The Challenge was:

Trio: Corset, pitchfork, Kachina doll

Quote: "If I were to take up shroud making, men would stop dying - if I sold candles, the sun would never set". -Abraham Ibn Ezra (1089-1167, Cordoba)

"If she's carrying a sword and we haven't been formally introduced, I get shy." Methos HL

Authors:

Anthony, Brig, Dea, Eliza, JoLayne, Julie, Laura, Lisa, Maril, Zara

CHALLENGE: AFTER THE RAINS...

By Anthony
[email protected]

Sequel in the "Letters Home" trilogy.

~~

"You're a doll, Vera," Marcus Grisham told her. "I ever told you that?"

Vera looked at him from where she was tying her corset back on. "I can think of a few occasions," she smiled back at him. There was something in his eyes... "Marcu, is there a troubling you?"

"Huh - oh, no, it's nothing, really."

Vera stepped over to him, wrapping an arm around his neck. "You cannot tell me?" with a hurt expression.

Grisham folded, figuratively. "Alright, but just remember," tapping her on the nose, "you asked for it. There's this guy with a weird accent, I think he's Dutch or Polish...'zur ran nov' or something like that."

"Suranov?" Vera asked, reflexively helping him.

Marcus nodded. "Yeah, that's what he said. Anyway, he's here under some sort of royal decree, hunting down the Queen of Swords." Grisham paused. "Vera, you okay?"

Vera's frozen, and it took a mental effort to return to the present. "I am. I was just thinking..."

"Anything in particular?" Marcus grinned.

Vera smiled, backing up so she could finish getting dressed. "When is your birthday again?"

~~

Maria Theresa Alvarado crossed herself, softly saying a prayer for the soul of Serena Lopez, whose husband'd been saved from drowning by the Queen Of Swords. It was a good thing pitchforks were multi-purpose!

As she prayed, she couldn't help but hear some of the peasants petitioning Padre Lopez; it seemed they wanted to borrow the icon of the Virgin Mary, take her through their fields and farms. Tessa seemed to recall a similar request last week, though that'd been to take the Infant Jesus on a walk, begging for rain.

And oh, how there'd been a downpour!

What do they want with the Virgin Mother? Tessa wondered, and bemusedly heard the Padre asking the same thing. "You took the Child out last week, did you not get your rain?"

"Yes, Padre," Pablo Yesinte replied; "And we want her to see the mess Her Son made."

Tessa made the sign of the Cross over her breast as she stood up to leave, hoping she wouldn't start laughing in Church, even at that.

As Tessa was leaving, she passed by "Oh hello, Vera," she said, greeting the young lady who was just coming in the Church doors.

"Hello, Tessa," Vera replied. "Tenga un dia agradable."

"You too," Tessa wished her well.

Vera Hidalgo walked silently up to the frontmost pew, after bowing on one knee every few pews in a show of deference and respect to the Lord's House. Once in the front, Vera did not sit; she went right to kneeling.

"Most Heavenly Father," she said quietly, ignoring the peasants and Padre's discussion, just as they could not hear her, "There is a fork in the path of my life, and I beg Your most Divine wisdom for help.

"A man has come, someone from my past." Another one, thought Vera sullenly. "I think he may mean to kill me if he gets the chance...but if I do nothing, he may kill the Queen of Swords," which, admittedly, meant only a little to her, as the Queen'd shown up to help her from her kidnapper.

"One translation," Vera whispered, with only the icon of the man on the Cross to hear her, "of what I was, is a kachina." The spirit of the people. "I pray, merciful Father, that you guide me to do that which right." Do I resume being that which I was? she wondered.

Vera remained kneeling.

~~

And here I am again, Helm thought to himself, acting as bait. But, if he were truthful with himself, he didn't mind this time. For one thing, it seemed as though a health wave had swept the pueblo and surrounding haciendas, making him unneeded...and if he had to play one more game of Solitaire...

Because of that, when General Suranov, an agent of the Tsar, had stopped by and offered two hundred reales for Helm's service, it was hard to say no...though Robert wondered how much of it was based on the fact of British and Russian goodwill after jointly defeating Napoleon; cooperation among allies and all that.

The not-quite-real part of the deal had been in the pueblo center, and a little loudly, to maximize hearing ears. Doctor Helm'd seen two Alvarados, one Hidalgo, three from the Magalhes family, seemingly the entire Ferreira brood, and a number of peasants.

Robert Helm was waiting at the tip of a triangular cliff's base, the wedge-shaped cliff heading off in both directions for at least a mile; not-quite-low hills surrounded the rest of this depression -- making the soldier in Helm nervous: this was perfect ambushing territory, which was the point, was it not? Suranov was waiting around a bend, waiting for his quarry to make itself known...waiting with soldiers borrowed with Montoya's permission.

And here come the 'thieves'... seeing the hired robbers approach. Helm put his hands up. "Don't kill me, please," he pleaded, his tone authentic for the situation.

"We'll put it under consideration," the head thief replied. "Get him!" And while the others were obeying that, Robert was thinking, No need to go all out on my account, folks.

And then, predicable as clockwork, there were the sound of hooves and a whip. The Queen of Swords had arrived. "You never learn, do you?" she asked one of the thieves.

"And neither do you," the General said, riding his loaned horse around the bend, looking at the Queen. "So, you've taken up talking," he said, looking at her outfit. "And perhaps other things." A woman??

"I always talk," the Queen replied. "Who are you?"

"You know very well who I am," Suranov replied in Russian. "Now, shall we kill you, or simply throw you upon the mercy of the Court?"

A piercing whistle split the air around them, a sound that had only one source. And the Queen's lips were closed.

Suranov looked around, as did a few of the soldiers with him, trying to figure out what was going on.

And there, on a hillcrest, was a fully-suited man, as slender as ever. Spanish clothes covered him, but Suranov still felt a flicker of recognition.

"You!" Suranov whispered. Far louder, "Don't bother with her, get HIM!" pointing his pistol at the hilltop figure. The soldiers were confused, but they did as they were told, some running straight up the hill, others going for their horses first.

The Queen was surprised, and not a little confused. Nonetheless, she decided to take advantage of the situation by getting the heck out of dodge - whatever a dodge was. Likewise, the Highwayman also left the area.

"Imbeciles!" Suranov roared. Seeing that his true quarry had eluded him again, he took aim with his rifle, and fired...

~~

"Here he is, sir," one of the borrowed soldiers told Suranov, as the soldier pushed Dr Helm forth.

"You witnessed the Highwayman, doctor," Suranov commented; "And you fled from the scene?"

"When she carries a sword," Doctor Helm remarked, "and we haven't been formally introduced, I get shy."

"Did you see a sword on him?" Suranov asked, correcting his grammar.

Helm raised an eyebrow. "Who said I was talking about your highwayman?"

"A pity then," the General remarked. "Does that mean you'll have no interest in treating the wound of this 'Queen of Swords'?"

~~

TBC?

NOTES: any errors in this story regarding Catholic Church practices or worship are entirely my own. the rain incident actually happened in New Mexico.

