The Guest of Honor

In Oreana’s room, Marbella sat quietly, still dressed in the lavish gown Oreana had given her, watching the candle they had lit as it burned down, now, almost to the top of the holder.  Oreana had told her never to blow out a candle but to pinch the flame between her thumb and fingers.  But this candle should burn down to the very end, she knew, and as she watched it, she imagined the golden glow of hundreds of candles, the music playing a soft bolero or maybe a chaconne, couples twirling, skirts flaring.  Then, a soft gust of wind came in through a crack in the window, billowing the lacy curtains, and the candle flickered and went out.

As the darkness swallowed her, Marbella sensed that something even darker and more chilling than the soft night air had crept in through the window.  For a moment, she couldn’t remember how to breathe, let alone scream.  As if this were a nightmare, she could make no more sound than a whimper that seemed odd and faraway, and her heart pounded like surf, sending blood crashing through her inner ears. For a moment, she thought she might faint.  Then, slowly, her whole body trembling, she made herself crawl to the hearth and reach for a piece of dry kindling.

Once it caught she struggled to hold it steady enough to relight the candle.  Several times, she thought the kindling itself would go out as she felt the shadows breathing like a living thing all around her.  Then the candle flickered, and its soft, steady light chased them back into the corners of the room again.  But Marbella was still deeply shaken.

The spell was broken, and she had no way to mend it.  Instead, she fumbled for the rosary she had left lying on the dressing table, fell to her knees, crossed herself and began to whisper the words of the credo, then the our father and the aves.  But she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay in this room once the candle had finally gone out for good.  And she didn’t know where else she could go to escape this sense of living darkness.  No one else would have the slightest idea what was wrong with her.  No one but Oreana would even believe her.  And Oreana, she was sure, would not return to this room either.  Not now.

As the gentle rhythm of the guitars continued to pulse through the courtyard, Alejandro stood at the edge of a group of townsfolk, trying to listen to what one man was saying about the trouble in Mexico City.  Apparently, the national congress was having many problems, both internally and with the council of regents, agreeing on the text of a constitution.  More than a few issues had so divided the various factions that now folks were starting to yearn for the days of strong central government.  At least with a king, such bitter disputes as the one raging over land distribution could ultimately be resolved.  So much land had ended up in the hands of so few.

But Alejandro wasn’t really paying much attention.  Arms folded thoughtfully across his chest, he watched the dancers, knowing he had asked for this.  Por el amor de Dios, he had even prayed for it.  And in many ways, this girl was the answer to his prayers.  But she was also pretty solid evidence of God’s often wry sense of humor.

Not that she and Diego were the only couple on the dance floor, or that they were behaving indiscreetly in any way.  But he could hear the rich clear voice of the singer as he sang of a man navigating the high seas, enchanted by a siren, and he could see the way his son was looking at her, and he knew that anyone who was paying attention could probably see the same thing.  Then, noticing how their bodies moved together as they circled each other, the easy intimacy in the way they touched, suddenly, he knew more than he wanted to, and it left him wincing.  Now he knew Urbino would be honor bound to kill them both.

"They make a very attractive couple, do they not, Señor."

The voice was so soft that for a moment, Alejandro thought he must be thinking out loud, but then he noticed the man standing beside him, smiling faintly, though he couldn’t tell if it was sympathy or amusement he saw in the soft brown eyes.  "Sí, they do," he said grudgingly, then lifted his eyebrows—"Señor. . . ?"

"Marigál."  The man bowed politely, folding his hands in front of him.  "Eusepio Marigál.  Of Toledo, Ciudad Mexico and, most recently, Monterey.  Perhaps your son has spoken of me?  It is said that you have been entertaining a longtime acquaintance of mine, Don Urbino Guzman."

Alejandro studied the man carefully.  "You know Señor Guzman?"

"I have known him and his family for many years."

"It is odd that Señor Guzman did not mention knowing you," said Alejandro.  "I am certain your name must have come up recently in conversation.  You were the man, were you not, who helped the commandante capture a suspected kidnaper?"

"A most unfortunate affair."  Marigál shook his head, then shrugged.  "But as for Don Urbino’s silence, well, he and I are friends, but we are also rivals in business.  My associate and I also contract for the purchase of furs and hides, but we pay for them in dollars.  I believe it was a few weeks ago in the office of Capitan Acevedo that we spoke briefly with your son . . . Diego, isn’t it?"

Alejandro nodded.  "He did mention having met you.  One also understands that the kidnaper managed to escape, no?"

"With the aid of that infamous outlaw Zorro."  Marigál’s already faint smile turned just a little colder.  "We do not believe he got very far."  He sighed.  "But where is Don Urbino tonight, if one might ask?  It is said he rarely allows the señorita out of his sight."

