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

Acknowledgment: Thanks to Terry, Eliza and Li for beta reading this story and helping to make it better.

Chapter One - The Contest

The figure spun wildly as the sword flew across the room. Tessa, her chest heaving and her brow rimed with sweat, prepared to lunge and finish it.

"What do you think you are doing?" Marta rushed in and placed herself protectively in front of the figure. "I waited months for that dressmaker's dummy and you will not puncture it with a sword." She planted her feet firmly with her hands on her hips and regarded Tessa with a determined look in her eye.

"Marta, I'm so bored I could scream with frustration. I'm afraid I'm losing my edge." Tessa set her sword on a nearby table in the hidden room and rubbed her arm across her moist brow. Abstractedly, she took a sip from the water glass. "It has been weeks since the Queen was needed and even then, I did not have to fence with anyone. I'm out of practice. I need to get back to where I was when we left Madrid. I need the thrill of competition."

"You don't find fighting with the soldiers to save your life thrilling enough?" Marta shook her head worriedly. When Tessa got into these moods, anything could happen. She decided to tread carefully.

"They don't fight by any rules, just slash and thrust. There's no grace or beauty in that," Tessa said disgustedly.

Moving across the room to a large trunk, Marta said, "I need to get some money for supplies. Are you coming into town with me?" She glanced at Tessa who seemed not to have heard. With a shrug, Marta bent to the trunk and lifting the lid, took out several gold coins. A long velvet box caught her eye and she picked it up. "Tessa, why do you never wear your mother's pearl necklace to any of Montoya's parties? I am sure she would have wanted you to use it." Marta opened the box and lifted the strand of pearls from its satin bed. As she tried to place the necklace on Tessa's neck, the younger woman moved to stop her.

"Papa never gave these to me. Perhaps he did not wish me to have the gift he gave Mama. She is wearing these pearls in her portrait. It is practically the only memory I have of her." Tessa took the necklace and studied it wistfully. "Maybe it reminded him too much of all he lost when she died." She handed the pearls back to Marta and turned away.

"Regret and misery are like ashes in the mouth," Marta remarked. "You are not your mother. Pearls, they say, attain their best lustre when worn often, next to the skin. You should not leave them locked away in the dark."

When Tessa did not reply, Marta replaced the necklace in its elegant box and put it back in the trunk. With a quiet sigh, she closed the lid. 'She has so much to try to live up to,' Marta thought. 'To be like her mother and to be as good as a son. It is too bad Don Rafael never saw her growing up. He would have been so proud.' A warmth of affection washed through her as she watched Tessa staring at the sword whose blade glowed like silver in the candlelight.

"Come, Tessa," she said. "Let us go into town and see what mischief you can get into. I have made an apple tart for Doctor Helm. Perhaps you would deliver it to him for me." Marta smiled at the arch look she received. As she took Tessa's arm to lead her from the room, Marta's eye lit upon a newspaper clipping lying near the sword. A quick perusal drew an alarmed exclamation from her. "You can't be thinking of..." she began.

Tessa grabbed her arms and stared into her eyes with an excited laugh. "But of course I am! Marta, it will be such fun. Just like old times. Please. Let's do it!"

"You want to go into a fencing competition in Monterrey? Are you crazy?" Marta pushed away, angrily shaking her head. "Why don't you just tell everyone in town that you are the Queen. It amounts to the same thing."

"I'll wear a disguise like before. No one needs to know who I am. Please, be with me in this. I need to do it." Tessa crossed to the Gypsy woman and embraced her fondly. "Please, Marta," she begged, then laughed lightly as she stepped away a few paces. "Remember the last competition I was in? I made it to the finals in the senior class when..." She began to laugh and Marta continued.

"When your false moustache fell off in the middle of the bout..." Marta laughed so hard her eyes streamed with tears.

Tessa was choking, trying to continue. "I thought the judge was going to have a stroke!" she giggled, holding onto a chair for support. "Poor Señor Torres. He never let me go into another competition," she added, wiping her eyes.

Marta said, "My heart was in my throat the whole time you were fencing. When you were discovered, I thought I would faint." She chuckled softly. More seriously she added, "It was lucky for your fencing master that the judges believed your story about lying about your age. If they had found out you were a woman, Señor Torres would have been struck from the Spanish Academy of Arms."

