A/N: This is the second part of my story. Thanks to Dizzy fire for translating and to Arianka for checking.

CHAPTER ONE

The sun was scorching hot. Its light, reflected in the barrel of the rifle, dazzled the eye and made the weapon almost too hot to hold. Sergeant Mendoza shifted on the plank that served as his makeshift seat, and rubbed his stomach. It was the afternoon, which the sergeant was in the habit of spending over a plate and a cup of wine at Señorita Escalante's tavern, not up on the cuartel roof, trying to hide from the sun in the only available scrap of shadow. Sadly, an order was still an order, and even though the sergeant had been known to disregard the orders on occasion, his good sense advised him to obey this one.

The shadow covering the sergeant suddenly grew bigger. Mendoza raised his face, squinting at the blazing light and the bite of sweat in his eyes.

"Zorro..." he muttered without enthusiasm.

"Everything all right, Sergeant?" Zorro nimbly jumped down from a turret in the corner.

"Hot." Mendoza decided that complaining wouldn't hurt. Zorro was not a man who would inform the alcalde about the sergeant's thoughts or desires. On the contrary, on several past occasions Zorro of all people had been kind enough to bring some simple pleasures into Mendoza's lonely, often boring and sometimes sad existence. Now he smiled knowingly, too.

"I'll see what I can do about some dinner, Sergeant," he promised and walked off along the wall of the cuartel.

Watching him, Mendoza couldn't help but feel a little stab of envy. Zorro looked for all the world like he was not inconvenienced by the heat at all, though a man dressed all in black might be expected to feel more discomfort than anyone else. But no, he moved in a light and graceful fashion, briskly leaping from the top of the wall to the roof, and then walking on along the crest. Finally he jumped down so gracefully that Mendoza at once stopped wondering about some of Zorro's previous visits to the garrison. Oh yes, the black-clad, self-appointed defender of justice knew all the ways around the place and obviously felt just as much at ease on top of the cuartel roof as in the middle of the Los Angeles marketplace.

Or in Señorita Escalante's tavern. From his sitting place the sergeant could not see Zorro enter the inn, but he did see two women emerge from its door, both of them hauling formidable baskets. They crossed the square, had a long discussion with the corporal guarding the gate, and finally entered the garrison. A few moments later they appeared on top of the wall, distributing burritos among the soldiers stationed there and filling their cups with something poured out from large, promising flasks. As Mendoza was to find out, the bottles contained nothing but water, but to him a sip of cold water still tasted better than many wines in the scorching heat. He made sure to scowl a little at the first sip, though. The woman giggled, fished out a small bottle from her basket and added a modest measure of wine to his cup.

Well-fed, and with a cup of cold, wine-flavoured water in his hand, Sergeant Mendoza felt much better. He shifted in his seat to make himself a little more comfortable and focused his eyes on the contours of the trees outside the pueblo, blurry and shifting in the sweltering air.

X X X

Serious events in Los Angeles commonly began without fanfare. This time, too, there was no thunder or earthquake to herald their coming. Nothing suggested that the grey, scorched everyday life might suddenly change; only later, through conversations and remembrances, people would piece together the whole chain of events that had led to a dramatic finale.

The first sign of the coming storm were the strangers. It was not unusual for wanderers to pass through a pueblo located so close to the route into the interior, so no one paid any attention to them at first. They would appear every few days, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups of two, eat a meal at the tavern, occasionally restock their small supplies of food, and move on. But one man in particular got the people to watch the newcomers with more vigilance.

He was a large man, bearded, dressed in a shabby frock coat. He at first drew attention to himself by complaining about the quality of the meal he had been served, but he backed off when Señorita Escalante asked, rather sharply, which part exactly had not been to his liking. He apologised then, but his manner was so churlish that it was hard not to notice that the apology had not been exactly heartfelt. Victoria shrugged it off, just as she shrugged off his later attempts at conversing with her. Having managed the tavern for several years, she was used to clients like him – needlessly picky about the food and drink, yet all too eager to assume that, as a woman in charge of an inn, she was sure to provide them with another type of service entirely. Her preferred method of dealing with men like him was to employ mockery and pointed sarcasm; if that didn't work, she didn't hesitate to use pots and pans as well. Few were willing to press their case longer than for a few moments once they had been hit with a splash of pottage, or even with the pot itself. In this particular case, at first it seemed that a single biting remark had been enough to make the stranger rethink his advances. Victoria checked on him a few times, to make sure that he was still nursing his jug of wine without disturbing the other guests, but soon Don Diego de la Vega stopped by the tavern, and all matters to do with guests were temporarily put out of her mind.

