For the sake of proper form I'll just repeat what everyone already knows: I own neither the characters nor the situations (and not even the plots). Although the legal statement is perfunctory, my personal gratitude and affection for the people who did create these things is profound and genuine.
Saving the Fox 10: por la pluma y la espada
Feburary 8, 1815
The sun had set already, and Diego was still sleeping. Felipe didn't want to wake him, but if Diego missed dinner, he would be annoyed. And, anyway, he did need to eat.
On the other hand, it had been an impossibly long day. The print run had proceeded with no problems, but before Felipe and Nicholas had even finished selling the copies the pueblo had erupted into chaos. Someone had robbed the bank. In full daylight. On market day.
The alcalde had railed. The townspeople had nearly rioted. The lancers had started blaming each other. It had taken forever for the search party to head out.
Diego had been beside himself: the robbery would be old news by the time the next issue was published. It was the most interesting news in weeks, and everybody would hear about it by gossip. Still, he had dutifully collected witness accounts and waited to see if the search party had any success.
Zorro had brought the bandit in just after siesta. The few remaining lancers had panicked a bit when Zorro trotted into town leading the horse and rider that everyone was looking for. One of them had ordered Zorro to surrender, but he hadn't been very optimistic about it, and was too busy taking charge of the prisoner to bother with the usual fruitless pursuit of Zorro.
Diego had tried to get in to interview the prisoner, a stranger named Enrique Vargas, but after half an hour of polite refusals, he had finally given up and gone home.
He had found Gilberto casually reading in the library and gotten the story out of him. Most of it had been in (awkward and overly blunt) sign so that they would not be overheard. Diego frowned through the account and then took Gilberto out into the privacy of the side garden and demanded it again, out loud. He was asking for a third time when Gilberto pointed out that Diego was so exhausted that he was swaying and he needed to go lie down.
Diego had resisted with unusual stubbornness until, fed up, Gilberto had signed "Fix this!" at Felipe, and Felipe obligingly made a meek and polite request that Diego get some rest. Diego – with exaggerated resignation – went to his room to lie down.
With Diego resting, Felipe sat by the window trying to read English. The sun was setting, though, and the room was getting dark. He wouldn't light a lamp, he decided. Diego had actually fallen asleep with his shoes on. He needed the rest….
The quiet room was only disturbed by an owl calling outside the window. Felipe closed his eyes and let his head rest against the back of the chair.
Last Saturday – finally, after receiving weeks of piercing looks – he had made his confession. It had taken all his nerve to put the worst of it into words, and then he had to repeat it four times before Father Benitez had understood, since his signing was even worse than Gilberto's. Shocked, the old man had caught Felipe's hands and stilled them halfway through the last explanation.
"No," he said. "No. You are not confessing that you are glad your mother is dead. That is absurd."
Felipe could find no response. There really was no defense for the evil thoughts that had been swirling in his mind.
Father Benitez sighed and released Felipe's hands. "Child, you are obviously not rejoicing that your mother is dead. You are rejoicing that your mother was not the thief who abducted you. It is hardly the same."
Felipe sagged unhappily. "Even before I knew I didn't want to go…. " He shook his head.
"Even when you believed she was your mother you were not, perhaps, delighted to be going away with her?"
Felipe nodded. "The Fifth Commandment."
"Ah." He thought for a moment. "I see. A serious problem. And yet, it seems to me that it isn't only blood that makes a family. Surely, Don Diego is also your family. Surely…it is only natural that you would not be eager to leave the only home and family you remember, especially in the company of a stranger that your heart didn't recognize. No, I can't absolve you of any of this. It wasn't a sin."
Oh. Felipe hadn't been ready for that.
Father Benitez wasn't looking at him. He sighed heavily and said, "I suppose you know; in two months or less, Los Angeles will play host to twenty orphans." He crossed himself absently. "Felipe, I am not praying three times a day that the original parents of these orphans will appear out of thin air and rescue us from this responsibility. My hopes for each of them…are exactly what you have: That they will be loved, taught right from wrong, given a useful education, and raised to be people of reason…." He sighed again. "Do not discount your blessings by esteeming the second family the Lord gave you less than the first."