"Well, Marta, it was partly your fault. You said you wanted to see me fence."

"And you convinced Señor Torres to let you enter the competition. Poor man. You had him wrapped around your little finger. I think he was half in love with you." Marta regarded the other woman with pride. Tessa was tall and lithe, and moved with athletic grace. She had strength in her body and mind, not just the pretty object that others saw. Marta sighed as she looked at the resolute expression on Tessa's face and knew they were going to Monterrey.

Chapter Two - The Theatre, the theatre...

The faded milepost said "Monterrey - 10" beside which was an arrow pointing vaguely down a winding road off the Camino Real. Tessa flashed an excited grin at her taciturn companion and turned the team of horses onto the trail leading south to the city. They followed the rutted road indented with many wagon tracks, passing small farms on which peasants paused in their labours and waved from their scrubby fields. Several times, the two women overtook laden carts drawn by languid donkeys whose owners were going to the city to sell their wares.

Eventually, they topped a high hill and there below, spreading down to the sea, was the city of Monterrey. The adobe buildings sparkled in the midday sun which glanced warmly off the red tiles of the roofs. Many ships lay at anchor in the natural harbour, and even from this distance, Tessa could see the bustle of activity around the docks.

Tessa smiled as Marta leaned forward on the wagon seat, her mouth agape as she stared at the size of the city. "It's bigger than you thought, isn't it, Marta?" Tessa asked. "I was here over fifteen years ago, when Papa and I were waiting for the ship to Spain. We spent two weeks in this city. I don't remember much about it, except I had never been anywhere but Santa Elena and this city seemed so huge and busy by comparison. Imagine how I felt when we got to Barcelona." Tessa laughed lightly and urged the team forward down the hill to the outskirts of the city.

The main road led into the heart of Monterrey then met a crossroads, the left leading to the harbour and the right toward a busy section of shops, hotels and grand residences. Tessa took the right turn and guided the wagon into the stream of traffic on the crowded thoroughfare. Dray wagons, carts and elegant barouches and buggies jostled for space as they crawled along the cobbled street in haphazard fashion. Tessa had a difficult time with the team as they entered the street. The horses were skittish, frightened by the unfamiliar noise and proximity of other wagons and teams. With a firm hand, she guided the horses around slower conveyances, wagons that were stopped to make deliveries and pedestrians trying to cross the road.

Marta said loudly over the din of the street noise, "I will be so glad to get to a hotel and have a warm bath and wash away all this dust." She looked around at the adobe and brick buildings they passed, at the many shops, hotels and restaurants. Finally, she said, "Shouldn't we stop at one of these hotels and get a room? The city seems so busy we may have a hard time finding a place to stay."

Tessa fixed her attention on her driving while casting glances at the buildings, her brow drawn in concentration. "I'm sure it was on this street," she murmured to herself.

"What is on this street? A hotel?" Marta moved with discomfort on the wagon bench which, though padded, was still hard. After two days of travel, she was weary and sore.

"Not a hotel, Marta. A theatre." Tessa suddenly grinned broadly and exclaimed, "Ah, there it is. The Teatro Real." She turned the team down a side street next to an elegant building adorned with a tall columned portico, and then into an alley behind. She pulled the horses to a halt and set the wagon brake. With a bright smile at Marta's bemused face she said, "Here we are. Let's go in."

"What are we going to a theatre for? We need some place to stay." Marta remained seated as her companion jumped down and headed for a door marked 'Private Entrance'. She glanced apprehensively at the refuse-strewn alley with overflowing barrels of garbage, old cast-off bits of furniture and piles of papers which blew fitfully here and there in the strong wind. Stray cats and dogs skulked through the dank lane, and further down she could see ragged people lounging in the doorways. Marta shook her head and followed Tessa who had already opened the door and gone inside.

Tessa was waiting for her on a landing. The stairs descended into the blackness of a basement on one side and on the other, ascended to another door several steps up. She grabbed Marta's arm and went up toward the door. Tessa's eyes were dancing with mischief as she pulled open the door and stepped into the theatre.

