SERVANT OF THE PEOPLE SERIES

A WORKING ALLIANCE

NOTE: This takes place a bit outside my 'Helm' series....this gives the doctor a slightly different background. By the time I'm done, Doc Helm might consider Jack T.R. a pleasant fellow. *eg*

~~~~~

Dear Robert,

Mother and I, as are your other brothers and sisters, are most concerned for your well-being, off in that grimy Spanish land. Father says that, should you continue to, in his words, 'do nothing for your family or your heritage, then consider yourself no longer a Helm.

Dear brother, I know that you hold chivalric ideals close to your heart, and hope to marry for love and not prestige or any such nobility....but to lose the name of Helm? Surely your war against Napoleon freed up a great many lovely young ladies, did none of them catch your eye? I beg of you, brother, to please come to your senses, and marry, return to the family Estates here in England.

The Helm family has survived for over a thousand years, Robert. We have endured civil wars, insurrections, plots and intrigue. Please, do not throw all that history away simply for the sake of being stubborn: that is the American's task, it is what they do, not we.

If you will not tell Father or Mother, then at least tell me. Why did you run once the fighting was done? With Mother Britain victorious, why did you leave the battlefield, leave the Continent and Isles? Is it because of what Uncle Erasumus told us of his time in India? Is that it?

Go with God - return home.

Thom Richard Helm

~~~~~

Doctor Robert Helm finished reading the letter, and pushed it away for now. He'd just finished stitching up another Don, and was already regretting reading the latest mail delivery.

In a way, their uncle was at fault, but only for providing a name to Robert's feeling in his heart, in his gut. From what he'd heard, when a worldly man felt that he had achieved enough, he would put everything of his aside, and take up the begging bowl. A deliberate lowering of the self, devoting oneself closer to enlightenment.

To Robert Icabod Helm, he'd felt that urge after the end of the war. That same feeling that one could do no more in his present direction, save more of the same...to continue would have become boring, tedious. How he hated tedium.

Robert had certainly considered marriage, both in the aftermath of the war, in Nueva Espana, and in Alta California. But the ones who'd caught his eye were either married or socially unacceptable - at least in the eyes of the Helm family.

Grandfather certainly came to mind; he'd married - against family wishes - the daughter of chimney-sweeps. When the young lady had been moved to the country with a large sum of money, and Grandfather re-married in a arranged marriage, he'd only had three children...small numbers compared to the normal large Helm brood.

There were only two candidates in Alta California, one socially better than the other. Dona Alvarado and her Duenna Marta Alvarado. Both women were sharp-tongued and dangerous with various objects - he'd treated some of Mary Rose's men for burns and concussions, courtesy of Marta.

Robert stood up, placing the letter back in the envelope, and the envelope into his riding satchel. He would at least broach the offer to the Senorita. After all, she had as much to gain as he - didn't she? At any rate, it would be a long horse ride to her hacienda, time enough for second-guessing, if he let himself.

~~~~~

Later, Robert I. Helm stood in the room which held the painting of Don Alvarado. Part of the doctor was too nervous to sit, another part was respectfully waiting for her in military tradition, while a tiny part was grousing that he'd landed back in the lap of luxury.

Finally, the doors opened and Senorita Alvarado entered, her Duenna standing at the doorway. Robert nodded to her, acknowledging her presence. The unwritten law of Spanish society dictated that, whatever Robert had to tell Maria Teresa, he had to say in the presence of Marta Alvarado.

Robert laid his plan before them, not caring at this point if either of them was a spy for the Spanish Royal Court, or even for Montoya. Robert Helm refrained from chuckling. Didn't Sun Tzu mention something about double- and triple-spies?

Tessa considered his proposal, such as it was. Doctor Helm was indispensable to Montoya - particularly to the Colonel's health plan. A marriage would make her hacienda as near to inviolate as could be hoped for. She was a single woman, as her uncle had bluntly pointed out. She could not live on her own - so to speak - forever.

"I think we could come to an arrangement," Tessa told him.

"That's good to hear," Robert replied. "There's one thing, and it may be a little problem, or not."

"And what is that?" Tessa asked. Is he asking me to go to England? What about my appearances as the Queen?

"I'm an Anglican," he replied.

~~~~~

GUILT

NOTE: blame Maril, her story 'The Joker' inspired this!

