Disclaimers: The characters from the Queen of Swords are 
copyright to Fireworks Productions. No infringement of 
copyright is intended or revenue expected from their use. 
The story plot and other original characters are 
copyright to the author.

Acknowledgements: To Judith Hill for betaing this with 
her usual thoroughness.

Note: This story is part of Channel QoS-VS, the Queen of 
Swords Virtual Second Season. It can be read on its own, 
but does incorporate backstory from the rest of the 
season, which can be found at: 
http://www3.sympatico.ca/maril.swan/qosvs/

Summary: Dr. Helm has a very bad day at work.



Entre L'Espadatxina i la Paret [Between the Swordswoman 
and the Wall]
                                                         
by Paula Stiles

Virtual Season Episode #226

     Helm hated thunder. It reminded him of things. 
Cursing, frightened men dragging a cannon through the 
mud. Gunfire. Flash floods and collapsing hillsides. 
Barns where the water dripped through the roof onto his 
face all night--and dripped...and dripped. He'd almost 
prefer being tortured.

     The sound woke him right after dawn, still so faint 
that he wagered only he and Equus could hear it. He 
turned in his cot, groaning at a stab of pain from the 
still-healing wound in his right shoulder. Damn that 
bastard Grisham for getting him shot. The faint, unsteady 
purr of thunder distracted him from thoughts of revenge. 
He had heard it rumbling off and on for weeks. Rain. He 
should have been happy. The drought wasn't bad yet, but 
the farmers had begun to complain. And the children had 
begun to sicken, as happened when the wells sank into 
sludge. Once the rain came, everybody would be happier. 
But not him, not even when it made his job easier.

     Helm rolled off his cot and dressed quickly, though 
his body ached for more sleep. When the rain came, it 
would be in the afternoon. He intended to be back inside 
his hut, getting quietly drunk, by then. He would do his 
few morning chores, finish up that batch of fever powder 
he'd started, and open his office an hour or two earlier. 
Hopefully, no busybodies like Senora Hidalgo would show 
up. Dear God, that woman was a menace!
*********

     Tessa was having a very good day. She had slipped in 
early to find apples; the fruit stand always emptied 
first. Vera Hidalgo had just told her there that Grisham 
and Montoya would be out at Senor Vitorio's ranch for the 
next two days. They had no choice, as it took nearly a 
day to ride out, and one to ride back. They had left 
early that morning, with a small escort. Best of all, it 
was market day, with plenty of crowd to mask her 
activities. Already, she had a plan. She wanted a better 
look at Montoya's office--specifically, his new tax 
shipment schedule. Today was just the day to do it.

     She skipped around a corner, barely remembering to 
simper, and nearly ran into Dr. Helm, in his hat and 
duster, saddling his horse, Equus. Robert was cursing 
Equus in English (*since when did you start calling him 
"Roberto"?* she scolded herself), as he struggled to get 
a bit into the horse's mouth. Equus shook his head from 
side to side, nickering.

     "Dr. Helm, whatever are you doing going out so 
early?" Tessa exclaimed. He did not generally go visiting 
patients until noon on market day.
 
     "I have rounds to make, Senorita," Helm replied. She 
was surprised at his sullen tone. She had thought the 
recent weeks had brought the two of them to some sort of 
understanding, even brought Helm to an affection of sorts 
for Tessa as well as the Queen. Just a few weeks ago, he 
had kissed and flirted with her, as Tessa, and she had 
hoped.... Now, he turned away from her, looking impatient 
and hostile, while he worked to get the bit in. Finally, 
Equus seemed to take pity on him and let the bit slide 
in.

     "It seems very early for you to do that," Tessa 
pointed out. "Are you not usually in your office at this 
time of day? Market day, especially?"

     He frowned at her. "Can't you hear the rain?" He 
shivered.

     She stared at him. He seemed so odd, today. "No. I 
have not, Doctor. What makes you believe that it will 
rain?" Perhaps this was some evil fantasy from his time 
in the war?

     "It has been threatening for weeks, Senorita 
Alvarado," Helm retorted. "I don't expect a city-bred 
noblewoman to sense such things, but if you look, you can 
see it on the horizon. It's just a line of thin blue 
right now, but it is there. If you listen carefully, you 
can hear it." He brushed the back of his neck; Tessa 
wondered if he realised what an evocative gesture it was, 
and suppressed her own shiver. "You can feel it, on the 
hairs on the back of your neck." An odd look came over 
his face, one of both fear and longing.

     "Doctor Helm," Tessa said sharply. "It is a 
perfectly clear day. And while I may have spent some of 
my time in Spain at court, I was born here. I am 
perfectly capable of reading the weather. Perhaps you 
have had a touch of the sun." She snapped out her fan and 
glared at him over it.

     He glared back. "Fine! Don't listen to me. Your 
hacienda is only a few miles away, so I suppose you can 
afford to be careless. Though, after your experience with 
Senora Hidalgo in the flash flood last fall, I'm very 
surprised that you can be so dismissive of a coming 
storm."

     Tessa felt a flash of anger. "Are you saying that 
Vera and I were nearly washed away because we were 
careless, Doctor? I assure you that we took great care."

     "I have no doubt that you did." The sarcasm in his 
tone spoiled the sincerity of his words. "I, however, 
would like to learn from your unfortunate experience, and 
I have many patients to see today. Buenos Dias, 
Senorita." Before Tessa could think of a suitable retort, 
he mounted his horse and rode past her out into the 
rapidly growing market. Despite her anger, Tessa noted 
that he was sitting his horse much better than when he 
had first come to Santa Helena--though perhaps improving 
on a sack of grain was not so difficult. Fuming at his 
dismissal, she stomped off in the opposite direction. She 
had things to do.
*********

     Damn that girl! Did she think he could stand around 
all day listening to her nattering? She was as 
irritating, in her own way, as the Queen. That errant 
thought tickled across the back of Helm's mind, making 
him uneasy, as thoughts of the Queen always did. The 
truth was that he had feelings for both women, had 
flirted and made a fool of himself with each of them. He 
did not consider himself a cheat. That would make him 
like Grisham. And yet, here he was, an honest man (or so 
he'd always told himself), playing away with two 
noblewomen, imperiling their honour and his own 
reputation. What the Hell was he thinking?

     He was soon distracted by the difficulty of the 
trail rising up the hill ahead of him. He wasn't sure 
which of them was clumsier, he or Equus. Equus picked his 
way carefully up the trail, snorting uneasily. Equus did 
not seem to like narrow, switchback trails with nasty 
drops any more than his owner did.

     After a long exhausting ride, horse and man finally 
arrived at the top of the small mesa, tired but safe. It 
was an easy ride the rest of the way to the village. As 
he trotted into the large space between the cluster of 
houses, Helm noticed something wrong. Nobody was there.

    "Hola!" he called out to the empty square. "Buenos 
dias! Quien es?" No answer but  the wind.

     Helm slowly dismounted, rubbing his sore shoulder 
while looking about. "Que pasa?" he tried again. "Donde 
esta todo el mundo?" Nothing. "Hello?" he said more 
quietly, in English. "Is anybody here?" Christ, he hated 
when they did this to him. It didn't happen every time, 
or with every village, but that somehow made it all the 
worse. And if he refused to come back, they would whine 
and beg until he gave in. One village had even tried to 
complain officially to Montoya, who ignored them, thank 
God. Montoya was not a nice man, but he could back up his 
employees, when it suited him.