HEALERS
By Brig

~~~~~

During the nightmare minutes of confusion, gunfire and shouting, he lost track of time. Old ingrained reflexes kept him down low and out of harm's way as he crept from one fallen man to another, doing what he could to repair injuries. A few were beyond his skill, and he closed dimming eyes, listened to a whispered word or two, made promises he would do his best to keep.

Robert looked up as darkness fell over him. A winter shadow gaze pinned him in place.

"Did you see her?"

"No," he said in total honesty. "When she carries a sword and we haven't been formally introduced, I get shy." His tone was ironic, but the Colonel didn't seem to notice.

"Damn her!" Montoya turned to a waiting soldier. "Get my horse." He glanced at Robert, the pale eyes speculative, but said nothing. When his mount was brought to him he swung up into the saddle.

"I expect a full report later," he informed Robert, then galloped off in the inevitable cloud of dust. The doctor stood, eyes watering, and wiped at them with some impatience. He was beginning to hate the unrelenting heat and dryness here, the blue sky that had once seemed delightful and now was oppressive in its sameness . . .

It took some time to get the wounded cared for, but at last they were on their way back to town in the back of a wagon. A second cart accompanied them, carrying the dead today's skirmish had created. Robert watched them go, his mouth set in a grim line. Such a waste of life!

As he turned at last to find his own horse a glimpse of scarlet teased his peripheral vision. Not blood; it was the very end of a sash--silk, the fabric soft and clean under his touch. He saw that it led into a small but steep wash, choked with stones and chaparral.

She half-stood, wedged into a crevice for support. Her corset stays were cut and her shirt pulled up, exposing a slender midriff covered with blood as bright as the silk sash. Robert bit back an oath and came forward, to find a blade at his throat. The gleaming steel wavered but managed to press into his flesh hard enough to warn him about any further attempts to come closer. Instead he looked at her wounds. They seemed to be punctures, regularly spaced in a straight line across her belly.

"A pitchfork." There was the slightest tremor in her soft, steady voice. "One of the soldiers got lucky."

"Let me help you," he said, his tone low and calm. She shook her head, bit her lip hard. Dark hair floated over one shoulder and he watched it for a moment, mesmerized.

"I'll be fine--it's not too bad," her wince as she started to move away from her hiding place belied her words. Robert took his opportunity and pushed aside the sword, hands extended as she staggered and almost fell into his embrace. He lowered her to the ground, one arm under her, and thought how slight she was, as insubstantial as a reed.

When he touched her skin she closed her eyes and turned her face away, her pale cheeks a faint crimson.

"You're right," he said at last, after a through examination.

(Had his touch lingered longer than was strictly necessary?)

"They're not deep wounds, thank God, but you should get them cleaned up and bandaged. Here," he held the sash out. "Go home. Stop meddling in things you don't understand. Get married, have a few babies. Your perspective will change then, believe me. You'll find out what's really important."

"OH!"

She snatched the sash out of his hands, dark eyes flashing with utter fury. Her small, full breasts heaved under the shirt. Robert tried not to be too obvious about looking at them.

"You--you arrogant miserable MAN!" She tied the silk over her wounds, biting back an exclamation as she yanked the cloth tight. "You understand nothing, like most of your sex!"

"I understand you almost got yourself killed today," he snapped. "All this death and destruction, for what? A few pieces of gold that will still end up in Montoya's hands, or the Governor's, or some other damn bureaucrat--listen to me!" he shouted at her as she moved away from him, barely able to walk. "Exposing yourself to danger won't change a thing. I know! I tried!"

She did not respond, though he saw her look at him, her face cold with anger and indignation; instead she put two fingers to her lips and gave a piercing whistle. Moments later a magnificent black Andalusian cantered into the wash. He clicked his ears back as Robert approached. The doctor, wise to the ways of horses, stopped.

"I was only going to help your mistress to her saddle," he said. The woman in question had her foot in the stirrup. She pushed herself up, gasping as the sword flew from her hand.

Robert bent down and took it with care. The blade was light and perfectly balanced--an expensive weapon, perhaps even custom-made. He glanced along the edge, then handed it up.

"Yours, I believe."

She took it, then turned without a word and left him there, watching her as the sun burned above in an endless blue sky.

* * * *

"Doctor Helm?"

Robert sat back with a sigh and set his pen aside.

"Yes, senorita?"

Tessa Alvarado smiled down at him, all coyness and vapid charm. She was among the more annoying young women of the contingent that insisted on wasting his time with vague symptoms and clumsy attempts at flirting.

"I brought you something," she had her hands behind her back.

"Let me guess--a Christmas pudding," he said in sarcasm-laden English, and had the satisfaction of seeing the smile fade from her face as puzzlement took over.

"I don't understand? Pood-ding?"

"Never mind." He made an attempt at a pleasant expression, and failed. "What is it, senorita? I have several people waiting--"

"Here." She interrupted him and thrust something under his nose. He backed away in reflex, then looked it over. It was a bundle wrapped in dun-colored handwoven cloth. Robert's eyes widened a bit.

"Senorita--" he began. "I can't really accept--"

"I insist, Doctor." Slender fingers pushed aside the fabric covering to reveal an ornate pattern in vivid white and black. Intrigued despite himself, Robert opened the bundle.

Inside was a doll--native by the looks of it; a man dressed as an animal, his body painted with simple designs. All foreign to him--and yet somehow familiar.

"It looks like . . . " A genuine smile tugged at his mouth now. "It looks like a badger. We had one at the summer house." Memories of soft green grass, his mother's bright, fragrant garden, the sound of the stream as it rushed over smooth stones. "Right nasty little son. I liked him."

"One of our workers, Joseph--he carved this for you," Tessa said. Her voice had lost its artificial brightness and become quiet. "You remember him? He's a Hopi. That's an Indian tribe that lives in the big desert east of the mountains. You treated his leg a few weeks ago. He says you are a good doctor." Her fingertip touched the sculpture with respect. "According to their old stories, Badger is the greatest healer of all, and a fierce warrior who protects his own."

Robert looked up at her. His sharp protest died as their gazes met. Eyes like brown velvet looked back at him with steady humor and a seriousness he hadn't thought she could ever possess.

"Please thank him for me," he said at last, and straightened. Tessa moved away. The serious expression was gone, replaced by the bright smile she had worn earlier.

"I will, Doctor. Good day to you." She sketched a mocking curtsey and winced a bit, then was gone. Robert looked after her, his dark brows gathering in a slight frown.

"She must have a bellyache from too much chocolate," he said to himself at last, and turned back to the door, ready to bring in the next patient. As he did so his gaze swept over the desk and the small bundle there. He paused, then picked it up with gentle hands. A curious feeling of well-being filled his mind--almost as if someone stood there with him . . .

He took the bundle through to the small room that served as his living quarters and, after some hesitation, set it under the bed, near the foot. An odd place, but it was right somehow. He looked at it there, then gave a soft laugh.

"Going native at last, Robbie," he said, and went back out to get on with the day's work.

END

KA'CHINA DOLL
by Dea

Challenge: corset, pitchfork, ka'china doll
~~~~~

Quite happy with herself, Tessa left the doctor to retrieve his apples and walked over to join Marta. The gypsy woman was perusing the latest shipment of material and bolts of brightly colored cloth laid out in some of the other stalls.

Immediately noticing the look on her young charge's face, Marta put down a bolt of blue silk and asked, "What have you done, Tessa?"

"Oh nothing," Tessa answered with a smile, "just helping the doctor with some shopping."

Knowing there was probably more to it than that, she shook her head and muttered, "I'm sure he was delighted to have your help."

"Oh Marta!" she said in an exasperated voice as she absent-mindedly fingered a section of black lace. "He is so infuriating!"

"Lucky for him you like infuriating men," Marta offered lightly.

"Sometimes I just wish I could tell him the whole truth," Tessa continued, either ignoring or oblivious to Marta's comment. "Then there wouldn't be all this sneaking around at night just to see him. And then he'd know that it was actually me that he was in love with and that he was too wrapped up in the Queen to realize it!"

"Tessa, what's the matter with you?" Marta asked in a hushed voice. "Is your corset on too tight? Of course you can't tell him the truth. The more people who know the Queen's identity the more dangerous it is for you. And frankly I think it is too dangerous already."

Tessa sighed but she knew Marta was right. Telling Dr. Helm the truth would only complicate things. At least for right now, she'd have to keep up this charade and at the same time try to convince him that she wasn't a spoiled brat.

Marta ran a gentle hand over Tessa's cheek.

"You are doing wonderful things for this village Tessa," she told her. "And even though I worry about you, I am so proud. And as for the doctor...things will work out as they are meant to work out."

"Well that makes me feel much better," Tessa replied, a touch of sarcasm coloring the words.

"Come on," Marta urged causing Tessa to smile and thread her arm through Marta's as they moved on to the next stall.

"Oh, Marta, look!" Tessa said as she pointed to a small square table that had been set up in the shade of one of the stalls. It was covered in what looked to be red velvet cloth on top of which rested about a dozen miniature dolls. About 2 inches high at the most, the carved wooden dolls were dressed all in black and sported a black lace mask over long, cascading brown hair.

Marta's eyes grew wide as she and Tessa came in for a closer look.

"Madre de Dios," Marta whispered as she gingerly picked one up and looked at it.

"It's me," Tessa whispered back.

"It's the Queen," Marta corrected with a slight smirk. "My people used to make dolls like this and use them as protection for the caravans. They're supposed to embody the spirit of one who has passed on. When we were children we got them as gifts."

"These people see me--the Queen--as their protector," Tessa replied solemnly.

Just then two small girls, dressed in modest but clean dresses ran up to the stall.

"Mira, mira!" one of them shouted. "Esta la reina de espadas!"

For a split second Tessa's heart lurched but she quickly realized the girl was referring to the dolls.

"It's the Queen!" the other little girl joined in as she reverently picked up one of the dolls in her grubby hands. Turning to her friend she said, "The Queen loves us, no? I want to be like her one day. Then I will protect the village."

Marta saw such a look of genuine warmth and gratitude on Tessa's face she had to swallow the lump in her throat.

"You see, Tessa," she spoke in a low voice as she took the girl by the arm and led her from the stall. "You have touched these people's lives, and they will never forget you for what you've done."

"I know that Marta," Tessa admitted. "Sometimes it just helps to see it."

"Now, back to our shopping," Marta announced with a smile. "Come, I need to buy a new pitchfork."

"Why?" Tessa questioned.

"Because ever since that little run in with Raoul, I cannot seem to clean the blood off," Marta explained grimly.

"Marta!" Tessa replied scandalously, as she glanced around them. "Now who's corset is too tight?"