Tessa's perspective.

~~~~~

If I go to Britain to marry, then the Queen will be noticeably absent, and people may correctly deduce who the Queen is during her off-hours. With something like that known, dare I ever return to Santa Helena? In light of recent events, perhaps that is best...or is it?

Stepping out of Church, I shade my eyes from the bright summer sun. I'd asked as carefully as I could - once the Mass was over, and I could speak with the Padre alone - without arousing suspicion. And what do I find? I learn that no gold had been left for the Church.

I cannot even blame Montoya in my own mind. It is my fault. Mine because I am the Queen Of Swords. I appointed myself responsible for the people, so I am accountable to the people - even if I am the only one who judges me.

I can see soldiers still running around the pueblo, and Captain Grisham does not look pleased. Has he been out in the sun all day so far? Indeed, has he gotten any sleep at all - permitted or otherwise - since I fought him off during my escape last night?

That man last night, after doctor - Robert - Helm had left to let me decide, he'd told me that he was following my example, stealing money from Montoya to give to the poor and the Church. And a large part of me fears that he had no intention at all of giving to anyone but himself.

That little liar! Did he work with Montoya to tar the Queen's reputation, or was he acting alone? It doesn't really matter, I have to catch him either way.

I have to find him, and either make him return the money....or steal the money back from him. A smile rises on my lips. Me, as the Queen, returning gold to Montoya. A delightful irony, is it not?

~~~~~

MEDICAL CONSIDERATIONS

Robert's perspective.

~~~~~

In a way, it was cruel of me to make my decision the way that I did. Had I proposed to Marta, my family would either repeat the incident from Grandfather's day, or made the two of us live in Britain with them. But by proposing to Maria, there is every chance that I would be able to stay here.

Yes I'm a plucky bastard...though usually it's French soldiers saying it to me, just before I twisted my bayonet through their -

Ahh, and my next patient through the door is Senora Vera Hidalgo. "If you'll have a seat, Senora," I tell her. Normal routine with her: take her pulse, check her throat, hope she doesn't put any moves on me...

I can still recall the conversation I had with Maria Teresa in Marta's earshot....I'd let her read the letter, then told her ~I wish to marry you, Senorita~ and seeing the look on her face - maybe it hadn't been a good idea to let her read that, or perhaps it was; ~A marriage of convenience, nothing more. Something to let me stay in this country.~

Dona Alvarado's face went through a panoply of expressions, from hurt to puzzled, and then to a thoughtful consideration, a calculating look that was not entirely cold. Something tells me that if she'd been in Napoleon's employ, nothing could have defeated them! ~I will consider it,~ she told me.

Considering's always a good thing. It means that they haven't said No yet...yet.

...and why doesn't Senora Hidalgo have a pulse?

"Doctor, you are hurting me," she tells me.

I let go abruptly, instinctively, and see the white finger-sized marks on her wrist where I was holding her. "I'm terribly sorry, Senora," I tell her honestly. My mind was wandering.

"Is it a woman on your mind?" Vera asks me, not putting the moves on me.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," I admit, slowly nodding after a bit. "I've asked someone to marry me." Well, may as well get it out in the open. After all, there's no death penalty for being turned down.

"Congratulations," Vera Hidalgo tells me, proud for me. Aww, thank you, Senora. I say as much, though wisely leave out the 'aww.'

~~~~~

TBC?

Something tells me this should've been named 'Green Card'. :)

IN MEMORANDUM?

DEDICATED TO: Deborah Samson (b. 1759-1827)