     Helm began to search through the huts for somebody 
to tell him what had happened. Otherwise, they might 
claim later that he had not come at all. He had not 
ridden this far to put up with that. The wind whipped 
dust around his boots as he strode from house to house, 
peering inside each door. In this village, people were 
too poor to lock up their houses--they had nothing worth 
stealing. In some villages just as destitute as this one, 
the people took pride in what few possessions they had, 
and their houses were neat and well-kept. Not this 
village. Here, mud bricks were slapped one on top of the 
other, often without any kind of mortar. Straw rotted on 
the roof eaves. Even outside, the place stank of moldy 
hay. Helm pushed open one door, swearing in disgust as 
two rats scurried away from an overturned bowl of 
cornmeal gruel inside. Poverty did different things to 
different people. He had been poor, he had been homeless, 
and he had been hungry. But he had never lost his pride. 
These people, he suspected, had never had any.

     At the sixth house, he found someone. It was a man, 
asleep on a straw bed in a corner, a bottle crooked into 
his arm. Standing in the doorway, Helm watched him for a 
few moments. He wondered if this was how he looked after 
one of his own drunken nights. He had had too many 
lately; the prospect of rain did that to him.

     No. When it came to the drink, he had to be honest. 
He did it to himself.

     He went up to the man and prodded him with his foot. 
The man grunted, but made no other move. Helm kicked him 
hard in the ribs. "Wake up!" he said sharply.

     The man groaned and rolled over, squinting up at 
Helm. There were sores on his face and he looked filthy. 
The sharp smell of home-brewed wine and vomit rose from 
him, reminding Helm of more than one of his own bad 
nights. Helm remembered him from previous visits. He was 
the village drunk. Every village needed one, especially a 
village like this. 

     "'Pedro', isn't it?" Helm said, dredging up a name 
from somewhere.

     "Eh." The man spat to one side of Helm's left boot. 
"Si."

     "Where is everybody? Donde esta todo el mundo?" Helm 
said, looking down at the man in disgust.

     "Out planting," the man replied in Spanish, as if 
this were so obvious, it needed no explanation.

     "They told me to come today. They said that they 
would be here today," Helm insisted, gritting his teeth 
to keep down his anger.

     The man shrugged. "The rain is coming. They have to 
get the fields ready--dig channels so it won't all wash 
away. More important than you."

     Helm swore loudly--in Spanish, English, French and 
Catalan--and punched a wall. It shook. Dust and straw 
spattered him, causing him to curse more. He stopped when 
he saw the drunk shrink away from him. Helm threw his 
head back, closed his eyes, bit his lips and counted 
silently. When he had recovered his calm, he opened his 
eyes and looked down at the peasant, who stared 
mistrustfully up at him. Helm crouched next to the man.

     "Tell them," he said. "That I am not coming back 
again. Tell them that if they need a doctor, they can 
come get me in town. Do you understand? Can you remember 
to tell them that?" It was all bravado, of course. They 
would whine and beg, and he would be back out here, 
shouting at the same drunk in the same empty village, 
next month.

     The man looked truculent. "Doesn't matter what you 
do. They don't care."

     Helm sighed and hung his head. "No. I don't suppose 
they do. That's why they're peasants." Unlike the Queen 
of Swords, he had no illusions about peasants. Or dons. 
He stood up and turned to go. At the doorway, he 
hesitated.

     "I can do something about those sores, at least," he 
offered, but the drunk was already rolling over to face 
the wall. Helm left.

     Outside, Equus had slipped his tether and gone off 
to graze on the other side of the huts. Helm went to get 
him, but was so rough and irritable that Equus kept 
shying away from him. After several tries to mount, Helm 
exploded at the horse.

     "Damn you, Equus, I'm infantry, not bloody cavalry!" 
he spluttered. Equus spooked and tried to bolt, dragging 
Helm along at a trot for several yards. Helm had to grab 
the saddle and yank on the reins, forcing Equus to go in 
a circle. Finally, he calmed the horse enough to get on.

     *I'll just bet the Queen of Swords never has these 
problems,* he told himself darkly, as he trotted back out 
of the village.

*********

     Tessa was having a grand day. Rather than change 
into her Queen clothes and risk discovery, she decided to 
brazen her way into Colonel Montoya's office as Tessa 
Alvarado. After all, she had been engaged to him only a 
few months ago. It made sense that she would still feel a 
bit free about his territory. At least, it might make 
sense to a not particularly bright guard.

     She simpered her way through the market, looking at 
an apple here (which she bought and ate) and some nuts, 
there. Some of the bolts of cloth were pretty, although 
the material was cheap. Marta had stayed back at the 
hacienda, busy cooking something special for dinner. She 
claimed that it would be worth spending the day doing it. 
Tessa suspected that Marta simply wanted to get her out 
from underfoot and out of the house.

     Tessa paused to gossip with Vera about the market. A 
small group of older donas looked on disapprovingly 
(would they ever learn to accept Vera as one of their 
own?). Tessa ignored them. Vera was her friend, more so 
than the other don's wives and daughters. She might be a 
flirt and a tease, but she was also a good friend, and 
she kept her head in dangers that would have killed other 
women. She was the only woman in Santa Helena, aside from 
Marta, whom Tessa truly trusted and respected.

     As it turned out, even persuading a guard was not a 
problem. As she skipped around the corner to Montoya's 
office, she noticed that the bored-looking guard was 
glancing around nervously. She ducked back behind the 
corner, to see what he would do. Sure enough, after 
establishing that nobody was around, he sneaked off down 
the hallway in the opposite direction. No doubt, he 
wanted to see the market. This was definitely her day!

     Silently thanking Dr. Helm (even if he was a grump) 
for his advice about lock-picking, Tessa slipped a small 
knife out of her bodice and set to work. It was very 
quick, and within a moment or two, she was inside. She 
wondered, not for the first time, where Helm had got so 
many odd skills. However, she soon found herself 
distracted by the job at hand. Montoya's office lay, 
deceptively open and ready to be plundered, before her.

     His tax shipments would not be right on top of the 
desk, she knew that. If they had been, she would feel 
very suspicious. Even now, she wondered if Montoya and 
Grisham's little trip was not some sort of trap. Montoya 
had been looking strangely at her, the past month or so. 
Could he have guessed her secret? She supposed so. But to 
expose her, he would need proof. Indeed, he would need to 
capture her redhanded as the Queen of Swords. The other 
dons would never accept her guilt otherwise. Montoya 
surely knew that.

     One more excellent reason to be in here as Tessa, 
where she could pretend to be "lost", rather than as the 
Queen, who certainly would be if somebody walked in on 
her right now.

     Tessa searched the top of the desk. The only 
documents there were some letters from Monterey and a 
letter that Montoya had begun to draft to a friend in 
Spain. While personally interesting (it discussed, in 
lively detail, a horse that Montoya had once trained for 
a nobleman in Alava) it held nothing about tax shipments 
or carriage routes. She decided to look closer. The 
drawer was locked; she picked it. And there right on top 
of everything else, was the tax shipment. She took it 
out, expecting some sort of tripwire or other trap. 
Nothing happened. It was a perfectly ordinary piece of 
paper.

     She looked it over. Everything was straightforward: 
all the moneys and the villages and haciendas from which 
they had come, the nature of the shipment (coin), the 
strongboxes in which it was contained.... The route was 
very neatly laid out--a desolate and unusually roundabout 
route to Monterey. Ah. So, the trap was not in the paper 
at all, but in what was written on it.

