Vignettes

A collection of short stories mostly written
as challenges for the Queen of Swords
Fan Fiction Yahoo Group
by Maril Swan

Disclaimer: The series characters and the Queen of Swords are copyrights of the producers, Fireworks Productions and Paramount. No infringement or revenue is intended. The story plots and other characters are original and copyright to the author, Maril Swan.

Justice and Mercy

The wonderful astonishment in her dark eyes gave his hand greater strength as he drove the dagger into her heart. No scream, just an exhalation then she fell, limp, lifeless. He bent over her and reached for the mask, his heart beating wildly at this, his supreme moment. He touched the fine black lace covering those staring eyes — and awoke amid the disarray of tossed bedsheets.

He was hot, and his head ached dully. His eyes burned and his throat was so parched and sore he could hardly swallow. Montoya swung his legs off the bed and stood up, dizzy and light-headed. His damp nightgown clung to him as he staggered across his bedroom to the water carafe and poured himself a large drink. It was tepid, hardly refreshing, but at least it soothed his raging thirst.

'I have a fever,' he thought in exasperation. 'Damn.' With an impatient gesture, he brushed back the moist locks clinging to his sweat-soaked forehead. He considered awakening his orderly to go and fetch the doctor, but decided instead to go himself. 'It doesn't do for the lower ranks to see their leader weak.'

He pulled on a pair of trousers and boots, then stepped out the balcony door and descended into the silent street. The night air chilled him, raising gooseflesh and making him shiver, but at least it helped to cool his feverish body a little.

He encountered no one as he slipped through the sleeping pueblo and into the doctor's office. Thankfully, he found it in darkness. Montoya moved to the medicine cabinet, searching for the white powder that Helm had concocted, and which had such a salutary effect on his fever before.

A sound from the other room made him freeze. He crept to the doctor's bedroom door and leaned near. A feral grin stole across his face as he listened to the murmurs and moans of someone making love. 'So the doctor has a lover, and I know who it is.' Montoya glanced around the dark office looking for a weapon. 'Of course, he would have none,' he thought with contempt.

For several minutes, Montoya leant his ear to the door, listening, biding his time. 'I will wait until the act reaches its climax and then burst in,' he decided with a malicious smile. 'She will be totally unprepared and vulnerable.' Finally, the sounds reached a crescendo and Montoya grasped the handle and flung the door open.

Two astonished faces turned to him, one masked. Their pale bodies glistened in the wan light from the window. Montoya saw her sword lying on the floor next to the bed. He dove for it just as she pushed the doctor away and tried to reach it. She landed on Montoya and they struggled for a long moment, only their mingled panting breaking the tense silence. Her magnificent body was slick with sweat and he found himself distracted by its sensuous feel against his hands. Finally, he wrested the sword from her. Then something hard hit the back of his head and blackness overcame him.

His eyes burned and his head throbbed viciously as he became aware of his surroundings. He was in his own bed whose sheets looked like a battle had been fought in them, and in an annoying state of tumescence. He touched the back of his head, and as he expected, found no lump or bruise. A rustle from near the window made him catch his breath. Then he saw the black figure move into the moonlight, limning her lithe form, glinting on the sword buckled to her side.

Montoya brushed his hand over his feverish eyes. "I'm dreaming again," he moaned.

"And I'm your worst nightmare," she said, moving to the bedside.

"You don't know the half of it," he grated out, closing his eyes. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm sick?" The room seemed to tilt and turn as darkness engulfed him again.

It seemed only a second later, someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes to a bright smiling face half-covered by a black mask. "You again," he groaned. "Why don't you let me die in peace?"

"I brought you some medicine from the doctor's office. We're going to make a deal, you and I." She watched his grey eyes glittering in the dim light. "Here it is — you release those two men who stole the cow, and I will give you some medicine. If you don't ...well, I'll take the medicine with me. It will take days for Doctor Helm to make more."

The bed rocked slightly as she sat down next to him. He turned away to reach under his pillow for his gun.

"Looking for this?" she asked with a laugh as she brandished the pistol. She set it down on the floor. "You don't want to shoot that. So noisy. And it would make your head ache much worse, especially if I had to hit you over the head with it." A girlish giggle escaped as she watched his features contort with rage.