The room they entered was large and high-ceilinged with many ropes and pulleys hanging in the catwalks above. Below, the entire space seemed filled with stage properties and backdrops, items of furniture and racks of colourful costumes. Tessa clutched Marta's hand as she moved carefully through the rows of canvas backdrops which swayed slightly on chains anchored to the rafters above. Together, they passed painted scenes of moonlit ship's decks, elegant salons, a desert with cacti of eerie shapes, the interior of an old castle and many other stage settings.

Tessa stopped for a moment in front of a painted backdrop of Roman bath and whispered, "Papa took me to this theatre when we were in Monterrey waiting for our ship. I guess he thought some entertainment might cheer me up. It was not long after Mama died. We saw a musical concert. I thought it was magical." She grinned and asked, "Have you ever been in a theatre, Marta?"

"Just once. It was enough for me." Marta started to move toward the other side of the room, but Tessa seized her arm to stop her.

"You never told me this. When were you in a theatre? What happened?" Tessa watched in obvious amusement as Marta felt the warmth rising to her cheeks. She never said much about her youth and normally Tessa did not press her. But she knew this was too intriguing for Tessa to let it go.

"Come on, Marta. You have to tell me."

Marta sighed heavily. "I was just sixteen and was working in Barcelona for your aunt. On my half-day off, I had been strolling along the Ramblas when a man stopped me and said I would be perfect for a part in his play." She lowered her eyes, trying to hide an embarrassed smile. "I was very young and very naive, I suppose. His attention flattered me and I went with him to the theatre. It was in a very seedy part of the city, and I was nervous. Once inside the theatre, he took me to a room and showed me the costume he wanted me to wear for the part. I could have put the whole thing into my pocket." Marta snorted in disgust. "I asked what the part was, and he said it was a Gypsy dancer in a seraglio. He said he knew all Gypsy women could dance with great passion and then he tried to... well, you know." Marta's cheeks flamed hotly and she looked away. "I convinced him, with some persuasion from my dagger, that I was not right for the part. That is the only time I was in a theatre."

Tessa laughed suddenly and impulsively embraced Marta. "Well, thank goodness I have you to protect me in this den of iniquity!"

As she stopped speaking, a loud voice nearby rose in anger. Tessa crept nearer to a long dark red velvet drapery that flowed across the entire width of the backstage area. She reached the wings of the stage, keeping to the shadows and peered onto the proscenium where a group of costumed actors were being harangued by a red-faced young man strutting back and forth in front of them, a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand.

Abstractedly, he ran his fingers through his fine dark hair, creating a chaos of curls. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, revealing a well-muscled forearm. His dark brows were drawn down in anger, and his handsome face florid with fury. He stopped in front of one of the actors.

"How dare you show up for rehearsal in this condition?" he shouted as he waved his arms passionately at a foppishly dressed older man who seemed to be hanging onto a heavily rouged young woman for support. "If we were not opening in three days, I would find another leading man!"

The old actor straightened himself and struck a haughty pose. His beefy hand stroked the long thin moustache that sprouted from his face like wings. "The playwright is nothing," he intoned dramatically. "It is the actors who make the play. It is I, Hernan Echeverria, whom the audiences come to see, not you. You replace me and the audience will tear you to pieces." He glared balefully at the playwright through bloodshot eyes while trying to maintain a dignified posture.

The playwright turned abruptly and made for the wings. He nearly collided with Tessa who had been hiding near the stage curtain. His eyes widened in surprise then he grimaced.

"Rehearsals are not for the public," he growled. "Allow me to show you the way out." He tried to take hold of her arm, but Tessa moved away quickly, avoiding him.

"I have not come for the rehearsal. I am here to see someone." Tessa told him who she wanted to see.

"Why do you want to see him?" the playwright asked gruffly.

"It's a private matter," Tessa answered a bit archly.

His eyebrows rose questioningly as he looked from Tessa to Marta and back. Then his brow cleared and he smiled knowingly, as he directed his gaze to Marta. "Are you her mother?"

Marta sniffed indignantly. "Do I look like her mother?"

The playwright's cheeks coloured and he stammered, "Of course not. My apologies, señora. Obviously you are much too young. I just thought, ...I mean, these things happen. Young girls sometimes, ...well, you know what I mean..."