     Tessa smiled to herself. Well, just because the trap 
had been laid for her, didn't mean that she had to walk 
right into it. But one did not just leave such things 
lying around unsprung, either. Perhaps, with a little 
forethought, she might turn this to her advantage, and 
string up Montoya by his own rope.

     Humming to herself, Tessa replaced the paper and 
carefully closed the drawer. Re-locking it was trickier, 
but not impossible. Then, she stood up and let herself 
quietly out of the office. She heard a noise from the 
hallway and hurried back down the other way. When she 
risked a peek back around the corner, she saw the guard 
return to his post, happier and a little drunk. Perfect.

     Tessa slipped back out into the marketplace and made 
her rounds again. She wanted people to remember that 
Tessa Alvarado had participated in the market that day, 
and enjoyed it fully. As she drifted from stall to stall, 
she surreptitiously edged towards Chico at the other end 
of the square. Meanwhile, she planned. This was going to 
be a very busy day--and a productive one, too, as long as 
she was careful.
*********

     Helm was in a bitter mood. The sun was very hot, and 
the wind had begun to pick up, blowing grit into his eyes 
and nose. The second village he visited had also been 
deserted. This time, he did not even find any unhelpful 
drunks. He hung around the square, drinking water from 
his canteen and nervously eyeing the horizon for awhile, 
then got back on Equus and rode away. Shortly after that, 
Equus spooked at a snake and dumped him on the trail. By 
this time, Helm had learned the hard way not to curse and 
swear, though he found it difficult to walk straight for 
some time and his shoulder hurt like hell. It was just as 
well that Equus did not go far this time because Helm was 
much too tired to chase him. And to think it was barely 
past noon. He limped after Equus, who had stopped to 
graze on some nearby scrub, and got back on. For the 
hundredth time, Helm asked himself why he had not 
considered what sort of transportation a country doctor 
would need to use in visiting his patients. All he wanted 
to do now was to go back into town and get drunk. He 
hated horses. He hated Equus. He hated riding. His entire 
body ached. And as long as he stayed in Santa Helena, he 
was stuck with it all.

     He did not look forward to the next village at all. 
It was dominated by an ancient priest. The priest did not 
like Helm. Nor did Helm like him. Helm thought he was a 
bully who enjoyed lording it over his tiny kingdom. There 
were entirely too many bullies in Alta California for 
Helm's liking. The priest would probably send Helm 
packing (he usually did), but Helm still had to try. That 
was his job, and he loved his job. It was just that some 
days, it was difficult to remember that.
*********
     
     Tessa sat on Chico and watched the wagon through her 
spyglass. She had a plan, but it was going to be 
dangerous. The escort was there, she could tell, but not 
in sight. She suspected that either Montoya or Grisham 
was inside the wagon itself, lying hidden. She could work 
this to her favour. There was a small canyon where the 
wagon had to pass through. It would be easy to stage an 
ambush from there, especially since she had come 
prepared. Time to move into position.

     While the sun climbed to noonday, she watched the 
wagon make its slow way into the canyon. She smiled as it 
stopped at the large pile of brush blocking the canyon 
right in front of her. The horses snorted and refused to 
go forward, no matter how much the driver whipped them. 
She heard Grisham curse from inside the wagon.

     *Come out. Come out, Marcus,* she though. *I know 
you want to.*

     "Get those mangy nags moving out there!" Grisham 
yelled.

     "But senor, the brush, it is in the way," the driver 
protested. "I cannot make them go until we clear it."

     Swearing like the soldier he was (thankfully in 
English, for the most part) Grisham jumped out of the 
wagon. "Come on!" he yelled at somebody inside the wagon. 
Out came three soldiers, who hurried after him as he 
stomped up to the brush.

     He pointed at the brush. "Clear it out. Hurry up!" 
The men rushed to obey. Tessa slunk further back under 
the blind, pulling her bag with her. If she only waited a 
little more...sure enough, Grisham soon lost his patience 
with the guards' progress and started pitching away 
branches, himself. Tessa was glad that she had been able 
to find the pile of brush on the cliff above. It had 
saved her a lot of effort just shoving it over the edge 
into the canyon below. Grisham and his men had no such 
luck with the pile. In no time, all four men were panting 
and sweating.

     She waited until they had cleared most of the brush 
away and Grisham was within a few feet of her before she 
made her move. As he turned his back to yank at one 
stubborn branch, she lunged to her feet and grabbed him 
from behind, putting her knife to his throat. He yelped. 
She choked it off by pressing the blade against his 
throat.

     She turned him so that they faced the other 
soldiers, now exhausted from dragging brush. They gaped 
at her. One of the men went for his sword, since they all 
appeared to have left their rifles inside the wagon. How 
careless of them. Well, they were only recruits, and not 
very willing ones, either.

     "Drop them, boys," she told the soldiers, as the 
other two also started to draw their swords, "or the good 
capitan loses an important part of his body, even if he 
doesn't use it much. You, too!" she called up at the 
driver, who had not forgotten his rifle. "Drop it over 
the side." The man lowered the rifle slowly, then dropped 
it over the side. "Get over with the others." He obeyed. 
Oh, this was going so well!

     She felt around Grisham's waist for his pistol. 
"Hey!" he protested. "We are not that close!"

     She snickered. "And here I thought we were such good 
friends, Marcus. Practically married." She found the 
pistol and shoved it into his back. "Get over there." He 
went, grumbling, to stand next to his men against the 
canyon wall.

     "Think you outsmarted yourself this time, Queenie," 
he snarled at her, as she climbed up the wagon into the 
driver's seat, dragging her bag behind her. "The Colonel 
will be here any minute, y'know." As if on cue, hoofbeats 
rang in the canyon behind her. Tessa groped in her bag, 
still keeping the pistol trained on Grisham and the 
guard. 

     "Don't think is your lucky day, Marcus. Sorry." When 
she pulled out the small canister of gunpowder, Grisham's 
eyes widened in horror.

     "You wouldn't!" She dumped the bullets from his 
pistol, then pulled the trigger, lighting the canister's 
fuse with the flintlock's spark. "You would!"

     "Better get out of the way, Marcus," she trilled. 
Grisham and the guards scrambled away from the wagon. One 
guard even tried to climb the steep walls of the canyon.

     "Stop!" shouted Montoya as he and his escort of five 
mounted men cantered up behind the wagon. "I have you 
now, Mi Reina--"

    Tessa turned half around, raising the lit canister. 
Montoya's jaw dropped. "Surprise," she purred. Almost all 
of the injuries that she had suffered at his hands were 
worth the look on his face as he backed up his horse 
before turning to flee back down the canyon, his men in 
panicked tow. She tossed the canister over the back of 
the wagon, as far behind as she could. Then she turned 
back around and reached down for the reins, frantically 
wrapping them around her hands.

     The blast was impressive, the sound magnified by the 
small canyon. The wagon horses spooked. Leaping over the 
remainder of the brush, they bolted down the canyon, 
whinnying in terror. Tessa held on like grim death to the 
reins, laughing. It had worked!

     "Adios, Colonel!" she called back over her shoulder 
as the horses carried her and Montoya's gold away. "Maybe 
you'll catch me another day!"