END

QUOTE CHALLENGE #8 - THE WOMAN WITH A SWORD

By Eliza

I had no choice in this one. None. And then I got carried away. Time to play spot the Methos quotes. This story takes place in the same time frame as the last episode. - Eliza

~~~~~

"You are sounding like a jealous lover, Doctor. If I have impinged on your territory, I can only say that you should have taken better care of it."

Montoya's words echoed through Doctor Helm's head. They had been discussing Tessa Alvarado, but this comment had hit a different nerve -- one that lead directly to the Queen of Swords. He managed to make some comment about vipers, a cheap shot considering the target, and left Montoya's office with some semblance of dignity. He reached the bottom of the external staircase before allowing himself to stop and feel how much the barb had stung.

Even though he knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, Helm felt that it had become his job as well. Misplaced chivalry, he knew that, but if anything happened to her... He couldn't finish the thought. He hadn't seen her in over a month and no one had spotted her at all in three weeks.

What if Montoya had actually caught her -- killed her? Could he keep it quiet if she ended up being an influential member of society? No, she would be missed, and if she was a 'nobody' the colonel would shout the death of the Queen from the church belfry. Helm wasn't really concerned about Montoya, for he had come to the conclusion that the Queen was her own worst enemy.

He recalled the last time she had encountered the garrison in the town square. She had startled a team of horses with her whip and then decided to catch a ride on the runaway wagon. The horses had scattered the soldiers, but they were in pursuit and her position on the back of the wagon was precarious. He had noticed the most likely path the horses would take and had headed for the house at the end of his street. He had been sure he could reach her from the top of its covered
patio.

His whistle had caught her attention and she had seen his plan immediately. As he had pulled her off the wagon and up onto the patio roof, he had whispered to her, "It's finally happened. You've lost your mind." He had felt her silent chuckle.

They had waited, lying flat on the roof and holding their breath, as the soldiers passed by on their search. When the immediate danger was gone, Helm had turned to glare at her. "What were you thinking?!" he had growled, fear for her still churning in his gut.

She had sat up and run her fingers through her hair, pulling it out of her face, before saying, "I wasn't thinking, I was improvising." Then she had grinned at him. He had wanted to kiss her senseless at that moment, but she was gone, taking advantage of the momentary quiet to make her escape.

"Have you been to see Colonel Montoya? How is his wound healing?"

Helm hadn't noticed Tessa approach the staircase, and her questions quickly brought him back to the present. He smiled at her calling Montoya's little cut, made by a pen knife, a 'wound'. Ever since the night of the Hidalgo's anniversary he had felt protective toward the girl, so his reply was not as curt as usually would have been. "He is fine, Senorita. It's not worth worrying about." He is not worth worrying about.

"You seemed preoccupied when I approached. I thought complications may have arisen. But I should have known better with a talented doctor, such as yourself, in attendance."

Tessa's tone was all sweetness and innocence but Helm sensed something under the surface. This had the feeling of a Montoya insult. Helm brushed the feeling aside; he was just being sensitive after the argument. "Actually, I was thinking about something I had heard earlier today. The Queen of Swords has not been seen in weeks, the people are starting to wonder what has happened."

"Some people are easily lead by the sight of daring deeds and an even more daring costume." The disgust in Tessa's voice was poorly concealed. Her chin came up and her expression became disdainful. "As long there is no disruption to life on my ranch, she is none of my concern. At any rate, we haven't been formally introduced."

Helm couldn't follow this logic. "You haven't been formally introduced?"

"When she carries a sword and we haven't been formally introduced, I get shy." Tessa batted her eyelashes at him with a sly little smile on her lips.

Helm blinked at the unexpected sarcasm. He had always thought of Tessa Alvarado as a soft, spoiled, slightly naive girl, but basically a good one. She obviously knew this and was not pleased with the judgement. It was in the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice; that attitude that said, 'You think you know me? You don't know me.' He was right, Montoya was becoming a bad influence.

She made her farewells and Helm was no longer inclined to detain her. He watched as she climbed the staircase to Montoya's office. He could now see why the colonel had taken the time with her; he could mould her into the type of woman he wanted. This one was becoming subtle, evasive, and artful. He could easily see her ending up as coldly self-centred and back stabbing as many of the society women he had known in England. Initially, his concern had been for the young senorita, now he was wondering if he should feel sorry for the colonel.

END

TRIO CHALLENGE #8 - THE HAND OF FATE
Eliza

"Marta. Could you help me get dressed?"

Marta heard the call coming from down the hall. She looked up from the cards spread out on the small table in her own room. They were of no help and hadn't been for weeks. She gathered up the colourful deck and decided to put her trust in the guiding power. There must be some reason for the devilment that Tessa had been put under.

As Marta entered Tessa's room, she was immediately hit with a question. "The red or the blue?"

Tessa presented her back to Marta and gripped the footboard of the bed. Marta took hold of the corset laces. "The blue," she answered.

"I like the red," said Tessa.

"Then why ask me," said Marta as she gave the laces a hard pull. She heard Tessa's startled gasp and regretted causing the girl pain. But not enough to apologize. "You are going into town again. That is the third time this week. Won't he start to think you are being forward?"

"I am meeting Vera. And how can it be the third time this week? It's only Tuesday." Tessa moved away after the laces had been knotted and started to put on the red dress.

Marta suppressed her reply to the smart remark and tried to stick to the point. "So you won't go to see him?"

"That will depend -- Vera may be late, the roads may be bad, the colonel may not be in his office."

"He will be. Another shipment of gold arrived today." Tessa met Marta's pointed look. "The fourth shipment that the Queen has ignored."

Tessa's jaw tightened at the implied criticism. "I can't take every shipment of gold. The soldiers have to be paid."

"Then what about the guns last week... and the week before. The last time the Queen rode was to help return the money the bandits took. That was over three weeks ago."

"And I almost got caught by Montoya while he was looking for the bandits and the money."

Even with her current interest in the colonel, that is a strange excuse. Marta couldn't help but comment, "You escaped. You always do."

"I don't believe it!" Tessa took a few steps toward Marta, looking her straight in the eye. Marta realized that the girl was truly angry and not just making excuses. "Both you and the doctor scold me for taking too many risks and then you make snide remarks when I try to be careful. Should I be putting on the black corset instead? Should I go up against half a dozen armed guards for a handful of gold?"

"The gold arrived in town this morning." Marta was already distracted from the conversation. There was something she was missing; she could feel it.

Tessa finished dressing without another word and then went out to the wagon. Marta followed, and as Tessa took the reins, the women's eyes met. Tessa gave Marta a small smile and said, "Don't worry." Marta raised her eyebrows at that and the smile became a little wider. "I'll be home before dark."

Marta watched the wagon until it was only a small cloud of dust on the road. She was restless and didn't want to go back into the house. Moving a pile of clean straw into the barn suddenly became an appealing chore. She found a pitchfork and set to work, the sunshine and fresh air helping to calm her mind.

After about half an hour, Marta noticed something in the straw. She bent down and picked up a Kachina doll. She smiled and placed it on a nearby fence post. One of the children must have had it out here and would be looking for it later. It was only as she as turning away that she really saw the doll. It had dark hair and a black mask. The costume was dark as well but it was the mask that identified the spirit it represented.

She set the pitchfork aside and picked up the doll again. The Queen of Swords had become a symbol for the people, an equalizing force against the cruelty of Grisham and Montoya. Tessa might temper her attacks on Montoya's coffers in her current state of infatuation, but Marta knew she would not completely abandon her role as avenging angel. What had caused such a strong reaction to such a mild reproof?

"Both you and the doctor scold me..." Marta heard Tessa's voice in her head again. That's what she had said - you and the doctor. That's it!

Tessa had told Marta that she had no intention of seeing Montoya on her trip into town late last week. In fact, after her earlier visit she had avoided the subject of him all together. Marta had thought he may have done something to distress Tessa, but Marta had restrained herself from pressing the issue.

Then, during that last visit, Marta had noticed a brief conversation between Tessa and Helm at the foot of Montoya's staircase. She could see Tessa's anger from across the square, and then Tessa went up to the office. Robert Helm. I should have known! The man needs a good kick in the ass. But if he was the reason that Tessa was acting like an idiot, then Marta could carry some hope that things might work out for the best.

END

Quote 3-11 Challenge
MONTOYA'S LUCKY GUESS Part 3

By JoLayne
[email protected]

QUOTE: "If I were to take up shroud making, men would stop dying - if I sold candles, the sun would never set". -Abraham Ibn Ezra (1089-1167, Cordoba)

~~~~~

Luis didn't know what to think. After being roughly pushed into the room by Grisham, a man who was supposed to be his subordinate, Luis still sat on the floor with his hands planted behind him. The ornate room seemed to be his bedroom and the pacing military man seemed to be thinking about his next move. Luis put a hand on the white comforter that covered the soft bed next to him and got himself to his feet.

"Sit down, Luis," Grisham warned in a threatening tone that made Luis sit. As he sunk onto the downy mattress of the bed, he really wanted to sleep. There was still a buzzing in his head and even though he had awoken on the Alvarado sofa, he felt as if he hadn't rested at all. His mind went back to that morning, to the two breathtakingly beautiful women. One helpful, concerned; the other looked like she wanted to roast his heart and feed it to the dogs. For the life of him, he still couldn't figure out why the older of the two women so detested him. His eye caught his reflection in the mirror and he studied his own face. Stubble dotted his cheeks and chin, making the elegant beard look scruffy. His long hair had become mussed, strands had broken free from the holder behind his neck and floated in the air whenever he turned his head. That didn't seem to be him at all.

As Grisham paced behind him, stopping once in a while with a thought, then seemingly dismissing it, Luis ignored him and concentrated on his hair. He pulled the holder out and looked around until he spotted a brush on the bureau. He rose to use it and stood before the mirror brushing his hair smooth. Grisham said, "Sit back down."

Luis looked at him in the mirror as Grisham stood across the room. "Why?"

"I have to do this right. I just need to think."

Luis smiled and turned around. "And it takes you a while to think? I am just to sit quietly while you try think?"

Grisham stopped and glared at the Colonel. "Yes," he said as his hand laid upon a gun in the holster at his hip.

Luis said, "I see. Will you be taking long? I would like to shave and change out of this dirty uniform."

Grisham flung Montoya back onto the bed with a forceful yank on the shoulder. "You don't do anything unless I say so. I've been following orders all my life. Now is time that I rise up and take the command that I should rightfully have."

"But, you are a Capitan," Luis said, looking the young man over from head to toe as he sat as straight as possible. "They say that I am a Colonel. That means that you answer to me."

"Not anymore." Grisham laid his hands on his knees to stoop down and look Luis straight in the eye. "Colonel," he began. This brusk tone had turned into one of concern as he continued, "You are incompacitated. The county will suffer under your command from now on as you don't remember the nuances that have to be taken into consideration with each passing minute of guiding Santa Helena through the 19^th century. We had plans, you and I. If you were dealing with a full deck, you'd realize that the only way to keep control of the town, the county, Reyes in Monterrey..." Grisham paused and scrunched his brow. "Do you even remember Reyes?"

Luis searched high and low through the catacombs of his mind and had to admit that the name didn't ring a bell. Grisham smiled and stood straight. "I will take care of everything. I will command with all the plans that you and I made."

"But, I am Colonel."

"You were. But, truth to be told, you were not very good at it. The peasants were always uprising, Monterrey was always breathing down your neck, the Spanish court hasn't been pleased with you, the Queen of Swords has made us all look like idiots, and how you've treated me, your faithful servant... well. I couldn't do anything right in your eyes. According to you, if I were to take up shroud making, men would stop dying. If I sold candles, the sun would never set. You were wrong. I am more than capable of taking over the reins."