Tessa held up her hand for silence. "Please, señor. Before you dig yourself in any further, just take us to the man we have come to see."

Seeming relieved, he nodded and led them into a corridor off which were several doors, all the while muttering to himself, "Lead actors who come to rehearsal drunk, leading ladies who get pregnant ...". Suddenly, he turned to Tessa and with an imploring look, asked, "You would not be an actress by any chance?"

Tessa opened her mouth to speak, but Marta interjected quickly, "No, she is not. We are just here to see someone."

The playwright shrugged ruefully as he gave Tessa a longing look. "It is a pity. I have a part in my play that you would be perfect for."

Marta exchanged a look with Tessa and they burst out laughing. The confused expression on the playwright's face made them laugh harder. Shaking his head, he stepped up to one of the doors from which the light green paint was peeling in long curls.

Tessa whispered to Marta, "I could have told him I was not an actress. You did not need to answer for me."

"I was afraid of what you were going to say," Marta chuckled.

Tessa sighed as she looked down the corridor into the backstage area. "It would be so exciting to be an actress, playing many parts before an audience."

"Do you not think you are playing enough parts already?" Marta said with a light laugh.

The playwright's rap on the door was accompanied by a volley of profanity from within, then a shouted, "Can't a man have a minute's peace around here?" The playwright gave the women an apologetic smile as he knocked again.

The door was yanked open to reveal a very tall, gaunt middle-aged man. Dark brows beetled across his forehead below which were a pair of piercing blue eyes. A large hawk-like nose made him look like a bird of prey, emphasized by his disdainful glance as he peered angrily at the intruders on his private domain. He glared at the playwright, then with curiosity at the two women. He frowned.

"What do you want, Carlos?" the man said, redirecting his gaze to the playwright. "Not adding more actresses to the play at this late date, are you?" His voice was high, nasal, petulant. A long-suffering sigh escaped him as he waited for an answer.

Tessa stepped forward. "We have come to see you, señor. Your talent is needed and will be rewarded, if you will give me a few minutes of your time." She lifted her reticule and shook it, making a jingle of coins. She pushed by the man and entered his room without waiting for an invitation. Marta gave the playwright a brief smile and followed Tessa.

Filtered light struggled through the dirty windowpanes which were nearly obscured by a gossamer curtain of cobwebs. The dim light played over a jumble of costumes piled on every flat surface. A long smudged mirror ran the length of a narrow table which was fastened to the wall. The only chairs in the room were heaped with bits of costumery. The room smelled of sweat and mould, overlaid with the scent of various stale perfumes and cosmetics. Several mannequins lounged against the drab walls, their tawdry costumes limp and dusty, their blank faces sporting false beards and moustaches.

Tessa drew in an excited breath. Marta could see by her sparkling eyes and high colour that her ward was enthralled with these surroundings. 'She has so much seriousness in her life. Let her play a little,' Marta thought indulgently as she watched Tessa wander around the tiny room, lifting a piece of costume here and there.

"Now that you have found me, what do you want?" The man closed the door and leaning against it, faced the two women with obvious impatience.

"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Maria Theresa de Navarre, and this is my friend, Elena. We have come all the way from Santa Monica to see you." Tessa smiled into the narrowed eyes of their host as she gestured at Marta.

A spot of colour warmed his gaunt cheeks as he pushed himself off the door and bowed briefly. "My pleasure, Señorita de Navarre, Señora Elena. I am Don Jorge Reverte. I have had the honour to have been assistant dresser at the famous Teatro Lycea in Barcelona. I learned my craft from the master dresser there. And here," he waved his hand dramatically at the cluttered, dingy room, "is where I now find myself. Wasting my art on clowns and has-beens." His pale face settled into a disdainful, self-pitying expression.

"I wish to employ your talent, Señor Reverte." Tessa paused in front of her muted image in the dusty mirror, looking at his reflection. "I want you to make me look like a man."

His sudden guffaw startled both women. "You cannot be serious!" he exclaimed as his eyes took in her feminine curves which were emphasized by the low cut blouse and narrow waistline of her dark blue skirt. "That would be an abomination. I will not do it."