*********

     The wind had come up. The sky darkened as the 
afternoon dragged on. Helm was kicking and cursing Equus 
up the trail towards his last visit, a woman who had been 
slowly dying of a sickness since she had lost her child a 
few months ago, when he met the Queen driving a wagon the 
other way. She looked in high spirits as she pulled up 
beside him. Equus shied at the commotion, and Helm nearly 
lost his seat for the second time that day.

     "Do you have to be such a bloody menace every time 
we meet?" he snapped, struggling to right himself in his 
saddle. First Tessa, now the Queen. What next, Montoya 
telling him he had to do another four years in this 
hellhole? Her timing, as usual, was bad. The last thing 
he wanted to be doing was wasting time doing her bidding 
out here.

     "Why Doctor," she replied breathlessly. "One would 
think that you weren't very happy to see me."

     "One might be right," he gritted back. He settled 
back in his saddle, wishing he were home, small and 
pitiful though his home was. The priest had been more 
unpleasant than usual, meeting him at the edge of the 
village before he could speak to anyone there. Father 
Bernardo, grim and forbidding in his black cassock, had 
made it very clear how unwelcome Helm was. Helm had been 
tempted to ride right over the old man and into the 
square. He had replied with a few unwise words of his 
own, before he rode off. He wouldn't be welcome in that 
village anytime soon. Damn that old man. Who had taught 
him that medicine and faith didn't mix? Helm knew he 
shouldn't take his anger out on the next person he met 
(especially when that person was the Queen) but right now 
he could not be bothered to listen to reason, even his 
own.

     "Going on a visit?" the Queen asked. Perfect. She 
even had the sun at her back.

     "Yes. Go away."

     "Is it far?" She squinted at the horizon, where the 
clouds were multiplying.

     "Far enough." He wanted to be away and get this 
visit done with. The woman was very sick. Though he 
hadn't been able to help her much, he couldn't avoid 
going. "Don't you have somewhere to go, some plan of 
Montoya's to wreck?" He eyed the wagon suspiciously.

     "Why don't I unhitch these horses and ride on with 
you?" The Queen said, rather than answering his question. 
Typical. "That rain looks close." Patronising little 
girl. Did she really think that a man who had fought his 
way up from private to the officer class needed her help 
getting through his day? Why couldn't he fall in love 
with a sensible woman his own age, like Marta, instead of 
getting into a tangle with some wild country aristocrat 
and her city-bred cousin? He felt uneasy again, as though 
he were missing something important.

     "What's the matter, Doctor?" the Queen said. "Don't 
you want my help? You never seemed to mind it before."

     Helm shook his head in angry amazement at her 
indifference to his uncertain position. "I can't be seen 
with you! Not on my rounds.  Montoya would hang me the 
very next morning if he could prove that I've been 
helping you. Hell, he suspects something already. He's 
been watching me for weeks. You, too. What the hell have 
you gone off and done now?" He took a closer look at the 
wagon and groaned. "Please don't tell me that that is the 
tax shipment to Monterey."

     She stared back at him mockingly. "What's the 
matter, Doctor? Doesn't it bother you to see the peasants 
suffering from the good Colonel's taxation? Do you like 
watching him get rich?" He could see that he was 
dampening her good mood.

    Helm laughed bitterly. "I see much more of the 
peasants' 'suffering' than anyone else in Santa Helena, 
including you. And if anybody gets it in the neck due to 
your adventures, it will most likely be me." Her face 
darkened at that. So much for his getting more than a 
kiss and a grope out of her any time soon. Might as well 
put it all out in the open, then. In for a penny, in for 
a big, fat guinea. "How much are you really helping the 
people here, playing your silly, little games? Have you 
thought about that? What are you trying to prove? That 
Montoya is a cold-hearted bastard? Of course he is! He is 
out here in the middle of nowhere, with the power of life 
and death over everyone from here to Monterey! How does 
making him more of a tyrant help any of us? I don't give 
a damn whether he gets rich or not. I just know that if 
he does not get this shipment to Monterey, he will take 
the next shipment out of the pay of his men *and* off the 
backs of those peasants you love so much. In case you 
haven't noticed, I do work for the man. He hasn't paid me 
for the past three months as it is."

    "Well, then, by all means, Doctor, help yourself." 
She spread her arm to indicate the wagon door. 

     Damn her. Licking his lips, he gave the door, and 
the imagined gold behind it, a brief, longing look, then 
glared up at her. "You must be joking. I can't use that 
money." Not only could he not get laid, he couldn't get 
paid. Life was not fair.

     She smiled grimly down at him. "Why would I be 
joking, Doctor? Don't you want to get paid?"

     "There is no way that I could ever use that money, 
you know that. If Montoya saw me spending any more than 
he knows I have now, he would search my house and I would 
be dangling from a rope by the end of the day. Not that 
you care. I am just a pawn in your games with him."

     "Then, you have a problem, don't you, Roberto?" She 
shifted on her perch. Had he made her uncomfortable? 
Good. He was tired of being used. "And here I thought you 
liked being on his leash." Oh, if she only knew--but she 
would never hear it from him. He still had some pride.

     He looked her in the eye. Time to get rid of her. He 
had places to be, out of the rain. "Not all of us have 
masks to hide behind, little girl."

     Her face tightened with anger. That had done the 
trick. "Fine! Be that way!" She picked up the reins and 
snapped them at the wagon horses. He watched her ride 
off. Good riddance. God, how she frustrated him. She 
looked so familiar; why could he never place her, despite 
their frequent encounters? She must be from one of the 
haciendas. He had certainly met her elsewhere, probably 
at one of Montoya's parties. Perhaps he simply didn't 
want to know. It did make things easier. He could never 
woo such a high-born woman openly.

     Now that she was going, he felt wistful. Why 
couldn't they have a simple conversation without fighting 
in daylight or groping at each other in the dark? It did 
not bode well for his fantasies of growing old with her--
even if he would grow old first.

     The rumble of thunder distracted him from his circle 
of thought. With an unhappy glance at the darkening 
horizon, he kicked Equus, who grunted and continued up 
the trail.
*********

     "Tessa, do not tell me that you left Dr. Helm out 
there by himself." Marta stood, her hands on her hips, as 
Tessa changed out of her Queen costume.

     Tessa shook her head crossly. "Marta, Dr. Helm is a 
grown man. He is perfectly capable of taking care of 
himself." She yanked off her blouse sleeves and fumbled 
at her corset stays, getting them thoroughly fouled up. 
Helm's bitter words still rang in her ears, fueling her 
temper. Marta stepped forward to help her.

     "Full grown man or not, there is a storm coming." 
Marta yanked on a stay, probably harder than she needed 
to. Tessa grunted and winced. "You know perfectly well 
what that means. After you and Vera were caught in that 
flash flood last fall, I am very surprised to find you 
willing to leave anyone else to such a fate, especially a 
man whom you have been mooning over like a lovesick cow 
for nearly two years."

     " I have *not* been 'mooning over' him. Marta, stop 
yanking so hard! Dr. Helm made it very clear that he 
didn't need my help. I respected his wishes. I am sure 
that he will be fine."

     Marta frowned at Tessa, but only shook her head. 
"Don't forget: Pride goeth before a fall, my Tessita. And 
sometimes it is someone else who must take the fall."