Luis looked down at the dirty uniform that he wore and straightened the medal on his chest, thinking over all the mysteries that Grisham had brought up. Monterrey? Reyes? A Queen of some sort? Luis started to realize that Grisham was planning a coup. Luis looked at himself in the mirror again. That uniform did fit his body, he was a cultured man, a military man, a Colonel! If I was so inept as Grisham would have me believe, why am I still in power? The young man looked wild, he looked ready to snap. He looked as if he was at the well of power and was ready to take a drink. Luis said, "This is only a temporary situation. I had a knock on the head. I will be all right. I can still lead."

Grisham laughed, making Luis stand. Even though the uniform jacket was dusty, he straightened it and ordered, "I am your commander, Capitan! You show me respect."

They stood toe to toe as they stared each other down. Grisham slowly shook his head. "You are not going to screw up this chance for me." Suddenly, Grisham drew his sword and rammed the hilt across Luis' forehead. Luis jumped back shocked. Grisham muttered aloud, "It is now or never." Grisham rammed the blade into Montoya's side then quickly drew it out again as Luis slumped to the floor.

~~~~~

Tessa entered Santa Helena in the carriage wanting to see how the Colonel was adapting to his life and if the fact that he had witnessed her in her home wearing the Queen's uniform was now public knowledge. Marta had told her that she should steer clear of the pueblo and stay guarded in the hacienda until the coast was clear. If no one had come gunning for her in a couple of days, then it would be safe to resume Maria Teresa's life. Tessa had to find out now; waiting wasn't one of her virtues. But she was also prudent. Tessa could get away from any threat that may come in town fast if she was alone. Marta agreed and started to pack up the essentials if they had to make a fast getaway to Spain or Mexico, anywhere but Alto California.

Tessa stepped out of the carriage and walked toward Helm's office. As she reached the door, she heard a voice behind her, "Don't bother to knock."

Tessa turned to see Helm with his medicine bag in his hand smiling at her. "Oh, Dr. Helm. I was just coming to see you."

"I see that. What is wrong today? Headache, stomach ache?"

"No. Actually I am very worried, doctor."

"About what?"

"The Colonel had a terrible accident last night." She saw Helm's eyes raise in surprise. She continued to inform him, "He fell from his horse not far from my hacienda. Marta and I tended him as best we could. Grisham brought him back to town early this morning and I was wondering how he was. I didn't want to disturb him so I came to see you. I was sure that you have tended him upon his return, so I am checking up on him."

"This is the first I've heard of it," he said with genuine concern.

"You have not seen--," Tessa began.

"The Queen!" Grisham's voice rang out from Montoya's balcony, alerting all in the area. "The Queen has attacked the Colonel! Round up your horses and go after her! She must not escape this time!"

Both Tessa and Helm reacted in shock from the news and the soldiers who had been rustled from their duty of keeping the peace. Helm's head whipped around and stared at Tessa, then he looked back at where Grisham had just been, then back at her. Tessa knew at that moment that he had been under the assumption that she was the Queen. Before she could say anything, he ran towards Montoya's. She stood there for an instant wondering what had just happened. The Queen attacked Montoya? If he is indeed hurt, it wasn't by my hand! She ran after Helm up the stairs to Montoya's living quarters and through the door that Helm had left open.

What she saw terrified her. Helm and a guard were lifting Montoya onto his bed. The floor, the side of the bed linen and Montoya's mid section were full of blood. Helm hurriedly opened the Colonel's uniform and yelled for towels which the guard and another that just appeared at the door went to get. "And a basin of water!"

Tessa moved closer to see that Montoya's eyes were shut. To her estimation, he was already dead. Helm used the uniform jacket to mop up blood and then started to use Montoya's coverlet on the bed. Tessa asked, "Is he...?"

"He is breathing."

"Was he shot?"

"Stabbed. Open my bag."

"Will he be all right?"

"If you get me my bag!" Tessa only stood there frozen by this turn of events. Helm yelled again, "Give me my bag! Where are those towels?!" He held his hand over the stab wound and pressed down with all his weight. Tessa opened his bag and positioned it by Helm's foot so he could reach into it. "I have to see if there's an exit wound. Help me turn him over."

She did and the sight and feel of Montoya's blood on her hands about made her throw up. Helm looked at Montoya's back and felt for a wound. "Good. The blade didn't go all the way through." He looked up at her as she offered her shawl to use on the wound. Then he shook his head.

Tessa asked, "What?"

"You. You are a mystery wrapped in an enigma."

"How so?"

"Never mind." Helm motioned for the coming soldiers to hurry. He asked Tessa to get a bottle of liquor, any alcohol would do. As she walked to Montoya's office, she looked out to the town square at the fury of activity.

Guards were on horseback, Grisham was yelling orders, calling himself the Colonel in charge. Town people were huddling along the stores' walls and holding their children safe from the pouncing horses. As Grisham and his main men rode from town, she stood stunned at the balcony rail.

Continued next week

THE GIFT
By Julie
[email protected]

TRIO CHALLENGE: Kachina doll, corset, pitchfork

~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

"What a delightful story!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

END

SUNSET, SUNRISE
By Laura a.k.a. Wolfa Moon

Quote Challenge: 3-11-01
~~~~~

Marta sat in the church sewing. The garment was long and really had no shape. The room was quiet. The sun had set just a few hours ago. Marta had finished her day's work for the Queen and her mistress. Yet she still had something to do.

The Doctor walked in from a hard day's work. The Queen had injured another one of Montoya's soldiers. In the name of saving her life or others. He went to the rows of candles and knelt down. Marta watched him in silence. He was not known as being a religious man, so what was bothering him. Helm lit one of the candles. Marta shuddered as the vibes of his despair hit her. She gave a gasp. The doctor turned and faced her.

"Good evening Marta." His voice shaking. She tilted her head.

"Good evening Doctor." He got up and sat down beside her. He didn't look at her just stared in front of him. "Something wrong Doctor?" He didn't look back at her. She leaned forward to look at his eyes. He must have known she was staring and looked over at her.

"No nothing."

She knew that was not the truth. He was a soldier. A fighter for his country. A doctor who fought for life. Who would do anything no w to preserve it? Marta looked him up and down. His hair was slightly out of place. His sleeves were rolled up, a good sign he had been working. His palms were in fists showing anger. His eyes were red, as if he had just finish crying.

"Doctor?" He did not respond to her call. She asked again. He dug his nails into his leg at the sound of his title. "Robert?" She knew she shouldn' t do that. Marta was a servant not a high lady of class, so Doctor was the appropriate title. But now was not the time for them. The time called for no class, no people, no being, nobody to worry about what would happen in a moment or 10 minutes from now. She asked his name again. "Robert?"

He flinched at the sound of it. She motioned her hand and put it over his. Images again fled into her mind. A woman and her son. A picnic. A gun going off. Marta shuddered from the images and started up at him. He eased his grip on his leg. He looked over at her. "So what did you see?" He knew.

"Nothing."

"Right." He stood up. Marta watched him like a hawk. Expecting him to move. Though he stood there like a statue.

"You couldn't do anything then and you can't do anything now. Grieving is a natural part of life." The hurt in his eyes returned. So she had seen something. He looked back over at her. Noticing everything about her. She was in a normal outfit. Her hair all perfect he way it always was. And on her lap a piece of long cloth being sewed together. A death shroud. He looked away as his eyes began to fill with water.

"You could not save them. No one could. Not even a skilled Doctor."

"And if you were to tell me that if I were to take up shroud making, people would stop dying. If I sold candles, the sun would never set. Highly unlikely." He paced in front of her.

"Sometimes doctor the most unlikely things will be the cure."

"Or your death."

Marta nodded to the add on to her statement. "Depends on the subject though. And that subject is your past."

His closed his eyes and stopped moving. Why am I staying here listening to this? Why am I even here? I'm not religious. He looked over at Marta. She is studying me, he figured. Marta had that gift. It frightened him every time he was around her. But for some reason he was curious. "Marta be truthful. What did you see?"

"Love, joy, sadness."

"Those are emotions. I mean images. What did you--?"

He was cut off as a woman came in with a sword on her side. Helm backed away from Marta and the woman. Marta set down the shroud beside her on the pew and stood up. "Mary Rose." Marta nodded her head in greeting.

"Marta." Saying in the same respect. "What are you doing here?"

"Clearing my head." Marta looked at Mary Rose. She was eyeing the Doctor up and down. As if she and him where, but they weren't. "Mary Rose, this is Doctor Robert Helm. Doctor, Mary Rose."

Mary stepped forward and extend ed her hand. The Doctor was looking at her as the former pirate that she was. He finally took it. Rose gave him a strong shake. "Pleasure to meet you Doc."

"Same here. If you will excuse me." He nodded his head to Mary then nodded it to Marta. She nodded back. And with that he left the church.

"What's wrong with him?"

"It has been a busy day for all of us and my mistress will be getting worried. Good night Mary Rose."

"Good night Marta." Marta picked up her shroud and left the church.

Outside in the square the Doctor was making his way to his office. Marta sprinted up after him. When she got beside him. He gave a jump in surprise. "There is no need to be frightened Doctor."

"When she's carrying a sword and we haven't been formally introduced, I get shy." Marta wasn't meaning that but it would do.

"But I thought you liked woman with swords."

He gave a scorning face to her. That would have been a Tessa remark, and he wondered where she had learned it from. Especially everybody who knew the Queen knew of her Doctor ally. His faced cooled. The war inside still battling. "Good night Marta and I only like one lady with a sword."

With that he walked back to his office. Marta watched after him. The Queen's lover. A fighter, a doctor, a man, all in one person. She envied the love but also scorned it. He loved the Queen not
Tessa. And Tessa, her child, was the Queen. What a twisted world we live in? And with that thought she walked back to the cart with the shroud for one of the latest casualties of Montoya's secret doings. And that is another story.