"Or cannot," Tessa replied, her eyes hardening as she turned to face him. "I suppose, Elena, we must find another theatre where the dresser has more imagination." She sighed and moved toward the door.

Reverte put his hand in front of her as she reached for the door. "Why do you want to look like a man? It would seem a crime against Nature to disguise such beauty."

Tessa grinned impishly. "I need a costume for a masquerade ball. I don't want anyone to recognize me." She remained still as Reverte studied her intently.

He lifted her chin and turned her face this way and that, his brows drawn in concentration. Finally, he said, "It can be done, if you wish it." He strode over to the long table and swept a pile of colourful costume scraps off the chair onto the floor. "Please sit here, señorita," he said with a gallant bow as he held the chair for her.

Once seated, Tessa smiled apprehensively at Marta, the only indication so far that she was a little unsure of herself. "Elena, there is a cloth bag in the wagon. Would you bring it, por favor?"

Marta sent a warning glance at Reverte then left the room to fetch the bag. When she returned, a transformation had taken place. Seated before the mirror was someone with a dark goatee and moustache, and over the eyes, a pair of round tinted spectacles. On the left cheek, a deep pink ragged scar ran from under the cheekbone to just above the jaw. Marta gasped in awe. "Madre de dios!" she exclaimed. "Your own mother would not recognize you."

Tessa stood up and faced Reverte with a wide smile. "Your reputation is well-founded, señor. You have worked a miracle. Gracias. Now, if you will allow me a few minutes of privacy, I will complete the metamorphosis."

Reverte bowed and left the room, closing the door. Tessa opened the bag and pulled out a pair of men's trousers, a dark jacket and a white shirt. Hurriedly, she removed the skirt and blouse and donned the men's clothing. A pair of black leather boots completed the ensemble. She looked herself over carefully in the mirror and smiled with satisfaction.

"You're right, Marta. No one could penetrate this disguise. Maria Theresa has disappeared completely."

Marta folded Tessa's other clothes and placed them into the cloth bag. "Now what?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Now we pay Señor Reverte for his excellent work and go to register for the competition." Tessa pointed to the array of cosmetics on the table. "I think we will need these to do the make-up each day. I will buy them also, as well as the beard and moustache, and the spectacles. I watched him carefully and can show you what to do. We need one more thing ...a costume for you, Marta." She winked at Marta who shook her head firmly.

"Oh no," Marta replied, backing toward the door.

"Oh, yes," Tessa laughed. "I saw the perfect outfit for you on a rack backstage."

Chapter Three - Behind the Masks

'Don Diego de la Torre, Madrid, Spain,' the man wrote with a firm hand. He looked up through his tinted spectacles and caught the clerk staring at the long scar on his cheek. "A mistake I have not made since," growled the raspy voice. He blew on the fresh ink, then handed the pen back to the clerk and turned from the registration desk, striding toward a woman near a potted palm in the hotel lobby. She was gowned in a long deep blue robe, her head and lower face were covered completely with a headpiece leaving only her dark eyes showing. Those eyes seemed worried as she gazed around the elegant hotel foyer. Many curious glances were cast her way, not all friendly.

"There, Marta," the man said in a low voice near the woman's ear. "We have a hotel room. Now I have to go and register for the competition. Today at four o'clock is the last time for entries." Tessa took Marta's arm and led her toward a wide staircase that led up to a balustraded balcony overlooking the busy main floor. Behind the balcony was a row of doors then several corridors leading to more rooms.

They found their room and Tessa opened the door with a key. Inside the air was musty and stifling. Marta moved to the French doors that led onto a balcony and opened them. A waft of breeze flowed in as well as the noise from the street below.

"You can stay here in the room if you like," Tessa said in her normal voice. "I know you don't like the costume, but if anyone recognizes you, the game will be up. They'll know I'm here too."

"Some say the Moriscos and gitano are of the same race." Marta shrugged as she pulled off the head piece and shook out her untamed curls. "It is probably not the first time a zincali has posed as a Moslem, perhaps to hide from the law." She stepped out of the gown and stood near the open doors, keeping back enough not to be seen. "But the clothing is so hot, I don't know how they can wear it in such warm countries."