     Tessa turned her face away as Marta untangled the 
rest of her corset stays. In truth, Tessa was already 
regretting her action, but there was nothing to do about 
it now. The rain was nearly here. She could hear thunder 
rumbling nearby. Hopefully, the Doctor had either stayed 
at the hacienda where he had his last visit, or had 
returned home. She tried not to think about what might 
happen if he were caught on the road, and that if he 
were, whatever happened would be her fault.
*********

     Helm sensed that the news was bad, even as he rode 
into the small courtyard of the hacienda. He thought he 
could hear wailing, even above the rising wind.

     "Hola!" he called out as he rode up to the railing. 
He dismounted and tethered Equus to it, lightly so that 
the horse would not spook and break the railing as he had 
done in other places. A man came out onto the steps, Don 
Raymundo, the sick woman's husband.

     "Ah, Doctor Helm," he said, coming down the steps to 
clasp both Helm's hands, "I am so sorry to have you come 
out for no good reason on such a day."

     "I see," Helm said, feeling ill. "Dona Aliz, is 
she...?"

     The man nodded. Tears streaked his browned face. 
"She was very restless last night, despite the medicine 
that you gave us. In the morning, she fell asleep. We 
thought it was a good sign, but she..." he paused to wipe 
his nose. "She died around noon. It was very peaceful, 
thank God."

     "Don Raymundo, I am so sorry." Helm felt guilty. 
Could he have come sooner, if he had not wasted the 
morning on people who didn't want to see him? "If only I 
had come sooner--"

     "No, no." Don Raymundo shook his head and waved his 
hand vigorously in the air. "There was nothing you could 
have done. It was her time. God decides these things, not 
we mortals." He tugged at Helm's hands. "Come. Come 
inside. We have laid her out."

     Reluctantly, Helm followed him into the house. He 
really did not want to see Dona Aliz's body, but he 
couldn't see how he could get out of it and still do his 
duty. The house was small, and neat, but Don Raymundo was 
clearly too poor to keep it up properly. He was scarcely 
above a peasant in station himself. There were only a few 
bedrooms, a kitchen in a building out back and the living 
room, where the dead woman was laid out on a table. A 
candle had been lit at her head and she had been dressed 
in what looked to Helm like her best clothing. Around the 
table huddled her four orphaned children, who all looked 
sad and underfed. The oldest daughter sat beside the 
body, reading from a prayer book. She looked up as Helm 
came in.

     "Look, Maria, Dr. Helm is here," said her father.

     "Oh, Dr. Helm, thank you for coming!" With her 
mother's grace, the girl stood up and came forward to 
clasp Helm's hand. Helm was becoming more uncomfortable 
by the minute. He had been cursing his patients all day 
for spurning his help, and now, here where he could do no 
more good, they were treating him as if he were a king.

     "I am very sorry about your mother, Maria," he said, 
patting her hand. "How are you doing?"

     "Oh, as well as we can." She went to her father, who 
hugged her and stroked her hair. They both burst into 
tears. Helm scuffed his feet uneasily. He looked away 
from the bereft father and daughter and tried to smile at 
the other children. They stared back as though they had 
never seen a smile, and would never do so again. He 
remembered them as lively children, whom the eldest 
daughter had to keep in check so as not to disturb the 
mother. Today, they were eerily silent. He swallowed. He 
did not want to be here, in this house. He so much wanted 
to be far away and back on the trail. He had become too 
familiar with death. Why did he not pick some other 
profession when he fled the Army?

     "Dr. Helm, you should stay with us tonight," Don 
Raymundo said, looking up from his daughter's embrace. 
"The rain will be coming soon."

     Helm glanced around at the shabby house, the skinny 
children. The family could not afford to give him such a 
kindness, even for one night. "It is all right, Don 
Raymundo. I don't want to put you out. I really ought to 
get back to Santa Helena."

     Don Raymundo grimaced.  "I would insist, but...." He 
looked around the house, perhaps seeing it the way Helm 
saw it, instead of as just home.

     "It is all right," Helm assured him. "I don't want 
to take food out of your children's mouths, even for one 
night." He backed towards the door. "I should get back 
before the rain starts. Will you be all right?"

     "We will manage, Doctor, thank you." Don Raymundo 
still held his daughter, who still wept into his coat.

     "I could send someone out tomorrow to help with the 
house," Helm offered. "Marta from Senorita Alvarado's 
ranch or perhaps Dona Hidalgo."

     "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Doctor. You are 
most kind."

     Helm muttered a goodbye, then turned and fled the 
house.

     Outside, the sky had darkened considerably, so that 
mid-afternoon now looked like dusk. Equus twisted 
restlessly at the end of his tether as clouds scudded 
overhead. The light blue line on the horizon had 
darkened, pushing mounds of clouds before it. It advanced 
over the sky like a threatening hand. Helm shivered and 
hunched his shoulders. He had not wanted this, not at 
all, and yet, he had known that he would be caught out in 
the storm somehow. It was his curse.

     It took too long to mount Equus, who would not 
cooperate, and it felt twice as hard since he didn't dare 
curse out loud, not in front of this house. Once mounted, 
he kicked the horse out of the courtyard. Equus pranced 
and snorted. Back out on the trail, Helm had more 
difficulty reining the horse in than urging him on.

     He got Equus into a slow canter, alternating with a 
fast trot. For awhile he fooled himself that he might 
make it home in time. Then, he saw it--a great, grey 
curtain, rippling with twisted ropes of rain. It rose 
before his eyes like some misty nightmare, spreading its 
dark wings on either side to snare him. There was nowhere 
to go; it was directly in front of the trail and coming 
fast. He couldn't go back. He was already half-way to 
Santa Helena from Don Raymundo's ranch and this section 
of the trail went near no haciendas at all. The nearest 
was Tessa Alvarado's. There was nothing for it. He 
hunkered down and urged Equus forward. He would have to 
go straight through.

     The first wave hit--great drops of rain plopping in 
the dust around Equus's hooves, on him, on Equus, scaring 
the horse. Equus shied and snorted. Helm struggled to 
keep the horse on the trail; the cliff was too close.

     The top of the trail was not the worst spot. Coming 
down the hill, Equus slipped several times in the 
congealing dust, nearly dumping Helm. Man and horse 
arrived, shaking, at the bottom to find a small river 
flowing across the trail. Equus did not want to ford the 
temporary stream. Helm bullied him through. Going up the 
ravine proved more difficult, as water was now running 
down the trail, making its own stream. Helm had to get 
off and lead Equus up the hill as the trail turned 
slippery. The muddy water ran over Equus' hooves and 
soaked Helm's boots. Equus laboured and scrabbled in the 
mud, slobbering in Helm's ear. Helm himself had to go 
nearly on all fours to get purchase, panting into the 
collar of his duster. His sodden hat drooped over his 
head from the force of the rain. At least the duster was 
waterproof.

     There was a level spot of trail at the top, for 
which Helm was immensely grateful. The last time he was 
in rain this hard, he had been helping with a cannon 
emplacement in Catalonia, during the War. The cannon 
slipped and rolled over a corporal in the middle of one 
of the new streams. They had not been able to get him 
out. Helm watched the corporal drown--his face inches 
from the surface, eyes wide, mouth open, choking. That 
kind of sight gave a man nightmares when he didn't have 
the sense to drink himself unconscious at night.