THE END

MARCUS GRISHAM'S VERY BAD DAY

By Lisa
[email protected]

One more variation on "If I were to take up shroud making . . ."

Spoilers? One brief reference to "Fever"

Warnings? At least one "Eeew, gross!" moment, a couple of instances of sexual innuendo, rampant Grisham abuse.

But I mean well.

~~~~~

Grisham tossed the fry bread back into the basket. God, what he wouldn't give this morning for some of his mother's biscuits. Not that they were, really, that good: eaten plain, they often possessed a peculiar, alkaline aftertaste. But with some of her sausage gravy . . . now, that was a breakfast. The food back home was one of the things he missed most about his new life in Alta California.

Still, he reminded himself, things could be much worse. He was alive, wasn't he? And he wasn't in jail, was he? There might even be a chance for advancement, if he got lucky. Or was clever enough. Though lately he hadn't seemed to show much cleverness, nagged a little voice which sounded disturbingly like Colonel Montoya at his most snide. Grisham cursed under his breath and pushed away from the table.

As he passed through the barracks courtyard some of his men even managed to come alert and salute him. That was something. He was never sure whether their usual informality was a lack of proper military discipline or of personal respect. He knew that few of them were pleased to take orders from a non-Spaniard; it was one more hold the Colonel had over him.

"All right, Costales," he ordered, moving into the jail office. "Let's see the roster from last night." Yesterday had been payday; there would have been more than a couple of incidents, so fines would have to be levied, punishment details doled out. And he was in the mood to be severe. Grisham read over the page of arrest notations. Drunk. Drunk. Drunk and disorderly--fighting over a whore. Drunk. Drunk. Drunk while on duty. Drunk. "Rosas did what? He assaulted a mule? You mean he hit it with a stick, or--"

"No, Capitan. He--" The sergeant looked embarrassed. Grisham grinned; this had to be good. "He--" the soldier supplied a course, vulgar verb and punctuated his explanation with a rather graphic gesture.

Grisham's grin faded. This was not good. Not good at all. This was something that would have to be reported to Montoya. The Colonel was not going to be pleased, and somehow, somehow, it was all going to turn out to be the Captain's fault.

At least Private Rosas had shown the decency to dictate a confession, so that might make the conversation somewhat easier. Grisham gathered up the documents and slipped them inside his uniform jacket. Was there a subtle way to introduce a subject like this? ("Speaking of bestiality...?") He walked slowly by the church, pausing outside to offer a brief prayer for Divine intervention, for something, anything, to postpone making his report, and set his foot upon the stairs of the Comandancia.

"Captain Grisham! A moment of your time, please."

Now he knew God was laughing at him. Grisham and Helm had taken an instantaneous dislike to each other, and the way Montoya seemed to let the doctor get away with almost anything really rankled. Why? Just because the arrogant Englishman could probably talk about Shakespeare? Well, maybe the business with the fever and the willow bark medicine and the assassination attempt and the exploded office and all was a factor, but it wasn't fair. Nor was it fair that most of the town's ladies--even Vera, damn it, not to mention Tessa Alvarado, who should have been his own ticket to wealth and power--had been immediately smitten with a guy who seemed uninterested in any woman. Except maybe the Queen.

"I wanted to talk to you about the number of your men currently unfit for duty," Helm continued as he drew near.

Grisham barely listened to the catalogue of complaints. "And your point is?" He really didn't have the patience to deal with this right now. "Maybe my men would have fewer injuries if your masked lady friend was a little more careful where she stuck her sword." Helm drew back a step and gaped at him. "And while we're on that topic," Grisham continued, taking advantage of his small victory. "I was thinking--"

Helm's eyes glinted dangerously. "I'm afraid I can't help you there, Captain," he remarked with deceptive lightness. "Miracles are matters of faith, not science."

There was a heartbeat's silence between them before Grisham grabbed him and threw him against the wall. "Listen, you son of a bitch," he grated out, angling his forearm across the Doctor's throat and leaning forward slightly, exerting just enough of a choke hold to emphasize his point. "I have to take that sort of shit from Montoya. I don't have to take it from you."

Speak of the Devil . . . "Really, gentlemen. Such a vulgar display." The Colonel's menacingly genial voice floated down from the landing above them. "Grisham, would you care to unhand my physician?" Grisham loosened his hold, and Helm shook him off. "And now, Doctor, no doubt you have patients waiting? Capitan," he ordered with a wave of his hand, his voice darkening.

Great. Now he'd annoyed the Colonel once again, and right at the moment he most needed him in a good mood. Could this day get any worse? He followed his commander up the stairs, trailing behind him through the hall and into the office. Montoya took his seat behind the desk; Grisham thought it wiser to stand more or less at attention. Especially since he hadn't been asked to sit down.

"Do you know," the Colonel began slowly, picking up a paper knife and toying with it as he spoke, "how rare it is for an outpost like ours to have a real physician? Hmmm?"

"With respect sir." Montoya narrowed his eyes and tapped the point of the knife on the desk: clearly he wasn't to be placated so easily, but it had been worth a try. "There's, ah, something that happened last night. . . " Montoya put the paper knife down and held out one elegant hand without a word. Grisham pulled the arrest reports out of his jacket. He handed them over and tried to find some sign of personal salvation in the ceiling's mottled plaster.

"My, my. Your men do seem somewhat given to drunkenness and dissolution. Perhaps you do not provide them with the moral guidance they--" There was the sound of paper shuffling. "I see. Very well." When Grisham looked back, the Colonel was writing something on a clean sheet of paper. "I will arrange for this Rosas to spend some time in penance with the good fathers up at the mission. When his soul is suitably prepared, you will arrange for his execution."

"Oh come on. I mean, this is really sick, but he's just a young kid. He got drunk and stupid and--"

"Perhaps in your uncivilized homeland, Grisham, such acts against God and nature are laughing matters. But here we obey Spanish law, and the laws of his most Catholic Majesty are both clear and just. This boy should be grateful that his death will be quick. I assure you, the days are not long past when the Office of the Inquisition would have demanded much sterner punishments."

The Inquisition? For one brief, horrific instant he could imagine Montoya in the dark robes of an Inquisitor. Not that he had ever seen an Inquisitor, of course, but he remembered when he was a boy and his pastor would go on and on about the torture of good Protestant martyrs and Papist idolatry. When he grew a little older he'd found out about the cheap romances where pure, young heroines lay bound at the mercy of cruel . . . But what was Montoya saying now?

" . . . bring me the mule."

It was one of those moments when everything happens in slow motion, when you can see the bullet coming and yet are unable to move out of the way. As if from a distance, he saw the smile form on his own face. "Sure," he heard himself say, "but I wouldn't have thought it was your type."

Afterwards Grisham could not explain why he was still alive. He wasn't even certain that being alive was such a good thing.

Montoya had insisted, of course, that the Captain go in person to arrest the mule. Evidently under Spanish law it, too, was subject to execution. Its outraged owner had demanded as much compensation as if it had been a member of the family, and the bargaining had been long and tedious. The damn mule, as if conscious of the fate awaiting it, had not come with them quietly, and had kicked one of his men in the groin.

When they had managed to get the stubborn creature back to the guard house, that should have been that. But no. Didn't the Queen of Swords just have to break Rosas out of jail? And guess who had chase her over half the territory? He could have predicted, by that time, that they would lose her in La Luna canyon. Given the way the rest of his day had been going it was all but inevitable. But not, of course, before she had inflicted three glancing sword cuts, grazed two men with pistol shot, pulled one off his horse with her whip, and generally battered a couple of others.

The bedraggled and defeated troop had limped back into town. By this point in his afternoon he had been completely unsurprised to see not only Helm standing in the doorway to his clinic, but Montoya beside him. As they passed he had heard the Colonel say something about "bruise-ed arms"--Shakespeare, probably--and the Doctor had smirked, and leaned forward to say something that made Montoya smile. That had never boded well.

So now Grisham closed the door to his room firmly behind him and sank back against the wood, wishing he could shut this day away as easily. He wanted his dinner. He wanted his bed. He wanted . . .

"Marcus. You are so late," Vera scolded him. With everything that had happened he had completely forgotten that it was one of their afternoons. And Vera did not take forgetfulness well.

"Please, darling, you don't know the day I've had . . ."

"Oh, Marcus," she purred a little later, after listening to his tale of woe and allowing him to persuade her to forgive his tardiness. She had demanded they play Amazon Princess and Captured Warrior, and fortunately his tongue had proved sufficiently eloquent in its non-verbal pleading. "My poor Marcus. How does the saying go? 'If I were to take up shroud making, men would stop dying. If I sold candles, the sun would never set.'"

He chuckled as he moved his lips over the pale, sweet skin of her breast. Maybe this day would turn out alright after all.

If only they could ignore the frenzied knocking on his door. "Capitan! Capitan!" a voice was shouting. "That devil of a mule, it has escaped!"

******

Note: The incident of Rosas (and the mule) is drawn from the history of Spanish California. Without a Queen to rescue him, Jose Antonio Rosas, 18, was executed by firing squad on 11 February 1801. The mule didn't escape either, I'm afraid. The story can be found in the records of the Presidio of Santa Barbara.

---

ESPIRITU SANCTO

By Maril

Disclaimers, etc.

~~~~~

The last rays of sunlight stretched across the horizon, painting the landscape with a roseate blush. The adobe buildings, the hills, the trees all glowed with the crimson radiance of the setting sun. Tessa paused in the doorway of her villa, her eyes filled with the wondrous beauty of her hacienda. A sense of peace pervaded her as she drew a deep breath, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the rose garden. Like a caressing breeze, she felt the land giving up its heat to the coming night. Behind her, Marta laid her hand on Tessa's shoulder and they watched as the last glow of sunlight touched the crosses on the hill like a benediction. Then the light was gone, leaving a stillness that hovered over the land in the pause between day and night. For several minutes, they savoured the twilight, almost unwilling to break into the supernal silence with their mortal sounds. At length, Tessa adjusted the guitar she had slung behind her shoulders and stepped off the verandah. She nearly stumbled over something on the ground, and stooped to pick it up.

