Tears rose into her eyes.

She swallowed and drew in a deep breath to regain control of her emotions. "Who suspects you? Of what?"

Antonio released her and stepped away as if considering what to tell her. Finally, he said, "I have been working as an courier for the British, relaying messages to their agents in the city. There is a large network of spies in Madrid and all of Spain. We are helping the British by giving them information about the French troops, how many, where they are located. Many Spaniards are in the British army, translating for them, guiding them through Spain and the cities. I will become one of those." He grinned proudly, his excited manner suggesting he couldn't wait to leave.

Tessa found it difficult to imagine her lover, the vain and indolent Antonio, as a spy, a soldier. Her heart ached at the thought of his leaving, perhaps getting killed in this terrible and needless war. "I don't understand this, Antonio. How do you receive the messages? Where do you take them?"

He chucked her affectionately under the chin. "That is not for you to know. All I want you to do is remain safe, and wait for me. When I return, we will marry."

She persisted. This idea of an underground of resistance was new to her, and she wanted to know everything. "If you loved me, you would trust me. I want to share your dangers and be proud of your brave actions against the French."

Antonio drew himself up more firmly under her praise. "You know of Señor Juan Torres, the fencing Maestro?" Tessa nodded, and he continued, "Señor Torres is the hub of the network. He moves freely about the city, teaching fencing privately, as well as giving group lessons. No one would suspect him. He has seemed to collaborate with the French, giving some of their officers lessons as well. As you know, I am one of his students and he recruited me to act as a courier for him. But now I must leave Madrid with a very important message for General Wellesley."

Tessa frowned in concentration. "Who will take your place and run the despatches if you leave Madrid?"

"Señor Torres has many contacts. It will not be difficult to replace me." Antonio moved to embrace her and Tessa clasped him closely, her mind whirling with thoughts.

~~~~~

The youth swung casually down the narrow street, stepping lightly over the garbage strewn on the cobblestones of this poor barrio. He passed several pensiones, then entered the doorway of one and quickly ran up the steps to the second floor. A tap at a certain brought an immediate response. It was opened and a tall man leaned out. His face showed surprise at the slim young dandy standing before him. The youth seemed equally taken aback by the man. The occupant of the pensione was tall and dark-haired. A scar running down his right cheek gave him a roguish and somewhat menacing look, as did the coolness of his grey eyes. He was dressed like a poor peasant in a tattered white shirt, a leather vest and a pair of dark and much patched trousers.

The youth found his voice and croaked, "The backbone of surprise..." then waited.

The man glanced into the corridor, then brusquely pulled the young man inside and closed the door. In a deep, gravelly voice, he said, "...is fusing speed with secrecy." The man's Spanish was rough but intelligible. He scowled at the youth, causing the boy to move uneasily and avert his gaze to study the roughly furnished room. The man bowed and picked up the youth's hand, kissing it gallantly. "My compliments, ma'am, on your bravery. My own wife is an agent of the Spanish. The enemy always underestimates the courage of the women in the resistance." His eyes, which had warmed briefly, were suddenly coolly professional again. "Do you have something for me?"

Tessa handed over what looked like an engraved invitation. It was a coded message. The man accepted it and placed it in the pocket of his vest.

"I'm Lieutenant Sharpe, ma'am. You'll be contacting someone else next time, and at a different location. Here is the message for Espada." Sharpe handed a tattered paper to her and she shoved it into her own pocket. He bowed again, and took her hand. "Vaya con dios, señorita." With that, he opened the door, and ushered her out.

Tessa felt almost limp with relief as she descended the stairs into the street. She resisted the urge to grin at her success; she had fulfilled her mission and had a message for Señor Torres. A sense of great accomplishment made her chest swell with pride as she hurried through the barrio toward her villa. She had proved to Espada that she could be entrusted with these despatches, though the fencing master might not always use her. She was finally doing something important; she had a mission in this war, and would be part of the liberation of her country.

END

DISCLAIMER: Fireworks owns 'em

~~~~~

The oriental rug had been rolled out of the way as the dancing class began. The dancing master glanced down the row of nubile young women and smiled. They were his to command for the duration of the class, and he enjoyed the sensation. To instruct and criticize, to watch as these clumsy girls learned the finer points of social dancing -- that was his vocation in life. He took it seriously, and would not allow for any deviation from the acceptable dancing techniques he taught. Perfection above all.

He noticed the Gypsy woman standing by the door, watching her ward, young Maria Theresa. The Gypsy had a bowl and wooden spoon in her hand, evidently making something for the girls for after their class. The classes were conducted at the Alvarado villa in Madrid, as his school had been taken over as a barracks for the British soldiers. The dance master grimaced at the woman, then at the girl. Maria Theresa was a trial, but she was letting them use her house for free. The girl was graceful enough, and could have been a reasonably good dancer, but she was inattentive and capricious. Whenever the master left the room, Maria Theresa would have the girls giggling with her antics, making up crazy dances and teaching them to the other girls. She had no sense of discipline, of decorum. Even the threat of a novena of rosary beads had no effect on her.

This day, the dancing master had left the salon for only a few minutes, and when he returned, Maria Theresa had all the girls lined up doing strange motions with their hands and very suggestive movements with their hips, then they would jump and turn. He was scandalized at first, then began to enjoy their new dance.

"Maria Theresa, what do you call this dance?"

"It has no name. I just made it up, Señor Macarena."

- Maril