This is attached to no series of mine.

~~~

"It's the Queen!" one of the soldiers called out as they crested the dry hill, a strong baritone voice to him. Pizaro was his name, a quiet and unassuming young man.

The Queen started up the next hill, when she heard the sound of hoof beats coming from that direction as well. At first shrugging it off as an echo induced by the nature of this land, she soon saw that she was wrong - there was another group of soldiers riding at the top of this hill too!

One of the soldiers, a man by the name of Rodriguez, who held hopes of a rapid rise through the ranks, had taken several soldiers with him to this position, flanking the Queen. Let's see her escape this time!

The Queen looked at one wing of soldiers, and then the other. There was only one route open for her, and she had to hope that no bandits had re-taken the place she had in mind. Spurring her horse around and into a quick trot, she rode off, the two wings not converging.

The original band of soldiery did fulfill her expectations, riding down the slope after her in the valley. The second group, the flanking wing, was racing along on the hilltop. Are they expecting many easy slopes after this? the Queen wondered.

The Queen led them on a not-exactly-merry chase, across a tiny stream gurgling it's last, and towards a cave that was close by some ruins she'd seen once - though it'd been at a distance at the time. She raced through the shattered pueblo and into the mouth of the cave. Dismounting, she loosened some rocks so no horsemen could come after her, and hid her own horse in a side-passage that wasn't readily apparent from either side of the mountain. She then returned to the pueblo, to deal with the riders.

But there were still a few missing, part of her mind noted. But she was soon too busy fending off the attacks of the soldiers who were here to concern herself with the ones who weren't.

And then there was only her and Pizaro, who'd held back a little in battle, being not as strong as some of his compatriots.

A knife flicked through the air, missing them both, and striking the wall behind Tessa. Both the Queen and Pizaro looked to the source of it: Rodriguez, come from through the tunnel - not a cave as Tessa'd first thought.

The Queen took advantage of the situation by knocking Pizaro's hat from off his head, and tightly gripping his hair, her sword at his throat. "Drop your weapons," she commanded, a little winded from all the fighting.

Tessa could remember being in this exact position, trying to keep her Uncle from shooting her. The Queen's grip on Pizaro's thick hair only strengthened.

Rodriguez, seeing his chance, fired his pistol. Pizaro went limp in the Queen's grip.

As Rodriguez pulled back the hammer for his second - and last - shot, the Queen lashed out with her whip. No sooner was the shooter gripped with the leather than she yanked it and him towards her, sending him sprawling on the ground...and a gunshot sounded.

The Queen felt no injury, and hadn't seen anything in the dirt around her. Easing Pizaro down against the adobe wall, she went to go see if Rodriguez was willing to give up yet.

When he wouldn't respond to her voice, the Queen flipped him over, her mind expecting some sort of a trap laid out for her. What she saw was shrapnel, blood, a broken gun, and more blood. Rodriguez was dead.

"Go on," Pizaro moaned; "I'm next, aren't I?"

The Queen turned around to see Pizaro reaching for his gun or his sword, whichever he got to first. She shook her head in a 'don't try it, please' look, and - astonishingly enough - Pizaro complied, his hand going back down to his side. The Queen walked over to him. "I don't want to kill."

"Liar!" the wounded soldier spat with as much venom as he could manage in his state.

"I don't lie," the Queen told him, and the Tessa part of her tried not to delve too deeply into that one - it was either truth or a necessary lie, and - STOP THAT! she hollered at herself. "But Colonel Montoya -"

"El Colonel is a ray of light in our beleaguered lives, a glimmer of hope...and you come to mock him, to rob us all."

"I only take what Montoya has taken from the people, and I return it to the peasants and dons that it belongs to."

"You're an agent of the dons then," Pizaro stated flatly, his voice breaking with the strain, sweat beading on his face. "You're a mercenary," with no emotion to it.

"I'm taking you to a doctor," Tessa said, ending the seemingly fruitless argument, and ignoring Pizaro's weak objections. Of course, the Queen told her, they're my ears.

~~~~~

After seeing him through Doctor Helm's doorway, Tessa stopped to ask the doctor - who seemed to recognize this man - "Will he make it, doctor?"

Helm's eyebrow was raised. "You actually shot someone this time?" Was that amazement or admiration in his tone; given who this was, the former was more likely.

"Another soldier tried to shoot through him," the Queen delivered matter-of-factly. "That one isn't the problem. Will this one - will he -"

"She'll be fine," Helm said, correcting the Queen's grammar. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a wound to tend," half-glaring as he closed the door on her.

Tessa walked slowly to her horse. A woman in the ranks of Montoya's soldiers?? One who she - as the Queen - may have given the slip many-a time.

Tessa sighed heartily as she mounted her horse. For so long, she mused as she headed back towards her hacienda, _I've held myself as a protector of the innocent, of women and children, from the ravages of Montoya's regime. And now I find that women - at least one - number among the ones I fight.

The Queen and Tessa wondered how well Marta'd hidden the better drinks.

ÁBRASE LOS OJOS, REINA

"I've come to talk, Colonel, nothing more," the Queen of Swords told Montoya, standing in his office looking right at him. Moonlight backlit her.

"And is there a particular topic you had in mind?" Montoya wished to know. "More about my gold, I take it?"

The Queen shook her head. "I thought you would have heard about it from someone who listens to the gossip news relayers."

"You are referring to an upcoming wedding," Montoya guessed.

She nodded. "Since Senorita Alvarado is going to be getting married, I thought that the two of us should declare a little truce of our own..."

A nod from Montoya. "A notable way to commemorate a special event indeed." A pause, as they watched each other silently, quietly. "Perhaps I can up the stakes, make this more interesting."

"And what is that, Colonel," Queen asked. "You're going to hang an innocent man?"