A discreet knock on the door caused Marta to dash behind a tall decorative screen. Tessa opened the door and a young man entered, carrying their luggage. She gave him a coin. He bowed, thanked her and left.

"Well, I must go and register for the fencing competition. Will you be all right here?" Tessa asked solicitously.

"I'm going with you. I don't want to miss out on any of the fun." Marta smiled and put the costume back on, carefully arranging the headpiece while looking in the wall mirror.

A press of people crowded the arena lobby. Attired in her disguise, Tessa occasioned scarcely any notice, though Marta, dressed in her Moslem garb, drew many surprised glances. The corrida, usually used for bullfights, had been turned into an arena for the fencing competition. The air was redolent of animal dung and human sweat. The noise level in the corridors was high and excited.

Tessa left Marta in the crowd behind a rope barrier and pushed her way toward the desk marked 'Registration'. For a long time she waited in the queue as the competitors shuffled forward slowly to sign up for the contest. She glanced back to where Marta was waiting and did not see her. 'She has probably gone outside to get away from the noise and the cigar smoke', Tessa thought. There was a faint blue haze above the crowd in the corridor. Tessa turned back, resignedly standing in the long queue. It seemed like over an hour before she was finally at the head of the line.

A harassed-looking clerk shoved a book toward her and said tiredly, "Sign your name and type of sword you will be competing with. Also write in your address." Tessa filled in the information and waited patiently for his attention to return to her.

"That will be ten reales for the entry fee, Señor..." he glanced at the book and added, "De la Torre." When Tessa hesitated, he said haughtily, "We make the fee high to keep out the ruffians and undesirables."

Tessa clenched her jaw to keep from laughing. 'I suppose I would be one of the undesirables,' she thought. 'So far, my disguise seems to be working. I just hope this moustache and beard don't fall off.' Somewhat ruefully, she opened her leather purse and counted out the money. It was more than she had expected. The whole trip was more costly than she thought it would be. She knew she could get more funds from the bank in Monterrey but then she would have to leave off her disguise to sign for the gold.

The clerk leaned forward and asked, "Will you be wanting a sparring partner for tomorrow morning, Señor de la Torre? We have some very good fencers who would enjoy the practice and give you a good workout before your matches."

"Yes, please. Put my name down for a sparring partner. For eight o'clock in the morning."

Beside her name, the clerk penned in the information. "That will be two reales for the sparring partner."

With a grimace, Tessa counted out two more coins and dropped them on the desk. "I'll be lucky to leave here with the clothes on my back," she muttered.

A familiar voice from behind made her blood freeze. He said, "Excuse me, señor, but you have dropped one of your gloves." Tessa held her breath as she composed herself to turn and confront Colonel Montoya. His smile faltered for a second as he took in the dark glasses and the scar on her face. Then his affable mask was back in place as he held up her glove.

She took it with a brief nod. "Gracias, señor," Tessa said in her raspy voice. She could feel her face colouring from the rapid pulsing of her heart. 'Montoya here in Monterrey. But of course he would want to compete to prove his mettle. Why did I not think of that?'

"Good luck in the competition, Señor ..." Montoya raised his eyebrows questioningly, waiting for her to fill in the information.

"Diego de la Torre." Tessa bowed formally and tried to move past.

Montoya placed his hand on her arm. "I am Colonel Luis Montoya. I hope we may cross swords sometime during the competition."

"It would be my pleasure, Colonel Montoya," she replied then with another brief nod, began to push her way through the line to the crowd waiting behind the rope barrier where she had left Marta. Her companion was still nowhere to be seen.

As she stepped near an elegantly dressed young woman, a fan fell at Tessa's feet. The woman's hand stopped her. "Señor," the woman simpered. "I seem to have dropped my fan."

Tessa bent and picked it up and tried again to get to the exit and find Marta, but the young woman clung to her arm. "Will you be competing tomorrow in the epees or the foils, señor?" she asked. She reminded Tessa of Vera with her blonde prettiness and boldly flirtatious manner. The blue eyes held hers as the young woman smiled sweetly. "This is so exciting. We have never had such a contest in Monterrey before. Fencers have come from as far away as Mexico. Have you come from a long way, Señor ...?"