"Look, Marta. One of the worker's children left her doll here. I'll take it with me to their camp."

Marta reached out for it. "May I see it?" When the doll touched her hand, Marta exclaimed sharply in surprise; her face became grave and her manner uneasy. For long seconds, she studied the colourful figurine. It was carved from cottonwood and painted with intricate designs. The doll was dressed in exotic clothes and feathers, and wearing a mask . Finally, she said, "This is no child's toy, Tessa. It has an aura of power contained within it. I don't know what it is, or why it was left here. Maybe it is a gift for you." With that, Marta handed the doll back to the younger woman as if glad to be rid of it.

"Do you think it's evil?" Tessa gasped, her eyes widening as she warily accepted the figurine.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Then why are you giving it to me?" Tessa asked with a nervous laugh. Taking the doll in her unwilling hands, she moved away from the verandah. "Maybe one of the workers can explain what it is and who left it."

Tessa turned suddenly. Movement caught her eye as she passed the stable. One of the workers was replacing his pitchfork in the toolroom. It was Joachim, a worker whom the Queen had saved from death some months before. She had found him lying alone in the dark on the badlands, more dead than alive, from thirst and from beatings. Joachim had run away from a mission estancia where his people were driven like animals and treated worse. Marta had nursed him back to health and he had become their hardest worker.

She smiled at Joachim as he bowed deferentially to her. "Buenos noches, Joachim," she said pleasantly, and was rewarded with his wide grin and nod. Joachim was mute, but not deaf. She added, "Are you coming to the fiesta? We are celebrating that Marta's horse gave birth to a foal, a filly." She watched him nod again vigorously, then she continued on toward the glow of the campfire where the strains of "Cielto Lindo" wafted on the warm breeze.

Already, there were many gathered around the fire, including the children. They ran to Tessa, and she handed out the toffees that Marta had made for them earlier. She seated herself on a log and Marta squeezed in beside her. One of the workers was strumming another folk ballad and many joined in with the singing.

Later in the evening, after the children had gone to bed, Tessa brought out the colourful doll and held it up in the firelight for everyone to see. "Does anyone know what this is?" she asked, glancing around at the dark faces.

A man stood up. "Patrón," he began deferentially. "It is called a ka'china. The ka'china spirit brings good fortune to those they are given to. In the old days, a man of the tribe would dress as the ka'china and he would pretend to be one of the spirits who bring the rains and good crops. Now, of course, the ritual is forbidden by the Church, but the dolls are often given to children to remind them of the old ways."

"Does this ka'china belong to one of your children?" Tessa watched their faces as each person shook his or her head. Were they afraid they would be punished for having a pagan idol? "I respect your old ways," she said, " and if you want to keep these ka'chinas here on the hacienda, it is all right with me. Does anyone know how this ka'china came to be on my verandah?" Again, she met with blank looks and denial. She glanced at Marta who shrugged.

"Here, Marta, you hold onto the doll while I play a flamenco tune for the workers. They always enjoy the music so much. You should have brought your violin." Tessa teased as she handed the ka'china to Marta who handled it as if it were hot. What's wrong with her tonight, Tessa wondered, as she studied the frightened look in her friend's eyes. "Are you going to dance for us?"

"I don't feel like it tonight. Another time." In the firelight, Marta's eyes had a questing look, as if she was searching for something or someone. All evening, she had been quiet, introspective.

Tessa began the fiery flamenco tune. Soon, she forgot about Marta and lost herself in the music.

Marta clutched the doll tightly, and felt its power rising up slowly through her hands and into her body. She started to tremble and closed her eyes. A vision began to form and she saw a man's dark shape coming toward her out of a mist with his hands outstretched. He looked familiar. As he got closer, she suddenly knew him. Joachim! He spoke, "I was the shaman of my tribe, but I can be shaman no longer. I have no tribe. I dedicate my life to you, Marta, for you are the shaman of your tribe. The ka'china spirit will watch over you, and protect the woman who wears the black corset like a warrior in armour. I will defend you both with my life. This I pledge." She clasped his hand and a bond was created. She felt his mind touch hers gently, with love. "I am your brother," Joachim said, " and your guardian and your teacher. Since you saved my life, it belongs to you." He smiled and let go of her hand, stepping back into the misty darkness.

The vision ended and Marta realized Tessa had stopped playing and was looking at her with a worried expression. "Are you all right, Marta? You seemed to be in a trance for a while."

Across the campfire, Marta met Joachim's eyes and smiled. She saw there an ageless wisdom and knew she would seek him again in the other world to learn from him, whatever he was willing to teach her. Shaking herself, she said, "I'm fine. Just off in another world, I suppose."

END

---

THE SHROUDMAKER
by Maril Swan
[email protected]