"We do not know," Alejandro replied with a shrug.  "He was called away on some unexpected business almost a week and a half ago, all quite sudden.  Then last Monday he sent for his manservant.  We haven’t heard from him since.  But we do expect him back any day now."

"Ah."  Marigál nodded.  "And one might suppose that a man would be somewhat concerned about what to do when he returns.  As the saying goes, ‘better to weep over their bodies,’ eh. (1)  This is Urbino.  He would rather see her dead than see her, well . . . like that."

"Señor"—Alejandro narrowed his eyes—"is there anything, aside from your friendship with Señor Guzman, that makes you think this matter is any of your business?"

Marigál looked a little surprised, but not unpleasantly.  "No, I suppose not," he said, a faint smile returning to his lips.  "But one can hardly be less than sympathetic.  Such women—they were clearly put on earth to plague mankind.  And he is not just your eldest, but your only son, no?"

Alejandro would gladly have walked away from this conversation except for the faintly confrontational tone of it—a tone that equated retreat with defeat.  But that being acknowledged, he also had to admit that it was a mild relief to talk to someone who, unlike Diego, didn’t need to have the obvious explained.  He sighed heavily and nodded.

Marigál nodded too, cupping his chin.  "It is said that he is quite well spoken, a man of tact and diplomacy.  A man of letters."

But not a man of action—he hadn’t even needed to say it.  "Señor," Alejandro replied, "my son is a gentleman, a man of honor.  He will do the honorable thing."

"Sí, and more’s the pity," said Marigál smoothly.  "It can make one feel old—can it not?—to think how many young men today find honor in discretion.  Yet these are the ones who thrive and propagate.  The world is changing, Señor.  One suspects your son would not be blamed for trying to avoid bloodshed, especially if the blood were hers.  Which it would be."

"He will face up to Urbino like a man," said Alejandro quietly.  "Or the blood that flows through his veins is not that of the de la Vegas."

"Of course."  Marigál let his gaze trail back to the dance floor.  "A very attractive couple," he said.  "It is unfortunate."

As the music ended, the dancers parted and paused to applaud the musicians, who bowed politely, then set their instruments aside, the violinist motioning to the crowd that he and his associates would return momentarily.  Diego knew he had caused a minor stir as he glanced around at the little clusters of faces gathered beneath one archway or another, talking, trying not to look at him.  Still, as he led the girl from the floor, he let his hand linger on her arm.

Only when he saw how his father was looking at them did he realize what the old man was thinking.  Letting her go, he started to wave her ahead of him.  Then he noticed, standing just behind his father, off to one side, another man whose eyes followed them intently, and he grabbed her arm again.  "There is Marigál," he said quietly, bending closer to her, trying to sound as casual as he could.  "Is that the man you dreamed of, the man from the chapel?"  She froze, then squinted.

"Where?"

"There.  Standing next to my father."

"The man in the dark grey jacket?"

"No, no, that’s Don Ramón—the one with the cigar?  I mean the one standing on the other side of my father."

Oreana squinted harder.  "I do not see anyone standing on the other side of your father," she said.  Diego looked down at her, just to make sure she was looking in the right direction, and she was.  But when he looked up again, he saw that the man was now looking right at him, a soft, knowing smile on his lips.  A sense of intimate terror unlike anything Diego had ever felt before welled up in him like ice water, nearly freezing his words.

"It is him," he whispered.  "I recognize him."

Oreana looked up at him, her eyes and mouth both opening wider as she heard what he was saying.  Feeling her tremble, he realized how hard he was gripping her arm and let her go.  But once released, she quickly reached for his arm, following his gaze as he lifted it again toward his father—only to find that the man standing beside him had vanished.  Someone bumped into him gently from behind and asked his pardon, or else he thought he might have stood there forever, frozen to the spot.  "It was a sending," said Oreana, as much to herself as to him.

He looked down at her, shaking his head a little, as if to clear it.  "A what?"

"A sending.  A powerful one— "  She broke off as he felt a shudder wrack her whole body.  Then she sighed and seemed to collect herself a little, letting go of his arm but lacing her fingers into his as they dropped to his side.  He hadn’t any idea what a sending was, but as she closed her eyes, he realized their hands were joined at what was now the center of the same circle of energy that still surrounded them both.  A feeling of calm came over him, as if this were a fencing match.  And suddenly it occurred to him that what he had just seen might not defy rational explanation after all.  It was probably just a cheap stage illusion.  Then he noticed his father coming toward them through the crowd.

"Perhaps we should leave now," he said to her.

"No, that would not help," she said quickly.  "We have to find him."

"Señorita"—Diego tried to chuckle as he let an incredulous glance fall on her—"I realize you have great faith in my abilities, but even I do not know how to find a man who can simply vanish into thin air."