That laugh reminded Montoya how young she must be. How could a slip of a girl have become such a bane to his existence?

"Those men are guilty," Montoya said wearily. "They were caught with the butchered cow, and must pay the price for their crime. Tomorrow they will hang for cattle theft. It is the law."

"They were desperate, trying to feed their families. A cow is hardly worth two lives," she said passionately. "And their families will be even worse off without their men. I spoke with Señor Hidalgo. He will rescind the charges if the stolen cow is paid for." The Queen lifted a leather pouch and shook it. "There is enough in here to pay for the animal, and a little extra for ...uh, administration." She grinned, then sobered. "So that's the deal — you accept the payment to give to Don Gaspar and I give you the medicine. Are we agreed?"

Montoya glanced between the purse in her one outstretched hand and the vial of medicine in the other. A crazy thought ran through his fevered brain. 'In that mask, she looks like the scales of blind justice.' He laughed abruptly, then covered it with a cough. "All right. We have a deal. Now give me the medicine and get out!"

"You don't actually think I'd take your word that the prisoners will not be executed tomorrow." She laughed harshly. "Sign this." She pulled a document from inside her blouse and unrolled it. "Don Gaspar wrote this document. It says that all charges are dropped and that no further penalty will be exacted on the men." She crossed the room to his writing desk and picked up a quill and ink bottle, returning to sit on the bed once more.

With a shaking hand, Montoya signed the document, while the Queen propped him up with her arm under his shoulders. She released him and he fell back, exhausted. "Are you satisfied?" he gasped. "Taking advantage of a man in his moment of weakness."

"That's the best time," she chuckled. "And now I'll keep my part." She arose and went to the water carafe, pouring a half glass of water, then mixing in the white powder. She came back and lifted him with one arm, while holding the glass with the other. Tipping it against his lips, she allowed him to drink it all. "There," she said, gently laying him back on his pillow. She pulled the wrinkled sheet up to his neck, tucking him in. "Tomorrow you'll feel like a new man."

"And then I'll catch you, you she-devil, and I'll have your head on a pike in the square!"

"See — you're feeling better already. Guess I'll leave now. I have to deliver this to Señor Hidalgo." She tapped him playfully on the head with the rolled document and disappeared into the shadows.

As sleep began to claim him once more, Montoya was not sure if he had still been dreaming. He would know tomorrow. A comfortable lassitude stole over him and he drifted into the quiet darkness, thinking, 'The scales of justice are in balance for now. Justice tempered by mercy.' He chuckled to himself. 'I am Justice and she is Mercy.'

END

Maril Swan

QUOTE 1: "Anyone can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error." -- Cicero

QUOTE 2: ""When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite. " - Sir Winston Churchill

Vigilante Justice

Tessa drew up the wagon and gaped in astonishment at the town square. It was filled with peasants, angrily clamouring and shaking their fists at Colonel Montoya who was watching nonchalantly from his balcony. She spied Doctor Helm standing back on the periphery of the crowd. She could see he was also upset by something. Handing the reins to Marta, Tessa climbed down and made her way to the doctor. She touched his shoulder and he jumped. The face he turned to her was not smiling or welcoming.

"What's going on here, Doctor?" she asked, making her voice loud enough to be heard over the din in the square. Helm took her arm and led her a distance away.

"Damned aristos!" he said vehemently. "They think they can run roughshod over anybody and get away with it." Helm's face was flushed and his green eyes sparkled with rage. His hands were balled into fists as if he wanted to hit something or someone.

"Perhaps, Doctor, you could be a bit more specific than just vilifying a whole class of people. What are the peasants so angry about?"

"Yesterday, Don Hernandez was moving his herd to a new pasture and they stampeded. Ran across a couple of small farms, trampling everything to dust. All their crops were destroyed and some small buildings knocked down. The don refuses to pay anything to the farmers for the damages. He says it wasn't his fault that the herd stampeded. An act of God." Helm's voice was harsh, and Tessa could see his blood was up. He seemed ready to fight against this injustice.

"Did the farmers not bring their case to Montoya?" Tessa asked.

Helm snorted. "He sided with Hernandez of course. The best justice money could buy."