Montoya actually looked hurt by that accusation. "On the contrary, senorita, I wish to show you the extent of my dedication to my people."

~~~~~

SHORTLY BEFORE NOON, ALVARADO HACIENDA

Tessa was seated on the long couch while she and Marta waited, her hands absently tying and untying and re-tying her Queen-mask.

"You realize that this is most likely a trap?" Marta asked her. Tessa nodded. "And you are still going to go?' The Queen nodded, making sure her mask was secure. Marta shook her head wearily; "Then why do I bother?" She has agreed to meet with Montoya, alone, and ride a carriage to where he has been taking the gold. She is either now insane or brilliant - or both!

Queen placed her hand on Marta's shoulder. "Because you're concerned for her, that's why.

Her hand was gone by the time Vera came back from the 'powder room.' "I apologize for being gone so long," Vera begged forgiveness in the oddly-accented Spanish that she always used. "I was admiring some of your paintings on my way back."

"It's alright," Tessa told her blonde friend. "Marta and I were just going over some of the finer points about my dress."

"Yes, your wedding dress," Marta semi-repeated, thankful that the mask was off of Tessa's face by the time Vera'd shown up.

"I have a question...no," Vera decided, "it's silly."

"It's alright, Vera," Tessa told her. "I'm sure it's very important if you thought of it at all," walking the line between flattery and insult - and trying to keep from insulting.

"Well, I was just wondering," Vera hedged, still uncertain about the question. "How are you and doctor Helm going to marry?"

"That's a very good question," Tessa complimented her friend. "Well, I was thinking about a small wedding - just friends and family, and then -"

"Tessa," Marta interrupted as respectfully as she could; "I believe she means by which priest," looking to Senora Hidalgo for confirmation or negation.

Vera nodded.

Tessa just sat where she was, thinking.

~~~~~

EVENING, STABLES AT THE EDGE OF SANTA HELENA

The Queen Of Swords could see the carriage outside the building on the edge of the pueblo, horses facing the open desert. She approached, her guard never letting up....that was Tessa's job.

As she stood on the edge of the one-story roof, she could see who the soldier was who was guarding the carriage: Pizaro!

The Queen jumped down to the ground.

Even now, knowing that Pizaro was a woman, it was hard to spot anything offhandedly feminine about the female soldier - thin-lipped and low-cheekboned, her eyelashes were as short as any man's.

"Hello," she said, knowing how poor a greeting that was.

"Hello," Pizaro replied emotionlessly. Well, Tessa reflected, at least she's not spitting at my feet.

"I just wanted to say how sorry I am, and -"

"'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do'?" Pizaro asked.

It took the Queen a moment to place the quote. "I suppose so. "And you think my forgiveness comes so easy??"

"This is hardly the time for quarrels, ladies," Luis Montoya's voice broke through the night air - not loud, but very near. Tessa spun around and -

"How long have you been there?" questioned the Queen.

"I have not always been here, senora," Montoya replied, as cryptic as ever. Motioning for her to precede him into the carriage, "After you." The Queen got in and sat down, followed by Montoya, who sat opposite her, after helping Pizaro up to the driver's seat.

They got underway.

After a number of long silent minutes, "You have my thanks for saving the young soldier's life," Montoya told her.

The Queen of Swords raised an eyebrow. "And why didn't you thank me last night?" and Tessa mentally hit her head at how that sounded.

But Montoya ignored the accidental double entendre. "Because that would have raised too many questions for your mind to handle. This way is better. Easier."

"'Easier'?" Queen repeated disbelievingly. "You squeeze the dons and peasants alike, taking their gold, their land, their -"

"I am but a servant of the people," Montoya interrupted her; he then asked a question of Pizaro in a language Tessa and the Queen did not recognize. Pizaro nodded; "We are almost there," Montoya told the Queen.

"Almost where?" the Queen asked as the carriage went over the hilltop.

Montoya parted the curtains, letting in the fading evening light...and, Tessa was starting to see at the valley of this hill and the nearby ones, a small town. "This is Ciudad de Principios," he told her simply. The carriage rode on to the edge of the town, and stopped, the horses whickering their relief to be back home.

Montoya stepped out of the carriage on his own, extending his arm to Pizaro, helping her exit carefully. The Queen didn't mind nobody offering herself an arm. From what she could see so far, there wasn't a drop nor hint of gold anywhere.

"Mommy!" a little girl's voice cried out, and the patter of a five-year-old's feet raced towards them. The girl certainly had her mother's thick black hair, though hers came down to her shoulders.

"Louisa," Pizaro acknowledged with a smile on her face as her daughter hugged her legs with the enthusiasm which comes with childhood. "Am I late for evening prayers?"

Louisa shook her head - and Tessa herself was getting over the shock of somebody naming a child after El Colonel - "No, the R-" and then Louisa noticed the stranger, the woman dressed in black. "The Reverend," she caught herself, "said that it wouldn't hurt to wait a few more minutes for you."

To the black-dressed strange woman, Louisa asked, "Who are you?"

~~~

tbc?