Disclaimers, etc.

~~~~~

"If I were to take up shroud making, men would stop dying - if I sold candles, the sun would never set". Have you ever heard that saying before, señor? I see you are unfamiliar with it. Well, when you hear my story you will know why I said it. I see your glass is nearly empty. Please, accept some of this fine cognac for your benevolent patience while I tell you what you are so obviously anxious to hear.

It all started when the British merchant ship anchored in Santa Helena's harbour. While the sailors unloaded the ship's trading goods, the passengers came ashore. I was passing the cantina when I heard something that sounded like music to my ears -- a woman's laugh. As I turned toward the sound, I saw a vision. I know it seems an exaggeration, señor, but I felt as if an earthquake thundered under my feet when I saw her. Her green eyes captured mine as she gazed at me boldly, and I blush to admit it, but she seemed to be impressed by what she saw. Her face was like that of a porcelain doll, a perfect oval, high classic cheekbones. And her hair was a blaze of glory - the most vivid red you've ever seen. I see you're impressed, señor. And well you should be. She was beauty itself.

Her eyes never left mine, and I felt emboldened to pay my respects to her. She was sitting with a party of passengers from the English ship, and as I approached I could hear that barbaric tongue being spoken by the men and women at her table. I speak a little English and so I introduced myself. "Colonel Luis Ramirez Montoya, at your service, señora." I could see she was past the blush of first youth. She had that wonderful self-contained maturity only the years can bring. She smiled at my English and replied in the most perfect Castilian, "I am Lady Veronica Samson." Then she held her hand out to me and as I kissed it, the most delectable fragrance wafted from her warm skin into my nostrils. She said, "Please join us, Colonel Montoya. We were just saying how lovely this village is. How peaceful."

I see you laugh, señor. I nearly did too, but checked myself in time. Peaceful? Well, it was peaceful since the Queen of Swords had been absent for over a week. Of course, I joined their party and Lady Samson bade me to sit next to her. On her other side was a prune-faced matron whose mouth was pursed as if she was perpetually tasting something bitter. Her maid, I assumed correctly. From the moment I saw Lady Samson, I was caught in her spell. Her unearthly beauty and charm completely undid me. As I gazed at her, I felt as clumsy and inarticulate as a schoolboy. You may smile, sir, but I assure you, I was as smitten as any young swain with the first love of his life. My heart raced and I felt hot and cold; I was dizzy with delight whenever she turned those green eyes upon me.

Finally, I had to excuse myself and get back to work. But I could not let her go without seeing her again. I knew her ship was leaving in the morning so I suggested a dinner party for seven o'clock at my villa. I invited all the passengers. There were only five of them, so it would be no hardship for my cook to prepare a large meal. As I crossed the square to my office, I saw Señorita Alvarado talking with the doctor. I approached them and invited them both to the dinner, as well. Do you know the señorita? Well, she has refused two of my invitations recently, but this time she accepted. Yes, I know. What else could she do without being rude? I really think she accepted because the doctor said he would be there. Since there would be English guests at the dinner he said he was eager for news from his homeland. I think she is infatuated with the doctor, but he only seems to see her as a spoiled nuisance.

I shouldn't laugh, señor, but whenever Señorita Alvarado and the doctor are at one of my dinner parties, I place them as far apart as possible. Yes, I know it is unworthy of me, a petty torment to a young and inoffensive girl. But, I get so few chances for a little diversion in this dull town. You may think better of me now though. That night, I sat them together, much to the señorita's delight and the doctor's irritation.

Your glass is empty again. So is this bottle. Wait, I have another. Let us drink to the woman.

I had Lady Samson placed on my right and Grisham on my left. Yes, I had to invite him too. As the evening wore on, my mind was filled with the most romantic and impossible ideas. With Veronica at my side, I would preside over the society of the area, even attain to the Governor's mansion in Monterrey. With such a woman beside me, what ambitions could I not fulfill? She was everything a man could dream of and more.

The evening passed in a blur and finally, all the guests departed. Veronica stayed behind just as if she were my hostess. All evening long, I watched Veronica as she laughed and joked with her friends, and was pleasant to the señorita and the doctor. She was the perfect woman to adorn my household and bring charm and grace to my table.

All evening, I felt her presence near me, the fragrant warmth of her body so close. Those green eyes bewitched me and I found myself holding her gaze too often, too long. I was maddened with desire for her, and my mind filled with thoughts of the evening and night yet to come. But the maid, Margaret, hung on like a limpet, never leaving us alone for a second. Finally, Veronica said to her, "Margaret, you go on to the hotel. I will be there shortly." The maid's mouth pursed even more if that is possible, but she went and left us alone.

It was as if we both had one thought as we embraced as soon as we were alone. She showed none of the coyness or reluctance of an inexperienced young girl, but was as avid as I to make love. I won't convey all the pleasures of that night, but suffice it to say I fell in love with her and she took me to heaven in her arms.

The next day, the ship sailed away, but Veronica and her maid remained behind. She said she would take the coach to Monterrey on its next circuit through from Santa Monica. To my absolute delight, the coach was not expected for another week. I invited Veronica and her maid to be guests at my villa and they moved into the guest rooms. Yes, señor, I know it was very indiscrete of us, but I cared nothing for what people might say, and to her credit, nor did Veronica. We spent our nights making love and talking until all hours. She asked me all about my life in Santa Helena and I told her about that damned vigilante, the Queen of Swords. She said she knew how to capture the Queen. It was a delicate moment, señor, and I tried to be gentle with her, but I told her no trap that was ever set could catch that diabla.

Veronica laughed, and said, "That's because she is a woman and thinks like a woman. No wonder you can't catch her. What woman could be caught unless she wants to be? You have to think like a woman to catch her." I told her at that moment I wasn't interested in thinking like a woman. Much later she began to discuss the idea of capturing the Queen herself, and to my surprise, she said she would expect the reward for doing so. I humoured her, of course. So would you, if you were in my situation, señor. Another glass of cognac? The day is still young, señor. Another toast to the woman. You are a most excellent companion; the best kind -- a silent one.

One night, after a most enchanting dinner, I asked Veronica to be my wife, and she accepted. I had visions, señor, of a life with Veronica at my side, my lover, my hostess, and the mother of our children. Oh yes, I could almost see their little red heads as they scampered about the grounds of our hacienda. Of course, I would become a don and take my place in polite society. No more the military ruler, but a master of my own household, my only concerns those that normally rise up around a man in his domestic environment.

A few days later, Veronica had been absent the whole day and as the night fell, I began to worry. Finally, she arrived wearing a most unusual costume -- men's trousers, high boots, a rough jacket and a sword at her side. For all the world, she looked like a buccaneer. I was as surprised as you, señor, but the greatest surprise was yet to come. She led me outside and there, tied on a horse, was the Queen of Swords. I was so taken aback, Veronica began to laugh, and then I too laughed. The Queen just sat there, trussed up like a goose. I wanted to kill her immediately, after I unmasked her, but Veronica had a better plan. "Luis, you will have a greater dramatic effect if you unmask her at the trial. The dons will know you are a fair and honest governor." Yes, señor, she expected that the Queen would get a trial. I could not disappoint her, and I did not want her to think I was unjust. So we threw her majesty into a cell and doubled the guard.

Once it was known we had the Queen, pandemonium broke loose in the village. The peasants threw rotten fruit at the soldiers, my own villa was pelted with dung and all manner of malodorous things. Grisham was worried about a rush on the prison to free her. Through it all, she just sat there, imperturbably ignoring the noise outside and my questions.

I gave Veronica her reward. I was never so glad to give anything to anyone. She did not explain how she captured the Queen, though I pressed her for an answer. "It is my business, Luis," she told me. I had to be satisfied with that. Our lovemaking that night was more intense and passionate than ever before. I could hardly wait for the dawn and the trial. By afternoon the following day, I would be rid of the nightmare of the Queen forever. I slept the sleep of the just.

Toward dawn, I woke to the sound of an enormous explosion. Veronica was not in my bed but I had no time to think about that. Outside there was shouting and shots being fired, and the sounds of horses pounding through the village. I rushed into the chaos and saw smoke coming from the prison. I knew before anyone had to tell me -- the Queen had escaped...again. Si, señor, I know I was a fool to delay killing her, but my Veronica had begged me not to, and I could refuse her nothing.

Suddenly, I thought of Veronica and wondered where she was during all this. I ran from room to room in my villa searching for her. She was gone. On my desk, there was a note. I tore it open and read...ah, señor. What a heartless wretch she was! She wrote, "Dear Luis, do not look for me as I have gone with the reward money. I could not let you kill the Queen of Swords and have freed her. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but this past week with you has been anything but cold. In the heat of passion, I have loved and hated you at the same time. I now leave you with this thought. Carlotta, my dearest friend, is avenged."

So, señor, now you know why I am the unluckiest man alive. You have been such a good listener, I will pour us both another glass of cognac, and we will toast the woman one last time. Her name will never cross my lips again."

As Tessa approached the church, she noticed Grisham and the doctor sitting on the steps. She reached the door and pulled. It was locked. She turned to the doctor. "Why is the door locked? The church is never locked during the day. I want to go in and light a candle for someone."

Grisham grinned sardonically. "The Colonel locked himself in and won't open the door for anyone."

The doctor added, "He's been in there for hours with the soldier who was killed this morning in the hail of bullets that accompanied the Queen's escape."

"Well," she said indignantly, "does he think the church is his private chapel?" With that, she hammered on the door and called out angrily, "Colonel Montoya! Open this door."

"So you do know how to knock on a door, Señorita Alvarado. You might try practicing on my door next." Dr. Helm gave her a wry smile to which she returned a haughty glance and resuming pounding on the door.

Suddenly, there was a sound of glass breaking and a muffled curse, followed by, "All right, all right. I am going to open the door."

The colonel staggered out through the open door and collided with Tessa who grabbed him before he fell. She turned her head quickly from the alcohol fumes he breathed on her. His hair was mussed and his pale eyes were moist and bloodshot as he looked blearily around in the bright sunlight.

"Better get him inside before anyone sees him like this," Grisham laughed. He quickly took hold of the colonel and began to half carry, half drag him toward his villa.

"I almost pity him," Dr. Helm commented as they watched Grisham and Montoya disappear into the villa.

"Because of the sick stomach and headache that will surely follow this drinking bout?" Tessa asked.

"No. That will go away in a matter of a day or so. It's the other pain that will probably burn in his soul forever. That's what I pity." He looked up and saw a sympathetic expression on her face as she glanced toward Montoya's residence. "Well, now you can go in and light your candle, señorita. Who is it for, if you don't mind my asking?"

"An enemy and a friend," she said over her shoulder as she entered the dim interior of the church.

END

---

AGAINST THE TRUTH
By Zara RavenWood
[email protected]

CHARACTERS: Tessa
RATING: G-PG.
WARNING: Unbeta'd- SORRY
DISCLAIMER: the Queen of Swords belongs to Paramount and Fireworks. I'm just getting out and meet people. The Poetry belongs to Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra of blessed memory. It'd like to thank the Atlas of World Jewish History for my title. Please note I'm not a historian-and this era is hardly my strong point. I hope my readers will forgive a little ethnomina on my part. I like to think this story could have happen.

~~~~~

The early sunset had provided Tessa Alvarado just enough cover to escape in the borders of Dona Fernando's estate. It was far from her hacienda- there were a few adobe structures scattered across the landscape, and farms trotted quickly into them. One or two fat pigs were in the animal pens. Tessa wondered vaguely why they were not slathered yet- times being what they were.

The Queen of Swords groaned, here sides and legs heart. She had no idea where Chico had run off to, the last battle with Captain Grisham had not gone well. Three men were dead and the man she had tried to free would be back in the Colonel's custody by now.

Slowly she lifted herself off the ground, even the thought of walking hurt. Tessa was certain that she had broken her ribs once more. Slowly, she moved toward the nearest cottage. The Colonel's men might still be looking for her; she had to get out of sight. Perhaps she could hide in a storeroom or barn of one of the peasants' houses. It was risky for them she knew, but she could not think of another way.

Slowly she made her way toward the closest building. By the time she had reached the back steps of the barn she was half crawling. As she approached the door, she could hear the soft sound of women's voices singing- the language was unknown to her, but the tune sounded vaguely familiar. She thought she could remember her mother singing it to her when she was a child. Through the cracks in the door she could see fire light, not candle light- and a mother with two little children. "I had hope there would be no one in here at this time of night," she muttered to her self softly. " I couldn't get that lucky. If I were to take up shroud making, men would stop dying - if I sold candles, the sun would never set." She laughed to her self- that had been one
of her mothers favorite lines.

Unfortunately, she must have laughed to loudly- the singing stopped abruptly.

