THE RECONNAISSANCE

by MnD
yuanne@aol.com

CHARACTERS: T M DrH

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

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

~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~

Depending on feedback... to be continued?

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

Vera twirled her umbrella and turned to her friend. "It is very hot today, no? The sun seems to enjoy our company more than the rain clouds." Tessa nodded in agreement and fanned herself.

"Indeed. Oh, there is the Colonel! Shall we greet him?" Vera smiled her concurrence, ready for anything that would distract herself from the heat. "Colonel Montoya!"

The Colonel turned from his horse to search for the voice that called out to him. "Ah, Senora Hidalgo, Senorita Alvarado!" He smiled politely and kissed each chastely on the hand.

"How is your horse, Colonel?"

"It is doing well, thank you for your concern."

"Would you like to join us for some lemonade? Tessa is holding a small fiesta at her hacienda." Tessa rolled her eyes inwardly, but smiled brightly.

"Oh yes, Colonel, your presence would be a great addend to my fiesta."

"Ah, Senorita, I am sorry, but I have business to attend to. While I know that your …Marta, was it? makes very good lemonade, I must work. I know you understand. Good day, ladies." He nodded to them and walked off to the stables, leading his horse.

"Come Tessa, let us move out of the sun, it becomes unbearably warm."

"Well, you could always sit on a big block of ice." Tessa muttered under her breath as she followed Vera into the shade.

Feed me. (or flame me)

SYNOPSIS: Santa Helena turns into a war zone.
WARNING: Not a happy fic.
CHALLENGE RESPONSE: A block of ice, horse, umbrella, "Hello Devil. Welcome to Hell."

~~~~~

"Hello Devil. Welcome to Hell."

"Pardon?" The Queen of Swords turned to the doctor. They were standing atop the bluffs, looking down at the carnage below. Encouraged by the Queen's defiance, the peasants had staged a revolt against Montoya. Unfortunately for them, they were simply too unorganized. It didn't help that Captain Grisham had maneuvered a squadron of the Colonel's guard and a cannon into the middle of their forces, leaving them separated and disoriented. After that, it had been slaughter. Dr. Helm shook his head and rubbed his face against his shoulder- his hands and fore arms were covered in blood.

"I blame this on you, you know. If you hadn't encouraged them…"

"Then they would be under Montoya's heel, ground into the land they tilled!"

"Well they still are!" Helm bit back caustically, unable to recreate his usual roar of indignation. He was too exhausted. "Except this time, the taxes have been doubled, and half of the able bodied men are dead!" The Queen fell silent. Helm shifted awkwardly, sorry for his outburst, but unwilling to apologize. After all, I'm right…aren't I?

Finally the Queen lifted her head and set her shoulders stubbornly. "I will help them. I will save them."

She stalked off to where he assumed she had hidden her horse. You, you, you, blah, blah, blah. He turned back to the smoking landscape of tattered cloth and strewn bodies. A group of small children were moving among the bodies, checking each for any possessions of value or scraps of food. Not that they'll find any. He saw one of the older children helping one that couldn't be more than three years old fashion an umbrella out of a tree branch and manta. I came here to escape war. The fighting. The blood. It seems to have followed me. Will I ever be free? Will I ever be able to prevent death instead of causing it? I grieve and dare not show my discontent/ I love and yet am forced to seem to hate/ I do, yet dare not say I ever meant/ I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate. He seriously considered leaving Santa Helena, and his life there, as he clambered down from the rocks.

"Doctor Helm." The voice startled him and he fell. Luckily, he was almost at the bottom already. A strong hand reached out to steady him, then kept its grip, tightening painfully. He looked up.

"Colonel."

"Doctor." They stared at each other for a moment, then the colonel removed his hand.

"This is a dangerous place for a lone man to travel in. Any man. You should take precautions, doctor. You're much too valuable to lose to bandits or vengeful peasants." Montoya's expression was pleasant, and his voice conversational, but his eyes held as much warmth as a block of ice. Helm smiled benignly and took a step to one side.

"Yes, well, I'll just be leaving now." He brushed by Montoya and strode away quickly, anticipating the guards to jump him. Surprisingly, they held their positions and let him pass. Montoya watched the Englishman leave, and narrowed his eyes. The doctor would go free…for now.

END

~~~~~

NOTE: 'Ciudad del Diablo' means town/city of the Devil

~MnD

"Tessa, look!" Marta pointed in the direction of Beggar's Canyon. Tessa turned to do so and was just as shocked by what she saw.