Felipe shook his head vigorously. "Diego saved me! Always, Diego saved me. He might have been killed this time - "
"Too quickly, Felipe, I'm sorry."
Felipe took a deep breath and shaped the next words carefully, "You know what he did, coming after me."
"Yes, and I agree that, ah, what he did was…a reasonable risk in the circumstances, taken for the right reasons. And before you argue, perhaps I could remind you that you came to me intending to confess a lack of filial piety? Even if it had been the wrong decision, it was Diego's to make. You are in his care."
When they had finally finished, absolution had come along with penance for pride, which was not at all what he had expected. It had given him a great deal to think about.
Surely, he wasn't really a child. Between Zorro's secret and Diego's poor health he had too many responsibilities for that. And yet.
He kept thinking of Diego helping him off Viking by the little stream, and sitting with him, and explaining that that madwoman was not his mother, and he was not to be taken away….
Diego had saved him again. Impossibly. With no regard to the risk to himself. In fact, he had even managed it with no harm to himself that a long nap hadn't fixed. Diego had saved him from that woman just as he had saved him from the war and from isolation and from ignorance. And since everyone had told him he had no business feeling guilty about that, perhaps he…could feel simply grateful.
Or perhaps grateful wasn't quite the word.
There were twenty orphans coming to Los Angelos. Kids probably a lot younger than Filipe, and nobody wanted them or was saving them. Only the Church was trying to take care of them, and it were doing such a lax job of it that it was sending them to the end of the world….
Diego, by contrast, had made a point several times of saying that he very much wanted Filipe. Yes, losing his natural parents as he had was a tragedy, and yes the Costas' plan for him had been evil, but Diego loved him and was grateful for his existence.
Surely, Felipe wasn't so old or responsible that he could – or should – ignore that. He had a family. And he hadn't really needed either the example of the orphanage or the madwoman who would abduct a child and use him to rob a bank to remind him of that.
The dark shape on the bed shifted a bit. Felipe sighed. Diego had been so happy these last few weeks. Well…mostly happy. Something was bothering him, a little, but he clearly wasn't letting himself brood about it. He was busy and cheerful, always. He got up early. He ate without complaint. He had started Felipe's music lessons again. Every morning he was not working on the newspaper he rode out to check on the aqueduct. Diego was ….satisfied. Felipe should probably follow his example.
What he couldn't do was sit here thinking anymore. It was surely almost time for dinner. He fetched a lamp and woke Diego.
They entered the front room just as Don Alejandro came through the door, talking over his shoulder to Don Carlos who was just behind them. They must have just come from town, because they were still complaining about the bank robbery.
"Have they found the money, yet?" Gilberto asked, setting down his book and adjusting his cravat.
Don Carlos winced theatrically. "Noooo. Not yet."
Diego frowned. "I would have thought the alcalde would have had it out of Vargas already." He didn't actually sound happy about that. "He's back in town by now, surely."
Don Alejandro stilled. "It's odd. Now that you mention it….The alcalde went straight to the bank. He hadn't come out when we left. Normally, I disapprove of his methods, of course….well, of course." He sighed. "If he's waiting for nightfall, that doesn't bode well for the prisoner."
Gilberto went to pour his father and the guest some wine. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Father Benitez is in town. Ramone will stop when he gets his confession."
"Father, what's wrong?" Diego asked.
"I'm almost starting to feel sorry for the poor devil. According to the sergeant, he's very insistently proclaiming his innocence."
Don Carlos laughed shortly. "I can feel sorry for him: I had no money in the bank. You, my friend, may have a fortune depending on the location of that money."
Don Alejandro only grunted.
"May? They aren't sure how much was taken?" Diego asked. "I heard it was twelve thousand pesos."