     There was no question of trotting at this point, or 
even of getting back on and riding. This was going to be 
a very long walk home. Helm trudged through the mud, 
leading an increasingly reluctant Equus, and tried not to 
count up the number of ravines between here and Santa 
Helena.
*********

     Tessa stood on the verandah, stared out at the rain 
and tried not to think about Dr. Helm, or where he might 
be out in the storm. She was regretting her earlier rash 
words more and more. Earlier, during her argument with 
Marta, she had wanted to blame Helm, but this was 
becoming much more difficult. What could she really 
expect, when she had lied to him, endangered him and 
confused him? Of course he would reject her in the end. 
He still did not know her true identity. He seemed uneasy 
with simply abandoning the Queen for the more 
marriageable Tessa, which was admirable, albeit 
frustrating to her. Why was she tearing at his loyalties 
by trying to seduce him as Tessa? Could she really be 
that thoughtless and selfish?

     She had to tell him the truth. Soon. But not today. 
Today, she just wanted to make sure that he was out of 
the rain and safe.

    Marta came out with a lit lamp. She stood behind 
Tessa and patted her arm. "There is nothing to be done 
now but wait, Tessita," she said.

     Tessa shook her head. "I keep thinking that I should 
be out there doing something; that I should have done 
something before."

     "We often think of these things too late," Marta 
replied gently. "But Dr. Helm is a strong, resourceful 
man. For all we know, he could be home and safe by now. 
There is no point in chastising yourself over this."

     Tessa lowered her head. "I know. But I still feel 
responsible. I need to do something."

     "Come to dinner, then. Starving yourself into a 
faint will not help him." Tessa chuckled at Marta's 
sensible wit. She let herself be pulled away from the 
window and back into the house. At the door, she paused 
to look out a final time. The rain came down in sheets, 
turning the courtyard into a restless lake. Tessa peered 
through the rain and the growing darkness for a man on a 
horse, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.
*********

     The rain came steadily now, though the wind blew it 
back and forth across the trail. The air stank of worms. 
Helm's feet were soaked; he hated that. He had been cold 
and wet too many times in his life. He was tired of it 
and he wanted it to stop. Equus had stopped fighting him 
and now tromped along behind him, his lowered head 
bumping against Helm's back. The last stream had been 
difficult, and Helm had been nearly carried away by the 
current. He barely managed to struggle up the bank, 
dragged by Equus. Next time, he was riding the damned 
horse across.

     Counting the ravines, he realised that he was still 
a few miles away from Santa Helena, but the turn-off to 
the Alvarado hacienda was quite close, and he only had to 
cross one more ravine to get there. Maybe he should break 
for that. He recalled his sharp words to Tessa Alvarado 
that morning with a wince. Surely she wouldn't hold that 
against him now? She'd let him sleep in the stable with 
the horses, at least. That sounded so lovely right now--
to be warm and dry, and safe. He spat out putrid mud from 
the last ravine and concentrated on his goal.

     There was one more ravine, though, before he reached 
the hacienda. As he and Equus reached the top of the 
hill, Helm's heart sank when he heard the roar of water 
on the other side. At the top, he saw it. Where there had 
been an empty gully yesterday was a river today--fast-
flowing, chaotic, full of flotsam and jetsam. How the 
hell was he going to get Equus across that? It looked 
impossible.

     "Come on, horse. You've got some oats to earn." 
Equus shied a bit, but was otherwise too miserable to 
make trouble for Helm when he mounted. The difficulty 
began when Helm tried to urge Equus down into the loud, 
foaming water. Equus did not want anything to do with the 
affair, but there was no going back, only forward. Helm 
doubted that they could turn around, let alone get back 
up to the top of the ravine. They were caught "entre 
l'espasa i la paret"--between the sword and the wall--as 
the peasants said in Catalonia. It had been a favourite 
unofficial motto of the men in his regiment. In his case, 
he was really caught between the Queen and Montoya, today 
and forever, it seemed. Or at any rate, for the next two 
years, if he lived that long.

     "Damn you, horse! Get in there!" Helm kicked and 
shouted at the tired gelding, barely able to hear himself 
about the roar of the flood and the rain. Equus tried to 
turn back, but the trail was too narrow and slippery and 
Helm wouldn't let him. Slowly, reluctantly, the horse 
edged down into the water. Helm felt a chill of fear as 
the water rose over his boots and knees and above Equus' 
flanks. He hadn't reckoned on the water being so deep. 
For a heartstopping moment, Equus scrabbled for footing 
as the ground dropped out from under him. In the sick 
moment as they came unstuck, Helm frantically kicked out 
of his stirrups. It did him no good. Equus was flung onto 
his side by a wave and as he rolled over, Helm went under 
him. He saw, in a flash, the poor bastard who had drowned 
under that cannon so long ago. He was going to die the 
same way. They would find him miles downriver tomorrow, 
caught up in driftwood and face down in some small, 
sticky puddle under his horse, dead as a stone--assuming 
they found him.

     As his head went under the water, Helm's panic 
crystalised into a strange calm. Everything slowed; muted 
monster noises surrounded him, sodden weeds caressed his 
face. He couldn't see a thing. He clung to Equus and 
pushed himself up, refusing to let the horse grind him 
into the mud. His head broke the surface. Coughing and 
shaking his head, he tried to spot the bank through the 
mud in his eyes and the sheets of rain. He and Equus were 
tumbling down the river. Oh, this was so very, very bad. 
The horse was panicking, whinnying and flailing in the 
water. Helm had to get out from under the animal 
completely, or he would be pushed under again. He yanked 
up the leg that was under Equus' submerged side, bracing 
his boot against the cantle of his saddle. His back hit 
ground, jarring his hurt shoulder. Equus hit, too. With a 
snort, the horse dug in. Helm grabbed at the reins and 
the pommel as Equus scrambled to his feet against the 
river flow and up the bank out of the water. The bank, 
thank God Almighty, was more shallow than in other 
places. Equus faltered, then redoubled his effort when 
Helm screamed in his ears. Helm wanted out of that river. 
He wanted to be safe, he wanted to be dry and if he 
killed Equus getting there, that was fine with him.

     With a final straining push, Equus got up the bank, 
dragging Helm with him. As they neared the top, Helm saw 
that the horse was lame. The trail, he had to find the 
trail. He got off, grabbed the reins and coaxed the 
limping horse upstream, along the ridge. At least now 
they were on the other side. It seemed a miserable 
forever time before he saw any familiar landmarks in the 
gloom. When he found the trail, he almost walked right 
over it before he realised where he was and stopped. He 
wanted to fall down and kiss the ground, but he was so 
tired he feared he wouldn't get back up. Instead, with 
Equus blowing on his shoulder, he hung his head and wept.
*********

     Tessa had gone to bed, but still could not sleep. 
She lay staring at the ceiling, imagining that she heard 
Helm crying out to her from some watery grave. The cries 
seemed to grow louder on the moaning wind, haunting her.

     "Tessa! TESSA!" Tessa bolted out of her doze. The 
cry had come from just outside her window. She heard it 
again. Dios, was he really here? As she pulled on her 
robe, her question seemed answered by the slamming of 
Marta's bedroom door. She grabbed her bedroom lamp and 
rushed out into the hallway. Marta stood there, carrying 
her own lamp.

     They stared at each other. "You heard it, too?" 
Tessa asked. Marta nodded. "The road to Santa Helena must 
be washed out if he has come here."

     "Perhaps," Marta replied. "Or perhaps he was caught 
too far out on the road to get back before dark and 
decided to try for us instead. It would be the sensible 
thing."