She remembered them quickly enough when the same unpleasant visitor caught hold of her by the door. This time he did not complain about the wine or ask for a different plate. Instead, he abruptly pushed her against the wall and tried to force a kiss. Before she could kick out or struggle, however, the man was pushed aside with enough force to make him stumble and sit down heavily on the nearest bench. He sprang up at once and aimed a punch at his attacker, but in vain. His opponent dodged the blow – by a hairsbreadth, it seemed, but it was enough to make the aggressive guest's fist collide heavily with the wall. The man had no chance to even catch his breath after the sudden wave of pain when he was caught by the nape of his neck and pressed into the wall. An icy voice drawled next to his ear, "Next time I'll draw steel."

The man turned slowly. He was facing the same caballero whom the innkeeper had welcomed so eagerly a few moments ago.

"Forgive me, Señor. I didn't think that woman..." he broke off, feeling a pressure on this throat. The caballero leaned forward until their noses almost touched.

"She. Is. My. Bride." For a moment it seemed that he was about to squeeze the man's neck harder still, but then he let him go. "I advise you to mind your manners."

The troublesome guest stood there for a long while, rubbing his bruised hand. Eventually he downed his wine in a single gulp, threw a coin on the table and went to untie his horse. It seemed that he might leave without another word, but he paused for a while to look at the caballero and the tavern keeper, who were now embracing, and spat on the ground. This expression of his feelings cost him dearly, for it was then that Sergeant Mendoza spoke up.

"A moment, Señor!"

"Yes?" The man stopped in the middle of untying the reins.

"Could you explain to me where you got this coin?" The sergeant extended his hand, in which he was holding the silver peso the stranger had left on the table.

Instead of answering, the man tugged on the straps. Before he could break them and jump into his saddle, though, the caballero caught hold of his arm. The newcomer twisted in his grip, trying to land a blow on him, but a quick punch sent him tumbling to the ground, next to his horse's hooves.

"Oof... Don Diego... " gasped the sergeant.

"I think you were right about the coin, Sergeant," Diego stated. "If it was legitimate, he wouldn't have tried to run... Let me see it."

Victoria was faster, and plucked the coin straight out of the sergeant's hand.

"It's counterfeit!"

Diego pulled the unconscious man to his feet rather unceremoniously, and shoved him straight into the waiting hands of the soldiers.

"Take him to a cell, Corporal Rojas!" Mendoza ordered. When the soldiers had left, he turned to Diego and Victoria. "Don Diego…"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"You... you sounded just like Zorro! And you were fast like him, too!" The sergeant's voice was full of astonishment.

He was even more surprised when Don Diego smiled shyly, as if embarrassed. Victoria hugged him more tightly.

"I must confess, Sergeant," Diego eventually answered, "that I've been learning. From Zorro."

"With great results!" The sergeant beamed. "You really sounded just like Zorro when he's angry," he assured and proudly marched off to the garrison, to report on the incident.

"You're learning?" asked Victoria, raising an eyebrow.

"I am," Diego smiled at her. "And I do try my best."

X X X

Alcalde Luis Ramone was not the best alcalde in the world. If someone asked the inhabitants of Los Angeles, they would not rank him very highly even among the alcaldes that had governed over their tiny little pueblo. He was vainglorious, greedy, and some of his actions were downright vile. He was also quick to make judgements and form antipathies, and it was easy indeed to earn his ire. What was more, he kept trying to raise the taxes so that the extra sums could fall into his pockets and, regular as the seasons, came up with various other ideas which the people of the pueblo considered stupid, and which were intended to make him, if not famous, then at least wealthy. Since Zorro's appearance, these schemes usually came to nothing. But Luis Ramone was still the alcalde, which meant that he had certain duties towards the pueblo, including making sure that the laws were obeyed. Even if he himself broke those laws rather frequently.

So when the soldiers brought a man accused of distributing counterfeit money to his office, Ramone thought long and hard. Although the stranger had struck at the thing most important to him – that is, finances – he was still not very much inclined to spend his time in checking the surrounding area for rumours of a counterfeiter, conducting the inquiry, or writing troublesome reports for the governor. Therefore, after checking the prisoner's pockets and coin-purse, and a good deal of consideration, the alcalde pronounced his judgement. Since only one counterfeit coin had been found, he decided that the most suitable punishment would be a fine and a night in prison, followed by an order to leave Los Angeles and its vicinity as soon as possible.

The next morning, then, the stranger left the cuartel walls, poorer by a good handful of pesos and grimmer than a storm cloud. He climbed on his horse and rode out of the pueblo, passing by its disinterested inhabitants. However, there were at least three people present who watched him leave very attentively indeed.

"I have my concerns about that one..." Don Diego stated pensively. He and Victoria were standing in the shade of the tavern porch, from which they could clearly see both the cuartel gate and the road leading out of the pueblo.

"Why?"

"Call it being over-anxious, Vi, but something doesn't seem to fit... Only a hunch so far, but I'd like to check it out. In any case, I have a magnificent horse, and I must make sure he gets enough exercise," he smiled rakishly and kissed the inside of her palm. Victoria laughed out loud.

"Go, go... and be back quickly."

"Will you miss me, Señorita?"

"No one but you," she said. Then she added in a whisper, "The real you."

TBC.