Once again, Tessa felt compelled to supply her fictitious surname. "De la Torre, señorita. Now if you will excuse me, I must find my companion." Her arm was firmly held and the woman seemed to have no intention of letting go yet.

"There is a gala tonight in honour of all the contestants at the Grand Hotel. That is where I am staying." She fluttered her eyelashes coyly. "Will you be at the gala, Señor de la Torre? I could save you a dance."

Words stuck in her dry throat as she swallowed several times. Tessa knew her face must be crimson from embarrassment. Finally she managed to croak out, "I have made other plans for the evening. I hope you enjoy the gala, señorita." With a curt bow, Tessa removed the woman's hand from her arm and moved away quickly. Ducking under the rope barrier, she made for the exit and looked around outside. There was no sign of Marta.

She went back inside and walked along the winding corridor, pushing through the milling crowds. She wandered further away from the noise and commotion, and found herself near the empty pens where the bulls were kept. The corridor seemed deserted and she turned to walk back toward the front entrance, somewhat annoyed at Marta for vanishing like that.

From a doorway in the corridor, a swarthy man suddenly swaggered into her path. He was a dangerous-looking individual with a coarse moustache and beard. One eye was covered by an eyepatch and on his head he sported a wide-brimmed plumed hat. He wore a dingy white blouse and black leather vest and at his side, a dagger was shoved in his belt. Though he was a few inches shorter than Tessa, she was still alarmed by his brazenness.

She recoiled, her hand automatically searching for the hilt of her sword. The man grinned displaying a wide gap in his teeth.

"Looking for someone, señor?" the stranger rasped in a hoarse voice.

Tessa backed away holding her left hand out to fend him off, with her right hand firmly gripping the sword.

"I think you have found him," Marta whispered in her real voice. She chuckled at the dumbfounded expression on Tessa's face.

"Marta!" Tessa exclaimed in an undertone. "What do you think you are doing in that disguise? You look like a pirate, a ruffian. I nearly drew my sword on you."

Marta was still laughing as she steered Tessa toward the exit. She glanced around to make sure no one could hear her. "I found the costume you got me too restricting and too hot. I went back to the theatre to see if Señor Reverte could create a better disguise for me." She laughed softly as they passed through the double doors that led outside and walked toward the wagon. "Actually, Señor Reverte can be quite charming when he wants to be."

"You mean, you can be quite charming when you want to be. Poor Señor Reverte. He didn't have a chance," Tessa laughed. She stopped Marta to look at the costume more closely. "You certainly fooled me, Marta. That disguise is excellent."

Tessa's smiled disappeared and she said, "Did you see who else is competing in the fencing?" Marta nodded, and Tessa continued, "Let us hope we are not paired for any of the bouts. He already looked at me strangely."

"He was not the only one," Marta chided with a wink and a suggestive raise of her eyebrows.

Tessa looked away, chagrined. "You saw her? Can you believe the boldness, Marta? I felt like a sparrow in the clutches of a hawk. Why would she choose me of all the men in the room?"

"A beautiful woman also makes a handsome man. And that scar and those tinted glasses make you look a bit sinister, perhaps even dangerous. No wonder she was attracted." Marta chuckled almost silently as they stepped up into the wagon. "So, do you have a date for later?"

"Of course not!" Tessa replied indignantly. "I couldn't get away from her fast enough."

"What shall we do tonight? Go to the gala, or sit in the hotel room and play cards? As for me, I would like to have a long hot bath and go to bed early." Marta turned the wagon toward the wide wooden gates of the corrida and out into the street.

Tessa sighed, "Now that Montoya is here, we will have to visit the Aguileras a bit sooner than I had planned. The colonel may have some contacts here who are watching them and would know if I did not visit when I was supposed to. I'm sure he knows we are here. So we will see Señora Aguilera tonight."

Montoya pulled into the shadows of the narrow alley and listened intently. For several minutes, he held himself tightly against the rough adobe wall, quieting his breathing to hear any stealthy footsteps that would alert him if he was being followed. Eventually, he moved down the alley and into a backstreet that was barely lit by torches on some of the buildings. He counted the doorways, then smiled. The third door from the alley his friend had said. Montoya stepped warily to the doorway then ascended a wooden staircase that led to a balcony on the second floor. At the top, he rapped cautiously on the door. His heart seemed to be hammering in his chest as he glanced around the street below to watch for anyone who looked suspicious. 'Other than me,' he smirked to himself.