Don Alejandro only stared at the low fire burning in the library hearth. Don Carlos said, "Don Roberto called for a full accounting. He was remarkably level-headed, given how much of his money might be missing."
Gilberto handed him a glass of wine. "Why is everyone so glum? The bandit has been caught. The money can't be too far away."
"It's an ugly business," Don Carlos said, shrugging.
Maria called them in to dinner, but Diego was unwilling to let the issue drop. As he sat down he said, "As useful as it is to do an accounting, if they find the money, they will know how much was taken and the point will be moot anyway. Why didn't the alcalde begin the questioning at once?"
Gilberto gave him a dark look. "Since when are you in a hurry for that kind of questioning?"
"I'm not in a hurry. I'm just pointing out that it is curious."
Don Alejandro sighed. "The alcalde seldom makes sense. Who can say what he is thinking?"
"Zorro caught him very quickly," Diego continued absently. "I'm amazed he had time to hide the money."
Gilberto frowned. "Zorro brought in the thief. That's quite a feat, even without the bag of gold."
Diego blinked. "I'm not disparaging Zorro. I am only saying the entire business seems a bit…odd."
"Odd? It was a bandit, Diego. They are hardly a novelty."
"But they are," Diego contradicted. "Zorro does a very good job. We hardly had a bandit set foot within near town in almost a year, let alone march right into the bank and ride away with a fortune."
"I do not see you point," Gilberto said stiffly.
"And I don't see why you are arguing," Don Alejandro cut in. "This is a problem for the law now."
"The magistrate is expected in a few days," Don Carlos said. "It should be sorted out fairly quickly."
"The magistrate?" Diego frowned. "How convenient."
Diego
It was a very pleasant morning, and the door to the alcalde's office was open. Diego waved at the guard on duty at the gate, knocked on the doorframe, and strode into the office cheerfully.
Ramone barely glanced up from the papers scattered across his desk and said, "No, de le Vega, you may not interview the prisoner."
Diego, scrupulously polite, said, "I was hoping to speak to you, Senor."
The alcalde put down his quill and regarded Diego with a mix of dislike and puzzlement. "I wasn't aware we had anything to discuss."
"I was wondering how the Crown was planning to proceed with the case against our bandit. For the newspaper, of course. Will he be sent north to the capital for trial?"
The puzzlement turned to boredom and the dislike became barely leashed contempt. Despite all that his smile was cordial. "I am loathe to let him out of the territory before he reveals the location of our money, and since the magistrate is expected in a few days anyway, it seems ridiculous to deplete our garrison for an escort to the capital."
"The magistrate is on time, then?"
"For once. Was there anything else?"
"No. Well – I did mean to ask – for the newspaper, you know – who will be representing him?"
The question caught Ramone off guard, and for a moment his eyes widened in what Diego was sure was genuine surprise. "Representing him? At the trial?" He collected himself. "I have no idea. He hasn't asked for anyone, but then he doesn't know anyone here in town….I suppose someone will have to be found…."
"If no one else steps forward, I'd like to volunteer."
It was all he could do not to grin at the look of astonishment this elicited. "You would like to volunteer?"
"Someone must do it…." Diego smiled. "I am one of the few people it wouldn't inconvenience. And I'd have to be at the trial anyway…."
"Volunteer. You do realize…we have a witness! The suspect was captured fleeing the scene! There is no chance you will win the case."
"Should a man only do his civic duty when he is likely to win?"
"You must be the…most civic-minded young man in the territory." Diego was quite sure that it was only his station that kept the end of that sentence from containing the word 'idiot.' "Still.…" Ramone eyed him narrowly. "It occurs to me there might be some conflict of interest - ? After all, everyone knows your priority is the newspaper. A robbery of this size is a noteworthy event…."
Diego couldn't afford to let that gleam of suspicion develop. He folded his arms defensively and leaned backward slightly. "Irregularities in civil procedures would be newsworthy as well."