"That wasn’t him; that was a wraith.  He is around here someplace nearby, dreaming.  If we can find him now, we can kill him."

"Kill him?  But how— "

"Do not worry; it is easier to kill with a blade than with sorcery."

Diego was about to say that that wasn’t what he had meant, though he was a bit relieved to hear it.  What he meant was, how could he possibly get away with murdering an honored guest of the alcalde, right here in front of all these people, even if he had been willing to commit cold blooded murder?  But he never got the chance to say it before his father came up to them.  "Diego," he said, "are you feeling well, my son?"

"Yes, Father," he tried to smile.  "Too much exercise, maybe, and the air is so close in here—all the people, the candles.  But I am fine now."

"Well you look a little pale," said Alejandro.  "Perhaps we should go."

"No, no."  He shook his head.  "But perhaps it would do me good to lie down for a while."

Oreana’s eyes got wide as she shot him a questioning glance over Alejandro’s shoulder.  "That is a good idea," said his father. "I will ask the alcalde if there is somewhere you can rest."  He had been drawing them both back to the spot where he had been standing.  Now he motioned for Diego to sit on a stone bench beneath the portico.  "Take care of him, my dear," he said to Oreana as he went off in search of the alcalde.  She sat down beside him.

"What are you doing?"

"You said we must find him," said Diego grimly, "I mean to find him."

"But you do not mean to kill him, do you."

"Not unless he threatens my life.  But I do intend to find out if he really wants to abduct me or not.  And if he tries, I will expose him.  I have had quite enough of being stalked."

"Diego, please, you must not face him alone.  Let me come with you."

He studied her face.  "You do intend to kill him."

"To prevent him from killing you, sí.  He has already threatened your life; his very existence threatens both our lives.  He is not just another man, Diego; he is a powerful sorcerer— "

"Oreana."  In the shadows of the portico, he gathered up her fingers and looked down into her eyes, aching to touch her cheek.  "Querida.  Please trust me," he said.  "Stay here with my father.  Por favor."  As she nodded, he saw the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Te quiero," she said, blinking them back.

"Y yo te quiero."  He squeezed her fingers.  "This feeling—this is a kind of magic, no?"

"Sí.  Love rules all the magics."

"Then believe in it."  Giving her hands another quick squeeze, he stood up as his father came back with the alcalde and a servant.

"Ah, Diego, please, come," said the old man.  "My servant will show you the way."

"Gracias, Señor Alcalde."  Diego bowed politely, then glanced at his father and the girl as he turned to follow the servant.  "I will be back soon," he smiled, trying to reassure them both.  "Con permisso."

"Of course, my son."  Alejandro nodded, then looked down at Oreana.  Clearly, she was worried.  "I am certain he will be fine, my dear," he said as she got to her feet and pressed her lips into a self-conscious smile.  "But this is what we had been saying earlier about studying, was it not?  Before he went to Spain, he never seemed to have these spells.  In fact, I do not think he was ever really sick a day in his life, except for once when he had the measles.  Now, well, as you see, his health seems much more delicate.  He sleeps more, takes little exercise."

"But he always seems to recover quickly, no?"

"Sí, gracias a Dios."  Alejandro nodded, then looked down, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious himself as he saw how she was looking at him now, her eyes brimming with what seemed more like the desire to comfort than be comforted.  For a moment, in the flickering shadows of the portico, he almost thought she looked like someone else.

"You have done well with him," she said.  "He is a son any man would be proud of."

The musicians began to play again, this time a dignified chaconne, and as the couples lined up, Alejandro, not knowing what else to do, suddenly heard himself asking her if she would like to dance with him.  The request seemed to catch her a little off guard, and she glanced shyly down at her fingers, making him think he shouldn’t have asked.  But then her smile broke.  "I would be honored, Don Alejandro," she said.

As she took his arm, he added, "You must forgive me; I may be a bit out of practice."

"I am certain your son comes honestly by his grace and agility," she replied as she took his hand and began to follow the procession of other couples.  And suddenly Alejandro found himself thinking, despite what he had said earlier, that Diego should just run away with her, and honor be damned.  Perhaps they could go to Spain, or South America.  In time they could return.  But he didn’t think Diego would do it now, not after their talk this afternoon.  Perhaps when he returned, they should have another talk.  Such thoughts occupied his mind throughout the first half of the dance, at least.  Then, suddenly, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Ah, Don Alejandro, please forgive the intrusion.  But this young man has been practically begging me for an introduction to the señorita, there, and I fear he will not leave me alone until I oblige him.  Would one be thought terribly rude— "

Turning toward the alcalde as the girl came to stand at his side, Alejandro looked from his face to that of the handsome fair haired young man.  "Certainly not," he said, recalling that he had seen this youngster earlier talking to Diego.