"Christ!" A man with white paint covering his face and black clothing ran up to them, waving franticly and gesturing wildly. Marta frowned. "What is it." More gesturing. "No horses up there? No cattle in the ranches? Zero llamas on a mountain?" The strange man shook his head and turned to Tessa.

"Hey, don't look at me, I was just going to call on the Holy virgin for patience and help..." The mime repeated his actions, slower this time. "Er...rope? tying...? Yes? Okay...tying...sounds like....cup? bowl? ...vessel? yes? tying vessel? Oh...tying... ves...vestal? Tying...the vestal virgin? What? You're tying up the vestal virgin? No...okay, tying the vestal virgin to...a pole...a cross? a bed? a bed? a bed....post? YOU'RE TYING THE VESTAL VIRGIN TO A BED POST?!" The mime jumped back, and Marta never got to figure out just what he had been trying to say, because Tessa had pulled out a knife and was now stalking angrily towards the poor fellow. He took one look at the angry woman and bolted.

Tessa looked defiantly at Marta and sheathed the knife. Marta didn't say anything for a full minute, so Tessa began the conversation again. "He was....uh...sort of scary."

"To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom."

"Yeah? I'm still really confused."

"So am I." There was a long pause.

"Want some lemonade?"

~MnD
(not my fault it's like 3 in the morning or something...damnit i told my muse not to raid the wine cellar...)

If someone wants to make this an RR, I only ask that the word "War" remain in each title... pleeease??? ::sad puppy face::

Thanks to ABs for the quick look-over.

WARNINGS: I get a leeeetle gruesome in some parts...so...be warned.

~~~~

Robert Helm held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth and braced himself against another heavy bout of coughing. The dust. The gunpowder. The blood. I'm a bloody spy, not a common solder. He screamed in his mind as he struggled to his feet. He reached for his rifle and ducked away as a bullet buried itself into the body that he lay next to. Partially sheltering himself behind a cactus, he held up the rifle. Reload. Lock. Aim -- low, man, low! Fire! The report went unheard in the din of battle, and only the recoil of the gun alerted him to the fact that he had indeed fired.

Because of the unexpected numbers of the enemy's forces, he had been asked to join the foot soldiers. Well, not asked, told. Reassigned to the bloody common regiment. Apparently, they needed manpower, not behind the lines information. Helm quickly moved back as another shower of bullets came his way, catching a sleeve on a cactus spine and tearing both coat sleeve and skin. Damn them. Ah, well, it's only a scratch. What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Hah, what does not destroy me, will destroy my enemy! He fired towards the enemy lines, and in the momentary lull in the battle, he could hear pain-filled screams resonate through the musty air. He grinned with a feral satisfaction. So the job wasn't completely joyless... Bugger the damned Frogs! Tis the brighter day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking. He laughed exuberantly, caught up in the heat of the battle.

Drawing his battered sword, he lunged at the equally crazed soldier that was intent on skewering him. Fortunately for Helm, he was just as good a fighter when caught in bloodlust, as when he was clearheaded. The French officer did not have the same fortune, and was impaled by Helm's sword as his own pierced the cactus. With a gurgling sigh, he fell at an awkward angle before death over came him and he released his grip on his sword. Helm wrenched his arm backwards, and his sword pulled free. He whirled around, ready to charge into the fray. By pure luck, the second French cavalryman's blade missed him by inches as he turned.

Helm swore with vivid oaths that would make a corsair blush and threw himself to the ground. He received a slash to the leg for his troubles, but managed to scramble out of the way to avoid a second blow. The cavalryman's heavy blade swished through the air and sunk into the cactus as he fell forward. Helm took advantage of the man's distraction and thrust upwards into the man's stomach. Blood cascaded down onto him and he tried to drag himself from underneath the writhing body and still maintain his grip on his trusty foil. The French sword swooped down at an alarming rate...

TBC? If no one wants to make this an RR, I will finish the story (well... maybe not finish, just get the Doc outta harms way)

~MnD