The handle creaked as it turned slowly and the door opened a crack. Montoya heard an exclamation then the door opened fully and he was pulled inside. It was nearly dark in the room once the door closed on the street lighting. For several seconds, he was blinded by the sudden darkness and remained perfectly still. A match flared, then a man's face loomed out of the blackness as he lit a candle in a holder on a table near the centre of the small room.

"Luis," the man laughed nervously as he put out his hand for Montoya to grasp. "I was afraid you would not come. My nerves are nearly shot." He gestured to a chair beside the table and took a seat himself. A military tunic on which the rank of colonel was emblazoned hung neatly on the back of his chair. His hand shook as he poured two glasses of wine from a half-empty bottle. He smiled apologetically as he rubbed his hand through his thinning grey hair. "I have hardly slept or eaten since I had your message a few weeks ago."

"Do you have my letter with you, Ignacio?" Montoya asked, his pale eyes narrowing.

Ignacio pulled a folded page from his tunic and handed it to Montoya. The colonel opened it and scanned the contents quickly. He nodded with satisfaction, then held the paper over the candle flame. It flared, illuminating the room brightly for a minute, then fell into charred pieces onto the table.

"You are a careful one, Luis," his friend said with a tense twist of his lips. "You do not trust even me ...after all this time?"

"It is best not to leave hard evidence lying around, Ignacio. I am trying to protect us both." Montoya's lips compressed briefly and he patted his friend's arm reassuringly. "Now let us get down to business. I have to be back in time to get a good night's rest before tomorrow's fencing matches."

Ignacio grinned affably. "I wish you luck, Luis. If I were younger, I might give you a run for your money in the epee class." His face sobered and he looked down at his hands. "Maybe I'm too old for this too, Luis. This is a new world, a young man's world. I wonder what I am thinking of, getting involved in something like this. My retirement is not far off."

"How can you call yourself old, my friend? Besides, a mature head is needed for this enterprise. We do not need hotheaded youths who cannot be controlled."

The other man sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes gazing dreamily into the candlelight. "Ah, Luis, just imagine if we are successful. A new republic in California!" He bolted forward and his eyes glittered suddenly with fanatic zeal. "Just think, Luis! A democracy where the people decide how they want to be governed. Think of the constitution we will write guaranteeing sacred rights for all the citizens. No more monarchy where the King and Queen spend lavishly on themselves and their sycophants, wasting money that they never earned for their own pleasures. A republic like they have in France and los estados unidos."

He leaned forward excitedly and gripped Montoya's hand. "In a couple of years, after we have secured power, we will hold democratic elections. For the first time in California, the citizens can choose their own president and representatives."

Ignacio raised his glass to salute Montoya, a wide smile creasing his lined face. "To the republic!" he said heartily, his blue eyes moistening.

Montoya clinked his glass and took a sip. He wondered vaguely if Ignacio da Silva had been an afrancesado during the War of Independence. "To our success," he said. "Now let us go over the plans once again. Timing is everything and we cannot afford a single misstep. How many trusted men do you have with you?"

"I brought only six, carefully selected, as you suggested. I left my Captain of the Guards in charge of my presidio. I trust him. He is a good man. And the promise of a promotion to colonel after this will keep him loyal." Ignacio chuckled and took a sip of his wine. His hands shook less and he seemed calmer, Montoya noted.

"I have brought the same. Your men know what to do?" A smile flickered across Montoya's face when Ignacio nodded. "The Viceroy will be at the fencing matches until the end when he will give out the prizes and medals. Then he will probably return to his mansion. Have him followed to see where he goes. Watch for when he retires for the night. That will be our only opportunity."

Montoya saw his friend's mouth harden into a firm line and a nervous tic twitched in his right eye. He could hear Ignacio's breath wheezing in and out of his lungs. It was obvious the man was scared to death, but was still determined to go ahead. That was good, Montoya thought. Nothing clarifies the mind like the threat of death. And death it would be if their plans miscarried.

Continued in Part 2

Please send your comments on this story to the author, Maril Swan.