For a long moment Ramone mulled over the words before frowning indignantly. "I assure you there are no 'irregularities.' The prisoner has been treated very properly."
"So you say," Diego answered. For just a moment he dropped his polite mask and let himself hate the cruel man in his expensive clothing and perfectly combed hair. He knew what Ramone was capable of. To call Ramone's indulgence of his sadistic tendencies "irregularities in civil procedures" was an unfunny joke, and both of them understood the punch line.
The alcalde tilted his head and leaned back in his chair, very nearly smiling. It clearly pleased him to think that Diego was still angry, that his own remembered helplessness had prompted him to take interest in the current case. That pleasure would keep him from looking for other explanations or worrying about the safety of his secrets. Assuming he did have a secret associated with this arrest. Diego was not sure.
He had to find out, though his pride stung at using this to do it. It had been well over a year since Diego had been singled out for the alcalde's dubious hospitality. As unpleasant as it had been at the time, he'd taken some comfort in not showing that it affected him. He had been neither frightened nor humbled, and that little success had warmed him considerably. Now, to acknowledge that weakness, to actually play it up – Diego found his eyes sliding away. It would help the effect of the performance, of course, but it was a genuine reaction and Diego hated it. "I will have to speak to the accused," he said.
The alcalde sighed. "So you will." He waved a hand. "Ah, well. Go on. Ha. I can't imagine he's too busy to talk to you."
So Diego went through the interior door and into the familiar little jail. Only one of the cells was occupied. The prisoner was a small, weary-looking man with limp hair and worried eyes. Diego went to the bars and introduced himself.
It took a little coaxing to get Enrique Vargas talking, but the story, when it came out, was hardly a surprise. He had just been innocently passing through town. He had stopped at the bank to change some money. He had walked out without incident, headed for home. He had not known there was any problem until he had spotted the masked man riding down on him.
"It's unusual to go rushing out of town on market day," Diego pointed out.
"I'm already several days late. The man I was meeting was delayed," he scowled. "My brother will be frantic by now…."
"Hmmm." Diego could sympathize with that, at least, but he wasn't sure what to make of his story. Guilty or innocent, Diego would have expected something like this denial. Well, perhaps something a little more creative, but still. Diego collected the information, arranged to rent a set of linens from the tavern (since the jail still didn't provide 'personal' necessities), and returned to the newspaper office to check on Nicholas and Felipe who were clearing the plates.
They were nearly halfway through. Diego dispatched Felipe off to get snacks at the tavern and took over his page. "If I'm going to have any work to do, we're going to need a longer paper," he complained.
Nicholas laughed. "We barely have enough news to fill this one, Boss. The science column has been pretty long the last two weeks."
"We could include a regular section on news from the mission," Diego said, a little desperately. "Does much interesting happen there?"
"Everybody who lives there already knows everything that goes on. They talk about everything endlessly. Every two or three months the friars start lecturing us on gossip again." He shrugged. "I don't know. It's pretty boring, talking about the same problems over and over. But sometimes people behave themselves if they know everybody is going to talk about them if they act badly."
"How useful," Diego murmured, noticing that he had just placed aB in the b bin.
"In its way. I don't know why the friars are so against it. Unless they think we can't work and talk at the same time…."
"It is speculation, rather, that they object to," Diego said. "It can ruin a person's reputation."
"Speculation? You mean gossip about things that didn't actually happen? What would be the point of that?"
Sighing, Diego finally fished out his capital B. "Malice, I suppose. Or one-upmanship."
"But how would it work if nobody actually believed it?"
Diego wondered if Nicholas was only very young or if the Indian communities actually kept their gossip as accurate and honest as he tried to keep his newspaper.
Felipe came in, then, with fresh milk and some little cakes. He scowled at the little progress Diego had been able to make and shooed him away from the plate. He passed Diego a folded bit of paper, asked about the case, and flew back to work plucking the tiny metal letters out and flicking them neatly into the bins. Even on his best day, Diego was not as fast as the boys, and today was hardly his best day.