     Tessa thought that was unlikely, considering the hot 
words she had flung at him today, both as Tessa and as 
the Queen. Her bitter musings were interrupted by another 
cry. It was definitely Helm. He sounded exhausted and 
forlorn, as though he did not expect anyone to answer 
him. Tessa hurried down the hallway to the front door, 
Marta at her back. She fumbled at the bolts and latches, 
and flung back the door.

     At first, she could not see him. Marta stepped out 
from behind her onto the verandah, holding out her lamp 
nearly into the streams of water that ran off the roof. 
The flickering light caught a man standing next to a 
horse, a few feet away from the steps. Both man and horse 
were drenched and hung their heads in obvious exhaustion. 
It was Dr. Helm and his gelding, Equus.

     Marta turned to her. "I will get help," she said. 
She went back into the house, shouting for the servants. 
Tessa set her lamp down on the verandah before going out 
to Helm. She ignored the rain that soaked through her 
robe and nightdress and the mud that squelched between 
her toes, taking Helm gently by the arm.

     "Dr. Helm? Are you all right?" she said.

     He raised his head and peered at her. "Senorita 
Alvarado," he said brokenly. "Would you be so kind as to 
let Equus and me stay in your barn? We won't be any 
trouble." The formal phrases seemed to come out of him by 
rote. "I'm sorry...." He shivered and leaned his head 
against Equus' neck, closing his eyes. Tessa watched him 
with concern. Had he struck his head or caught a chill?

     "Don't be silly, Roberto," she said as one of the 
stable boys ran up. "Rafael will take your horse to the 
stable and bed him down. Come inside now." She pulled him 
away from the gelding, tugging the reins out of his hand 
and handing them to Rafael. The boy ducked his head and 
led the exhausted horse away into the darkness. Tessa 
noted that Equus was lame. She wondered how far Helm had 
had to walk back, and through how many rivers. She felt 
another stab of guilt. It was cut short when Helm swayed 
and nearly fell. She put an arm around his waist to hold 
him up. "Let's get you inside, Doctor, before you fall 
asleep on your feet." She led him up the steps and into 
the house.

     Marta came up to them in the hallway with her lamp. 
Going out to grab Tessa's, she came back in. "Should we 
draw him a hot bath?" Tess asked worriedly. Helm's skin 
felt wet and chilled next to hers. He was shivering.

     Helm shook his head, his eyes half-closed. "No. No, 
I just want to lie down and sleep."

     Marta held up the lamps before his face, peering at 
him. "I think we should worry about cleaning him up 
tomorrow. Get his clothes off and get a hot drink into 
him, first, I think. Then, put him to bed. We can wash 
the sheets later."

     "Let's get him to the guest bedroom, then." They led 
him off down the hall and into the bedroom, where they 
sat him down in a chair. Marta set one lamp down on a 
table and went back down the hall to get the Doctor a hot 
drink from the kitchen. Helm growled at Tessa when she 
knelt down to pull off his boots.

     "I can do it," he insisted, even as she worked one 
off.

     "Don't be silly, Doctor. It's no trouble." While he 
was protesting, she got the other boot off. It was 
difficult enough getting off one's own riding boots, even 
half-boots like the Doctor's, when one was merely tired. 
She thought that Helm had gone beyond that point hours 
ago.

     He balked at letting her take his duster. "No," he 
said firmly, and stood up to pull it off. He let it drop 
on the floor in a sodden heap. His waistcoat (the blue 
one, she noted, which she rather liked) followed, but he 
hesitated after that, giving her an injured look. She 
smiled wryly at him and went to the big chest in the 
corner of the room to pull out a nightshirt. She laid it 
on the bed.

     "I will wait outside while you change," she said. He 
nodded wearily, and sat back down in the chair. She 
retreated to her room, where she quickly exchanged her 
wet clothing for dry. Even a moment in the rain had left 
her soaked. On her way back to the guest bedroom, she met 
Marta coming back from the kitchen with a hot drink.

     "I thought you were going to stay with him," Marta 
said, as they approached the guest room door.

     "He wanted me to leave while he changed his 
clothes," Tessa explained.

     "Is he still doing that?" Marta looked worried. She 
handed the drink to Tessa and knocked on the door. "Dr. 
Helm?" There was a muffled reply. Marta pushed open the 
door, Tessa followed her in.

     Inside, Helm had already got into bed and pulled the 
covers over himself. Marta went to sit on the bed beside 
him. She felt his forehead. "I brought you a hot drink," 
she said. "Don't worry, I put sugar in it." Tessa bit 
back a laugh. Helm did not approve of Marta's home 
medicine.

     "It's all right," Helm muttered. "I just want to 
sleep."

     Marta waved Tessa over to the bed and took the drink 
out of her hand. "Please drink this first," she coaxed. 
"I think you will feel much better for it." Looking as 
though he would rather do anything else but obey her, he 
sat up against the bedboard and took the cup from her. 
His hands were unsteady, and he spilled some of the brew 
when he drank it.

     "You don't have to hover over me," he said a moment 
later, with more of his usual energy. Handing the empty 
cup back to Marta, he shivered and pulled the blankets up 
to his shoulders, rubbing his right one where he had been 
shot several weeks before. Tessa had not realised that it 
still bothered him; he had never mentioned it. He looked 
ill and badly used, like an overworked horse. 

     Tessa sat on the bed next to Marta. "I'm sorry to 
put you out so much, Senorita," Helm said to her, seeming 
to notice her for the first time since she had reentered 
the room, "especially after the way I spoke to you this 
morning. I will find a way to pay you back. I promise." 
Apparently, he only felt comfortable using her Christian 
name in extremis.

     Tessa reached over Marta's knees and patted his 
hand. "It is perfectly all right, Doctor. You don't have 
to pay me anything. It's my pleasure to help you when I 
can. I'm sorry that we exchanged such harsh words today 
in the market. This must have been a bad day for you."

     He hung his head. "They have all been bad days, 
lately. That's how it feels. God, I hate the rain."

     "Doctor," Tessa said gently, "I know that it has 
been very hard for you since you came here, but please 
don't leave. People here need you." *Like me,* she was 
afraid to add.

     He laughed a little. It sounded bitter. In the 
lamplight, he looked old. "I can't leave. Whether I want 
to be here or not, I have no choice but to stay." He 
lifted his head to look her in the eye. "Montoya owns 
me."

     Beside Tessa, Marta stiffened. Tessa stared at Helm 
in shock, forgetting for the moment to be coy or shallow 
or even innocent about his admission. "What are you 
saying, Doctor? What hold does Colonel Montoya have over 
you?"

     "It's not a pretty story," he replied quietly. "Not 
a bedtime story at all."

     "Tell us, Doctor," Marta said, her voice sounding 
harsh and strained to Tessa. "At least give us a chance 
to help you." Marta knew too much about exploitation. Her 
people had suffered more than enough of it.

     He sighed and coughed, sounding congested. He had 
caught a chill, after all. "When I first left medical 
school, I traveled through Spain. In Cadiz, I was called 
to treat a nobleman and woman who had fallen ill." He 
stared at his hands, spread out before him. "They died. I 
tried my best, but nothing I did helped; it only made 
things worse. I was thrown into the cellar in the family 
house; the doctors were encouraging the family to murder 
me. I was caught, as they say, between the sword and the 
wall. After three days, Montoya came to me and offered me 
a way out. Like any drowning man, I grabbed my chance. 
The price was four years of my life."

     "That is a very long time," Marta said.

     Helm chuckled. "When the alternative is no more life 
at all? It seemed like a miracle at the time."

