Day 2: June 3rd, 1818
In which the hero stays out of the rain.
"Corporal Cruz. You finally join us."
Cruz looks like shit. Grisham winces at the mud dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. "I apologize for the delay, Colonel."
Montoya finally looks up from his papers and actually stops to gape at Cruz. "What happened?" He says it tightly, like he's angry with Cruz for having the audacity to report while unclean.
"North road is washed out. The mud flows like a river. No one can travel that road until the rains have stopped, probably not until the ground dries up again."
Fuck. Cruz probably got caught in a mudslide and still managed to make it back to report as calm as fuck. The kid's incredible.
"And the other roads?"
"I don't know, Colonel. None of the other scouts have reported to me. I don't believe they were supposed to."
Montoya folds his lips, frowns. "Dismissed, Corporal."
"Await further orders downstairs, Cruz," Marcus adds, as quickly as he can spit it out without sounding frantic.
Montoya gives him an odd look but lets it slide. "As far as I know, everyone is gathered in the cantina. Talk to Paredes, then to Padre Romero. Women and children, and of course Don Faustino, in the hotel. Men in the church or the garrison."
"Yes, sir." He salutes crisply—and Montoya gives him the same odd look again—and swivels, marches out the door. Cruz is waiting at the bottom of the interior stairs. "I don't want you to do anything, Nando. Just send me Justo before you go clean up. Then I want you to go the cantina and tell Paredes that you're the man I talked about. Then I want you to get some sleep. You're off duty until further notice. Understand?"
Cruz nods, smiles through the mud streaked on his face. "Thanks, Captain."
"Shut up and move." Cruz guns it. Boy deserves a promotion. Except for the fact that he can kick Marcus's ass with his feet bound and hands chopped off. Can't have that sort of power rising.
But… maybe. He'll talk to Montoya about it.
Ramirez comes running up. "You sent for me, Captain?" His shirt is untucked and his collar has lipstick on it, but he's brighter than most and that's what's needed right now.
"Yep. You and me, Justo, are going to plan a five-point watch. It's mudslide season and we are not about to be caught unawares. How many men do we have?"
"On or off?"
"Total."
"Twenty four."
"How many on?"
"Six."
"You know who?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Let's make it an even twenty. Four shifts, five points, six hours. East, west, south, northwest, northeast. Four men out are Nando and the other three scouts. I'm on last northeast. Take your pick of shifts. We'll reassess shifts this time tomorrow. All clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do it."
Ramirez runs off in the same direction as Cruz and Marcus wipes the rain off his face. Next up: the rich people. This… will be decidedly unpleasant.
He climbs the steps of the cantina patio and ducks into the inner dining room, where Murrieta has gathered all the out-of-towners. There's about ten women, three kids and fifteen men. "Murrieta," he mutters, and Murrieta moves away from the little boy he's speaking to. "Run to the church and ask Padre Romero whether he can house fifteen men tonight. Then run back here and tell me right away."
Murrieta nods and heads out immediately. Marcus moves over to Senor Paredes, standing by the door to the kitchen and looking at the seated people warily. "Senor," he mumbles by way of greeting.
Paredes grunts. "I hope you have good news for me, Captain."
He grimaces. "A big fat military paycheck?"
Paredes swears. "All of them?"
"Just the women and kids. Do you have the room?"
Paredes sighs. "Yes."
Marcus nods and looks around the room, spots Don Faustino. "And Don Faustino."
"That was a given." Paredes looks at him sideways. "You look like hell."
"Never seen an angel looks like you," he spits back. Paredes snorts. "Been walking around in the damn rain for an hour. Got a boy coming in soon who needs a good meal, charged to the commandancia. Fernando Cruz. Got any whiskey?"
"Not for sale."
"I'm not buying."
Paredes laughs aloud. "Yeah. I'll have Juliana bring one out for you."
"Thanks, Gustavo." Murrieta comes into the room and shakes the rain out of his hair—growing long, like everyone else's. "Claudio, what the hell—"
Murrieta comes over. "The padre can take ten."
Great. He steps forward, into the chandelier light. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. I'm afraid I have bad news for you. It's required that all of you stay in town tonight. No one is allowed to leave. The road north has washed out completely; we're waiting to hear back from the scouts from the south roads but it doesn't look good. I understand this is an inconvenience for all of you. In hopes of easing this trouble, Senor Paredes has graciously opened up several of his rooms to house the women and children for the night. Gentlemen, there are ten spaces in the church; the rest of you are welcome to the empty bunks in the garrison. Your lodgings and meals are free of charge; please eat well. It's gonna be a long night."
As expected, they start squawking. He stays as calm as he can and goes first to Don Faustino. The old man is quiet and cheerful, tells him the story of the rains of 1782 and how this is nothing. Don Faustino is the only don that Marcus genuinely likes, because he isn't genuine nobility. Don Faustino worked hard from the time that he was a young boy serving the mission fathers, became filthy rich by fluke and earned the title "Don" simply because he was ancient. Don Faustino always tells Marcus stories about before. He's fond of the old man, fond of his stories, too. So he sits and listens and shares a scotch and ignores Dona Esparto's shrill cries for his attention.