"He claims he is innocent, but offers no evidence for it. He admits to being in the bank…." Diego supposed he would have to speak to the prosecutor, but that meant asking the alcalde if he had appointed one yet. He disliked speaking to the alcalde again so soon. Perhaps he could put that off until tomorrow….
He opened the note Felipe had given him and scowled. Father Benitez wanted him to stop by if it was convenient. That was not a conversation he was looking forward to.
Gilberto
"And you'll pay me to do this," the old Perot said doubtfully, squinting up at him.
"Yes."
"This is some ploy of your father's, because I won't take his charity."
Gilberto smothered a sigh and shook his head. "I need the information."
"It's crazy!" A scowl. "Are you off your head? Don Gilberto." That last had probably been added not because the ornery old man had any respect for Gilberto's station (he didn't, particularly. He was proud and stubborn and strange, and if Gilberto had taken offense and struck him for disrespect it would scarcely make him blink) but because Perot had some idea of being polite to crazy people.
For his part, Gilberto scarcely needed to defend himself to this irritating old coot – except he could read some and knew his numbers and Gilberto needed this information to be accurate, especially here above the valley. "It's the weather, you see," he explained. "So much depends on the wind and the rain, and we could do so much better if we could predict it, if we had some better idea of what was coming."
With a great show of patience (he was not known for it) Perot pointed at Gilberto's little assembly of rods and flags. "You don't predict weather with that."
"Not one. And not by itself. But if you count how many times it takes to go around in a minute, it will tell me how fast the wind is. There are others, and perhaps by comparing - "
"You predict the weather by watching clouds."
"And what moves the clouds but the wind?" Gilberto snapped, finally losing his temper. "I don't know that this will work. I don't know that any of it will work. But the only way to find out is to try everything until something does work. The weather is important! By God, it's all of our lives, isn't it? So I'm going to try and I'm willing to pay you to help me, if you'll do a good job of it and use the tools correctly - " He stopped, realizing that he was shouting at a man who was poor and old and if either his father or brother could see him there would be a lecture…
But Perot only grunted, a sound that seemed to be more thoughtfulness than disinterest. He held his hand out for the record sheet Diego had printed up. Gilberto handed it over. "We'll give it a try then, young man. It'll prob'ly amount to nothing and I won't get my hopes up for any miracles. But I guess if something can be done about the weather, it would be something all patient and fiddly and silly." The look he gave Gilberto implied that patient, fiddly, and silly were all attributes he had plenty of. Gilberto thought he should feel offended, but it was all he could do not to laugh.
Victoria
There was a note on a scrap of paper in the strongbox. Studying it, Victoria frowned. "Why has Don Diego rented a set of linens? Has someone been arrested? Pilar?" Surely, if the alcalde were causing trouble she would have heard something. "Pilar?"
Pilar looked up, blinking. She had been distracted and absent minded since her grandfather died. "Oh. Don Diego. He's serving as counsel for that man Vargas. He arranged for a pillow and blanket…."
"Counsel?"
"Yes. For the trial."
"Why would he do that?" Victoria asked, fingering the scrap of paper. But really, it wasn't so much a question of what reason as which reason. There were so many. It might simply be that any opportunity to oppose the alcalde was attractive on general principals. Or it might be that he was specifically worried about Vargas' safety in the hands of the alcalde. Luis Ramone could be very…enthusiastic in his treatment of prisoners and the seriousness of the crime might give him an excuse to indulge himself. Diego would object to that. He didn't believe that torture was justice, even if the victim had broken the law….
Or perhaps it was the law itself he was making a statement about? That the forms of the trial and the proper procedures were necessary even when people were angry or indignant? That would be very like Diego, too. He believed in rule of law and honoring the rights of everyone, even criminals and women and the poor and Indians.