The din was getting louder as the peasants urged each other on. Tessa took a quick glance at Marta who was still holding the reins of the team. 'Just in case we need to make a quick exit,' Tessa mused. 'This could get ugly if Montoya doesn't do something'. Almost as if on cue, a squad of soldiers marched from between some buildings, their faces grimly determined and their bayonets fixed and pointed at the crowd. Grisham swaggered at their head.

"Clear the square!" he barked and the soldiers moved as a unit toward the knot of peasants. Jeers and curses met the soldiers, then some stones and dung from the street followed. A melee ensued as the soldiers waded into the crowd, using their guns as clubs, striking without mercy. Many fell, bloodied, onto the ground, and the battle swirled around them.

Tessa heard Helm mutter in horror, "Good God, not again." His eyes seemed to see not just the scene before him but another like it in another landscape. He started forward but Tessa restrained him.

"They don't need your fists in the fray, Doctor, but they will need your skills after." She kept a firm hold on his sleeve while he battled with his instinct to join the fight. If she had a sword in her own hand, what would she do? Tessa wondered. It was hard to stand back and watch the soldiers battering the unarmed peasants. The screams and jeers began to abate as the crowd dispersed, running off into the side alleys of the pueblo. The wounded writhed on the ground, or tried to stagger to their feet only to receive another blow which felled them once more.

Helm shook off her grip and rushed to the victims. He thrust a soldier aside who was kicking one of the men of the ground and knelt to attend his wounds. Other soldiers continued to drag peasants out of their hiding places and beat them severely.

"Haven't you proved your point already?" Tessa shouted as she grabbed one of the soldiers' tunics. "There's no need for further violence. Let them go!" The soldiers, seeing her, backed off suddenly shamefaced.

Colonel Montoya stepped down from his aerie above the skirmish, and wandered through the dozen men, bloodied and beaten, who sat or lay upon the dusty pueblo street. He seemed satisfied, and Tessa felt her own blood beginning to boil. Montoya had won this battle but the war was not over. Not by a long mark. The colonel strolled toward her with an amused expression on his face.

"My, my," he said with a wry smile, "Such mettle, Maria Teresa. Who would have expected it from you?"

"I don't know what came over me, Colonel. The horror of this scene must have made me lose my wits for a few minutes." Tessa held her hand to her head, seeming flustered. "I think I should go home now. I feel rather faint." She turned toward the wagon only to feel the colonel's hand on her bare arm.

"When you take a side, my dear, be sure it is the one which is winning." His grey eyes seemed to bore into her as he added, "Or better yet, stay out of what does not concern you." He let her go and turned back to the square, ordering the soldiers, "Clean this up, and get those men out of here. No point in filling the cells with this rabble." The colonel strode back into his residence without a backward glance.

**********

Don Hernandez' florid face was greasy with sweat as he dismounted his horse. He winced as he walked awkwardly toward a small hut. All around the farm yard was evidence of destruction, overturned fences, trampled gardens. The earth was churned up and indented with the prints of hundreds of hoofs. He swallowed convulsively as a man stepped out of the hut and eyed him belligerently. The man's dark eyes narrowed suspiciously as he advanced warily upon the don.

Hernandez cast a worried look around, seeming to shrink into himself. "Señor," the don croaked out, "I have made a terrible mistake." He shrugged deprecatingly and continued, "Anyone can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error. I have come to pay for the damages to your property." He moved stiffly toward the farmer and pulled out a leather purse which clinked when it moved.

The don's gaze shifted to a hill above this poor farm where a masked woman, clad in black, sat impassively waiting on her dark horse. He shuddered, recalling the bite of her whip, and the warning which came wrapped in a warm smile. "When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite." Her lips smiled but her eyes burned with righteous anger. She would kill him if he resisted. He could see it in her eyes. His back burned with the salty sweat running into that single welt. It was all she had needed to convince him that he had been unjust to the farmers.

He glanced back at the peasant now counting the gold reales, and promised himself, 'She has made me pay today, but she will pay also. When Montoya finally catches her, I will be there to watch her die.' With this small consolation, Hernandez returned to his horse, groaning with pain as he mounted. He turned toward the next farm where he had an obligation to keep, noting the masked woman rode a discreet distance away, making sure he kept his word. 'Yes', he thought, 'Someday she will pay for this.'