When he finally gets around to her, she and her brat of a four-year-old Ana have settled down to eat a meal. He is polite, answers all of her questions and rebuffs her not-entirely-subtle advances. She's got a kid with her. Jesus. The little girl starts to cry again and he tries shadow puppets, remembers how Brady loved playing shadow puppets. Ana quiets, watches, giggles and consents to being fed by her mother.
Murrieta has taken care of the other questions and stops for a moment to tell him that the southeast road is fine but the southwest is unstable. He nods. "Thanks, Claudio. Why don't you take off, get some rest? Check in with Justo to find out when you're on watch." Murrieta doesn't need to be told twice and lopes off into the rain.
Marcus steps back into the shadows by the kitchen and swipes a piece of bread from the passing tray. He gnaws on it, relishes the heat of the soft dough and watches the room. Almost everyone is eating; the little boy Murrieta was talking to earlier—the Valdes boy, Ibrahim—is running circles around his mother's blue skirts out on the patio.
Hold up. That's not his mother. That's the infamous "T. Alvarado" herself. He hadn't seen her before; he hadn't entirely paid attention. She's indulging Ibrahim's energetic jaunts, calling him back before he gets too close to the railing, catching him when he runs into her or other stationary objects. Senora Valdes is sitting and feeding her younger boy—Enrico? Something like that. She looks frazzled and helpless. He vaguely remembers hearing something about Senor Valdes being ill, so he comes over quietly and greets her. "Is there anything you need, Senora?" he asks, sitting down in the chair beside her. She's shaking her head and answering no, but Enrico is fussing so it's very half-hearted. "Y quien es el rey?" he asks, reaching out and tickling Enrico's potbelly.
"Enrico," she sighs, tries to get her baby to look at her but fails. "The rain scares him. He won't eat."
"Enrico," he repeats, and the boy turns to look at him. "Ah ha. So you're paying attention well enough." He holds out a finger to Enrico, who grasps it after a moment of staring. "Y que fuerte! Mighty little man you have here, Senora." Smiling as big as he can, he reaches with his other hand and tickles Enrico's cheek until the boy cracks a smile. "There we go… big smile now." He tickles the small, curling foot until Enrico bursts out with a giggle. "Escuchame, Rey Enrico—obey your mama, hear me? It's been a long day for her, too. Eat up and then you can go to sleep. You hear?"
Enrico gurgles. Senora Valdes smiles at him. "Thank you, Capitan."
He just shakes his head. "If you need anything through the night, I'll be stationed here in the hotel. Just let me know, all right?" He watches the softening of her face, the way the bags under her eyes lighten for a moment, and charges on. "How is your husband?"
"He'll be all right. His sister is with him."
He nods. "All right. Just let me know." He glances over towards the patio again. "That's your boy, too, right? Ibrahim?"
"Si, Capitan."
"Great. Ibrahim!"
The boy stops running circles around Senorita Alvarado and comes prancing over. "Si, Capitan?"
"I have a mission for you, Ibrahim. Do you accept it?"
The boy thinks for a moment, tiny little face scrunching up like a rabbit, nose twitching as his mouth moves from side to side. "But I don't know what it is yet."
Smart boy. "Good answer." He reaches forward and taps the boy's ear, brings his hand forward and displays the reale between his fingers. "I want you to figure out how you had a whole reale stuck behind your ear and didn't even know about it."
Ibrahim shouts and hollers and runs the two feet to his mother, makes Marcus do the trick three more times—which requires him to make the reale disappear three times—before he sits in a chair by his mother and starts to think, nose twitching like it does. Senora Valdes looks infinitely grateful, but he just smiles and heads out onto the patio.
Alvarado is standing with her arms crossed, looking out at the mess of mud that is the plaza. "Senorita," he murmurs, nodding to her. "Is everything all right?"
"Captain," she greets him, just as tersely. "Not entirely, but there's little to be done."
"I see. You had urgent business at home?"
"No, I just don't want to be here," she snaps back. He waits; she sighs. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day. I wasn't prepared to have to remain in town."
He plays dumb. "If there are supplies you require, I can have them brought to you—"
"No." She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "No. I require nothing."
"Maybe a good conversation and a warm meal, then?"
Whoa. Is he going where he thinks he's going with this? She finally turns her head and looks straight at him. "I beg your pardon?"
"Would you like to have dinner with me?"
"Now?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Well. She really wasn't having a good day; she's just about thrown out every etiquette rule for receiving an invitation. "Purely selfish reasons, Senorita. If you don't, I have to sit, looking very pathetic, in a corner, eating by myself. I will also have to run across that mudfield out there to report to my commanding officer. If you do, I get to look not-pathetic, having dinner with a beautiful woman on an awful day, and I get to stay out of the mud for a bit more time." She's almost smiling, just a little bit. "I'm sure there are benefits for you, but they're not entirely relevant at this point. It would be a free meal, but you're already getting that."
She's smiling. "Captain, your honesty is… refreshing. Also somewhat fresh, but refreshing nonetheless."
He grins, because that's a yes. "Come have dinner with me." He holds out his hand. He then looks like a damn fool, because he didn't expect her to take it, and he stands there holding her hand for a minute before she gives him an expectant look and he leads her back inside.