He wouldn't win the case, of course. Vargas was guilty and everyone knew it. But that little detail wouldn't stop Diego from making the effort. He would try, and do an excellent job of it. He was brave that way, when it came to fighting for what he believed, and he believed in the future of California. He believed in law and justice. He believed in his fellow man….
He didn't believe in his own future. He would fight for Vargas and see that he got the full protection of the law, but he wouldn't fight for himself or for Victoria. Oh, if she got arrested (whenever she got arrested) he was the first one to speak up for her rights. But a life with her - ?
She supposed it was admirable, that he would go to such trouble for everyone else and seek nothing for himself. And he was trying to protect her, she understood that. It was selfless and admirable and she should admire it, but mostly she felt sad and angry.
She had thrown herself at him. It would be horribly embarrassing if anybody else knew about it. It was horribly embarrassing and nobody knew about it. A lady didn't do that, propose to a man. A lady? Even a farm girl just smiled a little for encouragement, maybe batted her eyes, and hoped the right man would notice. Women were pursued, they didn't pursue.
But Diego had no faith in her, in them. Perhaps he thought she wasn't strong enough to face the hard parts of life, or that she was interested in romance and an ideal marriage, rather than….
Rather than….
She set the note back into the strongbox and retreated into the kitchen.
She knew exactly why Diego wouldn't marry her. In the weeks since he had so politely refused her, she'd tried – once – since to talk to him about it. He had been very blunt. "I would give anything to have you for my wife, but not for anything will I see you become my nurse or my widow. Forget about this, please, Victoria. Let it go."
Let it go.
Let it go and….what? Marry someone else? Well. If Diego didn't want her there were plenty who would. It would serve him right! But the thought of marrying someone else for spite brought such a terrible feeling of grief. She would be betraying herself every bit as much of Diego to accept the attentions of someone else.
So… stay unmarried, then? How was being an old maid any better than being a widow? That was absurd. Did Diego think she wouldn't grieve, just because they weren't married when he died? Eventually, which might well be years from now? And did he think there was nothing in his life beyond his illness? There was more right now, certainly, if he was donating time as a legal advocate!
For a moment she stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, unable to think for the resentment and rage. Diego would tilt at windmills for this stranger knowing the enterprise must fail, but for her he wouldn't try, even a little. He had no faith in either of them, put forth no effort, but on behalf of this criminal –
She felt herself blushing at that. How could she possibly resent Enrique Vargus? He was such a poor, desperate little man! One more impoverished farmer reduced to theft…and he was so bad at it and didn't even have a gang….and he'd been caught and would surely be executed or worse, sent to the prison.
She felt her eyes fill with tears and she brushed them away impatiently. Crying? That was intolerable. Where was her pride? Or at least her sanity or a little perspective? She took a deep breath and went to look at the rising bread. Work. She should get back to work.
Alejandro
He spread the orange leaf between his fingers, scratching at a brown spot on the underside. "How much?" he asked levelly.
His hands shifting on the bridle of his horse, Carlos cleared his throat and said, "Five hundred pesos."
"Five hundred pesos? It's scarcely noon! How could you possibly lose that much in – what? An hour?"
Carlos stiffened, but didn't answer. Alejandro crushed the orange leaf in his hand and clinched his teeth together. He wasn't going to lecture Carlos. It had never done any good, and casting himself as a nag and his best friend as an errant schoolboy was demeaning to them both. Tossing the leaf aside, he said, "May I ask to whom - ?"
"Emilio Pascal."
"Ah." Well, what could he say? The Pascal brat. It was humiliating that Carlos had lost to him, but the situation wouldn't be much improved if Carlos had been tossing away money at cards with Don Roberto or Pablo Juarez.
"You know I'll pay you - "
"I don't object to loaning you money! My God, do you think that's the problem? I object to the rank stupidity of – Why can't you stop yourself from – Have you really so depleted - " he snapped his teeth shut and turned away. "We are not having the conversation. I'll have the money ready for you by tomorrow."
"I know with the bank robbery…I realize it might be tight…."