"Ah, gracias mil, Don Alejandro," the alcalde replied.  "Then please allow me to present to you Señor Matthew Endicott of New York, London and Paris.  Señor Endicott is in the fur trade, and tonight he is one of my honored guests.  Señor," he added, turning back to Endicott, "this is the father of your friend Diego, the esteemed Señor Alejandro de la Vega.  And this young lady is the Señorita Oreana Maria Venancio y Antigua, here on business from el norte."

"Charmed," said Endicott, bowing as he brought her fingers to his lips.  "Oh—and it is a great honor to meet you, Señor," he added, turning back to Alejandro with a quick bow.

"Señor Endicott’s business often takes him as far north as San Rafael," the alcalde went on.  "He claims to know your family, Señorita."

"Indeed."  Oreana raised a rather skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh, please forgive me for being so bold, Señorita," Endicott broke in, "but I just had to meet you.  Diego promised earlier to introduce us, but I don’t know what’s become of him, and I just couldn’t wait; I have to leave here shortly.  But, well—uh, would you mind terribly if I cut in?" he added, turning back to Alejandro.  "You see, I think we may even be related—distant cousins, you know.  Your mother’s name is Evelia, isn’t it?" he asked Oreana.

She nodded hesitantly as Alejandro bowed and stepped aside. Might as well let the young man finish the dance, he thought. Perhaps it would be better, anyway, that she didn’t dance every dance with a member of the de la Vega family.  She seemed just a bit disconcerted, but he smiled reassuringly at her, bowed, then turned to follow the alcalde, who was now wondering if perhaps one had found the time to sample the latest wines from Jerez.  They had arrived from Spain only a week or so ago, and the amontillado was especially good.

"So, how do you know my family?" said Oreana as Endicott held her at arm’s length, then drew her close.

He grinned sheepishly.  "Well, actually I don’t; that was just a lie.  Oh but please don’t be angry with me, Señorita.  I—well, I just couldn’t think of any other way to get to dance with you.  And I knew from the moment you walked in tonight that I had to dance with you, at least once."

Oreana studied him, even though she couldn’t help smiling a little.  He was not the first young man to throw himself at her feet this way.  Still, even this confession sounded a bit suspect.  "If it was a lie," she said, "then how do you know my mother’s name?"

"Uh . . . just a guess?"  He shrugged, then caught her hand again as she turned in a graceful circle around him.  "Oh, well, actually there is a perfectly good explanation for that," he added when he noticed the look on her face, which hovered now between a smile and a frown.  "Perhaps if you would consider taking a little walk with me after this dance, I could talk to you about it.  You see, Señorita, I’m not sure, but I think I may have some latent psychic abilities and, well, I just thought that maybe if you were to walk with me under the light of this beautiful moon tonight, you could help me to test this theory."

Oreana tried even harder to keep the smile under control.  Often, such young men could be dissuaded with a little flattery and a few poignant references to what might have been—though this one was especially determined, and inventive.  Still, such boldness should not be encouraged.  "Señor," she said, "that would hardly be proper."

"Well, what do you care?"  By now, Endicott seemed almost gleeful.  As the music came to an end, he quickly grabbed her upper arm and moved closer to her.

"I beg your pardon," she said, thinking that she must surely have misunderstood him.

"Oh, I think you heard me well enough," he said cheerfully as he escorted her off the dance floor and into the shadows of the portico across the courtyard from where she saw Don Alejandro standing beside the alcalde.  "Since when have you started to worry about propriety?"

"Señor, please," she said, trying to pull away from him without making a scene.  "What is the meaning of this speech?"

Endicott raised his eyebrows and gazed down at her with a look of sheer delight.  Then he tightened his fingers around her arm and pulled her into the shadows of a dim hallway that flanked a nearby stairwell.

"Well," he said with an amused shrug, "you are supposed to be the fiancée of Don Urbino, aren’t you?  And yet, there you were, just a while ago, dancing with Diego, looking at him as if you had already given yourself to him.  I’ll bet you have, haven’t you.  Of course you have.  So don’t play coy with me, you brazen little whore.  I know what your kind is like."

Oreana began to struggle with him now, trying to twist out of his grip, but he quickly shoved her back into the crawlspace behind the stairs, then slammed her hard against the wall and pressed the length of his body against her to pin her there.  "Let me go or I’ll scream," she said, but the words seemed to stick in her throat, as if they were written on paper.

"No you won’t."  He caught her hands easily as they flew at his face, then pinned them behind her.  She could feel him trembling all over now with excitement as he placed his thumb and fingers carefully over the main arteries on either side of her neck and started to squeeze.  Finally, his grin faded into something more like a sneer as he kissed her roughly, until she quit moving.