TRIO CHALLENGE: cheese, skull, clock

Vigilante Justice - 2

He bent over the worktable, apparently unaware of her as she crept near. Only the clock ticking on the shelf punctuated the silence. Suddenly, he turned and grabbed both her hands, twisting one arm behind her back. With his face only inches away, he grinned cheekily without relaxing his hold. "Don't you know it's dangerous to sneak up on a man? You never know how they might react." He planted a quick kiss on her lips then released her.

The Queen laughed, rubbing her wrists. "You don't know your own strength, Doctor." She took a step back and said, "I just wanted you to know that justice has been done."

"What does that mean?"

"Señor Hernandez has paid for the damages his cattle did to the farmers' properties." Helm could see her watching his face closely, looking for something from him. What was it - his approval or his respect?

"I see," he said and turned back to his worktable where he pushed aside the remains of his meagre supper - a roll and a piece of cheese. "I've had a busy few days here. Yesterday, I spent most of the day patching up peasants and today, Señor Hernandez called me out to his hacienda to attend to a most unusual injury."

Helm thought back to that afternoon. He had been shown into the don's bedroom and was greeted brusquely. As he helped Señor Hernandez remove his shirt, the doctor gasped silently at the angry red welt on his back. He had seen far too many of these in the army to mistake what it was. Wisely, he decided not to ask about it. He had just coated the wound with salve and given instructions on how to keep it from getting infected.

He returned his attention to the Queen who seemed to be making herself quite at home in his small office. She studied the books on his shelf then peered closely at the row of surgical instruments laid out on a clean cloth. With a slight grimace, she picked up a skull and laughed. "Not one of your greater successes? Where is the rest of him?" Her dark eyes twinkled with merriment behind the lace mask. She seemed quite pleased with herself, in high spirits.

Her good humour was wearing on his nerves. "In a trunk. Now, will you please put it down. And stop handling my things."

With a defiant lift of chin and a pretty pout, she set the skull down and wandered across the room. Her presence was disturbing him. He was angry at the world right now and she was part of the problem. If only she wasn't so infuriatingly lovely and attractive, he might have a chance to keep her at a distance. From her position near the door, she watched him, her very stillness unnerving.

Helm's temper was short though he struggled to keep it in check. Finally, his patience gone, he said tersely, "So, you *persuaded* Hernandez to pay for the damages. How could you do that to him?" He compressed his thin lips in disapproval.

"I tried to talk to him, to make him see how unjust he was being to the farmers. He pulled a gun on me. I guess I used the whip as a reflex." She shrugged, seeming a bit chagrined.

"Remind me to always keep my hands where you can see them," Helm said irascibly. Seeing the hurt look in her eyes, he relented. He stepped toward her and took her gloved hand, pressing it warmly. "Your way of doing things isn't mine but at least someone did something to right the scales of justice. However," he continued, staring earnestly into her eyes, "You've made a powerful enemy. Hernandez has a small army of rancheros and I doubt if he'll take this insult from a woman without seeking vengeance. I'm afraid he'll join forces with Montoya against you."

The warning seemed to find its mark and he saw her take a deep, steadying breath. "I know," she said softly. "Señor Hernandez is not liked by most of the other dons. For years, he has been embroiled in water rights disputes with many of them. He has also ranged his cattle on other dons' lands without permission. I am afraid it may end up in open conflict at some point. At least I can count on the fact that other dons will not ally with him against me."

For a moment, Helm saw the vulnerability beneath the armour that she seemed to keep around her. The proud mask slipped a bit and he knew she was scared. He held her closely, protectively though he knew he couldn't shield her from her enemies. She was a lone vigilante whom few would help if she needed them. She must know that. He felt her loneliness and fear. The thought saddened him that he could do nothing for her. Only love her.

END

While working on "The Duellist" I got to wondering about the Queen's disguise. How did they put it together so quickly? I mean, one minute (in "Destiny") she's just thinking about doing something to avenge her father, and the next we see her in town wearing the costume. How did this transition come about so quickly?

From "Destiny" the missing scene before Tessa goes to Santa Elena dressed as the Queen:

The Making of a Queen

"Marta, the vision I saw showed a woman dressed in black, and Papa said in my dream, 'There is my avenging angel. She will see justice is done.' I think I am meant to be that avenger."