---

PART 2
Notes and Disclaimers in Part 1
And Thanks to my sister for betaing this.
Vocabulary: Conversos (Sp?)- Jews or Muslim who converted to Catholicism

~~~~~

"Maria," Tessa heard the woman say slowly, "Open it." The Queen of Swords looked up at the doorway, a stout pitchfork looked back.

"Momma!" One of the children cried," It's the Queen!" Her mother nodded dumbly. "Um, may I help you your Majesty?" She asked awkwardly.

The two girls stood facing forward now, blocking her view of the light. "I'm very sorry to disturb you- I didn't mean interrupt your--what ever it is your doing." Tessa blinked. Barns were a bad place for lit candles. "What is it you're doing any way?" she asked in confusion.

"Mouse hunting," the woman said a little too quickly. At the same time her smallest daughter cried out, "Lighting Candles for Shabbat!"

The woman paled, Maria put her had over her sister's mouth, a moment too late. "It's okay, Momma. The Queen won't tell anyone!" said the little girl.

As for the Queen herself, Tessa could only lie there blinking. Shabbat? Who or what was Shabbat? Then it hit her Sabado. (Spanish: Saturday). In the days before Isabelle, the Jews of Spain used to celebrate their Sabbath on Saturdays. Starting the day of rest on Friday nights, with candles and clean linens.

"Your Conversos?" Tessa asked casually, unsure if she had stumble onto loyal supporters of the Queen, or into the company of the devil.

The woman laughed. "Me? I was baptized the day I was born. Mother wouldn't take the chance that the devil would claim me, even if she had to wake the Padre from his cell in the middle of the night!" Yet she did lift the pitchfork.

Somewhere in the background, Tessa heard the sound of horses. "Quickly! Hide me," she pleaded. The woman looked ambitious; but at she last dragged Tessa inside.

Maria and the other girl, meanwhile had each picked up one of the two large silver candle sticks that had been on a small table in the middle of the barn. They blew them out and hid them in the hay, along with the white table cloth. The mother eased Tessa into broken pig troth and covered her with hay. Her daughters picked up lanterns that had been hanging from the rafters. "Here mousy, mousy..." the older one called, peering into the darker corners of the room.

Tessa could hear foot steps approaching. Her heart raced. "Please let them have covered me all the way," she prayed.

"May I help you, Captain," Tessa heard the woman say.

"Is this your daughter," Grisham asked cheerfully. Tessa heard the sound of a child being lifted.

"Si, Captain- my daughter Isabelle," she answered nervously.

"Cute kid." Tessa could almost see his menacing smile. "What are you doing out here in the barn this late?" He asked.

"Looking for rats," Isabelle chimed exactly.

"Aren't we all," he mumbled. "Ma'am, this estate been haunted by bandits this afternoon. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious?

"No Capitan."

"Good. In that case I suggest you go inside for the evening. It's safe that way. Oh, and ladies be careful with those lanterns. This barn could catch fire like that!" Gresham snapped his fingers.

Tessa heard him mount his horse and ride off. It took several minutes for the peasants to uncover her. When she could see at last, the barn looked strangely cold. "Thank you," she said turning to the mother. The other woman made no answer, and to Tessa's horror - her face showed fear.

"What was that you were singing before?" The queen asked.

"That? Nothing, only old song my mother use to sing to me."

Tessa sighed inwardly. This was a puzzle she would not solve today. "Did you see which way Grisham went?" She asked finally.

"To the east toward Dona Fernando's hacienda," The woman answered slowly, her eyes never leaving Tessa's face.

"Good Sabbath," the Queen replied softly as she left the barn.

---

PART 3

Disclaimer in Part one. With a special thanks to "The Voice of the Turtle" web site.

Vocabulary: Marrono(Sp)- converso's who practice Judaism in secret; their descendants.

Note: This story doesn't lead where this installment looks like it's going. It also make passing mention of the Blood Liable Myth- the false accusations of ritual sacrifice.

~~~~~

Tessa moaned as her servant tightened the linen bands around her waist. Marta watched her mistress with concern. Broken ribs were the least of the wounds the Queen had taken last night.

"You can't even be certain they are Maronos," Marta sighed, as she tided that last knot.

"It's not the woman I'm worried about." Tessa sighed, her eyes distant.

Marta looked her square in the eye, "Your mother."

"She knew that song they were singing, what ever it was? She knew it."

"So?" Marta herself knew many Jewish songs. Her people were so often the musicians and dancers at their weddings and festivals. She had retained the song of their employers, even 327 years after their departure. "It means nothing."

"Oh, Marta!" Tessa cried," I knew my mother. She was a good Catholic!"

"Of course she was," Marta said comfortingly.

"So how did she know those songs?" The servant had no answer for that. "Marta, one way or another, I have to learn the truth."

"Why?" She had a bad feeling about this. "Your destiny lies elsewhere. Your part is to establish justice, not start another inquisition."

Tessa shuttered and Marta knew she was thinking of Spain. Only four years ago, a religious fever had struck the country, bringing out memories and bitterness not heard of in generations. "If they really are Jews, Marta, if they really stand they in church every Sunday and�"

"And what? Pray to G'd? Remember the Sabbath? Sacrifice children?"

"Marta!"

"Some people will believe anything. Some people do anything to make other believe as they do. But the Queen of Swords must be above all that hatred and lies. After all, they did save your life."

"I suppose so. I just have to know."

"This is foolishness. You keep your secrets and let them keep theirs."

"And my mother?"

"I saw her at church. She love her faith. There was no way she was a marrono."

---

PART 4

It took a several weeks for Tessa Alverado to recover, from her "fall from the ladder in the library." It was an embarrassing ruse but it was the first one she could think of. She was relieved to find, however, that Chico had found his way back to her hacienda without her. Rather then ride him, she donned her "working dress."

"Come Marta," she said as she eased her self into the passenger side of the carriage.

"I still say this is to risky. What if they recognize you?"

"Nobody ever recognizes me!"

"Ands for what reason are we trespassing on Dona Fernando's estate?"

"We're not trespassing. I'm going to invite her to tea."

"You can't send her a letter like every one else?"

"I can't visit Isabelle and her mother if I write a letter."

"This is ridiculous," Marta mummered as she climbed in.

~~~~~

It was nearing noon as they reached Dona Fernando's hacienda. In the distance, Tessa could see Maria and her mother working. Marta slowed as she approached the house. "Buenos Noches Senorita. Alvarado," the girl sang out as she approached.

"Buenos Noches. How do you know my name?" The Lady replied bending down to reach the child.

"My uncle Ignosio works on your estate, Senorita," she replied thoughtfully.

"Can I help you Senorita?" The mother curtseying a little as she came out of the barn.

"Yes, I was looking at your fine pigs," Tessa motioned to the pen. "Are they for sale?"

The woman blinked, " I haven't though about it, to be honest. We were fatten them up for Christmas."

"Christmas ? It's nearly Easter."

"I hadn't the heart to eat them with out my Noah." Other people besides Jews name the Children Noah, she reminded herself.

"My condolences on your husband. I'm sorry, I haven't heard your name?"

"Yasmen Abenhazar"

"Widow Abenhazar, I'm throwing a celebration two weeks from tomorrow evening. If you can bring one of your fine animals to my hacienda that morning, I'll pay you a fair price."

"Si, Senorita." The woman turned around. "Isabelle stop ticking your cousin! Pardon me Senorita," she nodded as she went chasing after the youngster.

"What was that all about ?"Marta asked as Yasmen left.

"They're definitely Catholic"

"With a name like Abenhazar?"

"Well, if the eat the pig or work on Saturday, they're not Jews, right?"

"So if they haven't eaten the swine yet but are selling animals on your estate two weeks from now, what are they? Tessa, if they are maranos, then they have 300 years of experience covering their tracks."

"I guess you're right. I'll have to find out some other way."

Marta sighed, "In the meantime, you better come up with a good reason to throw a party!"

---

PART 5:Note : I forgot to mention the Acadmy of St. Garil in my notes for part 4. Their web site provided me with a good list of Spinsh sir names used by Jews.

~~~~~

LATER THAT EVENING

The Queen of Swords slipped silently down the path past the pig pen. She tiptoed quietly around the back of the barn. It was cold and empty. Creeping towards the hoses, she heard soft sweet singing. That song her mother use to sing her to sleep with. She ducked under the window and listened. "Le ca do de Le Cad Ca La Pen nae Shabbat le cha or blah" it sounded like.

After a time the song ended, and Isabelle--Tessa was sure it was her--lead a new one. A fast and lively rhythm in contrast to the one before. "Ve Sham Ru pena Yisrail eeet ha Shabbat�.." or something. She tried to look threw the window but the shutter was drawn. The singing stopped abruptly. The shutter flew open. Yasmen Albenhzar stared down at her in terror.

"Mama? Can The Queen stay for Shabbat?" asked Isabelle, excitedly.

"I would like that very much," Tessa replied with out thinking. Well, whatever they were doing, it didn't sound evil.

"I'd be honored, Your Majesty," the Widow said at last. Her eyes uncertain but she shut the blinds and opened the door. "Please share our meal with us."

---

PART 6
The Queen of Swords entered the building. In the center was a low table with the white tablecloth she had seen a few weeks earlier. The half melted white candles (the family must have to starve to be able to afford those every week) cast a warm glow all about the room.

Yasmen ushered Tessa to a seat of honor, and served her a large helping some fish stew and honey bread. Maria picked put an apple and handed it to Tessa, shyly. The Queen smile as she took the apple. It may not have been much to Maria Tressa Alvarado, but the Queen blushed at such hospitality. The poor could not afford such pleasantries easily.

"Please tell me, what was that song you were singing? The one I heard last time I was here." She hummed a few notes.

"Le Ca Do De" Maria answered.

"Do you like it?" asked Isabelle

"Yes. What does it mean?"

"It welcomes the Sabbath Bride," answered Maria once more.

"Bride?" Said Tessa looking around.

"Poets called them our bride," replied the Widow thoughtfully, "They also refer to the day as the Shabbat Queen." Her voice sounded strange for some reason. Tessa felt rather awkward, and Yasmen seemed to sense it.

"May I inquire, your majesty, why you ask?" The widow's tone more conversational.

"My mother use to sing it to me when I couldn't sleep. No words, just the tune."

Isabelle started giggling; "It's not a lullaby!" But her sister silenced her.

"But your mother, she was Catholic, no?"

Tessa nodded.

"Most Noble houses had a convert generations back, even the king. Hundreds of thousands were forced to convert, and some did it for personal gain--from rich to the poorest of the poor. Many were like ourselves. We were fortunate enough to keep our faith, practicing in secret. But often the meaning of the practices became obscure and forgotten, a lit candle before sundown of Friday evening, a fast in early fall, a half forgotten melody past from mother to daughter."

The night passed quickly as the Queen and her companions talked pleasantly. They talked of the Sabbath and of the fields, of taxes and Jerusalem. She, unable to resist the children's pleading, awkwardly told of her many escapes, sword fights, fist fights, and of falling off cliffs."

"Promise my you won't try that," she insisted looking Maria and Isabelle right in the eye.

"Si, your Majesty," they replied gravely.

Tessa turned to Yasmen. "I'm grateful for your hospitality, but I really must go now." The Children moaned disappointedly. "I'm off to defend truth and justice from the forces of evil," The Queen replied in mock seriousness.

The Widow stared at her for a moment. "We have a saying, 'Against the Truth evil does not prevail,' "

THE END


"With G'd's help it is done."

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