"Don't worry about it." As though Alejandro wasn't worried. Losing that much money in a couple of hours was quite bad enough, but not to have the cash on hand to pay the debt – How much had Carlos been losing? The last few years Alejandro had been actively trying not to pay attention. Trying to interfere had never done any good. Right after he lost, Carlos was always contrite and reasonable, but after a few months his commitment to good sense would fade and he would start gaming at something: cards, racing, bull-bear fights, it hardly mattered. It was always very polite and gentlemanly. He would win a little and lose a little….and then the losses would start to pile up and he would make some big gambit to recoup the money. It always ended in an embarrassing mess and Carlos down more than he could afford to lose and promising never to gamble again. Well. Alejandro was thoroughly sick of the look on Carlos' face when he lost. It could be every bit as bad, in its way, as strong drink or loose women or dueling for sport. Alejandro rarely gambled himself anymore.
"Alejandro, I hate the idea of having a debt between us."
"Better you owe it to me than that scoundrel Pascal."
Diego
He put off visiting the rectory as long as he could. When the plates were cleared and cleaned, Nicholas sent home, and the science column written for the next two weeks, Diego ran out of reasons to keep working.
He found Padre Benitez in the back garden. As usual, it was loud with the chattering of birds. Diego was accustomed to the finches at the feeder, the doves who lived under the eaves, and even the one-winged owl that perched on the lemon tree at the back (the priest apparently had an arrangement with several of the local children to provide mice), but the bird that was crouched on a small stand beside the table seemed to be an actual pelican. It stank ripely of fish, and Father Benitez was feeding it more. "Where did you get it?" Diego asked, thoroughly distracted by the unpleasant smell.
"The dockman down at San Pedro," he shook his head sadly. "His dog had got hold of it. The dog didn't fare much better…."
Diego smiled. "If you're keeping it as a pet, I'm not sure I'll visit you out here quite as often."
Finished with the bird, Padre Benitez turned away and rinsed his hands from a bucket. "Yes, the smell is quite something, isn't it? Fortunately, I think she'll be well enough to take back to the shore in a week or two." He didn't smile, neither at Diego's small joke nor at the good news about his feathered patient. "Shall we go inside? The smell is much nicer and this should be a private conversation anyway."
Trying not to sigh, Diego followed.
"Would you care for some tea? Only mint, I'm afraid…."
"Yes, thank you," Diego said, because it would be rude to turn it down.
So a few minutes were lost to calling for Carlito and waiting for the tea to be served and then an errand for him manufactured so that they were alone in the small house and finally, finally, Father Benitez set his tea cup down and said, "Against my strongest advice against it, Vargas has sworn before God that he did not rob the bank. I assume you can see what this means?"
"He is an atheist?" Diego suggested miserably.
"I'm pleased you find this funny, dear boy. A show of optimism is very reassuring. The prisoner faces hanging for bank robbery and his predicament is entirely your fault."
Diego gave up fiddling with his own tea and set the cup and saucer down. "That is not fair. I did not hold a pistol to Ramone's head and tell him to fake a bank robbery."
"With this little game you have been playing, you might as well have. Our alcalde loves money and his own skin far more than he loves honesty or justice. You threatened both. Surely you could see that sooner or later he would do something rash. And now some poor, random stranger looks to pay the price."
"We won't let him hang," Diego protested. "Ramone means to try him before the magistrate. There was only the one witness, no other evidence - "
"And that will be very helpful if the judge we get this time is the honest one. The other can be bought."
"Then we will break him out! It isn't difficult."
"And he can live the rest of his life on the run, a fugitive? How very helpful of you."
Unable to sit still any longer, Diego stood up and paced. "We will solve this. We will. We can always expose Ramone, if it comes to that."
"He's had several months to cover his tracks. How good, really, is your evidence?"
"Only a little better than the evidence against Vargas," Diego answered. He felt his shoulders dip. "There is always the chance that he really did rob the bank."
The priest didn't answer that.
~TBC