"Tessa, this is not Madrid. You could get away with more in a big city. Here, everything you do will be noticed. Be sure this is a step you want to take. Once you set your feet on this path, there will be no turning back."

"Fortune sides with him who dares," Tessa said airily as she drew the black lace mantilla across her eyes and viewed herself in the mirror. "Besides, in my dream, Papa assured me I would never be alone and not to be afraid." She searched Marta's face for some reassurance that her friend was with her in this.

"What are you going to do?" Marta's eyes seemed dark, anxious as she studied Tessa's reflection.

"Follow my destiny." Tessa draped the lace over the mirror and returned to the trunk to rummage through it.

"What are you looking for, Tessa? We have already found the gold."

"I'll need a disguise. Something that will keep my identity a secret. Help me find something to wear. I'm going into town tonight to free Carlos' son from the prison. I couldn't save Carlos. At least I can try to save his son from an unjust punishment." Tessa bent and continued to pull items of clothing from the trunk while Marta watched, a worried frown on her face.

Finally, Marta said, "You saw a woman dressed in black. That is the disguise you must wear. Is there anything black in the trunk?"

Tessa straightened and shook her head. "No, nothing that I could wear as a costume. Wait!" she exclaimed. In a flash she was gone out of the hidden room and Marta could hear her pounding up the stairs to the main floor. Tessa returned with an armful of black clothes. "Look, Marta. I have my black silk blouse and the men's trousers I wore to my fencing lessons." Quickly, Tessa took off her nightgown and put on the garments. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. "What do you think, Marta? All I need now is a mask." She pulled the lace mantilla off the mirror and held it before her face.

Marta eyed the costume sceptically. "It looks a little ...um...dull." Marta lifted a red silk scarf from the trunk and tied it around Tessa's waist. She cocked her head and smiled approvingly. "Much better. Now all you need is your black corset to put under your clothes."

"Corset? I never wore a corset to my fencing lessons, Marta. I won't wear one with this costume. It's too restricting," Tessa said adamantly.

"I have an idea. I will be right back." Marta hurried from the room. In a few minutes, she was back with a black corset in her hands. "Turn around." Tessa obeyed and felt the corset being fastened around her abdomen.

"I'm not wearing this thing *over* my clothes, Marta!" she said indignantly as she tried to stop Marta from continuing to lace the tight garment. "It will look scandalous!"

Marta chuckled and pulled harder on the lacings. "What you are planning to do is not scandalous? Besides, the whalebone in this thing might offer some protection from swords and daggers. In your fencing lessons, you wore a leather plastron and the blades were blunted. The soldiers have real blades." Satisfied, Marta turned Tessa to face her. "You need something to cover your face, something more substantial than black lace. A mask like a bandit would wear."

"No, Marta. I'm not a bandit. I want to use this." She held up the black mantilla.

Marta pursed her lips, her expression grim. "That will not fool anyone, Tessa. You can see right through it." Marta took the lace and examined it for several seconds. "Still," she mused, "it might just do the trick." She gave Tessa a secretive smile and left the room. When she returned, she had a pair of scissors, a needle and black thread with her.

Quickly, Marta fashioned a mask from the lace. Then she murmured some Rom words over it as she pulled it across Tessa's face and tied it behind her head.

Tessa felt strange suddenly. Her scalp prickled and she experienced a surge of energy that made her nearly breathless. She felt ...strong, invincible. An awed expression lit up her eyes as she glanced at Marta.

"What did you say over this mask, Marta? It seems to have some power in it."

"I cast a spell on it. While you wear this mask, no one will know who you are. Even your voice sounds different. It is the best I could do to protect you. The rest is up to you." The dark Gypsy eyes regarded Tessa with love and with distress. She would never interfere with Tessa's destiny, her fate, but she could try to tip the odds in her favour a bit. Surely, that was not interference.

She observed Tessa walk over to a table and pick up a sword. The long blade gleamed in the candlelight and flashed as Tessa swung it with confidence.

"This is the sword my father planned to give to the son he never had. I will be his avenger and take up his sword." A black-clad stranger faced Marta, a roguish smile on her lips and a determined look in her eyes. "I will see that justice is done."

END

©Vignettes5 - Maril Swan - August 2001

More stories in Vignettes 6

Please send your comments on these stories to the author - Maril Swan