     "A very convenient miracle," Tessa muttered, but not 
quietly enough to avoid Helm's notice.

     "You think that, too?" he said, eyeing her as if he 
were seeing her in a new way. "Well, it doesn't matter 
now. When the noose is over your head, you don't care who 
loosens it, only that you get to live another day." He 
covered his face with his hands. "This wasn't how my life 
was supposed to end up. I had different ideas once."

     Tessa wanted to go to him and comfort him, but she 
could not. It was inappropriate to her station and 
neither Marta nor Helm would approve. She must play her 
role, even when the court senorita's words and laugh 
tasted bitter in her mouth.

     "This...agreement. Is it on paper?" Marta asked.

     He shook his head. He let his hands fall away. "Not 
that it matters," he said. "Montoya is the law out here. 
It is my word against his, and we all know how that case 
would turn out."

     "Dr. Helm, nobody cares what hold Colonel Montoya 
has on you," Tessa insisted "If you ever needed refuge 
from him, there are many of us in Santa Helena who would 
gladly give it to you." The bravado of her own words 
sounded false next to the memory of their argument that 
afternoon. Helm was right. In a way, Montoya owned them 
all. "Try to get some sleep. We will talk in the morning 
when you are feeling better." Helm smiled sleepily at her 
encouragement. She did not think he had really heard her. 
It was time to let him rest. She exchanged a look with 
Marta, and they both stood up to get their lanterns. Helm 
lay down, wincing at he turned on his right side, and 
pulled the covers over his head. He seemed to fall asleep 
even before they left the room. Tessa led Marta out into 
the hallway, closing the door gently behind them. She 
took Marta's arm. They went back to Tessa's room. Once 
inside, with the door closed behind them, Tessa felt safe 
enough to be honest.

     Marta spoke first. "This is very bad. Dr. Helm 
cannot help us if he is dangling at the end of Montoya's 
noose."

     Tessa set her lamp on a table. She noticed that her 
hand was shaking. "We have to help him, Marta. He has 
risked his life too many times to save me for us to stand 
and watch Montoya destroy him."

     Marta snorted. "Montoya does not need to destroy 
him. He seems to be doing quite enough damage to himself. 
He will be in bed for a week if he is lucky."

     Tessa sat down on her bed. Marta sat next her and 
stroked her hair. "I have to help him, Marta," Tessa 
said. "He was right, and so were you. I'm only playing at 
being the hero, while others must dance to the tune that 
I leave them to play. I shouldn't have left him out 
there."

     "No, Tessa. You should not have left him out there." 
Marta's tone was kind but firm. "For some people, heroism 
is a game. But for some, it is only doing their job. That 
is a far more difficult thing, because they can never 
leave it when they tire of it or when it becomes too 
dangerous."

     "I lost sight of why I became the Queen in the first 
place. I have to stop playing at this as if it were a 
game. It's not a game; it is very real."

     "Yes, it is," Marta agreed. "You need to listen to 
Dr. Helm more, Tessa. He has wisdom well beyond your 
years. It is bad luck to mock such a gift when he offers 
it. He has seen and done many hard things, and he has 
done them in the open, where he must take responsibility 
for them all. Not everyone can hide behind a mask."

     "That is just what he said to me today, when we 
argued."

    "Then, perhaps he has finally taught you a lesson 
that made you pay attention." Marta hugged her.

     "Perhaps." Tessa laid her head on Marta's shoulder. 
She could not imagine life without Marta. Marta was the 
only true family that she had left. Perhaps Robert had 
had such a person in his life once, but that person must 
have died or abandoned him long ago. He was so very 
lonely; she could not imagine how much. She would help 
him escape Montoya's yoke, she decided. Perhaps, once he 
was free, he might want to stay in Santa Helena, want to 
love her freely. Perhaps then she could face him without 
her masks, show him that he loved the same woman under 
all of them. Until then, she could only hope.
*********

     The river flowed over his face, murky and brown, 
cold and prickly. He couldn't breathe. A bright red flash 
drew him to the river bottom. A body in the rags of a 
British regimental uniform lay there, wrapped up in an 
anchor chain. Helm struggled for the surface, but the 
chain dragged him down. The body raised a moldy arm and 
beckoned. He thought he had left it behind. The face with 
its empty eyes tilted up at him. *At least it's finally 
dead,* he thought, but he was wrong, tricked by the 
darkness. The uniform shone new and complete, every 
button in place; the body underneath it filled out. 
Despite his fear, he felt pride that he could still turn 
himself out so well. The flush of life still lit the 
sharp face. He remembered how that felt. The eyes, when 
they opened, gleamed with cheer and malice. Lt. Robert 
Helm of His Majesty's Service, soldier, spy and murdering 
bastard, smiled up at Dr. Helm. Dr. Helm smiled back.

     Helm woke himself coughing. The rain and wind had 
died down, and a chill had settled into his chest. He 
would be imposing on Senorita Alvarado's hospitality 
longer than he had feared. It didn't matter that she 
seemed happy to let him do it. It made him feel helpless, 
especially when it hurt so much to breathe. He felt tired 
and old. He propped himself up with the pillows and 
listened to the wet rasp of his breathing. *Maybe you've 
caught your death after all, Robbie, old man,* he told 
himself.

     *That wasn't your death you saw on the river 
bottom,* the old, seductive voice whispered. *Montoya's, 
perhaps, but not yours.* He remembered these ghostly 
conversations from his lowest points in the War. The 
tactic had got him out of more than one scrape. A council 
of one.

     *I won't kill him,* he told himself. *I swore to do 
no harm, even to a man like Montoya.*

     *Don't be such a fool. Stop letting others fight 
your battles. You've had targets you couldn't kill 
before. You know what to do. So, do it.*

     *I won't go back to being you.*

     The sigh seemed to come from the very bottom of the 
river. *There is no "you"; there is no "I". You're 
feverish and half-asleep, you silly bastard. You are 
talking to yourself.*

     Helm shook his head. He had to breathe through his 
mouth in order to breathe at all. *It's the best I can 
do. There's nobody else. He's got me by the throat. I 
can't get out.*

     *Of course you can. Montoya thinks he owns you; 
that's his first mistake. Pull him in. Hint at your other 
skills. Eventually, he will want to use them, and that 
will give you an opportunity.*

     *The Queen won't like it.*

     *Then you explain it to her. For all you know, she 
is playing the same game with him. Maybe you could even 
work together instead of flailing in the dark.* Helm felt 
again that momentary unease, the sense that he was 
missing a piece in the puzzle that was the Queen. He 
might have promised her he would stop his investigations 
into her identity, but that didn't mean he could never 
ponder it.

     *There you go, Robbie. Now, you're thinking instead 
of moping. I feel better already.*

     Yes. That was it. The disaster in Cadiz had knocked 
him down, convinced him that he was a killer and always 
would be. Well, what if he was? He was a healer as well. 
Maybe it was time to start balancing the two, instead of 
denying half of himself. And maybe it was time he 
admitted why he hadn't yet run. He could escape Santa 
Helena easily enough--he did not think that Montoya would 
follow. But he loved Santa Helena, and he was damned if 
he was going to let Montoya or the Queen or some bloody 
priest run him off. He would deal with the priest first, 
after he got out of this sickbed. He smiled at that 
thought. After that, it was time to bargain strategy with 
the Queen. And after that.... Helm chuckled to himself. 
Montoya was not the only one who could wait.

END